#(( ordinarily would send an ask but your ask seems to be closed! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 6 months

Text

Reign down on me - Part 8

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

A/N: So this is kind of a Part 1 of a whole chapter because i wanted to give you guys something. So the next chapter will have a bit more going on, hope you enjoy this for now! Excited for any comments or theories you guys have about what's going to happen 💕

-🐺-

The major opened the door slowly and then gently closed it shut behind him, sparing a quick glance at you before he walked over to Price’s desk with only a few long strides. He was a tall man with gleaming shoes and a pristine uniform to match, his red hair combed back neatly on top of his head. You took in everything, your breathing almost slowed to a stop while you waited for the news. Only when he sat down at the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of Price did he speak.

“Before I start, I want to say that I know you’re a busy man and that your team are integral to many ongoing operations that are running. However,” the major paused, his accent thickly weaving his words. “After the incident outside your hallway with Second Lieutenant Smith, I’m afraid to say that I must ask you to carve out some time for me.”

Price laughed at that. Not a warm chuckle or a dark little rumble, like you were used to hearing over comms or during training. This was one of disbelief, the little glinting breaths coming through like warning shots.

“I’d hardly call that an incident, Major. A silly boy decided to test my hybrid and got exactly what he deserved. There ain’t much more to it,” Price grunted.

He straightened his back and leaned over his table, appearing every bit as menacing as you imagined he could be. The way his eyes appeared to darken below his tilted heavy brow were enough to send even you gulping - and you were the one he was defending. The Major didn’t seem to react however, he wasn’t cowed by the show, he merely sniffed and set his own arms on the desk.

“Ordinarily I’d agree with ye, Price, you know I would. That wasn’t just any boy though, his da’s some parliamentary arsehole and he wants atonement.”

That gave Price pause.

You sucked in a breath and dug your fingers into the couch cushions, feeling the fabric strain and almost give way under your claws. The shaking started seconds later. You were going to be punished after all.

Who would do the whipping, you wondered, I don’t want it to be any of the boys, definitely not Ghost. A small whine escaped your throat at the thought of that before you could cram it down. Ghost was supposed to be safe. The idea that he’d be the one looming over you and raining down pain on your back left your throat feeling crushingly tight.

“You’re not laying a finger on my wolf, do you hear me?” Price said, his voice so low he might as well have growled at the Major.

His. The way he said it was so possessive compared to the way you normally heard that, the way that Ghost usually said it. Ghost’s good Pup. His sweet thing. Price said that you were his with all the ferocity of a wild animal. Like something was threatening to drag you off into the unknown.

“Look I’m not gonna bullshit you here. I tried insisting on something like committed service hours, guard duty or sniffing - that sort of thing. He wasn’t going for it. The problem isn’t so much with what the hybrid did - it’s your Lieutenant he wants to prove a point to most of all. He wants Ghost to know he can’t get away with insulting his family.”

“So what? He wants Ghost punished?” Price snorted, tilting his chin up in challenge. “You gonna string him up to the post and all are ya?”

The major sighed deeply and rubbed his brow.

“No ones getting strung up, don’t jump to conclusions. He said that he wants the hybrid locked down for a week, they’re to be placed with the Smith boy’s squad and kenneled, only to be removed should a mission arise where the hybrid’s presence is essential…now, before you go thinking that you can conjure up some kind of week long escapade, he explicitly stated the sentence is to pause while away and resume on return.”

I’d rather be whipped bloody, you thought. The exact thing you were afraid of was coming to fruition. You were to be stripped of what you’d come to love and return to your old way of life, worse still was the thought that you didn’t even know what the kennels were like in your new base, didn’t know if they could extend your stay which would often happen at Branhaven. There was every chance you could be stuck with that horrible bastard indefinitely. Ghost had made a point of letting you know that he never intended on punishing you like that, that you wouldn’t while away your hours in a dingy cell block, or be made to face a post ever again.

The memory of him settling his hand on your shoulder and squeezing ever so gently as he explained his approach to discipline was so strong, you almost felt his spirit lingering there beside you. He’d said he wouldn’t ever put you out in the cold or whip you unless his hand was forced, and even then he insisted he’d fight whoever threatened you.

Would he fight a major? A politician?

“This is bullshit,” Price scoffed, smacking his hand off his desk and making you jump. “Hobbling my team because his little brat got slapped around is pathetic! What next? Would he like to bend Ghost over while he’s at it? Really, Major, this is a farce.”

“It is, aye. Exactly what happens when you tangle with those sorts, you know that as well as anyone though.”

Price’s face was the dictionary definition of scorn. You shrank back into the sofa, subconsciously trying to become a part of it and escape from all the tension. The major didn’t even wince through it. He faced Price with all the stoicism of a tree on a calm day, but Price continued to rant and plead your case until you thought his red face might start to turn purple. All the while you listened with quick little bursts of scared breath.

The conversation didn’t go anywhere except against a dead end, ramming over and over into the same conclusion. The major grew tired of Price’s fit and walked out, saying that he’d expect you checked into the kennel’s by the end of the night. He let the threat of what would happen, should he fail to comply, linger somewhere above you - like an anvil - in the air.

Price growled out a profanity as the door slammed closed. Only when the air had settled and the Major’s presence fully left did he turn to you and soften. His eyes, that had held so much venom, melted from slits and into doleful pools, his taught mouth slackened.

“Pup…” He sighed, looking you over.

He didn’t finish the sentiment. There was a wordless understanding between you both that he didn’t have the vocabulary for the sympathies he wanted to convey. With that quiet look of apology given he sighed out and pressed his head into his palms.

“Fuckin’ shower of cunts the lot of em.”

Price hadn’t immediately given up of course. He picked up his phone and got to talking to numerous sources, but apparently none of them were of any use. You flinched back from where you were perched every time he hung up his phone with a bang. It almost made you feel sorry for the thing. No matter what arguments were made, no one was willing to hear Price out. That much was clear after he’d clattered down into his old chair like a shot bird.

You had expected as much.

In the end it was you that convinced Price just to take you to the kennels. Making a point of stressing that it would be far better to go before Ghost could come back. Something within you shook at the idea of being put back into the same horrible place by the same man that had rescued you from there to begin with. At having Ghost have to take the responsibility on his shoulders, once more letting down a hybrid in his care.

After being checked in and issued a bedroll, it was time to say your good nights. You stared at Price through the doorway of the kennel, biting your frayed lip. No matter what he said, you knew well enough that it was your own stupid stubborn fault that you were back there again - for not just acquiescing to the brat’s commands in the first place. Stunts like that were the exact reason that you had the disciplinary record that you did. Always going against anyone that wanted to shove you down, all in the name of some kind of renegade fantasy that you had any control over your life. Fiercely defending the shreds of your honour as if you hadn’t spent most of your life as a beaten dog.

Stupid.

At the very least though, conditions were far better than your old haunt at Branhaven. That was something, you tried to tell yourself. The shiny black sleeping bag they’d given you was plenty thick and there was a groaning old heater that rattled overhead, so that the nipping cold temperatures felt more like being left in a draughty room. Even the construction wasn’t as bad as the other ones, rubber crumb flooring like that of a playground, meant that you wouldn’t get as stiff and a hard fibreglass front over the concrete walls meant that you wouldn’t be exposed to the elements. It was almost possible to think of it like a stay at the worlds worst hotel, rather than a mandated stay in the kennels.

It wasn’t home, but at least you knew that you’d get to return there as long as you listened and kept your stupid trap shut for once. Home with Ghost. Now that you’d calmed down after the initial shock of being issued the punishment, an internal clock had materialised in your head. The countdown to when you could go home. All you had to do was take your medicine and you could be with Ghost again, everything could go back to how it was. That thought alone was enough to keep the needling panic at the back of your mind firmly restrained there.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Price said, his voice stony and rough. “I don’t wanna leave you here, Pup…I really don’t.”

“Don’t wanna leave me, or don’t wanna have to face Ghost and tell him I’m here?” You said, making an attempt to lift his heavy expression.

He grunted something that could be interpreted as a bitter chuckle.

“Neither.”

You smiled a little, but didn’t have it in you to laugh. At seeing your expression, he crossed the threshold between you both and closed his palm over your head. His roughened fingers skimmed over your ears and softly rubbed some of the worry out from deep within your tissue. A proper moment of reprieve settled over your body, loosening tight muscles, before you were forced to part again by the approaching footsteps of the guard.

“Sorry, Sir. I have to lock all the kennels up for the night for lights out,” he explained sheepishly, eyes not fully able to reach Price’s gaze.

Price nodded at him and went to comply, though only after giving you one last ruffle over the ears. He stepped back after and allowed the fibre glass door to snick to a close. Your heart thumped extra loudly while it shut. Price gave you one last mournful look and then told you to get some rest, assuring you that he’d be watching over you even from afar.

“Good night, Price,” you whispered back, watching his retreating back with sorrow filled eyes.

The guard grunted and double checked the door, ensuring it was locked and rattling the mechanism a few times before he was satisfied. The soft click of metal on metal forced your ears to twitch upward into alert.

“Get into your bedroll. Light’s out,” the guard said, his voice hardened now that your Captain was gone. “If you cause trouble or give me any crap you’ll be removed for discipline and then returned here. Do you understand?”

“Understood, Sir,” you nodded, unfurling the sleeping bag with a shiver.

The guard allowed you to sort your bedding and once inside the puffy roll of fabric he flicked the light switch and left you bathed in the darkness. He continued down the line from there, the only evidence of his presence, the fading lights down the line and the clicking of switches and doors.

You whined softly while rubbing your face against the cold fabric below, blanching at the cold rubber flooring. Your heart lurched at the thought of your bed back home. The thought of your cushy blue pillows, Simon’s soft fur, the dialogue unread from the ‘Super-Wolf’ graphic novels by your bed, the smell of rotisserie chicken that was supposed to linger in the air, no where to be found in that sterile place. This was all wrong.

No matter what position you got in, no matter how hard you tried to shut your mind off and return to old coping mechanisms, the idea that you could be safely in your bed weighed on your chest like an elephant. Before you were used to being shoved into a kennel and forgotten about, but now you knew that there was a better life. A life that had been ripped from you.

You wanted to scream, wanted to claw your way out of the sleeping bag and slam yourself against the clear glass like a mad person, wanted to raise hell until you were returned to your rightful place. Though you never followed through. You had to be good now. It was the only thing that would get you home.

Instead, you let your head loll to the back wall, facing the speckled brick and let loose the tears that you hadn’t wanted Price to have to witness again. Couldn’t have him thinking that you were completely pathetic afterall. The hot paths they left burned against your cold cheeks, though they still couldn’t compete with the heat that filled your aching chest.

I’ll be with them again. Ghost won’t let me go.

-🐺-

“Mum…I had a nightmare. The monsters want to take me away.”

Your little tail was pinned fast under your legs, your ears folded so close to your head you could feel the fibres of your hair even through your fur. Blinking back the tears from your eyes, you swallowed and looked up at her imploringly, hoping for a big cuddle just like the ones you’d seen her give to your older sister.

If she knew the meaning in your look, she didn’t show it. She groaned and got up from the couch, mumbling something under her breath before grabbing your wrist and shepherding you back to bed. The long dark corridors of your house seemed all the more haunting at night, the sounds of all the appliances ringing through the walls like wails. You shivered all the way back to your tiny room. Your mum’s iron grip may as well have been a shackle tugging you to prison.

“Right, get back to sleep. You won’t have another nightmare after you’ve just had one.”

She turned the light on while you sorted yourself, impatiently hovering by the switch until you were lying back in bed and clinging the stuffed dog that your sister hadn’t wanted - had so graciously thrown at you one day - to your chest. His name was faint to you now, a shadow in your anxiety addled mind, what did you call him again?

“Sleep tight,” she sighed, turning the light out and spiriting out the door.

You blinked out through the darkness and sighed, curling into a little ball and trying your best to retreat from the leering shadows in the corner of the room. In that darkness your mind created faces, grinning horrible faces that wanted to gobble you up and turn you into mince. Just like the monsters from that horrible movie your dad had watched the night before, completely unaware that you had been hiding under the dining table, trying to avoid your mothers wrath for the milk that you’d spilled before bed.

“Monsters can’t get you here, sweetie,” you whispered to yourself, remembering the calming words you’d overheard in your sister’s room a few nights prior. “Nothing will get you when you’re safely tucked up…snug as a bug in a rug. You have your teddy to protect you, he’ll watch over you all night! Then in the morning everything will be fine again and the sun will be shining.”

The words didn’t seem to hold the same weight when you said them to yourself. They just rang hollow in the static. Perhaps they didn’t work the same since you were different, a half-breed ‘thing’ that no one asked for. Were you worth protecting? Would the sun shine for you in the morning?

-🐺-

“Hey, Pup. Oi. It’s ok, you’re alright. Easy…Easy”

You gulped in a hungry breath of air and opened your eyes, chest absolutely heaving as you fought off the last of the evil spirits that cackled and snapped at your extremities. In all your confusion between sleeping and waking, you couldn’t be sure if the arms that were wrapped around you were real, and if they were, you couldn’t be sure that they were friendly.

When you whipped round and saw Gaz staring down at you with wide concerned eyes, you still questioned to yourself if you were in another layer of a dream. This couldn’t be right, you thought drowsily.

“Gaz?” you mumbled, tilting your head when he smiled at you. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from the bogeyman apparently,” he smirked, ruffling your ears until you swatted his hands away. “That looked like a fuckin’ mental dream, mate.”

“No, Really - what are you doing here?”

You looked around, noting the wide open kennel door and the hazy blue sky beyond, a soft gradient of navy and electric blue sheeted over the fences and trees beyond. It couldn’t be any later than three, maybe four at a stretch. Your sleeping bag was tangled round your ankles and the heater had turned off, but other than that nothing had changed in the kennel.

All was quiet on base, no cars whizzed by, barely any noise sounded through the crisp morning air. Sleep soon scratched at your eyes, forcing you to rub them and then embarrassingly let loose a high pitched whining yawn that had your face heating like a furnace in embarrassment.

“Aw, you are just a cute Pup, aren’t you?”

“Gaz!” you growled, trying to fix him with a stare serious enough that he would answer.

It was no use though. He wasn’t Soap, so a little mean look did nothing to wipe the stupid smile of his smug face. Though he did relent when you growled, and when he noticed your darting looks round the opened gate, probably seeing that you were searching for the guard. At that point you’d suspected Gaz had to have stuffed him in a locker or something.

“Relax, you can stop clutching your pearls. Price has a mission for us.”

“What?” you frowned, thoroughly doubtful, “Really? Right after I got kenneled, huh?”

“Genuinely,” He snorted, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe him at first either, but he wasn’t in the mood to piss about and explain himself. Cap said to come get you and load up ASAP, he’ll explain when we’re in the air.”

“We’re flying out?”

“Uh huh. Sooner the better too, can’t believe they made you spend a night in this place. What a fuckin’ joke.”

“Doesn’t feel like a joke to my back,” you ground out, wincing mid stretch when you felt a bone crack and heard the resulting sound.

“Jesus. You keep making noises like that and they might retire you,” Gaz snorted.

“Ha ha,” you said dryly.

He gave you room to move away from him, allowing you to stand up before looking you over. It was almost comical seeing the way he searched you for any signs of harm, his calculating eyes narrowed as if he were looking for weapons. He paused a moment, only unfreezing when you raised your brows at him and quirked your lips.

“You solid?” he asked.

“I think so. You?”

“It’s three in the morning and I’m freezing my arse out here instead of being passed out in bed - course I’m not,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and bumped into his side, happily strolling out of the kennel and out into freedom. One night down you, you thought, only six more to go until I get to go back to my bed. At the very least you were happy you wouldn’t have to go to that prick, Smith’s, unit for the day. More than having to be separated from Ghost, you feared what he would do to you while in his care. You strongly suspected he’d have more than a slap lined up for you at that point.

Gaz lead you to the changing rooms before taking you to the chinook, handing you your gear and waiting on the squeaky wooden benches outside the shower block while you got ready. Then after taking the world’s quickest and coldest shower, trying miserably not to get your hair or fur wet, you stepped out to greet him with gritted teeth and soggy ears. If one thing was abundantly clear then, it was the fact that Ghost had utterly spoiled you. There was no way you could face a cold shower again without thinking about the bathroom at his.

“When I get to go back to Ghost I’m gonna live in that shower,” you huffed, teeth chattering while wrapping yourself up in the big cosy fleece that Ghost had given you a few days before. “I’m gonna stay in there until I turn into a prune and then I’ll make sure that Ghost cans me and traps all the warm condensation in.”

Gaz laughed while watching you lace `up your boots last. Your fingers were shaking still from the bone chilling cold that had seeped through your entire body. It was a wonder that you thankfully managed to finish changing without any help. As much as you had considered pathetically asking him to tie them for you, you werent sure if you could go on soldiering knowing that Gaz had to help you like you were some kind of baby.

“Pup in a can sounds like a pretty good product. New kind of IED discovered, we can just start lobbing you at the enemy instead of wasting grenades.”

“Lobbing me?” You said in faux shock, flattening your drippy ears. “I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”

“What? It’s a pretty solid strategy, would work wonders if we were facing an army of Mactavishes.”

“Gaz!” You squawked, flinging your dirty shirt at him. “Mean!”

He batted it away easily and laughed with you.

“Oh c’mon. Soap would laugh if he was here.”

“Pfft, Soap here? coming to the kennels? Fat chance.”

“Aw, I’m sure he’d do it for you. His little furball,” Gaz teased, ruffling your ears. “Our fuzzy wuzzy puppy.”

You huffed and shooed his hands away, growling when he went to mess with you again. Gaz didn’t flinch at that, but he did roll his eyes and move back to lean against the wall. He was graciously allowing you to put away the rest of your gear in peace so that you could move out. He grew quiet while you shoved your things into the soft green rucksack, and just as you’d clicked the clasp on your bag closed, he regarded you with a more considering look.

“What?”

“What?” Gaz returned, folding his arms.

You frowned.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“Maybe it’s cause you’re funny,” he shrugged.

“Shame that you’re not,” you replied dryly.

“Well shit. Mess with the wolf and you get the fangs, huh?”

“You know it, Garrick.”

-🐺-

The chinook was more comfortable than the kennel. That you figured out after your belly was filled with a fat bacon roll and you had Gaz’s shoulder to lean on. Your eyelids dripped like syrup, lashes fluttering as you listened to Price drone on about the mission over the shaky comms.

“Pup, are you listening? Knew I shouldn’t have bloody given you breakfast first,” Price admonished.

You slowly blinked back at him.

“I am,” you huffed out, straightening your back against the chair. “We got evidence of WMD’s in Lata, so we’re gonna go there and secure em with a team from Los Vaqueros forces.”

“Top marks,” Gaz chuckled, ruffling your ears.

You rolled your eyes.

“These ears ain’t for nothin’,” you said with a sly grin.

“Those ears better stay alert,” Price grumbled. “I need you alive and well so Ghost doesn’t disembowel me on return.”

Your ears perked up at that, your body quickly straightening up all the way. In all your tiredness and confusion at being taken away, you’d hardly thought about how Ghost would’ve felt about you being seperated from him for the first time.

“You spoke to him last night then?”

“Tried to,” Price snorted. “After I told him where you were he just about bowled me over trying to get to you. Managed to convince him to let you be, but he was a pain in my arse all night. He wants to speak to you later, so if you would please be careful today me and my neck would thank you.”

“Is he coming here?” You asked hopefully, tail raising in your excitement.

“Probably not. If all goes well we should be outta here in a few days to a week. He said to call once we finish up tonight though.”

Oh. As much as you tried to stop yourself from visibly deflating, there was little you could do to prevent yourself falling back against the chair with a huff. It had already been to long without him and it had only been a day. The thought of the growing distance only gnawed at you as you thought about it more.

“Relax, Pup. You’ll be back home to Ghost before you know it,” Price hummed. “Just gotta get through this in one piece first.”

“Yeah…but that’ll only be after I finish up my time at the kennels,” you grumbled, fully sagging into Gaz in defeat.

“We’ll see.”

You tilted your head at the Captain wondering what the hell he meant by that, and even though he saw your curious look he didn’t answer it. All he did was wink. Even when you begged him to elaborate he shook his head and tilted down his boonie hat, making it perfectly clear that the time for talking was done.

“You could use more sleep yourself,” Gaz said afterward, watching you in your confusion. “Don’t worry too much about the future right now, you barely got any sleep last night by the sounds of that dream you were having, so you’re not gonna be able to think straight. Rest your head on me and I’ll try and keep the nightmares at bay, ok? Gotta wake up fresh for the mission.”

You pursed your lips, heart beating like a frail bird in your chest. So many questions danced around you, but every thought was dimmed by the tiring heaviness that had refused to shake itself from your body from the moment you’d woken up.

Gaz was right, you did need more sleep. And curling up on him sounded like a dream. However when you looked up into his soft hazel eyes, a sudden wave of heat pulsed through you and gave you pause. He practically glowed in the emerging morning light.

“You sure you want me cuddling up to you?” you asked, laughing breathily to cover up your nervousness.

“Only as long as you don’t tell Ghost,” he winked. “Wouldn’t want him to get jealous.”

You shoved him playfully at that, but soon settled down once Price barked out for you both to be quiet. Bodies going ridgid before slackening into each other. Your head drooped gently down onto Gaz’s shoulder and he let his cheek rest on top of your head. The warm rays of the morning blanketed you both in its gentle hold and in minutes you were sinking into a now peaceful sleep.

#reign down on me #simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader

607 notes · View notes

starryevermore · 5 months

Text

it’s a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it ✧ azriel

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: azriel x vanserra!fem!reader

summary: you have a surprise for your mate. azriel takes everything horribly.

word count: 2,743

warnings?:, angst city™ bitch, (perceived) cheating, accusations of cheating, dual povs, no happy ending (we stay sad here), there may be a part 2 if anyone asks nicely, not proofread

PART TWO

Ordinarily, you hated when Azriel would leave for long missions. Azriel loved that about you. For so many years, he longed for someone to love him in spite of himself. Throughout his life, he had so many heinous things. He always worried that his hands were stained too red for anyone to ever want to hold. But you, the only daughter of Autumn, looked him right in the eye and proudly declared that he was your mate. You looked at the darkest parts of him and found love for him anyways. And when your family, when Beron, tried to keep you from him, you ran straight into his arms anyways. You were willing to throw away everything you knew for him. Azriel would always be grateful for that. But, now, you almost seemed to want him to leave.

You had been acting strange a few days before he left. For as long as Azriel knew you, you were fiercely independent. It was something that was appreciated because it meant you could take care of yourself when he was gone for days, weeks, even months at a time to carry out Rhysand’s will. Now, though…You would disappear for long stretches of time, give vague answers when Azriel would ask how you were doing. He supposed, as spymaster, he could figure it out for himself, or at least send some shadows to follow you, but he wanted you to tell him yourself. He needed to hear from you that everything was okay.

That is, until he told you he was going to be away for a month on a mission. Typically when he would be gone for so long, you would hold him close and rant about how you were going to give Rhys a piece of your mind for taking your mate away. And he would kiss you and cherish the few hours he had left with you before he would have to leave. This time, you only pouted and gave him a kiss goodnight before retiring to bed.

It was damn near impossible for him to focus on the mission after that. Had Azriel done something wrong? Had you finally reached the depths of Azriel’s darkness and decided you hated what you saw?

He planned on talking to you as soon as he returned. He would not let you get away with vague answers. He wouldn’t rest until he got the truth about your new behavior. He had to know.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

When Azriel winnowed into his shared home with you, the scent of other males filled his nose. If it had been Cassian or Rhys, he would have paid it no mind. But he didn’t recognize these scents. Who had you invited into his home?

A worse thought crept into his mind—had this been why you were so eager for him to leave?

You grinned as a shadow alerted you to Azriel’s return home. It had been so hard to keep away from your mate, but you knew that if you allowed yourself near him, you would have spoiled the surprise. And, oh, how you wanted to surprise him.

It wasn’t easy to keep things from the spymaster. Between his shadows and his observational skills, he had near perfect accuracy when it came to figuring out your surprises. And yet, he didn’t make any guesses or reveal that he knew what your secret plan was this entire time. It almost had you confessing. But then Azriel told you he was being sent away for a month on a mission, and you knew you could hold out until the end.

You couldn’t keep the secret totally to yourself, of course. You told Rhys and Feyre, who helped you find a reputable group of workers to build the addition onto your home. And you told Nesta and Cassian, who caught you leaving the store with a bundle of bags. Mor guessed on her own. Amren was the one who figured it out before even you knew. Everyone agreed to keep the secret amongst themselves, on the condition that you invite them over for dinner after you finally reveal your secret to your mate.

And the day had finally come! The workers had just finished the addition a few days before, their timing nearly perfect.

When you felt the shadows creep up your ankles, wrapping themselves around you, you knew Azriel was home. You jumped up from your seat on the couch and ran to greet him where he stood in the dining room.

A wide smile stretched across your face as you said, “Welcome home!”

But when you threw your arms around his neck, he didn’t move. You took a step back, watching as he glanced around your home, his nose wrinkling.

“Did the mission go alright?” you tried.

Still, Azriel didn’t say anything. Worry began to settle in the pit of your stomach. It must have been truly awful for him to be so quiet now. While Azriel usually kept some of the more gory details to himself, he did like to talk to you about his missions. He said it helped him process the things he did. Did you need to go give Rhys a piece of your mind?

“Az, is everything okay?”

Finally, his eyes snapped to yours. “I don’t know,” he said, his head tilting, looking at you almost like how a predator looks at its prey. “Would you be okay if you found out your mate was unfaithful?”

Your heart dropped. How could he think that? “What?”

Azriel rolled his eyes and gestured widely to the room. “You think I can’t smell the other males who have been here? Do you think I’m stupid?”

Oh. Oh no. You had glamoured your own scent, so that you might keep this all a surprise. But you didn’t think to glamour the scent of the workers. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly well that I have a whore of a mate,” he hissed.

You reached for him. How could this go so wrong? Why wasn’t he listening to you? “Azriel, please—”

He pushed you away so hard you stumbled, your back hitting the kitchen table. His eyes flashed—with what, you weren’t sure. Certainly not regret, though. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Just listen to me, please—”

“I don’t want to listen to any of the lies you spew,” he snapped. He turned to leave. “When I come back, I expect you to be gone.”

“Azriel!”

But before you could say anymore, he was already gone.

It took everything in you to not sink to your knees and cry. Why would Azriel so easily believe you would be unfaithful to him? Why wouldn’t he let you explain? Did he truly think so little of you? You wiped your face with the back of your hand, surprised by how many tears had already fallen.

How could Azriel look at the face of his crying mate and not even attempt to hear you out?

You took a shuddering breath, glancing down at the one shadow that remained with you. Bile rose up in your throat. He wouldn’t listen to you, but he would leave a shadow? To what, make sure you actually left?

Fine.

Fine, you’ll leave, if that’s what he wishes. You didn’t want to stay a minute longer with a male who thinks so lowly of his mate.

Azriel stayed gone for a week. He retreated to Rhysand’s cabin, knowing that you wouldn’t—you couldn’t—follow him there. Unlike your brothers, you were unable to winnow. Try as you might, the skill never came for you. It had once pained him, knowing how you had to flee the Autumn Court on foot so that you could be with him. Now, though, Azriel was grateful to be able to put distance between you and him.

The only contact Azriel had that entire week was to send a letter to Rhys, providing the details of the mission and stating that he would be away for a while. Rhys only responded to tell him to enjoy his time away. Azriel wished he could. But there was nothing enjoyable about learning of a mate’s infidelity.

Finally, though, the limited food supply at the cabin ran low enough to justify Azriel returning to his family. He went to the River House, hoping to talk to Rhys about what had transpired. What he hadn’t expected was to be greeted with celebration.

“Congratulations!” Feyre said when she saw him, pulling Azriel into a one-armed hug as she held Nyx on her hip.

Rhys’s lips pulled into a smirk as he approached him. “Where is that mate of yours? I believe she promised us a dinner.”

Azriel’s heart clenched at the mention of you. As angry as he was to learn you had been unfaithful, it had broke his heart to know that he couldn't be with you again. He would never be able to trust you again. Azriel already spent his days torturing the scum of Prythian. He didn’t need to have a scourge of a mate, too. “Dinner’s cancelled for the foreseeable future,” Azriel said.

Rhys waved him off. “Understandable. If she’s anything like Feyre was, she must constantly be sick. Whenever she’s ready, though, we would love to have dinner with her.”

Why was Rhysand so focused on dinner? A bitter part of him wondered if his brother was one of the people you took to bed. Would you do that to him, to Feyre?

Feyre looked Azriel up and down, sensing that there was something more than what Azriel was letting on. “Have you seen her since you’ve come back?”

“I have,” Azriel said, his tone clipped.

“And were you…excited?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Why would I be excited to learn my mate is a—” He glanced at Nyx. Though barely a year old, he probably was cognizant enough to babble swear words spoken in front of him. “—that my mate was unfaithful?”

“What are you talking about?” Rhys asked, his brows knit together.

“I came home to a house reeking of other males. She didn’t even try to hide—”

Feyre gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Finally. Someone understood. “You didn’t—“

Rhysand’s eyes flashed. “Azriel, don’t tell me you excused her of cheating.”

“Why shouldn’t I confront her for what she did? For who she brought into our home?”

“Azriel, that female loves you. She risked her life to come to Velaris. Do you really think that she would throw that all away?” Rhys snarled. “Tell me she’s still at the house.”

“When I left a week ago, I told her to be gone. I imagine she isn’t there anymore.” Azriel frowned. “And I know, it doesn’t seem like something she would do, but the males’ scents were everywhere—”

Azriel’s head snapped to the side. He raised his hand to his face, touching his stinging skin. He looked at Feyre, his eyes widening. Did she really just hit him? Now? “You idiot!” she snapped. “Your home smelled like other males because she hired workers to build an addition while you were gone.”

“What?” Why would you do that? You had always loved the small cottage. You had once told him that the only reason you might ever choose to leave would be to grow your family.

“She was having a nursery built,” Rhys snapped.

Oh.

It was days before you reached Autumn’s borders, and days still before you came into contact with other fae. The female fae, who found you collapsed on her family’s farm, took pity on you. Ordinarily, you would have shuddered at the mere idea of being pitied by anyone. But you were so exhausted. You weren’t sure if you could make it any further on your own. So when she ordered her husband to winnow you to the Forest House, you leaned against him and let him take you away. At the Forest House, you were passed to the arms of a sentry to one of Eris’s guards until your brother was carrying you into your old room, yelling for a healer.

Save for trips to the bathroom and when your mother dragged you out to family dinners, you scarcely left your bed. The healer would check on you daily to ensure that you were still healthy enough to carry your child and that the child was still doing well—that the stress wasn’t killing it. You were sure the stress was killing you. Aside from her, though, you didn’t speak to anyone. You couldn’t find the energy, not even when Eris was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Did something happen with Azriel?” he asked, reaching out to pet your hair. It had been something he often did when you were younger whenever you were upset.

You squeezed your eyes shut and rolled over, turning your back to Eris. It was the first time anyone had said his name. Whenever the healer would come, she would make remarks about “the father”. But she never said his name. As for your mother and brothers, they mostly kept to themselves. Whether it was to give you time to heal or out of fear of you breaking down, you weren’t sure.

“Did he hurt you?” Eris asked.

“Not like Father did,” you whispered. It hurt to speak. Your vocal cords strained. You swallowed, trying to alleviate the pain. It didn’t help.

His hand paused at your answer. When he spoke again, his voice was tight, like it pained him to think your mate could hurt you. “What did the bastard do?”

Part of you wanted to say nothing. Reliving that pain was too much, and you doubted it would be good for the baby. But now that you had spoken, you doubted that Eris would let you continue your vow of silence. “He accused me of infidelity.”

You glanced over your shoulder, watching as Eris’s eyes turned to slits. You rolled back over and reached for his hand. It was warm, like his fire was just below the surface. “And you let him live after such an accusation?”

“He wouldn’t listen. Was so sure of it that it didn’t matter what I said.” Your eyes welled up with tears. Though you were no stranger to crying in front of your brother, you prayed you wouldn’t do it now. It felt too pathetic—crying over a male. “I had an addition built to the cottage. He smelt the workers’ scents and thought the worst.”

Eris opened his mouth. You braced yourself for the fire that was about to spew from his mouth. A knock on the door, however, stopped him in his tracks. Both of you looked over as your mother stepped into the room, a piece of paper pinched between her fingers. Eris rose to his feet, then closed the distance between them. “What is it?”

“It’s a letter from the Night Court. The High Lord is inquiring about her whereabouts.”

You glanced down at the shadow, still twisted around your wrist. Huh. Maybe Azriel didn’t leave the shadow behind to monitor you. Otherwise, there would be no need to look for you. The shadow could easily slither back to its master, whisper that you were hiding in the Forest House. A smile tugged at your lips. Even if this killed you, it did bring you some modicum of joy to know the shadows were turning their back on Azriel.

Your mother and Eris looked to you for any sign of how to respond. Letting out a breath, you pushed yourself up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You tightened the robe around your waist as you strode over to them. “Tell them that I am safe,” you said, “and that any further correspondence is unnecessary and unwanted.”

Then, you walked past them to your wardrobe, plucked a dress and retreated to the bathroom. You were done wallowing in self-pity. If your mate didn’t want you anymore, that was fine. You could learn to live with this. But you won’t allow yourself to become a husk. Not when you had a babe you would need to care for.

As you shut the door, you heard Eris say, “Tell the High Lord that if the shadowsinger dares to sniff around our borders, I will have his wings mounted to my wall.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

PART TWO

#azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x female reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel fan fiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fan fic #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #starrywrites #starryevermore

566 notes · View notes

bbydeathclaw · 10 months

Text

Petulance

pairing: silco x fem!reader (nsfw)

AO3

summary: Silco sends you away to try to get some work done and you decide to be a horrendous little shit about it.

tags: fluff, smut, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), good ol' mating press, teasing, bratty reader, simp silco

word count: 5.4k

adorably aesthetic mdni banner by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing in a looong while almost 10 years to be exact please don't look at me. but I had to get back into it with this shamelessly self indulgent fic of my favorite brooding king pin. I hope you enjoy!

Silco had thought it a bit odd at first, the ease with which you’d taken your leave from his office tonight. Ordinarily when he’d attempt to send you away in favor of getting his paperwork done in a more timely manner, you’d put up some form of sulky little protest.

An overemphasized pout coupled with a look of feigned sadness, eyebrows furrowed together when you’d offer to assist him with said work. Your reason being that it would ‘probably get done faster’ between the two of you.

A lie, and a blatant one at that. You were, on all counts, absolutely shit at keeping your focus on any tasks he’d try to give you. You knew it. He most certainly knew it. Truly he’d wonder why you’d even bother offering at all if you just spent most of the time trying to distract him anyway.

Still, he can’t say he isn’t amused by your actions. He finds these juvenile acts of yours terribly endearing for the most part, and even starts to look forward to them, knowing full well that he'll give in to just about anything if you’d simply ask it of him.

Which is why he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed when you don’t do any of this at all, and Silco starts to regret his idiotic suggestion entirely until you throw a cheeky smirk his way instead.

“Alright, I think I’ll go bug Sevika for a bit.”

A single eyebrow quirk, followed by a low hum of approval.

“I’m sure she’ll be positively thrilled by that,” he replies, suppressing a smirk of his own at the thought of his second in command being pestered by someone almost half her size.

He’s still disheartened by your willingness to leave, but ultimately makes peace with it knowing that you’d more than likely return at some point. You give him a small wave with your fingers followed by a wink over your shoulder, and Silco doesn't hesitate to drag his gaze over your body shamelessly as it saunters out of his office.

About an hour passes, and the music coming from downstairs is just starting to pick up for the evening. You enter the room with a fluid sidestep, leaning back against the door once it closes behind you. His good brow raises slightly. “Back so soon?”

You don’t answer at first, instead making your way over to one of the tables in his office, like a cat quietly stalking about until something catches its interest. He watches you methodically as you settle for one of Jinx’s old trinkets that had been long discarded, carefully turning it over in your hand. “Sevika called me a menace.”

This time he makes no attempt to hide the subtle upturn from the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with her, my dear.”

“She seems pretty cranky tonight.”

“Hm, surely through absolutely no fault of your own.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in what he can only assume is an attempt to stifle a giggle before turning to face him with an adorably giddy expression that makes his chest tighten.

“Whatcha doin’?”

So innocent, as if you were completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Silco doesn’t answer you verbally, merely bringing his forehead to rest against his hand and lifting the piece of paper he’s holding in the air with the other. The sullen face you make doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you turn to put the gadget back down with an airy sigh.

“Well,” you drag the word out. “I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says in turn, though it comes off more teasing rather than the displeasure he’s trying to convey.

You study his face for another beat or two before you finally respond. “Okay, if that’s really what you want.” It’s not. Not even in the slightest. “I’ll go see if Thieram needs any help at the bar.”

“My love, Theiram is more than capable of handling his responsibilities as a bartender alone. It’s why I hired him, in fact.” He pauses. “Have you perhaps considered staying up here and behaving yourself, rather than looking for more ways to wreak havoc amongst my employees?”

For a moment Silco thinks that he may be tipping his hand too soon, fearing that you’ve caught on to the fact that he’s basically been doing fuck all except sitting here and waiting for you to come back to his office. His suspicion only rises with the way you’re tilting your head and downright beaming at him with ill-disguised glee, like you’d been reading his every thought.

“If I stayed up here it certainly wouldn’t be to behave myself.”

The paper he’s holding makes an audible crunch sound, his hand crumpling the edge of it faintly in response to your suggestive remark.

Before he has the chance to reply with some snarky comment, you’re already heading towards the door, making a show of swaying your hips and giving him another view of the delicious swell of your backside before you take your leave again. His chair makes an audible groan as he leans back against it and lets out a lengthy sigh, running a hand through his hair and glancing down into his lap at the result of your seemingly endless torment.

Intolerable minx.

By the third time you make your way back up, only about half an hour has passed, and Silco’s all but given up on the prospects of getting any semblance of work done tonight. His thoughts being entirely permeated by you and the state you’d left him in.

The Last Drop is in full swing now, and the liveliness of everything going on downstairs comes through the open door as you re-enter his office. However this time, he makes no effort to acknowledge your arrival, his chair now facing away from his desk, turned instead towards the large stained glass window that bathes him in a sickly, pale green light. All the noise from the club gets muffled when the door shuts once again, followed by the sound of purposeful footsteps making their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” he states flatly, trying to sound as disinterested as he can manage in his current predicament while he looks over his clipboard in a vain attempt at trying to salvage what was supposed to be a productive evening.

“Hello there, almighty Eye of Zaun,” you chime back with a playful lilt in your voice. “Did you miss me?”

Silco’s eyes tick upwards and stare blankly at the window straight ahead, actively suppressing the urge to let out another heavy sigh. You were going to be the death of him at this rate, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. How you managed to be both so insufferable and still so unbelievably charming he’ll never quite understand. Before he has the chance to turn his chair with an already fixed scowl, he hears a faint thud behind him, the distinct sound of glass meeting wood only slightly muted by a soft shuffling of papers.

A few seconds pass before Silco finally spins around to face you, seeing that a tumbler has been set down right on top of the paperwork he had been ruminating over all night. He’s also greeted by the sight of you already sitting in a chair directly in front of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells at the sight and his scowl gradually melts away, only to be replaced by something more along the lines of skepticism when he takes in your expression fully.

Your smile is accompanied by what appears to be a look of pure satisfaction, though he has no clue as to why. His non-discolored eye narrows at you, like a parent trying to figure out what misdeed their child has committed behind their back.

Silco regards you warily for another moment, taking in every minute detail of your face in hopes of detecting something that might give you away while he reaches for the glass set in front of him. Ice clinks against the sides as he swirls it around before bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip followed by a hum of appreciation. His eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and finds you now biting your lip while trying, and failing, to suppress a huge grin.

You’re definitely up to something, that much he’s certain of now, and the fact that he still can’t figure out what it is causes his previously feigned discontent to turn into more of a bubbling frustration, having just about enough of whatever game you’re playing. A fleeting thought crosses his mind as he glances down at the drink now dangling from his fingertips, then back up to you.

Silco knows you’ve taken in the brief look of suspicion on his face when you let out a laugh that, despite the visible displeasure he's exuding towards you, is still one of the sweetest sounds he's ever heard.

“I didn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you quip, clearly amused at the implication.

“At this point I would be grateful if you did.”

You laugh again, but it comes out more like a short exhale through your nose along with a relaxed grin, taking a sip of your own beverage, and Silco’s good eye narrows at you once again.

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No.”

Silence.

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He practically glares at you for what feels like a considerable amount of time before it finally dawns on him that you haven’t left yet.

“Did you need something darling? Or have you just come to find more ways to elicit whatever reaction you’ve been hoping for this evening?” Silco brings the tumbler to his mouth once more, letting it hover there momentarily in order to get the rest of his words out. “Because if the intended reaction was to see how far you can test my patience I can assure you-”

Words die on his lips immediately when you make a move to stand, mismatched eyes shooting down to your waist to see what appears to be quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you in, leaving so very little to the imagination.

He’s still holding the glass right up to his face while he watches you make your way around the only obstacle that separates the two of you before hopping onto one of the corners, your butt and thighs jiggling faintly when they make contact with the solid piece of furniture. “I just figured you could use a drink after such a long night of hard work. Is that so wrong?”

Silco tracks your movements with an almost predatory fixation, watching you lean back slightly to rest against your arms, crossing one leg over the other and he has to actively resist the urge to scoff. This thing is hardly covering anything, you’re essentially sitting there with your bare ass on his desk. The realization of that along with the sight of everything you’re showing has his cock hardening at an alarming rate.

You don’t seem to notice, or if you do you don’t say anything, eyebrows knitting together in a poorly disguised attempt at looking genuinely worried. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy to see me.”

Silco sets the glass down onto his desk with a bit more force than intended, turning his chair to face all the way forward and bringing his mouth to rest against interlocked fingers. Any moment now he’s expecting you to hop right off that corner and make your way back downstairs, back to a place filled with depraved and perverted onlookers.

Realistically he knows no harm would ever befall you while you were down in the Last Drop. All of his subordinates had been given clear instruction to keep a watchful eye on you at all times, and after a while a lot of them had started to do it less out of obligation and more so out of genuine care, especially Jinx and Sevika.

Plus, he knows you can hold your own in a fight. Growing up in the undercity had hardened you just enough to make you a scrappy but formidable opponent. So logically speaking, Silco knows there's no safer place for you to be, but the thought of anyone other than himself seeing you in that, especially the less than respectable patrons that frequent his establishment nearly every night, makes his blood boil.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, my dear,” he retorts, turning his head to look over at you once more, eyes darting downwards to that indecent piece of fabric wrapped around your waist then back up to meet your gaze. “It's just that I'm seeing quite a lot of you at the moment, and if you go back downstairs, so will everyone else.” His last words come out strained as he shifts in his chair in a poor attempt to alleviate his growing erection.

“Oh, you mean my skirt? Is there…something wrong with it?” You lift your hips to take the tiniest of scoots towards him, and Silco’s eyes immediately hone in on the action.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Another scoot. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, especially in this.”

At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if you really are trying to kill him, taking controlled and steady breaths while he attempts to suppress his growing ire in response to such a ridiculous question. Of course there’s something wrong with it. Silco’s sure he’d nearly be able to see the soft outline of your mound if you were to spread your legs, even in the slightest.

He lets out another deep breath before picking up his pen and casually scribbling his signature on one of the invoices strewn about in front of him. “You will not be going back down there like that.”

He’s not looking at you, but Silco can see the movements of you moving closer out of the corner of his unmarred eye.

“Are you..asking me to stay?”

He doesn’t respond, instead electing to take another piece of paper to scrawl his name at the bottom offhandedly. He knows what you’re playing at, the fact that it took him so long to realize it irks him to no end. He wouldn’t mind answering honestly and just telling you that yes, he does want you to stay, but the thought of giving into your bratty little antics this evening doesn’t sit quite right with him.

Which is why he makes the conscious decision to ignore you as you move close enough to where your upper leg is now narrowly brushing his elbow, the shift causing him to mess up the tail end of another signature. Silco chances a glance towards the movement and regrets it almost immediately when he takes in the soft curve of your thigh, his cock twitching painfully at the sight.

He makes his second mistake when he follows the tantalizing trail of your body upwards and is met with the most unabashed, shit eating grin plastered across your face. He has to force himself to look away, the hand not holding his pen coming up to drag his long fingers back and forth across his mouth as he contemplates the idea of sending you away all together, leaving you pouty and disappointed. And for a moment he comes close to doing just that, until he makes the grave error of risking a glance up at your face again.

You’re not smiling anymore, expression replaced by something far more lustful and serious. Silco simply stares as your tongue slides out to pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before gently nudging his elbow with your knee. He doesn’t hesitate in dropping his arm to offer you the space in front of him, and you slide over gracefully. He stays perfectly still while you plant a foot atop each of the armrests of his ornate chair, knees pressed tightly together.

He finally responds to your earlier question with one of his own.

“What would possibly give you that idea?” His voice is light and teasing, all traces of anger gone. “You’ve been nothing short of a nightmare all evening, love. And now this?” Fingertips come up to stroke the side of your calf, humming appreciatively. “What am I going to do with you?”

This earns Silco a wide, toothy grin as you scoot forward. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“Don't be coy with me, sweetheart.” He leans forward, breath fanning over your knees as he speaks. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” knees parting just barely, “to answer my question.”

Silco pushes his tongue against his cheek in minor annoyance before sliding both hands up your legs and over your knees, then back down until he reaches your hips. He grips firmly at the supple flesh and yanks you closer towards him, eliciting a sharp squeak followed by a string of giggles.

“I think you might be the most aggravating creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of courting.”

Your face adorns a look of mock appreciation. “Awe, thank you!”

Slender hands travel back up to your knees. “Truly just a tantalizing little menace.” He waits for you to part them further, granting him the access he’s so desperately craving. “One that I’m both drawn to and irritated by all at once.”

Your smile is nothing short of haughty, as if you’re truly taking everything he’s telling you as a compliment. “Well now you’ve really got me hot and bothered,” you shoot back, knees moving further away from each other until you’re spread all the way open for him.

Although spoken in a sarcastic tone, Silco sees that your words are in fact true, his eyes taking in the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“Indulge me, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to trace the backs of your thighs with his knuckles, causing goosebumps to decorate your soft skin. “Why the need to be so difficult tonight?”

You shiver at the touch, bottom lip still tucked between your teeth as he brings a thumb up to stroke lazily over your pussy.

“J-just for fun,” you retort, but your voice doesn’t hold the same conviction. “Wanted to see..how long it would take.”

“How long what would take?”

The laugh you let out is shaky at best, but there’s still a bit of confidence left when you answer. “For you to ask me to stay.”

It only takes about half a second before Silco’s thumb pushes into your core and his tongue cards a long, hot stripe along your folds. The noise you make spurring him on further as his mouth envelopes your clit, giving it a harsh suck before pulling away with a satisfying wet plop sound.

“I don’t recall asking anything of the sort,” he chides, sliding his thumb back out. “If memory serves me correctly, you came into my office several times practically demanding my attention.”

Silco punctuates his last few words by pushing two fingers into you, pulling another sharp inhale from your lips as he turns his palm to face upward and curls them inside of you.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he starts, bringing his thumb to circle against your now swollen clit, drawing a long whine out of you as you work your hips against him. “..that perhaps I attempt to send you away in order to finish with my tasks quickly, just so I can get back to doting on you with said attention? Selfish little creature.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, speaking between shallow breaths. “You.. could have just.. said that.. you know.”

Silco smirks, watching you look back at him with a pair of pleading eyes. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing your lovely pouts and open displays of petulance?” He adds a third finger. “I think not.”

“Silco,” you whine, “please.”

His cock twitches in response, and he doesn’t waste any time bringing his mouth back down to your bud and swirling his tongue around it lavishly while his fingers twist and turn inside of you. He watches you throw your head back, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip the edge of the desk above your head, the other coming to latch onto the top of his head hard as you roll your hips against him.

“There, that’s it,” he coos, “show me how eager you are. Use me.”

This draws another string of small gasps and moans from you, coupled with lewd, wet, slurping sounds as Silco continues to lap and suck at your clit, bringing his free hand to grip your thigh and anchor you to him. The strain in his pants grows increasingly more painful when you sigh his name affectionately, followed by a noise of protest when he removes his fingers from you all together in an effort to tug at intricate buttons of his trousers, freeing his aching cock and palming himself to the sight of your ruined state.

Your arousal coating his fingers serves as a welcome lubricant for him to stroke himself languidly, relishing in the feeling of you bucking up into him, using him to chase your own end. His licks are hot and thorough, leaving no part of your heat untouched.

“Yes,” Silco groans into you, “just like that.”

Your other hand comes down to unbutton your top, cupping and squeezing at one of your breasts, and he knows you’re close by the way you’re begging and pleading above him. The sound of your voice feeds into his determination, letting go of his cock in order to wrap both arms around your thighs, securing you in place and devouring you like a starved man.

The way you cry out his name while your walls flutter around his tongue has him reeling, mismatched eyes boring into you, watching your orgasm in complete reverence as your fluids run down his chin.

“Good girl,” Silco sighs, his movements slowing down to let you ride out your climax. “You always make such sweet sounds for me.”

Your legs tremble and the vicelike grasp you have on his hair loosens before you slump back down onto his desk, words barely managing to come through your short and labored breaths.

“Could've been making them a lot earlier if you’d…stop trying to kick me out.”

A hint of a smile creeps up on his face as he presses small, feather light kisses up the backs of your thighs, leaving glistening spots of your slick behind in their wake. “You know, it is possible to keep your unsolicited remarks to yourself every once in a while.”

Yours breaks into a devious grin that tugs at his heart without mercy. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Mmm, point taken.”

Silco stands to turn your body so that you’re taking up the full length of his desk before climbing up onto it and bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His length bobs thick and heavy with need, bringing it to rest against your slit.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You roll your hips against him needily, coating his cock with your arousal. “Maybe.”

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he growls, voice dripping with carnal hunger as he pushes your legs up against your chest once again, lining himself up with your entrance. And it’s the way you're looking up at him with your lip tucked in between your teeth in anticipation, the slight inward curl of your eyebrows in an almost pleading expression that has him pushing into you in one, smooth buck forward, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you.

Silco sees your eyes roll back, and he has to physically stop himself from doing the same. He wants to see it all, wants to see your blissed out expression while he fucks you, wants to see all the different ways he can make you come undone beneath him.

You make a pitiful attempt at stifling a moan, one that ultimately fails when Silco starts to rock his hips against yours, pulling them back slowly and savoring the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls before driving them forward with a sharp, pointed thrust. But he’s right there with you, exhaling a throaty groan at the feeling of your walls engulfing him so deliciously, the sensation being nothing short of divine.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he whispers, lowering his head and tilting it to place gentle kisses along your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. “Like we were made for each other.”

The breathy whine this elicits causes him to straighten himself upright again, picking up his pace steadily, and soon the room is filled with the obscene, wet smacking of skin against skin as Silco begins to pump into you with feral-like need. He readjusts your legs so that your calves are hooked over his shoulders, letting him fuck you so much deeper.

You’re a mess of broken pleas beneath him, and he clings to every single one, a symphony meant solely for him and him alone. Silco watches you with wholly, unabashed devotion as your face twists and contorts in pleasure, pleasure that only he can bring you. And though he wants to feel like he’s still in control, he knows deep down he’s equally ruined by what you do to him, maybe even more so. His seafoam eye glazes over, and strands of hair fall loosely around his face as he ruts into you.

You reach up and try to put your arms around his neck, but the position your legs are in only allow you to claw at his shoulders helplessly. “S-silco, please..”

“Oh? I see someone’s finally learned some manners,” he taunts.

The huff of annoyance you let out amuses him more than he’d care to admit, “For fuck’s sake, Sil. Let me hold you.”

“Demanding thing,” he scolds, but gives into your ‘request’ regardless, lowering your legs just enough so that your knees fall to the side and hook over his forearms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck with open urgency. And now you’re pulling him down and holding him there, like the waters he'd nearly drowned in.

Silco’s jaw goes slack as he turns his head and pants in your ear like some wild beast, whose sole purpose is to bring you to your end. Like it was all he was ever made for. Your head turns to meet his lips with your own, and he tries to keep some semblance of restraint while he kisses you, but he can’t, not with you. It’s hungry and sloppy, full of exceeding desperation.

He breaks the kiss reluctantly to make his way down to your neck, lips and tongue moving against the delicate flesh and littering your throat with marks of all kinds, leaving no room for anyone to question who you belong to. “Mine,” Silco snarls possessively in between sucks and bites.

He's about to pull away when one of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and locking him in place, begging for more, more, more, and Silco’s more than happy to oblige. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger so tightly, and this realization both excites and ruins him as he begins to ram everything he has into you with new purpose.

“Oh fuck, Silco. Right there,” you cry out, voice becoming raspy and hoarse from your continuous gasps in between moans.

"Yes, that's it. Show me how much you want this, how much you need this," he huffs out through gritted teeth, trying to establish some form of dominance once again, but it's no use when he realizes his words are just as applicable to him as they are to you.

He forgoes his hold on your legs, letting them fall to your sides briefly before wrapping them around his waist. Your eyes flutter shut and your head starts to loll to the side, but Silco grabs your jaw quickly and forces you to look directly at him.

“None of that, darling. I want you to look at me when you come undone,” His breath comes out ragged and primal. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically in response, eyes drifting downward to stare at his mouth, like a silent plea. He takes the hint without delay, squishing your cheeks together until your lips form a small pout before leaning down to kiss you fervently. His tongue swirls around yours, hot and wanting, before he pulls away just enough for him to pant into your open mouth, his connecting to yours by the thinnest string of saliva.

Silco can sense your second orgasm approaching rapidly, and he brings his fingers towards your lips. You take the hint right away, wrapping them around his digits and sucking on them lavishly. Once he’s satisfied enough, he removes them and snakes his hand down through your intertwined bodies, settling for the bundle of nerves located between your legs.

Your moans increase in pitch, arms and legs squeezing even tighter around him as he works you with skilled flicks of his wrist.

“You’ve endured this so well, my love,” he whispers against your ear, voice laced with unrestrained hedonism and resolve. “Let’s reward all that effort of yours tonight, shall we?”

His question is rhetorical, but you nod so eagerly for him nonetheless as your walls begin to pulsate, clenching so unbelievably tight around him you’re practically pushing his cock out, nearly sending him over the edge himself.

“That’s my girl,” he sighs with heavy grit and worship. “You feel incredible.”

Silco’s face comes back up to hover over yours, looking directly into your eyes while he fucks you through your climax, his own looming closer and closer. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your labored breaths greedily as his thrusts begin to stagger before coming to a complete halt, his pelvis flush against yours as his cock twitches obscenely within your heat. He lets out a harsh, guttural moan right into your mouth as he spills into you, your walls continuing to milk him with stuttered squeezes, and he has to pull away sharply to exhale a series of delirious gasps.

Your chests heave against one another, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating as your sweat soaked bodies stay interlocked. Silco shifts slightly, bringing his hands to stroke the top of your head lazily with his fingertips. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he places soft, tender kisses along your cheeks, your eyes, your lips, anything within reach.

He’s rewarded with a giggle, followed by a dopey little grin.

“You know,” you say as your breaths finally return to normal. “I just remembered the other reason you try to send me away while you work.”

Silco already knows the answer, but you punctuate your words anyway by wiggling your ass, causing the sound of his paperwork shuffling beneath you, followed by a light yelp as he smacks your bottom lightly.

“Impossible little wench,” he chastises, lifting himself off of you and being greeted once again by the sight of the thing you keep referring to as a ‘skirt’. He grabs the edge of it with his fingertips, holding it up like it was a cursed object. “Where in Janna’s name did you even get this from?”

You bark out a laugh before propping yourself up hastily to look down at it with pride. “Ran let me borrow it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Borrow it,” he repeats, “as in you have every intention of giving it back to them?”

You stare at him for a moment, no doubt mulling over your answer.

“...No?”

Silco smirks at your response before leaning in. “Good girl. Besides, I think we may find many more uses for it still.”

Your eyes widen with child-like wonder, but for the entirely wrong reason. “Oh, so you’ll wear it for me, too?”

He stares back at you blankly, blinking several times before rolling his eyes almost theatrically, earning him another small fit of laughter as he finally graces you with a response.

“Whatever pleases you, I suppose.”

#silco #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #silco fanfic #silco fanfiction #bratty reader #simp silco #mdni

700 notes · View notes

actual-bill-potts · 1 year

Note

You know I'm sending you Finrod/Balan because of course I am. #26 please!

Thank you!! (in response to this ask game)

Orodreth looks very like Finrod - from a distance. Up close, of course, differences become apparent: the line of Orodreth's nose is longer and straighter, his cheekbones more prominent, his chin sharper. These features, in combination with an arch of one elegant eyebrow, lend Orodreth a certain look of haughty superciliousness which Balan ordinarily dislikes very much.

Today he is trying to emulate it.

He arches a brow at Finrod and turns his mouth down in that way Orodreth has that always makes Balan want to crumble into a pile of dust and blow away on the wind. Finrod, unfortunately, does not seem much inclined to crumble. His shoulders are trembling with suppressed laughter.

"You," Balan says, as sternly as it is possible for one to speak in the presence of a laughing Finrod, "owe me an apology."

"I do?" Finrod says, suddenly all innocence. "Whatever for?" He bats his eyes charmingly.

Balan refuses to be charmed. "You know," he says.

Finrod raises his hands laughingly. "Perhaps it would soothe you to speak of it?"

"Soothe me? Soothe me! Nothing shall soothe me! Allow me to lay out the circumstances," says Balan, threateningly.

"I am all attention," says Finrod, eyes just a little too wide.

"One," says Balan, holding up a finger, "I have graciously - magnanimously - agreed to dwell with you in Nargothrond, and bless you with my delightful presence - which means being sundered from my own kin."

Finrod's dimples are suddenly deeper, and his eyes are sparkling with laughter again; but he only says, "And I am grateful for it every day!"

Balan refuses to be appeased. "Two," he continues, "after much tedious letter-writing and schedule-making and sending of reassurances, I have managed to arrange for Belen to take Beldir - my wonderful second grandchild! - here to your kingdom, where few children dwell."

"Also true," Finrod says, quite agreeably. "He is everything charming."

"And three," says Balan, adding a third finger to the mix, "all this hard work resulted in Beldir, upon seeing me this morning, beginning to cry quite loudly for 'Ingo.' He will not suffer my presence! He wants only you! You have stolen," he concludes, "my grandchild's affections. I shall never forgive you."

"Never?" says Finrod, looking suitably alarmed.

"Never," says Balan impressively.

"Not even if I am very charming?" says Finrod, looking up from beneath his lashes.

"Not even then! Dimples shall not save you, no matter how deep they are; golden eyelashes shall not save you, no matter how lovely; you shall not appease me! My wrath shall pursue you to the utter end of Arda!"

"Oh dear," says Finrod. "That is quite a frightening prospect." His eyes have somehow grown even larger than before, and look out at Balan appealingly from under a curtain of gold.

Balan hastily schools his lips back into a frown. "You have still," he says, "not apologized."

"I am sorry," says Finrod laughing, "I am sorry! Would it help if I confessed that Beldir has stolen my affections in return? I would give my crown to that babe if he asked."

"That makes it worse," says Balan. "Now you are replacing me!"

"Never," says Finrod. "Never! My love, how shall I make this up to you?"

"You cannot," says Balan; but he can no longer keep up the eyebrow arch, either. How does Orodreth do it?

"Not even if I offered a kiss?" says Finrod. His lips are excessively red, and contrast quite pleasingly with the warm brown of his eyes.

"Well," says Balan. "Perhaps if it is a good one."

"All kisses from you are perfection itself," Finrod says, earnestly.

"You," says Balan, "are infuriatingly difficult to stay angry with."

"That is something of a paradox -" Finrod begins to point out; but Balan cuts him off with a kiss.

It is, as promised, perfection.

#balan #finrod #otp: and he did not return again to estolad #silm fic #my writing #asked and answered

32 notes · View notes

boundlss · 4 months

Note

001. the seaside , as the sun is setting . (veltempest)

Vel had gone swimming, and the dried seawater visibly mats the ends of his hair in a way ordinarily displeasing to the eye. He's still breathing a little heavier than usual despite the stretch of time between him leaving the ocean and coming to join Tempest on the damp sand nearby.

He's never asked about it, and Vel has never told him. It wasn't ever something they'd needed to talk about---the way adrenaline wears into an extraordinary fatigue. Tempest had just noticed, and Vel had noticed his notice.

Even so, Vel is beautiful.

This is nowhere close to the first time he's had the thought. The first time he'd met Vel, he'd stumbled over his movements and sent an Eldritch Blast flying in the complete wrong direction, something he'd played off at the time as having been startled by the ambush. But he hadn't been a stranger to ambush. It was Vel that he was a stranger to, rough and poorly put together, and competent and strong. Alive in the midst of battle.

Tempest likes him better like this, of course---without the tiredness, he seems almost serene as he looks towards the water with a fondness Tempest used to. Almost as though he'd stay out there all evening if he could.

It was probably Tempest's fault he'd settled in slightly further up the beach, where the water only occasionally reached to brush against the furthest points of skin. No---it definitely was, because that was where Tempest had planted himself when he himself had gotten tired of swimming.

You can go back out, he doesn't say. He's afraid that if he breaks the silence, Vel will look right through him like he always does and ask something tedious like what's wrong. And he won't know how to tell Vel that everything is wrong---that he'd been so unbelievably happy since the fall of the Death March that he can no longer imagine being able to live when everyone he now knows except for Yanna Lazaros becomes nothing.

( "How do you do it?" he had asked Vesaithe. Both of their eyes were fixed on the same group of people---though he knew Vesaithe's had been flitting between Roy and Sagra in fixed frustration all night and his own were trained on Vel, as always. "Knowing they're all going to..."

Tempest hadn't thought he was owed a secret, though he had already exposed his own to Vesaithe---his identity, their past connection. Something that meant nothing to either of them anymore.

"A meaningless question," Vesaithe had answered. "I already gave 'that' up." )

That conversation floats at the forefront of his mind now. It had ended very quickly after that.

"You know, I've been thinking about the nature of sacrifice." He doesn't have to look at Vel to know what kind of look his friend must be sending him, so he carries on, chuckling. "You're giving me a look, I can tell. You don't need to. I just wanted to ask you something."

He keeps his eyes on the horizon as he speaks. Hanazira beckons from across the water, with its assassins and its beast and its unfinished business. He doubts, between them, that he's the only one with things to resolve there.

"If the one thing you've wanted most was within your reach, but you had to willingly sacrifice everything else you've ever been---not have it taken from you, but give it willingly... Would you do it?"

He allows the question to hang in the air with the soft sound of the tide and the few seabirds who hadn't settled to sleep. There was probably a time where he knew what his own answer would have been, but he wonders if he's the same person who would have answered it.

settings. / accepting.

#muse: tempest #revenanthearts

1 note · View note

3rdgymbros · 2 years

Text

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐈 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬.

— pairing; bonten! sano manjirou x reader

— summary; in which you mistake the leader of bonten for a homeless man, and offer him money

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my content and wish to support me. reblogs are appreciated !!

❋ Of course, it would rain on the day of your job interview.

❋ A loud retort of thunder brings the rain pouring down, sending people into a panic. Umbrellas go up in the crowd, and those without them hastily find shelter in shops or quicken their pace to get out of the rain.

❋ You have a pocket umbrella in your bag, but it’s completely forgotten in your panicked haste to escape the thunder and the drizzle.

❋ You end up taking shelter in an ornate parapet with a young man about your age, as you try to brush droplets of rain from your clothes and face. He spares you only an indifferent passing glance, but the bleakness in his eyes frightens you. You’ve never seen anyone look so desolate, so utterly broken. It’s almost if there’s no life in him. He looks as grey as death with deep shadows etched upon the angles and planes of his breath-taking face.

❋ You stand beside him in silence, sensing that he probably isn’t one for small talk. Instead, you check the weather reports on your phone, relieved to find out that this is just a passing shower. And indeed, the sudden downpour already seems to be lightening into a drizzle.

❋ “Here, take this.” You unzip your bag and push your umbrella towards him. And though he takes it from you, his eyes remain as blank as ever. “It’s fine, I’ll be out of the rain in a bit!”

❋ You fumble with your purse, and withdraw a thin fold of cash, which is also pressed into his hands. This time, his mask slips for just a second. But as soon as the dull surprise registers in his face, it’s gone, sealed away behind cold grey eyes and an expression carved from marble. “You should also probably buy something nice to eat or find a place to stay for the night.”

❋ It’s with a last smile and a quick wave that you’re on your way. The icy rain trickles down the back of your scarfless neck, but the discomfort lasts for only a short time. You soon duck into a twenty-story office building, a sleek spire of gleaming grey that pierces the clouds.

❋ The interior is just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminium security desk and turnstiles. A very pretty receptionist shows you into a spacious glass-walled meeting room furnished with a spacious table of dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs.

❋ The meeting room boasts floor-to-ceiling views of the impressive Tokyo skyline, as you take a seat, you find yourself nearly wilting in relief that you’ve managed to arrive on time. You have no idea what Bonten will do to late-comers, but considering your first encounter with them . . . You have a vague inkling that it can’t be anything good.

❋ The man who enters the room introduces himself as Takeomi Akashi. He’s tall, and dressed in a fine grey suit, a pink shirt and a maroon tie. His hair is slicked back, away from his face, and his eyes almost seem to be assessing you with a shrewd gaze. An unlit cigarette dangles between his lips.

❋ He pages through your resume and must like what he sees, for he nods approvingly and almost smiles at you. “Ordinarily, you would be interviewed by someone else, but you came . . . Highly recommended from Ran and Rindou.”

❋ Ah. Right. How could you forget the day those two barged into your clinic at closing time, held you at gunpoint, and demanded that you treat a pink-haired co-worker of theirs? And then proceeded to offer you a job as Bonten’s doctor before the blood had so much as dried upon your latex gloves.

❋ You grimace. “Thanks?”

❋ Akashi, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the expression on your face, but instead begins asking you questions, ones you’re sure would never be asked in a normal job interview. What benefits can you bring to the organization? Have you ever fired a gun? Have you ever thought about killing someone?

❋ And so it goes. You answer the questions as best as you can, and you think that you’ve been sitting with Akashi for about ten minutes when the door to the conference room opens, and the man from the bus stop strides into the room.

❋ You do a double take, but the man doesn’t even give you a second glance as he breezes by you and conducts a hushed conversation with Akashi. You hastily glance out the window and try to lose yourself in the stunning views, trying to give them some semblance of privacy. The conversation is brief, and is over as suddenly as it had begun. The man from the bus stop leaves, and it’s just you and Akashi once again.

❋ “Congratulations.” Akashi says, and the frown on his face smoothens out. “Welcome to Bonten.”

❋ You have no doubt in your mind that the man from the bus stop had come in to pull some strings, and you frown, still confused. You crane your neck, trying unsuccessfully to catch a last glimpse of the stranger. “Uh, can he do that?”

❋ “Hire you?” At your nod, Akashi says, “He’s our boss. Didn’t you know that?”

❋ Oh. Oh no.

❋ What have you done?

#bonten imagines #bonten headcanons #bonten mikey #sano manjiro #sano majiro x reader #manjiro sano #mikey sano #mikey sano x reader #mikey sano imagines #sano manjiro headcanons #mikey sano headcanons #tokyo revengers reader inserts #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers reader insert #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revengers x you #♥ || sam writes

691 notes · View notes

genshin-whumpact · 3 years

Note

Can I ask Signora kidnaps the traveler thank you

Sure thing, Anon!

Also you didn’t specify the traveler’s gender so I’m going with ma boi Aether lol

Disclaimer: MiHoYo is the owner of Genshin Impact and it’s characters.

Content Warning: the following includes kidnapping, non-sexual bondage/restraints, and mildly creepy behavior. Please read on at your own discretion.

“The absence of something so valuable should put you in your place.”

Aether tried to rip his arms away from the guards holding him back as he glared at the woman, Signora, heart pounding with both panic and rage. The glowing item in her hand akin to a chess piece—she had called it a ‘gnosis’—was flickering rapidly, as if it was sensing a divide between itself and the place it was unwillingly drawn from. She was turning it slowly in her hand, holding it up to the light, casually inspecting its appearance as if the body she had stolen it from wasn’t lying helplessly at her feet.

Venti.

The short, slender bard wasn’t moving, or even breathing from as much as Aether could see. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth slightly agape as he lay unconscious on the ground. The image of the woman slamming her foot into his chest and sending him flying into the Cathedral steps kept replaying in his mind on a torturous loop. Aether glanced anxiously towards the Cathedral, towards the statue’s plaza, towards anywhere as he writhed in his captors’ grip, begging silently for someone to come quickly and rescue his friend. He didn’t know what to do. Signora was right next to Venti; she could do whatever she wanted to him, and Aether was defenseless to stop her.

“Venti!” He shouted, pulling with even more vigor. The agents fingers dug into his flesh, and he was confident that he would have bruises on his arms before this was over. “Let me go! What did you do to him? What did you—Ugh, get OFF of me!”

The sounds of his struggling seemed to catch her attention. She pocketed the gnosis, turning to Aether and locking eyes with him. Her gaze was the color of ice, and just as cold and threatening. He stopped fighting the agents for a moment—not by choice, but because he suddenly felt cold fear rise in his chest. He prayed silently to whoever was listening to send help, and send it fast.

“And what do we have here?”

Signora asked in an arrogant, silvery voice, stepping over Venti’s body carelessly. The traveler began to pull against the guards again, twisting in their grip as she made her way in his direction. The heel of a boot slammed into his back, and he fell to his knees with a strained grunt as the woman bent down to look at him.

“Ah, yes...” A hand snatched him upright by his collar, and he was forced to stare directly into the frosty glare of the harbinger. “You’re the Hero, the mysterious traveler who conquered Storm Terror.” A cruel, condescending chuckle escaped from Signora’s lips.

“Mondstadt has a bad habit of putting their faith in little boys.”

Aether would have been willing to argue that neither he nor Venti were anywhere close to being ‘little boys’, at least age-wise, but he never got the chance.

“Ordinarily, I would be quite annoyed at this little interruption.” A small smile crept across Signora’s face, one that made Aether feel sick. “But I see you have quite the connection to Barbatos…you’re someone a god holds very dear.”

She leaned in close, much too close. The thick smell of roses caused his head to swim dizzily.

“I think you’ll be of use to me.”

She finally released his collar, letting him fall back against the guards. He felt like he could breathe again, and stopped fighting for a moment to catch his breath. He was tired. He felt weak and helpless against the Fatui, and Venti was still unconscious. He could be hurt, or horrifically injured, or worse. He had to get to him as soon as possible, but he could feel a rising tension as Signora spoke.

“Tie him up and keep him quiet. We’re taking him.”

The alarm hit hit body with so much strength he felt like a wave of icy water had crashed against his nerves. At her sudden command, Aether felt his body moving without a second thought. He refused to let them take him, to keep him from helping Venti. He hurled his leg backwards, slamming his heel somewhere in between one guard’s legs. The agent fell back with a strained gasp as the other one leapt on top of the small blond. By this point Aether was screaming for help, kicking and struggling beneath the man as his arms were tied tightly behind his back. Adrenaline fueled his frantic movement; she was going to take him. He remembered the rumors of what Signora did to her abductees.

“Someone help! Please, help!” He cried, thrashing against the guard. His gaze was fixed on Venti’s unmoving body. Genuine tears of panic were beginning to burn at his eyes. His heart thudded rapidly inside of his chest. “Call the knights! Venti’s hurt! Please, help! Hel—mph!”

A piece of fabric tightened around his face, covering his mouth to muffle his shouts for help.

“My, my, you’re such a fussy little thing, aren’t you?” Signora chuckled. She elegantly brushed a strand of pale hair from her face as the agent forced him to his feet. The traveler continued to yell and scream into the gag, which seemed to amuse the harbinger.

“Ooh, so energetic! How exciting. But save those pretty screams for later, alright?” She cooed, tightly pinching Aether’s cheek. “I have big plans for you.”

Aether’s eyes widened with fear, but before he could utter another muffled cry, he was thrown over the agent’s shoulder as the Fatui began their retreat from Mondstadt.

#genshin #genshin whump #genshinblr #la signora #aether #male traveler #kidnapping tw #restraints tw #whump writing #venti #mentions of violence #implied torture

47 notes · View notes

hoe-doroki · 4 years

Note

Hi there! I don't think I've requested anything from you before ( my memory is awful though)

Anyhow I was wondering if I could get some Izuku smut with a female reader.

The scene is youre out with your girls, ( mina, hagakure, Momo) at the club having a good time. You see this green eyed stranger looking at you across the room.

His boys hype him up to ask you to dance and it ends up turning into following him back home ( I LIVE for soft dom! Deku!)

Thanks for taking the time to read and answer this!

Ugh, sorry this took so long, nonnie! You sent this in just as I was being eaten alive by a fic that’s wayyyyy longer than it needs to be. But I’m here now and you said the magic words: soft dom. Yesssss. I went college!AU for this and I hate clubs (drinking, dancing, flirting, no thanks) so I projected that on the reader a bit. Oopsie! It was hard to keep Izuku in character for this, but I did my best. Anyway, hope you like!

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, Kaminari and M*neta leering, spanking, slight exhibitionism, alcohol (not drunk sex, though), dirty talk

rating: explicit, 18+

wc: 5k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Sometimes people looked at you, Mina, Momo, and Tooru and wondered how you were friends. People who had only known each of you as you were in college could never put it together. But the answer was simple: you’d been friends since high school. You were rapidly becoming different people, but those three were still your girls through and through.

That was how you, Mina, Tooru, and Momo ended up in the club that day. Two friends who really wanted to go—Mina and Tooru—and two friends who really didn’t—you and Momo. These things happen when you become friends years before you could be allowed in any club. Your college friends never would have invited you on an excursion like this—hell, none of them would ever be seen at a club either. But when Mina and Tooru showed up at your door begging you to go out and experience your twenties, you couldn’t say no. Now you were spilling out of the car Mina had called and walking on high heeled booties to a club you’d heard of but never been to.

“Obviously you actually wanted to go, Momo, otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing a top like that.”

Tooru wasn’t hiding the fact that she was ogling Momo’s very prominently displayed chest, all but bursting out of the deep v-neck she had paired with a short skirt.

“It’s only sensible for me to wear a top like this,” Momo said, her voice firm despite awkward fidgets to put her breasts a little more away. “Places like these are so hot that a shirt with a higher neckline would be soaked with cleavage sweat in a minute.”

“Mhmm, right,” Tooru said, flouncing away in her own crop top and shorts, eager to enter the club.

You’d gone simple, just tossing on a bodycon dress that you’d ordinarily pair with a sweater and tights, but that Mina had convinced you to wear on its own tonight. You crossed your arms, the chill of the evening seeping past the thin fabric even just in the short time it took to get from the heated car to the sweaty bar.

Tooru had run to the door and was nearly bouncing, waiting for the rest of you to catch up. Mina jogged over to her, looking the coolest of all of you in her black mesh crop top with nothing but a bra underneath and shorts that had the lacy scalloped hem of her underwear peaking out the top of. You hurried after them, just eager to get out of the cold. Tooru whipped the door open and the three of you piled in all at once, flashed your IDs, and then you were in.

The sound of the bass had thrummed loudly even outside, but once inside, your senses were overloaded. The music was deafening, the smell of alcohol bitter and heady, and the heat of sweaty bodies oppressive as Mina grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the crowd.

Even with Mina clearing the way, you had to elbow your way to the bar. This was the easiest part of the night—a task, something to do aside from trying and failing to work up the nerve to dance. Over the music, you yelled, “Whiskey ginger, well is fine,” to the bartender and turned to your girlfriends.

Mina and Tooru were already swinging their hips as they waited for their drinks, shimmying against each other to the beat. You and Momo were a little stiffer, not quite having the nerve or confidence to let your bodies be taken by the music.

“Girl’s night!” Mina cheered once everyone had a drink in hand. Glasses clinked and Tooru took a healthy gulp of her drink

“Can’t dance if you’re worried about spilling your drink,” Tooru said.

“Not with that attitude!” Mina said. She thrust her beer bottle in the air and then grabbed Tooru’s hand and the two of them stumbled into the mass of writhing bodies.

“You gonna follow them?” Momo asked, chewing on the straw of her drink.

“Not yet.” You had to shuffle away from the bar to make room for other patrons, moving to lean against one of the walls. “Maybe a bit of liquid courage.”

“It probably would have been wiser to do shots.”

You looked around, noticing how many people were already sending glances Momo’s way. You could draw direct lines all around the room between men’s leering eyes and Momo’s partially exposed chest, already beginning to glisten with sweat. You pursed your lips. It was nice to have Momo around as a fellow shy dancer, but it was discouraging to always be the one next to the prettiest girl in the room. People were looking right through you.

“You’ll probably get some sent your way soon enough,” you muttered.

“What?” Momo asked, her voice loud over the music.

“Nothing!” you replied. You squeezed the lime wedge into your drink and swirled it, drinking thirstily.

You hoped for one of two things. For the night to pass by quickly or for, unlikely though it was, something exciting to happen. Bars and clubs were predictable. Just once, you wanted to be surprised.

“Woah, look at her.”

Midoriya tried and failed to follow his friend’s gaze into one of the dark corners of the bar. Mineta was a good foot shorter than Midoriya, so it was hard to tell exactly where his line of sight was taking him. Kaminari seemed to hone in right away, though, pointing eagerly at the wall near the bar.

“Good find, Mineta,” Kaminari said. “Damn she’s hot.”

Midoriya followed Kaminari’s finger and noticed two girls huddled close together, sipping their drinks and observing the crowd, occasionally leaning over to talk to each other. One was dressed in a top and skirt and the other in a tight dress. The second girl’s hips were moving to the beat just slightly, as though she might not even know herself that she was doing it. She laughed at something her friend said, smile opening wide and fearlessly.

“Wow,” Midoriya said, eyes locked on her.

“What, did Mineta finally find a girl to meet your ridiculously high standards?” Kaminari asked, clapping Midoriya on the back.

“Maybe,” Midoriya murmured, watching as she waved to some other girls in the crowd.

“About time,” Mineta said. “I’ve never seen more perfect tits in my life.”

That snapped Midoriya out of his focus and he looked down at his friend, whose eyes were unblinking, scarily locked straight ahead. “What?”

“That plunging neckline perfectly showing what it would look like if I had my hands on either side of them,” he continued, his voice distant. Luckily, Kaminari smacked him upside the head.

“If you’re saying it loud enough to be heard over the music, you’re saying it too loud,” Kaminari chastised. “Besides, if Midoriya finally found a girl he likes, you should give him first dibs.”

“What?” Mineta asked, turning towards Kaminari, outraged.

“Wait, wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Midoriya said, waving his hands in front of him before his friends could have it out. “The girl I was looking at isn’t wearing a plunging neckline. Look there.”

Midoriya pointed in your direction as subtly as he could, smiling as he caught another glimpse of your beautiful laugh.

“Oh, her friend,” Mineta said.

“Yeah, that tracks,” Kaminari added, looking between Midoriya and you. “Well, you should go for it, man! Try your luck!”

Midoriya looked at Kaminari, brows furrowed. “Did you guys invite me just to get me laid or something?”

“Of course not,” Mineta said. “Your innocent face makes us look less like two fuckboys and the girls will trust us more. You’re our cover.”

“Purely selfish reasons then, okay,” Midoriya muttered. “Okay, yeah, I’ll go talk to her.”

“Do it!” Kaminari said, giving you a thumbs up. He kicked the back of Midoriya’s calf and sent him tumbling into the crowd. Amidst a song of sorrys, Midoriya made his uncertain way toward you.

Three men had already tried their luck with Momo in as many songs. She’d kindly refused each advance—no level of drunkenness had ever led Momo to so much as a sloppy makeout and you weren’t sure how many times hell would have to freeze over for that to change. You joked about each of the guys and their sad pick-up attempts, but, still, it had you feeling low. None of the guys even pretended to be interested in you. They went straight for Momo, trying their darndest to keep their eyes on hers and not drift south.

“Hello, uh, miss…”

You nearly rolled your eyes as you looked up from your drink, half gone already, to find another sucker that Momo would have to reject. As soon as your eyes landed on him, you were struck by how different this one was from the others. He didn’t look like the usual meathead dude-bro who swung by. He had a round face and freckles smattered under the roundest green eyes you’d ever seen. He looked sheepish already, anticipating the rejection he’d get from talking to a girl so far out of his league.

You felt the jolt of an elbow in your ribs and looked at Momo who was giving you intense eyes, eyebrows raised. She looked at you and then at the boy with the green hair, tilting her head, and suddenly you realized that you were “miss.”

“Oh, hello,” you said, unable to hide the confusion on your face.

“I’m Izuku,” the man said, smiling softly at you. “Would you, um, care to dance?”

You smiled. It sounded like this boy was expecting a waltz instead of the hips that were grinding against each other in the middle of this dance floor.

“I’m… not sure,” you said, so unfamiliar with the procedure here that you were floundering. “You see, I don’t really dance.”

The boy breathed out what looked to be a sigh of relief and you suddenly noticed the muscles bulging under his t-shirt. His cute, innocent face was hiding a man who was seriously stacked. “The truth is, I don’t usually dance either. I was pressured into coming here by some friends.”

You looked over at Momo. “We know the feeling.”

“Ah, I’m so sorry, I didn’t get your names,” Izuku said, suddenly looking between the two of you.

Momo looked at you for a second then said, “I’m Momo and this is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Izuku.”

“You as well,” Izuku said to Momo before turning back to you. “You know, the thing about dancing is that if you just start and let go of everything, it can actually be kind of fun.”

This boy sounded just like Mina, the same argument she made every time she dragged you and Momo to one of these things. Sometimes you managed to let your guard down enough to enjoy it, sometimes not.

“It’s also more fun with someone else.”

Izuku was looking at you hopefully, and that just made his eyes even wider, such a dark forest green in the dim light of the club. You could feel yourself being pulled to him, like a string between you growing taut when Momo put a hand on your arm. “I’ll hold your drink and just come back when you want it, okay?”

Momo was giving you an intent gaze and you knew she was offering you an out. Try dancing with the boy and, if it wasn’t turning out well, say that you needed to go back to your friend. Easy.

“Okay,” you said, taking one more sip before handing your drink off to her. Then you extended you hand toward Izuku, who took it with his broadest smile yet, and led you into the mosh pit.

There was no sign of Mina or Tooru anywhere, haven fallen invisible in the throng of people. So it was just you and Izuku and a hundred strangers, all feeling the music sync with their heartbeats and then their hips, sending them moving.

You started facing each other, your hips moving from side to side, the rhythm slowly moving up so that your shoulders were shimmying, head bobbing. Izuku grinned, bopping along excitedly. He wasn’t a smooth dancer, not cool or rhythmic, but he didn’t seem to care. He put his hands lightly on your hips, encouraging you to move a little more. Asking you to let go.

You let your hips follow his touch and laughed when he rocked you from side to side, totally out of line with anything that might be sensual or suggestive. It was silly and you realized that maybe you’d been putting too much pressure to look a certain way, to be a certain kind of person. Music was for everyone, dancing was for everyone. Izuku seemed to know that already.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, giving yourself into the joy as the two of you rocked, free of expectation or anyone else’s experience. Before you knew it, the music had changed, the next song slightly slower, and your motions smoothed out to match. Izuku slid one of his hands back into yours and raised it over your head, initiating a turn. You went along and the next thing you knew, your back was pressed against his muscular chest, hips moving in tandem.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm.”

You could feel all corners of him pressed against you and you couldn’t help but push back into him. His chest was broader than it seemed, and you could feel the crease of his pecs, of his abs. His hands were on your hips, strong arms brushing your sides. You brought one hand up to touch his bare bicep, feeling how hard it was even unflexed.

Suddenly, you could feel Izuku’s breath on your jaw, the flutter of his lips brushing against the sensitive skin. You tilted your head, exposing the long column of your neck to him. He took that as invitation enough and pressed a kiss to it. He kissed up to your jawline and just behind your ear. He gave the lightest of sucks before you pulled away and offered him your mouth.

He took it eagerly, your lips moving at the same pace as your gyrating hips. You lost yourself in the feeling, the anonymity of kissing, hidden in a crowd of people. The rhythmic dance of your hips lulling you into a kind of easy complacency as you felt Izuku’s hand on the back of your neck, keeping your lips against his. The other one crept forward on your thigh, awfully close to your center, to the hem of your too-short skirt. He never breached either line, though. Just kept his hand there, suggesting where it could go.

“Come home with me,” you whispered when you separated for breath.

“What?” Izuku asked, face flushed, voice just carrying over the music.

You twisted back around so that you were face to face so that you could press your lips right up against his ear. “Come home with me, Izuku.”

You called for a car and sent Momo a text saying that you were going home. You hoped that Momo, Mina, and Tooru wouldn’t want to come back to your shared home anytime soon—Momo was smart enough to figure that out herself.

Twenty minutes later and you were home, you were horny, and you had someone willing and able to solve that.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Izuku asked while you unlocked the door and ushered him in, kicking off your shoes as quickly as you could.

“Half a drink,” you said quickly. “You?”

“None.”

“Perfect,” you said, and you wrapped your arms around him once again, pulling him in for a kiss.

Izuku did you one better, grabbing hold of your thighs and picking you up like you weighed nothing. Your dress rose up over your hips and your center fell right against his crotch, grinding into it.

You were ready to give directions to your room, but Izuku didn’t carry you further than the living room before slamming your back against a wall and pressing his hips into yours. You gasped at the impact, but it was nothing painful—just surprising. Izuku dug his fingers into your thighs and said, “You seemed awfully eager for this. Desperate enough to handle a little roughness, princess? Or did you think this was gonna be easy?”

The epithet of princess send your heart plunging to your core, heat spreading throughout you. His voice was low, much lower than it had been at the club and your thighs clenched around him. “I thought…maybe…”

He’d been so sweet at the club, shy almost. You tasted his tongue on yours and he hadn’t been lying—no alcohol. The only taste passing between the two of you was the tang from your whiskey ginger. But now his grip on you and the low growl in his voice was telling you another story.

“Do you wanna be rough or do you wanna be a little princess? Or maybe both?”

“Both,” you keened desperately, breathlessly.

“I shoulda known, you grinding down on my cock like that,” he said, nibbling your exposed neck. “Can’t wait for me to fuck you, can you?”

He pulled back so you slid an inch down the wall, but his grip was tight enough to keep you from falling any further. Then his hips slammed back into yours, as though you were fucking already.

“Shit,” you whispered as he bit down on your collarbone.

“If you’re good, I’ll give you what you want,” he said. “If you’re not, it’s going to be a very long night.”

That half threat was almost enough to trigger your backtalk, see exactly what he had in mind to turn this night into a long one. But, by the same coin, you wanted to see what he had planned already.

“I’m good,” you whimpered.

“You are?” Izuku asked. “Prove it.”

He pressed his chest into yours, and you felt your breasts flatten against his pecs, your ribs trapped from a deep breath by his thick forearms.

“Strip and suck my cock.”

You unwrapped your legs from his waist and he released you to the ground. Your dress was stretchy and off in an instant, thrown to the floor, panties soon to follow. Then you were on your knees undoing his dark jeans and pulling out his long, plump cock.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, stroking your hair.

Preening at the praise, you wrapped your lips around your teeth, and swallowed him as far as you could go in one go. You wanted to be a good girl, after all.

“Shit,” Izuku said, keeping a light grip on the back of your head, but letting you do what you want, setting your own pace. You wasted no time with playful licks and kisses, immediately bobbing your head up and down and stroking the rest with your hand.

The noises that Izuku made, little huffs and whines, were cute, showing glimpses of the shy boy who had approached you at the club. He took off his shirt and you could see his abs in all their glory, even better than you’d imagined. As you sucked him off, you brought a hand up to the ridges of his lower abs and rubbed lightly, enjoying the hard muscle. After a trip down to his balls, sucking one into his mouth and you kept up your firm strokes, Izuku pulled you off, breathing heavily.

“That’s good. You’ve proven that you’re a good girl, princess.”

“I did?” you asked shyly, giving his cock a long lick just to make sure.

“Yes,” Izuku shuddered. “Stand against the wall.”

“Here?” you asked.

There were windows all over your living room, giving a clear view to the street and, more importantly, from the street into your apartment. More than that, there was no telling when your housemates would get home and, even if they knew you’d brought a boy home, they’d hardly expect him to be fucking you in the living room.

“Was I unclear, princess?”

“No,” you said, and you went to stand facing the wall. Izuku came up behind you and knocked your legs further apart, and then reached in front of you, rubbing two fingers from your slit up to your clit in a couple firm strokes. You gasped, your head falling forward, but before you could get used to the rough touch, he was gone.

“Where do you keep your condoms?” he asked casually.

“In my nightstand,” you said, moving to stand straight. He pushed your hands back against the wall, warning you not to move.

“Which room is yours?”

“The far one on the left,” you said, only turning your head to look over your shoulder.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t move.”

Then he was gone, leaving you naked, legs spread in your living room. You could feel how drenched you were—Izuku had taken a whole globule of your wetness and spread it all over your pussy. Now, standing spread, you could feel the cold air from the room on you when all you wanted was heat.

Izuku took his time in coming back, slow footfalls making their way back to the living room. You saw a box of condoms drop on the couch next to you and heard the telltale sound of one of the packages being ripped open. The next thing you knew, Izuku’s hands were on your hips, just like at the club, only now his cock was free, sliding in the slick of your pussy.

You gasped, pushing harder against the wall and thrusting your ass back toward Izuku. “Please,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you don’t have to ask,” Izuku said casually. “I know exactly what your slutty pussy wants. I can feel it dripping all over my cock. And you’ve been very good, princess, but that doesn’t mean that you’re in charge. Understand?”

“Yes, Izuku.”

You were pushed forward by the sudden force of a slap against your ass, then Izuku’s chest pressing firmly back into yours, his teeth by your ear. “Yes, who?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

“That’s better.”

He went back to thrusting, one of his hands snaking around your front, through your curls to spread your lips. Your puffy clit was exposed to the air and Izuku’s fingers spreading the skin provided just the slightest bit of pressure, but not nearly enough. You whined, bending more into him, aching for more contact than the occasional brush of his cock skating across your clit. But you wanted to be a good girl too.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Izuku said, his thrusts coming to a stop as the head of his cock butterflied your opening. “You’ve been very patient. Are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed.

You groaned in relief as he split you open, sinking into you just as he pulled his fingers in a hard, slow stroke up your clit.

“You like that, princess?” Izuku asked, making his thrusts slow and deep, his finger’s strokes on your clit languid and intentional.

“Yes,” you moaned, rocking your weight back onto your heels as you met Izuku’s every plunge.

“You feel so good,” Izuku said, his voice becoming softer and more breathy as he got lost in the feel of you. His right hand began spinning circles on your clit, the left wrapped around your middle, fingertips rubbing almost tenderly along your side.

You could only pant, leaning your head back on his shoulder as Izuku’s thrusts sped up, your climax rising within you. “Fuck,” you murmured as his left hand fell to your hip, changing the angle so that he was now pounding your g-spot with every go. He continued like that for a minute, each hit bringing you higher and higher until he suddenly stopped.

“What?” you asked, and the next thing you knew, you were being pushed to the arm of your couch, a hand to the small of your back pressing your spine parallel to the floor, and—before you knew what was happening—he was back in you, going full speed.

You gasped, your head falling down, nipples rubbing against the fabric of the couch as your tits were sent swinging. That sensation caught you, sending fresh sparks through you.

“Are you close, Princess?” Izuku breathed, his quick thrusts breaking his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Touch yourself, then.”

You followed his instruction immediately, snaking your hand down to your clit and rubbing it with your practiced touch. The feeling of your cold fingers against your scorching clit, Izuku’s hot cock railing in and out of you, and the occasional spark of your nipples rubbing against the couch had you on the edge of your peak in no time.

“You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum on my cock?”

“Yes,” you whispered, the heat in your stomach burning, almost unbearable as you reached your cusp.

“I’m close too, Y/N,” Izuku whispered. “God, you’re so perfect.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto your shoulder just as you shattered around him, keening as you rubbed yourself through your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he said, and you felt his thrusts become jagged, barely leaving you every time before plunging balls deep back into you. He shuddered and, before long, he finished too, taking slow, easy thrusts in and out of you before falling fully on your back, wrapping his arms around your middle.

He stayed there for just a moment before pulling out, taking off his condom and knotting it. You’d collapsed onto the arm of your sofa, face falling down the side as you tried to get your breath back under you, the feeling back into your legs.

“Was that too much?” Izuku asked, his voice soft and gentle again as he came in front of you, gently putting his fingers under your chin to bring your face back to him.

“No, that was amazing,” you said.

Izuku smiled and brought your lips to his for a quick kiss. “I’m glad. Where do you keep your water glasses?”

“Cabinet above the sink.”

“Great.”

Izuku gave you another kiss, this time on the cheek, and then he was gone. You stayed still for a few more moments, your breath back in both hands, the heat seeping from your face slowly but steadily. You pressed yourself up, curling your spine like a cat to fight against the deep sway you’d had against the couch and the wall and gave a little shimmy to work out the kinks. You took a quick trip to the bathroom, then you went around and scooped up all the pieces of clothing that had been thrown hither and yon and carted them back to your room. You’d just flipped on the light switch and dropped them in a pile on the floor when Izuku came back with a glass of water and a wash cloth.

“You got up,” he said.

“I just didn’t want my roommates to get home to find me fucked out against the couch,” you said with a smile, taking the glass he handed to you. “We have house rules.”

“That’s fair,” Izuku said as you took a glug of water. “Lie back on the bed.”

His voice was far less demanding than before, but you went along anyway. You set the water glass on the nightstand and then lay down, allowing Izuku to spread your legs. Some of the old heat returned to your face and you looked away from him as he took the washcloth to your center.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said.

“It’s just different,” you squeaked. “After we’re done…In the full light and you’re just down there looking at me.”

“It’s only for a moment longer,” Izuku said as he cleaned you. True to his word, he took the washcloth away after a moment, pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

The washcloth was added to the stack of clothes on the floor, and then Izuku was back in front of you, running his fingers lightly along the outside of your thigh.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said softly.

You sat up, putting a hand on his arm. “Stay.”

“Can I?”

His eyes were wide and innocent, like he hadn’t just fucked you raw in plain sight of the neighbors. Like he hadn’t spanked you and called you princess.

“Of course,” you said.

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Cuddling is kind of my favorite part.”

“Is it, now?”

“I’ll prove it,” Izuku said, flipping off the light and climbing into bed behind you as you settled in. Then he had you wrapped tight in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh into your neck and said, “It’s just the best.”

“It kind of is,” you said, snuggling back against him.

There were a few more murmurs shared between you two but, slowly, the words fell loose, eyes falling closed. Your breathing evened out, and then there was nothing but Izuku’s arms and breath around yours.

“There’s a box of condoms on the couch!” you heard Mina screech a couple hours later, jolting you out of your deep sleep. You felt Izuku’s arms tighten protectively around you as he too let out a sharp intake of breath. “Our girl fucked!”

“Ooh, what a surprise!” Tooru cheered.

“Out here?” you heard Momo groan, her voice much more tired than Mina’s or Tooru’s.

“Dammit,” you whispered, and Izuku giggled behind you.

“That was my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, just go back to sleep,” you said. “If we wake up early, we can sneak you out before any of them are up.”

“So long as I get to see you again,” Izuku murmured, nuzzling back into your shoulder.

Your chest warmed and you pulled Izuku’s arms closer against you, gripping them tightly before your hold fell lax in sleep. Tooru was right—you’d gotten the surprise you’d wanted.

“Definitely.”

#ask ana #deku smut #izuku midoriya smut #not/sfw #mha smut #bnha smut

634 notes · View notes

beccascribbles · 4 years

Note

hi! can i ask for a scenario where ushijima, tsukki, kenma said something maybe out of the line that hurt your feelings and you just give them the silent treatment or become distant?? then like how they'd react to it and stuff :) thank you vm, have a good day 🙈

a/n - sorry this took me so long to write (and post). anyway, i hope you enjoy it. it was my first time writing for kenma so i'm not sure if i portrayed him right but let me know what you think!

"you're acting like a child," he sighs, pushing you away from him. your arms fall to your sides, missing the feeling of ushijima's warm body. "stop being so clingy. it's annoying"

you knew he was honest, but there is a time and a place for him to voice his opinion on your affection, and in front of his friends was not one of them

all you had wanted to do was give him a hug in greeting. yes, you may have stayed attached to him longer than was necessary but you had barely seen him all day

"okay," you say, turning on your heel and walking away. you don't even bother saying goodbye, too hurt and annoyed to bother

ushijima's brows furrow in confusion as he watches you walk away. tendou is watching the scene with wide eyes, fighting the urge to snicker

"did i do something wrong?" ushijima questions, staring after your receding figure. tendou finally does let out a snort, quickly slapping his hands over his mouth when ushijima turns to look at him

it is semi who gives ushijima's shoulder a squeeze in reassurance, though his eyes hold slight judgement as he says, "you hurt their feelings because you were being too blunt. you should probably apologise"

ushijima nods and then follows after your figure, his strides lengthening to catch up with you

his hand, warm and large, encloses around your own as he catches up to you, matching your pace

you remain silent, choosing to ignore his presence beside you

the silence settles between you, heavy and unwanted. though his mouth opens to form words, he can't bring himself to say anything. maybe it's his stubbornness, but he can't see how his words may have hurt you when they were the truth

"now who's being clingy?" you mumble angrily, yanking your hand from his grip and increasing your pace. your arms cross over your chest so he can't take your hand again. this increase in pace doesn't bother him and he easily matches it

he is persistent, irritatingly so. when he follows you into your room, you almost snap. instead, you silently fume, collapsing onto your bed and turning away from him. he watches your figure, expression holding slight confusion

"why are you ignoring me?"

you stay silent, stubbornly staring at the wall instead of him. when the mattress dips slightly under his weight, you scoot closer to the wall. his frown deepens

"what did i do wrong?" he questions, and you let out a sigh at how oblivious he is. "i was just being honest..."

your scowl deepens, especially when you feel him rest his hand on your back soothingly, rubbing circles into it. it is ushijima's turn to sigh as he looks at you

"i'm sorry if my words hurt you," he admits, the words causing you to turn slightly to look at him. his expression is as stoic as usual, though his eyes soften when they meet yours

"i just wish you had more of a filter sometimes, toshi," you explain, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. you hug your knees to your chest, head tilting to look at him. "i know you tend to say what you're thinking but i sometimes wonder if you understand how what you say can effect other people. you called me a child, clingly, annoying. that's hurtful, toshi. you probably didn't mean it like that but you did hurt my feelings. i hadn't seen you all day and, when i hugged you, you told me that?"

"i'm sorry," he says again, a slight frown to his face as he considers your words. his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his body. "i'll try to think about my words before i say them from now on"

he hugs you tight, and you relax in his hold, savouring the closeness

it's normal for him to send a teasing remark your way, just as it's normal for you to return the favour

however, today, his words hit a little too close to home, targeting an insecurity he wasn't aware of

you were frowning down at the maths sheet in front of you, brows furrowed as you struggled to work out the problems

you never usually felt inferior in terms of academics, but, right now, as you struggled to work out what was relatively simple maths, it started to grate at you

tsukishima wasn't really helping the issue. he seemed oblivious to your stressing, leaning back in his chair as he nodded his head along to the music

his eyes slid over to you, to your figure scribbling away on the paper. he pulled his headphones off, shooting you a teasing grin (though this went unnoticed by you)

his voice, light and teasing, cut through your focus, the words immediately putting you on edge

"if you focus any harder, you're going to be even more stupid than you already are"

your lips pursed but he went on, oblivious to your discomfort

"i can actually see the last bits of your intelligence leaving yout skull." this was punctuated by his finger giving your forehead a poke

you flinched away from him, a scowl lining your features. mumbling under your breath a number of unflattering things, you gathered your work and shoved it into your bag

"where are you going?" he asked, sitting up straighter in his chair, eyes filled with confusion and a bit of concern

you ignored him, pushing open the classroom door, deciding to head to the library to get away from him

for the rest of the day, tsukishima's attempts to speak to you were met with stony silence

so, naturally, he got annoyed, pissed off, and decide to ignore you to

it got to the point where both of you were simply staring through the other as if they weren't there when in a group situation, which was awkward for everyone involved

it was kageyama who told you to get your shit together, while hinata and yamaguchi could only agree

"i will when he apologises for being a dick," you said to kageyama, while tsukishima's eyes narrowed into a glare

"what the fuck," he snapped. "you've been giving me the cold shoulder all day and it's somehow my fault? bullshit"

you spun to face him, arms crossing over your chest. you spat, "you called me stupid when i was stressing over my math work. was i supposed to say thanks? fine. thank you, kei, that was really fucking helpful"

"what?" he blinked, looking at you im confusion. yes, he had teased you. but, he assumed you would know that he had been joking. if he had thought you were struggling, he would of helped you

as this was happening, your friends had edged away to give you some privacy. this was why tsukishima felt fine in admitting this to you

"if i thought you were struggling, you know i would have helped you." his hand reached out to take your hand, finger stroking your knuckles as his eyes met yours

you let out a frustrated sigh, your resolve crumbling. "i know... sorry for being a bit of a brat about it. i should've just told you that you had hurt me"

"yeah, you should've," he teased, pulling you closer to him. his lips pressed against your forehead in apology for getting annoyed at you in. "but, it's fine"

when you came over that weekend, he was busy gaming, like he usually was

ordinarily, when you walked through the door, he would start to wrap up the game, saying goodbye to who he was in the call with

today, however, was slightly different

he was playing a particularly difficult story game, which he had been struggling to complete all week (his choices, much to his frustration, kept getting the character killed)

therefore, you could understand why he was engrossed enough to only give you a simple greeting, a nod of the head

expecting him to only take an hour at maximum (you were content to just be in his company), you relaxed on the bed and pulled out your phone. two hours later, he had still not said a word to you

you sat up on the bed, moving towards him to drape yourself over the back of his chair, resting your head on his shoulder

"kenma..." you said, drawing out his name slightly, "are you almost finished?"

"urgh, just fuck off," he sighed, shrugging your arms off of him. "can't you see i'm busy?"

"fine," you snapped, stepping away from him and heading towards the bedroom door. you pushed it open and let it slam shut behind him

for a moment, you paused, waiting to see if he would react, maybe realise what he said was wrong. instead, the room remained painfully still

when it became clear he was not coming out to find you, you straightened and walked out of the house

kenma didn't realise you were avoiding him for a couple days until he picked up his phone to see no messages from you

it became clear that you were making every effort to avoid him when you made no effort to see him in person

he got so confused as to why you were clearly distancing yourself from him that he went to kuroo

it was after talking with his friend that he realised he had been insensitive and rude

however, you were hard to get alone, using every excuse avaliable to you to get out of spending time with your boyfriend

the whole thing was frustrating, to say the least. he missed you (though don't expect him to openly admit it)

it took him saying 'i'm sorry' rather loudly in a public area for you to turn to face him

your pause gave him the chance to grab your hand, to keep you anchored to him in case you left again

"sorry, are you?" you asked, head cocked slightly. "not a nice feeling, being ignored, is it?"

you would admit you were being a bit bratty, but, to be fair, he deserved

naturally, kenma didn't bother to reply, but it was fine, the gentle way he squeezed your fingers and the quick kiss he brushed to the side of your head more than enough to convey his apology

#hq requests #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons #hq x reader #hq headcanons #ushijima headcanons #ushijima x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima headcanons #kenma x reader #kenma headcanons

1K notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Oooo it’s my birthday today and I neeeeeed my sweet boys, is it too greedy if I ask for you to write something absolutely adores like you always do. I can wait there’s no rush. It would really make my day a whole lot better

~Notes: HI HI BABY!!! I’m so so fucking sorry this is like two days late 😭😭😭 I am a piece of shit and I had an idea and then I scrapped it and then I came up with this crack shit! But I included singling like you wanted!! And ILU endlessly!!! I hope your birthday was at least filled with sunlight and friends and all the adoration you deserve🎉🎉🎂🥳🎈🎈🎈🎊🎊🥳🎁. And I hope this isn’t a shitty gift!😭😭

Send Me A Prompt<3 | A Reblog is like a hug!!!!

The 4 Times People Suspected About Remus and Sirius, and The One Time They Called It By Name

~I~

Peter notices it first.

He doesn’t know quite what it is, or what it means— Peter doesn’t understand what it entails when he’s watching the way Sirius gently thumbs at a high patch on Remus’s cheek while he’s sleeping on the hospital bed after the first full moon of fourth year, a fraught look in his stormy eyes. Or how Remus’s gaze always search Sirius out first after he’s made a wry comment in the expense of the Slytherins, going alight with the other boy’s laughter. Peter doesn’t comprehend the way it sometimes seems like he’s caught in some sort of static— a negative space that makes him feel out of bounds— when he’s alone with only the pair of them. When they’re all huddled around the common area or their dormitory while James is probably skulking in search of Lily Evans or cajoling the other chasers to have another lap around the court. With Remus lounging on his fourposter, or the sofa, reading one of the infinite books he’s got tucked away in his trunk, and Sirius is quietly sat by his feet, toying with a non-magical contraption he’s found in Muggle London after sneaking out from his ancestral home while his folks were having a row. And Peter is ordinarily just fiddling with a scroll he has to finish for one of the tougher courses from a bit away, intermittently glancing at them side long, just waiting for an excuse to leave the suffocating ambiance that feels like it’s been fitted for just the pair of them and not another soul.

But the most peculiar part about all of this is that Peter is accustomed to feeling like the spare, the cast off who’s clinging to the glimmering forms that are James and Sirius, and their ravenous appetite for any and all attention that’s given over because that’s the sort of boys they are— affluent and prominent and radiating with a sort of spark that’s all there own— the sort of boys that others find doubtless that they are something miraculous. But when Peter’s around just the pair of them, in the corner of the galaxy that the marauders have carved for them to rule like kings— It never feels quite so stilted, so weighty. Sirius and James have a gift of making everyone in the room feel like they’re in on the joke, that they could be showered with that same granger just as long as they play in the tableau. Remus and Sirius together feels the contrary of that, like there’s something pregnant lying between them, waiting to pounce. Like there’s an understanding that no one else gets to glimpse at, and no one else should try. An understanding that’s personal and private and crackling with an energy that is far beyond anything between mere friends, beyond anything Peter could fathom with all his fifteen years.

Idly, over supper after an entire two hours being stuck between that strange tension simmering beneath the surface of Remus and Sirius, Peter wonders for the umpteenth time on whether he should ask James about this development in their small brotherhood, should ask him if he’s detected the difference there. And if he has, Peter will listen to James’s plan to ensure this doesn’t ruin anything. How whatever is brewing under the surface won’t absolutely ruin them.

But then, from the corner of his eye, Peter sees Sirius— none to gently— piling Remus’s plate with an abundance of the potatoes that Moony likes best, dipping down to whisper something in his ear— something surely lecherous— before tousling his curls in that brash, bombastic way of his that he does with Peter and James too, even if he ends it by gingerly cupping the nape of Remus’s neck with a surreptitious squeeze that ends just as quickly as it began, falling back into conversation with James and Marlene about the Wasps’s chances against the Harpies this Friday night as if it was just an innate action, even if it’s one Peter’s only ever witnessed him doing to Remus.

And even though there’s another full in two days, and even though Remus looks like a walking inferi— pale faced and exhausted posture and circles the color of midnight smudged beneath his eyes— Peter watches the ends of his lips quirk up into the best approximation of a smile Peter’s ever seen on him so close to the wolf breaking through the surface of his body that’s all skin and bones, and he isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or not, but Remus actually looks like he might be glowing over the strange attention that Sirius’s only ever paid to him.

So no… No, Peter doesn’t think he’ll ask James quite yet, reckons that if anything can help his moon plagued friend, that it must be something good, something that shouldn’t be tempered with.

They can figure out how the strange string pulling Remus and Sirius together will alter their brotherhood later on, there’s still time. There’ still a possibility that it won’t devastate everything.

~II~

Lily’s suspected for a while.

The thing is that she’s known about Remus since the end of third year, when he rebuffed the advances of an eager Heleen Abed, and Lily found him on the ledge of the largest window in the vacant common room— the same one that they regularly commandeer with Mary McDonald to discuss the finer points of Muggle politics and current events, separate from the melting pot of their Gryffindor class that’s composed of either pure bloods or those with their closest Muggle relative being a long dead grandparent. And it was definitely a dangerous, knife’s edge she was playing at, but Lily had sat besides the boy who she’s cultivated a real and true friendship with— one beyond pleasant platitudes and fodder about their course work— and she told him about her cousin Joey with green spiked hair and a mischievous smile adorned with a sparkling stud and how she and Petunia had caught him holding hands with one of his friends from sixth-form in the garden of her Aunt’s cottage, and how even the sneer on her older sisters lips hadn’t deterred Lily from thinking anything but mild indifference about the situation. Only wanting her cousin to always live in that easy effervescence she’s always known when it came to him.

And nothing else was exchanged between them, but Remus had grinned in that barely perceptible way of his, and Lily had nudged his shoulder with her own and then fished out her final handful of chocolate frogs for them to share while they revise their notes for the transfiguration exam coming up.

Two summers have past since then—they’re in the midst of their final term of fifth year now— and she thinks that they’ve become even closer, that the frequent late nights in the library for their impending OWLs and their countless prefect rounds has helped forge a real and true bond— especially that whole snag earlier in the year when they had realized they were both snogging Leon Bennett on alternating nights behind greenhouse three. But all of that withstanding, Lily knows that there are still secrets Remus keeps tight to his chest, ones that Lily’s analytical mind— the mind of a potions expert and future healer— has suspected to do with the thin, silvery scars running down his strong hands that are all tapered fingers and slender wrists, and another across his right bicep that she saw when he had changed his robes for a jumper in front of her, and the one cutting down from the bottom of his ear and nearly across the entire length of his neck, ending at the corner of his sharp collarbone. But Lily suspects he’ll tell her about that soon enough, what she isn’t so confident about is him admitting that particularly dazed look he gets when around Black, of all people. The way he stammers his words occasionally and the way he worries on his bottom lip while averting his glance when Sirius is chatting up a very pleased looking girl, and the way he flushes when Lily is ribbing about him in particular. And Lily knows that the foursome of Gryffindor boys had a falling out of sorts before winter hols, that there’s a hairline fracture between them and Remus now— one that she’s sure no one else can pick up on after the way they had seemingly come back together in late January, right before her birthday funnily enough. But Lily’s always been the analytical sort— the sort to absorb the barebones of a situation so she could conjure a hypothesis that she could prove after careful study.

So Lily knows that it’s something deeper, and she can see how Remus is reticent around them in ways she’s actually worried won’t be shaken off anytime soon— which is all levels of bazaar considering she’s been telling Remus for years that he needs to shrug off his rowdy mates like a snake shedding an old coat. But before, when she’d barb as much he’d only stick out his tongue and tell her what happens to busybodies, and how she doesn’t really know them at all. But now days, he just looks particularly hurt, and more than a bit put out, and Lily catches him flickering over to wherever Sirius was holding court, longing in a way she couldn’t possibly articulate out loud.

Honestly Lily thinks it’s really quite gracious of her to have dropped the subject completely, rather, she takes up the mantel of his friend that can distract him from all those sorts of woes, biting her tongue over his lingering feelings for Sirius that are more than likely far beyond a passing fancy. And she thinks that maybe that’s a good call, maybe it’s good for Remus to beat down those sorts of emotions that he’s harboring for the wanker. She knows Remus, and she knows he wouldn’t hold a grudge— even such a quiet one— for no reason at all. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her place to tell him how when he’s glancing away, Sirius is holding vigil to him with that same sort of fervor. That Sirius is the one who collects the notes for all his classes on those conspicuous absences of his when Remus is feeling poorly in the infirmary. That Sirius occasionally looks so very gutted when Remus is wilting away from them, when he seeks Lily’s company instead.

She has a heavy suspicion that Remus might already know all of those things— that maybe they’ve already discussed it at length, that maybe the falling out in December has caused a full stop of anything that could’ve potentially blossomed between them. And she just wishes she knew the entire story so she could decide on whether she should be jinxing Black’s face to a putrid orange color, or pushing Remus to actually give him a chance.

Lily just wishes she could read Black as easily as she can Remus, maybe that would help in this experiment she’s testing, because for now she’s just confused as all hell over what exactly Black feels towards him. Well that is until it’s a fortnight before Remus’s birthday, and she’s being bodily dragged into a closet on her way to charms.

“Oi— What the bloody—“

“Language, Evans,” the annoyingly familiar baritone of Sirius Black tsks, lighting up the cupboard with his wand and smirking in that jagged way she’s heard countless girls tittering over, and the one that makes her want to pop him one right against his ridiculously smug face.

“Black,” she says, caustic as all get out with her fists clenched against her sides and her brows making a really resilient effort to meet in the middle. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I hex your bollocks off.”

“Pff, and Jamie thinks you’re some sort of saint.”

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”

Sirius pulls a face at her, but must understand the credence in the words, because it’s not another moment more before he pulls out a bedraggled looking slip of paper from his robe’s pocket, and thrusts it at her face. So with an indignant huff, Lily opens it up and begins scanning the words— becoming all the more confused when she sees measurements and things like coco powder and melted butter, instead of whatever the hell else she was preparing herself to read.

“I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re trying to distract me so you and Potter can do something horrid to the Slytherin’s common room.”

“We’ve actually already done that today,” Sirius jeers, raising up his hands in concession with a cluck of the tongue at her scowling face. “’s from Moony’s mum, all right. I asked her to send me the recipe of this chocolate cake she use to make him for his birthdays before Hogwarts— I just thought… It might be nice is all, and you can sod right off if you look at me like that, Evans, with the soft eyes and all that rot. Are you going to help me or not?”

Lily resolutely ignores the pang to her heart, because God, this really is such a sweet gesture. “And what? you thought I could help you because I’m a bird?” She asks in the most scolding inflection she could muster in the face of this incredibly soppy gift he wants to give Remus.

“None of that, blimey, Evans.” Sirius snarls, obviously diffident, and combined with the faint flush to his cheeks, Lily suddenly realizes why he’s considered one of the best looking blokes in the entirety of their school. “There’s a whole load of Muggle mumbo jumbo, so it was between asking you, or McDonald, and I adore Mary and all, but she has got such a mouth on her.”

“You should know,” Lily counters with a leer. “She couldn’t stop going on about your date back in October.”

Sirius’s brows hike, and he actually smiles at her— one that’s vacant from all his bravado from his upbringing in his pretentious, pure blood home, and one that isn’t trying to show off. And Lily can’t help but favoringly liken him to an excited pug. “Oh you’re wicked, Evans!” He shrills delightedly. “Oh this is great, you’re just as depraved as Remus, are all prefects like this?”

Lily snorts, shaking her head at him, indulgent. “Never mind that, Black. Most of this stuff can be found in the kitchens below, I’m sure the house elves won’t mind us borrowing anything.”

“And the ingredients that won’t be down their?” He asks worriedly.

“Well, good on you planning this so far ahead of time, we’ll just have to experiment.”

Sirius groans in retort, muttering things about Muggle potions and James thinking he’s getting off with his future wife and other ridiculous things that Lily doesn’t bother to stay and listen to. Though, when Remus’s birthday does roll around, and she sees his countenance go a thousand shades brighter as he bites into the pudding, and Sirius’s grin stretch just that much more across his face in response— their eyes meeting across the room and past the crowds— Well Lily suspects Sirius never really minded any of the things he was whinging on about, not at all, not as long as the result was a beaming Remus.

~III~

Regulus hears about it in the halls.

He’s not much for gossip or that sort of dribble, doesn’t have much patience for anyone outside his house if he’s being at all frank— and even then, it’s not as if he doesn’t frequently find himself escaping to his fourposter for a moment’s quiet. It seems that everyone in this bloody castle are just dimwitted, daft idiots, and Regulus’s never been the sort to offer allowances for that kind of behavior. He’s been raised in the home of a family as close to royalty as Wizards permit, a prince among men. And he was told that he should have patience for the dull folks beneath him, just as long as they have the correct ideals, but sometimes he can’t help but wish they would all just let him be, sometimes feels like he’s being carted around Hogwarts as the perfect pure blood, like he was nine years old again and being shown off in the parlor of his home when guests came to call, watching from the sidelines while his mother rave about how splendid of an heir Sirius is turning out to be. How his tutor calls him a genius for any age, and how darling he looks in Slytherin green, and how he’s already mastered three romance languages to help in his spell work.

And Regulus can’t help but scoff at those contemplations now, thinking of the past summer when his dramatic and brash brother had made a whole production of leaving behind the values that gave him everything he has. How he escaped to that Potter git’s home the way he’s been doing for nearly every holiday since his second year, how he offered Regulus to come along as if he’s a trader just like him. What a risible excuse for an heir.

But Regulus won’t commit such follies, he’ll make his parents proud— even if his father is nearly never paying much mind and his mother goes from raving to sickly in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll carry on the Black legacy, something that his oh so perfect brother never could’ve done. Regulus is only a fifth year, will be turning sixteen in only two months after Sirius’s coming of age, and sure, this might mean he’s still young enough that the Death Eaters don’t find him adequate to fight on the line of fire, but he’ll do it eventually, feels the weight of the letter from Bellatrix praising him for as much resting heavy in his pocket. And if Regulus finds them all a bit too vicious or a bit too excitable and completely lacking a deft hand to make the changes they’re searching for, he shrugs it off. He knows what he must do, and as he stares at his brother from across the valley cusping the lake, he’s only that much more steadfast in the conviction of the fact.

Sirius is sitting and laughing with a group of his Gryffindor mates, the mudbloods, and blood traders that had warped him from the brother he knew to the stranger he is now. And there’s a dark skinned Ravenclaw bird— Meadowes if he remembers correctly from his prefect meetings— and she’s telling some sort of long winded tail with hand gestures and loud cackling coming from the group as she goes on. And Sirius is tossing around a quaffle with Potter— the glint of a handsome, silver watch on his wrist catching in the dying sunlight. And Regulus wonders who had gifted him such a personal passage to adulthood, but is soon distracted by spotting the way Sirius nearly gets smacked in the face with the ball because he was too busy gawking over at Lupin in such a stripped down, cautious way that it makes Regulus squirm.

He doesn’t know much about the elder Prefect, only that his name had come up nearly as much as Potters during that first year when Sirius would send him correspondence on a frequent basis because he knew how lonely Regulus would get while stuck in Grimmauld all by himself. And then when he began attending Hogwarts, Regulus never could get a good reading on him. He knew Potter because of how his family is infamous for their liberal views and nouveau riche attitudes, and Pettigrews family owns a hokey herb shop in Diagon. All he’s found out about the Lupins is that his father is the son of half-bloods and his mother is a Muggle, and that this mudblood is a reserved, carefully aloof bugger, and that somehow he’s seemingly captured all of Sirius’s attentions that he’s not giving Potter or the clinger ons who follow him around like mindless fools. Beyond that, Lupin and Regulus have only traded a hand full of words whenever their roles of prefects would force them to intermingle, and it’s always been punctuated by Lupin giving Regulus a witheringly cold look anytime they were in close proximity, which is admittedly impressive considering that half the time the sickly bastard looks like he’s about ready to keel over.

So no, Regulus doesn’t know much about him, but he’s heard the rumors. He knows that it’s basically an open secret between the Gryffindor class and selected friends. The fact that his brother is probably shagging the mudblood, convincing Regulus that Sirius really has never given a toss about the decorum and standards befalling them as the only two Black males of their generation. And he hates his brother so scathingly right then, hates his little munblood lover probably even more.

And when he watches Lupin straying his gaze from the novel he was reading while that red haired Muggle born was resting her head in his lap, and Regulus saw the way both of their expressions went a peculiar sort of tender— well that’s the last straw, so he stands up in a huff— so unlike himself— and he cuts the story Mulciber was crowing on about, and he tells them he needs to complete a scroll for Slughorn.

And while he prowls away from the sight of his brother continuing to ruin everything, Regulus plunges a hand into his pocket, and crunches Bellatrix’s letter in his grasp, promises himself to write her back soon, and ignores the ache in his chest that’s only been growing larger since Sirius had left permanently.

~IV~

James’s always known.

Perhaps that’s an over reach, but it’s true enough. He’s known for years, on some level, that the thing between Sirius and Remus is something completely foreign to him. Something completely separate from how Sirius licks his face when James is over sleeping and he wants to be a general nuisance. Separate from how he and Remus have begun discussing anything and everything in the wee hours of the morning, with a spot of tea between them and a blanket on their legs, because Remus can’t sleep from the moon and James has never been able to sleep through the whole night without feeling guilty over it. He thinks it stemmed from when he was younger, when his parents were feeling sickly, and before they were gifted a house elf by a family friend who recognized that the elderly Potters needed just a bit more assistance.

James never knew whether it was obvious to him because he’s always considered Sirius as his bastard brother since Christmas of first year, and that he’s always trying to make sure that Remus is all right after finding out just how impressively the bloke can keep secrets once Sirius figured out his furry little problem. So he’s not sure what others know, or even what Remus and Sirius know of what’s happening between them, honestly, there have been so many almosts that James has picked up on over the years. And he still shutters thinking about the near total break that happened with the prank, still isn’t quite sure what had past between them to get Sirius and Remus speaking with each other once more, but he does know that Remus staying with James, Sirius, and Peter the past summer after Sirius escaping the twisted place he was suppose to call a home, is what helped indefinitely. And now, a year separate from the prank, things finally feel normal between them.

Well— Erm, not normal per se. Those idiots are still blustering and bumbling and bashfully avoiding one another when anything close to romantic comes up in a discussion or when their hands touch over the Great Hall table or whenever James makes a pointed remark when he catches one of them staring a bit too slack jawed at the other in the midst of something totally bloody innocuous in the eyes of a normal person— EG: Sirius gathering his hair— that’s nearly to the bottom of his neck now a days— into a small knot on the back of his head, or Remus sucking idly on a sugar quill while he’s revising. And sure, James has to deal with the kicks at his ankles, or a spare jinx if one of them is especially pissy, but Lily’s come to join him in the ribbing, so it kind of makes everything all right. Especially when she levels her beautiful, forrest green eyes with his own brown ones, and she actually looks sort of endeared.

Yeah— that’s a fucking amazing feeling all right, and it’s probably the memory of that happening only a few hours ago that has got James all jittery now, far past midnight. So with a tired sigh, he slides open the drapes of his fourposter, is ready to go downstairs for a kitchen raid if Remus isn’t awake— Though once he sets his glasses on, and blinks a few times over to get acclimated with the dark, he’s only a bit stunned to find the shapes of Remus and Sirius crowded on the former’s bed— and they’re really not much more than suggestions beneath the shadows, but it’s enough for James to see Sirius’s head bent low, resting it against the crook of Moony’s neck and shoulder, while the shorter boy has got his arms wrapped around Sirius’s torso. And it’s nothing obscene, not really— it’s not like they’re nude or anything— but Sirius is shirtless, and Remus does have this blissed out expression painted over his features, that James would bet good money is the same one Sirius has got on if most of his face wasn’t covered by his hair.

And in another breath, Remus’s honey colored eyes flap open, widening exponentially when he catches sight of James, and wiggling around as if he wants to move away from Sirius completely, which is of course stunted when Sirius makes a low noise under his breath, and presses closer so that his mouth is quite literally right against Remus’s neck, and his arms tug him closer.

And James is definitely convinced that he’s the best mate any bloke could ask for when instead of chuckling at the obvious show of territorialism, he just shakes his head indulgently at them, mouthing an “About time plonker,” to Remus, who replies in kind with a hefty, two fingered salute.

This time James has to bite down to prevent his chuckle from spilling out.

“And here I was, about to offer you a snack from our dear house elves.” He whispers, hopefully quiet enough so that only Remus could hear.

“Oh, just bugger off,” Remus retorts, smiling with such mirth that James can’t even feign to be affronted over it, only follows the playful command and tries figuring out just how to give the ‘If you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk to the pair of them without it coming across insincerely.

~+I~

Millie was bored until she saw them.

The only reason why Millie got this boring job in this beyond posh restaurant is because her folks reckon that she needs to learn some form of responsibility before university, and she hates it. The pay is absolute shite, and most of her coworkers are all levels of boring, and the patrons are not nearly entertaining enough to try and make up some secret back story of tumultuous affairs or secret agents from the MI6, or a royal from some country on the continent meeting their star-crossed lover.

It’s all just painfully ordinary, and she’s cursing her parents while she chomps on her gum, reading some stupid note by an ugly old fart who left her his number on the receipt.

Scoffing while she bins it, Millie glances over to the newly occupied table in her section, heart immediately leaping once she gets a good look at the pair of blokes sitting down.

The sandy haired one is definitely cute in that reserved way her best friend Claire would definitely be mad over— the guy who could read you poetry in French or Italian and then gently kisses the back of your hand. And that’s all and well, but Millie’s every attention is laser focussed on his mate, the one that looks like he can be bloody James Bond with those smoldering eyes and that ink black hair, and God, those cheekbones! Definitely one of those beautiful, Public school boys who’s born and bread by the patrician. And while she takes their orders, she tosses him her most flattering of grins and slips in her giggle that an ex boyfriend compared to silver bells, and is sure to flip her long, chestnut hair enough times so he’d notice, even if she’s pretty sure he’s either pissed or probably more than a bit stoned. (Truly, where the bloody hell would he come up with pumpkin juice? How horrid must that taste).

Millie may or may not spend an unreasonable amount of time spying at them from where the cooks drop off the completed plates to be sent away. He’s just so bloody good looking, and she can’t believe this awful job has finally brought her such an amazing distraction, and the arse doesn’t even pay her much mind, leaving the ordering and the conversing to his fair haired friend.

Maybe he’s sensitive, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s just a shy soul. And yes, that must be it! The poor, beautiful sod. She’s sure to make her intentions clear next time she thinks it’s appropriate to top off their waters, because she’s so very gracious like that.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Millie asks in her most light hearted of cadences, filling up the shorter one’s glass but smiling fully and exclusively to the boy who looks like he should be starring in some sort of Brook’s Brothers advert.

“Ta,” the sandy haired boy says, sounding a bit amused at her dilemma, but it’s kind enough so Millie doesn’t feel brassed off over it. “Do you mind pointing me to the loo?”

“Oh of course!” She crows, suddenly ecstatic as she directs him, finally getting a chance to be alone with the model. Though when she turns her attention to him once the other one leaves to take a leak, she’s kind of confused how he’s staring after him with a glance she vividly remembers on the face of her ex whenever she’d peer back around to ensure he was watching her go— Though, if Millie’s being honest, the model somehow looks simultaneously eager to watch the back of him, but also already disheartened not to have him around in ways she doubts anyone she’s ever gone out with has ever exhibited. “He’s a nice chap,” she states, instead of marinating on the strangeness of this development.

The practical model starts, seems to have forgotten about her presence all together, but then he glances over towards her with those impossibly flattering, pale gray eyes, and he nods disinterestedly. And yeah, yikes. That is a total hit to Millie’s ego.

“Ahem,” she clears her throat, begins twisting her free hand into the material of her apron. “’S nice you guys came for dinner, you don’t see much friends considering how bloody expensive it is here, hah.”

Millie feels herself going absolutely scarlet at the impassive way he drags his gaze up and down her form before taking a swig of his Bellini. “He’s not my friend.”

“Oh,” Millie practically squeaks out, suddenly wonders if maybe he’s a tutor from his class or something? Maybe the model is just taking the cute one out to dinner as a thanks for helping him pass his A-levels? Maybe this is considered cheap in the circles that the model keeps.

“’S our one year anniversary actually,” he tells her, still in that methodical, blasé way of his. And oh. Oh wow! Suddenly everything is snapping into clarity.

The way the two boys had brushed the back of their hands before being seated, how model had trusted the other boy to order for him, how model never looked away from the cute one’s mouth or collarbones or hands as they spoke. How whenever she came around to ask if they needed anything else, it felt like she was intruding on more than just a couple of mates catching up.

Oh Jesus, she feels like such an idiot, and Millie tells the model just as much.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even put it together.”

Remarkably, the model’s rigid posture goes a bit loose at her apology, and the corner of his thin lips quirk up into a grin. “’S fine, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but yeah— Just feels good telling someone.”

Millie nods eagerly, she can’t understand exactly what he means, obviously not, but she can definitely try to, and if it feels good for him to tell a random bird about something so important, then she’s more than happy to help. “Well the point stands, yeah? He seems like a good sort, you’re lucky to have found each other.”

The model’s grin goes elastic at that, and he looks actually approachable for the first time tonight. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to be with him.”

Millie flushes at the intensity embedded into his statement, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer when she hears the sandy haired boy walking closer now, smiling so brightly that there’s a dimple popping up on the apple of his cheek that Millie’s only just noticed— The mirth is a good color on him, she reckons. Makes him look as gorgeous as those boys on the telly dramas her Mum is always gushing about, even his eyes turn more golden than light brown. “You pestering our waitress Padfoot?”

“You know I keep my devilish tongue for you and you alone Moonbeam,” the model—Padfoot cannot be his actual name for heaven’s sake— retorts.

“Lucky me,” the sandy haired boy says wryly as he takes a seat, and while Millie walks away— intending to get them a pudding that’s on the house to celebrate the milestone of their relationship— she peers back around only once and it’s enough to see the tips of their fingers kissing across the table, and their smiles looking like a secret language not meant for anyone else to read.

My Full Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #REMUSXSIRIUS #SIRIUSXREMUS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #Spilt Ink #I'm sorry if you hate this sugarplum #Like legit #idk what I am on #JFC #I suck #flksadjgaklsgjoewiajfsg

175 notes · View notes

theredconversegirl · 3 years

Note

Hi hi, Can you rec me some fics where Sakura dies and Sasuke has to go through it? I saw this prompt once about what would sasuke react if sakura was killed by Gaara when they were Genin. (I kinda wanna feel some angst💔💔)

Hi nonny,

Thank you for stopping by! 💕

This is one of the most requested asks I’ve received lately (and also the most difficult one to answer). 😢 Seriously, I cried a few times re-reading this fics.😭

I have a list for you and it includes mostly one-shots. There will be fics where Sasuke realizes too late how he feels about Sakura, there will be ones where he rages and succumbs to darkness, and others where he mourns the love of his life. I think no warnings are necessary other than the list’s title, right?

So, grab your kleenex box 🤧 and let’s feel some angst together:

Sakura dies 🍅🌸

One Life for Another By: soulaire / @soulairee

She looked up into his blank gaze and smiled sadly. 'I always knew fire would be the death of me,' she thought. With that, she closed her eyes, the smile still on her face. [Rated T, complete]

This story tore my heart in tiny little pieces. 😭 It’s so sad but there’s some comfort by the end. But then you remember why he needs comfort and then the mood switches to hurt and sadness again. 🥺

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

sakura dies giving birth to sarada By: @sun-summoning

oh god my heart. 💔

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Gone By: twilightdazzle

It took all of five minutes for Sakura to fall in love with Sasuke. It took Sasuke years and the pain of death to realize he loved her back. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Sakura dies in his arms prompt (untitled) By: @roraewrites

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

We'll Do Our Best By: DeepPoeticGirl

After nine years, they learned to be okay. Most of the time, anyway. Papa would always miss Mama, and she would too—but they would be okay. They would live on. Happiness wasn't lost. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Sakura dies in Sasuke’s arms after she protects him By: @ghostofyou2

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Énouement By: ElizaTellsTheStory

Sasuke has always known great loss. It is what has shaped and controlled his entire life. When another great loss touches Sasuke’s life, he struggles to cope without falling into darkness again. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

where love is lost, a ghost is found [Ch 22 of I'd Be Yours, If You'd Be Mine] By: DeepPoeticGirl

Just once, she wanted to hear him say it. Even if he didn’t mean it. [Rated T, complete]

🌸 what have you done now [Ch 32 of I'd Be Yours, If You'd Be Mine]

He would lose another precious person to death by his own hands. [Rated T, complete]

🍅 this isn’t what I wanted [Ch 35 of I'd Be Yours, If You'd Be Mine]

He broke a promise he’d made to himself ever since the massacre happened. [Rated K+, complete]

🌸 stay here, with us [Ch 55 of I'd Be Yours, If You'd Be Mine]

With prolonged labor came many complications. This wasn’t going to end well. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Okaeri, Sasuke-kun By: purflixoxo

After giving birth to their children, Sakura died and left Sasuke behind. Sasuke becomes a coldhearted jerk while Sarada becomes a strong oldest daughter for this broken family. This is a story how Sasuke as a single father deals with his new family without love and how Sarada takes care of her siblings without mother figure. "Because you are our father, Dad." [Set after-700.] [Rated T, incomplete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Dance for Me, Marionette By: soulaire

Sasuke feels the Sharingan whirl to life, alarmed, expecting some sort of enemy. His instincts tell him to run, to flee, to get as far away from her as he can. Unnatural, his mind screams at him, inhuman. And it's true. Because she isn't human. No, the girl who used to be his teammate has turned into Sasori's prize possession. She's nothing now. Nothing but a puppet. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

finis noster By: sincerelyLen

Uchiha Sasuke would offer Haruno Sakura the opportunity to experience what they could have had - he would offer her the mercy of a blissful sleep. [Rated K, complete*] *Read Part 2 here: How will we end?

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

The Art of Losing By: OdeliaD

"Sakura." She seemed to be un-phased, as if she had known of his presence all along. The last few drops of essence dripped from the rim of her container before she screwed the cap on tightly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Sasuke." [Rated M, complete]

Thank you @kjt1124 for sending me the link for this fic! 😘 This is the story I was looking for the other day.

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

The Downfall By: A m r a k l o ve

Her mother passes away one Tuesday evening, as ordinarily as it comes, and her father takes it the hardest of them all. Sakura, his wife, the mother of his children, and the love of his life, now eternally gone. / Married life; Set some years in the future. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

What Sasuke would do if Gaara had killed Sakura By: DeepPoeticGirl

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

365 Days By: NineStoicCrayolas / rec by @peachypie97

He has never thought that he'd have to bury anyone he loved ever again. [Rated M, hiatus]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Abstergo By: Seraphina Scribes / rec by @kjt1124

He showed her what he knew was her greatest nightmare. To break her mind. To cast her heart from him. To keep her down. To protect her. /Inspired by the events of Chapter 693, in which Sakura breaks out of Sasuke's genjutsu and does the very thing he wanted to make absolutely sure she couldn't - intervene. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Fight Inside By: Shiroi Kiba no Kyohi-ka

Rumors are going around that Sakura has died, so Sasuke allows himself to be spotted in order to confront his former team. What he finds as a result ends up being more than he can handle. A twisted tale of love, tragedy, heartbreak, and hope. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Arigato By: Anisita1

A great sacrifice by Sakura before the fourth ninja war leaves Sasuke devastated. When there is no longer hatred or rancor in your heart, but only pain, what would you be willing to do to alleviate it? How far would you travel to find it? - A ninja world, however alternate. AU. [Rated M, on going] [Spanish version: Arigato]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Living For Your Whims By: asteriskjam

In her last moments, Sakura shows more strength than she had in her lifetime. And for the first time in his, Sasuke doesn't appreciate it. 'Stop it! Stop looking like you're ready to move on! ...Because I'm not.' [Rated T, complete]

——————————————————————————

If anyone has other recs for this list, please let me know. Thanks! 🙏 Well, I hope you enjoy this list despite of the incredibly sad theme.🙂

~ Happy Reading & Stay Safe!

xoxo

#theredconversegirl answers things #SasuSaku #Sakura dies #Major Character Death #Sasuke's reaction #ss fics #so much angsty and pain #theredconversegirl recommends #ss fic rec list #Anonymous

156 notes · View notes

gayestnerdsinfiction · 3 years

Text

An Encounter with the Beast

tw: descriptions of blood/injuries

Edward had been sleeping peacefully, dreaming of winning arguments against his high school tormentors with witty one-liners, when the whole building shook violently around him. He was jolted awake by the sound of something thudding heavily on the roof, scraping and scrabbling around and creating quite an unpleasant racket. Edward groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed.

When the noises showed no signs of subsiding, he slid out of bed and grabbed a fluffy, green bathrobe off the hook in the closet. He thought perhaps a group of feral cats or raccoons or some other vile beasties had decided to take up residence on top of the dilapidated apartment building he had been living out of and needed to be chased away from the premises. Ordinarily, he would send Echo or Query to complete such a task, but he was still working on securing their release from Blackgate. Unfortunately, he would have to take care of it himself this time. He briefly wondered if he should bring a weapon to threaten the creature with, but ultimately decided that, no, he should be able to handle a small animal in hand to hand combat if the necessity arose.

Edward opened the front door of his apartment, stumbling out into the hall and heading towards the stairwell that led up to the roof. As he ascended, he had the gnawing feeling that he was going to regret not being better prepared, better armed, that whatever was awaiting him on the rooftop would be more than a simple animal. He paused at the landing, hand on the push-bar, his confidence wavering. Pressing his ear up against the cool surface of the door, he listened. He could hear something writhing and rustling, like wind snapping in a sail. He pushed the door open, stepping tentatively out into the cool night air.

At first, Edward couldn’t even understand what he was looking at. The sight he was met with was unlike anything he had ever encountered before, and that was saying something. He took in the huge, heaving body before him, the dark feathers rustling like a heavy curtain in the wind. Carefully, keeping as far from the beast as he could without falling off the edge of the roof, he made his way around to its face. If it could be called a face.

The creature had a long, leathery snout, its lips pulled back in a snarl to expose a row of wicked fangs, slick and gleaming. Its maw was smeared with drying blood, as were its feathers. It was strange; the being seemed stuck somewhere between a canine and a bird while still seeming uncomfortably humanoid in its physique.

“What on Earth?” he muttered, staring in shock and awe and disgust at the monster before him. As he inspected further, Edward could make out a small, circular wound buried beneath the matted feathers, steadily oozing dark blood.

One of its beady eyes snapped open, swiveling in its socket to look at Edward. When it caught the sliver of moonlight peeking through the fog it flashed silvery white, reflecting the light back at him. Edward balked, his blood running cold in his veins as he backed away. The creature croaked out a woeful sound that made Edward’s blood run cold, somewhere between a howl and a squawking bird.

“Only in this city,” he grumbled, keeping a careful watch on the creature. It made no attempt to pursue him, just stared back at him with its shining eyes. The beast shifted suddenly and Edward tensed, preparing to evade, but it just ruffled its feathers in a way that didn’t look at all satisfying. As it did, something limp and brown shook out of its wing. Edward couldn’t make out what it was in the dark, but it looked eerily like a long strip of skin.

Trying to get out of the monster’s line of sight, he crept around to get a better look at the mysterious item. He was relieved to find upon further inspection that it wasn’t, in fact, skin. Rather, he found himself looking at a torn piece of fabric. Burlap. He looked back up at the creature, beginning to notice other scraps of brown and black fabric hanging off its hulking body. He felt a sick lurch of recognition as he worried the cloth between his fingers.

It could be a coincidence, Edward thought as his gaze flitted back to the beast’s eye. It was still watching him, unblinking, chest rising up and down as it took in rasping breaths.

“I’m going to feel like an idiot if I’m wrong,” Edward said, cursing himself for not being able to keep his thoughts silent, unsaid. With great hesitance, Edward approached the creature’s face again. He stood much closer than was comfortable and he was nearly overwhelmed by the stench of blood and filthy water and that awful smell that birds have. “Are you… Do you know me?” he asked, unwilling to voice his exact conclusion for fear of being mistaken.

Edward stared at the beast and the beast stared back and it was unresponsive for so long that he was beginning to wonder if it could even understand English. But just as he was considering abandoning the attempt altogether, the beast jerked to life. An arm, previously unseen within the mass of feathers, darted out and captured Edward’s small body in a set of curved claws. He yelped as he was pulled close to the beast, so close he could see his reflection in the black expanse of its eyes.

Before he knew what was happening, the creature had opened its mouth wide and a long, sandpapery tongue was dragging across Edward’s face.

Edward squeezed his eyes shut, sputtering as the beast licked him. “God, Jonathan!” he exclaimed, annoyed at the gesture—albeit affectionate. “What the hell is this? Some new experiment of yours gone wrong?” His hand settled on Jonathan’s snout, feeling the bumps and wrinkles along his skin. When he pulled away, his palm was smeared with blood. “Oh, darling,” he murmured. “What happened to you?”

He knew the question was futile. In this state, Jonathan could only let out a guttural sound in response. But Jonathan didn’t need to use words for Edward to understand the pain he was in.

“How can I get you back?” he asked; another rhetorical question. “It’s going to be hard getting you inside and patched up and everything in this condition and I really don’t think I can remove a bullet from you up here in the dark, so… I need you to be human again, please.”

Of course that did nothing, and he almost thought he saw Jonathan rolling his eyes.

“Well, it was worth a try,” he said. “Who would I even… call for something like this?” Edward wondered aloud. “Maybe Victor? But—damn, he’s in Arkham isn’t he? Is there… something in your lab that I could go—” he cut himself off, startled as Jonathan’s grasp around him disappeared and his claws moved to point up at the barely visible moon.

“What are you—oh!” he said brightly, the meaning of the gesture coming together in his mind. “Werewolf rules?”

Jonathan’s hand—because it was quite like a hand, Edward thought—lowered to settle on the rooftop, which Edward took to mean he was correct.

“Will you be alright through the night?” Edward asked as he ran his palm along Jonathan’s flank, smoothing his crumpled feathers with the grain until he neared the still bleeding wound in his side. “I suppose I could get a flashlight and try—”

Once again he was interrupted, this time by a wing moving to knock Edward awkwardly into Jonathan’s body. His face was engulfed by rough feathers and he gagged slightly as the smell became truly overpowering, but it didn’t deter him from burying himself deeper into Jonathan’s chest. His large body was radiating heat and Edward was grateful for that because he knew it was going to be a long, cold night spent on the rooftop with this creature. His creature.

“It’s… It’s going to be okay,” he mumbled into Jonathan’s feathers, speaking more to himself than the other being. “I’m going to stay.”

Jonathan’s chest rumbled and it was almost akin to a purr, vibrating against Edward’s cheek. He couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, at how ridiculous this whole thing was. Really, things like this could only happen in Gotham. And only Jonathan could show up at Edward’s home in the middle of the night as a hideous monster and still receive a warm welcome. “You just get stranger every day, don’t you?” he said softly. “Usually I can keep up, but I will admit, this… this caught me off guard.” He pulled back slightly, peeking out to see if Jonathan was looking at him.

He was. It sent a silent thrill through Edward, having this creature’s gaze on him, knowing what it meant.

“Never a dull moment, my dear,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”

#scriddler #scarebeast #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #batman #dc #fic #my fic #writing #my writing #i imagine scarebeast looking kinda like howl from the hmc movie in his monster form

68 notes · View notes

calaofnoldor · 4 years

Text

Sixth Time’s the Charm [3]

(not my gif)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 3,695

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you.

Chapter Summary: Dean suggests the two of you pose as a couple for a case. Sam objects wholeheartedly. (aka Sam and Y/N go to therapy.)

Warnings: jealous!sam, jealous!reader, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, fake marriage, kind of a case!fic, slow burn, fluff, basically all the tropes

A/N: hi loves, sorry this took so long! had some trouble with this one and i’m still not completely happy with it but hopefully you guys enjoy anyway. and i’m sorry the chapters keep getting longer, haha this whole series was only supposed to be a one-shot. oops.

written for @spnfluffbingo and @girl-next-door-writes make me feel bingo!

Square Filled: Fake Marriage for @spnfluffbingo and Mutual Pining for @girl-next-door-writes

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The third time was honestly quite fun for Dean. It started with a rare night of relaxation. The three of you were hanging out around a table in the bunker library, steadily working your way through a six-pack Sam had brought back from a supply run earlier. Dean had his legs crossed and feet propped up casually before him, while you and Sam were scrolling leisurely through the internet on your respective laptops.

“I think I just found us a case,” Sam had started with furrowed brows, as he sat up to get a closer look at his screen. “So get this, two married couples in Wisconsin were found dead after visiting the same couples therapist.”

“Does it say how?” you asked, fidgeting with the label on your beer bottle.

“Yeah, they all fell from windows in upper stories.”

Your brows flew up and you huffed in disbelief, “You’re right, seems like a rather unlikely coincidence, probably something up our alley.”

At this point, Dean was ready to burst with glee. God himself could not have presented a better opportunity. If things worked out, he could finally put an end to Sam’s petulant spasms and eradicate the sexual tension that hung so potently (and disturbingly) throughout the air whenever you and Sam were in the same room.

“Well, I guess we know what we gotta do…” Dean tried to fight the grin on his lips as he turned to you, “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

With a perfectly straight face, he managed to ask, “Will you marry me?”

The mouthful of beer that Sam was about to swallow erupted forth in a cascade of tiny droplets, spritzing through the air as he began to cough and choke on what little alcohol had somehow made it down the wrong pipe.

You immediately looked over to see if he was alright, not expecting to find the usually adroit and graceful man a sputtering, red-faced mess, “Geez, Sam. Are you okay?” Rising from your seat to move towards him, you stopped when he held out a large palm and waved it at you as a form of both reassurance and interception.

“Yea- yeah, I’m fine,” Sam wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, taking a moment to recompose himself before sending you an awkward little smile of gratitude.

Dean cleared his throat, “So whaddya say, Y/N/N?”

“Huh?”

“About my proposal, before Sammy so rudely interrupted.” Sam was glaring holes through his brother now, but Dean paid him no attention.

“Oh, right,” you chose your next words carefully, “Umm, you mean you wanna go undercover?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side as he raised his eyebrows in a suggestive smirk, “If the shoe fits…”

“Well aren’t you romantic?” you quipped sarcastically.

“Oh sweetheart, just you wait and see,” Dean sent you a wink that you were sure had dropped many a panty in his time yet held little to no effect over you because… well because you were busy being a little too enraptured by his baby brother. That didn’t seem to stop Dean though, “Trust me, as your loving husband-” It was Sam’s turn to clear his throat, but again Dean ignored him, “I'm gonna romance the shit outta you.”

You scoffed at him in amusement, “Right, you mean when we go to couples therapy?”

“Baby girl, you’d be surprised-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sam couldn’t hold it in any longer, throwing both hands up in objection, “Can we just back up for a minute? Why does anyone have to get married?”

Dean shot him an incredulous look, “Come on, Sam, we've worked enough of these cases to know this is always the easiest and fastest way.”

Through stiff jaws Sam released a harsh, conceding sigh, “OK... then... why does it have to be you and Y/N?”

“Cause we’re best friends; it'll be more believable,” Dean answered easily with a grin.

A disbelieving stare crossed Sam’s indignant features before he looked down to suppress his emotions with a sardonic nod and pursed lips. It was one thing for Dean to suggest playing your husband but to claim that you're his best friend instead of Sam's... That was too far.

“Plus, you've always been better at playing FBI,” his brother continued with that irritating smile.

Sam gave himself a moment before stating adamantly, “I don't think it should be you.”

“What, why? You don't think we can get the job done?” Dean’s tone was accusing, and you knew he was trying to provoke Sam, but ever since the notion that two out of the three of you needed to play a married couple had been introduced, you found yourself at an inevitable impasse.

“No, I-“ Sam could barely get any words out before Dean circled back to you instead.

“Y/N?” The look Dean sent you forced you to face your inner dilemma head on. On the one hand, you wanted nothing more than an excuse to get close to Sam, to hold his hand and gaze at him adoringly without worrying about anyone seeing, and so much more… but on the other hand, you feared that a glimpse of the ‘real deal’, however contrived, might just push you over the decisive edge. What if you couldn’t go back to your platonic guise after? What if you broke your own heart?

“What? Um, yeah, I think it could work,” you rubbed the back of your neck nervously, keeping your eyes on Dean’s to avoid meeting Sam’s.

Your response elicited a smug expression on the older Winchester’s face however, as he returned to questioning his brother, “So what is it, Sam? You don't think I can pretend to be in love with Y/N? Cause trust me, that'll be easy.” There was that wink again, prompting a roll of your eyes.

“No, I just-“ You were worried Sam’s jaw might fall off if he clenched it any tighter. Why did he seem to care so much anyway? Was he jealous? The thought popped into your head almost as quickly as you dismissed it.

“Then what, Sam?” Dean plucked at that final straw and an explosion of the type that had seemed to become increasingly common from the ordinarily calm and gentle giant followed.

“IT SHOULD BE ME, OK?” Sam roared in frustration, his expansive chest was heaving and his hazel irises had darkened immeasurably. “It should be me,” he repeated more quietly.

Dean smirked; this was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he expected. “Well geez, Sammy. If you wanted to get with Y/N so bad, you could’ve just said so.”

“Wha- that’s not- I don't,” Sam looked extremely distressed and you couldn’t blame him. Whatever Dean was playing at had led him to essentially force Sam to reject you out right, and being the compassionate soul that he was, you knew Sam never wanted to hurt you that way, even if it was indirectly. “I just- I think it would work better this way. You're not exactly the marriage or therapy type and you're just not-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You wanna shack up with Y/N and who could blame you? There’s no need to throw a hissy fit, baby brother. She’s all yours.” Dean chuckled at the sight of your averted eyes and Sam’s burning cheeks, thinking his work was just about done, “Alright, I’m gonna go get Baby ready. You kids have fun.”

When the echo of a closing door filled the room, Sam turned back to you, “Y/N, look I-“

“Don’t worry about it, Sam, I know what you meant,” you brushed him off hastily, “And you’re right, Dean would probably have a hard time keeping up the act. He’d end up flirting with the therapist or something.” Laughing always did help you conceal the pain in your chest.

As it turned out, it was a flirtatious therapist you should have been more concerned about. The woman had eyes for Sam only as soon as the two of you walked into her office and sat down on the tiny loveseat before her.

“Welcome, I’m Dr. Ryan, but you can call me Marlena,” she paused to perform a not-so-subtle scan along the length of Sam’s body before smiling at him seductively, “Why don’t we start by introducing yourselves?”

You kept your expression neutral though there was an urge to glare at her. After all, didn’t she think Sam was a married man? Perhaps this was part of the scam that got the couples before you killed, your rational side countered.

“Uh, OK…” Sam appeared rather uncomfortable beside you, pressing his lips into a tight semblance of a smile, “Umm, I'm Sam and this is my wife Y-Y/N.”

The damn Winchester was always so adorably flustered every time someone hit on him, something you never failed to find incredibly endearing, especially considering he was a 6'4” hunk of a man who could surely get inside the pants of any woman he wanted. You assumed, being that good looking, he’d be used to the attention by now, but the fact that he still reacted this way was a true testament to his humility.

“And how did you two meet?”

“Through work,” Sam answered shortly. A resounding pang had shot through his chest when he introduced you as his wife and he was still trying to recoup. If only this wasn't all make-believe, if only he could sit close to you and hold your hand in his whenever he wanted and not just for the sake of a ridiculous pretence. The Mr. and Mrs. titles and matching rings weren't even necessary. He just wanted to make you his as much as he was already yours.

Fuck, Dean was right; Sam was in deep. Just the thought of Dean acting as your husband had his heart racing and every muscle in his body tense with envy. There was no way he could have handled seeing his brother all over you, even if it was pretend. And if the fact that he had to make Dean go get the rings for your current ruse, because he had a strong suspicion the act of buying you a ring yet knowing it wasn’t real might just annihilate the final pieces of his fragile heart, wasn’t telling enough... Sam was finally beginning to realize that he could no longer deny his feelings for you.

“Tell me about that. What is it you two do?”

Although the questions were directed at both of you, Marlena’s gaze remained resolutely transfixed upon Sam, but the man was much too busy thinking about you to notice.

“Uh, well it was about 3 years ago. We’re firefighters and Y/N had been sent from another division to help out with a particularly bad… fire. But she somehow got there before we did, and when I arrived on the scene, I saw her walk out of the burning building in a blaze of smoke and dust. She was carrying a little boy, who she had just saved, covered in ash and soot, a-and there was scrape above her left brow that had left a trail of darkened blood down the side of her face,” Sam smiled to himself at the memory, “But I couldn’t move. It was just all so surreal because it was the last thing I expected to find, and I thought she was the most beautiful soul I had ever set my eyes on. I knew right then that I would gladly devote the rest of my life to getting to know her better, to becoming worthy of her, but when she came up to us, I could barely speak in full sentences and I made a fool of myself by stumbling over my own feet. My brother, who’s uh- also a firefighter, later told me he thought I was having a stroke.” Sam chuckled softly. His eyes were downcast, and he seemed to be a little lost in his own world.

By contrast, you were staring at him in shock. You remembered the day quite clearly, although in reality it was a wendigo that you were forced to kill by starting a fire since your flare gun wouldn’t work, but Sam got the rest of the details spot on. The lilt of his voice as he spoke had made it all sound so real, for a moment, you nearly tricked yourself. Who knew he had such incredible acting chops on top of all those other skills?

“Well, that sounds like a beautiful start. I’m assuming you work together now?” Taking note of the new edge in her voice, you gave her a nod and Dr. Ryan continued, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a pen, “It must be terribly hard to maintain a work-life balance and keep the romance alive. I’m sure there are issues from work that you’ll often bring home, conflicts that can never be resolved considering the lack of alone time? Maybe something you found annoying about the other that seemed bearable in the beginning but has now festered to become an unmendable chasm between the two of you?”

Your eyes narrowed of their own accord. Between the obvious flirting to the now obvious attempt to instigate discord between you and Sam, you were starting to think Marlena was undoubtedly the monster (that or she was an awful couples therapist). Her motive remained unclear though, so you played along.

“Uh, well Sam can be a bit… overprotective, at times, when we’re working, and sometimes it can get in the way of the job.”

“Ok but that’s only because Y/N can be ludicrously stubborn, at times, and she has a habit of running headfirst into danger." Sam was surprisingly quick to retort.

"It's literally our job to run into danger, Sam.” Your body was now twisted to face his, “And if I recall correctly, my ‘ludicrous stubbornness’ has led to the saving of multiple lives, yours included."

Sam lowered his head and scoffed lightly before he too turned to face you completely, golden eyes boring into yours with an intensity you were not prepared for, "I know it has but sometimes you act like other people's lives are worth more than yours and that's not true. Besides, it's my job to care about you, to protect you… I-I mean as your husband."

For a second, things got a little too real there, but you took a deep breath to remind yourself this was all just an act, "And I appreciate that Sam, but sometimes it can be a bit overbearing-"

"Well if I'm overbearing it's only because I'm terrified every time we go out there,” Sam began to enunciate every word stiffly, speaking almost entirely through gritted teeth, “Because I can't bear the thought of losing you, because I can't fathom living a life without you!"

And once again, you were left staring at him with your mouth agape. He sure was laying it on thick, or perhaps he just wanted to win the fight, because you had no idea how to argue against that.

“Alright, I think that’s enough on that topic. Maybe we should try something else,” Dr. Ryan interjected, “Oh look at that, time’s almost up! I always end my sessions with a fun little exercise. I want you to look each other in the eyes and take turns coming up with one positive word to describe the other, something you love about your partner, but it must be genuine.”

Quirking your brow, you struggled to restrain the smile on your face as you turned back to Sam. Well this’ll be easy.

“Intelligent,” you stated matter-of-factly, figuring you’d start with something relatively un-incriminating.

“Strong,” Sam came back at you immediately. There was a fierceness in his eyes, almost as if he was daring you to bring it on.

“Kind,” came your simple response.

“Discerning.” His voice seemed lower for some reason.

“Capable,” you kept your eyes locked on Sam’s as you lifted your chin.

“Tough.” There was an undeniable fondness that accompanied the word when it left his lips.

“Sassy,” you replied, unable to stop the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Tenacious,” Sam narrowed his eyes at you.

“Selfless.” Why did you sound so out of breath?

“Complex.” He was smiling at you now.

“Protective,” you finally admitted despite your earlier complaints.

“Beguiling,” Why were you both whispering?

“Tall.” Was that lust you could hear in your own voice?

“Badass,” Was that lust you could hear in his voice?

“Gorgeous… or handsome if you prefer.” When did your faces get so close?

“So fucking beautif-”

“Woah! OK, I think we’re done here.” Shit, you had almost forgotten about the therapist. “That was… excessive. I don’t think I’ll be needing to see you again,” she declared as she stood up rather suddenly, prompting you and Sam to do the same though you were both still a little caught up in your game.

“Wow, you really are tall,” Marlena breathed out as she smoothed a hand down her pencil skirt. The provocative tone of her voice had you back down to earth in no time. "And those years of firefighting have definitely paid off, what with all those big muscles.”

Sam gave an awkward half laugh as he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you tight against his side. You weren’t sure what compelled you to but as if on instinct, you raised your outer hand and placed it lightly on Sam’s stomach, feeling his abs contracting even through the soft flannel beneath your fingers as you replied, “Yeah, that’s just another one of the many things I love about Sam.”

The laugh that escaped Sam this time was much more sincere, “Thank you for your time, Dr. Ryan.” He kept his hand on your waist as he led the two of you out the door, trying his damnedest to ignore the enticing sensation your touch had evoked throughout his body, as well as the subsequent questions of what your little hand might feel like on other parts of him if a simple graze of his abdomen could produce such a dramatic effect.

“Did it seem like she was rushing us to you?” you questioned Sam pensively when you were back at the motel half an hour later.

“Yeah, like the more we spoke, the more she lost interest in us,” he agreed.

Your next words tumbled out without permission and you could only cringe at the bitter inflection of your voice, “Well, she didn’t seem to lose any interest in you.”

Sam felt himself smile at your adorableness; he couldn’t help it when your bottom lip jutted out like that. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were jealous.

“Are you two outta your damn minds?” Dean looked from his brother’s face to yours. “Did you even check the time? She only gave you about half of what we paid for!”

“What, really?” you and Sam responded in chorus.

“Yeah, but luckily I’m a genius and I got everything we needed within the first few minutes.” Grinning in that cocky way of his, Dean explained, “Your EMF sensors were off the charts as soon as you walked into her office, and I found ectoplasm in the bathroom.”

“She’s a ghost?” Sam did that adorable scrunchy thing with his face and you had to physically stop yourself from staring.

“Possessed by one, yeah. And I checked the records. She spent at least an hour overtime with both of the dead couples.”

“So, what, are we not good enough to be her next victims?” you wondered.

“Maybe she saw through the act?” Sam suggested.

Dean was fumbling through a stack of papers until he found something, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it. Here, check this out.”

Sam started to read out loud, “’Grave of local girl found desecrated by joggers passing through the cemetery early Sunday morning…’”

“Turns out the kid got pushed out a window accidentally when her parents were fighting... Splat.” Dean elaborated, ever so tactfully.

You were starting to piece it together though, “So now she’s seeking out dysfunctional couples to kill them the way she died… for what, revenge? Or to stop them from accidentally murdering their own kids?”

“That’s my best guess,” Dean confirmed.

“Huh… nice work on research, buddy. I’m impressed,” the playful grin you sent Dean’s way was not lost on Sam.

“Yeah, well your husband’s not the only one who can look stuff up around here. Besides, someone had to do the work while you two were off playing Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“Sam and I have never tried to kill each other,” you argued.

Dean snorted while grabbing his jacket, “And that’s about the only way your relationship differs.”

When he saw your brows pull together in confusion, Sam quickly cut in to change the subject, “So uh- what’s the plan?”

His brother was nearly out the door when he responded, “Nice and easy. I’ll go burn the bones while you guys go back and distract her with your little love fest, capiche?”

The ghost was surprisingly open this time around, admitting freely to her past crimes and even explaining her methods. Apparently, flirting with the husbands was a routine and easy test to spot any cracks in the relationships, one that she claimed Sam had passed with flying colors. But you knew better than to assume his achievement had anything to do with you. After all, you’d seen the man hold fast against the fervent advances of a high-end stripper before, while he was drunk. This was nothing.

“But why kill them?” Sam questioned, with the kind of genuine curiosity that only he could exhibit towards a murderous monster.

“Because it’s better to die than stay in a loveless marriage… But of course you two wouldn’t underst-“ Dean must have completed his task because the therapist was interrupted by a shapeless black plume bursting through her mouth.

‘Oh Shit,’ you thought relentingly as you watched the spirit eject itself and disappear into a fiery cloud of dark fumes, a forlorn expression upon your face, ‘I’m in love with Sam Winchester.’

→ CARRY ON

thank you for reading! feedback super appreciated!!

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking @jotink78

STTC TAG TEAM: @matchesarelit @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @gia-25 @laurakirsten0502 @ruined-by-destiel @sunflowersandotherthings

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #spnfluffbingo2021 #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam x female!reader #jealous!sam x reader #fake marriage #huffy!sam #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester imagine #spn reader insert #supernatural fanfic #spn #sttc #my writing #text

285 notes · View notes

goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 3 years

Note

For the 50 cliché tropes and prompts alutegra with 5 ? If you don't mind?

5. Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap. Oh geez I haven't written these two in awhile! It's easy to lose the sense of the absolutely ridiculous way they talk.

Also this prompt was from awhile ago but I’m still taking requests for it if anyone wants to send any in! *** Alucard wasn’t particularly surprised to find Integra in the library at half past four in the morning. She was curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea, gaze fixed out the window, on the silent blanket of night, and its deceptive peacefulness. She had always kept odd hours for a human. With the sort of work they did, urgent matters often came up at night. And even if there weren’t any, Alucard knew she’d want to be up just in case. Just to be prepared, she’d say. Though this was later than usual for her.

She didn’t look up when he appeared before her, phasing through the floor with a flourish. Disappointing. She didn’t much care for his theatrics anymore. When she’d been younger it used to unsettle her, and for a while she used to find it funny. But some tricks got old, he supposed.

“Master,” he said, by way of greeting.

Integra only gave him a half smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He realized she was dressed for sleep, hair mussed as if she’d just left her bed. She looked tired. “You’re back very soon.”

“I didn’t have much to do,” he replied blithely, inviting himself to lounge beside her.

She raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“The Police Girl is becoming very self-sufficient. She hardly required my presence.”

“She’s certainly more efficient than another vampire I know.” She said with a grimace, though she didn’t seem to mind when he moved to rest his head on her lap. This sort of familiarity would be out of the question during the daylight hours, or when anyone else might see. But there was something different about quiet, comfortable moments like this. “You don’t sound very pleased about her making progress. Afraid of being usurped?”

“Not at all. It’s simply less entertaining this way.”

She sighed. “Of course you’d think that.” Idly she began running her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, savoring the touch. “You’d better not start purring,”

“Vampires do not purr,” he replied in indignation.

“Whatever you say.” Integra drained the last of her tea and set it aside. He didn’t miss how carefully she leaned over, so as not to jostle him. He stifled a smug smile.

“Are we waiting for the sunrise?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Is something troubling you, Integra?”

She looked away. “It’s nothing.” Alucard only waited, until she finally asked him, “Does the blood on your hands ever weigh on your heart?”

He blinked, surprised by the question. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, so he answered honestly and perhaps more simply than he ordinarily would. “No.”

“It weighs on mine.” She took a deep breath. “I feel especially heavy today.”

“And that is precisely why you are the one who leads, and I follow.” He caught the hand running through his hair and pressed it to his cheek. She quickly retrieved it, letting it rest at her side, much to his disappointment.

“Oh? I thought it was my bloodline.”

“Well, some of both.” He grinned. “But is it the blood on my hands that’s bothering you today?”

She shook her head. “Three days ago, I sent a team of four to Lancaster. I thought the smaller number would draw less attention to them, but… two of them died. The other two were critically injured.” She sighed. “Tonight I sent another team of nine.”

“Why did you send humans? Perhaps that mission would’ve been a more interesting use of my time.”

“Politics. Local authorities were adamant about it. It seems you didn’t leave a very good impression the last time you were there. It’s not funny.”

“I didn’t laugh,” he said lightly, but sobered at the look he gave her.

“I shouldn’t have humored the request.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, despite her sharp look. “Taking politics into account isn’t necessarily any less important— “

“Because you think getting along with local authorities is so important?” she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

“Not in the slightest. I maintain that if you allowed me to serve the heads of any dissenters to you on a platter, there’d be a stunningly smaller number of them.”

“Because they’d be dead?”

“Because it would put fear in their hearts, and cowardice is such a very common trait. But regardless, how success is determined depends on what your aim is: preserving life, destroying the enemy, or fostering allies. Sacrifice the others to achieve the one.”

“There has to be some compromise.”

He half attempted a shrug, fully aware that it looked ridiculous, sprawled on her lap as he was. “When mortal soldiers are sent out onto a battleground, they die. Perhaps one, perhaps all. Either way, it is an eventuality. And if the highest concern is preventing death, then that is a mistake. But if you value good relations above all else, then it was the correct choice. ”

“Are you so unbothered by death?”

“Does it matter what I think?” he replied. “I do not issue orders, I simply carry them out.”

She sighed, but went back to toying with his hair, twirling a few locks of it around her fingers. Outside, the sun was, in fact, beginning to rise, and orange splashes of light bloomed over the horizon. Send me a ship and a prompt! I don't care about the fandom I'll attempt anything

#alutegra #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alucard #integra hellsing #ship ask game #ask games #all the bendy punctuations #*writer's cap*#fluff #long post #a string of words #I ramble sometimes #ship prompts

56 notes · View notes

candycityy · 3 years

Note

Ooh rivetra and 20 or 76 (or both if you want to ;)) for the Drabble prompts pleeeease 🧡🖤

Note: I did both because what can I say, I love a challenge, hehehe. I hope you like it!

References this earlier drabble.

(You can also read this on AO3!)

So here's the thing, right. For all his flaws—and he does have flaws, no matter what the fawning masses think—Levi isn't stupid.

Sure, he's not probably not cut out for the rarefied, upper-crust intelligentsia that Erwin Smith moves in. And sure, certain idiots of the variety of Hanji Zoë might swear on their dying breaths that he's all brawn and no brain, et cetera, but the truth is, he's got enough street smarts and common sense that most people conveniently overlook his awful social skills.

And that means that contrary to popular belief, Levi doesn't totally suck at social events. The Sina elite tend to misread his frosty bluntness and lack of etiquette as a refreshing, man-on-the-street brand of humour. Which, well, whatever works, he supposes.

Unfortunately, as a matter of consequence, that means that even with a hyperactive three-year old at home, Erwin had point-blank refused to let him off for this year's Midwinter Ball. He'd given him leave for the past few since Ava was still far too young to be left alone at home, but judging by the commander's expression, he's just about exhausted his excuses.

"You know the state of our finances, Levi," he'd said, cerulean eyes earnest and entreating. "We need every coin we can get. And, well, you're always quite popular at these balls, being humanity's strongest and all—not accounting for taste, of course—"

"Oi!"

The commander'd smirked, but his expression had faded back to solemnity quickly enough. "We need you there, Levi. I won't make it an order, but consider it...a personal request. Please?"

Levi'd grumbled under his breath. "Whatever. I'll go, I'll go, just stop looking at me like that," he'd barked.

Erwin had smiled. "I knew I could count on you, Levi."

Cut to the present. It's just past six o'clock, the winter sky only now beginning to darken into a somewhat forbidding shade of violet-grey. He's already dressed in his standard black suit, pacing back and forth the small living room, his eyes darting to the clock every few seconds.

Petra, who's in the midst of removing the curlers from her hair, shoots him an irritated look. "Would you calm down," she hisses, "you're driving me crazy. And Ava's going to pick up on it too, you know."

They both glance at their daughter, who's serenely colouring in a picture in crayon at the other end of the room. The three-year-old is Petra in miniature, from her wide eyes right down to her peaches-and-cream complexion. With just one exception: her hair is just a touch darker than her mother's: more cinnamon than honey.

Levi runs a hand through his hair. "Why aren't they here yet?" he says, for the third time that night.

"Because we told them to come at half past," Petra replies, with somewhat less patience than she'd ordinarily have. "Now get over here and help me do up my necklace, would you."

The metal is cold to the touch, but Petra just smiles softly as he clasps the necklace behind her neck with deft fingers. "Remember our first Midwinter Ball?" she reminisces. "That was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

"Fun for you, maybe," Levi says drily. "I was busy dragging Auruo off the dance floor after he puked and blacked out, remember?"

She giggles. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that part. But still, that was when we danced together for the first time." They fall into a comfortable, nostalgic silence, and finally, he sighs.

"I still don't like leaving her alone," he mutters.

"It's hardly the first time," Petra says gently.

"I know, but it's the first time we'll be so far from her. And for so long, too—a whole night." His eyes turn contemplative. "Maybe I could just ride back, after the ball—if the weather isn't bad—"

"Don't even think about it," she says sharply. "The roads aren't safe this time of year, especially not so late at night, there's too much ice. We'll be back in the morning, Levi. Don't worry so much."

He snorts. "Easier said than done. Why aren't they here yet?" he asks again. This time, Petra ignores him, instead turning back to the mirror and carefully applying lipstick with a practiced hand.

After the final step—dusting her cheeks with rose-tinted powder—she rises to her feet, doing a slow turn in her gown, a sleek, champagne-coloured affair with a fitted bodice and fluted sleeves, cut out of satin and embellished with tiny buttons down the front. Her delicately curled hair falls in soft waves to her collarbone, just brushing the front of her dress.

"What do you think?" she goes. Oblivious to his sullen silence, she juts out a hip and flutters her lashes at him coquettishly, an action which earns her an eye-roll.

"You're going to make everyone stare," he grumbles. She giggles.

"I have to keep your fangirls away, now don't I?" she teases, with a toss of her head. He's about to issue a retort when a knock comes at the door.

"Right on time, as usual," Petra declares. Levi just scowls.

He'd had been reluctant to get them back after the first disastrous incident, but Petra had insisted that they'd done a good job—"after all, Ava was perfectly fine, wasn't she?" As a result, Eren and Jean have become their go-to babysitters ever since. Levi's loath to admit it, but their daughter has warmed up to them. She's already toddling over to the door with a ready beam on her face, as the boys troop in through the door, faces flushed with the cold.

"Eren nii-chan! Jean nii-chan!" she chirps, plump arms outstretched. "Pick me up, pleaaaase?"

Eren breaks into a grin and obliges. His terror of Levi has subsided somewhat, although he still occasionally trips over his feet whenever he walks past, but he openly adores the toddler. Jean's a bit more reserved, but as Ava begins to babble cheerfully, his expression noticeably softens—even though he claims he's not a fan of babies, Levi suspects that he's secretly just as enamoured with Ava as his comrade is.

Of course, that only makes sense, considering that as far as Levi is concerned, Ava Ackerman is the cutest fucking baby on the planet.

Outside the door, there's the distant sound of approaching hooves pounding against cobblestone. Sensing a farewell, Petra sighs and leans over to give Ava one last hug, as Levi presses a gentle kiss to his daughter's cheek.

"We'll better be off," she says reluctantly. "Boys, thank you so much for taking care of Ava tonight. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."

All four adults exchange grim, silent glances; they know what's coming next. Levi picks up his coat and shrugs it on. Petra wraps a scarf around her neck.

And with a sigh, they push the door open, and wait.

Three, two—

"Nooooo!"

Ava lets out a ear-splitting shriek, one that seems far too loud to come from such a small baby. Her eyes well up with anxious tears as she comes to the awful realisation that her parents are leaving without her, and she struggles desperately towards them, her face screwed-up and flushed with fury, as Eren doggedly tries to keep her from wriggling out of his arms. Beside him, Jean attempts in vain to ply her with sweets and toys, but she won't be soothed or distracted.

"No, no, no!" Ava wails. Her tiny fists pummel Eren's shoulder, who, to his credit, doesn't flinch, just hefts her up resignedly. "No go, no go! Stay!"

Petra sends him a warning look. And even as every atom of his body rebels against the thought of it...

Levi steps over the threshold, and into the wintry night air.

"Levi," Petra says patiently, "you're fidgeting."

She places a hand on his thigh, which, apparently, he'd been subconsciously jiggling all this while. Calming Ava down had taken about ten whole minutes, but Eren and Jean had finally managed to distract her with a game of hide-and-seek—her new favourite—and they'd quietly snuck onto the carriage before she could realise their trick.

They're barely more than a mile from home, but already being away from Ava feels like a piercing, physical pain in the front of his skull, a palpable anxiety that refuses to fade. Even Petra's presence, usually so comforting, doesn't soothe him in the slightest.

"Sorry," he mutters. "It's just—it's fucking terrifying, being a parent." His wife touches his cheek in silent commiseration, and they both sit in silence.

It's as perfect a night as it could ever be, in all honesty. The moon is full and bright, its silvery light beaming helpfully onto their path. The road is almost deserted this evening—Levi supposes most people would rather be safely tucked in the warmth of their homes, celebrating the holiday season with their own families instead of with dozens of expensively-attired strangers.

Fuck it all. Sensing his blood pressure rising, he takes a deep breath. The air is cool and dry and calming. Turning to stare out at the window, he listens to the rhythmic clickity-clack of the horses' hooves, their huffed pants of exertion, the metallic whine of the wheels—

Levi frowns. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Petra starts to ask, and then stills—this time, she'd heard it too. That high-pitched, bell-like sound, that sounds disturbingly like...

She swallows. "D-did you just make that noise?"

He stares at her drily. "I don't think my vocal chords could physically manage that."

"You don't think..." Her jaw drops, and she almost leaps towards the driver's seat in her urgency, startling the poor old man. "Excuse me! Stop the carriage, please!"

The horses have barely come to a halt when Levi disembarks from the carriage in one swift, fluid movement. He strides towards the back of the carriage, where, he knows, there's a small compartment built in, just large enough for their overnight bags and gear.

As well as—perhaps—a three-year-old toddler, if she were crouching quite close to the floor. Like, for instance, in a game of hide-and-seek.

His expression is grim as he tugs open the lid of the compartment. Behind him, Petra looks frozen, her face a mixture of trepidation and incredulity and just the tiniest hint of amusement.

The lid comes loose. "Daddy!" their irrepressible daughter exclaims, springing out of her crouching position. She giggles again, that familiar high-pitched, bell-like sound almost unnaturally loud in the silence of the night. "Mama! Ava came along!"

For a second, both parents are struck speechless as they stare at their cheerful stowaway in wordless horror.

Finally, Petra opens her mouth to speak.

"You don't say," she deadpans.

By the time they reach Sina, the ball has already started.

Of course, considering how they had to turn back around (much to the chagrin of the carriage-driver), tuck Ava very firmly into bed (it goes easier this time, considering how exhausted she is from the very dramatic game of hide-and-seek), reassure a terrified Eren and Jean that they're not mad (although Levi still isn't sure, to be honest), and allow them to resume sentry duty before leaving, he figures they actually made pretty good time.

Other than the very pointed, self-righteous look the doorman shoots them as they stumble into the hall, they manage to blend into the crowd with relative ease. They quickly touch base with the rest of the squad and collect two well-deserved flutes of wine before searching for Erwin, if only to reassure him that they did, in fact, come.

The commander is, of course, easy enough to spot, what with his stature and all. And although he initially looks mildly disapproving, his expression quickly turns wry once he hears the tale.

"That's quite a story," he says, nodding politely at a passing noblewoman, who blushes alluringly and bats her eyes. "Although, I suppose I should be glad you turned up at all, considering."

Petra giggles. "Touché. Although, maybe next year, we can bring her along. Wouldn't that be adorable?"

"Over my dead body," Levi says flatly. "But maybe next year, you'll let me stay home, Erwin."

The blonde man sighs and casts his eyes skyward. Around them, the party thrums cheerfully, soldiers mingling with nobles, careful words and casual touches exchanged over good dance and better drink. But although the atmosphere is thick with holiday cheer and inebriation, the commander seems wearily immune. "Maybe next year, I'll finally resign."

Levi snorts and lifts his wine-glass. "I'll toast to that."

Drabble challenge!

#thank you for the prompt!!#rivetra #levi x petra #attack on titan #levi ackerman #petra ral #aot fanfiction #candycity writes

36 notes · View notes