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satorhime · 2 years ago

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. ･｡･ right where you left me ࿐gojo satoru.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : angst, fluff, dad!gojo (reader ‘n’ gojo have a daughter), set in 2018 and 2023, reunion, beach trips, established relationship ! f!reader. ･｡･ w.c. 3.7k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : time remains the one enemy gojo can’t defeat. ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: ik there’s a gazillion reunion fics but this has been sitting in my drafts since oct n i suddenly felt like finishing n sharing so i hope u enjoy <333 ‘m gna go cry over this fic now ;u;

satoru is having a damn good day.

it’s suspicious, it feels like a fever dream, and he can’t really pinpoint where the dubiousness comes from. maybe it’s because he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it, like if he allows himself to relax like this something terrible will happen while he slacks off. or maybe, it’s because he’s only ever had those truly good days in his youth when he was devil may care and his concerns for the wellbeing of the world slid off his shoulders weightlessly, like sheets of rain on a rooftop. a wild and selfish kind of happiness that begun in spring and ended too quickly in winter.

but today is a good day. he forgot to charge his phone last night, he is in the best mood he’s been in all year, and he can’t stop fucking smiling. gojo satoru is thriving, on top of the world, a little bit of that nostalgic, adolescent joy warming up his chest.

and it’s all because it’s a sunny day, the water is cool, and he’s on the beach with you and his baby girl.

the three of you decided to steal away on a spontaneous trip to okinawa that forced him out of his work uniform and into swim trunks with a bare chest, simply because you burst into his office with big droplets of tears in your eyes declaring yourself a terrible mother because you realized that your daughter was already three years old and she had never seen the ocean before.

it had taken him ten minutes to book three first class tickets and secure the private family villa for the weekend, fifteen to get packed, and twenty to board after hearing that.

he would do anything to please his girls, after all.

“‘anna go into the bathtub, mama!” your baby whines impatiently from the embrace of your arms, squirming and squiggling for you to let her down as she points towards the rolling ocean waves behind you. ever since she learned how to walk, she’s lost all patience for her doting parents carrying her around— especially when something catches the attention of those big, pretty blue eyes. it didn’t take long for her to become enamored with the sea, wanting nothing more than to get out of your hold and toddle towards the shallows.

“it’s called an ‘ocean’, cupcake,” you correct her, voice full of amusement and affection as you crane your head forward to kiss the soft skin of her chubby cheek, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “too bad we’re being held hostage by dada right now.”

“i heard that,” satoru mumbles with a pout, his third melon popsicle of the day hanging from one side of his mouth. droplets of green slush drips onto the broad planes of his chest in a sticky mess as it melts but he’s wholly focused on the two of you, one summer blue eye winked closed as the other peers through the lens of the polaroid camera looped around his neck. “but wait, just one more photo of my two favorite girls!”

“you’ve been taking photos for the last twenty minutes, satoru,” you huff. “we aren’t going anywhere, you know. you don’t have to take so many.”

“our baby needs to see what the three of us looked like in our prime, before we grow old and gray together.”

“you’re so ridiculous, gojo satoru.”

but despite your exasperation, you remain put. it’s hard not to feel the same way he does on a perfect day like this— contentment, light in the heart and full of love because of this little trip. the camera focuses in on you and your daughter before the shutter clicks, each snap immortalizing the sight of you and your baby girl illuminated by the lazy autumn sun.

“and done!” he cheers, catching the polaroid in his palm as it slides from the slot. it wobbles between two of his fingers as it develops, but he can already see that it’s a perfect picture. he feels his heart sink in his chest, melting into a syrupy sweet puddle of happiness that makes him lightheaded and anxious.

oh, you’ve never looked as pretty as you do right now. like a dream, a forever kind of love he never plans to let go of. wearing that cute little swimsuit he likes so much with his sunnies perched on top of your head and his baby propped up on your supple hip. the two of you are beaming, cheeks squished together, your daughter’s hand cupping your face fondly.

it’s the kind of picture that others would coo at and fawn over if he framed it in a museum, but satoru retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his swim trunks, tucking the polaroid safely in the trifold for his own selfish keeping.

“i think she really likes the beach,” you tell him, squatting to set your daughter on her feet. she waves to you and satoru before waddling toward the shallow surf, her little legs stumbling in the thick body of sand. “this was good of you, satoru.”

“what? you think i’d miss the opportunity to spend time with my best girls?” he asks you, a hand on his chest with an affronted look on his face. you resist the urge to snort as the two of you follow closely behind your stumbling toddler, rushing towards her every time she gets distracted and attempts to eat the sand or chase one of the seagulls.

“you’ve been busy lately, that’s all,” is how you respond, the accusation washed out of your tone for the gentle words instead. you don’t bring up how many milestones, how many little memories he’s already missed, just by being who he is— that no matter what, he’ll always belong to his duty first and his family second. no, you’ve always shown patience and understanding. never complaining when his side of the bed is empty before morning or your girl requests for her father to read a bedtime story in that animated, comical way you can never replicate for her. making her settle for your offkey, wobbly lullabies instead.

“i know,” he says quietly, suddenly serious— keeping one eye on your baby girl who is currently splashing her hands around in the sand and water. “one of my first year’s a vessel so the curses are getting more pesky. i don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“you think something’s about to happen?” you ask, looking up at him, but he presses a kiss to your temple and you wrinkle your nose at the sticky feeling of his lips.

“nah,” he replies, and you almost roll your eyes because you know he’s lying. even though satoru has done his best to keep you hidden from his world, you’re no fool. you already know why he rarely comes home at night, why he was absent for christmas last year, why your daughter has never met her paternal grandparents. you know that with the reappearance of several ancient cursed objects, there is thunder crackling among the clouds. “don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

satoru turns up the volume on the waterproof boombox half-buried in the sand next to your belongings. he can’t stand your choice of music, finds it noise most of the time, but it’s the distraction the atmosphere needs to throw off your questioning. he pulls you to sit down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around your body.

ocean foam splashes against the tips of your toes as the two of you sit at the surf of the tide in peaceful silence, time getting away from you both in the warm sun as your baby girl plays, her energy endless— waddling around and squealing at the different curiosities and wonders the beach has to offer.

whatever will happen, satoru won’t allow it to be today.

“satoru,” you call after a long quiet, craning your neck to look up at him. “if you—”

“what, you think i’m gonna croak sometime soon?” he shoots back, already knowing where the conversation is heading. so he holds you tighter, his strong arms a protective cage around your body as his shades slide down the attractive slope of his nose. he cracks a grin at you, another obvious deflection because he knows you can’t resist when he looks at you that way. not with his hair mussed from humidity, a strip of sunscreen on his nose as he chews on that damn wooden stick from his ice pop earlier.

“i know what you’re doing,” you shake your head. “and it’s not working. i’m just worried, i’m allowed to, as your wife. you think you’re invincible but if something happens to you that’ll… it’ll—” it will break us.

satoru’s smile fades, but he thankfully doesn’t need to reply because your daughter is waddling up to the both of you now, her sand-caked hands full of seashells and stones that glimmer in the sunlight. he wants to scoff because if anyone understands the consequences of failing those you love, it’s him— it’s all he’s ever known.

“what ya got there, princess?”

“fish—!” she cries in her sweet, babyish voice. some of the shells tumble from her hands, and you watch as her expression switches from happiness to dismay to finally confusion. you have to bite your lip to hold back laughter when instead of picking them back up, she dumps the rest of the seashells in your lap. “now i don’t have any fish.”

“i think those are seashells, princess,” gojo says with a grin, picking up a shell that rests on top of your thigh and holding it up to the sunlight. “this shell looks like it belongs to a hermit crab, like your megumi-nii.”

“you’re a terrible influence on our daughter, you know.”

“i’m just setting up future dynamics, angel face,” he grins.

“look look look!” your daughter gasps, bringing your attentions back to her. “this swee-shell looks like dada—!” she squeals excitedly, her new finding held delicately in her little sand-covered palm. she stands up on your thighs to reach her father sitting behind you, holding an iridescent blue seashell next to gojo’s eyes, her tiny mind comparing the colors in wonder. meanwhile, satoru wears a smile that burns so wide it hurts his cheeks.

“it looks like you too, princess,” he boops her nose, gently taking the seashell and holding it to her eyes next. her answering giggles sound like a sweet bell calling him home to heaven, but he can’t answer it because there are two people on this earth who laugh and smile at him like he hung the moon and painted the stars. “if you put it in your pocket now, the ocean won’t call the cops on you for stealing it.”

“no, this one ‘s for dada,” she insists, shoving the pretty blue seashell back into his hand.

“thank you, my mini angel,” he ruffles her hair, and you smile softly at the little exchange because though she may be enamored with her new discoveries at the beach, her father will always be one of her favorite wonders of the world.

“i ‘anna go find one for mama now!” she announces, and you wonder how she hasn’t run out of energy yet, but you nod and stand to your feet, dusting the sand away from the bottom of your swimsuit. your baby’s entire hand curls around your pointer finger, and she pulls you along with great effort.

you glance back at satoru and find that he’s watching the two of you head closer to the water, that uncharacteristically genuine smile still on his face, and you part your lips to call him to your side— where he’s always supposed to be.

“you didn’t think we’d let you slack off, did you? finding seashells is serious business, satoru!” you tease, pretty eyes crinkling with unbridled happiness, haloed by the waning sun and the orange dreamsicle sky that holds it. “hurry up!”

“wait for me just a little while, i’m coming to you,” he calls back, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth before he raises the polaroid camera to his face, snapping one last candid photo of the two of you before he jogs towards his little piece of heaven.

but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things when the distance between heaven and earth keeps growing further and further apart—

“satoru, you can’t stand outside forever,” your voice is gentle as it speaks behind him, your hand laid delicately on his back in comfort; breaking the sorcerer out of deep reverie, the edges of the old memory fading, replaced by the pink paint of his daughter’s bedroom door that he’s been standing in front of for the last thirty minutes. his thumb brushes over the polaroid in his hand, the one that had been his salvation and his undoing in the prison realm. he’d taken it out without knowing, his eyes reading over the date written in his handwriting.

october 30, 2018

the picture of you with your daughter on your hip that he took at the beach all those years ago— that had been the last time he’d seen her.

four, no, five years?

his feet are nailed to the floor because change makes satoru shut down, and everything has changed since then.

while time was immeasurable and immovable inside of the prison realm for him, the clock had ticked on outside of it and just like that, his little girl is no longer three years old, giving him seashells that matches his eyes or hitting the back of his ankles with her big wheel or—

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you sigh. “you’ve been unsealed for months. you’re her father, no matter what.”

“i’m a stranger to her,” and to you, but he doesn’t say it. you had waited for him, in every aspect of the word. held out on hope and faith in his strength that he would return to your side, where he’s always supposed to be.

“you’re n—” but you’re cut off when the door opens to reveal your daughter standing on the other side. the child standing before him is almost unrecognizable. she’s much taller and older, wearing track pants underneath her school dress with ribbons in unruly waves of white hair. the last time he’d seen his daughter, she had been three years old and still learning things like colors and sight words and that feeding megumi’s demon dogs her vegetable purée was against the rules. now, gojo satoru was the father of an eight year old and he’d missed everything because of a mista—

“you can come in,” she says, blinking up at satoru with an expression void of emotion. “but i’m not finished with my homework so if you stay too long, you’ll bug me.”

“how did you know i was outside?” he whistles nonchalantly, unbothered by the attitude that she gives him. it fills him with bitter satisfaction that she isn’t excited to see him, that someone is angry that he failed, regardless if he won in the end. he can handle bratty children who hate him and only look at him as a tool for their success, he can’t handle a daughter who cried herself to sleep every night waiting for him while he was losing his sanity away in a cube.

or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“i could see you and mama through the door, duh,” she replies, hip cocked to the side in an amount of sass she had to pick up from you. “mama says i have your eyesight. i don’t really get it, but it makes it easy to cheat on tests.”

he could see it in the bright blue of her eyes, even if she hadn’t confirmed it. plain as daylight, she’s exactly like he was at that age. easily irritable and bratty, cocky and spoiled rotten. suffering from the weight of being an uncontested heir to an ancient dynasty at the age of elementary.

“i used six eyes to cheat on tests too,” he relates with pride, and then he bends down to her height, waving his palm. “sooo you probably got some questions about where i was—”

“not really. grandfather said you were sealed because you’re foolish and let weakness distract you.”

“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you scold, “apologize.”

“why? i don’t want to.”

your daughter turns, disappearing back into her room after that and seeming like she doesn’t care if satoru follows or not. your hand travels up the long expanse of satoru’s back in a soothing circle as you step closer.

“huh, that’s new.”

“sorry, she’s… i don’t know if acting out is the right term,” you say, pain in your voice. “she doesn’t really understand why she’s so different, or why you were … gone for so long. i know you didn’t want her around your family so i kept her away as best i could, but she started to have crippling migraines because she didn’t know how to use her ability and well… they were the only ones who knew how to help. filled her head with foolishness every time she visited the estate, though and it’s changed her.”

“huh,” is all he says, a broken record, tongue running across his inner lip in thought.

“do you need me?”

“what, you think i can’t handle her?”

“well, you were outside the door for a half hour, ‘toru.”

he shoots you a lopsided grin before he’s stepping into his daughter’s bedroom, glancing around at the unfamiliarity of it all. you follow close behind, watching with a heavy heart as he takes in the difference eight years can make.

her tiny baby crib has been traded for a poster bed decorated with a sanrio duvet and various stuffed animals where a laptop and study papers lay scattered on top. the angel themed decorations, along with her first ultrasound photo you and satoru had hung up in her nursery had been replaced by pink paint and pictures of her with a group of friends from school and a photo of her on a volleyball team.

he has to rip his gaze away.

“so,” he starts, standing in the center of the room and trying not to feel like an intruder, desperate for something to say— something to relate to her with. “how many episodes did i miss? did aya-chan ever get married?”

“i’m too old to play with dolls now, father,” she huffs, scrunching up her nose, and though satoru expected that exact answer, it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering into a million pieces. he feels that familiar itch, anger welling in his body until it burns at his fingertips because this is no one’s fault but his own. “don’t you know anything about me?”

“my bad, you’re a big kid now,” he snorts, even as his chest aches. he sits on the edge of her bed, flipping up one edge of the coloring book laying next to her laptop. “maybe you should start paying taxes.”

“i’m also too young to pay taxes. you really don’t know anything about me anymore,” she snaps, and she’s right— he doesn’t and it burns like saltwater on a wound. now he knows why you asked if he needed you; he’d hide behind you if he could, but he settles for flickering his eyes up to you helplessly.

you realize that neither of you can be upset with her for being angry that one of her favorite people vanished out of thin air. that while he was sealed, his clan had taken advantage of his absence and your powerlessness against them, and had begun spoiling your child rotten, teaching her how to use her ability— plumping her up for the inevitable day that she becomes her father’s successor, turning her against him.

“i think,” you say softly, leaning against the frame of the door. “that your dada— your father— would like to learn, though. he’s missed a lot, baby.”

she considers this for a long while, then she heaves a great sigh, hackles lowering. she scoots off the bed and before satoru can feel the hurt of figuring she doesn’t want to be near him, she does something unexpected. she moves one of her trophies out of the way to open her closet door, rummaging around for the longest before she yanks out a cardboard box you had labeled ‘donate one day since my snotty kid is a hag now’— it’s a box full of old dolls, covered in dust. she sits on her knees in front of the box, peering inside.

“aya-chan didn’t get married, but hinata-chan did,” she explains with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, taking out the dolls one by one and setting them on the floor in front of satoru’s feet.

“to the mailman that lived in your ugliest dollhouse?”

“you remember,” her eyes widen a little in surprise before her expression shutters again, smoothing out the doll’s colorful polyester dress before reaching back into the box and retrieving a brush covered in synthetic hairs. she looks at it for a while before extending her arm and offering the brush to her father. “aya-chan decided to be independent and explore the world. she’s planning to go on a trip soon so she needs to get ready. do y’wanna brush her hair?”

satoru is sliding off the bed and sitting cross-legged on the floor before he knows it, barely wanting to breathe because he doesn’t want to shatter the fragility of the moment between them. he takes the brush, and seconds later she hands him one of the dolls that had once upon a time been her favorite one that no one was allowed to touch. you would giggle at the delicate way he brushes the doll’s hair with utmost care and precision if you weren’t about to cry at the scene instead. “oh, and where’s she headed?”

“okinawa.”

“ponytail or messy bun then?” you don’t think you’re imagining the wobble in his voice. “to compliment her swimsuit.”

a tiny, hopeful smile twinkles over your lips at the two of them on the floor, babbling away to each other about the outlandish stories they’ve created together with her dolls. how many times had you offered to play with her, only for her to burst into tears because it wasn’t the same? you know that this won’t bridge the gap between the years that have been lost, but it’s a start. just hearing the soft murmurs of their conversation, the sound of your little girl giggling for the first time in ages, makes your heart swell.

time may be an undefeated opponent, and with it comes change that no one can control, but something tells you that as long as the three of you are together— everything will be okay.

you tiptoe out of the room, because they need time to catch up and apologize and reconnect, to learn one another once more, but before you close the door, you don’t think you’re mistaken when you hear, “can we go back to the beach too, dada?”

#little novels.#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo angst

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lucysarah-c · 1 year ago

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Not in season?

Summary: Winter had settled in, and the scouts were busy training and preparing for the prospects of spring, still far away, to retake Wall Maria. Despite the snow accumulating outside, the building was freezing cold, and the world had secluded itself until the temperature rose. So, why was Captain Levi boiling in his own body? Something felt off, but his mind was quickly slipping into insanity as he tried to find a rational explanation. Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. I'm self-conscious about my smut, so… practice makes perfect. That's it. In case I forget any warning or tag, feel free to remind me. Pairing: Levi x fem! reader. Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Levi Ackerman, Top Levi Ackerman, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Possessive Levi Ackerman, Possessive Sex, Possessive Behavior, Knotting, Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Smut, Breeding, Forced breeding, Biting, Breeding Kink, dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Forced Pregnancy, Unsafe Sex, Nurse reader, Alpha Levi x Omega reader, Captain Levi Ackerma, Captain Levi x Nurse Reader, Dirty talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Alpha Hange Zoë, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Erwin Smith, Alpha Eren Yeager, Alpha Jean Kirstein, Alpha Mikasa Ackerman. Omegaverse. Word count: 8.6k words of pure porn. You had been warned lmao

Saliva accumulated in his mouth, pooling before he spat it into the sink. The rush of water from the tap washed away the residue as he continued spitting and splashing his face with cold water. A sense of uneasiness clouded his mind, lingering like the scent of smoke. He had showered, shaved, tidied his hair, cleaned under his nails, changed clothes, and brushed his teeth. What else was there to do?

A thick, almost sticky sensation coated his mouth, as if he had a stomach ache without the actual pain. Despite the cold weather, sweat formed on his forehead as he pushed the dark hairs out of the way, splashing his face with freezing water once more. Perhaps it was due to his inability to concentrate on work since early morning, causing him to pace around the room like a caged lion.

Correction, he did have a stomach ache, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the source or if it was even physically painful. It felt more uncomfortable than painful. Waves of acidic heat started in his groin and spread throughout his body. He had already consumed three cups of tea by 9 am. When he crossed paths with Erwin in the higher-ups' kitchen, the commander questioned him, noting the honey in all the teas. Unusual for him. Both of them were extremely busy, their minds preoccupied elsewhere. The commander didn't have time for extensive questioning, yet Levi couldn't shake off the extremely unpleasant sensation that Erwin's presence was the most annoying and irritating thing he had encountered.

"I'm craving something sweet," he added curtly, hoping it would suffice. It was true; he felt the need for something soft, sweet, cute, filling, and warm. He was irritable, easily bothered by Eren and Jean's silly actions during early practice. The display of youthful hormones and their desperate need for attention and dominance grated on his nerves. Oddly enough, he had grown accustomed to them and their displays of testosterone.

Newly presented alphas always behaved that way—baring teeth, growing, and fighting. Their disinterested and desperate cries for attention garnered no reaction from fully grown alphas. They were closer to pups playing pretend, training for future occasions in their lives than actual threats. Levi was sure of it, both as a mature alpha and as a high-bred one. Usually, the two boys only annoyed him with their strong, uncontrolled scents and nothing more.

However, that morning marked the moment he sensed something was off. Eren's insistence on asserting his dominance over the Kirstein boy with his scent almost prompted Levi to interfere, baring his teeth and loudly declaring that he was the one in charge. It had never struck him in this way before, these two newly presented boys. On the contrary, in previous instances, it had strengthened his sense of responsibility and paternal instinct, correcting their behaviour when he felt the need to show them the right way to behave. The captain secretly blamed that time spent alone with his squad in the cabin or Eren's fresh presentation under his watch at the former HQ.

Women usually precede such occurrences, they naturally present earlier than boys. So the Ackerman girl must have sensed something, her penetrating dark eyes never leaving his figure during training. Levi's suspicions were confirmed as soon as he called it a day and left. He could no longer bear it.

“Finishing so early?” Erwin inquired when they crossed paths again. The taller man wrinkled his nose slightly but stood in place, demanding an answer.

“I feel like shit,” Levi spat out, giving his back to the taller man as he stopped on his way but refused to face the commander.

“I see,” Erwin replied before adding, “consider going to get checked by the nurse.”

Levi clenched his teeth irrationally. Once again, the blond’s presence felt utterly annoying. 'I know! I can smell it all over you,' he thought.

“She’s at her station. I just came from there as she was checking my arm,” Erwin explained calmly, obviously not considering a deeper topic. “Y/N is young, but she’s very-”

The commander was cut off mid-sentence as Levi turned over his shoulder, deadly piercing eyes, and hissed at the taller alpha. Erwin stood in place, denying the idea of backing up as he kept his eyes glued to the shorter soldier, completely confused. “Did you just hiss at me?”

Levi shook his head, as if trying to snap some sense into his brain. “Fuck, sorry,” he said, then returned to his pace, feeling the judging blue eyes of his superior stuck to the back of his head.

He contorted in pain, bending over his desk as his body burned. His skin felt as if it were boiling in his own blood. Saliva filled his mouth, his jaw clenched with uncontrolled tension. "Too many," his sharpened senses detected the repugnant stench of too many competitors surrounding him.

The military was full with Alphas, lower or higher breed, but most of the members were either that or betas. Omegas weren’t allowed, at least no at the main activity divisions. More appropriate positions were reserved for them if they desire or unless they were low quality breeds, in order to avoid creating unnecessary commotion during their heats.

"I don't understand," Levi cursed under his breath as he contorted in pain, his body drenched in sweat. He slumped against the desk chair, tilting his head back as ragged breaths escaped his accelerated mouth. Ruts were something that had almost disappeared since he joined the military, and he was grateful for that. Without constant exposure to the presence of omegas, most purebred alphas reduced their ruts to near non-existence. Nature was wise—why waste energy and precious seed when there was nobody to claim? It was better to save it for a worthy occasion. Yes, there were perhaps a couple of instances when his body experienced reactions during particular seasons, but they were easily manageable.

This, however, was all-consuming. It began and ended with each breath that left his lips.

"Fuck, it's like I'm 18 all over again," he cursed, recalling previous ruts. The muscles in his legs twitched and contorted as he spread them apart. Every fibre, hair, and cell in his body strained, expanded, tightened, and prepared with ecstasy at the idea of "Fight, win, dominate, claim, breed, and secure." All of these required him to be exceptional.

Levi had always been fearful of confessing to anyone, but being an Ackerman and an alpha was quite the combination. The Ackerman powers granted individuals increased strength, agility, and combat prowess. When combined with an alpha's innate physical abilities during a rut, an Ackerman alpha became an even more formidable force. Their already heightened strength and endurance would be further amplified, allowing them to excel in protecting their pack and omega.

The Ackerman powers also enhanced an individual's senses, including perception and reflexes. This heightened sensory awareness complemented an alpha's already acute sense of smell during a rut. The combination resulted in an alpha with incredibly sharp instincts, capable of swiftly detecting danger or sensing the presence of a compatible omega.

In conclusion, every inch of his body was working diligently to find a suitable partner. His fingers reached for the cravat around his neck, loosening the pressure and seeking some relief. The cold leather of the chair briefly provided a deceptive sense of calmness until it warmed up and clung to his body. Two, three buttons were undone, and the air within the office began to thicken with his own pheromones as his neck became exposed. These were shameful actions that his body performed of its own accord, attempting to attract a potential mate.

Dry chuckles reverberated in his chest as he contemplated the absurdity of it all. "I'm humanity's strongest soldier. I fought the entire MPs to put a queen on the throne. I don't need to produce a bunch of hormonal shit to show an interested partner that I'm strong enough." Because that's what his body was doing—it was a display, a show, a performance, almost, of virility, strength, and power.

The idea of being dominated by the very thing he was supposed to control made him shudder. He wasn't just any alpha; he was Levi Ackerman, the clean freak who prided himself on maintaining order and discipline. Yet here he was, a mere pawn in nature's cruel game. "Fucking biology," he growled under his breath as if cursing the very laws that governed him. He knew what he had to do, but it felt like betrayal. His mind screamed at him to resist, to fight against the urge but little he could do.

Hange was quick to slap the door open, enthusiastic, and wrinkled their nose at the odour inside. They covered their mouth and nose with their hands, the stink being too much to bear.

"God, get your shit together, shorty!" they replied almost immediately. “Fuck, I can even feel the pheromones in my mouth,”

Levi groaned uncomfortably before adding, "You think it was something I could control, I wouldn't just do it?" He spat out his words, contorting uneasily in the chair.

"I came because Erwin mentioned that you cancelled training earlier. Well, this just makes sense," the brunette paced around the room, keeping their distance. As an Alpha themselves, with a strong bond of camaraderie between them, the titan lover understood the other's need. "You seem too far into the rut already for me to give you something to shut it down."

Another uneasy groan escaped Levi; this was not happy news.

"You'll have to deal with it like a big boy. I could give you something to make you more docile…"

"Fuck it," he quickly complained, being docile and Levi weren't two words that mixed well.

"Yeah," Hange chuckled as they kneeled next to the desk to inspect the short man better. "I thought you'd say that…"

Brown eyes fixed on Levi as if he were Eren during an experiment. "What?" Levi quickly snapped, feeling too much under scrutiny.

"… may I see your fangs? I've never seen you bare them, and now that you've admitted with the whole Kenny stuff to be an Ackerman, I'm curious how they look."

He bared his teeth; he was no subject of tests. "Fuck off," he replied, clearly irritable, but the brunette laughed as the sight was there for them to behold.

"There they are… god, they are huge. Poor omega… that's why only their bodies are meant to support the mating," While Hange insisted on inspecting the Captain and rambling about biological details and dynamics, the other poor alpha of the room was dying of heat. His body wasn't taking it easy that he wasn't collaborating willingly to go out there and search for a mate, especially when he had allowed another alpha inside his territory. "Talking about omegas," Hange picked up the topic after their rambling, "who have you been around with to trigger a rut? There are no omegas in the scouts."

"You tell me!" he replied between clenched teeth, almost drawing blood as he felt the stitches in his groin and the imperious necessity to bite something down and hold it as he pounded into it.

"God, I better go before you think about bitching me," Hange commented, not meaning it seriously. "I'll let the rest know you're sick to leave you alone. I'll leave a tray of food at the door and a change of water."

Levi hummed a sort of reply; he felt so humiliated. The mere thought of not having control over his body felt like an insult to his honour, to everything he stood for.

"Cheer up, have fun pounding your pillows," Hange's sing-song voice came through the door as it closed behind them.

It took a tremendous effort to rise from his seat, walk to the door, and add the lock on. Only then did he pace around the room like a caged lion, closing the window despite his need for coldness and drawing the curtains. The last thing he needed was some stupid cadet watching him jerk off over his desk. He kicked his boots off and started to undo the harness; it was done, it was inevitable at this point. Neatly putting them away while he still had some semblance of self-control and lucidity in his brain. It was going to be a long ride, a good couple of days closed inside there, almost ready to tear his skin off because his body "claimed" that this was the rightful time for mating.

Uniform off, he took a cold shower, thinking that he might have little to no mind to do it later on. It wasn't his first rut, of course not, but it had been definitely a while since his last. And he had no fond memories of the previous experiences. Once showered, he felt slightly at ease, a drop of water for a man dying of dehydration. Sweatpants on, no bothering with underwear, not even a shirt. Like a man waiting to be hanged, he prepared for what was about to come while he still had time to prepare.

It was winter, but he felt as if the air burned his skin, so warm it felt. He took off the bed cover to avoid getting it dirty, leaving only the sheets. Before he could even notice, his teeth were biting into his pillow, triggering his mind into thinking it was something else and also muffling his sounds. Thick expert hips thrusting in rhythmic movements, seeking fraction and release, his right hand squeezing the base of his dick, simulating what an omega's hole would feel like. So he could knot and feel a wash of relief until it started again. And again.

First, the rut, then the heat. In nature, it's rather a simple dynamic. Alphas go into rut first to showcase their capabilities, and when the heat hits, omegas have probably already had their eyes on one or two alphas.

Third chamomile tea, warming up her hands. She sighed slowly, trying to calm down her pounding heart. His hands did a calming massage over her neck, but her hair was getting loose as it escaped the low braid she had done during work. Something was off; she couldn't quite put her finger on what, but she started to wonder if she had caught a cold. Her body trembled as she got a fever; despite her rising body temperature, she felt rather cold, craving the warmth of her tea. Anxious thoughts clouded her mind, unsure why.

As the new nurse of the scout, she felt most of the time rather pointless. They had been preparing to retake Wall Maria during winter; there weren't expeditions, and accidents during training weren't that frequent, luckily so! She didn't want to appear as if she was waiting for someone to get injured to justify her presence. Her presence there wasn't only new; she had freshly graduated, and the surprise that they had chosen her as the main nurse made her anxious and happy. But the scout facilities were deep into the training areas, and the place was quiet and busy. Perhaps too quiet sometimes.

'Captain Levi is sick,' 'Oh goddess, doesn't he need me to check him out? I saw him a couple of days ago to check the healing of his ankle, and he seemed just fine!' 'No… better leave him alone; he's grumpy by nature. Imagine when he's sick.'

The conversation of the day before yesterday stuck in her mind far too much for her liking. Perhaps because she had checked his ankle, and while it seemed to be healing suspiciously fast, Captain Levi had explicitly asked her not to tell anyone how serious the injury had been. Her mind began to wander; had he gotten it infected somehow? What if it was more than just a cold? What if he needed someone to change the cold cloth over his forehead?

But the moment that kept replaying in her mind was when he brewed her tea, almost proud of how he had secured a deal for the best supplies from the Reeves Company. The soft touch of their fingers, the piercing colour of his eyes fixed on her—these memories lingered with an underlying haze each time she entered the room, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was from her last visit, the previous week when her necklace had come loose and fallen to the ground. Levi's sharp eyes quickly found the silver piece and handed it back to her.

Feeling embarrassed, she attempted to fasten the necklace herself, but it was challenging. "Here, let me help you," he said, his calloused fingers moving her hair aside, knuckles ghostly brushing against her neck as he placed the necklace around it. The sensation left her feeling warm, her heartbeats echoing in her ears, and the inviting aroma of lavender and citrus filled the air, slightly musky. It made no sense; she was a beta!

'Maybe we both caught a cold.'

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling above her, beneath the higher-ups' personal chambers. She knew that Levi's room wasn't directly above hers, but metaphorically speaking, it felt that way. She couldn't sleep; her body felt uneasy, tired yet expectant, hot yet cold, restless yet weak. Curling into a small ball on her mattress, she wished to hide from the world. A feeling of defenselessness washed over her. Her mind and body felt exposed and alone, craving reassurance and longing for her worries to slip away.

'Maybe I should check on him… ' 'Yes, yes, check on him,' a voice inside her head quickly agreed.

Armin had been tasked with delivering some food and fresh water to Levi's chambers, and since she couldn't sleep, she contemplated making a late-night visit to check on him and offer assistance with medicine. The night was bitterly cold, and she felt oddly exposed, much like a doe in the middle of a meadow, her big round eyes scanning for danger in the unprotected surroundings, perfect prey for lurking predators. She added a thick, long cardigan over her nightgown and left her bedroom, her loose hair flowing as her slippers echoed in the scout facilities' corridors.

As she made her way through the facility, a shaky candle's light flickered under her steps. She struggled to keep her cardigan closed around her chest, multitasking as she carried a few loaves of bread, a couple of nuts, and a jar of water. The closer she got to the higher-ups' chambers, the heavier her chest felt, and she started to consider the possibility that she might have caught a cold or something worse. Each step on the stairs to the upper floor felt torturous, and her body weakened.

Finally, she reached the door and softly knocked, trying not to wake the other superiors sleeping on the floor. "Captain? Captain Levi? It's me… I was wondering if you needed medicine, help… anything," her whisper felt absurdly loud in the still of the night. There was no response, so she knocked softly again and attempted to turn the doorknob. It was, of course, closed.

She had a moment of clarity as she thought, "I don't know what I was thinking." If Levi was feeling so unwell that he had been absent from work for almost three days, he was likely asleep, and that was the best medicine. Her legs flexed as she prepared to leave what she had brought with her on the floor when she snapped to attention as the door creaked open in front of her.

The air that slipped through the door hit her like a wrecking ball. It entered her nostrils, invaded her senses, and intoxicated her brain so quickly that she could barely process it. Levi's grey eyes observed her through the door's crack.

"Captain?" She whispered as her body grew warm, her cheeks flushed, her legs trembled, and her hands shook. The air felt heavy and lacking oxygen, and before she knew it, her natural response was to start apologising. "I… I brought you rations," she stammered, as if her brain was trying to come up with excuses.

As that intoxicating scent grew stronger, her body reacted. Her walls contracted, her legs pressed together, and she felt ashamed, especially since Levi was intensely staring at her through the crack of the door.

"Cap-?"

Before she could insist, the door opened slightly more, barely allowing her to slip inside. Once inside, the woody, pine scent with subtle undertones of mint, citrus, and lavender overtook her senses, leaving her devoid of coherent thought. Despite Levi's stature on the shorter side, the breadth of his shoulders and his imposing shadow against the door as he pushed it closed captured her attention. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she might have noticed the sound of the lock as he stood behind her, allowing her to venture inside his territory. But the pheromones worked their magic on her, causing her knees to weaken, her body to liquefy, and her face to flush. She felt a pulse of wetness down her core, dampening her underwear.

After placing the jar of water and rations on the desk, she leaned against it, feeling nearly incapable of standing. She had clearly overestimated her health; she was suffering from something more than just a cold. Her mouth grew dry, and she was about to turn and leave, back to her own bed, when Levi deliberately licked the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She let out a loud gasp, trying to push him away.

Levi had her pinned against his desk. When had he moved so close to her? How was it possible that she hadn’t heard him? Most importantly, this wasn’t the Levi she knew, the one she peacefully drank tea with in the afternoons or the one who asked her if she needed anything from downtown when he was going to pick up rations with his squad.

Levi's pleasurable groans and purrs reverberated against his chest as he shamelessly licked the back of her neck and sniffed the area, softly caressing his canines against her skin.

"Captain, wait!" she tried to struggle away, pushing him off.

"Shh," he hushed, "no need to resist. I'll give you exactly what you came looking for, Omega."

Her body skipped a beat as she heard his hoarse voice. She felt her wetness spreading, an inner voice whispering, ‘Yes! Yes, this is what you want. Be good to him, be calm for him, be receptive, be a good little omega.’

Her legs trembled in desperation to stand straight, but the musky scent in the room awakened something deep inside her, almost animalistic. Levi's hands held her hips, pushing them backward, and his groan joined her pants as she felt the thick, throbbing member under his sweatpants. Her soft gasps weren't just because of the sweet friction she didn't want to enjoy as much as she did; Levi's half-hard member felt impossibly thick and demanding against her.

His fingers crept up her legs, her attempts to grab his wrists and stop him proving futile. "I-I'm not an omega! I'm a beta," she insisted.

Levi chuckled, the vibration reaching her as his fangs lightly grazed her vulnerable skin on her neck, not biting just yet, but teasing her with the idea of it. "Is that so? Well, this part of you says otherwise," his fingers moved up and down her soaking wet underwear.

"No- I… I'm not…"

"I can smell you, how sweet you taste, how wet you are, how desperate you are for it," Levi's voice was surprisingly calm, deep, and smooth, but with an undertone that made him sound as if he was lost, not completely in control of his own mind. "Submit, and I may take you to the bed, where your knees won't bruise."

"I'm not an omega," she repeated, her voice trembling. She could feel the wetness on her thighs seeping through her underwear and onto his fingers. It was humiliating yet exhilarating, confusing yet intoxicating. The scent of him surrounded her, consuming her senses, and despite herself, she couldn't help but arch her back, pressing herself closer to him.

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears; it seemed like a drum roll announcing their inevitable surrender. "But I… I can't…" His hands held her hips firmly, preventing any chance of escape while also keeping her close enough for him to sniff and lick her neck whenever he wanted.

"You are mine," he whispered hoarsely, his voice vibrating with raw desire. “That tight little hole of yours is twitching for me, begging for my knot. You’re obviously in need of a proper mate,”

His fingers danced along her hip bones, teasingly close to the place where they met but never touching. He leaned down further, his nose almost brushing against her hair. "I can smell your wetness, your readiness to take my seed.” His hips pressed and jerked against he, breathing heavily against her neck as he rocked his cock against her ass.

“I’ll breed you properly, do not worry,”

"It's because of the rut," she said quietly, trying to rationalise the situation but incapable of controlling the gasps "We both are affected by it."

Levi chuckled darkly, his hands moving up her sides to cup her breasts through her nightgown. "Yes, I’ve triggered your heat," he agreed, his voice husky.

His fingers brushed against her nipples through the thin fabric, sending shivers down her spine. She moaned softly, her body betraying her resistance. Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to run, but her body yearned for more.

"You’re not thinking straight" she cried out, her voice shaking with desire and anger.

"I know exactly what I want," Levi murmured, his breath warm against her skin. His dick swelled in his pants, this time ready for the actual act not some pathetic fantasy in his sheets. He spoke as if he was in trance, drunk on something sweeter than honey, softer than silk. His mouth started to salivate, teeth clenched and his hands lost control of his own strength as the veins of his hands and forearms popped as he tightened his grip.

She felt so small in his arms, so vulnerable yet so desired, and it was a confusing cocktail of emotions that left her feeling disoriented and helpless. But despite everything, there was an underlying thrill coursing through her veins, telling her that this wasn't something she should resist.

Her heart pounded against her chest as if trying to escape its confines. It was almost comical how desperately she wanted him, how eagerly she craved his touch, his scent, his possession. And yet, deep down, there was a part of her screaming at herself to fight against it, to run away, to save herself from becoming someone else's plaything.

The struggle inside her mirrored the one outside; Levi's grip on her hips tightened, pulling her closer while simultaneously pushing her back against the desk. His other hand moved up, tracing along her neckline until he reached the clasp of her nightgown. With a swift movement, he undid it, revealing more of her skin to his hungry eyes.

She gasped as the cold air hit her bare shoulders, making her nipples erect and visible beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. Levi's gaze lingered on them for a moment before moving further down, taking in the sight of her wet underwear.

"You're so fucking wet," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing. "I could take you right here, right now, against this damn table."

His fingers slid into the waistband of her underwear, tugging it down slightly. The sensation was exquisite yet terrifying, like walking a tightrope without any safety net below. Her body trembled with anticipation and fear, each breath she took only heightening her senses further.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is how arousing it was, him manhandling her to his own wishes. Hands squeezing and kneading the skin of her body to his own pleasure, his legs parting between hers to force the space and secure her own hips to the sturdy wedge of Levi’s hips.

"Please…" she whimpered, unsure whether she was begging for mercy or for more. “Please, not here,”

Levi's pupils dilated. It had been so long, so stupidly long. Perhaps the last time he recalled being inside something warm and releasing one load after the other, squeezed almost to death by soft, tight, warm walls, was during his thug days back in the underground. The anticipation festered in his mind, his chest rapidly rising and falling at the mere thought of it. Maybe that's why Omegas weren't allowed in the military, those pretty little things, the perfect match for his knot to force his seed repeatedly until it took. And God, it would work perfectly—the perkiness of her breasts, the pertness of her ass, the roundness of her hips, the glistening of her inner thighs as she moistened herself perfectly for him to slide right in. Every inch of her body was made for him to claim and breed.

His large, pale hand groped her ass, squeezing his fingertips against her skin until it left marks, the bruise of his strength. She felt like a doll in his hands, moldable and ready for his every whim. Yet, there was something strangely comforting about it too. To be utterly at his mercy, to surrender control and let him take charge—it was terrifying and exhilarating, all rolled into one. Her head turned to the side, her glittering eyes looking back at him expectantly.

Levi's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze fiery and possessive. Her eyes met his, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, she saw something different in them. There was no humour, no coldness, no distance. Only raw desire, hunger, and possessiveness reflected back at her. "You want this, don't you? You fucking crave it," he chuckled darkly, his voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing.

"I'm not…" she tried to protest again, but her words caught in her throat, trapped between fear and lust. She wanted him, needed him, yet part of her fought desperately against this primal urge.

Levi chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing along her inner thighs, barely touching but enough to send shivers down her spine. "You are," he whispered hoarsely, his breath warm against her skin. "And I plan to take advantage of it."

She whimpered again, a sound that was half protest, half pleasure.

Desperate to finally touch that sweet pool of warm slick between her legs, calloused fingers slipped upwards, running up and down her folds. Anything around her hole was dripping wet, almost to the middle of her legs. It felt absurd how her body reacted. Two unceremoniously fingers slipped in, her back arched, her lips parted, and she let out lewd moans that must have caught the attention of one or two higher-ups.

The sounds that reached his ears were obscene. It was ridiculous how she felt his fingers sliding right in and out, merciless but smooth. Her senses caught every humiliating detail of how wet she was for him. Levi didn't bother with detailed foreplay; there was no need. Her instincts had done all the work for him. Stupidly slippery, he parted his fingers, filling the pull of her walls that easily succumbed to the pressure, allowing more space for him, her cervix welcoming his load.

He withdrew his doused fingers, raised them up for him to take a good sniff before sucking them with delight. Almost throatily purring at the flavour, he said, "You're in the perfect cycle. I'm going to mount you and breed you as you deserve."

She emitted soft mews, her hips pushing backward, her ass slightly shaking to the sides, desperately trying to regain the alpha's attention. His head throbbed with determination as much as his manhood did inside his pants.

"Nngh.." she moaned, rocking against his desk, mourning the loss of his touch “Levi.. please,”

He stepped back slightly, giving her an illusion of freedom that was quickly shattered when he grabbed her hips again and lifted her off the ground. He wasted no time, she gasped as his fingers dug into her flesh, but it wasn't painful. Carrying her to his attached room as his hands sneaked under her ribs and pushed the nightgown over her head. Leaving her completely exposed. Levi's gaze roamed over her naked body, taking in every curve, every dip, every inch of her exposed skin. His canines gleamed dangerously as he licked his lips, almost like a predator sizing up its prey. Placing her on his mattress, the sheets were a mess and he had no mind in the past few days to even bother. Only serving further to his mind state.

Quickly he took off the sweatpants that hung lazily over his hips, tossing them aside not minding where they landed before he sinked a knee on the mattress crawling over her frame. How welcoming her body was, legs parting to show her leaking hole as a trophy for him to claim. Widening his knees to brace himself for what was about to come. Her watery eyes looked at the throbbing cock between his legs, it wasn’t just the length or the grid of it. It was the curve, the glycerin of the tip with pre-cum and the base that was already inflating in anticipation, softly twitching under the night light in arousement. The idea of being bred by an alpha as strong as Levi made her rock her hips against absolutely nothing, feeling her wetness sneak between her ass cheeks into the bed.

“Alpha… please ah- Come on,” She mewled, obviously already too far gone into it.

Her eyelashes fluttered while she laid trembling in the sheets, soft mewls convinced with keens as Levi’s lip latched on one of her buds, fingers massaging the softness of her breasts. Levi moved forward, hovering over the smaller omega. Yanking one leg over his shoulders only for his fingers to find the place he was going to claim once more, harshly biting the tender meat of her inner legs.

Levi's finger, slick with her arousal, slid into her tight heat with ease. He allowed a soft grunt of satisfaction to escape his lips, his eyes fixed on her flushed face as he carefully gauged the reactions. He curled his finger inside her, searching for the spot that would bring the sweet creature the most pleasure. His touch was controlled and skilled, determined to bring her to the peak of ecstasy.

"You like that, don’t you? Fuck, you’re sucking me in. Desperate little bitch for my seed. Trust in me, my omega."

His thumb found her clit, gently rubbing circles against it as his finger continued to thrust in and out of her wetness. The stimulation from his finger and thumb working in tandem left her teetering on the edge of pleasure, her moans growing louder with each passing moment.

"Alpha," Y/N moaned, feeling herself close, seeing him with residues of her wetness in his mouth "It feels good… I feel full,"

Levi's eyes darkened with desire as he heard her moans of pleasure and felt her walls tighten around his finger. He had to bite down a smirk as the mere thought of someone hearing him claiming what was rightfully his felt like a wet dream come true. Her words of satisfaction only fueled his own pride.

"You're doing so well, my omega," he murmured, his voice filled with husky approval. "Just let go and surrender,”

With his skilled touch, he increased the pace of his finger, thrusting deeper and faster inside her, while his thumb continued to rub herclit with firm and precise movements. Levi's own desire burned within him, his cock twitching against his lower abdomen, leaking shamelessly.

His movements became more urgent, his finger thrusting faster within her as his thumb pressed harder against her perfect spot. The dual sensations sent powerful waves of pleasure coursing through her body, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of climax. With one final, powerful thrust, Levi's fingers found that sweet spot within her, his thumb exerting a steady pressure on her bud. The combination of sensations was overwhelming, all consuming. Crying out his name, sweet body convulsed with pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over the poor creature.

Red swollen lips swollen and flushed face, she observed him withdraw his fingers and lick them cleans with a satisfaction smirk.

"Full?" He questioned, almost mocking "Oh, already? but I'll stuff you even more"

His words drew her eyes to his cock, that at this rate looked painfully ready. "Indeed," he replied, his voice laced with a mixture of lust and dominance. "I will show you what it truly means to be filled, to be completely consumed by an alpha."

A soft breath of rationality crossed her mind, forcing her to contour under his frame and seek liberation, fighting back and struggling. Levi's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the lack of cooperation. His dominant demeanour increased as the prospect of losing his potential mate felt outrageous.

"Your body is capable of accommodating me. Your body was made to be claimed by an alpha," he insisted, letting out an irritated snarl.

Drawing back into his knees, harsh hands gripping her hips and flipping her over. “Present,” he snarted commanding. Soft mewls left her lips as she sinked slightly into the mattress but Levi had run out of patience. Strong hands pushing between her shoulder blades to force the correct arch of her back, muffled cries left her lips as her face was buried into the mattress. No thought crossed her mind, she was devoid of any real rational capability as she felt her own wetness oozing out of her raised ass. Fingers sinking into her hips bones to secure the position and thick muscular thighs parting between her to find the perfect levalege for what was about to come.

The tip of his cock ran up and down her folds gathering the wetness and his hands spread it over his length, mixing it with his own leaking pre-cum. Thick head of his cock began to sink into her tight and wet heat. The sensation of her walls wrapping around him, the way her body tried to miserably accommodate him so willingly, sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. His breath held as it was a tight fit. Her nails sinked into the sheet as she squirm and wiggle her hips. Knees sliding over the bed, finding any way to create more space for him as he sank deeper.

He could feel her body twist and adjust to his size, her walls clenching around him in response. The feeling of being completely buried within her warmth made his breath hitch in his chest.

“Ah-Nnhg! Wait,” she cried out as the pleasure and pain mixed extremely well inside her fogged brain.

"Relax," he growled, rambling his hips forward. Both of them let out a loud moan as he finally sinked all the way in. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to move within her, withdrawing his length and then pushing back in. And not fully because he wanted, if it had been left to him, he would have been pounding the body below him in animalistic rhythm to the point her knees raised from the bed but she was definitely not accustomed to being mated by an alpha. His thick length spread her deeper and faster each time, as her own body eased out the process as she felt herself become ever wetter.

At this rate, if the rest hadn’t woken up, then they must be deaf. The squeaks of the bed, the slamming of the frame against the walls. The high detailed wet noises of skin against skin, his thick fat cock entering in her wet heap over and over again. Only adding her loud moans of pleasure that turned into winces each time he bottomed up. The pull of his cock sliding in each time deeper was maddening, to the point that her breath came out in chopped pants, finding it difficult to breathe more each time despite trying.

The grip of his hands on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into the skin possessively. His thrusts became more forceful and deliberate, his hips meeting her with every movement, driving himself deeper into her core. “Ah- Yes!” moans grew louder, echoing in the room, mixing with his growls of pleasure.

Levi's pace intensified, the sound of his hips slapping against her filling the room, the bed rocking with each powerful thrust. Time seemed to stand still, lost in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through both of their bodies.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice possessive and dominant. Both intoxicated, each on their own duty. His to fuck, bit, lick, suck anything that would him secure to be buried up as deep as possible, make sure that the head of his cock was assaulting the sweet welcoming open of her womb. And hers to slay sprawled on the bed for Levi to have his way with her, take anything she was giving and allow him to do his work.

"Yes! yes, alpha! I'm yours," she moaned back "claim me,"

Her body seemed to have a mind of its own as the eagerness of his movements told the inner instincts about what was about to come. Her inner omega knew exactly what was about to happen, preparing for something that not even herself was entirely sure about.

“Fuck! Nhg… Yes, shit!” his voice turned hoarse as he snarled in pleasure. Nothing he had been trying to provide for himself the last couple of days could ever compare to his. Anything else paled in comparison to the melting heat of her cunt, to the slippery heaven her hole was. He could feel the walls contract around him, milking him for everything he was worth. He could almost sob on how good it felt, especially after all the build abstinence. Depriving himself of this was simple torture, he wasn’t even done yet and he could already moan at the idea of repeating it all over again.

Levi's control over her was absolute as he held her down, his dominance and power asserting itself with each forceful thrust. The intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain coursed through her veins, igniting a primal hunger within her. The sound of Y/N’s moans and pleas filled the air, driving him further into a state of possessive desire. His movements became more frenzied, his hips snapping against hers with a relentless rhythm. The force of his thrusts owned her wince, the delicate edge between pleasure and pain blurring and simply adding to the intensity of the experience.

Levi moved to hover over her, his chest pressed against her back, his hands wrapping down her arms to push her back as he thrusted in.

“Ah! Ah!” Flustering lids as her eyes rolled backwards, lips parted letting out encouraging words that would be extremely embarrassing to recall later on.

“I’m gonna breed you- Fuck- I’ll stuff you full that the only reason you won’t be leaking my cum its because I’ll knot you so fucking well” Levi growled, hips stuttering. She felt the alpha shudder above her, thrusts becoming frantic.

“Yes! Yes, please,” she moaned eagerly, unaware, unconscious. In the delicious state she was in, hardly could notice any change in the process. Only how the head of his cock hit her cervix repeatedly, preparing it to accept his load. Further spreading her legs as the knees and sobs become incoherent. The prospect of being mated and claimed but such a good alpha was enough reassurance for her drunk brain.

Mouth hanging open but produced no sound as another climax was ripped through her, her legs trembling and shaking in desperation. Feeling her own walls clamping down on Levi’s length, spamming around it. Another pulse of slick forced out of her, oozing it down and obscenely wetting even his own legs as his cock kept stretching her out. Her inner instincts were so pleased, so extremely delighted of being held down and mated properly.

Levi’s desperate groans and snarts grew harsh and breathy as his own body prepared for the peak of the act. He had no idea how long he had been there, snapping his hips, holding her down, assaulting that beautiful cunt. However, Levi had concluded a simple thought. His entire life and sense of living had been reduced to this moment. One hand reached backwards to the bottom of her belly to press and feel, feeling his own cock was getting larger.

“Mhhh! Nhg” her winces as it was already too much to handle. “No- no!” she resisted, it was too much, no amount of slick and hazed pheromones could clouded her mind to the feeling of him stretching her rim impossibly wide.

His lower abs contracted, his legs twitched with the prospect, his possessive growls reverberated on his chest as he warned her of ruining this precise moment for him. His movements became even more primal, his grip on her body tightening as he pounded into her with a commanding force. The sound of her wetness and the slap of skin against skin filled the room, echoing the intensity.

Moving in earnest with a single purpose, knotting. “W-wait!” She cried, each push had that large cockhead touching my cervix, preparing it to accept his load.

Levi’s sharp snarl pierced through her body as he feared his mate escaping on the peak of the act or perhaps moving and running his calculative pounding. Pale lips parted, heavy breath impacting on the back of her head, saliva dripping from the corners of his lips. His teeth sinked mercilessly on the back of her neck, right on her scent gland and forcing submission into her frame. Latching his jaw around the back of the omega’s neck, drawing blood out of it as it mixed with his own saliva as he was drooling of the pleasure that cursed through him.

She could no longer move, her body became a pliant frame for him to deliver powerful thrust, his knots brushed against her entrance, teasing and preparing to further claim her and fill her with his seed. The grip on her frame was almost painful as he kept thrusting forward, trying to force his knot, the swollen part of the bottom of his lengths, to finally break in.

Her mouth hung open but produced no sound as she felt him finally being able to pop inside his knot with a last trust. Now unable to pull out anymore, his cock securely pressed as deep as it could go, head right on the opening of her womb, his knot secured in her entrance making sure that all his seed remained inside. No longer pushing out, only rocking against her frame. The pleasure of being stroked so deep within at such a brutal pace had her insides fluttering. Walls contracted around Levi's cock as he circled his hips jerking. Y/N squirmed as she felt the hot liquid gushing into her. Levi's shallow pumps released more each time. Rodding out his climax, growling softly as he humped desperately the soft body beneath him. Each shallow pump released more of his hot seed deep within her. With each pulsation, she felt the overwhelming fullness.

“Ah-” She mewled out as he released her neck to press his forehead against her nape, purring content to the point she could almost feel the satisfaction smile on the corner of his lips. Quick were to arrive the soft kisses and gentle laps on the claiming mark to numb the zone.

Levi’s endearing vibrations echoed on her exhausted frame as his chest was still pressed against her back. His hands now running up and down her sides as he kissed his shoulder blades delighted of a successful mating. It was a mere wash of calmness until the heat demanded them to retake the actions repeatedly.

Levi manoeuvred them to be laying on their side, spooning her from behind as they couldn't unlock yet. The cramped sheets at the bottom of the bed frame as the heat of their connected body was enough despite the winter temperatures. He dedicated to deliver affectionate gesture, a calming reassurance after the intensity of their union. He held her close, his strong arm draped around her waist as if somehow she could still perhaps run away. The tips of his hair tickled her face as Levi provided one of his arms as a pillow for both to rest their heads. It was stupid, to the point he probably would be ashamed later on how happy his mind was about it.

Pillows were spread around the floor, half-eaten loaves of bread on the night table. Shivers ran down his body as the air was humid and cold, dense and thick with confinement. The almost transparent sheets weren’t enough; his hand searched in vain and blindness for his blankets. He sat up abruptly, suddenly ashamed of his own nudity as his body felt sticky. His hips hurt, his legs contracted as if he had run a marathon, his hair clung to his forehead because of the lack of wash, his body froze as the sweat had turned cold.

Grey eyes roamed around his room that suddenly felt foreign to him. It was a mess, and he didn’t just say that because he was a clean freak. It WAS a mess. The sheets hung wrinkled on the edge of the bed, the bed frame had moved around, there were dirty dishes and jars of water half-drunk. His stomach groaned, complaining as the necessity to ingest food over any other priorities started to retake his system. The thick saliva in his mouth was gulped down slowly as his eyes admired the naked body sleeping next to him on the bed, tired and unaware. Levi couldn’t unglue his eyes from her naked back. His fingers ghosted over the purplish inflated claiming mark on the girl’s neck, not daring to touch it.

“No…” he whispered as realisation began to sink into his brain, which was finally, after almost over a week, regaining rationality. He slightly shook his head as he felt blame crawling up to him as if it was all a big mistake. Trying to search for a glimmer of hope, he carefully hovered over her peacefully resting body to softly sniff the mark he had left behind.

Shutting his eyes closed with pain and clenching his teeth, he breathed out, “Fuck!” Everything made sense now. She had mentioned that she was from a small country village and that during her nurse training, she lived in an omegas and betas only pension. Nature was wise—why waste energy and precious heat cycles when there was nobody around to claim her? It was better to save it for a worthy occasion. The way bringing her pastries from downtown brightened up her features, his necessity to provide tea for her, the chemical reaction of his face being too close to her neck that occasion. He had triggered her presentation.

‘A late bloomer,’ he thought. Unpresented, assumed to be a beta. His instincts knew better than himself.

“What the fuck have I done?” He cursed under his breath.

“Levi?”

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bumblesimagines · 15 days ago

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The Lions Claws

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When a Lannister visits King's Landing, he ends up finding entertainment in the King's eldest son.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, toxic/manipulative behavior, Lannisters being Lannisters, mentions of bruises, cersei would be proud, aegon might feel a lil ooc

~~~

For a capital meant to represent the Crown, King's Landing was incredibly underwhelming. Even the towering Red Keep sitting atop Aegon's Hill proved lacking with its dull red stone and drum towers casting shadows. He'd expected something akin to Highgarden's serene beauty or the formidable and untouchable Storm's End but the Red Keep was dreary at best. The air felt thick and suffocating as if it were eager to be rid of guests with clouds loomed overhead in varying shades of grey, leaving one wondering if there'd be a drizzle or downpour awaiting them the moment they stepped outside.

"A smile wouldn't kill you," Erwin muttered across from him, yet the grimace on his face spoke for his own thoughts. Homesick was one word to describe the heaviness in their chests. "Your mother wouldn't be pleased if she heard you left a sour impression on Her Majesty and the Hand."

"Oh, please." (Y/N) spared his cousin a glance before his eyes returned to peering up at the Red Keep from the window of the carriage. Chilling air flowed inside, opposite of the warm breezes that so often clung to the westerlands he knew well. "All she cares to know is if Tyland's made a fool of himself yet, the poor idiot. She may not say it but I know she fears the dragons will eat him alive."

"I haven't heard of dragons eating lions yet." Erwin's lips quirked up into a grin, showing off his pearly white smile that always made impressionable young ladies swoon.

Once the carriage came to a stop, Erwin's smile disappeared and he straightened up, casting him one last look before the door was opened. He stepped out first, his bronze hair briefly glittering when the sun managed to peek out from behind a drifting cloud as his eyes swiftly swept over the courtiers and servants around. (Y/N) released a soft sigh and followed him out into the chilly air, the bottom of his feet hitting the gravel beneath and moving around the small grains.

The Red Keep was equally as boring up close as it was from afar. In its prime, back when Aegon the Conqueror was still around, it may have been a sight for sore eyes; something that truly struck both awe and fear into the hearts of his enemies. But now, with the tightened hold of the Hightowers, it was bleak. Perhaps its beauty drained with the King's ailing health, forever entwined with the bloodline that'd built it. Perhaps historians and poets were simply sucking up to their rulers.

His eyes naturally glided downward to the pop of color sticking out against the stone. Her Majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower, stood before the grand doors with her children. She was pretty, shockingly youthful, and dressed in a color that clashed with the house she'd married into but was every bit of Hightower. Floor-length, off-the-shoulder, and in a nice shade of green that reminded him of forest leaves during the peak of spring. It allowed for her ivory skin and auburn hair to stick out more. Yet, despite her striking beauty, she was not all he expected. The Hightowers were known for plenty of things, but the woman before him appeared as frail as a withered flower.

"Thirdborn son of Lady and Lord Lannister, Your Majesty, Your Graces." Erwin's words sounded robotic and slightly practiced, the little armor he wore clinking together when he bent at the waist. Poised, proper, and with a hint of authority, Erwin had always been what every knight dreamed of becoming. "(Y/N) Lannister of Casterly Rock."

And so the charade began.

Allowing a smile to grace his features, (Y/N) stepped forward and dipped his head in respect before lifting it to look her in the eye. She stared back at him, the exhaustion in her eyes subtle yet he noticed it immediately. She had many duties now with her husband bedridden. How would she fare, he wondered, when he passed. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." He recited the words his mother had ingrained in his head, the memory so clear he could practically see her glowering at him. "I hope my older brother has done House Lannister justice during his time here."

"Ser Tyland has done us a great service as our master of ships." Queen Alicent smiled politely, though the underlying tone in her voice spoke plainly: he was essentially useless without the need for a naval fleet, though most masters of ships were. He imagined Tyland offered bits and pieces of advice now and again during meetings. He'd always been a little wiser than Jason. "I pray the trip here from Casterly Rock wasn't weariful. Your apartments have been arranged already if you wish to rest."

"You are most generous, Your Majesty." It was the bare minimum of a host but good manners and thankful words often went a long way, especially with prideful nobles. However, Queen Alicent hardly seemed keen on compliments, or his presence, for that matter.

"I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to but I'm certain the Princes Aegon and Aemond will be pleased to refresh your memory of the castle." Queen Alicent tilted her head toward the three Targaryens lined up beside her, her smile notably falling when she eyed the eldest of the bunch before it returned just as quickly to bid them farewell. Four pairs of violet eyes tracked her movements, one pair with a little more longing than the other.

The eldest, Prince Aegon, stood a little shorter than his lanky brother and he lacked the rigid posture and poise of a young man of his station; his shoulders were lowered and his knees bent slightly, though, from the lazy smirk on his face, it was all purposeful. An attempt to irritate his mother, (Y/N) assumed given the swift exchange between them. Prince Aegon was a curious fellow, (Y/N) decided then and there.

His hair was wavy like his mother's but unkept and messy, matching his disheveled clothes that'd turn any parent red with embarrassment. Pale violet eyes watched him, glinting with hunger, but for violence or affection, (Y/N) hadn't deduced yet. Prince Aegon wanted others to fear him, to feel intimidated by his title, judging by the way his eyes narrowed challengingly. He reminded (Y/N) of the juvenile lions back home, the teenagers torn between proving themselves or running back to their mother's side.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was every bit of a royal son. His back remained erect and his shoulders were squared, the height he had over his siblings allowing him to appear as if he were towering over them. His hair was straight and reached past his shoulders, seemingly brushed regularly unlike Prince Aegon's. His singular eye had unease settling in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, piercing and scrutinizing as if searching for a flaw or weakness to pounce upon. Gossip and news spread like wildfire across Westeros, so when the King's son lost an eye to his own nephew during a scuffle, the news reached Casterly Rock within a few days. It hardly surprised him Prince Aemond seemed guarded.

Beside Prince Aemond stood Queen Alicent's only daughter and perhaps the most beloved amongst the smallfolk, Princess Helaena. She pointedly stared at the cobbled floor beneath her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with a slight sway. (Y/N) knew her to be of a gentler, almost odd disposition, but her tender-heartedness won over the smallfolk more than her elder sister ever had. She seemed to be a mix of her two brothers with her hair not quite wavy yet not quite straight and her almost slouching stance. A light pink had dusted her round cheeks from the cold and her nose crinkled ever so slightly with each breeze.

Princess Helaena seemed too gentle of a girl to bother and (Y/N) had an inkling Prince Aemond's patience ran thin, which only left the would-be heir as (Y/N)'s form of entertainment for the duration of his stay. His gaze glided over to the prince in question, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch up into a smile. There was nothing more he loved than a lordling (or in this case, a princeling) to toy with. Lannisters were known for playing with their food.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) moved up the steps swiftly, amused at the way Prince Aegon's brows raised and his lips turned downward with a perplexed frown. His hands reached out to smooth his palms over the sleeves of Prince Aegon's coat, his ears picking up the faint sigh from his cousin behind him. Prince Aegon visibly flinched at his touch. "I recall we once played together as children. I hope we can catch up in due time; you must have many stories to tell of your childhood here. You can tell me of the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, and if it interests you, I can tell you of the lions we keep in Casterly Rock."

Prince Aegon blinked, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. "I-"

"I look forward to it, Your Grace, but I am dreadfully tired." The facade already began to crack. The prince seemed utterly baffled by his sudden attention. His fingers fidgeted at his sides and his posture straightened with uncertainty. "I hope to see you at supper."

With each passing day, it felt as if the Red Keep were trying to suffocate him with boredom. The other courtiers were as predictable as expected, flocking to him with an eagerness to be favored by a Lannister whilst simultaneously hoping to hear anything they could whisper about in the halls. Gossip wasn't new to him; he loved indulging in it back home, often while sprawled out over a couch with his giggling gaggle of friends. But the Red Keep... he simply despised it.

At the very least, the chaos of the Targaryen family kept him from smashing his head into the nearest wall.

Perched on a stone railing overlooking the training yard, (Y/N) watched the lordlings and pages train under the supervision of Ser Criston Cole and other on-looking knights who had little to do. His eyes tracked Prince Aemond's stride, his chin cocked upward and smile challenging, but the only one daring enough to step forward. (Y/N) hadn't cared to figure out whether his confidence was merely a charade to mask the wounds of a child once tormented by his peers or as real as the greed in everyone around them.

He'd concluded the royal children were like bruises, purple and green with hints of yellow, fresh and tender. If he lingered on one for long enough, pressed and prodded with enough force, their pain would be revealed for his eyes to observe. Prince Aemond hid himself well enough through cold stares and calculated words, but the days that'd passed had allowed (Y/N) to view the little boy beneath the young man. Whenever he passed the ladies of the court, he'd adjust his eyepatch and turn his gaze away from them to subtly hide his face from sight. If Prince Aegon bored him, he considered Prince Aemond as his next plaything.

The only one emboldened enough to step out to face the tall prince had been none other than his older brother, though, by the way he staggered and cackled as if everything were one big joke, it could only be assumed he'd had one too many drinks. Prince Aegon's blatant disregard for their training had his brother rolling his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy exhale. His antics were common enough for Ser Criston to stare at him with hardly disguised disappointment, his hands resting on his hips like a father ready to scold his troublesome child.

"If only he were a jester and not a prince." (Y/N) murmured with a quiet sigh. He could bargain for a jester, offer a trade to Her Majesty and the Hand so there'd be no losing side but princes were like the gold in the mines of the westerlands. They had to be shaped and formed, just as any other person, but they had to feel as if everything they did was of their own accord.

A sweet Dornish red swirled around in his mouth, his attention locked on the stumbling prince that by all means should've been heir had it not been for his father's stubbornness. Prince Aegon moved awkwardly in the chest plate and the sword swung clumsily in his hands yet his laughter continued bouncing off the walls. It was childish and carefree, unlike his brother's scowl which deepened by the minute. Prince Aemond spared Ser Criston a glance and then charged at his brother, his movements akin to a fluid dance as swords clashed. Prince Aegon struggled to keep up, too inebriated to focus clearly, thus leading to his loss.

Swiftly, Prince Aemond ended the brief spar by slamming the hilt of his sword into his brother's face, legs leading him backward as Prince Aegon fell onto the gravel with a pained cry. Ser Criston sprang into action, shooting the younger prince a disapproving look over his shoulder before he reached out toward Prince Aegon, his words lost to the wind. The knights closest to them moved to help Prince Aegon onto his feet but once the prince found his footing, he shrugged away their hands and sneered at them. His cheeks, once pink from the many drinks, turned into a deeper shade of red that spread to his ears. Humiliated, though certainly not for the first time.

(Y/N) swung his legs over the railing and slid off it, kicking up hints of dust when he touched the ground. He savored the last few droplets of his wine and set the cup aside with a satisfied sigh. His legs carried him into the hallway and down a set of stairs, his mind still unfamiliar with the castle but he'd memorized the places he wished to visit the most. One being Prince Aegon's bedchambers, which he shared with his sister-wife and down the hall from the shared room of their little children. He lingered by the railings overlooking the inner courtyard until Prince Aegon appeared, his figures disappearing into his bedchambers with a tentative young maester trailing after him.

The guards positioned outside the door allowed him in without so much as a glance, a monotone voice gruffly calling out his name before the doors rattled shut. (Y/N) scanned the bedchambers but found nothing of interest apart from shrouds and other fabrics with embroidered insects and the maid cleaning a wine stain off the floor, so he settled his attention onto the silently fuming prince and the maester attempting to work around his pout.

"What is it?" Prince Aegon questioned, wincing by the end of his sentence which only fueled his anger.

"I saw what happened, Your Grace." (Y/N) spoke gently, crossing the distance without much of a hurry and eyeing the blossoming bruise spreading across his cheek. The hit had cracked open the corner of his lip, leaving it raw and speckled with blood the maester attempted to clean. (Y/N) allowed his hand to brush over Prince Aegon's shoulder in a comforting manner, his other hand dismissing the maester with a flick of his wrist. "I wished to see if you were alright."

"Obviously I'm not." Aegon spat, bristling like a cub and pouring himself a cup of wine to swallow down with a cringe. His cut and cheek no doubt ached from his actions, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to snort. Foolish and impulsive, acting on his emotions without thinking twice about the outcomes. A funny little princeling.

"Bring us some sweets." (Y/N) angled his head toward the maid, her scrubbing absentminded enough to tell him she'd been hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between two noblemen. She raised her head at him, a red curl slipping free from her loosely thrown-together bun and tapping lightly against her cheek. She stared at him for a minute too long, likely irked by a stranger giving her orders, but she stood up regardless with the stained rag in hand. "Thank you, darling." She paused, her irritation soothing over and her head dipped bashfully.

(Y/N) settled down on the chair beside the prince and picked up the napkin the maester had been using, folding it over his index finger and dabbing lightly at Prince Aegon's lip. His brows, a darker shade than his snowy locks, furrowed again and his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a frown that'd certainly sting.

"Are all westermen as strange as you?"

"Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Most people use 'kind' or 'empathetic', Your Grace." (Y/N) leaned back into the cushion of his seat, withdrawing his hand and setting the napkin aside. His violet hues flickered elsewhere with a hint of guilt and annoyance at his words, his fingers releasing the cup to rest over his thighs in fists.

"Aegon," He said quietly, uncertainty lacing his words. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon," (Y/N) echoed with a coo, studying the young man before him with hawk eyes. He searched his body, his facial features, for movements and emotions, for any fidgeting or ticks that'd reveal things his voice refused to. "It must be hard having the name of an ancestor as great as Aegon the Conquerer. You must feel pressured."

Aegon scoffed, and just like that, he revealed his pain. It'd been clear for (Y/N) to see since the first day he arrived, but the assumption slowly developed over the passing days; Queen Alicent's weariness at the mere mention of him, the heavy exhales from the Hand, the distaste that crossed the features of those who knew him well when he passed them in the halls. He'd likely been under some pressure as a boy, but he'd fucked up enough times to be properly labeled a disappointment, a bother. He knew it, too. He carried it on his shoulders, masking it by attempting to appear unbothered and lazy.

(Y/N) made no comment on it. Instead, he offered him a smile and caught the footsteps approaching the door. "You're a pretty prince, Aegon. Has anyone ever told you that?" The answer came in the form of two widened eyes staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. It was true, if one squinted past the excessive drinking and snarky words. He had his mother's beauty and the mystique of Targaryens.

The maid shuffled inside with a tray and approached the small round table they sat at, giving them the faintest of smiles as she gingerly set the tray down and began placing plates of sweets on the table. She'd even brought two teacups and a kettle, the faint smell of chamomile tea filling the air when she poured it into the two cups. "That'll be all." (Y/N) said, ensuring his fingers grazed against the back of her hand when she set the teacup in front of him. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she gathered the now empty tray into her hands, sneaking glances over her shoulder as she left.

"I hope you ate before you indulged." (Y/N) ignored the small silver fork resting beside a slice of cake and broke off a piece with his pinched fingers, sticky and clinging to his fingertips. He debated his next movements, considering the possible outcomes and reactions before his unquenchable curiosity won.

Smiling once more, (Y/N) stuck his arm out toward Aegon and held the piece of cake up to his lips. Aegon blinked, eyes flickering wildly between him and his fingers, his brows slowly furrowing. Aegon, too, debated his next movements, his hands unfurling to press his palms into his thighs and adams apple bobbing with a swallow.

When (Y/N) had been a boy, he inquired one of the lion-keepers about how they went about taming beasts. The wrinkled old man had chuckled at his questions, his hand lowering to affectionately pat the top of his head. He'd told him, plainly, that certain beasts could never be tamed, beasts like lions or dragons. But, he'd added with a grin, beasts like humans certainly could. At his young age, (Y/N) found his words to be a riddle he couldn't be bothered to decipher, and so he'd forgotten the question in favor of watching the caged felines.

He learned with age that his words rang true.

To tame any beast, two-legged or not, you had to have a certain amount of patience and keen eyes. A level of trust had to be built, whether through food, water, shelter, or gentle words, that would ease them into being comfortable around your presence. You had to push, and really push, against the boundaries of the beast, threatening to cross the unspoken line until they reacted, favorably or not. Beasts were complicated creatures but the same across all species. And so the princeling before him made up his mind about the crossed boundary.

Tentatively, Aegon closed the space and opened his mouth, his eyes flickering with something familiar, a teasing hunger. His lips closed around his finger, that challenging spark returning and mixing feverishly with the hunger. The tip of his tongue slid along (Y/N)'s finger, collecting crumbs and sticky residue. Honey, he assumed, tugging his finger back with a pop that had the corners of Aegon's mouth lifting. He winced again and unconsciously licked the cut.

"What will your mother say of what happened?" He asked, knowing it'd sour Aegon's mood immediately to bring up the subject of Queen Alicent, but he kept him from shutting down by entertaining him. The same saliva-coated finger broke off another piece of the sweet treat, this time rising to his own mouth. He mimicked Aegon's previous actions, watched the delight and intrigue that briefly sparked across his face. Predictable but still entertaining.

"Nothing," He answered, eyes locked on (Y/N)'s lips and ears twitching with the pop that followed. Aegon slumped back into the chair and dragged his fingers over the bruise, his brows twitching involuntarily when he pressed on it. His shoulders drooped with a heavy, ticked-off sigh, and he reached for one of the tea cups. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated, inhaling the steam and deciding against drinking it.

A hum rumbled in the back of his throat, a tickle in the back of his head eager to test the young man across from him. "Well, I should leave you to rest." He said, curling his hand around a napkin to dry his finger before he stood up.

"Wait!" Aegon blurted out, his chair scraping against the stone floor when he shot up from it, the force nearly making him barrel right into (Y/N)'s chest. Amusement curled around him but he held back the grin to tilt his head at him curiously. Those deprived of attention often sought it out in any way possible, so (Y/N) hardly found himself surprised when Aegon's hand curled around his wrist firmly. "You- You wished to know about the Dragonpit, right?" His tone reeked of desperation.

"That can wait, Your Grace. You've had a rough evening." (Y/N) spoke soothingly, fingertips brushing along Aegon's jaw. They crept upward toward his uninjured cheek, digging into his porcelain skin. He wondered how hard Aegon would break if he pressed hard enough, if he formed cracks or let him shatter. He watched the pale skin redden under his touch, a color that faded slowly.

"I-"

"It's alright, Aegon." (Y/N) assured him, soaking up the hopelessness in his eyes. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips along the bridge of his nose before planting a kiss on the skin between his eyebrows. Aegon practically melted beneath his touch. Such easy prey. "We have plenty of time to catch up."

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disasterofastory · 1 year ago

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Bedtime story (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Bedtime story // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 13/14 Warnings: mommy kink, nursing/breastfeeding kink (I'm not sure which)

Summary: You read (Jane Eyre) while Brahms is busy with something else.

"After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel." Your voice is gentle in the quiet room as your eyes scan the long line of words as you read under the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table. The old book is a comforting weight in your hold while your other hand rakes through Brahms's dark hair as he rests on your shoulder. The soft strands curl around your fingers every now and again as you play with them mindlessly. His arm is over your middle, fidgeting with the hem of your pajama shirt. He smells like evergreen and sandalwood. His body is pressed to your side, keeping you warm and comfortable. His breath fans over your collarbone with every exhale. "I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

It's dark and cold outside. You can barely see the garden of the manor through the thick fog flowing close to the ground. The pale face of a moon and the stars around it are hidden by the clouds gathering at the top of the sky. The scent of oncoming rain is carried by the wind as the branches of the trees rock back and forth in the darkness.

While you are busy with the book in front of you, Brahms's hand slips under your shirt, caressing your side and moving to your stomach. "It's ticklish," you tell him. Your stomach quivers under his fingertips. "Continue," he hums as an answer, moving his touch up on your torso. His fingers brush over the soft skin under your breasts. Your shirt is almost at your neck now. "Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down with grief, and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror—for this still voice was the pant of a lion rising—"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world, and to let me go another?" Brahms's movements are lazy as he pushes your shirt out of the way entirely. His thumb brushes over your nipple until it becomes a hard pebble under his fingertip. "Give one glance to my horrible life when you are gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left?" Your voice trembles as you continue reading. The man in your arm tugs on your nipple, soothing the slight pain immediately after. "Continue," Brahms hums against your skin when you stop for a second. His lips slide over the side of your breast as he leans closer to your chest until his mouth closes around your nipple. "What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for a companion and for some hope?" The words roll down your tongue heavily as your voice shakes. Brahms's teeth graze over the sensitive skin around your nipple while his tongue laps on the hard bud. His other hand finds its way to your other tit, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh. "You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?" You feel like a raw nerve as you read. Your breasts ache under his ministrations. Your nipple is soaked by his saliva as he sucks and sucks on your tit. His tongue circles and laps and draws. Your hand is still in his hair, holding onto his curls and pushing his face even closer as your back arches. "I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back—walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my hand." Your fingers tighten around his curls. You gasp and groan. "Fuck! Brahms! Please!" "Read," he murmurs, not even bothering to lift his mouth from your breast even though you can feel his erection pressing to your thigh. For a second, you turn back to the book, lips open to continue reading, when suddenly, you change your mind. A smirk tugs on your lips as you look at the top of Brahms's head as he still suckles on your nipple. "Brahmsy," you coo. Your voice is deep and sultry. You can feel him freezing next to you. "Be a good boy for mommy." His whine trembles through your body from your breast to your pussy. The visible change in the air makes your thighs clench for some friction. "You want to be a good boy, don't you?" You ask him. His hips jerk against your thigh. "I want your words, baby." His mouth leaves your breast with a quiet pop. Your skin shines with his saliva. "Yes," he replies, staring at you with wide eyes. "You should eat my pussy to prove it," you smirk at him, already pushing away the blanket to open your legs wider. "If you will be good enough, I will let you fuck me." His eyes dart down between your legs while his head is still resting on your breast. There is a fight in him. He wants to stay and suck on your tit while you read him, but his hand already reaches between your thighs, palming your sex through your thin panties. You are warm under his possessive hold. "Mommy is waiting," you break the silence again. "Mommy," he groans, sliding down your body to become face-to-face with your center. His voice is high and whiny.

There are times when Brahms calls you mommy without really wanting to say anything. He just likes the way the word rolls down his tongue and grabs your attention.

"Good boy," you hum, lifting your lower body to help him tug down your panties. You are not even sure why you wear them when you go to bed. Brahms loves waking up early in the morning when the sun isn't even showing yet to warm his cock in your tight hole as he falls back asleep.

His eyes are on your wet slit as he throws your panties over his shoulder, not even caring where it lands. He uses his fingers to open you up, gliding a third finger over your folds. Your wetness soaks his digit before he takes it in his mouth to lick off your juices. A satisfied rumble breaks free from his chest.

You spread your legs wider, digging your feet deeper into the mattress to brace yourself. Brahms's fingers grab onto your thighs as he adjusts himself on his stomach, his broad shoulders pushing against your flesh.

Your head falls back on the pillows when you feel his tongue on your pussy. He laps over your slit, wanting more of your taste. Your hands go to your breasts to tease yourself while he is busy between your legs. His tongue rubs on your clit before closing his lips around it to suck you there this time. His eyes are on your breast, watching your nipples peaking out between your fingers. He suckles and slurps, pushing you to the edge with each brush of his tongue over your sensitive bud. Your pussy aches and flutters as you get higher and higher. "Good boy, Brahms," you praise him. "You are such a good boy for mommy." He whines under your words, diving into your pussy even more. His face is slick with your wetness, and his tongue glides down on your slit to poke into your hole. Your hips jerk against his prodding tongue while he tries to keep you in place. Your taste and smell fill his senses. There is nothing else in the world for Brahms but you. Only you. "Your finger, baby." Your words come out weak and quiet. The familiar burn in your lower stomach is distracting. Brahms just hums, latching on your clit once again while pressing his finger into your hole as you asked. One finger, then two. He is eager and overwhelming. Your eyes fall shut, and your lips open with a hoarse cry. Pleasure flares over your body, and your thighs tighten around Brahms's head. At the feel of your sweet hole fluttering around his thick fingers, he laps up your arousal more frantically. He helps you ride out your orgasm and prepares your pussy to take his cock next. His hips grind against the bed, humping the mattress without his noticing.

His face and beard glint with your juices when he breaks away from your pussy to look at your face more clearly. Your chest heaves and your hands are still on your breasts. Your eyes shine with satisfaction and desire when you look at him.

"You are a good boy, Brahms," you tell him, smiling. "You are mommy's good boy, hm?" "Yes," he nods. "Can I-?" You hum, putting your hand on the back of his head to pull him over your body. His weight is warm and comforting on top of you. The tent in his pants nudges your center. "Do you want mommy's pussy?" You grin. "Do you want to fuck me, Brahmsy?" He almost wails. "Please!" His hips prod against you, chasing any friction he can get. "Please."

While you are busy in each other's arms, it starts to rain outside.

#brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

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torusdove · 1 year ago

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— You taste sweet, like honey

Pairings: Yuuji x reader, Kento x reader, Satoru x reader, Choso x reader & Yuuta x reader.

Description: types of kisses I believe they fit!

— Pinky promise! ˚｡ Itadori Yuuji.

In the heart of the small, neighbourhood middle school, Itadori and you were found running behind one another. The laughter of innocence surrounded you both as you basked in the warmth of the sun, your hand stretched in front of you as you tried to lay your hands on his body, tagging him to be it.

Spring had brought the subtle wind with her, filling the air with the sweet scent of the blooming flowers and pollen that seemed to be giving Itadori a hard time once in a while.

With sparkling eyes, you took one big step, pressing your palm against his back. You absolutely didn’t mean to do it, but gasped anyway when he tumbled over into the fresh field of grass. It took him a little before he burst into laughter, rolling onto his back as he watched you with the same spark twinkling in his eyes.

“Y/n,” he breathed out, chest heaving up and down through a small cough that itched up into his throat. Those stupid pollen.

“We should marry when we’re allll grown up!”

You couldn’t fight the mischievous grin that seemed to grow into your lips, giggling softly behind your tiny hand before you took a seat beside his face, knees probably covered in green when you’d get up. “You’re silly!”

“I am dead-serious!” His voice became louder, sitting upright as his eyes struck yours with a certain certainty, “We will have a biiig house with eleven cats and seven birds!”

Caught up in his whimsy, imaginary future, you couldn’t help but giggle even more, innocent eyes crinkling into two new moons while he watched you with a smile curled into his lips. “Okay, ‘dori, I promise we will!”

Without another word, he extended his pinky high up into the sky, waiting patiently until you seemed to be doing the same, “Pinky promise?” And with all of your teeth on display in a big smile, you linked your pinky with his, your fingers intertwined in a gesture that felt as significant as any wedding ring, “Pinky promise!”

With your childish promise made, Itadori leaned in, his little lips pressing gently against your cheek. The kiss was sweet, innocent even, filled with the purity of childhood affection. Yet, both of your faces were flushing red, laughter filling the air a second later when the silliness was no longer ignorable.

As the sun shone her brightest colours in the sky, you continued to play, hearts filled with the joy of friendship and the magic of youthful promises that, for a moment, felt as real as the world around you.

— Morning affection ˚｡ Nanami Kento.

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the bedroom. Your eyes carefully fluttered open, aware of the new day dawning upon the world while stirring around gently. The empty spot beside you told you enough to mourn your loss already: Kento was awake and ready to head to work.

Nevertheless, you did have the privilege of being met by his back, blazer neatly straightened and tight around his biceps, hands probably busy fixing his tie. The smile that curled upwards into your lips had won the battle, watching him silently.

When he turned around and locked eyes with you, you could swear you saw the corners of his eyes soften around the edges, walking way too quickly towards you. Bending down a bit, slightly towering over your frame, his lips found their comfort on your forehead.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered, voice a gentle murmur. "’M sorry for waking you.” It was silly, the way he apologised for something that happened despite his quietness. So, with a soft smile, fully embracing his doting as the slumber still had a grasp around your wrist, you whispered, “Nonsense, Nami..”

As you felt him backing away, you debated whether to grasp his wrist and ask him to stay “for just five minutes longer”, but decided against it when he seemed at peace after giving you such a sweet goodbye.

Patting his chest softly, straightening his tie out just the tiniest bit, you watched him with a fond expression, “Gon’ miss you, Nami – hurry back home, ‘kay?”

With an amused grin, he nodded his head, letting his lips dip down to meet your forehead for a second time. You could feel his grin against your head, softly breaking out into a smile yourself.

“I will be back before you know it, sweetheart.” With that, he walked towards the bedroom door, glancing once more at your body being swallowed by the fluffy blankets. It may have been a brief moment for outsiders, but it warmed your body more than the blankets ever could. Watching him leave the room, you couldn’t help but sigh out contently, already counting down the seconds he’d come back home.

— Drowsy love ˚｡ Kamo Choso.

The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm ambience. Laying entwined in the comfort of your bed, the soft sheets cradled Choso and you like two warm arms. Both on the verge of sleep, but a gentle restlessness lingering in the air.

Your lips met lazily, a slow dance of affection. Eyes half-closed, you exchanged sweet, drowsy kisses, each one deepening the quiet intimacy between you. Fingertips traced gentle patterns on bare skin, a silent language of love spoken in the quiet of the night.

A contented sigh escaped as you parted from his lips, only to hear a whine coming from his lips in the hopes of gravitating back together. The world outside your bedroom seemed to fade away, leaving only the rhythmic exchange of sleepy kisses and the steady beating of your hearts.

The room filled with the soothing sounds of your shared breaths, creating a melody of quiet affection. The soft rustle of the sheets only echoed the tender moments between you even more, and in the hushed stillness, you continued your wordless exchange, savouring the sweetness of those sleepy kisses that spoke volumes about the love you held for one another.

— What were we waiting for? ˚｡ Gojo Satoru.

The room was bathed in a blue glow from the long-forgotten TV, a playlist playing in the background which neither of you paid any attention to. A low hum of laughter and music filled the air as Satoru and you, both slightly tipsy -rather, very much drunk-, found yourselves on the sofa in the middle of the shared living room.

Originally, you’d have shared this very same sofa with three other people: Suguru, Kento and Ieiri. However, with all three of them finding their way in life, the sofa only seemed familiar to your two figures.

With one last sip from your glass of wine, you let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes while a deep sigh spilt from your mouth. Satoru couldn’t help but mirror your body, letting his fall back in the same way, only with his head turned towards the side of your face.

Your hair was messy, not unkept, but dishevelled enough to be called messy. There was a soft, red glow blooming into your hot cheeks, darker than the usual shade of lipstick that adorned your chapped lips. He noticed the way your chest moved at a much slower pace: a lazy, deep breath followed by a -just as- lazy deep exhale. Your eyes were fluttered shut, eyelashes moving the slightest bit along with your eyes.

Your exams were finally over, and now you could relax.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to feel his eyes burning holes into your soul, but this time the heat felt more unbearable. Maybe your tolerance for alcohol wasn’t as high as you thought.

Or perhaps he was staring a little harder than normal.

There was no escaping his gaze, no escaping his strikingly clear eyes, even when you had convinced yourself that opening your own slowly, would maybe get the job done.

It wouldn’t.

His irises were coloured a fierce blue, a luminous glow of happiness and youthfulness sparkling within them. They burned fanatically, challenging the sun by showing off its brightness. They could devour the beauty of the rest of the world with ease, leaving you to question whether you had seen anything that would even come close to their beauty. Resting your cheek on the headrest, you finally let your eyes meet.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at unspoken feelings.

Your cheeks felt hot and your head was pounding, fingers quick to fidget with the rims of your nails to get your mind a little more focused. A slight buzz in the back of your mind had you feeling hazy, dozy even. It made you question whether or not your eyes were betraying you by observing his body leaning more towards yours.

You couldn’t speak of any betrayal when your eyes caught his lingering on your lips, a playful smile etching its way into the corners of his mouth. He never lost his childish playfulness, your strand of hair being twirled around his finger absentmindedly being proof of it.

The TV played a soft melody, creating a backdrop for the unspoken tension between you. A bubble of air seemed to have settled its claws into your trachea, your hand carefully finding its way to his knee.

Satoru had always been beautiful, had always had girls running after him ever since you had known him. And up to this very moment, you had never quite understood.

In turn, Satoru let his body shift closer, lightly nudging your thigh with his. The air buzzed with quiet anticipation as you shared a secret, drowsy smile, realizing that something unspoken lingered between you.

A shared moment of vulnerability passed between your gaze, each recognizing the unspoken feelings. His hand found your fidgeting ones, intertwining his fingers with yours until you had become completely still. The room seemed to fade away as both of you moved closer, drawn together by an undeniable magnetic force.

With a gentle touch, your free hand brushed a strand of white away from his face, your fingertips grazing his cheek. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken words, but in that shared moment of silence, you both understood. Without needing to say a word, your lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about the connection you had discovered in the midst of a tipsy night.

— This isn't goodbye ˚｡ Okkotsu Yuuta.

The airport terminal was buzzing with the hum of conversations and the shuffle of hurried footsteps. Surrounded by the busy crowd, Yuuta and you stood facing each other, expressions a mix of anticipation, sadness and longing. With his bag packed and his luggage beside him, you couldn’t help but tear up, trying to hold them back by flashing him a wobbly smile.

"I guess it is finally time.." Yuuta said, his voice tinged with slight excitement but also reluctance as his eyes picked up on your own. Your usually bright whites had turned a pinkish colour, the sparkle within them also nowhere to be found.

Your head moved up and down, blinking back tears and swallowing the big lump that seemed to be stuck in your trachea, "You will have a great time."

Noticing your soft speech, and your shimmering eyes, Yuuta couldn’t stop his body from moving closer into your proximity, reaching for your hands and squeezing them softly in reassurance, “I will be back before you know it.”

There was no use in giving him any sort of rebuttal, nodding once more as your hands lightly squeezed him back. “I know,” you measly whispered out, “I am proud of you for coming this far.”

These were the last moments of the two of you being able to be this close to one another, and Yuuta seemed to realise that as well. Pressing his forehead against yours, he spoke even softer than before, eyes strikingly clear, “I promise I’ll come back. I’ll come back stronger and braver, for you.”

You couldn’t manage more than a small smile, eyes glistening in the bright airport lighting, “I will be here.” Yuuta’s thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear as gently as he could.

It didn’t take him long, but it did take him a handful of courage to do what he desperately wanted to do months ago. With his hands gently cupping your face, he pressed his lips, with utmost tenderness, against yours. Surely, you could categorise it as a bittersweet kiss, filled with the promise of return and the ache of separation.

However, as you watched him disappear into the crowd, becoming one with the sea of people, you couldn’t help but not think of this as a departure, but more so as a new beginning that just had to reach its starting point.

Author speaking: i love reading comments and quoted reblogs ;) take care!! <3

#yuuji x reader #yuuta x reader #gojo x reader #choso x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #yuuji fluff #yuuta fluff #nanami fluff #choso fluff #jjk x you #ink.

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batfamily14 · 1 month ago

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What type of pretty are the batboys?

This is a positive headcanon of the types of beauty I think the Batboys are and references to what I mean!

Dick Grayson

Richard is Jude Law type of pretty, very boyish handsome looks. Soft and bright eyes, with a sly-crooked grin. Reminds you of your first love in college or first crush in high school. He's effortlessly beautiful, approachable, and warm. It's like rain on a sunny day. There’s an easy grace to him, like the way waves lap at the shore—steady, calming, but with a quiet strength beneath the surface. His eyes hold the vibrant blue of an open sky, endless and full of hope, while his hair always seems to have that windswept, carefree perfection like he’s just stepped off the beach.

References :

Jason Todd

That rugged, electrifying kind of beauty evokes an intensity that’s equal parts dangerous and mesmerizing. Like aftershave and dark gleaming eyes. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane, the natural wonder of lighting and rain. When he fully smilies it's like electricity goes through your bones. He's the Pedro Pascal type of pretty. Jason’s beauty is raw and striking, like the full moon on a pitch-black night—impossible to ignore and arresting in its intensity. His features are bold and sharp, with a shadowy allure that seems to draw you closer even as it warns you to stay away. His eyes gleam with a mix of defiance and sorrow, like the reflection of moonlight on stormy waters, hiding depths you’re afraid to plunge into but can’t resist exploring.

Tim Drake

His beauty is the kind that feels approachable and sincere, like the boy next door who always helps with your groceries or the quiet kid who doodles in the margins of his notebooks. His large, curious blue eyes seem to take in the world with endless fascination, giving him an innocent and thoughtful aura. Tim’s go-lucky beauty isn’t about perfection but about the warmth he brings to those around him. It’s a mix of youthful charm and a kindness that draws people in effortlessly, even if he doesn’t realize it. He's spring in bloom pretty.

Duke Thomas

Duke’s beauty is the kind that feels like home—familiar, comforting, and endlessly captivating. His warm, fuzzy charm is rooted in his genuine kindness, the type of person who makes everyone feel seen and valued. His laugh is infectious, the kind that makes your stomach ache in the best way, leaving you grinning long after the moment has passed. He radiates a quiet, golden glow, like the first rays of sunlight on a crisp morning, gently warming everything in its path. There’s an effortless balance to him: his edge—subtle but undeniable—adds depth to his softness, making him feel like a person who has lived through storms but always returns with warmth and calm. He has that idris elba beauty.

Bruce Wanye

Bruce’s beauty is hauntingly timeless, the kind that seems as if it belongs to another era—Victorian in its elegance and depth. His features are sharp and striking, with a bone structure that feels almost carved from marble. His eyes are piercing, heavy with untold stories and pain, yet they carry an undeniable allure, a quiet invitation to look deeper. They’re the color of gathering storms, filled with power and restraint, as though they’re always on the brink of unleashing something vast and unknowable. As he ages, his beauty doesn’t fade; it transforms, growing richer, like the finest wine maturing over the years. There’s a sense of refinement and resilience in him, etched into every line on his face. Yet, even as the world calls him a man of steel and storms, there remains a flicker of that little boy charm—a glimpse of innocence and curiosity that’s never quite been extinguished. I would say Marlon Brando in his prime type of beauty.

#jason todd #red hood #batman #tim drake #nightwing #dick grayson #dc comics #batfamily #red robin #duke thomas

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lullaebies · 4 months ago

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Request: Aegon really trying to get along or at least be in good terms with Jaehaera but she's still grieving for Jaehaerys and her mother too much (and the years don't seem to ease the pain) that she can't fully accept him yet

a/n: ok so this ended up a bit longer that i expected! i was trying hard to think how to go about this. hopefully this will read well <3 tomorrow i will continue with the rest of the reqs sent!

He sits quietly by his wife during the feast, their lips both red with the dark of wine.

It is a celebratory night, The Feast of The Father Above demanding grandness, lest the septons decide it a fair night to accuse the Crown of not being pious enough. It mattered little to Aegon, but it mattered to his subjects; meaning he had little ways to object.

The septons say this holy day to commemorate the Father is a day of just rulings, a day of auspicious decisions. Perhaps if he had been more pious he would’ve trusted his judgement auspicious enough to shut their mouth with some coin and tell them to celebrate down their streets instead of his halls, but alas.

He looks at Jaehaera. As of two days prior, she is six and ten. The spring of youth, if one is to go by how the singers describe maidens of similar ages. Girls that age absorb the sun and hold its beam in their smiles, warming the room around them in cheer and dance.

You wouldn’t be able to tell so, with his wife. She looks a painted doll, with an even line to her red lips that refuses to bend. Jaehaera doesn’t celebrate her nameday; when it comes, she usually refuses to leave her rooms for days after. Her ladies-in-waiting had once tried to prepare her a surprise, and in return, she had raged.

The court never quite understood her. He still remembers Myrielle Peake weeping at Jaehaera banishing her from her rooms. Her father never quieted about it since, he thinks grumpily. But when he was told of this great injustice the Queen has inflicted on her well-meaning ladies, he had to hold himself from laughing at the complainers in their face.

As if she would like to celebrate the day she remembered her own twin is lost to the afterlife, while she is lost here.

He dismissed the complaints with some platitudes. He had felt similar enough when his regents assumed him to be ever thankful for them sitting him on the Throne, as if the death of his mother and older brothers hadn’t been the sole reason a crown is on his head. Let us celebrate your coronation and our hard work, your Grace, the dimwits had said. It is a joyful occasion.

They wouldn’t know how to make him joyful if they tried, and his wife even more so.

Yet still, there is a pang in him, seeing her so muted. There are rare days, where they align in their routes, and her words are reminiscent of his. Where they walk down the same route silently and it feels more natural than the forced conversations he is met with from anybody else. She always scurries away after, avoids him after, but...

She is his wife, and as much as they were sewn together, they are of similar enough cloth. Smiling like the sun is not something he’d expect of her, but he doesn’t wish she’d never at least feel its rays.

He may have drank too much today. Her wintry form had been much on his mind. He supposes he finds ways to be melancholic no matter what, but he looks at her and sees himself, from a long while back; from before Viserys came back, before he could hold onto his sisters again to cry.

The dance floor had been filled with duos dancing to string instruments gracefully. It is not something he does often, but had seen her dancing before. As a child, granted, before it all, but she had seemed happy to do so before. And who would ask her to dance again, but her husband?

“Jaehaera,” he mumbles her name before he can regret it. She turns to him, heavy brows lifting in wonder. “Should we dance too?”

It should help, in more ways than one. Seeing them being amiable would calm the many lords here, he thinks. Or spring some hope to their souls, or more importantly, some respect for Jaehaera’s being. Wouldn’t that help, having the world know she is no jilted girl? It would do her good. It would do them good.

He never wanted a divide between them to haunt them. They have enough things haunting them. Is this a good decision? He knows not, but The Father may as well sanction it auspicious, after all the hard work put into this damn feast.

Jaehaera’s tentative fingers fiddle with her wine cup. She puts it down softly. “If his Grace should like that,” she answers, building her wall from him again as her eyes shy away from direct eye contact. The rings on her fingers drag across the marble table, clinging to the cold of stone as they approach him.

Aegon notes her offering. He doesn’t quite like that it's simply complacency, but then again, he had been simply complacent when everyone else goaded him to do anything, even if he did find enjoyment in it in the end. And if she doesn’t find enjoyment in it, at least she would have a spring in her step for the singers to sing about, and mayhaps that will soothe her.

He reaches for her offered hand, picking it up gently from the fingers. The table, her rings, they’re cold, but her bony fingers are warm. It is almost surprising, with how distant she seems at the moment. They rise from their chairs to the surprise of the people around their table. Viserys looks at him crookedly, but he pays it no mind - Jaehaera seems to go along with him well.

His thumbs fiddle with her knuckles nervously as he attempts a squeeze of reassurance. He truly doesn’t dance often; Baela sometimes forces him and he looks a fool, Rhaena sometimes does so too and becomes his harsh, smiling critic. He shouldn’t be able to reassure his wife in regards to dancing, he has little talent in his lanky limbs, but he has to try, he thinks.

A spot is cleared for them in the center of the floor. She thanks the lord and ladies who move in a mannerly way while he simply nods. The musicians switch a song, and he vaguely remembers the form for it, reaching for Jaehaera’s waist. After confirming from those nearby he remembered correctly, of course.

As for Jaehaera, the form they should be in dawns on her quickly, and her fingers curl over the peak of his shoulder easily. She looks at their feet when the song begins. He does too, to see his are well placed. He wants to brighten this night some, but he doesn’t want to look like an oaf doing so.

Despite that, however, he can’t imagine he doesn’t look like one. He is unsurprisingly rusty, and the length of his limbs lend to a taut gait and especially dance. Jaehaera is surprisingly fluid in her movements, on the other hand. He nearly steps on her foot once, but she evades it simply. “Sorry,” he whispers.

When he hears a soft snort coming for her, he almost thinks it had been for the better.

She is not without faults — she does step on his foot. He huffs at her in some vindication he is not the only one with two left feet. She finally lifts her eyes to him, supposedly to apologize too, but then the dance calls for her twirl. She holds his elevated hand throughout it. He does notice a hint of a crinkle to her eyes, and he even meets it with his own one.

When he stops her, hand finding her waist again to hold her in a secure manner, he thinks he shook off that rustiness. But then Jaehaera’s eyes land on him in a strange gaze, and her limbs suddenly feel tense.

Jaehaera swallows, and looks down again, her grip on his shoulder digging into his bone. “I think…” she stops them from moving. “I feel ill,” she says abruptly. “I think I should retire for this night, Your Grace.”

He blinks at her. He is not convinced; her face only gained some warmth to it as they danced. Still, he draws her away from the dance floor to its side, knowing here too, there is little to object to. She feels all too rigid in his hold, and something had her gaze become cloudy.

Most of the room seemed to cheer at them joining the dance floor, so that couldn’t be it. The taste on his tongue is sour, feeling somewhat jilted himself. Perhaps because he himself hadn’t hated the dance all that much. He offered this for her and still… Fine.

“Then go rest,” he allows, trying to keep the bitterness behind lock and key. She says her farewell to some key courtiers and leaves, quickly disappearing to the dark, gloomy parts of the castle.

For a while, he returns to his spot at the table. When they strike a conversation, they ask of the Queen; some of them deem her rude for her abrupt departure. He finds their voices offensive, for he would rather like to retire to his apartments himself at the moment.

“‘Tis a holy day, for us all. Ill or not, even a Queen must be respectful—” Lord Peake grumbles by his ear, and he wonders why he hadn’t let him go ages ago.

Irritated, he decides that it wasn’t quite fair for her to leave him this way. Especially with everyone around looking at him like this in pitiful wonder. And with these halfwits, surrounding him around the table and offering their daughters as dance partners instead.

“Pay my respects to The Father and preside over the rest of the feast, Lord Peake,” he says, and comes up again from his place. “I should see how the Queen fares.”

He gets up and walks in long strides out to the dark, gloomy hallways himself.

—

As he approaches Jaehaera’s apartments, he finds himself hesitating to actually come in.

His wife hasn’t asked for any kindness, even if he had attempted to offer it. He does think the wine had made him rather rash if not overtly sentimental; he wouldn’t have asked her to dance in the first place without it, and he certainly wouldn't have come by her door.

The Father Above might be laughing at him from the dark skies. Auspicious decisions, my arse.

And he is about to turn on his heel, when he hears a sob from the inside of her room.

He reaches for the knob of the door and twists it open.

Jaehaera is by the window, too close to the damn window, the dying light of the fireplace showing bloodshot eyes and tears trailing down her rounded cheeks. She is frantic in her movements until she stops in place when she sees him, holding a quivering lip from saying a thing.

“Why are you…?” he tries to ask, but some anxiety spikes in him and he can’t find a way to articulate himself.

“Your Grace, please leave,” she manages out of her system. That lights a visceral feeling of rage within him.

“You will not order me to leave,” he says plainly. Your Grace, your Grace, she tells him the entire day, but she won’t force that distance upon him when he plainly sees there is something foul at play. “I don’t know what I have done, but I did not mean harm to you and you know this.”

“I know,” she answers, the glisten on her lash line more noticeable. She’s shaking like a leaf; what has rattled her so? “But you more than all know that matters little.”

Fuck. He had been irritated, but now he is properly upset. All had been well, what has he done wrong?

“If you tell me what it is I can fix it,” he says. It is the wrong choice; she turns to look at him with a sharper gaze, even with her tears.

“I used to dance to that song with Jaehaerys,” she says, and Aegon already understands he has lost here. Of course, the times he remembered her dance as a child, it had been with her brother. “Mother taught us the steps. It was her favourite. Jaehaerys was determined to learn it well, even though I always had to escape his clumsy steps. He wanted to show mother he listened to her.”

She wipes her cheeks with her hands, holding herself.

“We never had the chance to complete the dance without missteps.”

Aegon shuts his eyes. “If I had known I wouldn’t have…” he begins. What is the point in saying what she knows already? “I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”

He foolishly assumed he would know any better than anyone else in the Keep how to do so. They are adjacent to one another in pain when the court already assumes it knows everything about them. And he thinks, there had always been some truce between them, in regards to that — perhaps that had all been in his head, too.

That dance felt like a moment of peace to him. He wanted it to be a moment of peace for her, too, for them all. He is so tired of fighting and guarding his own self; he simply wants to relent to the calm that he feels could exist between them.

Jaehaera’s hand reaches for the seven-starred necklace upon her, swallowing. “It had, for a moment,” she sniffles, shame in her voice. “It made me happy. But my brother can’t be, and my mother can’t see it, and I…”

That he does know, the guilt of being alive. The guilt of continuing on despite having the world shattered, despite witnessing so much death. And Viserys returned from the dead, and when he confessed it all, his brother had told him simply one thing.

“You’re not at fault for that.”

And if Jaehaera has resentment on her tongue, any hatred she wants to spit out about those who were at fault — she doesn’t say it. Simply looks at him with guarded eyes, keeping her distance.

He can’t ask her to close it, just for the sake of his own peace. He wouldn’t ask her to, either. The ghosts that plague her on her namedays, day to day, they are there, he knows what they whisper — plenty had whispered to him day to day.

“You need not to dance, but you need not hide what plagues you, and what would make you at ease,” he says. “Her Grace the Queen has her voice in court, and if she’d like it, the King’s ear.”

Jaehaera looks at the floor, as she does, and let all the tears that had been unshed out. She needn’t close the distance, but she does need to know she can, if she’d like. He lets her sob until she tires herself out, helping her to the bed and tucks her in.

Even if winter plagues them, forever piercing cold, as long as her skin is warm on this earth, she should have her own dream of spring.

If one day she should choose it, he’d be willing to help her find it.

#jaehaegon #jaehaera targaryen #aegon iii targaryen #hotd #hotd imagine #reqs #serymn31

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youneedsomeprompts · 2 years ago

Text

~ IT'S SPRING ~ WRITING PROMPTS

requested by: anonymous

Feel free to use and reblog!

collecting flowers on their way home

listening to the birds when they wake up

spring fever

taking deep inhales of the fresh spring air

walking in the park

new beginnings

picnic dates

standing up for themselves

standing up for a loved one

watching nature getting greener every day

falling head over heels in love

rolling down the window of the car

enjoying the sun that's warming their face

meeting new people

being ready for the next step

trying something new

building someone up

youthful spirit

being extremely energetic

always humming a tune

weekend trips

confidence boost

skinny dipping even though it's much too cold

lying under the sunny sky and watching the clouds

making flower crowns

riding the bike to the bakery in the morning

being enlightened

adopting a puppy/kitten

starting to heal

always wearing their favourite blouse/shirt

helping each other out

discovering the first early bloomers

taking heart

being unexperienced

getting back up after falling down

rain in bright sunshine

not leaving the house without a raincoat

fresh flowers every week

making plans for the summer

spending their days outside

motivating others

realising their feelings

enjoying spring in the countryside

suffering from hay fever

risking something in order to achieve something

going all in

freezing even though it's not winter anymore

waiting impatiently for summer

barbeque parties in the garden

the park becoming their second home

#spring prompts #seasonal prompts #writing prompts #prompt list #fluff prompts #prompts #otp prompts #otp #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writers on tumblr #writeblr #setting prompts #50 prompts

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wolfiihoney · 6 months ago

Text

First encounter with Toji. Part 1

Wc:1700

Pairing: Toji x Y/n

Unedited srry bbys

It was a beautiful and warm spring day, and you were more than grateful to simply sit lazily on your porch swing, sipping on your sweetened iced tea. You observed a group of happy children playing and giggling loudly across the street, their joyful innocence bringing a smile to your face.

As you were immersed in your thoughts, you noticed a little dark-haired boy quickly darting across the street, heading in your direction.

You immediately sprang into action, sprinting towards the boy with an urgent sense of concern in your heart. "Hey! What are you doing?" You panted, out of breath from the sudden exertion, scooping him up by his waist and hauling him back onto the sidewalk. The boy seemed unbothered by your concern, his focus fixated on the ball he had thrown across the street.

"I didn't want to cross," he confessed, his voice filled with childlike innocence. "But I asked you from across the street to throw my ball back, and you were ignoring me."

The adorable boy nodded, appearing quite mature for his young age. "Oh, I'm so sorry," you responded, mentally amused at the boy's phrasing. "I wasn't ignoring you on purpose. I was just lost in thought." The boy picked up his ball and looked up at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "My dad says it's important to always pay attention," he said with a serious tone that was somewhat comical given his youthful demeanor

“My dad also says you should always be aware of your surroundings," he replied matter-of-factly. "Because if you don't, you're setting yourself up." You chuckled, amused by his grown-up demeanor. "Is your dad a spy or something?" you teased, holding his small hand as you walked back to his house. "I don't know," Little Megumi answered with a shrug. "He doesn't tell me what he does." You were amazed at how mature and advanced he appeared for his age

“Mind telling me your name sweetie?” You said curious about the little boy.

“My name is Me-" he attempted to say, only to be abruptly interrupted by a deep, authoritative voice. "Megumi! Where the hell did your little ass run off to now, huh?" Toji's bellowing voice confirmed that you were indeed speaking to none other than the little smarty pants named Megumi.

Toji’s voice a firm tone when he called for Megumi. You couldn’t help but find it endearing, silently musing, “So his name is Megumi... how cute.” You thought

You finally got to megumis front ward as You stood face to face with the tall, dark-haired man, feeling a tinge of shyness wash over you. "Oh, hi!" you greeted him with a slightly flustered smile. "Megumi just came to get his ball from across the street." Despite his striking good looks, you couldn't help but want to chastise him for not keeping a closer eye on his 8-year-old son. Toji scratched the back of his neck, a hint of embarrassment apparent on the man’s face, realizing his oversight.

“Megumi what did I say about leaving the yard huh? You gotta let me know when you’re trying to go off somewhere. You understand?” Toji said to a little Megumi.

Megumi didn't seem too concerned about Toji's lecture, as if he were already used to the mild scolding. You watched Toji parent with a sense of admiration, feeling your heart flutter as his handsome appearance and authoritative demeanor caused a crush to blossom within you. As Toji turned his attention to you, you smiled brightly, reassuring him, "Now that you know I’m just across the street, I'll make sure to keep an eye on Megumi when he's out here playing." Toji's gaze lingered on you for a moment. Toji nodded in acknowledgment of your helpful offer. A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked you up and down, sizing you up. "I appreciate that," he said huskily. "Seems like my little brat managed to cross the street and find himself a nice, helpful neighbor." You felt your heart quicken under his gaze, the butterflies in your stomach swirling around in excitement

You tried to keep your cool but were undeniably flustered by the man’s directness. "Oh, it's no problem," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the redness in your cheeks betrayed your calm demeanor. Toji took a step closer, his intense gaze never leaving yours. He looked you over once more, his smirk growing a little bolder.

The intimidating smirk once again appeared on Toji's handsome face as he looked you over, clearly impressed by what he saw. He ushered Megumi back into the house with a gentle nudge on the head, then stepped closer to you on the porch. "Mm," he said, his voice deep and sultry. "I’m Toji.” He said his confidence was admirable.

“What's your name, doll?" You attempted to sound confident and composed, despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach. "Y/n," you replied, feeling your heart flutter.

“Y/n…”, his voice dripping with a hint of desire. "Y/n," he repeated, drawing out the syllables, almost as if he were savoring the sound of it. "Pretty name. I like the sound of it, Y/n." There was a subtle undertone to his words, a hint of the not-so-innocent thoughts that were no doubt swirling around in his head.

Toji's smirk softened as he studied you for a moment, considering his next move. "Y/n," he said again, his voice a low grumble that made your stomach flutter. Then, he cleared his throat, looking down at you with an air of slight nonchalance. "Listen," he said, "how about you come in for dinner tonight? With me and Megumi."

You were shocked that you got invited to dinner just for walking Megumi across the street. if this were any other man you’d tell him to fuck off in the most polite way possible for your safety but you felt different about this and something in you- told you not to decline his offer.

“Well of course. I’d love to have dinner with you guys, thank you.” You said being led into the home with a big hand holding onto yours softly. Toji chuckled as he led you into the house, his big, firm hand holding yours softly. "That's good to hear," he said, his voice deep and sultry. "I thought you might say no, but I'm glad you accepted." He looked down at you with a smirk, noticing the slight surprise on your face. "You seem surprised," he said, his lips curling up in a smirk. "Most people would probably be hesitant to have dinner with a guy they barely know, especially one with a kid.

You smiled nervously, looking up at Toji's handsome face as he led you into the house. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you admitted. "I wouldn't accept an invitation like this from anyone else." Toji chuckled, finding your honesty charming. "I'll take that as a compliment then," he said, his voice low and velvety. You found yourself feeling both flustered and strangely comfortable in his presence. You chuckled softly, feeling a mixture of flattery and confusion. "I guess it is a kind of compliment," you said with a small shrug. The house was surprisingly cozy and homey, As you followed Toji through the house, your stomach growled softly as the mouthwatering scent of food grew stronger. "Your house is lovely," you said, taking in the cozy decor and family photos scattered throughout. Toji chuckled, glancing down at you. "Yeah, Megumi likes to draw a lot," he said, gesturing to the numerous kid-drawn pictures on the walls filled with little kid drawings and pictures on the walls. As Toji led you further into the home, you couldn't stop thinking about the scent of the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. you followed Toji through the house and your stomach growled softly as the mouthwatering scent of food grew stronger.

—————- after dinner —————

The meal was absolutely delicious, and you found yourself enjoying the company of both Toji and Megumi. Despite the age gap, you found that Megumi was a charming and clever child who could hold his own in conversation. As the three of you finished eating and started cleaning up, Toji looked over at you with a smirk. "So, Y/n, what do you say we have a little chat in the living room while go cleans himself up?" He said while Megumi jumped up from the table and went into his bedroom.

You looked up at him, both curious and a bit apprehensive. "What is it?" you asked, wondering what he could want to ask you.

Toji leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed over his broad chest and gave you a slow, lazy smirk.

"I was just wondering," he said, his voice still dangerously low, "if you'd be interested in going on a little errand with me tomorrow."

“Errand?” You said why was he asking you out to run errands?

Toji pushed off the counter and stepped closer to you, his gaze intense and unwavering. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as he closed the distance between you.

"Actually," he said, his voice dropping even lower, "I was thinking it could be more than just an errand. Interested in going on a little date with me tomorrow?"

You were practically vibrating with anticipation now, every nerve in your body on high alert. Toji was so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the intensity of his gaze made your knees weak.

"I...uh...yeah," you managed to stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm down for it."

Toji's smirk widened, and he leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear.

"Good," he murmured, his voice low,

Toji pulled back slightly, his smirk still in place. He reached out and gave your chin a gentle, almost affectionate caress with his thumb.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon," he said, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle. "Be ready."

And with that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen to check on Megumi, leaving you flushed and breathless, your mind swirling with excitement and anticipation for the date tomorrow.

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hughiecampbelle · 4 months ago

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Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively.

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling.

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled.

It’s how you ended up here.

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you.

For now, though, he is quiet.

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him.

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect. The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

#writing #hughie campbell #hughie campbell drabble #hughie campbell oneshot #hughie campbell x reader #the boys #the boys drabble #the boys oneshot #the boys x reader

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milksuu · 2 years ago

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Second Magic

Pairing(s): Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & II / witch!fem!reader

Word count: 2.OK

Content/Warnings: soulmates, reincarnation, immortal, soft magic, slice of life, fluff, minimal use of y/n, minor angst, implied sexual themes, minor blood

Summary: Death claims everyone at some point. Unfortunately for you, your gift of magic cursed you with eternal youth and an ability that has shunned you from the village of Berk. More than one-hundred years later, memories resurface when you’re visited for a potion from Berk’s next chief.

He was the spitting image of your long-lost love—your soulmate—Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.

a/n: hello there everyone! I'm back with something new to add to the hiccupxreader tags. still on my mythical/magical kick. I do plan to have about three parts to this. so please stay tuned for updates, or let me know if you'd like to join a tag list. thank you and please enjoy.

There came a knock at the door. No one ever knocked on a witch's door by accident.

From the bedroom window, you peeked through the muslin curtain. Below the two-story cottage, grew a garden of lush greens and wild flowers. Where the weeds and dandelions led a trail to your front porch, a figure stood at your door. More pestering thuds bothered the home and the skin of your nose wrinkled. Muttering a thing or two, you ambled down the aching stairs. Before reaching the door, you rummaged through a decorative drawer, procuring a gray river rock. It was enchanted with one of your magic spells—a screeching stone, you called it.

“You can stop trying to break down my door,” you said, pressing the stone against the entryway. “Didn’t you read the sign posted on the oak tree outside? Clearly, it said no trespassing.”

“No—think I might’ve missed it,” the muffled voice of a young man answered, and it seemed honest enough. The stone hummed at the response. “Are you [Y/N], by chance?”

“There’s a chance I could be,” you said with soured lips. “Not many people come this far into the woods. And fewer people know of me, let alone my name. Which leads me to ask, who exactly sent you?”

“Gothi sent me. She mentioned you two knowing each other,” he replied in truth, and the stone continued its soft hymns. “She said if there’s anyone who could help me, it would be you.”

She’s still alive?

“That all depends. I trust Gothi, but I’ll need to trust you as well. You can start by telling me your name.”

There was a beat in the air. “It’s Hiccup.”

The ghost of your breath trapped itself inside your chest. That name—it had been buried beneath over a century ago. Yet the stone sang sweetly, and your heart squeezed in a haunting delight. A part of you wished it would scream. Wretched and revolting as it was, it would give you reason to cast the stranger away.

To your grief, he wasn’t so much a stranger as you thought.

Pocketing the stone, you opened the door with a creak. Meeting the green meadow of his eyes, your magic dug its fiery claws between your ribs. With all your power, you tried not to let his familiar freckles unsettle you. Fearing if you did, your magic would spring out of control. The windows would shatter. The roof would crumble to dust. The fireplace would spark and scorch the floors. Or something much worse. Touch him, and reveal when death would knock on his own door.

You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in,” you said, "we can talk more inside.”

He tipped his chin and thanked you for the invitation. When he stepped through, his gaze swept about your home. Dried flowers, herbs and spices hung from every inch of ceiling by twine. Sunlight spilled from the white-painted windows, and warmed the cushions of two chairs perched near the fireplace. Bookcases stood on either side of the mantle, stretched tall enough to touch the rafters, and wide enough to cover the entire walls. At the back of the home was the kitchen and brewing space. With emerald cabinets and honied-countertops, stacked with jars and vials, scattered petals, and corked potions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said. “I’ll prepare us something warm to drink.”

With a blink, he tore his gaze from the foliage and oddities. “Sure, I would appreciate it.”

When you left for the kitchen, he absently traced a hand against the chairs upholstery. Although it matched its counterpart, there were subtle differences; the legs were built taller, and arm rests crafted higher. When he took a seat, it felt made for someone of his stature—an odd thing to notice. His gaze raised to a row of books on one of the bookcase shelves. One particular book stood out among the jewel-toned backs of scarlet, green, and yellow. A simple spine of leather, softened over-time with use, and streaks of charcoal staining the edges.

Like a cool breeze, a sense of familiarity swept through him, touching the marrow of his bones. It begged the question.

“Have you always lived here by yourself?” Hiccup asked.

“You could say that.”

For a moment, you lost yourself in the fragrant pools. When was the last time you served someone tea? It may have been the day before a young man's mortal fate—the same day you couldn’t convince him to stay. Leaving you to join the collection of things he left behind. Your throat tightened around what felt like a ball of hot wax. Searing as it was, you swallowed its entirety.

Balancing the trembling porcelain, you returned to the next room and took a seat of your own.

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’ve…never welcomed visitors. It’s always been safer that way.” With a smile, you offered him a cup. “But between Gothi sending you and your genuine nature, I’d like to help you.”

“Thanks—and you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who decided to come here unannounced. So…” Hiccup trailed off, taking a drink. He stared at the ripples with solemnity. “My father isn’t doing so well. And you know Gothi, she’s the best Seer we have on Berk. She’s done all she can, but it’s not going to be enough. When I asked if there was anything more I could do, she recommended that I seek you out.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” you said, lowering your own cup. “If Gothi wasn’t able to help him, then he must be very sick.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He worked the tension of his lips between his teeth. Then pitched a sincere look your way, and said, “So you know, I’m not worried about you being a witch. If anything, I find myself pretty lucky to ask for your help. Even if that does mean I have to sell my soul for it.”

“I have some good news for you, then. I won’t be needing it. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with yours,” you said with a laugh. “But most spells and potions require something of personal value. At least, the stronger ones do.”

Setting your tea cup aside, you hopped onto your toes. Approaching one of the bookcases, you trailed a finger against the backs of countless titles. Your search came to an end when you plucked one out; dense with musky pages, a silver lock clasped at the side, and a small wooden door carved into the cover.

Peering over your shoulder, you found your nosy company arched forward in his chair. You cleared your throat, “Don’t think about peeking over here. A witch never reveals her secrets.”

He apologized under his breath, and shifted his chin away. But like a child snuffed out of his curiosity, he wore a pout of disappointment. You smiled in amusement, and brought your attention back to the book.

You knocked against the small door in a melodic tempo. The little door sprang open, revealing a tiny ear inside. You brought your mouth close, whispering the incantation with the smallest voice you could muster. Too loud, and the door would snap shut against your lips.

An unpleasant experience you remembered from childhood.

The lock clicked open, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Page after page, you mumbled and zipped through each recipe. A couple more turns, you tapped against the right one. Breezing through the ingredients, you had all but one. Oh buttercups, you blushed.

“What is it?” Hiccup furrowed his brows at your dawning expression. “Everything all right?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I—I don’t have one of the ingredients any longer. But maybe you still do,” you exclaimed, taming the warmth of your cheeks. “Come with me.”

With a tilt of your head, you gestured to the kitchen. Your guest rose from his seat, following your footsteps. With instructions for him not to touch anything, you scrambled to find your proper ingredients; mugwort, newt tail, bog water, and a strand of witch hair. Tossed and muddled by mortar and pestle, you poured the mixed contents into a glass jar.

“Time for the last ingredient,” you said, picking up a kitchen knife, “hold out a finger.”

Although hesitant, he lifted a hand. “Tell me you’re not going to cut it off. I’m already down a leg, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Not at all. That would be more than what I actually need,” you answered, albeit a little too plainly. With your other hand, you touched the stone tucked in your dress pocket. “You only have to be honest when I ask you this question. If you’re not, then we’ll both hear about it.”

He nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever—Oh, how should I put this?” Calming the storm of embarrassment brewing in your chest, you exhaled the words in one breath. “Have you ever committed the coupling act?”

There was a gulp. Then a twitch of his lips. Followed by a blush that bloomed from nose to ear. “What? No, I—I haven’t. What kind of question is that?”

Without a word, you sliced the tip of his finger. A hiss sizzled from his mouth when you squeezed it open. Aligning the bottle underneath, you caught the blood falling in pitter-patters. Once enough dripped into the brew, a plum of red smoke burst into the air. Both of you coughed and waved your hands around the space. When the pungent cloud faded into wisps, you corked the bubbling potion.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” He wrapped his finger in a handkerchief you provided. He went on to mutter, “Not sure why you couldn’t use your own finger.” By the delivery, the last part was meant to stay in his head.

Embarrassment washed through your veins, and painted every inch of your skin posy pink. The sight of it colored his own complexion.

“I didn’t mean to say that, honestly,” he apologized after the realization struck him. “It just sort of came out.”

“Absolutely no tact at all,” you chastised, snatching back the handkerchief. “Gods, you’re just as bad as him.”

He blinked with mystification. “Him?”

A slip of the tongue had the back hairs of your neck bristling. Magic pulsed like coils of lightning in your stomach. Crackling up through your chest, wanting to burn deeper holes in your heart. The roof groaned and creaked. Grains of wood dust fell onto your nose, dispelling the awful feeling.

“You have to go. Please, take it and leave. And don’t worry about repaying me.” Before he could argue, you forced the potion into his possession. With a clap of a hand, the wood beneath his feet shifted, motioning him out the front door.

“Wait a second.“ He wedged his prosthetic between the shutting door and frame. “Right bookcase, third shelf, leather back.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s a book that belongs to my family. Ask me how I know.” The question was rhetorical, and in your bafflement, he continued. “My families crest is sealed in its spine. And the only way you could have it is if someone gave it to you. You said you never had visitors. Sorry to say, but I’m not buying it.”

“That book has nothing to do with you or your family,” you glowered, and the stone screeched and howled from your pocket. You clapped your hands against your splitting ears, with your company mimicking your movements. Over the prevailing wails, you cried, “You’re right—I lied and I’m sorry for it! It belonged to your great-grand uncle. And that’s the truth of it.”

The screeching stone fell to whispers. But the thumping of your heart continued to beat in your ears.

“Wait. My great-grand uncle?” He caught a breath in his throat. “You don’t mean—there’s no possible way you’re talking about—”

“I am.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “My only visitor before you; Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.”

#hiccup x reader #httyd #hiccup httyd #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock ii #reader insert #httyd fanfiction #httyd 2 #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup x you #httyd book references #you bet we're going to get some flashbacks of hiccup the second #buckle up dragon riders #we're expecting some angst in this fanfic

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narizaki · 6 months ago

Text

spring's in your blood ― h. shoyo

tags 4+1, gn!reader, very light angst i think?, fluff

notes the four seasons that pass in shoyo's absence and the one that doesn't, wc 2.4k, this has been rotting in my drafts for like 3 weeks

spring 2016

spring represents many things.

come the new season, spring marks the end of winter. it greets you with blooming flowers and budding trees and animals awakening from their slumber. it rewards you for surviving the desolate season just a month before; the one that was full of powdery snow and gray clouds and the seemingly bottomless pit in your gut.

it signifies the beginning of many things. like the new school year, where you meet dozens of new people and get lost in the hallways and try to keep up with your work. or a new job, where you (once again) have to acclimatize to a new environment in addition to the endless list of demands.

spring symbolizes hope — the birth of something new and shiny and ready for taking.

what people forget, though, is that loss waits for no one. it comes when it wants to; all at once or one at a time, until you’re so full of it that you’re not sure what to do anymore. it forces you to curl into a ball at the end of your bed, your breath the only thing keeping you warm.

you lost many things during spring.

your youth, for one. graduations are meant to be happy ceremonies — celebrating the student for their years of hard work, and wishing them good luck in their future endeavors.

to you, graduation was only a bitter reminder that you and your friends were going separate ways. that you were growing up.

the loss of your relationships followed your youth. even if the majority of your friends weren’t moving far, if at all, there was a mutual understanding that your relationships would drift. it was only natural — balancing friendships with work and school became tiring after a while. when you had sulked over the change of pace, tsukishima had called you stupid and dramatic.

but when you both stood next to each other in the chill of the airport, you knew he understood.

hinata shoyo was someone important to both of you, even if the blonde would rather die than agree. that’s okay — you’d rather have shoyo to yourself.

spring is when you lost shoyo. when he flew across the world to pursue his dreams and to get better so he could continue doing something he loved. you understood; shoyo had been headstrong and put his all into everything he did, even the most mundane. he would go to the ends of the earth if it meant he could keep playing volleyball, and that’s exactly what he did.

it was why you fell in love with him, so you let him go.

summer 2016

you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the summer heat, in the same way you don’t think you’ll ever get used to shoyo being across the world.

tsukishima might’ve been right when he called you dramatic — it’s only been a few months and you think you’ve already been depleted of shoyo, with his bright orange hair and his endless amount of stamina and the positive energy he radiated no matter the circumstances.

he’s kept steady contact with you since his departure, much to your surprise. you’d thought the boy would get too caught up in his head admiring the new scenery and people — so when the first phone call you get is at 3 in the morning the day after he leaves, you’re equally surprised as you are confused.

“ah, sorry!” he exclaimed, having heard you yawn into the phone. “i can call you back later. i forgot what time it was over there. i’m sorry!”

you could only let out a small, tired laugh, telling him it was fine and that any contact was better than none.

neither of you get used to the time difference. shoyo still calls you at ungodly hours in the morning, profusely apologizing when you wake up bleary-eyed with a raspy voice because it’s the middle of the afternoon in brazil. you still call him at the start of each day, when it’s far too late for an athlete to be awake.

he always picks up.

you don't mention it, nor do you allow yourself to think too deeply about it.

the two of you talk about everything and nothing at once. shoyo tells you of his introverted roommate and his new job as a delivery boy — you think the way he gushes over the bike he uses to commute is cute. you talk about your job, and how he should be glad he decided to not go to college because fuck does it suck. you’ve pulled more all-nighters than you have in your entire life within the few months that have passed.

“did you ever find your wallet?” you ask. shoyo had texted you a week ago, sulking over how someone plucked his wallet from his back pocket when he got lost. you knew it was special to him — natsu had gotten him it, after all.

“no, i didn’t,” he sighs, and you frown. “but! i did run into oikawa!”

“ah, yeah,” you giggle, “saw the photo you sent. did you send it to kageyama?”

“sure did! had to show off to him,” he bragged, “oikawa and i went to one of my favorite restaurants. think he helped me out of my slump from losing my wallet. hey, if you ever come to brazil, i’ll be sure to bring you there!”

“i’ll be waiting. and, slump?” you question. you knew losing something valuable would suck for anyone, but you weren’t aware it’d pulled the spiker into a depressed state. it wasn't in shoyo’s nature to be depressed, you mused. typically, he was the one pulling people out of their slumps.

“yeah, i got all homesick and stuff when i found out i lost it,” shoyo replies, much quieter. “it was like i lost a piece of home, y’know. i miss you guys.” his voice trails off at the end, an almost melancholy hint to it.

you’re unsure what to say — in your few years of knowing him, you can count the number of times you've seen shoyo genuinely upset on one hand. you hope your hum of understanding comforts him.

“well, if it makes you feel any better, everyone back here misses you too.”

you resist the urge to say that you miss him.

“i’d hope so,” is his reply.

fall 2017

fall welcomes you kindly. you become better-accustomed with managing your time, and school no longer has as harsh of a hold on you as it did during the blazing months of summer in your first year of college. a soothing chill has settled along the city — not cold enough to make your nose twitch and turn red, but you’ve started wearing an extra layer and covering your neck with the scarf you bought with shoyo when you were second years.

you and shoyo still talk rather often — although the phone calls have noticeably slowed, as he’s found himself a solid partner for beach volleyball. heitor, if you recall correctly. you suppose it’s your fault as much as it is his, even if you know you could never truly blame him. while you have gotten better at balancing schoolwork, it’s only diminished the small amount of free time you already had.

you’re not mad. you don’t think you could even feel upset at shoyo for something you should’ve seen coming from the start. what were you expecting? you should’ve known that you would drift away from him, because you knew that was what happened to almost everyone after they graduate highschool. you knew this — it was the first thought you had when you had received the slip of paper that signified the end of your youth.

you suppose you’d grown too used to shoyo’s presence to notice the change earlier.

you try to talk to shoyo as much as he talks to you, but he’d always been better at it. it was in his nature to be social more than it had been yours, if his endless number of friends were to tell you anything. you’re sure he’s made good relations in brazil, even as a foreigner.

sometimes, you’ll see his occasional posts online of his endeavors — photos of the beach when the sun has barely risen, the ocean sparkling in the light, or they’ll be of the food he’s made, usually a homely japanese dish. you’ve even seen a picture or two of him watching one piece on a dinky t.v., and you distantly remember shoyo telling you about how he was able to bond with his roommate over the show.

you hope he’s doing well — conquering his dreams, that is.

winter 2017

winter does, as expected, not treat you nicely.

the chill it brings engulfs your entire figure, forcing you to wear layer upon layer and keep a few extra heat packets in the pockets of your backpack. even if fall gave you time to prepare, it will never be enough with the way winter comes at you with full force.

you suppose that’s why so many holidays occur during winter — christmas, new years, valentines day…the list goes on. people need a reason to distract themselves from the biting cold that forces a hole open in their hearts, only to close when the weather warms once again.

winter only widens the ever-present one in yours.

you can feel the pit in your stomach open more and more as the days pass. despite school not being in session, your time is filled to the brim with work and other priorities, leaving little to no space for your loved ones. you managed to find time to see your friends from high school — everyone but shoyo. even while karasuno’s old volleyball team is bundled together, complete with coach ukai and takeda, there’s still a space where you know he should be.

and if you look upset staring at an empty space in the wall, no one mentions it.

the holidays pass by with little notice. you join your family in celebrations, greet your high school and college friends alike when they arrive.

you send shoyo the same greetings — albeit with the timing likely off due to the time difference. regardless, he greets you back with the same fervor he’s had since the moment you met him. you like his message, planning on continuing on with your day by staying in bed watching the same three cheesy holiday movies they play every winter. you have work tomorrow, so you hope to savor the small amount of free time you have left, even if it’s spent rotting in bed.

your phone buzzes from next to you, and you’re half-expecting it to be a spam call. when you read the id, you’re surprised to see shoyo’s name — there’d been long enough gaps between calls that you had lost the habit of expecting them, and you recall the most recent one being maybe a month ago.

(the calls have slowed even more. you try to not think about it — try not to let yourself be hurt by it.)

you press accept and bring the device to your ear.

“happy holidays!” shoyo exclaims over the static. even if it’s been over a year since you've last seen him, his energy is still contagious as ever. the corners of your lips quirk up in a nostalgic smile.

“happy holidays, shoyo,” you reply, much calmer than your companion.

conversation comes easily from there — the once empty air around you is filled with the stories shoyo has and your amused giggles. you tell him about his old teammates, and he whines over his and kageyama’s childish scores. for reasons that don't surprise you, they’ve managed to keep track of scores regarding anything they could consider a competition despite shoyo being in another country.

there’s a moment of silence that beats on for a second too long — you’re about to say your goodbyes and hang up, but shoyo takes it as a chance to tell you why he called you.

“i’m coming back this spring,” he says, voice softer than what you’d grown accustomed to. your grip tightens against the pillow you're hugging against your frame, eyes widening.

“really?” you gasp, shocked.

“really.” he repeats, and you know he’s smiling, even if you can't see him.

spring 2018

over the past two years shoyo has spent in brazil, patience is truly a virtue he has learned. mastered, dare he say.

everything took time. cleaning his room. his roommate warming up to him. learning how to play beach volleyball. speaking a new language. maintaining a routine. learning how to fly again.

sometimes, though, he wonders what his life would’ve been like had he stayed in japan. would he still be as strong as he is now, without having to leave his life behind? shoyo knew that his departure was sudden — nobody expects a high schooler to up and leave the country the second they graduate, after all. even kageyama stayed in japan, going to the olympics shortly after they had completed high school.

shoyo knows what he left back in japan when he stood in the airport two years ago. that day, he left everything he knew — his mom, his sister, his friends, volleyball as he knew it, and you.

he’s waited for you for the past two years.

brazil taught him how to be a better volleyball player — showed him the importance of routine and training your body. it taught him to not rush into things, and that everything would come to him in due time.

so, in the same chill of the airport he left you in, shoyo meets you again. you’re staring at him, and it feels as if you are the only people in the building. he knows that his friends are waiting just by the two of you, but all he can focus on is you and the way your lips are slightly parted in awe and how much you’ve grown while he was gone and how much he wants to kiss you.

shoyo takes careful steps towards you, the same boyish grin you’d grown to love adorning his face. you’re frozen in place, but he figures that it’s okay because he’ll come to you. it’s the least he could do after leaving you in his wake just a few years back.

when he’s finally face-to-face with you, you’re still star-struck.

“you’re back,” you breathe.

“i’m back,” shoyo replies. he presses forward, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you, just how he wanted to all those years ago.

he can taste the salty flavor of your tears, and he nearly pulls back in concern, but you stop him. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. there’s an equal mix of cheers as there are sounds of disgust, but neither of you pay any mind.

the only thing that either of you are focused on is the fact that shoyo’s here, and he’s here to stay.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #hinata x reader #hinata fluff #hinata shoyo fluff #hinata shoyo x reader #shoyo hinata fluff #shoyo hinata x reader

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