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puppy-eyyes · 3 months ago

Text

The Chosen (Jungkook x Reader)

Preview:

A village in the woods. Creatures made of shadows. An unwilling contract. She always felt his presence—the weight of his gaze—but never tried to escape. He watched, waited... and finally tricked her into giving what he needed to claim her.

Pairing: Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 4k.

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Manipulation, Forced Relationship, Kidnapping, Mention of sacrifices, Fear, light smut, will add more for next chapter.

Author's note: Hi there. This is my first fic. I TRIED! It was supposed to be a one shot, but decided to split in two or three chapters. We'll see. The supernatural beings were inspired by Wildwood Dancing and Heir to Sevenwaters by the incredible Juliet Marillier.

PART I

Bloodbark, 15th Century.

The village sat like a forgotten relic, nestled between the blackened trees of the endless forest. Its cobbled streets were uneven, worn down by centuries of footsteps and wagon wheels, and the air always carried the thick scent of burned wood, damp moss, and iron.

The houses were old, their timber frames warped by time, their roofs sagging under layers of thatch and moss. The narrow alleyways between the buildings were cloaked in shadows, places where light seemed to hesitate, and where villagers hurried past without daring to look too long.

In the market square, merchants sold rough bread, dried meats, and bitter herbs beneath weathered canvas stalls, their voices hushed, their eyes flicking toward the towering Old Tree at the village’s center.

The Old Tree.

It stood twisted and massive, its bark blackened and scarred with deep, unnatural grooves—marks that no villager dared explain. No fruits, no leaves, no life. Just a skeletal thing, looming over the square, casting long, claw-like shadows that stretched across the cobblestones.

Long ago, when the land was still young, the massive tree gave enough fruits to feed the village. But on one moonless night, a mark, black as ink, thick as oil, appeared on its trunk. The fruits became rotten, and the villagers felt eyes on them at every single moment. They thought it was a prank of the troublemakers of a neighboring village and paid no mind to the mark.

By morning, the first child was gone, and a message was left behind. The black mark would return during the new moon, a warning that the Night People would need to be fed again.

The Night People are not like any creatures they know. They are shadows made flesh, with eyes that see through walls and voices that only the wind can carry. Some say they were once men, and others that they are the very embodiment of darkness.

The villagers do not fight. They do not resist. They leave their offerings at the tree, whispering prayers to gods who do not answer.

One mark meant they needed a man. Two marks meant they required a woman.

And if there was a third mark, smeared across the door or window of a villager’s home?

It meant the Night People had already chosen.

The villagers would do what was necessary, the only solution is to send a sacrifice into the woods. They resorted to kidnapping outsiders and kept them as possible offerings as a way to preserve the inhabitants.

It was better to give the sacrifice willingly than to risk the creatures taking more.

But once the mark was placed on a home, the family had no choice. No one dares to trick them, for the Night People always know, they are always watching.

Park family home, a day before the new moon.

The farm sat on the village’s outskirts, where the land bled into the forest’s edge. The house was old, but spacious enough for a family of four. It was the worst option the Park family could find.

Y/N knelt near the chicken coop, scattering feed to those little feathered monsters. The birds pecked greedily, while the girl was impatient to return to her room. She hated being outside.

There it was again.

That feeling.

The weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin, sinking into her bones like a sickness.

Her fingers twitched around the bag of grain. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t lift her gaze toward the forest that loomed beyond the crooked fence, where the trees grew too close together and the shadows stretched.

It had been this way since she came to Bloodbark.

A year ago, the flood had taken everything—her family’s farm, their animals, the land they had lived for generations. When they arrived in Bloodbark, the villagers welcomed them with wary eyes and whispered warnings, but no one turned them away. Her parents looking defeated, the young woman carrying her little brother in her arms.

They could have had the same fate as the people locked in the main barn: the sacrifices, but her father was a strong man and her mother had a way with words. They would become what they call as The Hunters: people who attacks and snatch outsiders.

The villagers gave them land, a place to rebuild.

The first time she felt observed was on her second day, while assisting on settling in. Surely, the villagers probably were observing the newcomers as a freak attraction. No one was in sight.

At first, Y/N thought the unease would pass, but every once in a while she felt that feeling again, sometimes accompanied by a scent - something cold, sharp, and sweet all at once. Like the breath of the forest before a storm.

At this point, she doesn’t even look around anymore. She knows the rules. The Night People never come out during the day.

“Y/N! Hurry up! Dinner is almost ready!” she hears her mother yelling from the window. “Bring eggs if you can find any!”

She laughed. A normal family in such an abnormal place.

Y/N focused on gathering the eggs in her apron and walked back to her house.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of stew and fresh bread, but it did little to shake the cold that clung to Y/N’s skin. She set the eggs on the wooden counter, rubbing her arms as she watched her mother move about, ladling thick broth into bowls.

Her father sat at the head of the table, looking out of the window, his brows drawn in quiet focus. Her little brother, Sunwoo, kicked his feet beneath the table, swinging his legs too short to reach the ground. He was humming, oblivious to the unspoken dread hanging in the air.

They all knew what night it was. Hopefully, it would be another month without a demand

Her mother finally sat, smoothing her apron before folding her hands together. “Some stew to keep us warm,” she said, voice light.

The stew tasted good—her mother’s cooking was always heavenly. Their family laughed, ate, and bickered like always—just another evening, just another meal.

If she focused on the familiar rhythm of it all, she could almost forget the iron bolts on the doors, the salt dusting the windowsills.

Sunwoo, swinging his legs beneath the table, slurped his soup obnoxiously.

“Eat properly,” their father muttered without looking up, splitting bread in his hands.

Sunwoo grinned. “I eat properly.” The three-year-old already had a feisty personality.

Y/N snorted. “You sound like the neighbor’s horse.”

Their mother shot them both a look, though her lips twitched. “Sunwoo, don’t play with your food. Y/N, be nice.”

“Why?” Sunwoo asked, still grinning. “Horse eats well.”

Their father sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, but Y/N caught the slight shake of his shoulders—he was holding back a laugh.

For a moment, the heaviness in the room lifted. The stew filled their stomachs, the warmth of the fire softened the night’s chill, and the walls of their home felt safe.

Beyond the glow of their home, where the forest swallowed the last light of day, he watched. A tall figure stood at the treeline, leaning against the bark of a tree, arms folded, his posture deceptively relaxed. Patient. Certain. His dark eyes never strayed from the young woman at the table, her laughter slipping through the cracks in the walls, wrapping around him like a whisper.

She looked so at ease. So unaware.

Jungkook exhaled slowly. He had waited a year, observed her every move, every emotion, and invaded almost every dream.

He had waited long enough.

The dream had become familiar, like a secret she had visited many times before.

She stood near the edge of a dark, still lake. The water stretched out before her, reflecting the faint outline of the waning crescent moon, barely visible, a thin sliver of silver light cutting through the sky. The forest behind her stretched on in shadow, its towering trees reaching out like twisted fingers, enclosing her in a world that felt both familiar and terrifyingly unknown.

A house loomed nearby, she already knew the place— an intriguing structure, yet strangely inviting. Dark glass windows reflected the faint moonlight, glimmering with an eerie, almost unnatural glow. It was a place meant for creatures like him, where the line between what was real and what was not blurred.

The scent of wet earth lingered in the air as she took a hesitant step towards it. And then, it was there—the weight of a hand on her waist, slow and deliberate, as though testing the very limits of her space. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t move. She never did. Not here.

A figure emerged, tall, cloaked in darkness. His form was made of shadows, of smoke, shifting in ways that defied the world she knew. His eyes—though she could never see them clearly—felt like they pierced right through her. His very essence seemed to demand her attention, to pull her closer, even as she fought it.

“Did you miss me?” His voice slid through the air like silk, smooth and dangerous.

She didn’t answer at first, she knew exactly what would come next… and how she enjoyed it everytime. With her silence, the creature pulled her into him. His body, or whatever part of him was tangible, pressed against her. He was warm and cold all at once, like the night itself was alive. She shivered, but not from the chill.

“You ignored me today once again,” his voice murmured, low and dark against the curve of her neck. The touch of his lips there sent a tingle down her spine, a shudder that made her breath catch. His touch was intoxicating She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t want this, but she did. His hands slid down her side, claiming her without words.

He pulled her closer, his lips ghosting over her skin. “It’s time for us to be together,” he whispered in her ear, his breath so cold it raised goosebumps on her skin. “Give me your name, and we can end this waiting.”

Y/n felt his fingers trace around her breast, teasing her nipples even with her nightgown separating them. For the past year he has been teasing her body, touching her in places she never thought someone would make her feel good. Always edging, but never completely giving what she needed.

His other hand traced the path of her lower back and moved forward, fingers going straight to her core and teasing her entrance. “Give me what is mine and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

She gasped, the words dancing on the edge of her tongue. Y/n felt the wetness pooling in the fabric separating his fingers from her core.

His lips were so warm against her skin, making the straps of the nightgown fall down her arms. She wanted to touch him, tangle her fingers into his hair while she delights in the feeling of his mouth in her breast. He made it hard to think, hard to pull away. He felt… real in ways she didn’t understand.

“Your name. It’s the only thing you need to give to me and I’ll give you what you seek” she heard his silky voice, her mind lost in pleasure.

“Y/N…”The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. The moment it left her mouth, her breath hitched, her chest tightening in horror, as if the very air around her had turned to ice.

His smile—if it could be called as such —spread, and she felt it deep within her, like a seed planted in the dark soil of her soul.

“No…” She stumbled backward, her heart racing in panic, fumbling with her flimsy clothing. The weight of her mistake hit her like a crashing wave. “No, no, no…”

With a sudden force, she pushed him away and turned, running for the house. Her bare feet slapped against the cold earth as she fled, the sound of his footsteps following her, like a silent shadow. She reached the door of the house, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the old wood, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind her.

Y/N shut her eyes closed, trying to disappear if she could. But then, the air grew still. Silent. The shadows no longer moved.

A loud sound woke her up. The clatter of metal—pots, pans. Her mother’s voice called out softly in the house. Y/N blinked, her eyes snapping open. She was back in her room, in her bed, safe. The faint sound of her mother moving about the kitchen lingered in her ears.

It was just a dream…

The Night People don’t come inside.

They never come inside.

But for the first time, Y/N wasn’t so sure.

Y/N’s footsteps echoed softly on the cobbled streets as she made her way to the market. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a rare amber glow over the somber village, but the warmth felt distant. The air was thick with a mix of fear and anticipation, as though the village itself was holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable.

When she arrived at the square, her gaze immediately found the towering Old Tree.

Her heart sank, but only for a moment. Two black marks marred its ancient bark. No one spoke of it directly, but they didn’t need to. The marks were a demand. The Night People requested a woman—any woman.

The offering would be one of The Herd—or, as Y/N had always thought of them, the “people from the barn.” Outsiders, kept in captivity for this very purpose. It was cruel, but the village had long since made their peace with it. It kept them alive.

For a fleeting second, Y/N felt a bitter taste in her stomach. She would have expected more… discomfort, maybe guilt. But that feeling was quickly suppressed, buried beneath something more practical. With the new marks, the village wouldn’t have to sacrifice one of their own. She allowed herself a brief, almost imperceptible exhale.

It was sick, but it was survival.

The others had already lost so much. First Soojin, then Minju, and finally Jeonghan. None of them had deserved it. But the world didn’t care. They had all been given, or taken, as the Night People demanded. It was just the way it worked.

"Y/N!" Wonhee’s voice sliced through the haze of her thoughts.

Y/N turned to see her friend walking toward her, her face taut, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. She spared a glance at the Old Tree, and Y/N watched her eyes flicker with something like dread before she looked away.

“Did you see?” Wonhee asked, her voice low, almost incredulous. “Two marks this time.”

Y/N nodded, almost absently, her gaze flicking back to the tree.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice emotionless. "I saw."

Wonhee exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she came to stand beside Y/N. Her eyes were wide with something like disbelief, but there was no surprise in Y/N’s gaze. She had seen this before. "I never thought it would come to this," Wonhee continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N glanced around at the villagers, noting their unease. They were avoiding eye contact, the quiet whispers of their guilt hanging in the air like a fog. They knew what this meant.

“The Herd... They’re people, too,” Wonhee murmured, as if trying to justify the suffering.

Y/N didn’t flinch. It wasn’t her problem. Not really. "It’s better this way," she said, her tone flat, almost clinical. "At least it’s not one of us."

Wonhee shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It doesn’t make it any less cruel. The village can’t keep using them like that,” she whispered, her gaze drifting toward the barn. “They’re not just cattle, Y/N."

Y/N didn’t look at the barn. Her mind was already far ahead. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for them. It wasn’t just her survival—it was the village’s survival. And if the price was cruelty, so be it.

“I know,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow in her mouth. "But... they’re not the ones we have to protect."

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but Y/N barely noticed. Her thoughts were already elsewhere, moving through the motions of the day.

Wonhee broke the silence. “We kept hearing Jeonghan’s mother every night after he was sent into the woods. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget her wails… Her second son in two years," she said quietly, her voice thick with sorrow.

Y/N felt a flicker of something, but it was too fleeting. She had learned not to let herself be affected. There was nothing to be done, after all. “I’m sorry,” she said, not really meaning it. She didn’t know what else to say.

The conversation stilled, and no more words were needed. They both knew the truth. The Night People demanded their sacrifices. The village would give them what was required. And that was all there was to it.

"I need to go back to the farm," Y/N said, her voice breaking the stillness. "I have to get back to work and take care of Sunwoo."

Wonhee nodded, her eyes lingering on the tree one last time. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

Y/N gave her a tight smile, but her mind was already elsewhere as she turned and walked away, heading toward the path leading back to the farm.

The day wore on, the sunlight beginning to dip below the horizon as Y/N worked tirelessly in the fields. The soil beneath her fingers was familiar, as was the rhythmic motion of plucking weeds from the ground. In the small breaks she allowed herself, she would sit on the grass, her younger brother Sunwoo tucked beside her, his small hands picking at the blades of grass as she brushed the sweat from her brow. She would laugh and joke with him, trying to create a normal environment for him.

But it was when the sun began to sink low, casting an amber glow across the land, that the sense of foreboding returned. The air grew cooler, and the shadows of the trees seemed to stretch longer, like the fingers of something waiting.

"Sunwoo?" she called out, scanning the field, her heart giving a quick, erratic thump in her chest when she didn’t see him nearby. “Sunwoo!” she called again, louder this time, panic rising in her throat.

"Y/N... Y/N, come here!" She heard his voice, too clear and too familiar, carried through the air, but there was no sight of her brother. The urgent call of her name drifting from the edge of the woods, where the trees thickened into darkness.

Her heart skipped a beat, unease crawling up her spine. She looked toward the shadowed line of the forest, but the trees remained still, offering no hint of movement.

It wasn’t like him to wander off, not this far. Her feet moved of their own accord, urgency propelling her forward. She didn’t think, not once, as she ran toward the woods, the trees swaying gently in the evening breeze. The stillness felt… unnatural. The shadows, longer now, seemed to press closer around her, as though they were alive, watching, waiting.

Her pulse quickened. She couldn’t feel Sunwoo, not anymore. Actually, there was no sound at all. The space ahead of her had become vast, dark, lifeless.

And then, she heard it.

A soft chuckle. A voice, smooth like velvet, but so dark it sent a chill through her. “You’re finally here,” it said, low and reverberating.

Y/N froze, the blood in her veins running cold. She recognized the voice, the scent in the air—the smoky, intoxicating fragrance that clung to him, a heady mix of something dangerous. It was him.

She whirled around, her breath catching in her throat. And there he stood, a tall man, face sculpted like an expensive art piece. His dark, penetrating doe eyes—seemingly innocent but filled with an unsettling darkness—locked onto hers. His figure was fluid, like smoke that had taken shape, his presence suffocating, as though the very forest itself bent to his will.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. “You…” she whispered, her legs trembling beneath her. The shadow man. The one from her dreams. He was real.

"I’m Jungkook, my dear," the man said, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I told you it was time to be fully mine.”

The words echoed in her mind, and before she could comprehend the full meaning, her body reacted on instinct. She turned, heart hammering, and ran. She pushed through the trees, branches scraping at her skin, her breath ragged in her throat. But no matter how fast she ran, the woods seemed to stretch endlessly. Every direction led to the same place—a deepening darkness.

“Y/N...” His voice rang out again, closer now, as if he had always been right behind her, waiting. She could feel the weight of his presence, the pull of it.

Suddenly, she stumbled, avoiding falling to the ground. Her chest rose and fell in quick, panicked breaths as she looked around, her eyes wild, searching for some way out. But there was nothing. The shadows had thickened. The forest had turned into a maze that swallowed her at every turn.

Then, she felt him. His presence so close, just a breath away. His hand brushed lightly over her shoulder, the touch like ice. A shiver shot through her body as his voice echoed in her mind.

“I’ll take you to our home, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath cool against her ear. “You already know the place, been there hundreds of times in the past year.”

“No,” she gasped, trying to twist away from him. “There was no mark on my home, on my window! You can’t take me, I’m not a chosen one” she desperately tried to win her case.

Jungkook’s fingers dug into her wrist, holding her in place with a force she couldn’t break. He chuckled darkly, low and slow. “It doesn’t matter whether a mark was left in your family home, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and almost tender. “With or without a mark, you willingly gave me your name. You willingly gave yourself away.”

Her breath hitched as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. She tried to pull away, but his grip was iron, unyielding.

“No...” she whispered again, the truth settling like a heavy stone in her chest. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to…”

“You gave me your name, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath cool against her ear. “You belong to me now.”

Jungkook stepped closer, his smile widening, revealing just how much he relished this moment, like he was savoring being able to finally claim her. The prize he’d been waiting for. His lips parted slightly, a twisted, almost gleeful expression crossing his face as he leaned in, his breath cool against her skin.

“You can try to escape, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously sweet, like a predator toying with its prey. “But there’s no way out. You’re mine. You always were.”

The dark gleam in his eyes grew, something feral awakening in the depths of them. He leaned in closer, until his breath was a whisper against her ear. “Your name… it was the last thing you had to give. And now you’ll stay with me forever.”

Her legs trembled beneath her, her body betraying her as she felt a pull toward him, like gravity, an inevitability that made her want to fight even harder. But she knew now. She was bound, marked—not by a visible symbol, but by the act of her own surrender.

to be continued…

#yandere jungkook #jungkook smut #yandere jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #dark fic

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vinnyvamppp · 3 months ago

Note

HEAR ME OUTTT

You should write for Nolan Grayson, the drought for fics w/him are very much real 😭

The Replacement PT 1

NOTE: I'VE BEEN WANTING TO BUT THE AMOUNT OF MARK GRAYSON OR INVINCIVLE VARIANT REQUESTS I HAVE ARE MAKING MY FINGERS CRAMP. With that being said, I present to you:

Synopsis: Earth has made him comfortable. Weak, even. His half-human son may never be strong enough to carry the Viltrumite legacy, and his pet or wife is a distraction he can no longer afford. But you offer him a solution: a true heir.

Warnings: Considerations of Cheating, Drama, Childhood Friends, Changes to Plot For Convenience, Pre-Invincible Timeline, Nolan's Beginnings To Conquering Earth, AND DW HE STILL HAS HIS LOVING FAMILY. Word Count: 1,493 (PART TWO)

Omni-Man/Nolan Grayson x Fem!Viltrumite!Reader

The air was thin at this altitude, but it was nothing to you. Standing on the snow-dusted peak, your loincloth barely moved in the wind. The desolate breeze calming the maelstrom of thoughts whirling about. Below, the world stretched in all directions, so vulnerable, so fragile.

"You've been here for too long, Nolan." Your voice was measured, but sharp enough to carve through the silence. Across from you, Nolan Grayson stood with his arms crossed, his expression impassive, but you knew better. He had always been good at masking his thoughts, but you had centuries of experience reading him. His stance, the way his fingers subtly tensed, told you everything.

"I don’t need a reminder," he replied, his voice laced with something close to amusement. "I assume you didn’t travel across the galaxy just to lecture me?" You took a step forward, tilting your head. "No. I came because your absence has been noted."

His brow twitched, just slightly. Even after all these years, Viltrumites hated the idea of being monitored. "They sent you?" You scoffed. "They don't know I'm here." Now, that got his attention. His eyes, those sharp, calculating things, narrowed as he studied you. “And why would you withhold that information?”

"Because I know you, Nolan. Better than they do." You folded your arms, mirroring his stance. "I know why you’re hesitating." For a moment, he said nothing. You let the silence stretch between you, let him wrestle with the implications. It wasn't hesitation from weakness. No, that wasn’t Nolan. But sentimentality? Attachment? Those were cracks in his foundation, and cracks were dangerous.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "You think I’ve gone soft?" He asked, your lips pursing momentarily in thought. "I think you’ve gone comfortable," you corrected, your gaze flicking toward the horizon where a city pulsed with artificial lights. "This planet is changing you. The longer you stay, the harder it will be to finish what you started."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You sound like Thragg." That name sent a flicker of irritation crawling down your skin. "Thragg wouldn't have given you the courtesy of a conversation." His amusement faded. He knew that was true.

You took another step, closing the distance between you. "You need an anchor, Nolan. A reason to return to Viltrum when this mission is complete. And her—" your lip curled slightly as you referenced the human woman, Debbie, "—is not it." His eyes narrowed. "Careful."

"Don’t pretend you care," you retorted, undeterred. "A convenience? What is she to you, Nolan?" Silence. “She’s nothing compared to us—compared to what we are.” He began his admission, “But I allowed myself to pretend otherwise. A weakness. She is nothing more than that, and she never was.” His fingers twitched at his side, mulling over the betrayal in his words.

"You may think you've bought yourself time, but Earth won't make you stronger, and neither will playing house with a human," you continued. "But if you were to have a child with me—one who could be raised with the strength of our people, not poisoned by human frailty, you wouldn’t have to do this alone." Nolan’s jaw tensed. “Mark is already half-Viltrumite.” "Mark is half of something weak," you countered. "Would he ever be allowed to stand among our kind? Would you? You know the truth, Nolan, when the time comes, he will be an obstacle. She will be an obstacle." His silence was damning.

You let the weight of your words settle. Then, more softly, you added, "You’re too valuable to be cast aside, Nolan. But without proof of your commitment, they will find someone else to finish what you couldn’t." His eyes met yours again, and for the first time in years, you saw something shift behind them.

"You can still have what you came here for," you pressed, voice just above a whisper. "A family. A legacy. But one that ensures your survival when all of this—," you gestured to the planet below, "burns." For the first time that night, Nolan didn’t have an immediate response.

And that was the first sign that you were winning. The wind howled between you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then— "I need time to think," Nolan said finally, his voice low, rough as he remained perturbed. "You need time to think," you echoed, tilting your head slightly. "Very well. But let me give you something worth thinking about, Nolan."

His eyes flicked to you, wary. He had always disliked being cornered, and yet, here he was, trapped by words instead of fists. You turned away from him slightly, eyes tracing the horizon, as if lost in thought. Then, your voice softened. Not weak. Never weak. But calculated. Controlled. "He needed time too," you murmured. Nolan’s brow furrowed. "Who?"

"My husband."

The words alone felt like steel being drawn across a whetstone—sharp, deliberate in preparing for something deeper. "You never spoke of him," Nolan said after a pause. "Because there was nothing to speak of," you replied. "Not anymore." You let the silence stretch, allowing the weight of your words to settle before continuing.

"He was strong, Nolan. Stronger than most. He had earned his place in the Empire a thousand times over. Conquered dozens of planets before we were even paired." Your voice remained even, but there was a restrained edge beneath it. "And yet, for all his strength, for all his victories, he died." Nolan's eyes darkened, watching you carefully. "How?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose, gaze still locked on the distant city below. "An inferior race." The words dripped with disgust, as if merely saying them left a foul taste in your mouth. "A species that should have never been a threat. But they were desperate. And desperation, as you know, makes lesser beings reckless."

Your fists clenched at your sides, but your voice remained steady. "They used weapons he hadn't accounted for. They didn't fight—they ambushed. A tactic born from fear, not strength. A coward's strategy. And he paid the price for underestimating them."

You turned back to Nolan now, expression tense. "I watched as they burned his body. As the remains of a Viltrumite were reduced to nothing by hands that should have never been capable of harming him." His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

And so, you pressed further.

"You understand now, don’t you?" you asked, voice low. "It doesn't matter how strong we are if we allow weakness to fester. If we allow ourselves to hesitate." A pause. "You think I’m hesitating?" Nolan’s voice was quieter this time, as if testing the words himself.

You gave him a pointed look. "I know you are. We have been friends for centuries."

For the first time since your arrival, he didn’t deny it.

A victorious chill crawled up your spine.

"I thought of you after he died," you admitted, stepping closer. "Among all the warriors of our kind, there are few I would have ever considered worthy. But you, Nolan... you have always been different." Something flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t pride, not yet, but it was something dangerously close.

"You are one of the strongest among us," you continued, voice soothing. "You were sent here because of that strength. But even the strong can fall, Nolan." Your words took a sharp turn, more insidious. "Do you think our kind will mourn you if that happens? Do you think they will even blink if you are slaughtered by an inferior race? You know what they will say?"

He didn’t answer. But you did.

"They will say you were not strong enough." The words hung between you, suffocating. Nolan’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides. You could feel the trepidation building within him, the conflict. Then, you leaned in just slightly, gaze unwavering. "But you are strong enough, aren’t you? Strong enough to ensure your legacy does not die on a planet of insects."

Silence.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "If we do this," Nolan said finally, voice low, measured. "It is not because I need your help. It is because it is logical." A slow grin tugged at the corner of your combined lips. "Of course."

He exhaled, running a hand down his chin, and for the first time, he looked… unsure. "I’ll contact you soon." The words left his mouth slow, deliberate. But even as he spoke, his gaze lingered on you for longer than it should have. There was no hesitation in his stance now, no rejection in his posture. Only consideration and calculation. He was already deciding. Already choosing, even if he refused to say it outright. And that was enough for now. "Take all the time you need." Then, with one final glance toward the city below, you added, "But not too much. We wouldn’t want you getting too... comfortable again."

And with that, you disappeared into the night, leaving Nolan alone in the skies with the weight of his thoughts.

Should I do a part 2? I just like being messy on here.

Materlist

#fanfic #invincible #x reader #fem reader #nolan grayson #nolan grayson x reader #omni man #viltrumite #invincible season 3 #invincible show #invincible season three #invincible comic #invincible spoilers #omni man x reader #viltru

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thesecondhandwoman · 6 months ago

Note

I’ll think of the jist

When reader is well enough to work for ambessa she uses a rollator (walker with like a table/seat) so she can carry multiple things at once that she couldn’t with a cane.

reader interrupts a meeting quietly to give Ambessa something, the room is full of big strong people who look down on sick ppl even if it’s genetic (:/)

They comment on her ability to work and ambessas like Nuh uh she fine brotha and Ambessa thinks nothing of it, reader thinks a lot of it and can’t sleep

lol thank you goodbye

MORE THAN ENOUGH

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Being Ambessa’s assistant and having chronic pain was difficult, but it was always worse when you tried to help on more manageable days only be to told that you are incapable.

Request: @possessedmagpie

A/N: This is part two of Chronically Ill

The soft light of morning slipped through the towering windows of Ambessa Medarda’s estate, a golden glow painting the cold stone walls. The days always started early in Noxus, the city that never slept, but for you, mornings weren’t a signal to begin. They were another checkpoint in the never-ending cycle of managing your body’s rebellion against itself.

You shifted beneath the thick covers, testing your limbs carefully. The ache that usually gripped you like iron shackles had ebbed to a low thrum today. It wasn’t gone, but it was manageable. Relief flickered in your chest, tempered by caution. You had learned long ago that even “good days” came with limits.

The other constant in your mornings lay beside you, Ambessa, her powerful frame still as she slept, her features softened in the pale light. Despite the countless demands on her time and energy, she always made space for you. She had stayed the night again, likely at your insistence, despite her busy schedule. She’d never admit it, but you suspected she worried about you constantly.

As if sensing your gaze, Ambessa stirred, her amber eyes blinking open. A small smile tugged at her lips as she caught you watching her.

“Good morning, little one,” she murmured, her voice low and warm, still laced with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly would break the delicate peace between you.

Her eyes searched your face, her brow furrowing slightly. “How are you feeling?” she asked, the question laden with genuine care.

You considered her words, stretching carefully to test the limits of your body. “Better,” you said after a moment. “Not great, but I think I can manage today.”

Ambessa propped herself up on one elbow, her expression skeptical but not dismissive. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I want to try. I can’t stand feeling useless, Ambessa.”

“You’re never useless,” she said firmly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Your value isn’t measured by how much you can do. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” you murmured, though the weight in your chest said otherwise.

Her hand lingered against your cheek, her touch both grounding and reassuring. “Alright,” she said after a moment. “But promise me you’ll be careful. No pushing yourself too hard. If you need to stop, you stop. Understood?”

“Understood,” you said softly, leaning into her palm.

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering just long enough to make your heart ache in the best way.

By mid-morning, the estate was bustling with activity. Servants and guards moved swiftly through the halls, their boots echoing against the polished stone floors. The sheer size of the estate could be overwhelming, even intimidating, but today you felt determined.

The rollator was your lifeline, its sturdy frame and built-in seat allowing you to navigate the estate without collapsing. It wasn’t a perfect solution—there were still moments when the pain flared unexpectedly, threatening to rob you of the strength to keep going—but it gave you a sense of independence.

Today, you carried an important correspondence marked with the crest of General Vessar. The message had arrived early, its contents urgent enough to require Ambessa’s immediate attention. Despite the challenges of moving through the estate, you were determined to deliver it personally.

The grand hall where Ambessa was meeting her advisors loomed ahead, the heavy double doors closed but not impenetrable. Pausing just outside, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself against the ache radiating through your legs.

The moment you entered, the room fell silent. The rollator’s wheels squeaked faintly as you moved across the polished floor, your presence a disruption in the midst of their intense discussions.

At the head of the long table, Ambessa sat tall and imposing, her amber eyes sharp and focused. The sight of her sent a pang of comfort through your chest; she was the one constant in a world that often felt too harsh to navigate.

“Ambessa,” you said, your voice soft but steady.

Her gaze snapped to you, her expression shifting immediately. The hard edge she wore in these meetings melted away, replaced by a warmth that seemed out of place amidst the cold, calculating figures around her.

“Little one,” she greeted, her voice low and tender.

You grabbed the sealed letter on the table of your rollator as you moved it a bit closer and held it out to her. “This arrived this morning. From General Vessar.”

She shifted in her chair slightly as she turned to face you, taking the letter from your hands with a subtle nod. Her fingers brushed yours briefly—a fleeting touch that carried more reassurance than words ever could.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft enough that only you could hear.

But the moment was short-lived.

“She’s still working for you?” a voice called from the far end of the table.

Your chest tightened.

The man who spoke leaned back in his chair, his tone dripping with disbelief. “How can someone in her condition handle the responsibilities you’ve given her?”

Another advisor chimed in, her voice quieter but no less cutting. “It does seem unwise. The demands of this role require someone—”

“Capable,” the first man interrupted. “Someone who isn’t constantly compromised.”

The words struck like a blade, each syllable carving into your carefully built armor.

Ambessa’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood, her movements deliberate and commanding.

“Enough,” she said, her voice sharp and unforgiving.

The room fell silent.

Ambessa’s gaze swept over the advisors like a storm about to break. Her presence was a force of nature, and for a moment, you pitied the fools who dared challenge her judgment.

“You will not question her competence,” she said, her tone cold enough to freeze fire. “Do any of you doubt my ability to judge who is fit for their role?”

No one dared respond.

“Let me make something very clear,” she continued, her voice like a blade. “Y/N has proven her worth time and time again. She is stronger and more useful than any of you could hope to be, and I will not tolerate such ignorance in my presence.”

Her words were a shield, protecting you from their scorn, but they couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes. You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, but the weight of their judgment was crushing.

Ambessa turned to you, her expression softening. “Go rest, little one,” she said gently.

You nodded, your throat too tight to form words. As you left the room, the rollator steady beneath your hands, you couldn’t shake the sting of their words.

Back in your quarters, the pain returned, not the physical ache in your joints, but the sharp, unrelenting sting of humiliation and self-doubt. You sank onto the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands.

The echoes of their voices replayed in your mind, each word a reminder of what you couldn’t do, of how the world saw you. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you gave, it was never enough.

You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt the mattress dip beside you. A familiar hand rested on your shoulder, warm and grounding.

“Little one,” Ambessa said softly.

You wiped at your eyes, turning away from her. “I’m fine,” you lied.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close until your head rested against her shoulder.

“They don’t understand,” she said after a moment. “They never will. But you don’t need their approval.”

“I just… I wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I wanted to prove I could still do something right.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” she said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re more than enough. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

Her words wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of despair.

“I’m tired,” you admitted, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your chest. “I’m so tired, Ambessa.”

“I know,” she murmured, her voice full of quiet empathy. “But you don’t have to carry this alone. I’m here, I always will be.”

You whimpered a little, holding back tears as you sunk into her arms as she lied down on the bed with you, stroking the back of your head for comfort.

She stayed with you long into the night, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. When sleep finally came, it was with the comforting knowledge that no matter how heavy the world felt, Ambessa would always be there to share the burden.

A/N: I got a peace offering to write this, loving it.

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teddybeartoji · 1 year ago

Note

im gnawing at puppy!satoru.... like pookie.... i didnt know I'd be obsessed with that.......... IM DESPERTLY WAITING FOR PUPPY!SATORU 😭 😭 😭

18+ mdni; gn!reader

puppy!satoru, who sits in front of your bed with the biggest and prettiest wide-eyes. tears pool in the corners of them, wetting his angelic eyelashes in the most beautiful way. a pretty baby blue collar hangs from his neck – it's tied to one of your desk's legs and it's the only thing that's keeping him from lunging at you. whimpers fall from his wet lips and drool dribbles down his chin; his tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants in desperation. he wants to taste, he wants to touch – but he's being punished right now.

he has been a bad pup.

a muzzle rests on his face, the straps sink into his soft flushed cheeks and you can already see the faint red marks that they're leaving on his perfect skin. you almost feel bad. almost. his hands are tied behind his back and he's completely at your mercy.

sitting down on his knees, he slightly bounces up and down on his legs just to get some relief. his tail thumps against the floor so hard that you can hear it. his fuzzy ears are bent back and he looks oh, so cute like this. they flop a little every time he raises his hips from the ground and you coo at him.

the sudden murmur makes them perk up again, his eyes growing even bigger than before. please, please, please. you grin at him from your place on your shared bed.

the thing he desires the most, the heaven that sits right between your legs, your soft thighs – it's exactly at his eye-level. this is pure torture.

he watches you touch yourself, play with yourself with slow movements; he can see the slick glistening on your sensitive skin and he'd do anything to lick you clean. he just wants to make you feel good! white tufts of hair fall in front of his eyes; they're starting to cling to his forehead from the way he's sweating. it's too hot in the room - he's not even wearing anything other than he stupid collar!

his rock hard cock bobs in the air, his balls twitching every time it hits his own lower belly. there's pre-cum smeared all over his happy trail and he's making such a big mess even without your help. your dirty pup...

another pretty little mewl tumbles from his swollen lips and he tugs harshly at his leash, but winces when it doesn't let up. a soft gasp followed by loud panting, his tail smacks against the floor. c'mon, he's being so good. he's so good for you. please, just let him taste you.

"does puppy wanna play, hm?"

his eyes roll back into his head at your sultry voice and he's nodding his head so strongly that he starts to feel a little dizzy. the collar around his neck only seems to be getting tighter and tighter, his airways getting blocked by his suffocating desire. a glob of pre-cum spills from his slit and it slides down the side of his shaft. he feels it. he imagines you wiping it off with your finger, with your mouth. he's so fucking hard.

his eyes are glued to your center – his least meal, his only solution to his unquenchable thirst. he wants to bury his nose into your crotch, he wants to breathe you in, he wants you to be the only thing on his mind.

(as if you aren't just that already.)

more. he needs more.

the silk ropes around his wrist dig into him, and even those just seem to be getting tighter by the second. he can't stop moving around, he can't sit still – he's the one that's making it worse. it hurts.

he likes it.

satoru's glassy eyes follow your free hand as it trails all over your thigh and your stomach and he can't surpress the saddest little whine that crawls up his throat. your lips stretch into a wide grin while raising your hand to play with your nipple. your other hand stays playing with yourself, filling the room with the slick delicious sounds.

you watch him lick his lips, you watch him pant, you watch him yank at the collar again – he's like a magnet, drawn to you always and forever.

he humps the air and a tear falls from the corner of his eye.

"aww... you crying, puppy?" voice far from sincere, his cock twitches. your teeth sink into your lower lip and your eyebrows furrow in a fake, mocking expression. "oh, you poor thing..."

his sharp fangs glimmer in the low lights of the room. "please..."

his tail swishes behind him, he can't help himself. he has no control over his own body.

"please what, baby?"

"taste, please, can i have a taste?"

you laugh at his neediness and you hear the little metal parts of his collar cling together. he's getting impatient now. "i don't know... can you?"

pushing yourself off your back, you crawl over to your pup. he's sitting so pretty, harboring a big aching mess between his legs. you reward him with another teasing coo as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed – close enough for him to drown in your scent but far enough to shed another miserable tear.

his eyes fall shut as he lets you properly fill his nostrils, all of his senses. a shiver runs down his spine when he feels your fingers on the side of his face and his pretty blues snap open in an instant. he's staring up at you – hungry and eager to please, ready to take whatever you'll give him—

—ready to give whatever you'll take.

you push his head back a little, tilting his head so he's getting a good look at you. in this position, you tower over him so easily and he feels like putty in your hands. combing through his hair, you scratch right behind his ear and watch him lean into your touch with hearts in your eyes.

but then you tug on his white strands, intoxicated by the smallest sounds that keep falling from him. forcing him to keep his gaze on you, you widen your legs in front of him. it's so, so hard for him to obey you, to be good, when it's right there. his lip wobbles behind the restriction and another quiet plea echoes the room.

"are you gonna behave, puppy?"

"yes." the speed at which he answers is almost ridiculous, but you can't tease him for it. not when your own stomach fills with butterflies aswell. you want him just as much.

loosing the grip in his hair, you let him slowly sink toward your center; he keeps his eyes on you, not daring to look away for even a second. the scent is so strong now, his balls twitch as pre-cum dribbles down them. just another inch, just a little more. he's right there. right fucking there.

the muzzle barely bumps against your crotch and eyes fall shut with a dramatic sigh. his ears flop down so fucking cutely; he's literally a breath away but the damn thing is in his way, it's ruining him, it's killing him. and to add to that, it seems like the collar is just about an inch too short aswell because there's a big vein running on the side of his neck – a clear sign of him not getting enough air.

but he doesn't pull away. his tail thumps, it never stopped. he bounces on his heel and tilts his head to meet your gaze again. he rests his cheek on against your thigh and you take the second to admire the mess he's made already. his skin is all flushed, from his chest and up to the tips of his ears; red markings peek from behind the straps of the muzzle – the contrast between those and his marble skin is just exceptional.

drool trickles through the miniature cage and straight down onto your thigh but you don't mind. he looks absolutely fucked out like this. you allow yourself to card through his hair again, unable to keep your hands off of him for more than two minutes and he hums at your soft touch.

"such a cute, pup, hm?"

you cradle his jaw as best as you can and hold his face to yours again before leaning down and pressing a kiss onto the muzzle, just above where his nose would be. and then another to the side of the thing. he squirms in your hold, overwhelmed by your sudden touches. he feels like he's going to melt into a puddle when you press the next one to his jaw.

he can smell your arousal. it's... so fucking good. he hums as he tries to nuzzle further into you. all he can think about is filling you up and giving you his knot. c'mon, he's been so, soooo good... he deserves it, right?

you will let him breed you, right? you're gonna let him have a taste? gonna let him pump you full? gonna let him give you his knot?

right?

+ @staryukis & @ohimsummer hiiiiiiii guuuyss.... puppyboy!satoru on my mind so i just had to tag you two too hehehehe:333

#super not proofread again i'm sorry this just popped into my head and i knew i had to get it out #the magnet reference is for u logan my dear #lmao #I LOVE BLUE BALLLSSSSS #YEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #so fun to end stuff like this ngl #hehehhehehee #puppy!gojo #angel boy #wtf mickey can write #gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #tw hybrids

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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 - I Saw You In The Water

Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: You and Sam try something new to help Dean with the Mark of Cain. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I'm trying to distract myself from life, so here. Have a miniseries!

Title from Cringe by Matt Maeson

Word Count: 3.7k

Read on A03! - Chapter 2

“This looks kind of stupid,” you mutter to Sam, and he makes a small nod of agreement, neither of you looking away from the scene before you. Rowena reciting a bunch of words that don’t sound real, and Dean sitting in a kiddie pool, scowling with his eyes screwed tight.

“It’s not just stupid,” Dean snaps your name, and you flush. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. “It’s pointless, and I am not getting adult baptized. You know what? screw this-“

He starts to stand, but Rowena pushes on his chest and sends him back into the water on his ass.

“No moving, or you’ll make me have to start over. And none of us,” Rowena looks Dean over with a dramatic shudder. “Want that.”

“Does it, um, does it have to be an inflatable pool, Rowena? Can’t we just put him in the shower?“

Rowena scoffs, dismissing Sam with a wave of her hand. “That is not how magic works, Samuel. We’re already making a gamble by hoping the spell counts this as a communal bath filled by the clean of soul, and a motel shower would be far worse.”

“Clean of soul-“

“That wee little bellhop.” Rowena gives you a sweet smile, a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach turn slightly. “Only dirty thoughts in his head were about you and your lovely breasts.”

“What.” Dean’s head shoots up, his scowl somehow more violent. “What do you mean, her breasts-“

“I mean her tits, you dimwitted boy.” Rowena gives you a disbelieving eye roll. “Men.”

“Who the fuck was looking at her tits-“

“The bellhop, Dearie, keep up-”

“Can you just do the spell, Rowena?” You cross your arms over your chest, half folding into yourself in a play to get the conversation off of your boobs. “Now?”

Rowena rolls her eyes, but nods and goes back to all her incoherent mumbo jumbo as Dean begins to look violent.

You bump Sam’s shoulder, standing slightly on your toes to whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”

“It will.” Sam shakes his head, and his hair hits you slightly in the face. “Rowena’s the best in the game, and we’re only stretching a few of the ingredients. It’ll be fine.”

Neither of you believe that, but you’re also running out of options. You’ve lost all your leads on the Book of the Damned, and Dean can’t keep killing people. It’s killing him, and Sam, and you, and also the people. And this is, in a roundabout way, a solution. And Rowena says it will work, and you’re not stupid enough to trust her, but you’re also desperate enough to make a deal with her. She’ll do a spell to make Dean’s bloodlust refocus—make it more about things that make him happy, and less about murder—and you and Sam will stop trying to kill her for three whole months.

If it works, it’s a win for everyone. Rowena doesn’t get shot, you and Sam get Dean back, and Dean can maybe, hopefully, be happy again.

Rowena draws back up from Dean and walks over to you and Sam, extending her hand. “Hair.”

“What-“

“Hair, lass. The spell needs your hair.”

“Sam’s hair?” You frown. “Or my hair?”

“Preferably, both.”

You and Sam exchange a look of what the fuck, and Sam keeps his voice low—inaudible to Dean—as he mutters, “Why our hair?" Why not the, uh, the bellhop guy-“

“The bellhop is of no significance to Dean’s life. You two are the people he loves most in the world, so unless you want him to remain under the Mark’s corruption,” Rowena flexes her hand, her voice becoming stern. “Hair.”

Sam pulls out his hair quickly, but you’re a little slower. You’re not someone Dean loves. You’re someone Dean cares about, but you’re not Sam. You don’t belong on the spell’s weird ingredient list, you barely belong in this room. Watching Dean in such a strongly vulnerable position, making decisions about his life for him. He’d resisted this, you’d said please, and he’d caved almost immediately, but you mostly think he just didn’t want to argue. You've all been arguing a lot lately—Sam and Dean arguing about most everything, you and Sam arguing about next moves, and you and Dean arguing about you sticking around, near him, through this—and it’s getting exhausting.

But Rowena gives you an impatient look, and you pass your hair into her hand. If it doesn’t work, you can just start over and only use Sam’s hair. He has a lot of it to spare, he’ll be fine.

When the spell finishes, Sam and Rowena go outside to talk and you sit on the bed, watching Dean in silence. He’d insisted on wearing his clothing in the pool—jeans, boots, flannel and all—he’s cross-legged in the water, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

He still looks good. There’s an expression made of deep lines and tense frustration on his too-handsome face, and you want to touch him. You want to touch Deanwherever he’ll let you. Run soothing hands over his frown, find out of his grown-out scruff is soft or prickly, kiss his full, pink lips until he smiles, and drift down his body. Over his chest, his stomach, lower and lower until you’re wrapping your mouth around him, and he knows that you care. You really, really care about Dean, and he’s not a burden, and if this doesn’t work, you’re going to stay right at his side until you find something that does, because you like to think you’d look up at him under your lashes and he’d see that you love him, and throw his head back and groan, and maybe his hands—big and rough and so carefully skilled—would touch you-

“Be honest with me, Sweetheart.”

His low, deep voice pulls you out of your fantasy, and you blink at him with a flush that you pray he won’t notice. “What?”

“Be honest,” he repeats, and his eyes open right onto yours. He doesn’t look to be in pain anymore, he mostly looks tired, so you nod.

“Yeah, okay. What-“

“This is dumb.”

You huff a soft, dry laugh. “It’s a little ridiculous. But it will work, Dean.”

“No spell that I know of calls for an inflatable kiddie pool.”

“Well, you’re not a witch.” You shrug. “And think of it this way, we bought that forever. We bring it back to the bunker, that’s fun.”

“Bought my ass.”Dean drawls your name, giving you a pointed look that makes you squeeze your legs together a little. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you and Sam stole this thing.”

“It was like, $40.” You mumble, staring at the floral patterns of the motel carpet. “I am not paying that much for some plastic.”

“Even for a spell to save my damned soul?” Dean’s teasing, but there’s something in his voice you hate. Something that make you look up at him with a frown, unable to hide the slight desperation in your voice.

“You’re not damned, Dean.”

He just shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes, and before you can push it Sam returns, tossing Dean the keys and announcing that it’s time to figure out what the Mark wants.

So now, in an old, dusty bar, Dean’s smiling. He hasn’t really, really smiled in a few months, and it’s incredible to see.

It aches a little that he’s smiling away from you. Across the bar with his I can show you the world, sweetheart stance and expression. The one where he’s leaning the counter with one arm, and his eyes have a promise of fun while his every word is charming and drawling and teasing. You think he learned it from movies—he’s told you he likes the charisma of old western heroes, and there is something about his whole show that says cowboy—but there’s a pretty strong chance it’s just Dean. It’s how he is. Who he is. All he does is be handsome and stupid and annoying in a way that makes you want to punch him and then immediately kiss him after.

He’s hasn’t been Dean like that in a while, though. It’s been mostly frowns that turn in on his face, and a refusal to look in the mirror that he tries to hide, but you’ve still noticed. But right now, this is your Dean. The Dean who follows you into countless dreams with his pretty lips and eyes and strong hands and body, the Dean who’s managed to haunt you while you're awake and plant an ache in your heart when he’s in pain, and the Dean who you might know a little better than you know yourself. It’s why you ordered a cheeseburger when he went to sulk at the bar, and why you’re facing the door in the booth—Dean always faces the door—and why it hurts something deep and hopeless inside you that the grace of Dean’s smile is all focused on a pretty girl that isn’t you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Your attention turns to Sam—who’s looking at you with a sympathy that is not welcome—and you give him a flat glare. “What am I supposedto say to that.”

“Um, the truth? I think?” Sam turns in his seat to look over at Dean, and you kick him. “Hey!” He yelps your name, whipping back around with an almost pout. “That hurt-“

“Don’t look at him.” You hiss, jerking your head to Dean. “He needs this.”

“Yeah, but-“

“No but, Sam. The spell is supposed to make him crave things he likes, he likes sex, let him have sex.”

“I don’t…” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I read the spell-“

“Of course you read the spell-“

“Shut up, I always read the spells, it’s safer. And this one,” Sam looks you over with a frown and tight-lipped, grimacing expression. “This one’s odd.”

“Oh no,” your voice is sarcastic and cold, and it makes Sam flinch a little. “An odd thing. If only we knew some people who knew how to handle odd things.”

“This is why I wish you would just talk to him.” Sam mutters, giving the waitress a kind smile as she hands out the food. “You get mean when things like this happen. And I don’t think it would be as horrible as you’ve decided it would be.”

You pull the cheeseburger to your own side of the table in a blatant Dean-trap. “That is very easy for you to say, Sammy. Worst case for you, you become a child of divorce.”

He shrugs, poking at his salad with a fork. “I think that’s the worst case for Dean. You’d win custody.”

“Fair.” You look back to the cheeseburger, small smile threatening to pull at your lips. “I do have a higher rate of income.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam frowns. “You make exactly what he does. Nothing.”

“Wrong. I’m a better pool hustler than he is, so my return rate is higher.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t let him hear you say that, we’ll be stuck here until he beats you in a game.” He makes a mock face of disgust. “We’ll die here.”

You let yourself fully smile, even as you mutter, “kiss ass.”

Sam just shrugs, grinning himself as he takes a long drink. You really miss smiling. You really miss easy jokes, and you really miss making fun of each other without being consumed by too much grief or pain to do so.

You really miss Dean. He’s just across the room, but you still really miss him. And you want him—your Dean, the one that’s a little ridiculous and overly charming and the strongest, best man you’ve ever known—back. Over here, smiling at you, teasing you, or saying something shockingly genuine that makes your heart his even more than it already has been.

You look back to him in the bar—you can’t really help it, you think Dean and you always start to look for him in any crowd—and for a second you could’ve sworn he was looking at you. His smile has faded a little, and there are lines on his forehead, so if he was looking at you it wasn’t because you’re something good to him. He probably just saw his food, and then saw you, and now he’s antsy. His foot is tapping on the floor, and he’s fidgeting with the cuff of his flannel, so either Rowena’s terrible at her job, or the Mark is eating at him again.

You’ll fix it. Whatever Dean needs you to do for this, for him, you’ll do it silently and without asking for anything in return. No matter how many lectures Sam gives you about being selectively observant and kind of an idiot, you’ll just help Dean, and he won’t have to think twice about it. Helping Dean is what you do, it’s what you’ve done. Your whole life, in some way, has become how can I help Dean. How can I do something for this person who does everything for everyone else, and maybe he’ll turn his attention to me, and maybe he won’t, but no matter what I’ll have helped Dean.

It’s not like he doesn’t help you. Dean opens doors and saves your life and patches your wounds, and he never asks for anything back. But that’s why you want to help.

And this is helping Dean. It might be killing you a little, but it’s helping Dean, so you’ll still fix it, and then drown your sorrows with ice cream, strong drinks, and small moments of his joy when he’s better.

——————

Dean is really, really conflicted. It’s ripping him in half, because he knows he’s supposed to be polite to chicks—like the one in front of him, with the sweet smile and sweeter words he doesn’t deserve to hear—but her voice sounds like nails on chalkboard. She doesn’t feel right, she doesn’t feel good, and the bloodlust inside him doesn’t want her.

Bloodlust is the wrong word. It was the right word, but over the past few hours it didn’t feel like it anymore. Dean’s not great with words—he’s great with guns, and cars, and sometimes drawing, but not words—and even he gets that bloodlust really isn’t the correct word for wanting something in a way that’s clean. Pure and raw, but not innocent. It’s still a craving, it’s still insatiable, but it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s driving Dean to things he couldn’t really hate being dependent on. It had started softer and abstract, right after the spell, with drinks and food, so he’d driven to a bar. Then it had asked for care and love, and Dean didn’t have either of those things readily at his disposal, so he looked where he usually found something close to it. In a pretty girl, with a big rack and unburdened smile.

Then his attention had wandered for half a second, and now it couldn’t come back. The not-bloodlust—that wasn’t a good term for it either, he’d need to come up with a better, catchier one later—had tugged his gaze over to Her and Sam, and suddenly everything had been sharper and a lot more specific. Dean should go back to the booth. The booth had beer, and a cheeseburger, and Her and Sam. Mostly Her, but Sam was cool too. Dean was allowed to love two people.

And that’s where the conflict came in. Dean needed to be over there. His stomach was turning, and his skin was growing itchy and hot the longer he wasn’t there. But if he went over there, not only would he not only be leaving this very sweet girl, who seemed fine, but he might be in real danger of telling Her things he was not supposed to tell her. Things Sam kept telling Dean to tell Her, and things Dean kept having to remind Sam weren’t any of his business. He would not lose another good thing because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He would not poison something that didn’t deserve it, no matter how much the bloodlust kept telling him to. Kept telling him that She was caring and lovely, so Dean should drag her down to his level and kiss her in the grime and guts.

The not-bloodlust wanted Her too. The not-bloodlust really liked the idea of just being closer to Her, because she usually helped things. She helped everyone—Dean wasn’t special—but the not-bloodlust seemed to think that simply breathing air that had been inside her more recently would fix a lot of things that were boiling and cracking and hissing in Dean’s body.

That’s what won the conflict. He wouldn’t have to say things for this to be better, they just would be. So Dean gave the pretty girl an apologetic goodbye—she’d be fine, there were other men who were better than Dean and weren’t overtly craving their best friends in the bar—and almost ran back to Her and Sam.

She looks up at Dean as he scoots into the booth, her brows furrowed and mouth tugging down. “You’re back.”

“Well done, sweetheart, I am back.” Dean grins at Her, and that only makes her frown more.

“Did you, um,” She looks over to Sam, who shrugs. “Did you strike out?”

“Nah, just hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Dean had been hungry. Dean had been starving, but he felt better now. He’d still eat the cheeseburger, but the hunger had dulled from a mind-numbing desperation and withdrawal to just a growl near his throat of cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are good.

“Well, how are you feeling?” Sam’s voice is insistent, and Dean rolls his eyes, because he knows where this is going. “Do you want to kill someone? Rowena said the spell might take a few hours to work-“

“Workin’ now. I feel good.” Dean takes a large bite of his cheeseburger, and She and Sam exchange looks.

“Good?”

Dean nods, shooting Her a wink. “Real good,” he says Her name through his mouthful—crumbs falling out of his mouth—and she sighs. Her hand twitches on the table, and Dean wants to hold it. He can’t hold it. He’s not even supposed to be talking right now—that was the deal he’d made with himself—so holding hands if defiantly off the table. It would probably freak her out, too, and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do. He’s freaked Her out enough for a whole lot of lifetimes, so she should be smiling instead.

Dean’s usually really good at making Her smile. He’s proud of that, because She worries more than Sam and has more nightmares than Dean, but he can always make her smile.

She’s not smiling now. She’s tense, and she keeps looking between Dean and the girl at the bar.

“You’re good.” She repeats his words slowly, but it doesn’t sound like she believes them. “And you think the spell worked.”

“Did work.” Dean swallows, and immediately takes another bite. Cheeseburgers are good, the not-bloodlust had decided, so Dean should eat more cheeseburgers. “Don’t think it did, I know it did.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks, pulling the cheeseburger across the table, away from Dean.

“Hey!” Dean reaches for his plate, and Sam moves it away faster. “What the fuck, Sammy, do not touch my burger-”

“It’s distracting you, Dean, and this is serious. We really need to know if the spell worked-“

“It did work. I don’t want to gank anything, I just want my cheeseburger and-“ He has to cut himself off, because that is exactly why he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Look, man, it worked. Trust me, I feel good. No bloodlust, just, uh, not-bloodlust.”

Sam glances at the cheeseburger, then at Her, then at Dean. Dean gives him a very winning grin—all teeth and bright eyes, and give me back my burger, I’m not going to kill anyone—but Sam’s attention just moves back to Her. She mostly looks confused and tired—Dean still needs to make her smile—but she nods, making a loose gesture of surrender, and Sam, finally, slides the food back to Dean.

“If he’s really good,” Sam’s pretty clearly talking to Her, but Dean listens anyways. They’re a team, he’s allowed to hear this stuff. “We should get back to Kansas tonight. It’s not smart to linger in a town after a hunt finishes-“

“I know,” She glances back to Dean, and he offers her his widest, most reassuring smile. She doesn’t smile back, but her face relaxes a little, so Dean counts it as a victory. “Do you want to finish that, or-“

“Gimme three-“

“Chew, Dean.”

He does, holding up three fingers in a silent signal, and inhales the rest of his cheeseburger.

“Holy crap, dude.“ Sam blinks between Dean and the empty plate. “That was really fast, even for you.”

Dean shrugs, standing out of the booth. “Don’t blame me, blame the not-bloodlust. Cheeseburgers or murder, Sammy, gotta be one.”

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to the door, and Dean lingers until She’s on her feet and they can follow Sam together.

“Not-bloodlust is a bad name,” She mutters, staring at the floor as she walks. “What about, uh, what’s the opposite of blood?”

“Dunno.” Dean watches Her carefully, raking his brain for a good answer. “Water? Waterlust?”

That gets him a small, huffed laugh. “That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”

“Doesn’t have to. It’s my lust.”

“It is.” She meets Dean’s eyes, and her attention is soft, but it feels strange. Like she’s trying to find something on Dean’s face he doesn’t know how to get for her. “And if you really want, we can call it waterlust, but I like betterlust.”

“Betterlust?“

“Starts with B,” Her attention turns back to the floor, and Dean feels something sour twist around his heart and forearm. “Fun to say. Makes sense, too, you’re lusting after better stuff.”

Dean was lusting after better stuff. It was a good name—better than not-bloodlust—and he was willing to concede waterlust to Her. It was, overwhelmingly so, the least he could do.

“Betterlust it is, Sweetheart.” He tried his most charming, cocky, look at me, I’m a cowboy and I can be yours if you offer me just a few kind words because I’m a pathetic, worthless wet dog that barks and bites, but man am I good at sex, smile on Her, and this time, he got a real smile back.

End Note: Wow what's this something I write that's actually going to be short? We'll see!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224

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annarobszombies · 3 months ago

Text

Relationship Headcanons: Stanley Snyder

x gn! reader

All of this is super self-indulgent

lmk who you want next

SFW:

Stanley "Loverboy" Snyder falls first, and falls hard.

Regardless of how/when you meet, after that day you have a constant companion.

Acts super nonchalant but the minute you accept his invitation for dinner he's internally losing his mind.

Pays for everything

Literally

He will not let you use your money for anything if he can help it

His love language is acts of service he is going to do everything he physically can for you

Hates long deployments because he doesn't get to see you

Highly protective (gets worse post petrification event)

Stanley is typically very secure in your relationship, but can get still jealous pretty quickly

Gives lots of soft touches throughout the day

Loves to just lay in bed with you with his head on your chest just listening to your heartbeat

Sometimes he needs to know that you're still there, still alive, still waiting for him

Is literally your best friend

Not because he chases everyone away, but because he's the only one who will actually sit and listen when you need him to

Always mindful to ask whether you're venting or looking for solutions

Gives the best hugs okay I don't make the rules here

Can be the biggest goofball when he's in the right mood, but only around you and sometimes Xeno

Speaking of Xeno, Stanley keeps the two of you separate for a while

You end up meeting your lovers best friend by Xeno's design random chance.

Stanley is genuinely relieved you two get along so well, he wasn't totally sure what he would have done if he ended up having to choose

Drives you everywhere, but is a complete speed demon so please god wear your seatbelt

Will take you anywhere to do anything you want

Stanley can do anything, and he will do it all for you.

All you have to do is ask

NSFW

The first time you two have sex it's rushed and messy

Stanley lowkey wishes he could go back and do it over again to make the experience better for you, even though you have assured him that it remains one of the hottest nights of your life

He's fairly dominating, but he loves when you get assertive

Order him around in bed and you might not walk for three days (at least)

Will bend you over at random times of the day onto nearly every surface

Has considered a threesome with Xeno multiple times, the only thing stopping him is his uncertainty about whether you want that (you do. Trust me. You want that.)

Tries to go slow and gentle but his patience only stretches so thin, and when you start sounding like that? Game over

Has left bruises on your hips multiple times

Will come at just the sight of you red faced and panting, covered in his smeared lipstick

Bite marks and hickies everywhere

On him too, please. He wants to be claimed by you just as viciously

Likes to smoke after sex, but if you try to join him via shotgunning there will be another around

Whatever you need for aftercare is prepped beforehand so that he doesn't have to leave you alone in the bed

Literally has a drawer of snacks and water bottles and will have a towel on standby

#dr stone #doctor stone #stanley snyder #stan snyder #stanley snyder x reader #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #headcanons

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novvabee · 8 months ago

Text

And They Were Roommates

My first time writing so here we go

Summary: How you end up as their roommate

Walking up the steps to the lovely little house on a lovely little street shouldn’t have had you as nervous as it did. The house was exactly as Lily described; charming. It wasn’t new by any standards, but it was a well lived in home. Sure the little garden needed tending to, and there were some cracks running up the walls, but it seemed so warm and inviting. It is better than nothing.

Lily, lovely, kind, sweet Lily was the one who offered up this place. You had come into work that day with a tear-stained face and a stressed demeanor, and Lily knew something had to be off. During your break, she asked what was wrong and you instantly fell apart yet again. You told her about all the horrid circumstances about your apartment. “My roommates are insane, the rent is way too expensive, it’s all the way across town, there’s mold in the shower, I have noisy neighbors, and the landlord is an asshole and a creep,” you rattled off, still teary and frustrated. Lily nodded, listening, thinking of some way to offer up a solution. Hesitantly, she told you about one place she knew that had an extra bedroom available. “Now I have to warn you, there is no guarantee that the people who live there won't be less crazy than your old roommates, but they are nice! I’ve known them for years, they're really cool.” And with that she wrote down an address and told you to meet her there after your shift.

Which is where you are now, following Lily up the brick stairs to your new potential place to stay. She knocks on the door and waits for it to swing open revealing a young man with long black hair, tied back messily. He was tall, and handsome, his blue-gray eyes sly and gleaming. “Ah Evans, lovely day to you. What brings you ‘round?” His voice was melodic although a tad gruff. She didn’t answer, just pushed her way through, as if she’d done it a million times. You made to follow her and he opened the door wide for you allowing you to walk through. That's when you noticed the tattoos littering his hands. His sleeves cut off what you could see, but you assumed that the tattoos stretched further up his arms. You looked up at him, smiling awkwardly as he tilted his head at you. You’d been caught admiring the markings.

“Where’s James? I texted him.” Lily called from the living room. You followed the sound of her voice into the open living area. It was cozy, a mix of large plush armchairs that matched a big squashy brown couch. There were a couple bookcases filled with books, gadgets, and plants surrounding the tv. A record player to the side. The area was so inviting, not at all like your old apartment.

“I don’t know, I just woke up,” The boy said a tad bit annoyed “Care to introduce your friend?” he gestured over to you

“This is Y/N, my friend from work. She needs a place to stay- I texted this all to James I thought he would’ve told you.” she said in a rushed tone. “Where is he? I specifically-”

“-He’s in the shower Lils” called another voice from a boy now entering the room. He was much taller than the first boy. He had sandy brown hair and light eyes, just as handsome as the first boy, but in a softer way. You noticed a scar running across his face that made him more attractive if you were being honest. He smiled kindly at you and said, “I'm Remus, and that’s Sirius.” He nodded to the black haired boy.

Someone came bounding down the steps, another boy with brown hair and green eyes. He was dripping wet with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He was just as attractive as Remus and Sirius, and well you couldn’t help but… admiring… how fit he was. How could you when it was so graciously on display.

“James! Did you not tell them about Y/N?” Lily yelled at James, annoyed but slightly playful.

“I forgot?”

Lily picked up a pillow from the nearby oversized armchair and threw it at James who dodged it and ran back up the stairs laughing. “Get dressed and come back down here!” she called after him.

She whirled back to you and the two other boys, singing and making her way over to the couch, beckoning you to join her. “These boys” she rolled her eyes “It’s a wonder how this house is still standing” she joked with you.

“We can hear you Evans.” Sirius said sliding into an armchair, Remus casually leaning over the back of the same chair.

“That's the point Black” she debuted.

The dripping wet boy, who you guessed must be James, came back downstairs in more than just a towel this time, but donning a pair of glasses.

He walked straight up to you. “Hi I’m James,” He said, shaking your hand heartily. He was quite warm. “Lily told me about your situation and it sounds shit. I, for one, would be perfectly fine with you staying here, but you see this is a democracy and Remus and Sirius also get a vote.” His words left his mouth at a mile a minute, he seemed to have energy like bottled lightning.”Oh by the way,” he turned to the other boys “this is Y/N, she needs a place to stay.”

“Yeah, we got that much mate, thanks.” Remus chuckled.

“You’re frightening her James, you’ll scare her off” Sirius joked.

You laughed slightly, your nerves easing slightly. But the small noise made everyone turn to you for some input.

“Uh- I don’t want to impose, it is totally fine if you decide that you don’t want another roommate, I mean, you all seem very close and it might be awkward adding another person to the mix, so If you don’t want me to live here I get it, I mean, it is your house, I’d just be staying as a guest I guess,” you started playing with your fingers. The boys shared a look.

“I'm gonna stop you right there love,” Sirius interrupted. “We wouldn't mind another roommate at all.”

“Yeah,” James agreed, ”I’m sure you'd fit in perfectly with us lot. I mean, any friend of Lil’s is a friend of ours.” He smiled at you reassuringly.

“Are you sure? I mean it would only be a couple of months until I can find the right place and-”

“No need. Our house is always open to friends. People are always in and out. Lily has stayed here I don’t even know how many times.” Remus interrupted. “You’re fine to stay however long you need, forever if you want.”

“Really? I- I-Uh. Thank you. Really I mean it, I really appreciate it. I’ll be the best roommate ever, I promise! I'll cook and clean.” At that, the boys smiled back at you. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. “I can get you guys the rent once I'm all moved in.” You were very excited now, Lily sharing your excitement pulled you from the couch and up the stairs to show you your new room.

“Oh no need” Sirius shouts after you but you didn't hear. They could hear the two of you giggling and talking about decorating.

“Ok we're going to need a new list of house rules.” Remus spoke up to the other two boys.

Sirius looked up at him shocked. “What, why?”

“Well one, she's a girl. That means put clothes on when walking around the house,” he directed at James. “Two she obviously needs to come out of her shell a little, we don't wanna scare her now do we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asks.

“She's not used to the chaos that you two seem to feed off of so, maybe just tone it down slightly.” Remus replied.

“No promises,” Sirius mused.

Remus just brushed him off and said more serious now “She’s also…” he paused making sure you and Lily were still upstairs and couldn't hear, ”a muggle.”

The other two boys nodded understanding this important rule. “So no magic? What about quidditch I can’t just stop- Moony what about you?,” James asked.

Remus thought for a moment. This may be harder than they thought, but they weren’t going to go back on it now. “Ok, just no magic out in the open and be careful about it when you do use it. Agreed?,” the other two nodded. “And as for me… we’ll just figure that out when it comes time.”

Sirius looked at the other two. “And what about when she finds out about…” he motioned between all three of them “Us.”

The three of them shared glances and started thinking of how much they had to keep from you. This was definitely going to be harder than they thought.

#marauders #marauders era #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #poly!marauders x reader #marauders au #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction #marauders headcanon #james potter x reader #sirius x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders imagine #the marauders

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nekomanager · 8 months ago

Text

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND! ♡

- TWO of TWO -

ATSUMU thought that getting you out of his system was the solution for his annoyance towards you, but as it turned out, you got other parts of him raging instead. [Part ONE here]

🔖 f!reader, pwp, hate to horny to lovers, fingerfcking, squrting, blowjob, pussyeating, creampie, slight marking, semi-public sex

"Aaaargh! It turns out Tsum-Tsum's the highest point-earner for today," Bokuto proclaimed, slinging an arm over his teammate. "Means you get the reward, huh? How lucky!"

Reward? Atsumu almost scoffed. Reward...when he heard that word only one thing came to mind: your mouth around his dick.

Oh shit. He just got hard just at the thought. Sighing in frustration, he headed towards the showers, claiming his reward of having to take a bath first while his teammates get to clean up the court and keep things in order.

Taking his clothes off, his cock instantly sprung up the moment he pulled his shorts down. He's proud of his size but he'd be even more proud if he could stretch you again with it.

He groaned, turning the shower faucet on and letting the cold water cascade down his chiseled body. All his mind could do was run around in circles just thinking about you ever since he fucked you in the infirmary.

Now, you're too busy arranging their next out-of-country games that he could barely even talk to you. If there's a chance, it's either you're in a call or you're running around doing errands.

Maybe...you're avoiding him too.

Tsumu grunted and rolled his eyes. After what happened with you last time he could never ever allow you to avoid him again.

It's not because he's looking forward to having your soft lips against his again. No, totally not that!

Fuck! It's certainly that and everything about you.

From your sweet scent to how tasty you were dripping down his chin—they were all ingrained in his head. And his hand was persistent on his cock as he replayed the scene all over again. Damn! It's easy to get a chick he could waste time for some pump and dump, but not anymore. Ever since he got you, there's been no one else and this was the first and only time. He must be going crazy.

You're driving him crazy.

Biting down his lip, he went double time on his length. He thought that having sex with you would get you out of his system, but it was the other way around. He got a taste of you now and there's no damn way he's gonna live without—

Tsumu's eyes widened in speculation. He stopped halfway as the sound of the shower curtain drew his attention. He turned around and was welcomed by your surprise, eyes blinking twice in in the sight of his naked glory.

"Wha- What'cha doin' here?" he asked, trying to use the curtain as a cover to his hard-on. Why was he bein' shy all of a sudden?

You pulled your towel closer to you. "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Bokuto-san spilled his sports drink on me and he said I can use the shower," you tried to explain, avoiding eye contact.

"T-There's a lot out there why would ya open this?"

"Hey, I thought someone left the water open. It's just an accident. Who would've thought you'd be here when everyone's out there," you said, trying not look his way, but the way the droplets ran across his body was making you remember all the bad things he did to you. Oh no! It's dangerous. You shook the thought away. '"F-Fine! I'll just go."

You were about to leave him when the boys' chatting and hollering began echoing in the room.

Tsumu ran his glance from your worried expression to your barely clothed body. Realizing your situation, he grabbed your elbow and pulled you inside the shower in a panic.

He got you in his arms, heaving as your chests were flushed against each other. The Jackals entered the shower area, throwing insults and gossips around, their laughter and loud voices echoing.

"It's sad that Y/N's not around often recently," Shoyo started.

"Oh, yeah! That must be why Atsumu's been hitting it hard lately," Bokuto replied.

"He misses her."

"Definitely," The silver-haired agreed. "He better chalk her up before someone else comes in and steals his chance."

Tsumu gulped, his face heating up at the shocking revelation. Traitors! Traitors! You gazed upon him, eyes wide with disbelief and curiosity. "Is that true?" you whispered and you felt his hard-on got even harder against your stomach.

Ha! There's no way– It's just a joke...was all he could think of replying but Omi's interjection got in first.

"Does he even have a chance at all."

Well, Atsumu's fuming and he couldn't just let that comment fly away. "Shut it..."

Before he could even continue, you got on your knees, towel sliding off your body as you did. Now, his cock was just inches away from your face. "Wha...what're ya doin' Y/N?"

Swallowing thickly, "You look..." Your hand pumped his heated length slowly. "Enraged"

Licking the tip of his cock, you had him red-faced and eyes shut in pleasure.

"Ohhh...fuck~" His voice came out shaking and so was his breathing. "Fuck...fuck ya!"

The boys went silent havung heard him.

"Oh, Tsumu's still here!" Shoyo cheered. "Wai- Do you admit it now that you actually like Y/N?"

His fingers tangled around your hair. He'd been fantasizing about this every night since then. Just you and your pretty mouth gulping his cock like a starving beast. "Oh, yeah! Yeah, that's right...so fuckin' right."

"We all thought so! At last, you admit it! You keep on yapping about her everytime we just know you're so damn into her."

"So...fuckin into her–" he maneuvered your head as he dug in your mouth, deep throat. Your hands gripped his ass tight, marking him with your handprints in pink while tears began brimming your eyes.

Any more of this– Any more of this and–

He pushed you off as his cum spurted, painting your tits so beautifully while saliva dripped at the corner of your lips.

"So pretty..." he huffed and his dick snapped upright again. Your eyes grew. Tsumu's still raring to go and the pulsation in between your legs intensified.

He saw you gulped with lust in your eyes and he swore he couldn't take it anymore. You're so sexy cute that he couldn't resist so he leaned down to kiss you, carefully scooping you up in his arms as his mouth devoured your tongue and lips aggressively.

Groaning in your kiss, he itched to squeeze your ass and nibbled the shell of your ear. Wanting more and more of you, he switched off the shower as the only thing he wanted to be drenched right now was your pussy and it would be all because of him. He placed your palms against the wall, smoothed your back, bending you a little. He got on his knees and was face-to-face with your ass. He took a sharp breath and a handful of your bouncy flesh before pressing his nose against one of the cheeks and taking a huge tantalizing bite that made you crave for him.

With both hands on your ass, he parted your legs and flipped open your folds with his thumbs. You're glistening wet. "Ugh...yer so crazy beautiful can't take it myself."

He immediately had a mouthful of you—tongue flicking fast as he slurped your overflowing arousal. At the same time, his hands were massaging your shaky and fleshy thighs.

He's crazy. It's crazy. He wants you. Nothing else. No one else. His mouth took over your other ass cheek to mark your skin, while his fingers found their way inside your pussy, pumping relentlessly as he sucked on your plump flesh. The shaking of your legs heightened and you bit down on your lip to control your moans.

"Ahhh...fuck!" he hissed, removing his fingers and releasing your climax. Your juices showered down his chest and he was quick to give your pussy one last lick. His tongue began travelling up from the spine of your back to your shoulder, giving you a sensual bite at the spot.

"Feel how hard yer makin' me," he said, while the length of his cock rubbed across your pussy.

"Mhmn-" you still want more of him. No, you want all of him. His entire huge cock railing you just as deliciously good as last time in the clinic.

He was tormenting you with that slow friction yet he was dying to be inside you too.

"Augh, shit!" he cursed. "I never fucked anyone more than once, ya know."

"Tsumuuu~" It came out as a plea.

"If I shove this cock right in ya again that would mean yer mine, " he spoke almost out of breath. "Yer all mine."

You stepped back and pressed closer against him. "Then take me."

He grunted and rammed his cock right into you.

"Oh god!" he groaned, his head tilting back while you had your lips pressed, muffling your cries. The sensation of your walls coiling around him and his cock finally deep inside you made you both cum all of a sudden.

"W-Who's that?" Shoyo said, showering in the stall next to yours.

Atsumu completely forgot that his teammates were just around. He didn't care though. He didn't care so he started thrusting, taking you by surprise. With his cock driving you wildly, you placed a hand over your mouth avoiding the chances of getting caught by the whole team.

It's so stupid how much he was craving for all of you when you used to tick him off so bad. Now, he's crazy for you. Perhaps, all this time, he just wanted your attention, but now he's inside you and making you feel so good. You fit him like a glove and he got just the ideal cock to please you.

"Ooh shit! Yer perfect...so goddamn perfect for me." Tsumu leaned closer to your ear and whispered, "I ain't gonna live without you."

Turning you to your side, he lifted one of your legs up and fucked you even deeper like he'd been waiting for this moment to come for a long long while. His balls were slapping so hard against your ass it was echoing around the vicinity.

"Shit! Tsumu, are you doing what we think you're doing?" Bokuto asked, intrigued by the sounds he heard.

"Oh, fuck! Yes!" he huffed while he was pounding ferociously to insanity. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

His teammates hollered both in disgust and in playful teasing. The two of you couldn't even hear a thing from them though. You were both too busy fucking like crazy until a loud thud caught your attention. It was Shoyo's showerhead. It fell and slid towards the gap in between.

You tapped Tsumu's shoulder twice.

There's no way there would be two pairs of feet inside the stall. You worried but Tsumu's quick to pick up the cue. He raised your legs up, hooking them on his elbows with his hips were still thrusting endlessly. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping yourself up on his frame.

"Sorry!" Shoyo apologized but you hardly ever heard him. Your mind was too lost in the pleasure Tsumu was delivering with his brute cock.

"Damn! Tis crazy. I'm goin' crazy."

Despite all your efforts to conceal your moans, he was completely vocal, doing nothing to hide his. Oh, how you'd want to cry for his name over and over again.

"We're hurrying up, Tsumu." Bokuto snickered as sound of running water began to dissipate, "So you can enjoy yourself there."

Oh, yeah. Damn, he will!

Tsumu buried his head in between the mounds of your breast while you pressed your face on top of his head. You're getting there. He's getting there!

"Don't stay too long or you'll get sick!" Shoyo reminded before you heard the sound of the door closing. The boys were no longer inside and Tsumu immediately let out what he'd been repressing all along.

"Unbelievable! Yer so fucking amazing! Y/N...Y/N!"

"Tsumu! Tsumhm..." you let out a big cry and trembled in his arms.

He chased his own, doubling his pace. He wanted to leave a mark inside you and claim you as his so he shot his load with one forceful shove of his cock. His thick semen filled you up, some of the liquid spilled when he pulled out his cock.

"Shhh...shhh..." he soothed you, caressing the back of your head while he cradled you in his arms.

You faced him. His stomach flipped and chest tightened. He kissed you still not letting go of you.

"I can't believe I'm kissin' ya." He said, sounding a bit babyish, "Really thought you hated me."

Yeah, it sounded stupid, especially when you already did more than just kissing.

"No!" You shook your head and tightened your hold on him. "I just get a little shy around you."

Tsumu blushed and felt relieved. Whatever your reason was for being shy around him mattered little now. The most important thing was he already got you.

Gently, he got you back on your feet and fetched the towel he hung.

"From now on..." He threw the towel over your head and wrapped you with it. "I'll take care of ya, while ya take care of the team."

You smiled and tiptoed to give him a chaste kiss.

"Achooo...!" he sneezed, the moment you parted and he blushed. "Ugh...that was too lame."

You chuckled and invited him inside the towel.

tag! you're it ♡

@jaxyy219 @liquidcatt @aria-in-wonderland @galaneiaeris

@meeeepsworld @lovelypotatomunches1 @nanathecannibal

@kurooangel @kyokoyya @pixelcafe-network

#atsumu smut #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #atsumu scenarios #atsumu drabbles #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x female reader #atsumu imagines #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #msby atsumu #msby x reader #—🏐 haikyuu

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beekeeperspicnic · 1 year ago

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Can't believe this blog has existed THIS long, and I've somehow never shared this Sherlock Holmes fanfic by PG Wodehouse. As far as I know it predates Conan Doyle publishing any stories which mention Holmes retiring to keep bees, which presents the delightful possibility that ACD discussed his future plans for Holmes with his young friend Plum, whose first reaction was to go off and write (and publish) a cute parody of it.

The Adventure of the Missing Bee

Sherlock Holmes is to retire from public life after Christmas, and take to bee-farming in the country.

"It is a little hard, my dear Watson," said Holmes, stretching his long form on the sofa, and injecting another half-pint of morphia with the little jewelled syringe which the Prince of Piedmont had insisted on presenting to him as a reward for discovering who had stolen his nice new rattle; "it is just a little hard that an exhausted, overworked private detective, coming down to the country in search of peace and quiet, should be confronted in the first week by a problem so weird, so sinister, that for the moment it seems incapable of solution."

"You refer—?" I said.

"To the singular adventure of the missing bee, as anybody but an ex-army surgeon equipped with a brain of dough would have known without my telling him."

I readily forgave him his irritability, for the loss of his bee had had a terrible effect on his nerves. It was a black business. Immediately after arriving at our cottage, Holmes had purchased from the Army and Navy Stores a fine bee. It was docile, busy, and intelligent, and soon made itself quite a pet with us. Our consternation may, therefore, be imagined when, on going to take it out for its morning run, we found the hive empty. The bee had disappeared, collar and all. A glance at its bed showed that it had not been slept in that night. On the floor of the hive was a portion of the insect's steel chain, snapped. Everything pointed to sinister violence.

Holmes' first move had been to send me into the house while he examined the ground near the hive for footsteps. His search produced no result. Except for the small, neat tracks of the bee, the ground bore no marks. The mystery seemed one of those which are destined to remain unsolved through eternity.

But Holmes was ever a man of action.

"Watson," he said to me, about a week after the incident, "the plot thickens. What does the fact that a Frenchman has taken rooms at Farmer Scroggins' suggest to you?"

"That Farmer Scroggins is anxious to learn French," I hazarded.

"Idiot!" said Holmes, scornfully. "You've got a mind like a railway bun. No. If you wish to know the true significance of that Frenchman's visit, I will tell you. But, in the first place, can you name any eminent Frenchman who is interested in bees?"

I could answer that.

"Maeterlinck," I replied. "Only he is a Belgian."

"It is immaterial. You are quite right. M. Maeterlinck was the man I had in my mind. With him bees are a craze. Watson, that Frenchman is M. Maeterlinck's agent. He and Farmer Scroggins have conspired, and stolen that bee."

"Holmes!" I said, horrified. "But M. Maeterlinck is a man of the most rigid honesty."

"Nobody, my dear Watson, is entirely honest. He may seem so, because he never meets with just that temptation which would break through his honesty. I once knew a bishop who could not keep himself from stealing pins. Every man has his price. M. Maeterlinck's is bees. Pass the morphia."

"But Farmer Scroggins!" I protested. "A bluff, hearty English yeoman of the best type."

"May not his heartiness be all bluff?" said Holmes, keenly. "You may take it from me that there is literally nothing that that man would stick at. Murder? I have seen him kill a wasp with a spade, and he looked as if he enjoyed it. Arson? He has a fire in his kitchen every day. You have only to look at the knuckle of the third finger of his left hand to see him as he is. If he is an honest man, why does he wear a made-up tie on Sundays? If he is an upright man, why does he stoop when he digs potatoes? No, Watson, nothing that you can say can convince me that Farmer Scroggins has not a black heart. The visit of this Frenchman—who, as you can see in an instant if you look at his left shoulder-blade, has not only deserted his wife and a large family, but is at this very moment carrying on a clandestine correspondence with an American widow, who lives in Kalamazoo, Mich. — convinces me that I have arrived at the true solution of the mystery. I have written a short note to Farmer Scroggins, requesting him to send back the bee and explaining that all is discovered. And that," he broke off, "is, if I mistake not, his knock. Come in."

The door opened. There was a scuffling in the passage, and in bounded our missing bee, frisking with delight. Our housekeeper followed, bearing a letter. Holmes opened it.

"Listen to this, Watson," said Holmes, in a voice of triumph.

"'Mr. Giles Scroggins sends his compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, an' it's quite true, I did steal that there bee, though how Mr. Holmes found out, Mr. G. Scroggins bean't able to understand. I am flying the country as requested. Please find enclosed 1 (one) bee, and kindly acknowledge receipt to 'Your obedient servant, 'G. Scroggins.

'Enclosure.'?"

"Holmes," I whispered, awe-struck, "you are one of the most remarkable men I ever met."

He smiled, lit his hookah, seized his violin, and to the slow music of that instrument turned once more to the examination of his test tubes.

Three days later we saw the following announcement in the papers: "M. Maeterlinck, the distinguished Belgian essayist, wishes it to be known that he has given up collecting bees, and has taken instead to picture postcards."

#pg wodehouse #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes fanfiction #but like EARLY fanfiction

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ghostycritter · 6 months ago

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Post Chatter Silence ☆

Context - Silence in between small talk is a happening that's gifted upon acquaintance upon acquaintance. Due to hesitation between topics similar to a sailboat with no wind— a boat with no motor is a raft. How would you and your 'acquaintance' handle the unspoken moment that is transitional silence?

Characters - Wolfgang Akire, Grace Madison, Ulysses Wilhelm, Mark 'Mayhem' Berskii

Warnings - none

A/N - Mb if Grace is OOC, I liked her writing better during chap 0 so i based it off that. Idk why... don't come @ me but chap 0 Grace on top!!!

Masterlist (✧) P:EG Masterlist

[🐑] Wolfgang Akire -

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

Chatter becomes a temporary solution towards lull. Even so, you attempted to initiate chit-chat with the Ultimate Lawyer. It feels reckless to construct such casual words in the presence of a very prestigious man. However, his soft spoken nature churned the mood to a sensual lightheartedness. Imbuing it with a warm and intimate stimuli that made you feel strange.

Butterflies — that's the scientific term to describe that tingling feeling in your gut when he'd respond to your little inquiries. Despite the guarantee of him having these types of discussions an uncountable amount of times— He made the current one you both reciprocated feel special.

His replies would always feel thoughtful. It was never generic or vague, the responses were made for *you*. His words were a gentle reminder that your sentences were invaluable. You wonder if everybody felt this way when he'd commence a conversation like this, or if this was something special.

The exchange dissolved into an unresolved mute. Just as you expected. Although, it didn't feel uncomfortable, definitely not the quiet you dread. In fact, the silence was welcoming. As though you shouldn't feel burdened by the lack of reaction, instead you should let go of the interaction.

The mute stretched between you both. Unbroken until Wolfgang glances back at you.

"You're pleasant to chat with, Ms/Mx/Mr [Surname]." His smooth voice is soft yet so determined.

A spark in his eyes spoke for himself, the glimmer told you what his words did not:

He'd love to talk again.

[🐰] Grace Madison -

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

Striking a chat with *the* Ultimate Golfer was a gamble. Disclose something mindless or uncultural you would get met with a verbal bash to the face. Yet, despite the topic being surrounded regarding the unbelievably difficult industry— you still got a marvelous chuckle having a chat with her.

It's challenging for you to commit a reply to Grace. She's so swift and unstoppable with her words, a few drops of your head giving her a nod is enough signal to let her continue her harsh sentences.

"...So, what about you?" Her question was like she crafted a new full-stop to the conversation.

The unexpected question caught you off-guard. Unsure of what to respond with. What could you say? Did you have any struggle regarding the industry? You gifted yourself a halt to brainstorm her question. Eventually, enough thoughts form a coherent feedback.

For the first time, you had the freedom to express how you felt. But your nervousness got the best of you— desaturating your sentence to a more anticlimactic anecdote.

"Exactly what I expect! We both can't catch a break, can we?" You felt a thrilling astonishment bubble within you. Grace relates! Her engaging comment ignited a conclusion in you:

She cared for your input.

With that, the noise withdrawal. Leaving you both in a silent trance. You expect for it to be broken by one of her lines, but no attempt was made to do so. Rather, you both sat in the basking lull. Still, you expect her to strike, like a pounce from a predator to a prey. You never expected such a sentence—

"You know what? You're pretty sensible."

That was the nicest thing she had ever said.

[🦉] Ulysses Wilhelm -

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

You found yourself having a conversation with none other than the insomniac Ultimate Historian. It was a rare privilege, like conversing with a living history book in front of you. Every single word that escaped your mouth was a scribble etched to the pages of his journal. It was a natural habit for him to record his entire daily interactions, however it gave him no time to give you full responses.

Your conversation unfolded on a superficial level. Yet, Ulysses paid extreme attention to what you have to input to the casual talk, making it feel as if it's more significant.

The conversation traveled at a comfortable pace. You both— or rather you only— is now on the subject of your recent accomplishments that earned you a place at the academy. As the explanation spilled out of your mouth, similar to what you rehearsed to what to tell friends and relatives; Ulysses spoke up, pausing his quill equipped hand.

He revises his notes, the silence overpowering the moment. You felt still. It was such a contrast from how much you talked about and now suddenly you were quiet. The silence was obvious, the words no longer formed in your mouth. You felt burdened from chattering too much, you fear it etched a high-ego image on your person.

"Would you please elaborate on the event part? I'd love to know more." A spark of interest glittered his steady, indifferent tone.

As each word came to be his question. It felt like your talent was renewed and celebrated in a different perspective. He wanted you to clarify further!

You continued your explanation, offering him the vivid details of how your contributions during this 'event' came to be. As you finished up your story, he seemed to still be jotting down the specifics of your anecdote.

He lets out a yawn as he deliberately dotted the tip of the quill onto the parchment insinuating a period.

"That was interesting." He briefly commented.

[🐊] Mark 'Mayhem' Berskii

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

It's an ambitious challenge to converse with the Ultimate Music Producer. To say the least, he's extremely aloof, nearly impossible to approach. His distant demeanour made him tough to converse with. However, it's difficult to imagine how you even got into this situation.

Small talk was futile. Idle chats didn't work on Mark. He did not seem to be fazed by anything you attempted to say to spark up a chat between you both— you'd always be met with an unyielding silence.

Finally, you take matters into your own hands and start to introduce yourself.

Mark didn't seem too interested by your rant, your efforts seemed to be brushed off the more you tried. The only responses are stares— glares, in fact. It's obviously shown that he limits his interactions as much as possible.

You said one last conversation starter. He just gave you a small nod. The bare minimum of a response.

A heavy sigh escaped you. You aren't irritated, rather tired. At least you tried, a nod from Mark Berskii himself? That's well enough for you.

You continued with a subtle end to the conversation, not wanting to push him further. Probably for the best, but you didn't feel too pleased.

"What's your talent again?"

His voice was just as aloof as he is. There was no insinuation of welcome, but you'd gladly answer.

It was hard to believe that was Mark. A small humble smile graces your face as you respond with your talent.

A sentence from Mark Berskii himself? That's surely something worth celebrating!

#gh☆stycr1tter #[ — wr1t1ngs ]#p:eg #project eden's garden #Wolfgang Akire #Grace Madison #Ulysses Wilhelm #Mark Berskii #x reader #fanganronpa #Wolfgang Akire x Reader #Grace Madison x Reader #Ulysses Wilhelm x Reader #Mark Berskii x reader #Danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #headcanon #danganronpa headcanons #project eden's garden x reader

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