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sophiethewitch1 · 10 days ago

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Title: Sunshine in the Dead of Winter.

Pairing: Yandere!Dick Grayson x Reader (DC).

Commissioned by the very lovely @saturnalya.

Word Count: 10k.

TW: Non/Con, Omegaverse AU, Fem!Reader, Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Breeding, Mentions of Blood/Injury, Tampering with Medication, Masturbation, Societal Stigmas Against Birth Control/Suppressants, Forced Bonding, Prolonged Stalking, and Knotting. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Three broken ribs, two sprained wrists, and one black eye.

The eye (the most minor and most visible of his injuries) was from the punch he’d taken from a low-level gangster who’d chosen to fight rather than flee while Dick handled his boss, a much more dangerous arms’ dealer Tim had spent the past eight weeks tracking down to a hideout in the industrial district of Blüdhaven. The sprained wrists, more embarrassingly, were from the back handspring he’d attempted to avoid taking a shot from some kind of laser gun prototype straight to the chest, conveniently forgetting about the hairline fracture he’d earned the night before and sacrificing the well-being of his joints to stick the landing. The broken ribs, most embarrassingly, were from throwing himself out of a four-story window to avoid the open fire of the first round of cops to arrive on the scene – fifteen full minutes after the arms’ dealer had been apprehended and restrained, of course.

He had traded his mangled suit out for a borrowed (re: stolen) puffer jacket, compression shirt, and pair of sweats in a nearby alley and spent more of his night than he’d care to admit limping back to his apartment on the other side of the city, one hand plastered over his throbbing chest and the other picking at the half-dried blood trailing from his busted lower lip. He would’ve made for a sorry sight, had any poor bastard been unfortunate enough to pass by him. Thankfully, he was given the small mercy of a lonely walk home.

By the time he made it back to his own doorstep, Dick was exhausted, aching, and thinking about you.

That last one was against his will and in spite of his better judgement. He couldn’t seem to help it, not when he felt this alone.

His apartment was dark. He’d left before sunrise, but he hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights before stumbling through the door. Now, in the early hours of the morning, he made the same mistake – hand barely grazing the nearest switch as he shut the door behind him, dragging his feet as he made his way to the cramped kitchenette. An ice-pack was retrieved and pushed against his swollen eye, a handful of painkillers choked down to soften the chorus of misery crying out from his rib cage. He would head to the manor tomorrow, have Alfred take a look at his injuries. Tonight, he couldn’t imagine doing anything other than falling into bed and sleeping until the drugs wore—

Muted, abrupt, and high-pitched; the sound of a small projectile against glass. Dick ducked on instinct, then thinking better of it, cursed under his breath and tossed the ice-pack into his sink. There was another soft ping, then a third close behind. Cassandra, probably, or Damian. Dick hadn’t heard from either of them in a few days. How the latter would’ve gotten away from Bruce and what could make the former desperate enough to seek him out in the middle of the night, Dick didn’t want to know.

And yet, he dragged himself across the living room, twisting the rusted locks and prying the window open. The burden of the eldest, he guessed. No matter how far he ran, he was always going to be at someone else’s beck and call.

He didn’t find Cass hanging upside down from the next floor’s balcony, deadly silent and covered in her own blood, or Damian pressed against the glass like a spoiled neighborhood cat, already impatient to be let in. Instead, crouched on the edge of the stone sill, a fistful of gravel clutched in one hand, he found you.

He almost would’ve preferred one of his siblings. At least that would’ve kept his heart from trying to beat its way out of his battered chest.

He’d forgotten just how beautiful you were. He knew that you were beautiful, obviously, but trying to hold the totality of it in his memory would’ve been to try to admire the colors of a sunset via charcoal etching. There was a duffle bag over your shoulder, and you were under dressed for the constantly biting, constantly damp Blüdhaven chill. You had rigid, hyper-alert look of someone who’d been traveling for a few days without stopping to rest. Wherever you were coming from, you’d clearly left in a hurry. Your usual scent – warm concrete and freshly cut grass and sunlight – was tainted with the metallic tang of underground subways and gasoline. You must not have noticed. Dick tried not to be the kind of alpha who tracked every microscopic change in his favorite omega’s scent, but some instincts were hard to kill.

And you were smiling at him. The same wide, star-bright smile you paid him whenever you pinned him while sparring or he took a hit from a hostile on your behalf. Instantly, he was a teenager again, laid over the foot of your bed in the Titans headquarters, listening to you complain about a stunt Wally pulled in training or the petty drama you were pulled into during your last mission until the sun rose. Exhausted and safe and happy. Happier than he’d been in a long, long time, honestly.

You didn’t say anything. Your eyes moved over his face, analytic and evaluating, eventually catching on his black eye, the bruises scattered over his jaw and down his neck. You dropped the gravel, dusted off your palm, and cupped his cheek. There were no questions, no hesitation – just the rush of warmth as your powers flowed through him, the fresh heat of stepping into sunlight on a cloudless day. He closed his eyes as the pain dulled, then disappeared entirely. His ribs went quiet in his chest. The pounding burn in his wrists smothered into nothing. A hundred different minor injuries faded out of existence, stars disappearing at the first light of morning. He would still need to see a doctor (the licensed, unmagical kind), but he already knew that you’d taken care of the worst of it. Because that was what you did. Because you made things better.

Dick, especially.

By the time he opened his eyes, your smile had softened, your mild exhaustion edged into full, bone-deep fatigue. When you did speak, your voice was thin, strained to its limit and then some. He drank it down like cold water on a hot day, a lost traveler in the desert mistaking morning dew for an oasis.

“You look like shit.”

He cracked a grin. “You look worse.”

“Then shut up and let me in.”

He obeyed without protest. You shambled through the open window, dropping your bag on the floor and collapsing onto his all-but unused couch. You let yourself lay there for a second, then another before finding the strength to sit up again, hastily crossing your legs underneath you. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

He wasn’t. The thought would never have occurred to him organically. Dick had never been a man of faith, but even he knew better than to question how miracles were delivered.

Still, he played his part – shutting the window and sparing a glance toward the street below. No monsters or assassins or super-villains as far as the eye could see. If you’d come under duress, the source of your danger wasn’t the type to operate in plain sight. “I kind of assumed you just missed my pretty face.”

“There’s not much to miss,” you laughed. “A little birdy told me you were getting your ass handed to you. I thought I’d stop by, see if I could help out.”

Jason, most likely. Surprisingly, he tended to worry the most when Dick forgot to check in. It must’ve been the alpha side of him. Jason was the type who couldn’t relax unless every member of his pack was accounted for. Bruce and Cass had the same urges, but could stomach a little more distance.

That part, he believed. The rest was more difficult to swallow. You liked being on a team, having a structure to work within. Going rogue (let alone stooping to vigilantism) wasn’t your style. You used to make fun of him for it, claim not to know why it took so many bats to keep one city safe, and he used to let you. Anything to hear your voice. Anything to know you spent your time thinking about him.

Your power set wasn’t suited for solo work, either. While you were a passable healer, your offensive abilities were more impressive, more of a draw to people looking for metas with limited survival instincts and hearts of gold. He’d only seen it once before, but the image would be burned into his mind ‘till the day he died. Golden light spilling out of your mouth, your eyes, your palms. Ash and cinder where there’d once been a city block. It was a little like a solar flare, all crushing pressure and blistering heat and unimaginable destruction. There was no way to limit the blast radius, either, to control who your fire scorched. Either you were on, or you were off. If someone didn’t want to get burned, they were going to have to mind their distance.

Dick forced himself to sigh, to lean against the arm of his couch. He was giving you too little credit. You were (nearly, he reminded himself, nearly) his match when it came to hand-to-hand combat, and you’d made it this far without relying on your superhuman powers. A few gadgets borrowed from Bruce’s collection, and you’d be up to fighting shape in time for the next patrol. He’d have to stay close to you, show you the best way to handle Blüdhaven’s particular brand of lowlife. It would be like you were teenagers again, fighting back to back. It would be like you never lef—

You yawned, stretching, and Dick was drawn out of his thoughts and back to you. Alright. A few gadgets and a good night’s sleep. He would get things set up while you rested.

Saying yes felt like such a given that the possibility of an alternative answer didn’t register, not until your smile quirked in that telltale, unsure way and you drew your bag back into your lap, sparing a glance toward the front door. “If it’s too dangerous to have me around, I can—”

“Stay. Please.” His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. Dick tensed, but recovered quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The only person you’ll be putting in danger is Bruce. He’s going to have a heart attack when he hears about a meta operating this close to Gotham.”

And just like that, your grin was back in full force. “But you’re not going to let your old man tell you what to do, right?”

“After spending this much time with such a bad influence?” He tried to mirror your luminosity. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You were on your feet in a second, tackling him into a half-grapple, half-hug in another. His reaction was delayed, the need to respond overshadowed by the warmth of your body against his, the softened sunshine of your scent in his nose. It would’ve been impossible to show just how much he’d missed you, but how tightly he wrapped his arms around your waist when he finally found the strength to move was a good place to start.

When you did pull away, it was more out of panic than any sudden need for separation. Dick loosened his hold, but still held you close enough to pick up on the notes of anxiety adding a citrus tinge to your scent. “I… I promise, I’ll be careful, and you won’t so much as notice I’m—”

“You’ll be perfect.” He could feel you shift against him, start to draw back, but he held you that much tighter. “Like you always are.”

There was a moment of reluctance, of resistance, but soon, you collapsed against him, fatigue overpowering your better judgement. Dick held you there until you went slack against him – asleep standing up.

He let out a breath of a laugh, ghosting his lips over the top of your head. Dropping an arm underneath your thighs, he pressed you against his chest and started carrying you toward the bedroom. His body still ached, exhaustion still pulsing behind his eyes, but he was taking care of you. He was with you.

And he couldn’t ask for more.

You slept in Dick’s bed.

You hadn’t planned to. You’d actually taken the time to look into short-term rentals on your way to Blüdhaven, scanning through apartment listings on overnight trains and weighing the meager contents of your savings account against the exorbitant per night rates of hotels in the area. You hadn’t planned to fall asleep at Dick’s place that first night, or stay for breakfast the next day, or let what few belongings you’d thought to bring mix with his until the accoutrements of your lives were too intertangled to be easily separated. It just kind of happened. That could describe most of your relationship with Dick, honestly. Things just tended to happen.

Now, you lay in his bed, bathed in his sweet, earthy scent – all caramel and pine. You could hear water running a room over, and you knew that in a few minutes, he would fall into bed with a groan and a muttered summary of last night’s patrol, as if you’d ever left his side. It was a holdover from his sidekick days. If you ever met Batman properly, you would have to let him know that the habit stuck.

A guilty, selfish part of you liked having him so close. Dick was your best friend, and when you were with him, there were no handlers telling you to be more aggressive on the battlefield, no teams of near-strangers treating you like an explosive just waiting to be tripped, no screaming matches in the dead of night because they could couldn’t understand that your abilities only ever made things worse. He knew you. He trusted you. More importantly, you trusted him.

The omega half of your brain liked it too, drooling as it chanted alpha, alpha, alpha. It was silly. Dick was a friend, not a mate. Your secondary sex just couldn’t tell the difference.

The mattress dipped as he collapsed next to you. Immediately, you curled around his arm, a low purr sparking in the back of your throat as you slotted yourself against him. Dick returned the gesture, leaning his head against yours.

Come hell or high water, neither of you would move an inch until morning.

Dick found himself watching you. More often than he wanted to. More often than he could afford to.

Across the kitchen table while you ate with both eyes still mostly shut, struggling to wake up too early on too little sleep. Through a crack in the door while you showered. From the fire-escape a few floors up while you disarmed a would-be mugger. He had the same problem when he was younger, a hormonal teenager prone to letting his mind wander. The only difference was that, now, he seemed too focused, too fixated on the same few things. The way you moved. The way you laughed. The way you felt against him.

Rationally, he knew that you thought of him as a friend. He could still remember the embarrassment he’d felt the first time you’d laughed off one of his stupid pick-up lines, the disbelief that met every attempt he’d ever made to flirt with you. Rationally, he knew to give you space, to make sure no one got burnt.

Irrationally, he knew that you were his.

And no amount of distance was ever going to change that.

The pharmacy was bright and sterile. Fluorescent lights left you partially blind as you made your way through aisles of multi-colored bottles and cardboard boxes, the basket in your hand half-filled with miscellaneous junk food and energy drinks you’d only glanced at before grabbing. Dick lingered near the front, flipping carelessly through a magazine rack. The definition of nonchalance, a civilian act perfected down to the way he shifted his feet every twenty seconds exactly. You jabbed your elbow into his side and signaled for him to follow you. Grimacing, he complied.

“I thought we were on a mission,” he whispered, never letting his careless half-smile falter. Good. That meant he was still in super secret undercover vigilante mode.

“We are.” Hence why you were wearing your body armor underneath your sweatshirt. There was no way in hell that you would actually need it, but it made you feel professional. Secure. “Get ready – your part’s coming up.”

You approached the counter, setting your basket on the floor never to be retrieved. The pharmacist was an older woman, her attention dedicated solely to the well-creased paperback spread open in front of her. You chirped out a greeting, then slid your civilian ID in front of her. Casual. Quick. Easy. This didn’t have to be a big deal, not unless you made it into one.

The pharmacist scanned over your card, lingering on the omega symbol that indicated your secondary sex. “Collecting your prescription?”

Casual. Quick. Easy. The disapproval in her tone couldn’t bother you. Nope, not one bit. “Yes, please.”

Finally, she looked at you. To your relief, she only held your gaze for a moment before noticing Dick, the apprehension in her expression melting into a nostalgic sort of bemusement. Your ID was returned, and with it, a small paper bag. Judging from the weight, she’d only given you enough pills to last through the next three months, but you’d take what you could get.

Your exit was hasty and ungraceful. With barely enough time to mutter a few words of gratitude, you were outside and all-but jogging down the deserted sidewalk. Dick matched your pace, falling into stride with you.

“Mission successful?”

“Fuck yes.” You practically tore the pill bottle free, shoving it into your pocket while crumbling its bag into the smallest possible ball. “I expect you to report back this time next month, soldier.”

“Will do, captain.” That was your Dick. Reliable, if a bit confused. “And, like, I am going to do it, but I’ll be doing it because…?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek. It wouldn’t be hard to lie. Meta biology made little to no sense at the best of times. You could make something up about power regulators or high-clearance superpower protocols. Knowing Dick, he would nod and smile, and you would buy yourself as much time as it took him to put together a proper confrontation. There was a chance he would understand, that he wouldn’t let his alpha status overshadow his faith in you, but—

But Dick was your best friend. He’d get it. He had to.

You didn’t want to live in a world where you were afraid to talk to the man you trusted most.

“It’s stupid,” you sighed, letting your eyes fall to the concrete. “Heat suppressants can be difficult to get a hold of. If you bring an alpha, though, pharmacists tend to assume you’re already mated. It’s a lot easier for them to justify helping you delay your biological destiny rather than avoid it entirely, I guess.”

There was more to it than that. The concern in their voices as they asked if you’d been told the side-effects of long-term use. The unsolicited advice on natural remedies and finding patient, loving alpha mates to fuck you into oblivion every few months. The disgust of being not just a meta, not just an omega, but some freakish combination of both. But, you didn’t want to explain that to Dick. He was smart. If he wanted to, he’d put two and two together on his own.

“You’re on suppressants?” You glared at him, and Dick rushed not to sound like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry, I mean— They’re just supposed to be really dangerous. I heard they make it hard to pick up on pheromone signals, and, uh—”

“Cause infertility. I know.” You shook your head. “It’s a good thing that I’m not planning to get knocked up, then. I don’t really have another option.”

His lips pursed. “There are a plenty of omega vigilantes. Tim—”

“Tim won’t burn down half a city when he loses control,” you hissed, doing what you could to keep your volume down, your emotions under lock and key. Still, something burnt against your palms, smoldering just under the skin. You pulled your hands out of your pockets and wrung them together. “It’s for the best. Heats are… unpredictable. Your nervous system goes haywire. You can’t think straight and regulate your reactions. And it’s not exactly like I’ve ever wanted kids.”

The idea of being bound to a mate was bad enough. A litter of helpless, dependent pups was more than you could handle. A fate worse than death.

Dick didn’t respond, not immediately. His expression turned stony, his shoulders squaring and his pace slowing until each step was deliberate, thoughtful. You gave him time, looping your arms through his.

“You never told me why you ditched your last team.”

You grit your teeth. “It got too corporate,” you explained, feigning indifference. Your palm burnt hotter. You clenched your hand into a fist, doing your best to smother the flame. “You know what it’s like. Too many rules, too much private funding. I’m not that easy to buy.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Dick shook his head. “B mentioned an incident a while back. There was an unapproved field mission in a desert region. He said it went wrong. The team leader was injured, and there was an explosion, or a wildfire, or something. The sand was melted into glass for a mile in every direction.”

A hole opened up in the pit of your stomach, guilt and anger and heat spilling out. He was wrong. It’d been four miles, not one. Your leader hadn’t gotten burnt in the inferno, either. That had come during the aftermath, when she did her best to wrap her hands around your throat while your body temperature was still well above searing. You could’ve healed her, but she kept screaming at you, telling you to stay away. Eventually, you decided to take her advice.

No one had died. Thank god, no one had died. If there’d been any casualties, you never would’ve been able to meet Dick’s eyes again. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself.

You were enough of a risk on your suppressants. You couldn’t imagine what kind of damage you would do without them.

“Weird,” you muttered. “Sounds like laser vision. Think the Supers were involved?”

He snorted out a laugh. “There’s no way in hell. We would’ve had a written confession the next morning.” There was a beat of silence, then an airy sigh. Dick pulled out of your loose holding, winding his arm around your waist instead. “I’ve been acting like a jerk. Let me buy you lunch to make up for it?”

“I’ve already told you, Grayson. I’m not that easy to buy.”

“We’ll get takeout, too. And dessert.” You hummed, doing your best to play aloof. He sighed, slouching into you in a dramatic show of submission. “And I’ll take you shopping.”

“On your salary?”

“On the family card. I’ll write it off as an equipment expense.”

Finally, you smiled. “You make it hard to stay mad.”

“Good. I don’t know what I’d do if my best girl hated me.” He nuzzled into the side of your face – an alpha gesture, meant to scent the members of their pack. Immediately, your anxiety forgotten, your hands dropping back to their usual just-above-average temperature. You weren’t a part of Dick’s pack, but it was nice to pretend.

If only it could last.

You kept your pills on the bathroom counter. Because you felt safe. Because you trusted him.

You were wrong to, of course. But Dick appreciated the sentiment.

There should’ve been more shame. He tried to feel any amount of guilt as he carefully removed the lid, tried to hate himself a little more with each pill he crushed under his thumb. Harmless sugar pills were poured into the now-empty bottle, and he did what he could to bite back his smile. He couldn’t help it. He was helping you. Failing that, he was taking care of you. It was just what any good friend would do, really.

He set the bottle exactly where you had that morning, after unknowingly taking your very last suppressant. He wondered when your next heat would set in – if your body would ease into it, let you get used to the raw heat of prolonged fever and the slow agony of constant need, or if it would come on all at once, if he would come home one day and find you helpless and hot and so confused. You would be disoriented. Maybe you would say things you didn’t mean, ask him to mate you, beg to be bred. Maybe you would forgive him if he—

His hips jutted forward, grinding into the edge of the countertop. Fuck. He was hard. He could only be thankful you were out of the apartment. The apartment you shared with him, now. Your home.

His cock pulsed in his sweats, threatening to finish untouched. Dick cursed under his breath. He hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but you had a way of driving him to the brink. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve thought you meant to do it.

He fled the bathroom, keeping the pill bottle in his peripheral. You kept a separate hamper at the foot of his bed, and he pushed aside street clothes and athletic wear until he found the panties you’d worn the day before. Like you, they were practical – no unnecessary frills or lace, a shade of navy-blue so deep it nearly turned into black. A single, tiny white bow sat just below the waistband, serving as your sole piece of self-indulgence. Dick smiled. When you were his mate, he would buy you a dozen sets of the most gaudy, useless lingerie he could find. Maybe, once the litter forced you to slow down, you’d be nice enough to actually wear them for him.

The idea of masturbating over a pile of your dirty laundry was a little too degrading to suit Dick’s more refined palate. Snatching up the panties, Dick made his way to your side of the bed (because you had a side of the bed, because something that used to be his was yours too) and fell onto the mattress, breathing in the lingering traces of your scent. He buried his face in your pillow, hips grinding lazily into the sheets. He wondered if your scent would change during your heat. He knew it could happen, that it was more common than people realized. He hoped you were the exception. He couldn’t imagine loving anything more than he loved you now.

Your abilities might be an issue. He brought your panties up to his face, holding them over his nose and mouth. You were a terrible liar, and your last incident was, admittedly, worrying. But you’d been on a team with inexperienced strangers, alone in a strange place and so, so far from him. Hormone fluctuations, emotional dysregulation, heightened reactivity – those were nonissues, excuses to justify the distance you held yourself at. Dick wasn’t some b-list hero, eager create a fire for the sake of jumping into it. He knew you, and you trusted him. If nothing else, there were worse ways to go out than burning to death in your arms.

He nuzzled into the seat of your panties, panting into the fabric. Your scent was different – still warm and pastoral and perfect – but it was concentrated, intensified by proximity and musk. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs instead, his mouth latched onto the source rather than the traces left behind. He would try to be romantic, to take things slow, but even to him, the promise sounded hollow. Even in the most hopeful, fantastical corners of his mind, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay gentle for very long.

His cock throbbed. Right. Dick could live without fucking his fist to his best friend’s panties, but his body had other ideas.

He rolled onto his back, shrugging his sweatpants down to his thighs. Your panties were shoved into a pocket absent-mindedly as he wrapped a fist around his shaft, pumping lazily. He tried to court a specific fantasy, something from a decade old wet dream or what he’d thought about doing to you the other day when you asked to borrow his jacket, but it all seemed to melt into the vague impressions – the warmth of your body against him, the feeling of your hand brushing against his, the weight of your legs laid over his lap. He could feel a bead of pre-cum drip down his knuckles, then onto the hardened muscle of his lower stomach. Would you feel soft against him? He already knew you would be warm.

He flexed his hand, his strokes growing longer, rougher. Distantly, he heard a door open, but the noise seemed too unimportant to acknowledge. He thought about the pill bottle waiting in the next room, then what your voice would sound like – strained and desperate and calling out for him. His hips jutted toward his hand, all messy pleasure and pent-up desire. There were footsteps. Your panties were burning a hole in his pocket, begging to be ruined by cum and teeth and saliva. He ground the heel of his palm into his base, every muscle in his body going taut as—

The bedroom door swung open. He heard you let out a muffled, half choked scream, and that was enough to push him over the edge, his own cum splattering onto his lower stomach. It took long, beautiful seconds for the post-climax clarity to set him, for Dick to consider how he might’ve looked lying on your side of the bed, your panties sticking out of his pocket and his cock in his hand, but it didn’t matter. By the time he looked up, you had your right hand plastered over your eyes, the left groping blindly for the doorknob. You were stammering out apologies, too, voice high and clumsy with embarrassment. It was cute. It was perfect. You were perfect.

“I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t see anything. I should’ve knocked, or texted you, and—” Finally, you found the edge of the door. You pulled it shut hastily, nearly taking off four fingers in the process. “And I’m meeting up with Barbara so I’m leaving! Right now! Bye!”

“Bye,” he murmured, but you were already making a break for it. He listened to your footsteps as you stumbled back to the front door, and then, the apartment was quiet. You were gone.

His cock pulsed in his hand, still half-hard. Dick wondered when your heat would set in, how long he would have to wait.

He hoped, selflessly, that it wouldn’t be long.

You were dying.

That was how it felt, at least. You’d checked yourself over twice for mortal injuries, tested yourself for signs of concussion, but the damage wasn’t physical. There was something in your blood – a toxin, a poison, an accelerant. You were burning alive from the inside out.

To make it worse, you were alone. Dick had been hailed to the station on an emergency call, and since it was a quiet night, you figured you could cover the patrol on your own. You’d, of course, been ignoring the knotted ache in the pit of your stomach that’d set in when you first woke up and had yet to fade, and written off the fire burning just below your skin as symptoms of your powers, frustration you’d have to work out before it boiled over. This wasn’t your powers, though. Those were part of you, natural and righteous and right. This was something different. This was alien.

You wrapped your arms around your midriff, pulling your knees that much closer to your chest. You’d been able to get to an alleyway – the dead end between two condemned warehouses – but no further. Your suit was suddenly too tight, prone to rubbing against your skin in a way that made you want to tear it off, and your skin felt cold as ice, begging to melt where it met the heat brewing inside of you. This was how you were going to die. Failing that, this was how you were going to lose your mind. You needed to strip. You needed to find somewhere smaller, safer. You needed to—

You needed to pull yourself together and call for back up.

It took longer than it should’ve to activate your earpiece. The previously dead comm line came to life with the soft fuzz of distant static. “Nightwing,” you hissed, your voice barely audible.

He answered immediately. “What is it?”

“Incapacitated.” Speaking at all was agony, each word a needle stabbed directly into your airway. You couldn’t waste energy on a proper explanation. “No hostiles. Send help.”

You didn’t care who you got.

Dick grunted in the affirmative. The line went quiet, and you were on your own again. It might’ve been peaceful, had it not been so unbearable.

The world faded into a blur of sensation, emotion, and half-formed thoughts. You muttered the names of different hallucinogenics to yourself as your vision began to blur around the edges, as your sense of scent heightened until it was nearly painful to breathe. You felt your side hit the cement before you realized you were falling. For a moment, it seemed like a very real possibility that this might be the end of you – huddled into yourself in a dark alleyway, unable to see or move or think. For a moment, you were a teenager again, watching the first friends you’d ever made try to escape the inferno spilling out of you.

And then, you felt hands on your shoulders, caught the outline of Dick’s smile in your peripheral, and you were back. Still in pain, still burning up, but back.

“It’s poison,” you managed, as he hauled you up and onto your feet. Your legs gave out immediately, and Dick hauled you against his side, all-but carrying you toward the mouth of the alleyway. “Or something like that. Flu-like symptoms and sensory distortion. Bad.”

Dick hushed you. Vaguely, you were aware of a streetlight above you, the muted droning of a car engine. He ushered you into the backseat, and you collapsed into the leather. “You’re just fine.”

You weren’t. You weren’t, but he was already slipping into the driver’s seat. Through your eyelashes, you watched him twist around to face you, his smile gentle and empathetic. A sign of a good and nurturing mate.

“Do you want my jacket?”

More than anything. You forced yourself to nod, and Dick laid his jacket over you – a heavy letterman’s saturated with his scent. You clung to it for all you were worth.

The drive was a blur, time liquid and the scenery liminal. Dick talked to you, sometimes, more to keep you conscious than anything else. You did your best to answer him.

“How do you feel?”

“Hot. Hot and sore.”

“I thought you might say that. Cover your face – it should help.”

You did as you were told, burying your face in his jacket. Slowly, the ache in your stomach started to fade, but it was replaced with something else, a liquid heat pooling in your core.

“Got anything on your mind?”

“Just the pain, and— and this morning, my suppressants, they didn’t taste—” Your voice hitched. You could feel it dripping down your legs, now, drenching your panties. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “It hurts to breathe.”

“Altered perception and erratic body temperature. Is there any increased sensitivity?”

“Yes.” You had to fight not to rub your thighs together, to feed the fire with friction rather than starving it out. “A lot of sensitivity.”

Dick hummed. You felt the car jolt to a stop, and then, you were being pulled into his arms, where the world was safe and beautiful and right again. Boneless and limp, you nuzzled into his chest and let him carry you away.

A door opened, then closed again. The ambient scent changed, taking on a sweeter, more familiar quality. You only realized where you were when you felt a mattress against your back, caught the vague impression of crumpled sheets in your peripheral. He’d taken you back to his apartment. You bared your teeth in frustration.

“I need a doctor, Grayson.”

“No, you don’t. You need me.” He brought his hands to the neckline of your catsuit, looking for the clasp. You brushed him off and scrambled back, crowding against the headboard. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to follow you. With an airy sigh, Dick perched on the foot of the bed, opting to toy with the collar of his own button-up instead. “Playing dumb’s not a good look on you. We both know what’s happening here, right?” You narrowed your eyes. This time, when Dick sighed, it was more strained than wistful. “You’re burning hot, soaking wet, and so needy, you can’t think straight. I believe in you, baby. You can put the pieces together.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Don’t be stubborn.” He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off of his shoulders. His scent filled the room, and your nerves lit up like a goddamn switchboard. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

That was easy. Your brain filled in the answer for you, no thought required.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

…

The panic set in a moment later, disconnected wires sparking at last.

You were in heat.

Knowing only made things worse. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You’d gone to hell and back to make sure it wouldn’t. And yet, here you were, panting and trembling as your body urged you to find the nearest alpha and stop the pain. You knew that you should be running, that you ought to find some place to hide and sweat out the worst of the fever, but you couldn’t imagine standing up, let alone leaving the apartment like this.

Rather than making a break for it, you remained pressed to the headboard as Dick finished taking off his shirt. He made a show out of gradually edging toward you, the same way you might’ve approached a wild animal you planned to domesticate. You pictured yourself biting down on an offered hand, but the idea passed quickly. Nothing seemed to stay with you for very long, not when you were like this.

He set himself next to you, resting a hand on your knee. His skin felt like a furnace against yours. “Just tell me what you need me to do,” he repeated. “I can make it better. I promise.”

You needed to be left alone. You needed your suppressants – little chemical solutions to make the problem go away. You needed to crawl into a hole where you couldn’t hurt anyone and where no one could hurt you.

“I need you to help me.” Your voice was small, quiet, barely a whisper. You might’ve been embarrassed, had the heat not already burnt up the part of you that could be. “Please.”

Dick’s mouth was on yours before you could think to take it back.

More than anything, it was his gentleness that caught you off-guard. His lips moved melodically against yours, following the pattern of some silent, primal instinct. At the same time, his hand found the clasp at the nape of your neck, loosening your catsuit and beginning to peel the skin-tight fabric away. You could feel his hand on your hips, then your sides as he lowered you onto the mattress, laying you flat. You didn’t resist. You asked for this. You needed an alpha, needed to be taken care of, and now, you had an alpha taking care of you.

Even if you still wished that alpha didn’t have to be Dick.

Slowly, carefully, your suit was stripped away. The air hit your bare skin like an arctic wind, making you shiver and cooling the fire inside of you in tandem. Whatever relief you might’ve felt was short lived, though. Dick was already on top of you, kneeling between your open legs. He took his time, laying with his chest to the mattress and easing one of your thighs onto his shoulder. Your panties were already soaked through, but he buried his face between your legs, running his tongue over the seat. Wordless, shapeless protests began to bubble up in your throat, but you swallowed them back down. You doubted he was doing this for your sake, anymore.

“My pretty girl,” he muttered, grinding his nose into your clit through the drenched material. “Been able to smell you since the alleyway. It’s lucky I ended up with such a smart omega. Otherwise, someone else might’ve gotten to you first. Someone less patient.”

You felt dull canines ghost over your skin as he caught the hip of your panties in his teeth, pulling back and tearing through the fabric. The now ruined article was discarded thoughtlessly, and Dick sighed as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the inside of your thigh.

You’d tried (and failed) to stave it off, but your body’s needs were beyond ignoring. You could feel the slick dripping from your cunt, staining your thighs, pooling on the sheets below you. Dick grinned against your skin, and then his tongue was lapping up the evidence of your desperation, thrusting into you shallowly, teasing your hormone-addled senses with the idea of proper penetration. It was cruel. A kinder alpha would’ve just shoved something inside of you and made the pain stop.

No. That wasn’t right. Dick wasn’t cruel, and you should be thankful to have ended up reliant on someone with the self-restraint to be careful with you. You let your eyes fall shut and did what you could to focus on your breathing, to stop the pockets of heat brewing inside of you from settling long enough to burn through skin, but all you could seem to think about was the feeling of Dick’s tongue moving over your cunt, pushing into you only to pull back and trace harsh, decisive patterns into your clit. It took you a second to recognize the patterns as letters, then another to put together what he was spelling out. M-I-N-E. Mine.

Had you been more coherent, you would’ve rolled your eyes. Not that Dick could have noticed.

He groaned into you, the sound reverberating from his throat straight to your core, and something inside you seemed to tighten – an impulse trigger, a lighter sparked. Your thighs wrapped around his head, ankles locking over his back. By some mechanism beyond your control, your hips jut upward and into his mouth, urging him to be that much more rough, that much more careless. You’d always thought of an omega’s heat as something passive, a debilitating condition that would leave you helpless and writhing and vulnerable to external threats forced onto you, as well as the standing risk of your internal defenses burning their way out. The idea of your heat acting less as a paralytic and more as a catalyst was new territory. Unexplored and absolutely terrifying.

Your hands clawed frantically at the sheets, and when that failed to bring any comfort, found Dick’s hair. He let you bury your nails in his scalp, only moaning into your cunt as you used him as your personal grounding agent. If anything, he arched into your hand, lifting your lower body clean off the mattress. You forgot how strong he was, sometimes. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve manhandled you into any position on the planet. You guessed you should’ve been thankful that he didn’t seem know his strength, either.

The position was humiliating, your body nearly bent in half and Dick on his knees, eating you out like a man starved. The fact that it was working was mortifying. You felt his mouth latch onto your clit as three fingers replaced his tongue, curling and thrusting inside of you. It was the stretch that doomed you, really – that feeling of finally being full. The tether tightened, then snapped altogether. Vision burning white behind your eyelids, you came on Dick’s tongue.

There was no relief. Rather than take the edge off, your orgasm only seemed to sharpen the blade. Dick tried to nurse you through it, to ease you into what came next, but as soon as the last of the aftershocks faded, you were mewling, kicking him away, rolling onto your stomach. The part of your brain that had managed to keep its rationality in-tact urged you to slow down, to consider what you were doing. The rest was too busy changing breed, breed, breed to listen.

Surprisingly, Dick stopped you, resting a hand on your hip. He nudged you onto your back, and when you whined in protest, he kissed you – hot and fast and heavy, unlike his first in every way save for the feeling of his lips. Even his taste was different, nearly drowned out by yours.

It was all you could do not to feel sick.

“Stay.” The order was low, direct, issued while you could still feel his voice better than you could hear it. “Don’t touch yourself.”

You nodded hastily, and Dick pulled from you. What little he was still wearing came off piece by piece until the world was only pale skin and dark hair and that fresh-after-a-storm scent. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, only fully coming to attention when he shrugged his boxers off and took his cock into his hand.

Saliva pooled under your tongue. His cock was perfect. Pretty and hard and perfect. His head was flushed a deep shade of red, already beading with iridescent pearls of arousal. Prominent veins ran along the underside of his shaft, indicating strength and fertility. He wasn’t overly thick (not that you had much experience to call from), but his length – sitting nearly at the height of his navel – promised a snug fit. That was all you could think about right now, honestly. You’d never felt so empty in your life.

This time, when you clambered onto your hands and knees, Dick didn’t stop you. The term for it resurfaced from some decade-old biology lesson: presentation, a behavior typically associated with omegas in heat. You’d always found it a little degrading. How popular pictures of presenting, supposedly in-heat omegas tended to be on less than savory sites didn’t help.

Now, though, it felt natural, correct. The sheets were cool and soft against your chest, your cheek, and it felt good to have your legs open, your ass raised. Dick hummed as he positioned himself behind you, and you picked the noise up and turned it into a low, ebbing purr. He seemed to like that. You were glad. The alpha was pleased. You were being a good omega.

You could feel the blunt head of his cock against your cunt. You braced yourself, but that crushing force, that mind-numbing fullness – it never came. Instead, Dick’s palm flattened against the small of your back, settling against the base of your spine. “Tell me you want this.”

It was an order, not a question. Your purr deepened at the chance to obey.

“Please.” You sounded breathless, heady. “I need you, Dick.”

Your voice was hoarse, your inflection flat, but Dick groaned as if you’d told him the sweetest, most loving thing you possibly could. His hand fell to your waist, and then he was inside of you.

You wanted this, you needed this, but somehow, you weren’t prepared for it. There was too much heat, too much friction, and you were burning up. Dick wrapped an arm around your midriff, hauling you against him as his hips ground sloppily into your ass. He was trying to push further without pulling out, solely focused on burying himself as deeply inside of you as possible. You, meanwhile, were more concentrated on not tearing yourself apart.

Smoke tinged the scent of sweat and sex and pheromones. You looked down and realized that you were literally overheating – your palms beginning glow gold and burn through the sheets. Your skin abruptly too agitated, too warm. Dick hissed where he was pressed against you, but didn’t pull away. Any other time, you might’ve felt guilty. Right now, you could only be thankful that you weren’t going to be left alone.

“You—Fuck, you’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” His breath was cool against your shoulder. With a hitched gasp, he found the will to pace himself, falling into quick, brutal thrusts all harsh enough to bruise. “My angel. My mate. Nearly killed me to have to watch you leave, again and again. That’s not going to happen, this time.”

You choked out something affirmative, but you weren’t really listening. He could say what he wanted to. Fuzzily, you felt his lips move over your back, your shoulder, latching onto whatever he could reach. There was a sharp sting for each love bite, but it was the cathartic type of pain. A reward for doing such a good job, rather than a punishment for being such a poor omega.

“So pretty and so perfect and all mine,” he muttered, as if you couldn’t feel his saliva evaporating off of your boiling hot skin. The praised registered on some base level, and contented, you slotted yourself against him, eager to earn more kind words from your alpha. Dick laughed. “Let’s stay like this forever, alright? Just the two of us.” His hand found its way to your chest, his thumb rolling over your nipple. You whined underneath him. “I need you to say it back to me. Tell me you’re not going anywhere. That you’re mine.”

You were getting closer. Even better, he was too – you could feel his cock twitch against the walls of your cunt, something stiff starting to form at his base. His knot. You never knew how delicious that word could taste. Knot.

“Yours,” you babbled mindlessly, arching into him. “I’m yours. Forever. Please, I need—”

“I know, sunshine. I know.” He nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “I’ll give you what you need.”

And he did. Your mind melted into a blend of pleasure and affection as his thrusts became longer, deeper, determined to stay buried inside of your pussy for as much time as he possibly could. You felt the tension mounting, then his teeth against your throat, settling over the base of your throat. Your bonding patch, you registered distantly. The same place a real partner might leave a mating mark.

His teeth sunk into your skin as his knot pushed into you, bonding the two of you together. At the same time, you came around his cock with a cracked, faltering moan and he flooded into you.

There was the meekest, tiniest glint of lucidity as you trembled underneath him, the pain briefly overshadowing the bliss. Dick had bitten into your bonding patch. The mark would be permanent. His knot was inside of you. He’d came inside of you. You weren’t on any form of birth control. Dick wasn’t your mate. You didn’t want Dick to be your mate. You didn’t want a mate at all. There was no way to undo the damage, but maybe, just maybe, pushing him off now could mitigate it. Failing that, maybe it would do something about the hollow, sinking feeling beginning to root into your gut.

But, Dick drew back, running his tongue over the now bleeding puncture wounds, and anything you might’ve felt was replaced with a light-headed pleasure, a rhythmic mantra of mate, mate, mate. You were a good omega. You had been good to the alpha—to your alpha. You would never have to worry about anything ever again.

With the worst of your heat satisfied, exhaustion set in. With Dick still inside of you, tucked against your back, you let your eyes close, your body going limp in his embrace. Dick only laughed, lips ghosting over your shoulder blade before he lowered both of you to the mattress, careful to keep himself slotted against you. “Getting tired of me, pretty girl?”

A slow, clumsy nod was your only answer. He kissed the corner of your jaw. “Rest up. I’ll be right here when you come to.”

The order was well-intended, but unnecessary. You took a second to drink in the warmth radiating off of him, the feeling of total and utter completion inside of your stuffed cunt, and then, you were slipping under, fading into a long, dreamless sleep.

Dick’s first thought upon waking up was that something was very, very wrong.

His entire body hurt. That wasn’t it, though – he’d expected there to be some amount of soreness. Minor burns spread over his chest, his hands, his shoulders, any part of him that’d been pressed against some part of you. He accepted the pain willingly, trying to hold onto the feeling. Fuck, he had it bad. You could give him just about anything, and he’d take it with a smile.

No, the pain was fine, the pain was good. The problem was elsewhere. In what he lacked, rather than what he had.

You weren’t in bed.

You must’ve woken up before him. Your absence was glaring, jarring, throwing him off kilter and sparking some kind of bone-deep reaction of pure, unadulterated wrongness. Groggily, he pushed himself up, only pausing to acknowledge the ache in his partially stiff cock. The beginning of a heat-triggered rut, he guessed. Hopefully, you would be able to take care of him for the next few days, the same way he’d taken care of you last night. Maybe, if you were feeling nice, he wouldn’t even have to call you halfway delirious in an alleyway to make it happen.

The bedroom was a mess. Clothes and personal affects were scattered across the floor, closets and dressers overturned the rush to find something Dick couldn’t bring himself to care about. The door to the en suite was open, steam pouring out from a recent, scalding hot shower. He found you at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and feverishly stuffing your possessions back into the duffle bag you’d arrived with. The duffle bag he should’ve gotten rid of as soon as it became clear you wouldn’t be leaving again.

“Sunshine.”

You snapped towards him. The crook of your neck was covered in a thick, white bandage, much too heavy for the shallow puncture marks he’d left you with. You’d covered his mark, hidden what claimed you as his. Had he not been so in love with you, he might’ve hated you for it.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You didn’t answer, staring at him like a deer in headlights. His deer.

He let a second pass, then another. When you failed to so much as blink, he sighed and swung his legs off the side of the bed. Finally, you darted to your feet, retreating to the nearest corner. Silly little thing. You’d put him between you and the door.

“Stay away,” you managed. You were breathing too quickly, blinking too often. Poor thing. Once you called down, he would have to apologize for scaring you properly.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, because it was true. Because you didn’t. Because your biology must’ve been tearing you apart, right now – punishing you in all the cruelest, deepest ways for daring to keep your mate at a distance. “You’re scared and you’re hurting. If you let me, I can—”

He cut himself off, perking up. He could smell smoke in the air, then something underneath it, something sweeter – the raw heat of solar fusion in its earliest stages. Your chest was heaving. He could see gold shining through your long sleeves, tracing the shape of your veins, gathering around your palms. Dick smiled. He’d always found you the most beautiful when you were at your brightest.

There was no point asking you to try and hold it in, swallow it back, dim your brightness for his sake. Your abilities were reflexive, and you couldn’t decide not to boil over any more than the civilians within a five block radius could decide not to be incinerated. Still, he held up both hands, taking pains to move slowly as he pushed himself to his feet. The bedroom was thick with pheromones, old and new. The sugar sweet pleasure and comfort of your night together still hung in the air, but your current mix of panic and hatred threatened to overshadow it. Dick tried to control his emotions where you couldn’t, to send you primal messages of love and forgiveness. It wasn’t really working. Admittedly, there wasn’t a lot on his mind beyond how badly he wanted to have you in his arms again.

He halved the distance between you, then closed it entirely. By then, you were near your tipping point – golden veins racing up your neck, pure light just beginning to spill past your lips, from the corners of your eyes. God, you were pretty. So beautiful and so bright and all his.

“I love you.” He didn’t realize he had anything to say before he heard his own voice, felt the confession slip off of his tongue. Not that he didn’t mean it. He’d just been waiting so long to say it aloud, he’d forgotten that he could.

“Shut up.” You weren’t feeling so sentimental. “If you loved me, you would’ve taken me to a hospital. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have—” You grit your teeth, biting back sunlight incarnate. “People you love each other don’t do that.”

“Well, maybe those people didn’t love each other enough.” He laughed, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. You dodged back, pressing into the wall. He could see the plaster starting to warp, melt. That wasn’t a problem. You and him were going to have to find another place anyway, somewhere more fit for a growing family. “Maybe nobody’s ever loved anything as much as I love you.”

He could see the fire behind your eyes surge. Your hand shot up on instinct, and he caught your wrist, dragging your palm against his cheek. He could feel his skin beginning to blister, and he drank in the pain with as much adoration as he possibly could. “It’s alright,” he whispered, as the whites of your eyes began to go gold. The heat was too much to bear, but for you, he’d endure anything. “Do it.”

For a second, he really thought you were going to. For a second, he whole-heartedly believed he was going to die here, fingers laced through yours, wrapped entirely in your heavenly warmth. For a second, he was the happiest he’d ever been.

And then, your palm went cold against his cheek. It was less a flame burning itself out and more someone throwing a bucket of water over a bonfire – raging heat gone in an instant, leaving only lukewarm coal and steam. He bit back his disappointment, turning his attention to you. Your eyes were wide, your shoulders pushed forward. Your expression looked strained. Like you were trying very hard to hold something very, very strong back.

As soon as the last of the gold retreated, you fell apart – collapsing into his arms. He heard your breath hitch, and then you were sobbing into his chest, clinging to him like he was the last thing you would ever hold.

Dick grinned, wrapping his arms around you. This was it. This was where you were supposed to be. With him. Leaning on him. Needing him, just like he needed you. His guiding light. His sunburst.

His mate.

#tw nsfw #sophie fic recs

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sophiethewitch1 · 12 days ago

Text

the pick me guy pandemic.

; genshin men as different flavors of pick me's. so please pick him 🥺

; includes: kazuha, scaramouche, flins, kinich, childe, ifa, & xiao.

; an extension of this, this, and this.

; written with yandere in mind, female (y/n), ooc, mostly crack, talks of being desperate for pussy, modern au, they're being weird to a woman (you), don't take this seriously, not proofread.

♡ "not like other guys" kazuha. see, most men are brutish and obnoxiously loud, always blabbering on about their latest investment in a bitcoin that's sure to rise or how they've been going to the gym more often to buff up. either a finance bro or a gym rat or something in between, still horrendous options when dating women - emotionally unavailable, vain, narcissistic, etc. etc. but not kazuha, he's different, for your information. incredibly so.

whereas other men are always out in clubs or attending football games, kazuha prefers to stay in the comfort of his home and play with his guitar or write poetry. while other men are out getting their dick wrung out like some dishcloth and getting passed around in a circle, kazuha very much prefers to abstain in hopes of saving his first time for 'the one'. not giving it out to the first girl he sees!

his mentality of standing out and being unique compared to the general populace of men only strengthens when he develops feelings for you. his pick-me behavior is amplified. starts taking seats near you and lays out all his quirkily designed notebook covers while he's blasting music from his earphones. makes sure to dress up like those soft boy fits ethically sourced from pinterest, too, as he tries to look like he isn't glancing in your direction every two seconds.

ignore him and don't make conversation, please. unless you like getting stunlocked into what feels like an unskippable dialogue sequence in a video game. you could just say "hi." to him as a simple acknowledgment, but the next you know, he's yapping your ear off with how lowkey different he is.

"ermm i'm kind of a weird kid 🤓🤓🤓 not like the other guys in our classes, you know? i watch weird documentaries and childhood TV shows instead of cool stuff like NBA matches or action films >.< also i don't disrespect women, unlike" gestures to some guys behind him, "them."

the type to embarrass you in class by purposely making it known that he has a crush on you by leaving behind poems on your desk, and even has the audacity to act out the corny main character confrontation scenes from movies when he learns that some -129 IQ guy named maverick is also interested in you. like, relax.... you are not the main character in a coming-of-age movie; you are in college !!

but that's okay, because like he said, errmmmm he's kinda not like other guys, got that 🤓☝️? so please go ahead and start stripping off your panties the moment he shows you his lego collection :)

♡ "guy best friend" scaramouche. alternatively called, "i hate my best friend's boyfriend final boss" scaramouche. but then again, your past boyfriends never lasted long enough for him to be infamously known as that. the type of guy who quite literally plays the longest waiting game and plots for years because he was too much of a pussy to express romantic interest in you back when you first met him and now has to deal with the damned consequences.

he's always by your side, making it known to everyone that the two of you are, in fact, a package deal that should not be separated. even when you're on a supposed date with your current boyfriend, scaramouche will be found proudly third-wheeling as he lags behind a couple of steps. like.... why isn't he home yet? who exactly is the boyfriend here, uhmmm??

you never even question this freakish antic of his because he excuses it as, "looking out for you just in case he tries anything weird," and well, it works. since you view him as a brother figure, isn't that how brother figures usually act? all protective and stuff :000?

and because it gives him the pass to crash in on your dates, scaramouche has no choice but to suck it up and agree with a strained smile. right, right... guy best friend and brother figure.... definitely. yup! he knows his place in your life :) never mind the fact that he'll cry himself to sleep while 'i fell in love with my best friend' blasts on repeat, slowed and reverbed.

still, there's a reason why your boyfriends never last long, and this is because scaramouche acts like that one junji ito comic with how he's whispering in your ear saying, "you could do so much better than that useless guy" and "i'm just saying... if he was the one, you would've felt the spark by now. besides, are you really willing to babysit after a grown ass man like him?" and not to toot his own horn... but it works like a charm every time, heh. he's even there by your side after each argument with your boyfriend, listening intently and agreeing to every point you make against that douche (even if you're objectively in the wrong, because hey, brownie points) and repeatedly chanting 'break up with him' in his head.

he's doing everything but putting in the work to charm you, though. he's out here threatening your boyfriend behind closed doors and spreading malicious rumors about them online to 'protect you' but he can never open up etsy and order you a bouquet of flowers online before asking you out on a date. he just longingly stares at you 50 miles away in hopes that you'll get the signal and finally text him to eat out your pussy or something. :/

definitely tries out the corny move of goading you into having sex with him to "make sure you're prepared once you get laid by someone else!". you always snort and playfully push his head away every time, fully believing that he's just kidding. oh well... back to the waiting game, it is. one day.... >.< !! #1 waiter.

♡ "indie pop gatekeeper" flins. makes indie his entire personality, like oh, you discovered x and y artist through the trending sounds on teyvatok? psh, he's been a fan of theirs ever since they were playing their songs out on public streets. nice try, buster, but you're gonna have to try better than that to outclass an indie appreciater like him 🤓

it extends over to the games he plays. refuses the mainstream games created by billionaire companies because he refuses to support capitalism before turning around to drink sprite and use his samsung phone like, buddy... seethes when the indie games he plays get popular, though. ugh, it's just not the same compared to when only seven people across the globe knew about it!!!! even lives with that 'indie>>>' principle with how he only buys clothes through overpriced local businesses that probably have their items mass produced regardless. lowkey looks down on people who like popular media, subtly rolls his eyes, and huffs quietly. "how typical."

but quickly lowers his gatekeeper tendencies when around you because he absolutely refuses to fumble. quickly chases after you when the lecture ends, dressed in his local business-approved college fit, and asks you to check out this lowkey library that opened up near campus. he's the only student to discover it so far because the location is hidden in a secluded alleyway... so uhm, wanna go? :)

unfortunately, you're not immune to his alt rizz, so you bite. the biggest regret of your life, actually. the walk there is unbearable because the quiet guy who usually sits at the back suddenly transforms into a nonstop talking machine, blabbering about indie this and indie that and how he hatessss pop singers like yun jin from liyue. oh, but don't get him wrong, he supports women!

"only me and the three ants i found under a chocolate chip cookie listen to this band, but since you're kinda (read: incredibly) cute, i don't mind sharing them with you :)" pulls out his earbuds and gives you the other half so he can reenact the inazuman dramas that he secretly watches. "they're kinda indie, so i don't expect you to know them, haha... but i can show you more of their songs if you'd like ! >///<" no, thank you.

by the end of this archon forsaken hangout, you just want to go home and laugh about his loser ass with your roommate, but you're stopped by a hand on your shoulder before you could even bolt out of there.

so, huh.... this was a good hangout (read: date), right? can you, likeee.... type in your number now so you two can have e-sex on snezhcord once you go home? pretty please? ...with cherries on top?

♡ "nonchalant outcast" kinich. yare yare daze... college isn't big enough for a nonchalant cool guy like kinich 🥀🥀🥀 he's a distant cousin of flins with how ostracized they are from their peers, but kinich remains unbothered, something something too busy aura farming by the window seat. he's not bullied per se, he's just the one who detaches himself from the people in his class. some speculate that he acts like that because of a traumatic childhood or has something to do with how he was raised. the truth is far simpler...

he just really, really wants to bag the baddie (you) who sat in front of him during orientation two years ago and happened to overhear you gushing to your friend about "nonchalant men being the best!" and he literally switched up his entire personality since then. now he's in his third year and has shared more than 50% of his classes with you, and yet still no luck... you haven't looked at him twice. he'd approach you if he could, but ugh, first moves weren't in the nonchalant guy instruction manual.

archons above... please let this third year be the college year where he finally advances his romance novel-esque, slow burn trope that he has going on with you... please. like, look! he's too much of a loner to have other friends, isn't that what girls like nowadays? something something isolation and having no worries about him having girl friends so there's no chance of getting jealous? he's literally spiritually prostrating himself at your glorious feet !!!

expections never align with reality, however, because the one time you got paired up with him for a class, he was too busy keeping up the nonchalant guy act that he just came across as a total douchebag who had a tendency to reply with just one (1) word. despite everything... he still fumbled. baddie not acquired :(

♡ "white knight" childe. ladies !! calm down and stop throwing your bras and panties at him the moment he walks out, please !! >////< except the ladies in this case is singular and even then, the world will have to bend in on itself before you begin to contemplate the idea of throwing your underwear at him... sigh :(. oh, but don't get him wrong ! he's not a woman (read: you) defender and protector just to acquire some pussy (he definitely is) !! he's doing this all for the love of the game!

you could be the worst person ever, and white knight childe will still be on the frontlines defending your honor because he feels it in his bones that one of these days he'll finally be given a crumb of pussy 🥹🥹 acts so dramatic about it too, panting and wiping sweat off his forehead as if he just went through a grueling war and won by just a strand of hair when in reality he was just on his monitor all night alternating between jacking off to porn stars that look like you and camping under your instagram comments to drive off any suitors.... capital L Loser.

he camps like crazy, too. replies to guys with, "she doesn't want you bro lmao." "i know where you live." "i'll put you on life support" and he means it. can he stop scaring away your possible roster !!!!

still, this white knight has some uses. he'll unironically beat up some guy who offended you, maybe it's over something minor: a mean comment made in a whisper, an anonymous remark left under the college forum, a simple eyeroll, etc. regardless, that nameless nobody's still getting his shit rocked by childe behind a lecture building. probably records it with his phone propped up on the wall and sends it to you after all is said and done, the kaomojis he adds to his texts don't match the gruesome content, but... eh. who are you to stop him?

apart from physical altercation, he's surprisingly adept at attending to your every whim and need, obediently bowing down with a foxy grin on his face as he asks what you need. doing your essay, perhaps? or do you prefer him making the presentation slides for your ethics class? maybe both? just tell him, he's all yours now and forever :)

though, just so you know.... if you give him even just a blowjob, his work efficiency increases by 300% !! >///< it's not a lie, he swears! you can test it for yourself! sadly, you're too smart to be baited like that </3

♡ "total feminist" ifa. average daily routine of ifa's: wake up and remember how badly women have it, clench fist in anger, and sigh deeply. have breakfast and think about the patriarchy still standing and frown. go to work and mull over how unfair it is that women have to go through periods. post a caption story on teyvatgram about loving women during break and then go back to work. go home, eat dinner, and then lie in bed as he mourns the gender inequality of modern teyvat. repeat this the following day.

wears a "feminist" t-shirt beneath his work scrubs and was so close to getting a tattoo of it, that is, until he meets you and starts using his superficial feminism as a way to charm you. starts reposting hot takes of women which contain takes that are... not hot at all, not even near to boiling point, actually. amps up the instagram story posting agenda and even sneaks in home pictures as he whines about how he wishes he had a girlfriend right now because he would be such a good boyfriend 🥺🥺🥺 !! tries imitating the golden retriever energy that women love, but uhm, he makes it weird. fast.

whenever his good bro ororon visits his clinic, and you happen to be there, best believe that ifa is switching up and starts painting his friend out to be an absolute villain.

you could make a minor mistake, like accidentally going way past the allotted amount of medicine inserted in the syringe, and ororon would laugh at you in good nature. he'd nudge ifa then point at your fumble, and just as you're also about to laugh, ifa frowns and starts dishing out a lecture then and there.

"bro, not cool," he'd chide, shaking his head, "don't you know how much courage it takes to become a vet student and pursue this field, dude? not only is (y/n) trying her best at all times, but she also makes sure that all the saurians in the clinic are comfortable and happy in their own ways. are you even hearing yourself, bro? next time you make fun of her, think about-" yap yap yap.

😭😭😭 it is NOT that deep, ifa !! she's still not picking him, regardless :((( he's so locked into being perceived as the number one women supporter for plus points that he forgoes all common sense. oh well, he can stew in common sense once he's picked as the best man for your wedding with ororon 10 years later because you chose a man with a good sense of humor over the feminist king.

heh.... you know, nice guys finish last anyway. that's exactly why he brought over a tranquilizer gun! :)

♡ "ugly guy" xiao. nobody knows if he's serious or just outright ragebaiting when he starts acting edgy and spewing out things such as, "don't get close to me, i don't want to stain you with my sins" or "i'm too unsightly, it's best you keep your distance" like, uhm, okay.... he cannot be talking with those blessed looks lmfao. and the sin in question is probably gooning too much because what else could he be on about? unless he's talking about an underpaid service worker in yaedonalds, then :( regardless, they take his advice and steer clear from him, another distant cousin to kinich and flins with being a social recluse.

he's always uglyposting, both in conversation and online. casually just slips it in and continues the topic as if he didn't just drop that??? it's hard to discern if self-conscious or otherwise, too. so cryptic and for whatever reason :/ leaves you thinking about it hours after the conversation ended, because what does he mean by that... is he fishing for compliments or??? and you're essentially forced to ruminate on it further because his posts are the first things you see the moment you open social media. cowabummer.

the longer you know him, the less it bothers you. it goes from, "hey, do i need to get you a therapist? :)" to "what the hell, sure." whenever he starts acting up. works against him because you're now unfazed. "ugh. i'm so ugly, don't pick me >:( nobody would want a guy like me" wow, masterful work of reverse psychology, mister xiao! except, uhm... this tactic clearly isn't working on a baddie like you anymore :(

#op i love this it makes me want to shoot myself #but not before taking them all down punisher style of course #sophie fic recs

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