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confused-pyramid · 7 months ago

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Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

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positively-mine · 11 months ago

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You're a girl?!

how they find out you're a girl and their reactions

tags: afab (Floyd's part talks abt female anatomy), slight spoilers, lmk if there's any other

Series: ❤️ 🧡 🩵 💛 💜 💙 💚

Azul

After his overblot incident, he assumed that you both had ended up becoming acquaintance (he won't give up on his 2nd branch at ramshackle). So he's keeping an ear out for opportunities. Also since he has contracts with so many students, he hears an unusual rumour. The ramshackle prefect is apparently female? Well, he'll just have to check it out for himself. Sends jade to snoop around but not in a perverted way.

Once the rumours were confirmed to be true, Azul literally bursts into flames. The memories of treating you so ungentlemanly all come flooding into his head. And you saw his chubby baby picture??? Unbelievable. In all honesty though, he doesn't try to get into contracts with you. Doesn't apply to the people around you. We both know who I'm talking about. Even if your friends can't pay, he won't threaten you that he knows because there must be a reason why you're hiding it. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if someone did that to him with his baby picture.

Jade

He knew from the start. I don't know how but he knows. It's like his secret power. Doesn't do much, but he likes to tease. Either when you're in a crowded space or when you're with your friends. He'll drop subtle hints that you're a female but nothing major. Just enough for you to know that he knows 😐

Overall 4/10 because he keeps messing around with you but since he's one of my favorites we'll forgive and forget. Won't tell Azul because it's HIS secret. So you don't need to worry about Azul threatening you into a deal.

Floyd

He knew as soon as he squeezed you. The minute he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up to his chest he knew. Something along the lines of "eh? Shrimpy, what's this lumpy things on your chest?" And it doesn't help that his voice is l o u d. Once it clicks in his head, he's smiling mischievously at you.

He seems like someone who will use your secret against you. He's bored? He'll come find you. You don't want to hang out? Do the rest of the student body know you're a girl? Yeah, so approach with caution. Once you stop showing any reaction towards his threats, he gets grumpy and pouts. Just make sure you placate him somehow. Because one day he really might just scream out to everyone that you're a girl.

reblogs appreciated!

#azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #jade leech #jade x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader #x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #octanivelle #octanivelle x reader

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kaszuma · 6 months ago

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Bad Habits | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 6 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Soshiro wanted to set things right by you, so he planned a date that would've gone perfectly. Had a Kaiju not appeared in front of you.

warnings: Mentions of Blood, heavy detail on Injury and Pain. Breathlessness and lots of claustrophobia related to crowds, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Slight Kn8 Manga Spoilers

wc: 6,552

–

note: Please inform me if I missed any warnings, It has descriptive injuries so I don't want to trigger anyone who's willing to read this.

Part 7 will be a direct continuation of this. So that's why I dubbed it as a Hurt/No Comfort fic for now. The comfort will come in another part because things have been going too smoothly in the relationship. And I don't want that. Anyways, look forward to the next part. I will be adding a tags list. So if you want to be tagged. Please tell me.

Also, thank you for a hundred followers 🫶

–

Today was the day Soshiro had decided to finally make it up to you.

After weeks of moving between bases. Handling Number 10’s strange quirks in its new prototype suit. It had been an understatement to say that he had kept himself rather busy in the wake of his occupation. His attention often divided between the lousy paperwork stacked against him, as well as his individual training.

One that he had always upheld to keep his body sturdy and his reflexes sharp. Not once acting careless in his response to a Kaiju attack. Especially now where he was equipped with a powerful and sentient combat suit, bloodthirsty for war. Willing to pick a fight with anything remotely breathing in his direction.

By all means, Soshiro could not afford to slack off. And if there was a miniscule chance that he did, he'd be minced alive for sure.

Just when his hard work had started to pay off too.

Now that he had been recognized as a numbers wielder no less. He'd be one of the few melee specialists that Japan could rely on in the case of an emergency. The proof of his existence. That he wasn't just a reject of the Hoshina Family's line of descendants.

That he was more than capable to wield a blade that could slay Kaijus that came after him. And he had succeeded. He had fulfilled his place in the hierarchy. His place solidified beside Captain Ashiro who was an even stronger ally than he was.

But despite his successes. Despite the satisfaction he got from climbing to the top with only the swing of his blade.

That had not been enough for him.

It had not been enough to prove his existence to the world.

And although that had been a major goal of his. To surpass people's expectations of his limits. His boon to keep fighting. To keep swinging his sword despite the odds stacked against him, had also been the downfall of many past relationships that could not blossom because it had gotten in its way.

And you had been the first to stay.

The first to understand his sentiments.The first to clear a path for him when everyone else had all but given up.

And yet here he was. Being a stellar lover and prioritizing everything else above you.

It had been weeks. Practically an entire month since he's spent some quality time with you. Sharing the occasional kiss in the hallways where you'd start your day off. Or acknowledging each other briefly when he had been stuck in the confines of the training rooms.

Beating the lessons right into rookies' bodies when you'd pass by. Or better yet, the daily coffee you had somehow managed to squeeze in despite your equally tight schedule. His favorite blend had always been waiting for him. Ready at his office on the days he burned the very wicks of the midnight oil.

And what had he done in return?

Nothing.

Not since that incident with Kaiju no. 10 at least. That of which he worked so hard to erase any evidence left in its wake. The fake report had at least been a piece of cake to do. And they had to do over the entire prototype testing just to make sure Number 10 was usable in its current state.

And unfortunately for him, it proved to be a much more difficult task to complete. Day by day he had not once made progress in raising the Suit’s combat power. Leaving Kaiju no 10 to mock his defenses and other battle related tactics whenever it could. But that had been the least of his worries.

In all honesty, he had been feeling guilty since that day.

Although he'd be remiss to say he didn't enjoy the feeling. Soshiro had not been in the right sound of mind when he found himself getting closer to you. Drunken by your scent, he had practically seen images flash by his mind. Courtesy by the Kaiju that had seen through his desires. And one thing led straight to the next. He found himself in a troublesome situation that he had been afraid to know the consequences of.

He had desired her. Yes. That much was clear. But he wanted the relationship to evolve slowly. At your pace. One that made you most comfortable.

But he had breached that space. The inch you had given him had turned into a mile. And he was lucky he still held some sort of restraint before he did something stupid and regretted his past actions.

And somehow, you still forgave him.

You enjoyed yourself even. Welcoming him with open arms for the next time around when they had managed to squeeze in the time between work. Open to the idea of a more sensual intimacy. In the privacy of someplace else. And Soshiro had wanted that too.

He wanted to correct his haste. To properly love you right.

But not everything had been picture perfect in the way he had planned. His bad habits showed in the ways he'd prioritize everything but you. And just when he built up his courage–Built up the resolve to face you. To do right by you.

Of course, things just had to get in his way.

Things always got in his way before he could properly apologize and make it up to you. Or atleast, that was the excuse he'd find himself feeling guilty of.

And that is where he found himself outside the premises of the Tachikawa base. Strangely out of uniform and in his civvies that he had managed to find beneath the sweatpants in his closet. Dappered in a simple black turtleneck and a white overcoat. Befitting of the cooler weather Japan had been facing in recent times.

He had been waiting for you to show up with a picnic basket in hand. A few paperback novels that he thinks you might enjoy. Added with a few sweets that he hoped would lighten up your day perhaps.

The plan had been simple.

He’d already done the nerve-wracking part. Stopping you midway as you finished giving him the stack of blueprints for the Combat Suit you had worked on upgrading. His hand reached to touch the soft skin of your knuckles. An action that made you look back at him in turn.

“Is something wrong?” You had asked curiously. The softness in your voice remained. One that made Soshiro want to melt into a puddle.

He smiled. Somehow the words got stuck on his tongue. And he had to remind himself that you were his lover. Who of course would agree to a date. Should he suggest it, Right?

He gulps. Suddenly feeling a little irritated at the way his stomach had dropped and a plethora of nervous butterflies had resurfaced.

Normally he'd have no problem taking out hordes of Yoju that came his way. Boasting the highest individual kill count for slaying midsized Kaiju of his generation. Yet somehow, his reason had gona askew. And he found this situation a little more terrifying than he anticipated.

“Hey, I was thinking..”

“Uh oh- That's not a good sign.” Your comment makes him smile. His eyes rolling to give your shoulder a playful squeeze.

“-That you and I need to have a talk.”

“About what?” You had replied with a tilt on your head.

“I got a few paperbacks in the mail yesterday. I was hoping we could grab a bite to eat while we read through ‘em?” He smiled. His usual grin did not falter in the way he spoke to you. Though you could tell that he had an inkling of nervousness by the way he reached up to scratch the side of his cheek.

“Oh. And here I thought I was in trouble.” You chuckle. “So you're finally inviting me out on a date, Vice Captain?”

He had moved to stand much closer to you. Hand already at the shape of your hip, habitually writing his name on the waistband of uniform. “Is that a no I hear from ya’”

“Now when did I say that?” And it makes you smile knowing he had been trying despite the busy schedule he had.

You had long since understood his place in the hierarchy. Soshiro may have not realized it, but he was far too important of a person in the Defense Force to have been kept away from duty.

His life alone had been the cost of a thousand who'd live due to his sacrifices. And whether or not his insecurities had blocked his view of his own self-worth. You were able to see it clearly.

So despite the difficulties. Despite the yearning you felt for his proximity You did the usual and prioritized his work. Letting him handle things when command had already put so much weight into his daily responsibilities. Not that he seemed affected by it, no doubt already used to the pressure of a hectic battlefield. Much less a hectic work environment.

But of course, you wouldn't reject an offer out on a date with your lover. Not when he so sweetly asked.

And if he had the occasional free time to invite you out. Who were you to say no to his offer?

“Soshiro!” You had called out. Appearing just beside him who stood nearest the entrance of the underground metro station. And he smiled turning towards you with his usual cheeky and cat-like grin.

“You shoulda’ texted me. I would've picked you up by the train stations.” He had moved his free hand to pinch your cheeks. And it makes you chuckle. Revealing yourself completely to him.

Where his eyes had raked over the surface of the cute outfit you decided to purchase the day before. Hand already twirling a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. Admiring your very soul. Your entirety in front of him.

“And miss your startled face? Fat chance I'd miss that opportunity.” You laughed.

Soshiro had rolled his eyes in turn. His heart pounding as his free hand immediately intertwined with yours.

“If it makes ya’ happy Sweetheart.” He didn't waste this opportunity to gently pull you close. Kissing your temple which had been nearest his lips. “You look pretty.”

His compliments had made you brighten. Your face visibly beamed when his eyes drank your figure. “Damn straight. I wasn't about to let you one up me in the looks department.”

“Alright, alright.” He found himself chuckling. “Let's get moving before the desserts I bought ya’ go bad.”

You had half a mind to drag your feet while he took you out of the metro line. Acting stubborn just to stall and ruffle his feathers for a bit. As payback for neglecting you all those days ago.

But you had decided against it, the crowded train station was far too busy in the early hours of the afternoon. And you would not risk losing each other and wasting the rare day Soshiro had all planned out for the both of you to do.

“Lead the way.” You had smiled, giddy at the mere thought of a time well spent together. And Soshiro had shared that very sentiment. Already leading you away from the busy horde where lines of people had been waiting for the next train stop.

Upon your words, he had gently walked forward. Leading you by the hand.

His grip on you was firm and you can see the way his back had engulfed and weaved through the crowd much more easily than you ever had. Broad in his strides as he tried not to go too fast. Matching your pace since he knew you weren't as built in stamina as he was.

You had admired the little details of his nape. The one mole peaking through the skin of his turtleneck, where his hair had shown every detail of his jugular. One that you had marveled at when he wasn't looking.

Just as you were about to offer your help. Reaching for the sling of the basket on his free hand.

A shiver ran down your spine. The hand that had tried to reach for the basket had paused in heavy response.

And you had suddenly flinched as a loud gust of wind had blown past you. Making the indoor lights of the metro begin to pop and flicker abnormally. An eerie buzz emitting from each light source as if the electricity had all short circuited, simultaneously.

The temperature underground had strangely heightened. Unusual for the cool metro station during this time of day.

And the crowd that had busied themselves passing each other by, had all but stopped. With people's stares directed behind the both of you in a frozen and frightened state. You look around, almost confused. And Soshiro had gripped his hand harder against yours. As if he already knew the exact dread that overcame him.

The exact thing that had been staring right back at them.

And somehow you had that inkling too.

But denial had only been your first problem. And the rest of your body seemed to know the truth. Your very palms began sweating like bullets, and you had hesitantly looked behind you. To prove to yourself that it had not been what you think it was.

But Soshiro who had somehow read your mind. Had moved much quicker than you had.

Pulling you behind him, already pushing you to the exit when people had started panicking. Screams had been the accompaniment of hasty footsteps. With people of all different ages, running in the same direction. Away from the stairs leading down the metro line.

A mere glimpse is all it took for the hair on your skin to rise. And the face of a humanoid Kaiju had looked in your direction. Its skin peeled like oranges, unlike the gritty leathery texture that surrounded its cheeks. And although it had a terrifying grin on its face. It remained calm. Observant. It seemed ecstatic in the way it reveled in the attention it had gotten. Whilst Soshiro had pulled you from your trance.

“Run. Get going!”

Soshiro had strangely screamed. Already pushing you to evacuate, weary that the Kaiju could attack you at any given moment should it wish to. But the Kaiju had a strange way of showing its excitement. Gurgling at every noise it heard. And Soshiro's yell had all been reduced to a mere whisper against your ear. The sound of a panicked crowd was all too encompassing for you to actually make out his words.

Soshiro had kept a firm grip on your shoulders. Still trailing close behind you with his gaze fixated on the Humanoid Kaiju.

Its legs had hovered mere inches above the ground. Crinkled like an old vegetable that was left out in the freezer for too long. It had double the arms, one that resembled old branches with no leaves. And although it looked sickly and frail, he was sure the damn thing was capable of major damage given the right opportunity.

But instead of grabbing onto the nearest person like Soshiro had anticipated. It surveyed the area. Weary of its nearest surroundings.

It's molars and gums chattering against each other. Echoing throughout the underground halls of the metro station. It looked as if it was occupied with something. A far off look in its beady eyes. As if it were communicating with someone.

Perhaps it had something to do with Number 9? Shit.

If that's the case, Soshiro needed to get you out of here as soon as possible.

“I can't get through. They're all pushing..” You had gasped. Feeling yourself stumble back when another person pulled at your shoulder and leaped forward. Using you as leverage to get to the exit.

Soshiro, who had seen this, was quick to catch you before you could fall. Your back against his chest in a protective stance.

He couldn't move. Not yet at least.

More than anything he'd like to handle that thing as quickly as possible. But to leave you nearby in such close proximity too? There's no way in hell he was going to let that happen. So all he could do was fixate his eyes on that Kaiju.

This thing was clearly sentient. Soshiro had seen the way it lingered to read one of the signs nearest the exit. But I didn't seem interested in conversing, let alone leave if he had asked. And he wasn't about to take his chances.

He needed to get rid of that thing now.

“Hoshina here.” He had fished out the white earpiece that he hid on his overcoat's back pocket. Pressing the small item down to his ear to contact operations.

“There's a Daikaiju sighting in the Tachikawa-Kita Station. Requesting permission to use Number 10 to neutralize it.” He spoke seriously. Unlike the usual light hearted conversations you'd have with him. And it makes you stare up at him with raised eyebrows.

It had been weeks since you had worked on Number 10. It was still far too early to be used as a plausible weapon out in the field. And yet here he was, indirectly telling you that he had worn it out in public.

“You what?” You had gasped out. Eyes blown wide whilst his hand remained on the small of your back.

Much to your dismay, Soshiro had not answered you.

Simply moving you closer to the wall, to let other people get through. His hand still pressed against the intercoms whilst he waited for a reply from Operations.

Soshiro had been focused on shielding you for the most part. The crowd was pushing, but it seems they had still been making progress in evacuating the area. Save for a few rumbles that had happened when the Kaiju had suddenly implanted its branch-like fingers onto one of the pillars. Cracking the surface of the solid cement that held the pillar in place. And you couldn't help but worry at the close proximity you both had been.

Right in range of where the Kaiju was looking at.

“Permission granted.” Okonogi’s faint voice could be heard. Likely already booting up Number 10's system underneath Soshiro’s civvies. The bioweapon would slowly regain energy which kept it from its usual conscious state.

“Do you, or Do you not have Number 10 on?” You had asked incredulously. Prying his arms off of you to peel off his shirt. And his larger hand stops you before you could see the peak of red in the place of where his skin should be.

“As a precaution m'dear.” His reply was immediate.

And he suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. Ushering you forward along with the thinning crowd. The stairway had all been emptied now. Save for a few runaways that had tripped or were pushed earlier.

“Higher ups wanted me to get used to it. Releasing this thing’s combat power, I mean.” His voice had been an octave lower. His smile, although present, had not been enough to reassure you. And you had a feeling he was trying not to have you panic on him.

“That is stupid. Command shouldn't have let you wear it. Number 10 is still unstable. What if you go berserk and lose control?” You sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“You did try to argue with command right?”

…

“Right?”

Soshiro did not answer you. Already pacing to drag you out of here before things could escalate.

Meanwhile, you had all but looked at him once over. Now it made sense why he chose to wear an overcoat when the weather had only been a little chilly this afternoon. It had surprised you that he was able to hide its tail from emerging from his legs. But then again, he probably had his blades tucked away in that too.

“Soshiro..”

“Listen, I'll explain things later. Take this and get to the nearest shelter. I ain’t havin Number 10 going berserk. I'll be fine. Just let me handle the Kaiju first, okay-” His sentence was cut short by your scream.

A broken chunk of the large pillar had been thrown towards you. And it had startled you enough to drop the basket he handed you. Soshiro had been quick in his motion to shield you. Wrapping his arms around your shoulder to let his back hit the brunt of the pillar.

But before it could hit and crush the two of you to bits. The faint sound of number 10 chuckled inSoshiro's suit. And its weaponized tail lashed out to strike the pillar back. Destroying it before it could scratch you both from its debris.

The sharp end had all but ripped Soshiros overcoat to shreds. And he was quick to remove the unnecessary fabric on top of his combat suit. Revealing the distinct eye hollowed out in the middle of his chest.

“Lucky this bonehead woke up on time.” Soshiro had chuckled darkly. And it was followed by its immediate reply. Tail haphazardly swinging around from behind him.

“Stop with your meaningless trifles and get to fighting swordsman! My patience is thinning.” It sounded almost like a child. Though its voice had been a deep and rambunctious chatter like usual.

“You heard the darn thing.” He sighs, pushing you forward before another attack could come in.

And you shook your head, placing your firm hands against the suit of his chest. Just beside Number 10's glowing eye. Your gaze fixated on his usual smile, one that you had grown accustomed to hearing cheery laughs from. “Are you serious? This thing isn't ready for an actual fight.”

“Do not mock us Woman. By the time you have escaped our opponent would have been ripped to shreds by me.” It screamed.

Making you roll your eyes in turn. And Soshiro had all but chuckled. Already letting you get a head start as you stepped out of the underground Metro line. “Just go. I promise you I'll be jus’ fine.”

“I’ll come find you later.” He had spoken. Already turning his heel to grab the swords he had hidden on his back.

You knew this was his job. The unavoidable was bound to happen. And as much it pained you to leave him alone with a Daikaiju with only a misaligned prototype of a suit as an ally. There was bound to be trouble afoot. But what can you do other than run?

You weren't a fighter like he was.

Your use was only in the presence of a laboratory, as a technician. Paving the way to enhance his equipment. To heighten his chances of survival, even if it was a measly one percent of it.

That had been better than none after all.

So with a heavy heart. You nod. Glancing at his form for a second longer before you began running. Taking careful steps to the opposite direction where you knew the nearest shelter would be at. There was never a shortage of Defense Force Officers there. Maybe they'd be willing to let a few assist Soshiro before things could go awry.

Captain Ashiro had always made quick work of any Kaiju that appeared. The third had always been quick to respond to action. Not once arriving late when the Tokyo district needed them the most.

Soshiro would just have to hold out before then.

Deal with Number 10's strange habits and hopefully manage to unleash the suit's combat power which had proven to be a tricky feat for a while now. And if he were lucky, maybe he wouldn't need backup at all.

The optimistic side of you wished to see him make quick work of the Kaiju. Have him return to you, maybe with a couple or bruises to sport but nothing serious.

He'd smile at you. Holding peace signs with his fingertips out as a form of comfort. To tell you that he had been fine and the Kaiju had easily accepted defeat, ending the story in a clean neutralization.

You'd even be willing to hear Number 10's inflated boasting in the background. Telling you that they had sliced it to ribbons before you even had the chance to reach the shelter.

At least that's what you hoped to imagine.

Just as soon as you arrived at the familiar street. You passed by the multitude of shopping districts in the area. And you see the familiar crowd of people being ushered into the sturdy underground bunker of the shelter. Far away from the premises of the Metro Line where Soshiro’s battle had taken place.

You had immediately stepped up. Trying to fall in line with the rest of the crowded spaces that led up to the entrances of the bunker.

But somehow the temperature rose once more. And you feel the familiar rumble in your chest as a gust of wind had blown behind you. Your hair going in all sorts of directions before your eyes settled on the familiar looking Kaiju floating in the very back of the crowd. Nearing you inch by inch.

What was it doing here?

Everyone who had equally felt the same tension had been paralyzed from fear. Its beady gaze had been burning holes unto the crowd. And its neck cracked as it tried to tilt its head to the side.

This had been enough to get rid of the stupor on everyone's expressions. And another wave of panic ensued. Leaving you and a few others to be pushed around in the wake of everyone's panic.

“Report. Kaiju has been spotted here in Shelter 1121. Requesting permission to engage.”

You had heard one of the Defense Force Officers yell. The few that had been present were already aiming their firearms at the chattering Kaiju. It's head convulsing as it floated ever so closer towards the crowd. Its branch-like fingertips grazed the road. Eerily dragging its long limbs down the cement. Its pace is slow and tantalizing as if to tease your inevitable demise.

You had groaned.

Feeling yourself be pushed down to the ground. Palms hitting the coarse texture of the cement roads. Knees scraping the rough surface as you stopped yourself from falling face flat onto the floor. Luckily the crowd had been mindful enough not to trample you. With most of the citizens already crowding the entrance as Soldiers had blocked the Kaiju's path from going any further.

But you saw the way it moved.

In a blink of an eye the Kaiju had made quick work of the Officers. Sweeping them off like insects thrown to the side. Their bodies hitting the nearest surface available in the area. And you had tried to back away. The itching pain that had surrounded your knees was like putting salt on an open wound. Still fresh from the poor landing you had from earlier.

But there was no time to focus on that. Its beady gaze already staring at you and his next target had been made clear.

Just as you had tried to get up, you saw the way a car had been thrown right above your head. And you had been a hair away from being hit by the force of its pitch. Landing on a few people who had crowded up against the entrance of the base.

Likely crushing a few people in the process.

Shit.

The dizzy unease you felt had all but dazed your mind's eye. And somehow through the fire and the panicked screams. A force had thrown you off the ground.

And suddenly your body had slumped against the nearest wall. Your back landing on the very glass of a fashion boutique. Your weight had shattered its surface upon impact when you were thrown against it.

A shockwave on the ground had likely thrown you a few feet back. And you whimpered. Feeling the shards of glass puncture your shoulder and arms. A few cutting your legs that had shamelessly bleeded against the floor.

You could feel a much larger injury on the small of your back. But as it stands, you couldn't really focus on a specific area. Not when it had hurt all over.

It had hurt to stand up. Let alone to crawl away.

You were not in the safety of the base. And Soshiro had not been here beside you. Even if it hurts like hell. You knew that you had to move. You had to get away and find some help before the situation got worse.

But somehow, it had only gotten much more difficult to breathe. Your eyes which had blurred from the blood flow on your head had suddenly cleared a little bit. Just enough for you to inspect your surroundings. And you noticed it had gotten significantly darker upon your landing. Everything, even within the confines of the boutique, had been covered in a thin layer of smoke that you could've sworn wasn't here before

The scent had been weird. Both earthy and a little rusty for your liking. But it had a distinct bitter smell, like something had gone rotten in the area.

And suddenly your throat lurched. Coughing at the sheer difficulty your lungs had inhaled. Like suddenly oxygen had all but ran out and you were left with a gas that had been invading your system entirely.

Your hand had shakily reached up your throat. Trying not to panic as the breaths you made had gotten shorter and shorter.

Was this poison?

Did the Kaiju have anything to do with this?

Where was Soshiro? Was he dead?

Only panicked thoughts plagued your mind. Not entirely aware that the pain had made you almost delirious as you try not to cry from all the overwhelming sensations you felt.

Your only thought had been to gather your bearings and find Soshiro. Damned the injuries that weighed your body. Damned the poison gas that made you want to throw up your lungs.

All you needed was Soshiro.

Yet somehow, you find yourself back on the ground. With your cheek pressed up against the shattered glass. Eyes slowly fluttering to a close from the sheer exhaustion alone. And your body, had never accepted sleep more than this moment had.

–

Who knows how long you've been laying there. A few gunshots sounded out from the distance before it ultimately quieted down. A roar rumbled to the far east of where you had rested. But the sounds had gone silent a few minutes after.

And here you were, dizzy from a concussion. Bleeding from your arms and legs. And your breaths barely audible from the amount of toxic gas you had inhaled.

You didn't know whether or not your lungs were barely functioning anymore. But with the slow rise and labored falls of your chest, you were sure you had still been okay. Though it's a miracle you were still half awake.

You could still make the odd gasps and silent plea for help. So you couldn't sleep. Not yet at least. Not when help could so easily arrive and your chances of actually surviving would lower.

The smoke had not cleared up from where you had laid. And for a moment, you see the shadow of a figure step hastily through the broken boutique. Staring down at you with gritted teeth.

“Found you..”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly the blinding numbness had been replaced with a fresh bout of soreness and burning pains. And Soshiro, who had stood above your half-conscious body, had stumbled a bit.

Not used to the way your body stood so still. Arched upward from the shard of glass punctured nearest the back of your waist. His breath was stolen away, as he could only imagine how the pain must’ve felt when you were thrown off balance to crash a building no less.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, c'mere.” Soshiro's familiar voice was much clearer now that he had stepped much closer to you.

The clang of his blades had dropped beside you as his hands were already fumbling to remove the straps of his respiratory mask. Rushing to place it atop your mouth and nose. Hoping it would help you breathe properly.

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic.”

Soshiro screamed. Glancing behind him for a moment before his focus had been fixated on you. His other hand gingerly lifting your head from the ground to assess the injuries you sustained.

And his eyes. The wine color of his eyes…

You could've sworn it had darkened. Brimmed with the fear of losing you. A cacophony of unshed tears that would usually be closed and cat-like in its features.

“..Soshiro?” You croaked out. Voice a little raspy from whatever gas that Kaiju had decked out. And your lover immediately pulled you closer. Rocking your body to keep you awake.

His first instinct was to secure the straps of the respiratory mask on your face. Letting you take a few filtered breaths before you try to speak once more. Though he hushed you right after, in the case you’d drain the little energy you had left in you.

And from the deadweight he felt. He somehow feared the worst.

“Hey, hey, Shhhh. You're okay.” He spoke with a shaky voice. As if he were assuring himself more than he did you. “I'm here now. We're gonna fix ya’ up brand new. I promise.”

His words had been loud. Desperate even. But for some reason, it went in and out of your ears. Not entirely sure if he had been screaming at somebody else, or he had been talking to you in particular. His reassurances got softer and softer from the minute your ears began to ring.

The sound of his voice, which you would normally find comfort in. Had your head spinning around. Making you wince in turn.

You had wanted to reach out. To pull him close and check for his own injuries. But your arms and shoulders would twitch in pain anytime you had tried to move a muscle. The poison in your system had made it all the more heavier for your body to move. Chained to the ground as if restrained by your own powerlessness of the situation.

“You're done?” You had managed to groan out. Wondering if the Kaiju had been neutralized.

And his immediate response was to nod in your direction. Pulling you much closer so that his leg would be able to support your weight on the ground. Away from the edged shards of glass that had scattered about.

“I'm okay baby. Yer’ the one that needs the help here..” He lets out a dry chuckle. Not entirely convinced that his jokes were actually landing. His panic was more evident in his tone than it had usually been, and for some reason. That hurt more than the physical wounds you endured.

“I know.” You hissed. “Hurts all over..if you couldn't tell..”

“Shit. Medics are on their way. I'm gonna lift you up okay? You'll be fine. Just gonna meet em’ halfway..” He had started. With Soshiro gently hooking his arms underneath the knees of your legs. And just as soon as you were an inch off of the ground. You winced.

Your teeth gritted together as you tried not to cry from the pain you felt when your body had raised from the ground. His hands, although they had been careful, were far too firm against the cuts on your body.

And the pain on your back, where the glass shard had punctured your organs, had a burning sensation you wished would go away.

Soshiro who had seen the way you panicked. Stopped in his actions. Putting you back down on the ground where his leg had cushioned your bleeding head.

“I know, I know jus’ bear with me, alright? Keep your pretty eyes open.” The string of curses never left Soshiro's lips. And his hand which had gently held the cheek where the respiratory mask met the skin of your pale face. Hoping that your breaths would get steadier. The mask recording all the slow inhales you'd take.

In and out. Labored but at least it was still there.

“Breathe..jus’ breathe for me, okay?”

Your eyes had tried to blink rapidly to remove the fatigue you had felt. But somehow, you were fighting a losing battle. And you couldn't help but give into the darkness. The fatigue would feel much nicer since you didn't have to worry about the pain. And with your lover here. It was okay to relax now. No longer did you need to have your guard up to combat the fight or flight situation.

And Soshiro found himself panicking even more at the way your eyes grew distant. Screaming at his intercoms for a medic on-field. Likely already on their way to the location he had sent to Operations moments prior. Okonogi in particular was trying to reassure the Vice Captain, but to no avail.

Not when his focus had all but fixated on your wellbeing. Eyes already closed as you drifted to an unconscious state.

His hand had reached down to your cheek. Already running circles against the bags of your eyes. Running across the dried tears that brimmed your eyes. Denying that this moment had a possibility to be your last.

And without hesitation, he started lifting you up again. This time not a peep from your mouth.

He was gonna fucking take you to the neareat hospital himself if he had to.

Like hell he was going to let you die. Right?

Right?

“Shit. This ain’t funny. Wake–Wake up!”

He hears Okonogi speak on the other side. Something about how a few officers had already turned the corner nearest their location. And he found himself running to their direction, your head leaning against his shoulder leaving small blood stains on Number 10's plated armor.

Help was close. But Soshiro's mind wasn't eased by that fact. Not at all relieved.

Not when your head had still been bleeding and a shard of glass as large as his hand had been punctured just below the small of your back.

And as he ran, he had wondered what he could've done to avoid this.

Should he not have asked you to go out today?

No.

You had been far too eager for this moment. It had been his fault for neglecting you. For not prioritizing the wave of affections you gave him in turn.

He had promised himself that he was gonna cherish you. Dedicate entire days just for you.

And yet here he was. With his plans, ruined beyond repair. And he finds himself going back to the root of his bad habits.

His work, his ambition to be seen as someone capable. Someone who existed in the hands of the world who did not see his strength and dedication. It had held him by the collar, forcing him to face elsewhere. Trapped him from doing right by you.

And now?

His bad habits had now suffered the consequences of his actions. No longer did he have the chance to do everything once over.

And his apologies had fallen to deaf ears. Hoping for the chance you'd get to hear him again.

He had a bad habit of doing you wrong. And now, he hopes you'd be awake so he can set things right.

#anime #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #kaiju no 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #angst

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otomegamesforlife · 3 months ago

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Sympathetic Pregnancy 2/4: [Rafayel x Reader]

The boys are in for a surprise when they start experiencing sympathetic pregnancy symptoms—before they even realize you’re expecting! One shots of how the chaos unfolds: Completed:

Zayne: Completely baffled and convinced something’s off with his medical expertise. A03 link here

Rafayel: Turns into the biggest baby (as if he isn't already) A03 link here

Xavier: Positive he’s at death’s door (spoiler: he’s not). A03 link here

In-Progress:

Sylus: Frantically consulting underground doctors, fearing it’s a core malfunction.

Each reaction is uniquely ridiculous, but they all prove just how in sync they are with you—whether they like it or not!

"Couvade syndrome, also called sympathetic pregnancy, is a proposed condition in which an expectant father experiences some of the same symptoms and behavior as his pregnant partner. These most often include major weight gain, altered hormone levels, morning nausea, and disturbed sleep patterns- Wikipedia"

Rafayel’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest, much like the exaggerated antics in that Tom and Jerry show you’d introduced him to. He gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. “If you want me to die, just say so!”

You blinked, pretending innocence before a mischievous grin spread across your face. Rafayel could already tell you knew you were forgiven. “Scaredy cat.”

“I am not!” Rafayel pouted, though the slight tremor in his voice gave away his lingering surprise. You leaned into him, your familiar scent pulling him back to reality, making it impossible for him to stay mad. “You’re just too light on your feet. It’s not fair.”

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes sparkling playfully. “It’s not my fault everything here is carpeted. Nothing makes a sound! Maybe you’re just too jumpy. I barely poked you.”

Rafayel huffed, trying to regain some of his dignity as he turned off the stove. “As if you remember to wear slippers inside. I made everything carpeted for you, and now it’s backfiring on me.”

“You’re the one who loves being barefoot,” you pointed out, a teasing smile on your lips as you lightly tapped his nose. “Don’t blame me for picking up your habits.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he gently pulled you away from the stove, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you against the counter. “Did you sleep?” he murmured, nuzzling against your neck, his tone softening.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, nestling closer. “I woke up when you were still asleep and got hungry. Craved shrimp.”

“What if I cooked something else?” Rafayel pulled back slightly, giving you a mock look of disbelief. “You’d cook your own food? Scandalous!”

“I would’ve let you know if you weren’t sleeping,” you said, your reproach more affectionate than accusatory.

Rafayel rolled his eyes dramatically. “I would have woken up for you!” His hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin as he studied your face with exaggerated worry.

“But… Aren’t you still sleepy most of the time?” You cupped his cheek in return, your playful demeanor shifting to concern.

Rafayel met your gaze, his bravado fading. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whine. “I’m so sleepy. If I get any more sleepy, I’ll be Sleeping Beauty!”

You rolled your eyes, but the concern didn’t leave your expression. “Like I don’t kiss you awake enough,” you teased, bopping his nose playfully.

“Not enough,” Rafayel grumbled, pouting. “You’re stingy with your kisses. Always just a peck, I barely felt it! How is that fair?”

You shook your head in mock disbelief before returning to the issue at hand. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

He groaned dramatically. “Hospitals?! I don’t wanna go. They’re cold, smell like antiseptic, and the lights are too bright! It’s like being in a horror movie!”

You crossed your arms, unfazed by his antics. “You can just stay home and take care of me! You’re much better than any doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor, Rafayel.”

“You’re more than enough! You even had that license thingy,” Rafayel insisted, leaning into your touch.

You tapped his nose playfully. “That’s a first aid certification. Not even close.”

“No,” he whined, holding onto you like a lifeline. “I don’t wanna go.”

“That never worked, you know. You think it will now?” you said, your tone gentle but firm. “But this feels like one of your ebb days. Let’s see the doctor, yeah? I’ll take a day off and stay with you.”

Rafayel’s pout deepened as he tried one last attempt at bargaining. “2 days off, all day and night?”

You nodded, your resolve softening. “okay.”

It should have been suggestive, but this time it wasn’t. He simply wanted to sleep it off and have you there beside him.

Rafayel groaned inwardly as the nurse—a stern woman who once dubbed him “such a Romeo” with an exasperated shake of her head—fixed him with a disapproving glare. He was pouring his heart out about his symptoms, and she looked at him as if he were reciting bad poetry. Her gaze flicked to you, silently questioning the sanity of anyone who would willingly accompany Rafayel to the doctor. You, however, seemed resigned to your fate, especially since you were here for your bi-monthly check-up for the association.

In the waiting room, Rafayel fidgeted, his fingers intertwined with yours. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the stark white walls and the faint scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. “This place feels like a mausoleum,” he muttered, his voice low and dramatic, as though the walls themselves were closing in on him.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s not that bad. And we’re here to make sure you’re okay.”

“But what if they find something terrible?” Rafayel’s voice wavered, the dramatic edge sharpening as his imagination ran wild. “What if I’m slowly wasting away? I’d be like a tragic hero in one of those old novels—forever tormented, misunderstood, and doomed to a slow demise.”

Before you could soothe his nerves, an elderly woman sitting nearby leaned in with a warm smile. “Sounds like your husband loves you very much, young lady,” she said kindly.

Rafayel blinked, momentarily stunned. “I’m sorry?”

The woman chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a secret understanding. “I’m a firm believer that your husband,” she nodded toward your joined hands, “is just getting your symptoms because he loves you so much.”

Rafayel squinted, suspicion coloring his tone. “How is that even scientific?” He wasn’t convinced; the woman’s dignified demeanor did little to reassure him that this wasn’t some whimsical tale.

Her chuckle deepened. “You sound exactly like him.”

“Him?” Rafayel started, but before he could ask, an elderly man in a lab coat approached, a friendly smile on his face.

“I know that tone,” he said, offering his hand to the woman. “What did I do again this time, dear?”

“Well, it’s not you this time. Kind of. Remember Couvade syndrome?” She took his hand, a smirk playing on her lips as if they shared an inside joke.

The man turned to you and Rafayel, his smile broadening. “Trust me, it’s real. Congratulations, by the way. We’ll leave you both now.” He then gently guided the woman away.

Rafayel watched them go, his indignation mounting. “She’s not even a patient!” he whispered loudly, as if the very idea was an affront to his sense of justice. “And she’s here?”

His frown deepened, a mix of confusion and irritation bubbling up. What were they congratulating them for? But before Rafayel could ask more, a nurse called them in to see Dr. Greyson.

Dr. Greyson greeted them with a knowing smile, the kind that suggested he had already heard all about Rafayel’s theatrics. “I heard my parents already diagnosed you outside?”

“Your parents? I knew they looked familiar— Wait, what do you mean diagnosed me? Couvade something? That’s all they said, and it meant nothing! I’m exhausted, like I was born to sleep. Am I dying?”

Dr. Greyson, clearly amused, fought to keep a straight face. He patiently explained the situation, and as Rafayel listened, the pieces slowly fell into place. The matching wide-eyed expressions you and Rafayel shared only made the doctor’s amusement grow.

“Wait, I’m pregnant?” you blurted out, your surprise evident.

“You are,” Dr. Greyson confirmed with a smile, pulling out the results and handing them to you. The room seemed to spin for a moment as the news sank in, the reality of the situation dawning on both of you.

Rafayel stared at the doctor, then at you, then back at the doctor, his dramatic flair momentarily eclipsed by sheer bewilderment. “A baby…” he finally managed, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

Dr. Greyson’s chuckle broke the tension. “Congratulations, you two,” he said warmly, leaving Rafayel to process the news in his own unique way.

“So you’re expecting, and he loves you so much—which we already knew—and now he’s getting all the symptoms?” Thomas summarized, amusement lacing his tone. Of course, Thomas would find this funny. Rafayel wasn’t laughing.

Rafayel's mind was spinning, trying to grasp the absurdity of it all. You were pregnant—that was the joyous part. But this? His bond with you, the one he had vowed to strengthen every day for the past three years, had decided to manifest in the most bizarre way possible.

“Why are you treating this like it’s nothing?” Rafayel accused, feeling a rush of betrayal as he looked between you and Thomas. Weren’t you supposed to be on his side?

You squeezed his hand, halting his restless pacing. “We’re not treating it like it’s nothing, darling; we’re just trying to wrap our heads around it.”

Rafayel gaped at you, his mind scrambling for a logical explanation. “You seriously don’t believe I love you so much that I’m in pain because of it?”

Thomas, sensing the rising panic in Rafayel’s voice, stepped in with a sigh. “Better get used to it. This is only the beginning.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrowed as Thomas patted your shoulder. “Stop touching my wife, I’m right here!” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the situation finally beginning to settle in. He slapped Thomas' hand away, protectiveness flaring.

You and Thomas exchanged a look—one of those infuriatingly knowing ones—before Thomas backed off with a grin, leaving you to pull Rafayel back to the couch. As soon as he sank into your embrace, the tension in his shoulders began to melt away, and he sighed, burying his face into the comfort of your presence.

“I know you love me so much, but this?” Your voice was soft, affectionate, as you snuggled closer. “Best husband ever. You deserve more cuddles!”

Rafayel huffed, still processing the whirlwind of emotions. “Of course I am. I’m perfect.” He smirked, though the confusion in his eyes betrayed the bravado. “Cuddles,” he muttered, almost pouting, “like that would suffice.”

You played along, tracing lazy circles on his back. “Oh, pray tell, husband… what else do you want?”

“Kisses too,” Rafayel mumbled, his ears warming as he looked away, embarrassed by his own request. “You need to love me more now that you know.”

Your laughter was soft, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’d try, but you might combust!”

“Puh-lease, you’ve tried it before and it wasn’t even enough” Rafayel drawled, closing his eyes with a content smile as his hand continued to rub comforting circles on your back. “My threshold for your love is unlimited and adaptable.”

As you both relaxed, the absurdity of the situation faded into the background, replaced by a sense of warmth. “But a little fishie… I can’t wait,” you teased, looking at him with a playful accusation. “You’d both be diving down to the sea in no time, wouldn’t you?”

Rafayel’s smile widened, his pride swelling. “Their tail will be so beautiful! You should have seen mine. It was shiny and luminescent.”

“You have pictures?!” you asked, excitement lighting up your face.

“Of course!” Rafayel puffed up with pride. “I’ve got a whole album.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” you scolded lightly, though your tone held a playful edge. “I mean, having a reflective tail as a baby in the deep sea?”

Rafayel laughed, the sound bright and carefree. “No, my little conch shell, neon is ugly. It’s more like diamond hit by moonlight glow, and it repels deep-sea predators. Blinds them, actually.”

“Ah,” you nodded, taking it in. “So, it’s practical, not just flashy.”

“It’s also the easiest way to spot them,” Rafayel added with a grin.

You both ended up scrolling through his baby pictures, melting over how adorable he was back then. Each photo told a story, and as you shared laughs, Rafayel felt the remaining tension ease away, leaving only warmth.

Leaning into you, Rafayel traced patterns on your arm, his voice soft with contentment. “You know, despite everything, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Even if you’re always sleeping the day and night away now?”

“Anything for you”

I felt like him being sleepy will be a big change for him. So yeah. Big baby at your service * giggles* Also Dr. Greyson not Zayne because-- I love that man I can't hurt him like that, not when I'm the one in control! (I'm looking at you Infold)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace mc #lnds #lnds x reader #loveanddeepspace #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #love and deep space #Love and deepspace fluffs

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cozage · 2 years ago

Text

Responding to “I’m late"

Characters: f reader (gn terms!) x Luffy, Sanji, Shanks, Law

Cw: some pretty major angsty emotions in this. Spoilers for Dressrosa in Law's and WCI in Sanji's. Period talk

Total word count: 1k

He walks into your alls room and finds you sitting on the bed. You’re staring at the calendar on the far wall, still as a statue.

“I’m late,” you whisper to him.

Luffy

“Late for what?” Luffy isn’t clueless, but vague statements like that go over his head.

“My period, Luffy!” Your head falls into your hands, but he’s still struggling to fully connect the dots.

He tilts his head at you. He can tell you’re in distress and that worries him. “Is that normal?”

“Obviously not,” you growl. “Or else I wouldn’t be telling you that I might be pregnant!”

His eyes widen at that statement, and finally he rushes over to where you’re sitting on the bed. He curses himself for being so oblivious.

“How late are you?” He asks. There’s a slight urgency in his voice, but he’s trying to keep the panic down.

“A week and a half!” At that response, Luffy realizes he knows nothing about these kinds of things. “Should we go talk to Chopper?” He offers. He hates being so clueless and he knows he’s not helping much.

The way you’re looking at him makes him think that was also the wrong response. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m doing this all wrong.” He sits down next to you and puts his arm around your shoulder, leaning you in to him. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” You cried, and he rubs your arm soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “We have time to figure it out. And we will.”

Sanji

He should be over the moon. He should be ecstatic. He should be absolutely thrilled. But all he feels is dread.

He tries to hide it. He really does. But you can see it. Because that’s the first emotion you felt too.

“Sanji?” You call, trying to snap him out of the daze he’s in. But he’s frozen, just like you were.

All he can think of is how his mutated genes are now forming a new human. What if it turns out like his brothers? What if it has 20 fingers and 20 toes? What if you get sick like his mother?

“Sanji?” You call again, and this time he snaps out of his spiraling.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, and you can hear his voice tremble. He pulls out a cigarette and snaps open his lighter. Smoking is always an easy sign that he’s stressed.

“I don’t know,” you admit. He nods, and comes to sit on the bed with you.

His eyes look to your stomach, still trying to process it all. “We should go talk to Chopper. He’ll tell us if it’s something we need to worry about not. Maybe it’s just a weird month for you.”

You nod, and he takes your hand and leads you to the infirmary. He has to know, he has to prepare for the possibility. He can’t help but say a silent prayer to the universe on your way there for some kind of miracle.

Shanks

“I know,” he sighs. “You know?” You stare at him, shocked.

“Of course I know! I know your schedule!” He smiles, and his arm reaches down to take your hand. He pulls you to your feet, and then holds you close to him.

You rest your head against his chest and take an unsteady breath. “How do you feel?” He asks.

“Scared,” you say, and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. He hums at your statement, and you to stand there for a moment in silence.

He starts swaying you back at forth, as if the two of you are dancing without music.

He pulls you back and spins you around, and you laugh at his moves. He smiles when he hears your melody of joy, and you can see him relax a little bit.

He pulls you back into him, still swaying. “We’ll be at a new island in two days. How about we go to a doctor there and see if we can get some answers. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

You nod into his chest. You’re still terrified, but at least you have him by your side.

Law

He stands there, eyes moving between you and your stomach. “Late?” He questions. But he already knows.

You ask for Midol and a heating pad at the same time every month. He gives you back massages at the same time every month. But not this month.

You just nod, still staring at the calendar. He turns on his heels and runs out the door, leaving you alone.

He walks briskly through the hallways, trying to keep his nerves down. But his mind is racing. What if his child develops Amber Lead Disease? What if he passed it on to the baby somehow. It might be out of his system, but that doesn’t mean the lasting effects are gone from the disease.

He’s also scared for you. He knows how taxing pregnancy is, and being in a submarine isn’t something you should do if you were pregnant. The pressure of the sea floor, the dangers of being a pirate, there were so many risks that came with it all.

He grabs his sword and creates a room, and quickly shambles back to you. He finds you curled up in the bed crying, and realizes his mistake.

“Im sorry, y/n-ya,” he whispers, brushing your hair to the side. “I didn’t mean to leave you without saying anything.”

You dry your eyes and look up at him, still sniffling. “I’m scared, Law.”

“Let’s find out how scared we need to be, okay?” He guides your limbs to position you to lay flat on your back, and he holds the sword over you. “Scan.”

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ataraxiaspainting · 11 months ago

Text

Presentiment of Massacre.

Yan Geto x F Reader.

Synopsis: Of all the people in your village, why were you the only one spared?

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, major spoilers for the start of JJK S2, some not SFW implications, and violence/slight gore.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

“You can see them, can’t you?”

The man is tall, so much taller, so much taller than you who is curled up into a ball in the corner of your home, to hide, an intention that was more or less popped like a balloon. He is so much taller than the corpses littering the floor with their blood, their vomit, their tears. Gazing at the disarray with a mix of revulsion and frustration, he found himself devoid of any trace of it on his person, his exasperation evident as he muttered the word monkeys repeatedly along with quick, muffled talks of cleaning and baths and stains.

“Miss. You can see them, can’t you? The beings around us.”

As he receives no response once more, he pivots. A terrifying grin adorns his face, an unsettling visage that seems to transcend the boundaries of humanity. It appears as if it is a mere appendage, capable of detachment at whim, akin to a magnet or a metallic fragment. This facade, a deceptive guise, conceals the malevolent demon lurking beneath its surface.

“...I… Please… Please just ge-”

“Answer my question.” Interrupting, he maintains a sickeningly warm smile and tone, though his words possess an entirely different temperature. They are demanding. Frigid. For nothing burns quite like the icy cold. “I know you can, from the way you are looking around the room and hiding. Stop pretending you can’t.”

Even when his gaze was averted, his vigilance never wavered, always deciphering the motives behind your awkward, apprehensive behavior. He possesses an uncanny ability to interrogate as if presiding over a courtroom, posing probing inquiries that unveil the heart of the matter. Every response you offer seems to hold the power to determine your verdict: a life of freedom, confinement, or even death.

Opting for honesty may prove beneficial. It could potentially strengthen your position, although there are no guarantees. Contemplating the act of praying, you ponder its efficacy, hoping for assistance from any divine entity that may exist. You certainly wouldn't want to become another disfigured body within the grasp of the beast behind the man's monstrous jaws.

So, after weighing all of this out, your lips part instinctively.

“Ah, I knew it. Unlike these monkeys, you are worthy.” As a reaction to those two sentences, about a million thoughts and questions sprout in your mind. “You will be spared if you join us. You do not want to be rotting on top of these filthy monkey corpses, do you?”

In an instant, you vigorously shake your head, causing a fleeting sense of dizziness, as you promptly respond to his inquiry this time.

“I’ll… I’ll… do it.” As anticipated, the act of surrendering proved to be a complex experience, simultaneously challenging and effortless. This situation resembles a collision of opposing forces, resulting in a powerful and explosive event. However, due to an innate instinct and the familiarity acquired from past encounters with your inebriated father, you find yourself succumbing once again. “Anything.” You don’t think of saying that word specifically, and you regret it later than sooner. “Just… Just please. I want to live.”

A gentle pull brings you to your feet as his hand reaches out to grasp yours.

“I am glad you accepted my conditions. Very glad.” The man brushes his side bang out of his face, his grip becoming slightly looser. “I am Suguru, Suguru Geto. Now, what is your name, my new recruit?”

“...[First].” You whisper your name so softly, questioning whether Geto caught it. “Do I… Do I have to use that too? Because…”

“No, you don’t. Though if you want you can be taught to wield something, something weaker than this.”

He responded to your question as if you were a young child inquiring about the purchasing of infants from a retail establishment. “...But do I have to?”

Geto shook his head and called the beast with two waving fingers. It is a dragon, you think, from how long it is and how it has large white scales, even whiter teeth, and long golden hair partially stained red, and how its large blue eyes stared into your soul.

“That depends on the future.” He says, his grip dwindling even further. The monster disappears with another wave of his hand. He chuckles. “Depends mainly on what you do, and why you do it.”

“…What do you think I would do?”

“You’re not good at hiding your emotions, you know.” Something creeps up your thigh, and before you have the chance to scream he puts his hand on your mouth and his other hand grabs one of your arms. “That gives way to not being able to hide your plans very well. You’re planning on running the first chance you get, aren’t you? Before you do such a silly little thing, I must tell you that I can give you protection, and luxuries beyond your imagination… everyone and everything will bow down to you.”

He looks down at the slimy red thing with at least six eyes, the build and size similar to that of a basketball. Its lips were sucking on your flesh with words like love leaving them in between moments. That was the answer to your unspoken question.

“All you have to do is follow me, okay? No matter where I go, follow me. Do that, and your life will be so much better.”

From the look in his eyes, you already know he had already made the decision for you.

#aya abstractions #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere geto #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #yandere geto x reader #yandere suguru #yandere suguru geto

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pluvialpoet · 8 months ago

Text

bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @idyllcy @wicked-laugh @ul4lume

Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

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#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing fluff #dc titans #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

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starmapz · 6 months ago

Text

shame on me || chapter two || extortion

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. will have a happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 6.1k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The smell of cherry blossoms brought a smile to your face as sunlight spilled through the beautiful buds. It was your favorite time of the year and while you and Miriko didn't often share thoughts without intending to, you could feel the enjoyment and relaxation absolutely brimming from her soul. You didn't have it in you to cut her off completely during moments like this, even for both of your safety. Especially when in truth, this was what she enjoyed the most about a domestic life.

Your shoes scuffed quietly over the paved surface on the way to a small coffee shop. Nothing would hit the spot quite like tea on a day like this one.

A bell rings over your head as you push through the door of a small local shop. Smiling politely at the cashier, you order a London Fog. In a few short moments, you were sitting at a small table in the corner, browsing your phone while you quietly sip your tea. Every so often the small door bell would ring but you paid it little mind, sitting in your own world.

Every now and then you found yourself reflecting on the strange life you lived since Miriko awoke. It was too dangerous for you to live in the city, too dangerous for you to hold a normal job. You had gotten lucky that a wedding flower business had worked out at all for you, and even luckier that Miriko had graciously offered her gift to you to aid with that.

Even luckier was Miriko herself. What would have happened had she been a malicious curse? Would you have been put down by Gojo like so many other curses? Would Miriko have killed you? Would she have forced you to search for the remaining cursed object to awaken her after all these years? You often wondered why she seemed to have no interest in such a thing, but you weren't about to test your luck in asking. You trusted her with your life, and yet sometimes you found yourself fearing her. You often referred to her as a miracle, but there were moments that reminded you she was a curse.

The bell above the door jingles once more but you pay it no mind, focused on reading a book on your phone. That is, until Miriko’s warning of a curse-user catches your attention.

Raising your head, you lock eyes with an all-too-familiar white-haired man. At least, you assumed you were staring at one another from behind his black blindfold. A lump forms in your throat as he makes his way towards you without hesitation.

“Well if it isn’t miss y/n,” he greets you with a smug grin, pulling out the chair across from you and taking a seat without asking permission. He leans forward on the table, paying no mind to the frown you now dawned.

“I can’t help but feel like nothing I say to you ever seems to matter,” you grumble quietly, eyes narrowed behind your pink sunglasses. You cross your arms over your chest, setting your phone down on the table before you.

With a chuckle, the cocky man shrugs and leans back with arms crossed behind his head. “How’ve you been?”

Perplexed by the question, your features twist in confusion. Small talk? You didn’t know Gojo well but you knew well enough that he wasn’t one to seek you specifically out to chat, unless- oh shit. Had he come looking specifically for you? You swallow the lump in your throat at the realization that there was no world where he casually happened to stroll into your favorite coffee shop on the other end of town.

“What do you want, Gojo?”

His eyebrow raises at your hostility, though he’s quick to brush it off. “I want to know how you’ve been.” He grins as he pushes the two front feet of his chair off the ground.

“I was better five minutes ago,” you retort venomously, your eyes narrowed behind the tint of your rose glasses.

“Ouch,” he feigns hurt, “and here I thought I was reconnecting with an old friend.”

Shaking your head incredulously, you barely manage to keep your eyes from rolling. “Friends don’t kidnap each other.”

“Touché,” he hums, his smirk never once fading despite the topic. He leans forward, grabbing your tea and taking a sip to your complete and utter disbelief. The way he so confidently strode circles around you, how were you meant to make heads or tails of his actions? Could he possibly believe he had any good will left with you? Surely he knew he was in no place to be making requests of you after your last two meetings with him. And yet-

“Do you need something?” Your eyes widen slightly and you take in your surroundings, searching for other sorcerers, but there were none. Of course he had come on his own, this wasn’t a coincidence. Before he could respond, you questioned him further. “Wait, how did you find me? Did you follow me?” You lean forward as you accuse him of following you.

Matching your energy, your adversary leans forward on the table. “No, I didn’t follow you,” he grins, “I came to get coffee.” You had to fight the scoff in your throat at his blatant lie. “But now that I’ve got you here, I do have a favor to ask.”

This time you don’t fight the urge to roll your eyes, leaning back as you stare out the window. It’s too nice of a day to be getting harassed by Satoru Gojo. “You’re joking,” is all you mumble in response.

The white-haired man clicks his tongue. “Listen, I teach a group of students and one of them is just like you,” he says, his voice growing more serious. You dare to turn your gaze back towards him, examining the way he takes a sip of your tea as he leans in further. “The higher-ups want me to kill him when it comes to it. That’s not the world I want for this kid. That’s why I’m here.”

Given the Shibuya Incident a few months ago, you’re well aware of Sukuna’s vessel. Miriko was familiar with Sukuna and had filled you in on the details of the king of curses and his twenty cursed fingers.

“Gojo, if anything, you owe me after you showed up uninvited,” you respond exhaustedly. Gojo’s smirk falters as you rub your eyes in disbelief, blinking your eyes back open to see him still overly joyful. He was some asshole, expecting anything more from you given your current feelings towards him. “This isn’t my problem anyhow.”

“It will be,” his voice lowers. You stare discontentedly at him as he moves a hand through his snowy locks. “If he can’t control Sukuna when he gets the twentieth finger…” Gojo trails off, frowning. “I’ll win, of course,” he grins, narrowly missing your eyes rolling back into your head for what felt like the twentieth time this morning. His silence speaks volumes, the serious frown he dons all the information you need to know what he’s thinking.

“I’m not killing a kid,” you hiss, your voice low in the extremely public cafe setting. “You can tell me over and over it’s Sukuna, I am not-”

“I’m not asking you to,” he interrupts, letting out a long sigh. “It’s my job to prevent that outcome.”

There’s always a but.

“But,” he begins, leaning in further. “If I fail, if I can’t find a way to separate or defeat him,” he pauses again, lips parted. “I don’t think there’s anyone else capable of defeating him.”

You could only blink as you took in the information. Clearly he cared a great deal about his students. He was an asshole, not heartless. That became abundantly clear when he showed up at your door. You had to figure that he likely also believed that Miriko was whole, which you didn’t plan on correcting him about any time soon. On top of that, he was asking you for something that he didn’t understand the cost of. Sukuna’s death at the cost of your own life, of Miriko’s? Was that something you were willing to give?”

No. Do not humor him, y/n.

Miriko has been practically screaming since the moment he’d made the request, and you could do little more than ignore her despite the headache her outcries were bringing on.

“Let me get this straight,” you tell him, laying out the facts. “You want me to train the vessel to control Sukuna, or figure out how to separate them with my knowledge of being a vessel,” you glance up at him from where you were staring at what was once your London Fog. He nods, his carefree smirk returning. Oh how you hated that smirk and blindfold- “and if you fail, I have to kill him.”

“That about sums it up,” he grins all-too-cheerily.

“And if I say no?”

“Well, if Sukuna’s free you’ll end up fighting him at some point,” he shrugs slyly.

“So you’re extorting me,” you state blandly. “I agree and run the risk of having to kill someone, or I disagree and I run a bigger risk of killing someone.”

He shrugs, barely reacting. “Unless I succeed on my own,” his voice grows darker as he pulls his blindfold up just enough to see the sly glint in his eye. “But this is Sukuna we’re talking about.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you sigh. You weren’t left with much choice and between the draconic curse in your mind uttering obscenities at the man sat before you and the person in question both about to give you a headache, you could only rub your temples to attempt to alleviate your oncoming headache.

“If we both fail?”

He sits forward, nodding slowly. He had clearly considered the possibility whether he believed he would fail or not. “It’s a risk,” he admits. “But I have better odds this way.”

You ball your hand into a fist as you watch him take another sip of your London Fog. The audacity he had to walk in, take your drink, extort you, and all for what? An act of self-preservation? So that he stood a chance against Sukuna? He was using you. Your jaw clenches as you sigh, trying to contain your anger, your cursed energy flaring like a stoked fire.

That seems to be all he needs to see to realize he’s won as he gets to his feet, pushing your tea back across the table. “Careful, y/n,” he teases with a tilt of his head. “Wouldn’t want to lose control now, would we?” Miriko’s anger boiled alongside yours in your stomach, and you had to consider him incredibly lucky given that you were able to keep your own curse at bay. “Be packed, a driver will be at your place by noon,” he tells you as he strolls out the front door.

He never even ordered a coffee.

Liar.

–

You’d been dragging your feet on packing, debating the concept of leaving before a car could ever arrive. When it came down to it, he’d found you before and he would find you again. In fact, you had grown more and more certain over the past twenty four hours that he’d always had an eye on you, though you didn’t know enough about him or the Jujutsu Society to know exactly how.

The least you could be thankful for was that you rarely, if ever, used your technique beyond growing flowers for your business, a reversed version of your usual technique.

Your heart drops at the sound of tires rolling over the gravel path beyond your gate. Although Miriko didn’t say anything, you could feel her irritation growing. You didn’t share all of your thoughts or emotions with her unless they were strong, though with every encounter involving the head of the Gojo clan, you knew exactly how she felt at all times.

A knock at your front gate pulls your attention back to reality and with a wistful sigh, you make your way to the noise. Standing at the gate is a tall man with short black hair and glasses. He greets you kindly, introducing himself as Ijichi, and you greet him in return. He offers to take your bags and opens the back of the vehicle for you, turning with wide eyes as you begin to lead Taro into the vehicle.

“Oh, um, I don’t think-”

“No dog, no sorcerer,” you hiss unintentionally, feeling bad the moment it comes out. You sigh, composing yourself. “Sorry,” you grumble as he nods finally. He seems uneasy, though you suppose someone with as low of a cursed energy output as himself driving someone like you around would do that.

Each moment staring out the window left you longing for it to last longer. Just one extra moment back in your cozy cabin running your business. Anything to keep you away from Jujutsu Tech.

The school was tucked in the trees just on the outer edge of Tokyo, well-hidden by a barrier that seemed to allow your passage. As the car slowed to a halt, Gojo’s presence irked the curse hidden within you and you struggled to keep down the growing feeling of irritation, unsure if it was your own or Miriko’s emotions that were influencing you.

“Look who made it!” Gojo called excitedly, much to Miriko’s dismay. You had her on a short leash, choosing to suppress your cursed energy on the school grounds. You could only hope Gojo was keeping the majority of your secret beyond what was necessary to know about you. You shoot him a grim look before forcing a more agreeable smile to the woman who stood alongside Gojo. She wore a cute blue turtle neck with a long lab coat over it, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders. A toothpick hung from her lips, her tired eyes wrinkled at the corners as she smiled at you.

“Shoko, this is our newest special grade sorcerer, y/n,” he waves his hands in the air towards you. “This is Shoko,” he introduces you to her, “our resident doctor.”

She waves kindly at you. “Satoru mentioned you’ll be joining us for a bit so we set up a private cabin for you,” she tells you, waving somewhere behind her to where the cabin was set up.

As she speaks, Taro hops out of the car behind you, his happy demeanor changing in an instant to a growling one as he bares his teeth to Gojo. He’s a good boy. Still, you tell him to relax and he sits happily beside you.

“And who’s this?” Shoko greets your dog as her tone changes to one more fit to speak to a dog. You chuckle at the site, laughing.

“That’s Taro,” you introduce him. His tail happily swings from side to side as Shoko leans down to scratch behind his ears. Beyond you and Miriko, he wasn’t too familiar with other humans so the interaction was thrilling for him.

“Well isn’t he just the best? Yes you are!” She stands once again, composing herself as she gestures for you to follow with a calm smile. You spare a glance at Gojo as you gather your bags, who grins slyly at you. Choosing to ignore him, you snap your fingers as a signal for Taro to follow as you fall into step with Shoko.

Your eyes wander the length of the school grounds before you, mostly open fields with several massive buildings extending at their length. There was a group of six students sparring towards the end of the field, though the sight of one of them in particular caused you to pause.

“That’s a panda,” you state in bewilderment, hearing Shoko’s amused hum.

“He’s a student,” she tells you as though it’s completely normal, gesturing for you to continue following her.

“What have I gotten myself into?” You whisper quietly to yourself.

“So, where’d you come across Gojo? He mentioned you’re special grade, not many of you around,” Shoko comments casually, quietly eyeing you.

“I’m pretty sure he kidnapped me last year,” you bite your lip at the thought, “and then he extorted me.” Grimacing, you meet the shocked face of the woman who was leading you in the direction of a small cabin tucked away in the trees.

“Wow.” She gapes, shaking her head. “That’s a new low, even for him.”

“So he’s not always an asshole?”

Shoko laughs with a shake of her head. “No, but he could certainly do with a lesson in manners. He’s always been like that though, you get used to it.” She stops in front of the small cabin, turning towards you. “Wait, so how exactly did he convince you to help us if he’s kidnapped and extorted you?”

Shrugging, you set your bags down now that you were stopped. “The extortion was a part of this arrangement,” you state plainly, though you knew at the end of the day there was at least some bit of irony to this entire situation that Shoko couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Well, Gojo’s a dick, but I promise he does have good intentions,” catching your raised eyebrow, she continues. “Either way, I’ll give him a good smack for ya.”

You sigh with a small chuckle. “Thanks, Shoko.”

She gives you a tour of your small cabin, letting you know where she and everyone else would be situated should you need them. Shoko’s infirmary was in the building just across the field from your cabin, while Gojo’s own cabin was in view of yours. Turning to leave, you hesitantly stop her.

“Hey, what’s special grade?”

Her eyes widen in shock that you aren’t aware, uncertainty flashing momentarily in her eyes as she explains to you the meaning of your assigned grade and how few other sorcerers had such a class.

You thank her quietly as she makes her way out to the infirmary, turning back to your new house. Your new home. Light sifts through the sheer curtains that hang on the window above the kitchen sink, a warm glow illuminating the wooden interior of the small cabin. The cabin had a full kitchen to your right, a dining table placed towards the back of the kitchen area and a small living room with a television and couch to your right. Stairs cascaded up from the corner behind the dining room table to a loft with a queen bed and a small night stand on either side adorned with a lamp. There was even a dog bed in the corner of the room.

In all honesty, it left you a bit shocked. Although tucked away in the trees, there was lots of space for Taro to explore and even for you to grow flowers should you desire to.

On top of that, Shoko seemed nice which you were grateful for, and figured should you need any help you would be able to go to her rather than Gojo, which you were grateful for. The only difference that was beginning to get to you was how lonely it felt in comparison to your home. Despite the amount of people here, Miriko had grown very quiet. It was unnerving, but you weren’t about to push her given how uncomfortable you both were with the situation.

Maybe she would come around later.

–

Holding your hand out, Taro excitedly drops his favorite ball into your hand, his tail wagging wildly. Giving it a toss, you smile as he dashes away after it. The golden rays of the setting sun shone on the Rottweiler’s gorgeous black fur, and you were so caught up with his enjoyment that you didn’t notice someone approaching.

“Do they have a name?”

Jumping in surprise, you stare in shock at the tall blonde man standing at the edge of the steps you were sitting on.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly, no longer focused on Taro. Examining the blonde, you notice he’s wearing a light blue button up with slacks, as well as a yellow tie. From the way he’s standing, you can only see one side of him, but the straps across the side of his head tell you he’s got an eye patch as well.

“No worries, I wasn’t paying attention,” you forgive him quickly with a dismissive smile. “That’s Taro.”

The blonde turns his head to face you and you’re able to see his entire left side appears to be covered in scar tissue. Is this what it’s like to be a sorcerer?

“Nanami Kento,” he introduces himself, watching with mild amusement as your dog barrels excitedly towards him, doing small spins as he drops the ball he’d been chasing at Nanami’s feet.

You introduce yourself in turn and Nanami nods, committing the name to memory as he adjusts his sleeve and throws the ball for Taro.

“I hear you’re-” Nanami begins, though you interrupt him.

“Yeah, I’m special grade.”

“-Quite the flower connoisseur.”

You stare at one another, your mouth agape at how rude you had accidentally been. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed-” you desperately try to backtrack, but Nanami shakes his head.

“I understand,” he shoots you a lopsided smile. “Gojo did also inform everyone of that, to my knowledge.”

“Right,” you mutter wistfully. A breeze ruffles Nanami’s carefully coiffed blonde hair as he carefully observes you. The way his deep brown eyes quietly examined you should have sent a feeling of unease through you, but his presence was oddly calming.

“You should make use of the yard,” he motions to the grassy area Taro was barreling around, vigorously shaking a toy. “It’ll be a nice change of scenery around here.” He tells you before curtly waving and heading on his way.

He seems nice, you think to yourself, leaving the thought open for Miriko to respond, although she doesn’t. You head back inside to get settled for the night, only managing to throw your hair up into a bun before someone is already at your door.

Your visitor calls your name and you groan in response. No matter how hard you tried, there was no escaping Gojo.

If I ignore him, will he leave? You ask Miriko, hoping that maybe just this once she’ll respond.

Surely, to your surprise she does.

Continuing to clean and unpack, you ignore the sing-song tone Gojo uses as he calls your name and continues to knock.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there,” he calls as he knocks again. Completely suppressing your cursed energy, you begin moving slow and quiet in hopes he’ll get the message. “Cursed energy doesn’t change the fact that you’re in there and you hear me.” With an irritated sigh, you stop suppressing your cursed energy, able to connect to Miriko again.

I will kill him.

You chuckle at the Death curse, sighing as you open your door.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to come with me,” he grins from where he’s leaning against your doorway. He no longer has on his blindfold, his blue eyes peeking at you from over his black shades. You glance at the clock, shaking your head. “No chance, I’m gonna read and go to bed. It’s already eight.”

“How old are you? Exactly, it’s only eight, you’re coming with me.” He beckons you along with him, turning to wait for you on the steps. You grimace, flipping your gaze back towards the cabin to find an excuse, but Gojo catches on too quickly. “Nuh uh, c’mon,” he beckons again. Silently complying, you let out a breath and lock your food behind you, keeping a small distance between you and him.

“How’re ya settling in?” He asks, glancing in your direction.

“Been better.”

Gojo wasn’t a fool. He knew you were being short with him. He was well aware you weren’t his biggest fan, though he had done what he needed to do in order to keep an eye on you and put in place a contingency plan.

“Aw, c’mon!” He grins, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turns to face you, walking backwards. He catches the way your eyes narrow at him from behind your own glasses, choosing to ignore the look. “I’m doing you a favor if you think about it.”

“I’d love to hear how you think you’re doing me a favor. Really, amuse me,” you spit out, rolling your eyes as Miriko’s anger fuelled your own. It was hard to ignore her emotions when they were practically running through your veins when they were strong.

“Well, for starters you’re surrounded by just about the best there are for bodyguards,” he motions cockily to himself. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You could potentially save some lives,” he muses, “and to top it all off, you have a great cabin and don’t need to hide anymore.”

The audacity that this man had to suggest that you, a vessel that no one knew of, who lived a life in a beautiful cottage of your own creation outside of town, had the option not to hide in the cabin you didn’t want to be in to begin with. You hadn’t realized your feet had planted themselves on the ground as you stared at the white-haired asshole in disbelief.

“You’re kidding, right?” Your words come out far more hurt than you intend. “You took my safety from me over a year ago. You, single-handedly, took my safety, you took my life, and now-” you find yourself choking on your words as anger bubbles in your throat. You step forward, pointing a forefinger straight at Gojo’s chest, though it never connects with him due to a force you can't see. “Now I’m in more danger than I ever have been! I’m surrounded by people who don’t know what I am, who don’t know what I can do, who don’t know why I was hiding to begin with, and it’s all because of you!” You growl, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight tears now that you were full-on yelling at the taller man. And that only makes you angrier, what person wants to cry when they’re yelling? “And you know what, Gojo? To top it all off, the only reason I’m here at all is because you decided if someone had to kill a child, it may as well be me,” your words drip with venom, shoving your finger nearly against his chest. Your body begins to shake but you don't waver, burning red eyes looking for a sign that he felt even a little bit bad.

The sign never came, though. He stood before you, letting you vent your anger at him with little more than a frown. He doesn't respond, just stands before you in silence. The worst part is that you want him to react. You want him to yell back. You want him to feel something about what he had done to you. You want a reason to leave, a reason for him to let you leave. But still, he stands in dead-still silence. His piercing blue irises are hidden by his sunglasses in the darkness that surrounds you both and you can't make out anything about his expression.

Letting your hand hang back at your side, you drop your gaze to stare at your feet. Your chest heaves as you struggle to regain your composure, teeth gritted furiously. Silence surrounds you both, only interrupted by the sounds of summer cicada and the occasional whistle of the breeze. The cool night air is brisk, but a welcome feeling against your warm skin.

Taking one last glance up at Gojo, you watch as he simply turns to leave, heading along in the direction he was leading you.

“I- I’m going back to the cabin,” you stammer, stumbling back in the direction you came, struggling not to cry. You didn’t catch him turn back towards you, hands in his pockets again.

“Look, I don’t care what you do,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “but Shoko sent me to get you. She put together a fire with faculty staff.” Your gaze falls to the ground, though you were listening. Your brow furrows when you realize he almost sounds hurt. “Besides, you should probably meet the people you’re workin’ for.” And with that, he turns away from you and begins walking back to the fire. Holding your head in your hands for a moment as you let out a deep sigh, you wipe the tears from your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself down and very slowly follow Gojo, keeping enough distance that he wouldn’t talk to you. Admittedly, you hadn’t realized it wasn’t him you were working for, so it did make sense to meet everyone while they were all gathered.

You approach a corner towards the back of one of the buildings, light dancing across the ground the closer you get. Fire licks at the night sky, sparks disappearing among the stars above as you pause with a wry smile.

“Y/N!” Shoko calls, waving you over to her. Relief washes over you as she drags a camping chair close to her. You’re glad to find Gojo settling opposite the fire to where Shoko beckons you. Several other voices of different faculty members greet you as you pass by, the only person rising to greet you was a man who appeared older than the rest of you were.

“Yaga Masimichi, nice to meet you,” he bows, pleased as you introduce yourself and bow back. “Thank you for your assistance, I’ve heard good things from Gojo.” You nod, forcing a smile at the mention of Gojo’s name. The man sits back down and allows you to take a seat beside Shoko. Nanami’s to your other side, and as parties weren’t your usual scene, not to mention that you weren’t in the greatest mood, you were grateful for the two somewhat familiar faces.

You were quickly introduced to Choso, Nitta, Ijichi, and Atsuya, although you were familiar with Ijichi from the ride here. You introduce yourself only for your heart to drop as questions are immediately thrown your way from the faculty members you were just meeting.

“I hear you’re special grade,” Nitta comments.

“So I’ve been told,” you sigh, trying to mask your tiredness.

“Special grades don’t pop up outta nowhere,” Yaga comments, eyes narrowing. “‘Specially not at your age. How were you unregistered for so long?”

Heat creeps up your neck to your ears and you shoot Gojo a glance, unsure of what he had told his boss. Your boss. You gingerly move a strand of hair from your face, a strange sensation of being in trouble creeping up on you. The feeling was reminiscent of being back in school, something you certainly didn’t miss.

“She’s from outside the city, not many curses out there,” Gojo explains casually, which you’re thankful for. Given what he’d put you through it was the least he could do.

A waterfall of questions poured from the group at that, your eyes wide as you tried to get to everyone’s questions. Questions about where you were from, your hobbies, how you met Gojo, and your technique (which you did your best to avoid), were thrown at you from left and right. Nanami, Shoko, Choso, and Gojo stayed mostly quiet though Gojo smirked through the interaction. You were just relieved he kept his mouth shut for once.

Sensing your exhaustion at the onslaught of questions, Nanami tilts his head towards you, speaking only to you rather than the broader group. They had finally moved on to a topic apart from yourself and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You don’t need to stay here, you know,” the blonde quietly tells you. You meet his careful gaze in surprise, noticing now that he looks as tired as you feel. He leans back in his chair, looking equally as thrilled to be at the fire as you were.

“I mean,” you worried your lip between your teeth, “I should probably stay,” you reason. “After all, Shoko set this up as a welcome.”

Nanami’s brow furrows as he curiously tilts his head. “Satoru organized this for you.”

You stare blankly at Nanami, sparing a glance at Shoko who was deep in conversation with Choso. Gripping the arms of your chair, you shoot a nod at Nanami, getting to your feet and thanking everyone for the warm welcome before excusing yourself. Your gaze briefly lands on Gojo from behind your tinted glasses. Although you weren’t able to see his full expression from behind his black glasses, you noticed his smirk falter when he found your stare.

You turn back to Nanami, who was standing as well and he nods as a signal for you to lead the way.

“You don’t want to stay back?” You question curiously.

He shakes his head. “No, I have work tomorrow,” he explains. “And while I do often work out of Jujutsu Tech I’m not a part of the faculty staff.” You nod slowly, uncertain of how the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers works. “I don’t usually stick around past five,” he tells you, his eye fixed straight ahead.

“Sorry you’re here so late,” you apologize, though he shoots you a small smile.

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. A comfortable silence falls over you both as he walks you to your cabin in the dim moonlight. You tilt your head to get a better look at him, noticing that not unlike Shoko, he had a rather gaunt look to him as though he hadn’t slept in a long time. Even so, he carried himself in a much different way than Shoko did. He had a much more somber and serious attitude than it had seemed the rest of the faculty did.

“How long do you plan on staying?” He interrupts your thoughts, catching your stare. Heat rises to your cheeks as you realize you’d been caught.

“However long Gojo needs me, I guess,” you sigh quietly.

Eyebrow raised, Nanami turns his head to face you fully. “You aren’t here by choice?”

“You could say that,” you laugh dryly. The cool breeze blows through your hair as your cabin comes into view. “Gojo didn’t leave me with much of a choice.”

“I see. I suppose that was you arguing with Gojo earlier, then?”

You freeze, nearly tripping over your feet. “You heard that?”

Nanami stops, facing you as he quietly examines your features. “We couldn’t hear what you were saying, but we did hear the argument,” he explains. His vision follows you as you take off your sunglasses for a moment to rub your eyes before replacing them on the bridge of your nose. They didn’t make it easier to see the man in front of you in the dim moonlight but you certainly didn’t need to raise any suspicions regarding your eyes that weren’t unlike Gojo’s. Interrupting your thoughts, Nanami’s voice brought your attention back to the sorcerer in front of you. “May I ask you a question?”

You nod cautiously, almost certain he would question you about your technique.

“I recognize that it wasn’t your first choice to help Gojo and I can’t blame you for that,” he hums as he earns a wry smile from you. “However, do you plan on helping Itadori?”

“Itadori? Sukuna’s vessel?” Nanami nods. “Oh, um, I do.” You shuffle uncomfortably. “I don’t mean any harm.

“I didn’t assume you did,” Nanami turns back to continue leading the way to your cabin. He adjusts the tie around his neck to hang more loosely as he clears his throat. “Itadori could use a more reasonable mentor than Gojo. He’s brash and needs to learn when it’s best for him to stay back. He could use someone like you,” Nanami’s gaze softens and you catch a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “He’s a good kid.”

You smile softly in return. “I’ll do my best.”

Nanami hums, clearly satisfied with your response.

You come to a halt at your door, turning to face the kind sorcerer. “Thanks for walking me back.”

Nanami had stopped at the edge of your porch, nodding. “Here,” he holds his hand out, “let me leave you my number. Send for me if Gojo gives you too much trouble,” he offers. Heat rises to your cheeks, dusting your ears a rosy red that you could only hope he didn’t see in the moonlight.

“Oh, sure,” you agree as you hand him your phone. He has it for only a second before handing it back. “Thanks again,” you smile, turning to part ways.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || Thank you for all the love on the first chapter!! I've written and even finished more fics than I'd like to admit but just never seem to have the courage to post them so I appreciate all the love ♡

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thisisxli · 5 months ago

Text

𖣘Apricity𖣘

٭.・゜゜・*

Rs: Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem!reader

Warnings:

major character death,

slight heavy angst,

slight spoilers!

summary: Sanemi doesn't allow himself to get close to you. When he lets his guard down just for a second, things turn out the opposite way he wants them to.

wc: 1.5k

edit: btw Sanemi doesn't get reincarnated, he just has a descendant that's super similar to him :)

If you enjoyed and liked this post, you can go to my page and check out my other works! MASTERLIST /

ABOUT ME

Sanemi literally blatantly ignores you when you become part of the now nine-filled Hashira.

He wasn't biased, no, he was far from it.

He just didn't like how you made his heart pound. He was sick of it. He didn't have time for any lovey-dovey shit. He realizes that too, would only hold him back; one would end up dead and the other heart-brokened. Although he promises himself he would never let his partner be killed, theoretically, he would never forgive himself if he ever got them killed.

He knew he was a goner when he found himself above you, pounding you into the sheets like there was no tomorrow.

He avoided you after that. Of course, he didn't want to hurt your feelings, he knows he did, but he also knew he had to. He couldn't get close. No way. So when you came up to ask him, he said,

"I don't want anything to do with you."

His words were like swords driving through your heart. But, you understood. So you walked away with a shattered heart, his own broken one missing the warmth of yours.

Of course, he couldn't avoid you forever. Far from that. But he couldn't be nice to you either. But you went into a mission with the damn maroon-head teenager he found so aggravating. He was worried cause he knew that kid brought bad luck. Honestly, he swears that kid brings nothing but chaos.

When he found you unconscious, carried by the kakushi, he immediately rushed to your side. He ignored the kakushis' protests when he scooped you in his arms, quickly going to Shinobu for you to recover. He was nervous because your injuries seemed pretty serious. When he had Shinobu nurse your injuries, he almost stayed by your side the entire time. Excluding the time where Shinobu changed you into brand new clothes. Technically.. He has seen you naked before. But it was inappropriate. And he wouldn't know what to do if Shinobu saw him stay. Before Kanae's death, Shinobu had rather.. a bad-temper and was also rather off-putting.

It took you two days to wake up; of course, with Sanemi sitting by your side. He flinched when he saw your eyes open, both of your faces holding surprise.

"Sanemi?"

His breath hitched, looking down at your lap. "I just wanted to see how you were doing," he mutters, thickly swallowing his saliva. "How.. are you doing?" He looks up at you again when he doesn't get a response, a shocked grunt escaping him when he sees tears pouring from your eyes.

"I.. I..."

Quick like it was on instinct, he pulls you into his arms, hugging your head against his chest. "I was so.. so useless! I could barely-" you hiccup, "barely help Mitsuri! I was so distracted on saving the villagers, I got caught so off-guard when it snatched me off my feet and-" Sanemi pulls you in for a kiss.

You whimper, tears still streaming down. Your hands clutch onto his haori, feverishly returning his kiss before he disconnects them.

"Don't ever say that about yourself. You did what you can and that's final. There's no what you didn't do or couldn't do. You saved people. And that's all that matters."

You sob almost uncontrollably on his chest, one of his hands petting your hair. "You're more than enough."

Sanemi grins when he spars with you, wooden swords making a 'clack' sound each time they connected. Everyone had their Hashira training, even the actual Hashiras.

You, Sanemi, Obanai, even Muichiro, would spar at night, leaving bruises on your skins. You and Sanemi especially sparred the most, wooden swords moving at such a fast speed, bodies moving across the pebble courtyard.

He knocked you off your feet with a swift motion of his leg before catching you with one arm. He smirked at you and you only gave back a fond smile.

Forget losing all the damn lover bullshit. He had you now and he wants you. He gives in to his selfish needs and has you. Making sure Obanai and Muichiro weren't looking, he kisses you. You kiss back, scrunching your fingers through his silver hair.

Boy, was he so wrong.

He should've kept his distance from you. To ignore you and weaken your spirit with insults.

He should've never met you at all.

You were standing there, coughing blood out from your mouth. You were fighting Muzan. Everyone was fighting Muzan. It just happened to be you.

You,

The one whose body was penetrated by his arm.

Your vision was hazy and you were breathing haggardly. God, he couldn't believe it.

Muzan quickly removes his arm from your body, your blood splattering across the floor. You fall to your knees, your breath becoming heavier, blood seeping more onto your uniform. Sanemi quickly swoops you up before Muzan could attack you, laying you down against a wall of a building.

"Y-you..." Sanemi sputtered, anger etched across his features. His brother, now you?!

You smile softly at him.

His angry expression quickly fades away. He panics, his hands roaming above your body, ghosting above your touch. He was scared, like if he was gonna touch you, you'd instantly die. Tears were already falling from his eyes, eyebrows furrowing together until his forehead hurt. He shut his eyes tightly, hanging his head low, hyperventilating, praying this was all but just a dream.

He imagined a normal life with his siblings, being closer to Genya more than ever. Then he would find you, be with you, marry you, have kids with you, and grow old with you. Why was that so hard to have?

A sob rips out from his throat, feeling your hand cup his cheek. He looks up at you as you look back at him with those same fond eyes.

"I love you, Sanemi. You were all I could've asked for."

When your hand falls from his cheek, he shrills. Instantly, he holds your body close to his for comfort, hugging you tightly as if you were gonna disintegrate like his little brother. His heart hurts. Hurts so bad. It was so much to bear.

He kisses your temple before looking at you one last time, going back into battle.

He takes in his last breath, his only last and ever thought being you.

Sanehiro takes his patrol on the sidewalk, whistling as he watches the wind blows against blossomed trees. He loved this time of year-

"Crap... I'm so sorry!"

Someone had bumped into his chest. It was a woman. He sees her bowing at him which he waved off, a vein popping out in his temple. "Hey- it's no worries. Just-" he pauses, his face falling when he sees you rise, your face coming into his view.

You nervously fiddle with your fingers, chuckling. "That's good, I hope I wasn't any trouble for you sir. Or!- or a distraction!" You grin at him. He quickly takes his cap off, bowing at her. She flinches in surprise, watching him silently. "You're no distraction to me at all, miss," he says, standing up straight. He runs a hand through his silver hair, smiling at you fondly. You stare at him, mouth open. You quickly shake your head, chuckling awkwardly.

"Would you.. ever wanna hang out some time?" He perked up at your suggestion before nodding. You both exchange numbers before bidding farewell.

Oddly enough, you found yourself with a prideful and rude white-haired man. Again.

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sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Damn The Man, Save The Empire

(Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!GN!Reader

Heaven is a place we can't afford.

Summary:

Vanessa has always taken care of you.

Since the two of you were kids, she has put her neck on the line for you, and you rarely knew how to return that epic kindness. One night, while both of you are raw and on-edge, the dark cloud of your strange past looming over both of you nearly swallows both of you whole - and once again, Vanessa is right there, taking care of you.

(Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!Gender Neutral Reader. Toxic Co-Dependent Relationship. Smut and Angst. Takes place before the main timeline of the film (features spoilers for the movie).

Word Count: 6,100

Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic contains major spoilers for the film (even though it takes place before the main bulk of the film) - if you haven’t seen the movie yet and you want to watch it spoiler-free, be cautious; general toxic relationship - the two main characters have a very toxic relationship; there is a power imbalance in the relationship due to one of the characters being a police officer; both of the main characters have a lot of childhood trauma and they show it in their actions; there is underlying dom/sub dynamics - the reader is submissive and Vanessa is dominant; somewhat dubious consent - the whole interaction starts out as an argument rather than something explicitly sexual, but the reader still enjoys it the whole time (one of those safe, consensual, but not ‘sane’ situations). The reader’s gender is completely ambiguous - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours, and the reader’s genitals are described in a way that could be interpreted as the character being amab or afab, no specific gendered terms are used; mentions of the reader having sex with someone who is not Vanessa (a random unnamed man); mentions of the reader having sex in the back of someone’s car and being caught by a police officer who is not Vanessa (and then being passed off to Vanessa); dark!Vanessa, jealous!Vanessa, possessive!Vanessa (she hates that the reader had sex with someone else earlier that night).

The reader and Vanessa have been friends since childhood; mention of the reader drinking/ingesting alcohol - not enough to impair consent or impair the general senses; the reader calls Vanessa ‘Ness’ or ‘Nessa’ as a nickname; technically, Vanessa does ‘arrest’ the reader (she doesn’t bring the reader into a police station or file any official paperwork); Vanessa puts the reader in handcuffs in a non-sexual way, and later those handcuffs are used for sexual bondage; use of Y/N (and L/N, meaning Last Name); mention of the reader character stealing and doing other petty crimes; mentions of Vanessa’s childhood trauma - her father murdering children and forcing her to help cover it up (implications that she also participated in the killings in some way); the reader witnessed one of the killings as a child and has also kept it a secret; somewhat graphic descriptions of murder/a child being killed.

Some manhandling but nothing that would insist that Vanessa has inhuman strength; hair-pulling - kind of in a sexy way, kind of in a violent way; Vanessa literally steps on the reader (again, kind of violent, kind of sexy) - some breath restriction due to being stepped on; general pain kink; the characters in this fic have a poor attitude toward casual hook-ups; there is a hand on the neck but no purposeful choking (very little restriction of breath); nipple play - Vanessa painfully tugs the reader’s nipple; something like subspace is described, but the word ‘subspace’ isn’t specifically used; slight inspection kink; spanking - on the reader’s thighs and on the reader’s genitals; Vanessa calls the reader ��brat’; a lot of this could be seen as brat-taming/brat tamer!Vanessa; Vanessa uses her hand on the reader - because the reader’s genitals are not described, this could be interpreted as a handjob or fingering (but there are no mentions of penetration); Vanessa fucks herself against the reader’s thigh; Vanessa edges the reader (once); asking permission to orgasm; biting/marking kink; I believe that's finally everything.

A/N: This fic is named after a Pierce The Veil song of the same name. I definitely recommend listening to the song, because the lyrics fit with this fic so so well. A very large part of her characterization in this is informed by the 'if you bring Abby back here again, I will shoot you' moment from the movie - rage fuelled by compassion and love and protectiveness for another person. I really love that part and I think it's such an interesting aspect to her character. Also, I put a lot of thought into making this completely gender neutral, making sure the reader could be interpreted as amab or afab, so I hope that everyone enjoys it! Also - I know that it might be weird for Vanessa's nickname in this fic to be 'Ness' because that's the name of Matpat's diner character (named after a character in one of his theories??) but I think it's a cute nickname, and if I actually knew her, that's what I would call her. So I am going off the idea that neither of the characters in this fic know Ness the diner waiter, and the reader has just always called Vanessa 'Ness'. So - yeah.

...

“Get in the car.” Vanessa barked - the pure anger and annoyance in her voice echoed through the night.

You hated that it brought you a certain kind of warped joy.

She put a hand flat on your back, between your shoulder blades, and roughly shoved you toward the back bumper of her police cruiser.

You purposefully walked slower, just to mock her, and she let out a harsh sigh. You bit your lip to hold back a grin. At this point in your lives, this was just the nature of your relationship with your best friend. You didn’t just get under her skin, you lived there.

“God, I can’t believe you!” She shouted. “Public indecency? You’ve gotten in shit for some pretty stupid things, but having sex in the back of some random asshole’s car-?!”

“The back of someone’s car should not be considered ‘public’!” You argued, laughter edging on your voice.

It was difficult to take things seriously when you knew that the consequences wouldn’t be too severe. Vanessa always swooped in to save you. She would just bring you home, scold you a bit. But she wouldn’t do anything that would leave a lasting mark.

“Did you even know the guy you were fucking? Did you even use a fucking condom?” She screeched at you.

Did you know the guy? Sort of. Did you use a condom? Yes, you did.

But you were in the mood to annoy Vanessa even more.

You shrugged. “Why does it matter? Your stupid cop friend interrupted us before we could even finish, so-”

“Ugh, get in the car!”

She was lucky that Officer Lamontange had been on duty, and he owed her a favor. Anybody else would have slapped a pair of cuffs on you and hauled you to the station without a second thought. You’d be in processing by now, and you’d be in jail for the next few weeks before they could even get you a public defender.

But that was you and Vanessa. You fucked up, she stuck her neck out for you. This was probably going to be one time too many. This was going to be the one that got her fired. She had already been warned about letting you off, performing ‘special favors’.

“Get in the car!” You repeated back, mocking her voice in a silly way before you let out a chuckling howl.

So what? You liked to party. So what? Those parties got a little out of control.

It’s not your fault some uptight suburban yuppies called the cops on you for having fun. You didn’t even know that having an ‘open container’ of booze and having sex in the back of someone’s car was illegal anyway. Live and learn.

“God, how much have you had to drink?” Vanessa gritted through her teeth, low and full of breath, the way she always did when she was angry.

It was something that made your stomach twist and made you far dizzier than the alcohol did. You weren’t sure if it was from lust - from your underlying attraction toward her, or if it was from fear. Perhaps a bit of both.

“Let me smell your breath.” She demanded.

Truthfully, you hadn’t had that much to drink. One or two sips from a bottle, enough to get you a bit buzzed. You had been planning on having more later. But you were in a nagging mood, and didn’t want to give into her so easily.

“Ness, I’m not a fucking teenager-” You argued, still facing away from her as you trudged toward the car with lazy steps.

She put a hand on your elbow and whipped you around with a surprising strength, forcing you to face her. She was tight in your personal space before you could blink, and instinctively, you clamped your mouth closed and held your breath - though you knew that the smell of Jack Daniels would be apparent coming off your nose and lips whether you breathed on her or not.

“You’re not a teenager anymore, but you’re sure as fuck acting like one.” She said harshly.

You finally released your breath, giving another laugh and a shrug.

“At least I know how to have fun.” You argued, entirely careless about the situation.

You expected that you would get into the front seat of the car and she would drive you home. She’d probably make you drink some water before tucking you into bed, and you would fall asleep to her giving you a long lecture about responsibility. She would come by in the morning with coffee and bagels (despite the stereotypes about cops, Vanessa was not much of a donut person).

But instead of partaking in this predictable routine, Vanessa surprised you with her next move.

She put a hand in the middle of your back and shoved you toward the car again. This time you were closer - your stomach landed against the back bumper, and you let out a small grunt as you collided with it. You turned your head over your shoulder to question her, but before you could get any words out, she pulled one of your forearms to the middle of your back and you felt cold steel on your wrist.

“Y/N L/N, you’re under arrest for Public Intoxication and Public Indecency,” She announced, her voice deadly calm, and stern.

“Ness, you’re seriously arresting me?” You asked, insult and scorn running through your voice.

Her answer came in the form of her bringing your other wrist to the middle of your back - she joined it into the cuffs with the harsh, echoing grind of metal as the cuffs slid into place.

“You have the right to remain silent-” She said, continuing to go about the routine in a very unfeeling tone.

“You have the right to fuck off.” You bit back bitterly.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you-”

“Is that everything I’ve ever told you from when we were kids, or is that just starting now?” You asked, feeling spite rise up in you.

“Will you ever learn to shut up?” She replied with a sarcastic, spiteful question of her own, and grabbed you to bring you around to the back door of the car.

You heaved out a sigh as she opened the door. As she put a hand on the top of your head and tried to push you into the car, you resisted further.

“Ness, seriously?” You said, hoping one last push against her would get her to take off the cuffs.

“Just get in the car.” She repeated again, her voice entirely stern.

You sagged, and let yourself become pliant to her motions as she guided you into the backseat.

It wasn’t the first time you had been in the back of her police car. But it was always under other circumstances. If something else was occupying the front seat, like a large tool box or her gym bag, then she would make you sit in the back. Sometimes, if you were too drunk to sit up and she was afraid you would puke on her, then she would make you sit in the back. You found it to be a decent place to fall asleep.

However, this was the first time you had been in the backseat in handcuffs.

This was the first time she had officially arrested you.

You found it uncomfortable to sit with your wrists behind your back, but you knew that was currently the least of your problems. Vanessa leaned in, reaching for the seatbelt, ready to strap you in, fiddling with it for a moment before she grunted with frustration.

“The seatbelt back here is still broken.” She said through gritted teeth as she moved to stand at her full height outside the car. “Because someone insisted on-”

“Oh, shut up.” You barked back. “Where else was I supposed to strap in Sir Bearrington?”

A few weeks ago she had picked you up from a carnival.

You had been detained by security there for stealing a large lock box of money from one of the vendors - it had been out in the open, too tempting. When you had taken it with no real plan and simply started running, you had eventually been caught by the security staff on the grounds.

And when you had been locked up in the office, you had called Vanessa - and she had arrived to bail you out without question. Earlier in the night, you had won an oversized teddy bear and refused to give it up even when Vanessa insisted that it was stupid.

Apparently your insistence to try and strap the bear into her back seat, the ensuing argument the two of you had over it, grabbing the seatbelt and tugging at it - had broken the seatbelt. You hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.

“You’re not cute.” Vanessa mumbled, clearly disgruntled by the whole thing.

She slammed the back door closed, leaving you unrestrained in the back of the car, fully prone to be injured in a car accident. Though, you supposed she didn’t care about that with how angry she was at you right now.

She walked around to the front seat and got in, leaving the two of you in a sullen silence as she started the car and drove away. She didn’t even bother putting on the radio to buffer that silence, and you hated how much it made you feel like a child sitting in the principal’s office.

You stared at the back of her head through the metal mesh of the cage separating the front and the back - something that supposedly kept her safe from the dangerous criminal that you were. You felt a deep bitter ache form inside of you as all of it truly set in. With the handcuffs biting into your wrists and your fingers beginning to tingle with numbness, it truly hit you.

Vanessa wasn’t going to protect you anymore.

“You’re seriously bringing me in?” You choked out, not intending for the hurt to come through in your voice as much as it did.

“Yes.” Vanessa replied. “You did something wrong. You deserve to see justice.”

“Justice?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You sure have a funny sense of that.”

“How so?” Vanessa asked, her voice entirely timid.

She kept her eyes straight ahead, not daring to catch a glimpse of your disappointed face in the rearview mirror. She had a feeling that she knew what you were going to say, and she wasn’t going to like it.

“If you had any sense of justice, you wouldn’t have begged me not to rat out your father all those years ago.” You said, your voice choked off by emotion. “I would have told everyone what I saw, and he’d be in jail. You would have gone into foster care with some other family, and you’d be miles and miles away from this shithole town. And… I’d probably be in the psych ward. Making paper crafts with some nice woman named Martha.”

“Please don’t talk about my father.” Vanessa gritted out - it was a very tender spot for her, which was something that you already knew.

The day you met Vanessa was one of the worst days of your life.

It started out as a day that was entirely unassuming, at best. You had divorced parents, and when your father got you on weekends, he didn’t like to try too hard. He was the type of dad who turned on the TV and fell asleep, left you to your own devices. You liked it that way.

That weekend, he had brought you out. Freddy Fazbear’s was a place kids could have fun, and their parents could sit back and forget about them. You liked it there - just like any other kid would. You ran around, played arcade games, ate pizza. You gawked at the animatronic band and danced to their songs.

At one point, you ran into a shy little blond girl and she introduced herself to you as Vanessa. She told you that sometimes being at Freddy’s got boring for her because her father worked there and she was there all the time. She showed you all the best arcade games, and a hack to get a free play (unplugging them and plugging them back in, which reset them to ‘demo mode’). She even snuck behind the prize counter and got you a decoder ring that you had been admiring, but didn’t have enough tickets for.

The two of you had the best afternoon together. And you hated it when your father shouted your name and told you that you were going home. So you told him that you needed a spare minute to say goodbye to your new friend Vanessa. And then, innocently enough - you sought her out.

This search for her mistakenly led you into one of the back rooms.

The horrors you saw could barely be described. A Yellow Rabbit mascot missing its head. A twisted, laughing face covered in blood. A horrifically large knife plunging into a small body. Bright red, thick blood. Guts, flesh. Carnage.

Vanessa found you just as her father spotted you out of the corner of his eye. He came at you with the bloody knife at the ready. That crazed expression on his face was the most unforgettable thing about him. Whenever you closed your eyes and thought back to that day - the expression on his face was the thing that you remembered most.

Vanessa threw herself in front of you and begged for your life. The discussion between them that followed was a blur in your mind as your heart thumped hard between your ears. Something about ‘witnesses’ and ‘loose ends’. All you knew for certain was that Vanessa had saved your life.

At one point, using his large, yellow mascot hand, he thrust a knife toward her, forcing it into her small fist - and he told her that it was time for her to start ‘pulling her weight’. Vanessa took you by the wrist and took you to another room.

But you never felt afraid with her, not for a moment.

She made you swear not to tell anyone what you had seen, and you did. And because she just didn’t have it in her to take a life, especially not yours - she let you live.

It was too weekends later when your father brought you back to Freddy’s.

You were excited to see Vanessa. Her father was not excited to see you. When he pulled you into one of the back rooms and berated Vanessa about why you were still ‘around’ - you finally found your courage, and told him that you ‘wouldn’t tell’. The smile he gave you was almost as horrifying as the killing had been. He patted you on the head, and said that he liked loyalty ‘in his friends’.

The Bonnie plushie that he gave you - a kind of reward for your silence, felt tainted. You threw it away at the closest opportunity, but you kept the decoder ring. You still had it in your jewelry box, even to this day.

Strangely enough, that wasn’t the last time you saw Vanessa. The two of you spent more and more time together, quickly becoming best friends. You were two lost children in the world, two warped branches of a tree growing to lean on each other, desperate to find the sun. You were the only person who knew all of her dark secrets and didn’t care. You were the only person around her who wasn’t dead, or didn’t fear the rumors about her after Freddy’s shut down - even after she started going by her mother’s maiden name, desperate to escape the dark shadow her father had created over her life.

Being around Vanessa, spending more time with her - it meant that you did see her father in passing. Every time you did, it felt like seeing a ghost. It did feel like the man with the knife and the crazed expression on his face was a completely different person from the man with the thick glasses who sat across from you at the dinner table, offering you more peas and asking about how your classes were going.

Vanessa was always the same person. She was always stubborn. She was always a champion for the innocent. She was always someone who needed intense control over every aspect of her life. You thought she would have been destined to become a social worker - but you guessed that she had seen too many broken, dead kids for a lifetime. And she liked the security of having a gun on her belt. So that’s why she became a cop.

You became a highschool drop-out, part-time drunk, petty criminal, sex degenerate, and general failure.

It was a real case study of the two roads that trauma corrupted people can take. If anybody were ever willing to take a closer look.

Vanessa fuelled her anxiety and anger into going forward, charging ahead without thinking, and your anxiety and nightmares caused you to fall more and more backward by the minute.

“How is dear old daddy, by the way?” You asked, picking at the raw nerve out of spite. “Has he missed me at family dinners?”

“Shut up!” Vanessa barked. Then after a heavy moment, she let out another quiet, mousy sentence. “I haven’t seen him in years. You know that.”

“Oh, but your bank account says otherwise.” You replied, a cocky tone breaching through. “The new apartment is so nice. I know you’re not bankrolling all that on a cop’s salary. What kind of dirty work does he have you doing these days?”

Vanessa’s silence was painfully knowledgeable.

He had sucked her back in somehow.

“I knew that you always had a soft spot for him.” You sighed. “You probably wish he had gotten rid of me all those years ago, huh?” You mumbled quietly. “It’s not like you ever actually cared about me.”

Of course, you were feeling hurt by her putting you in handcuffs, threatening to turn you in, something that felt like the ultimate betrayal - so the words slipped out.

You were shocked when Vanessa slammed on the breaks and the car came to a screeching halt. It was lucky that you were on a desolate backroad with nobody else to rear-end you at the sudden stop. If not for your instincts (even while slightly inebriated) to put your foot against the cage, keeping yourself from smacking forward, then you likely would have had the harsh shape of that mesh imprinted on your cheek.

“I never cared about you?” Vanessa asked, her voice filled with an intense, dark rage.

You caught her eye in the rearview mirror, and save for the tears dancing on her waterline - she had a look almost identical to that same crazed look her father had worn all those years ago. You almost would have mocked her for it if you didn’t feel your stomach clenching up with fear.

You had to remind yourself that this was your Vanessa. This wasn’t him.

“I never cared about you?” She repeated, so utterly insulted by what you had said that she could feel her reality tearing apart. She almost could believe that you had said it.

“Vanessa-” You choked out, calling her by her full name for the first time in so long.

Before you could beg for mercy or apologize, she abruptly cut you off.

“No.” She said. “Shut up.”

The pure force of her voice sent chills through you, and this time you couldn’t help but to comply.

You sat in a dizzying silence as she slammed on the gas pedal again, and the car went speeding off. She seemed very determined with where she was going. After a minute or two, where you were becoming increasingly light-headed from your worry, Vanessa whipped the cruiser into an empty lot - a random patch of old pavement that looked like it was on the back end of a place used to keep scrap cars.

It was dark and secluded. Nobody would find you here.

She turned off the car and got out, and the back door was open before you could blink.

“Vanes-”

You tried to speak to her again, but she reached into the back and grabbed you harshly. One hand tight in your hair, fierce, like a catty teenage fight, and the other on the collar of your crappy old band shirt. She tore your body out of the car (once again, her strength amazed you), stretching out the neck of your shirt in the process. You pattered along with your feet, struggling to keep up and whining in pain as she tugged harshly on your roots, likely pulling hair out in some places.

You would deny that you liked the pain, especially when it was inflicted onto you by her.

She tossed you onto the ground and the roughness of the pavement bit into your skin. You let out a sharp groan as you felt some of the skin on your elbow being scraped away.

“Ness-”

Before you could speak, she put a hefty boot on your hip and turned you over, turning you over onto your back. She then pushed that boot into the middle of your stomach, forcing all the air out of you. With the force pushing down on you, your arms became numb as your hands got pushed into the pavement, the metal of the cuffs biting into your wrists even more now.

You looked up the length of her body at her, admiring her like a monument in the darkness. Oddly enough, equal parts fear and lust tingled through you as you had nothing but her in your view. Your mind became hazy from the grounding weight of her boot pushing down against the middle of your body. She was a goddess - piercing blue eyes, glassy and crazed, and the swell of her breasts, tightly pressed against her blue uniform shirt, the slight of her shoulders just barely blocking out the inky blue of the night sky as she towered over you.

You knew that she could have killed you. She could have easily shot you and left your body there, and nobody would have cared about a petty criminal fuck-up like you turning up dead.

But in that moment, you weren’t afraid. You never had to be afraid with her.

“Vanessa-”

“Shut. Up.” She ground out, the words harsh through her teeth.

She pressed her foot down slightly, causing you to moan out in pain.

“Do not, for a moment, even begin to judge-” She almost choked on the words, grinding like harsh knives against her throat. “Do not begin to perceive how much I do or do not care about you.” She said, the words harsh and venomous in the cool air. “If I didn’t care about you, you would fucking know it.”

You knew there was more to it, more waiting on her tongue. Words she couldn’t say.

‘If I didn’t care about you, you wouldn’t be here right now.’

You were lucky to have her. You knew that.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked out, finding it hard to breathe around the boot pressing into your diaphragm.

Once again, this reminded you of her power over you - the way she towered over you like a proud monument. You hated the fact that even as you struggled for air, you felt a demanding need growing between your thighs.

It certainly didn’t help that you hadn’t been able to cum earlier. Like you had said, you had been interrupted before you and your ‘friend’ (acquaintance, a random guy you kind of knew) could finish up. And although you hadn’t been expecting that to be a very satisfying sexual encounter, you were hoping for it to be distracting and take the edge off of your general horniness, at the very least.

Now you were here - unintentionally edged and hornier than ever.

“Yeah, I’ll show you sorry.” Vanessa muttered, that anger still ripe on her breath.

You thought maybe she would hit you.

It wouldn’t be the first time that the two of you had gotten into a physical fight, volatile and wonderful as your relationship was. You did think it was unfair that this time you were so unmatched, with your hands cuffed behind your back. But she surprised you when, instead of punching you, she took her foot off your stomach completely. And then she came down to straddle you, sitting on that same sore spot above your waistband where her foot had just been.

Oh, so it was that kind of sorry.

This wouldn’t be the first time you and Vanessa had sex either. Frankly, you should have been expecting this.

A lot of your arguments with Vanessa ended in fistfighting - or fucking. Sometimes a combination of both.

She glared down the length of her body at you and you were aggravated. She wasn’t sitting low enough on your waist for you to grind yourself against her, to get any good friction where you needed it most. You whined with torment and pain as more pressure, the whole weight of her body and yours was put on your cuffed wrists and they were pushed into the ground.

Your wrists were going to be so fucked - but you tried to make that a problem for your later self.

You squirmed helplessly, trying to get more comfortable. Vanessa put a stop to your movements with a hand around your neck, shoving your head backwards into the pavement. You instantly stilled against the tightness of her fingers, especially as she pressed into the tender point at the side of your jaw with her thumb.

She didn’t apply any intense pressure - as long as you sat with your head back and stayed still, she only used the touch to make you pliant and trap you there.

She put her other hand above your head and leaned down slightly, creating a looming shadow over you as she spoke.

“Do not ever accuse me of not caring about you.” She said, her voice still painted dark with anger. “Do you think that random guy you were fucking cared about you?”

You knew the question was a trap.

“No.” You said, your voice the timid one now.

“Do you think he would give a shit if you live or die?” She asked, moving her free hand to skim her knuckles across the side of your cheek - a touch so gentle that it made you shiver. “Do you think he would give his life for yours?”

“No.” You whimpered in return, feeling that aching need between your thighs growing more hot and prominent.

“Do you think he would even give a fuck if he made you cum or not?”

With these words, she reached down suddenly and - with picture perfect aim, grabbed your nipple through your shirt, giving it a harsh twist. The pain shot through you, causing you to arch up against the hold she had on your neck. This made you lightheaded, but you knew better than to keep her waiting for an answer.

“No!” You whined out breathlessly. “No, he wouldn’t care!”

“Exactly.” She growled out. “I care. I’m the only one who cares about you in this godforsaken world.”

She was probably right.

You sucked in a breath, desperate to fill your lungs when she let you go.

You looked on with intrigue as she descended down your body. While sitting on your knees, keeping you pinned to the ground, she opened the button and zipper of your jeans. She dug her fingers into the waistband and yanked them down.

It was a bit of a struggle with you acting as deadweight against her, becoming more dizzy as heat swelled between your legs and made you dumb between the ears. She managed to get your pants down to your midthigh before she left the fabric there. This left your bare ass scraping against the roughness of the pavement, left all of you exposed to the cool night air - open, waiting for her.

You clenched your thighs tight together, waiting with nervous impatience as she looked down at you. Her jaw was tight, tern; her blue eyes glistening with rage and betrayal.

“Did he cum inside of you?” She growled.

All at once, she lifted her weight off your legs, sitting up onto her knees. She hovered above you as she put her hands on your inner thighs and ripped your legs apart - as far as they would go with the waistband of your jeans holding you in place.

“Ness!” You protested quietly, knowing it was in vain.

You felt open and exposed to her as she blatantly inspected you - her fingers dug in, holding tight against your squirming attempts to close your legs once again. She knew that even past your embarrassment, you were turned on by this. Blatant evidence of that came before her eyes as a bit of wetness pathetically leaked out of you, glistening in the low light for her to see, smearing across your skin as you struggled against her.

“Stay still!” She snapped, giving a harsh smack to your inner thigh that resonated through the air, chasing air out of your lungs. You thrashed from the pain for a moment before going still upon instinct, knowing that your hole was now visibly clenching around nothing, waiting for her. “So misbehaved. Such a brat. It’s like you don’t even want me to fuck you at all.”

She sat herself on top of you once again, sitting on your thighs right where your jeans were, causing the denim to cut into your skin as she weighed on it. She specifically barred your thighs open against the ground, and you made no protest as she placed a hand between your thighs and began touching you. She worked in slow, teasing strokes that made the muscles of your thighs quiver and made a moan get caught in the back of your throat.

“Look at me.” She ordered - you hadn’t even realized that your head was tilting back, your body so loyal to her that the pleasure of such a simple touch from her already overwhelmed you. “Y/N. Look at me.”

She put her free hand on your neck again, slowing down the hand that was between your thighs until she was just barely teasing her fingertips against you. She used two fingers on your jaw to force your eyes toward her, and then she put that hold back on your neck - not yet putting any pressure, but making her presence well known to you.

You were powerless against her, perfect below her - and you knew that’s where you belonged.

“Who’s in charge?” She demanded, her voice low, scraping against her throat in a way that made goosebumps form all over your skin.

She was still touching you in that slow, barely there way. You swallowed down a whimper and resisted the urge to buck your hips up into her, knowing that it would only get you spanked in a very sensitive place.

“You are.” You said, your voice cradling around the words in a very pathetic, fucked-out kind of way.

“And who takes care of you?” She asked, ever present to remind you of this.

“You do.” You told her.

“Good.” She growled.

Then she sped up her hand, her movements almost vengeful as she worked between your legs, touching you in a way that she distinctly knew would make you fall apart.

“Ness!” You shouted, not even slightly mindful to keep quiet. If you were even slightly present mentally, you would have remembered that’s why she chose this location. She liked to hear you scream. “Oh fuck me!”

“That’s the plan.” She chuckled.

She worked you hard and fast, made you breathless. Your mouth gaped like a fish on land as you desperately tried to steal air into your lungs, ever mindful of the hold she had on your neck - a presence, not a hold, not yet.

Just when your thighs were quivering and you were on the brink of orgasm, she pulled back. Before you could curse on her, she hauled her touch back from you completely and delivered a harsh, sharp spank to the most sensitive part of you.

“Fuck!” You screamed. “Fuck you, Vanessa, I’ve been good!” You quickly argued, anger surging through you.

You didn’t even hesitate before you gathered spit in your mouth and launched at her savagely, bitterly angry with her as the pain stung through you. You would never admit that in this state, it mixed with the pleasure in a deliriously confusing way, and might have brought you to orgasm if she had done it again too quickly.

The glob of your spit landed on her shirt, making a small spot, and she glared down at it for a moment. She didn’t seem to pay it much mind.

“No, you haven’t been.” She told you, her voice stern. “You need to remember how to be good.”

She landed another spank between your legs, and as your almost-there orgasm faded from your stomach, this one stung a lot more.

“Fuck!” You cursed again.

“Now ask me nicely.” She demanded. “I won’t take care of some brat who doesn’t appreciate it. I’ll take care of someone who asks me nicely, and says thank you.”

You were too far gone to argue against her.

“Please.” You begged, tilting your head up to look at her.

She was still so well composed, not a single hair out of place - the only evidence of sex on her being the stain you had left on her shirt and a tinge of pink coming across her cheeks from the obvious heat you were drawing out of her.

“Please, Nessa. Please, I need it.” You begged, your voice breathy and fucked out. “I need you.”

Those were the magic words.

She put her hand back on you - gently, this time, and began steadily working you.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you!” You sighed.

You were now making a slightly sloppy sound with your own wetness as her hand moved - she pushed a steady stream of moans out of you as she worked up the rhythm. It wasn’t long before you noticed her weight shift, and felt her rubbing herself against your thigh. You loved the impressive heat coming off her cunt, even through her pants it was apparent. From the way she moved her hips with intense urgency, she needed this too.

You felt yourself getting close again, that deadly heat curling in your gut. You knew what needed to happen, and you weren’t going to make the same mistake again.

“Please!” You begged, breathless. “Please, Ness, let me cum!”

“Why should I?” She growled, working her hand even faster now, vengeful as she pumped her wrist and canted her hips against your thigh.

“Cause - cause you’re the only one who cares about me!” You replied. “Please!”

It seemed that this was enough to satisfy her.

“Cum for me.” She growled out.

You couldn’t bring yourself to disobey.

She worked you through it - part skill, part knowing from exploring your body so many times before, from being the only person who knew you like this. She moved her hand from your neck and leaned down to sink her teeth into the skin there. The feeling of her canines digging into you while you arched up as the orgasm rocked your body only made everything more dizzying.

The sharp pain of her bite was grounding, and as your body quaked through the last aftershocks of your orgasm, you whimpered out her name. She hushed you, gently petting her hands all over you before she soothed her tongue over the stinging bite.

“It’s okay.” She whispered into your neck. “It’s gonna be okay.”

After a few moments of stillness, Vanessa helped pull your pants up, silently admiring the mess you had made all over your own thighs. And then - she sat you up and unlocked the cuffs. Your wrists were incredibly sore and raw in some places from the metal cutting into your skin, but neither of you said anything about it.

She opened the door for you to get into the front seat, and wordlessly, she drove you home. When you used your key for the front door, you left it open - a silent invitation for her to come inside after you, and she sighed loudly before doing so.

That night, she slept in your bed. Both of you pretended that everything was okay.

You and Vanessa were both very broken people. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. You showed that brokenness in very different ways, and ultimately, she probably handled it a lot better than you did.

But one thing would always be true - she took care of you, no matter what.

...

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