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panharmonium · 3 years

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this is legitimately one of my top five favorite kakashi scenes.

i love seeing kakashi break the rules in the name of doing the right thing, and this scene especially is particularly satisfying to me, because his moment of defiance here is, to my mind, long overdue.

one of my eternal frustrations in early naruto is how the leaf village administration gives kakashi the job of caring for a group of super high-needs children and then continually makes that job as difficult for him as possible. they task him with being solely responsible for the development and well-being of three twelve year-olds - a group that includes naruto (a walking disaster with a god’s power trapped inside his body) and sasuke (a genocide survivor fixated on killing his own brother), BOTH of whom are being hunted by different groups of supercriminals - and then the village keeps getting in kakashi’s way or dropping the ball or actively ordering him to prioritize other things.

so much of what goes wrong with the kids in this period is the result of other people interfering with kakashi’s work or being negligent or endangering the kids/putting kakashi in impossible positions. team 7’s first big mission sets the tone for everything that comes after, with someone else’s lie putting kakashi in a situation where he has to single-handedly protect not just the client who deceived him, but the three children who were supposed to be the clients’ other protectors. and after that, the list just multiplies:

ten anbu operatives can’t manage to protect sasuke’s hospital room from orochimaru’s minions, so kakashi has to do it himself and then whisk sasuke out of the village for a month, leaving naruto in the hands of a substitute and sakura with her parents

genma orders sasuke to chase after gaara when the chunin exams blow up, saying “you’re at chunin level already,” which forces kakashi to immediately dispatch more kids to bring him back, because “ffs NO i do NOT want him out there doing that why the fuck would you tell him to do that?!”

aoba runs his mouth off about itachi when sasuke is standing RIGHT THERE, instantly undoing all the work kakashi just did to prevent itachi and sasuke from coming anywhere near each other (and thus sending sasuke to that disastrous first encounter, the outcome of which ultimately leads to sasuke’s defection)

jiraiya decides he should let sasuke try to fight itachi himself, “out of respect for the boy’s feelings,” leading to sasuke ending up in a tsukuyomi coma

tsunade orders kakashi to drop his teaching work and leave the village on a mission even though a) he’s just gotten out of his own torture-induced coma and b) sasuke is having a crisis that kakashi is trying to manage

and then when kakashi gets back from that mission and finds out that surprise, all of this meddling has led to a disaster, tsunade tries to order him away AGAIN

but this time - he just says no.

he walks right out of her office. he turns his back on her. and there is NOTHING i love more than seeing kakashi embody the philosophy that he’s chosen to adopt as his guiding light: those who break the rules are scum. but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.

it’s not that he doesn’t understand where tsunade is coming from here. but he knows she’s wrong. she’s making her decisions based solely on concerns about the Leaf Village being in a tight spot - feeling like they can’t turn down missions because they’ll appear weak and thus become vulnerable to attack when they’re already operating at half strength. she sends a group of twelve year-olds to bring sasuke back because supposedly the village can’t spare anyone else, “even if it means letting the sharingan fall into orochimaru’s hands” - but like. it’s not the sharingan. it’s a child. sasuke isn’t just a repository for his hereditary jutsu; he’s not a pair of eyes to be passed around from one wielder to the next. he’s a human child.

tsunade doesn’t know sasuke. she’s new to the situation and doesn’t know enough about it to understand how serious it is. i don’t even think she was still in the village when the uchiha massacre occurred; the timeline makes it sound like she left long before that. she doesn’t really understand who sasuke is or how much trouble he’s in - she makes her decision because she feels like her first priority has to be the well-being of the Leaf as a whole, not the individual people who comprise it. kakashi, though, who a) lives his life by a very different philosophy and b) does understand sasuke’s situation, would not have dealt with the issue like this, and if the village had let him do his job from the beginning, things wouldn’t have gotten to this point in the first place.

kakashi is horrified that tsunade sent a bunch of twelve year-olds out to fight orochimaru’s ninja, and i think he’s also probably angry and/or frustrated about having been ordered out of the village in the first place. he was dealing with the situation before tsunade sent him away. he interrupted the fight between sasuke and naruto even though he himself had literally just gotten out of the hospital, and then he continued addressing the issue with sasuke privately (unlike jiraiya’s non-attempt to address it with naruto, when he said he was going to give naruto a talking-to but actually flaked out). kakashi knew sasuke was struggling, and he was doing all the things a teacher is supposed to do to address it, but then he was ordered away, and even though it was just for two days, it was enough time for everything to go to hell.

if people would just let him do his job - if the administration would let him focus on the task they themselves assigned to him - things would be different. but everybody wants him to do everything. they want him to be everywhere. they want him to protect the nine-tails jinchuriki (who is also kakashi’s dead teacher’s son), and train the last surviving uchiha (which is a task only kakashi and his sharingan can perform), and give equal attention to a third kid, for good measure, and they want him to do it without stepping away from any of his other burdens, all while other people around him constantly frustrate the progress he makes.

so this time, when tsunade tries to send him away, he refuses. he disobeys her orders and walks out of the room. he doesn’t care about the rules or what he’s “legally” obligated to do. he knows what the RIGHT thing to do is, and so he rejects his new mission in favor of rescuing the kids.

i love these moments. i love when we’re shown so clearly the person kakashi has chosen to be - someone who does what’s right, not just what he’s told. he made an active choice many years ago to adopt that philosophy, and he’s been living by those new rules ever since. he's wiser now than he was when he was a child - sometimes you have to break ranks to do the right thing. sometimes you have to buck the system, even if it means you might face severe personal consequences.

he had one of two choices: either save the mission or his comrades. of course, according to the law of the village, you cannot abandon a mission. but to save the life of his comrades, he put the mission on hold.

kakashi may have spent a good chunk of his childhood trying to reject everything the subject of that story stood for, but none of his attempts to harden his heart ever stuck. he is, in the end, his father’s son.

#naruto #pan watches naruto #meta #i got lost on the path of life #*#anyway i just LOVE seeing kakashi break the rules #gives me so much satisfaction #he's worked so hard to become who he is today #and he's grown so much #on the other hand...#i HATE seeing kakashi take all of his frustration with how the village has mishandled things #and immediately turn it around upon himself #'i was too naive'#'i'm too late'#'it was my cowardice that drove the three of you apart'#'i'm sorry you have such a careless sensei'#none of that is even REMOTELY true #literally the last thing kakashi ever was with these kids was 'careless' or 'cowardly'#the deck was stacked against him from the beginning and he still did EVERYTHING he could #but he blames himself for all the things that went wrong #even when they were completely out of his control #and that's why i maintain that the last hurdle kakashi is going to surmount in this story is guilt #that's the natural progression of his character arc #the one thing he has never been able to do -#despite all his other achievements and hard-won personal growth -#is let go of his guilt and shame #that's why his character design looks the way it looks #the way he wears that headband isn't a fashion choice. it's a symbolic representation of how he hasn't cleared this obstacle yet #he has never released himself from blame or forgiven himself for anything #maybe someday...but i guess i'll just have to wait and see

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 years

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hey I wrote something

I mean. I've BEEN writing it I've been futzing with this story since like... at least 2019? 2018? not a short amount of time. it's turned into a pretty bloated behemoth in that time and I'm hoping to pare it back down to its original spirit.

I'm not done and I'm hoping that by throwing like the first half(ish) up here I can shame myself into seeing it through and actually getting it done.

content warning for uuuh climate grief, suicide, animal death, extreme isolation, and the ocean being creepy as hell. I think that's all the biggies.

01.

On a lonely stretch of beach at the end of the world there stood a drafty cottage, and in that cottage dwelt a woman called Elnora.

She had no family name to speak of, for the simple enough reason that she didn’t have a family. That was how she found herself in such a desolate place to begin with: only wards of the state wound up as shorekeepers, paying back the great generosity that had been shown in keeping them alive.

Elnora had often been told that she was one of the lucky ones, because she did well on her tests and had a “good temperament” for shore work. That was a hard and grueling lot in life, to be certain, but also a vital one that would save many lives and help humanity strike back against the sea.

Besides, it could be worse. Orphans who didn’t have a good work ethic grew up to sweep the streets or stand at factory assembly lines for hours on end, until their eyes seemed permanently empty and all their words came out in a jumbled mumble. You’d be put to work one way or another, Elnora thought, so you may as well try to be cheerful about it.

No one liked an ungrateful orphan.

02.

She was being watched by something in the wicked sea.

Elnora had first noticed this precisely one week prior, although she suspected it might have been going on quite a bit longer than that. Peering out her small window one night she had noticed something shining on the waves - no, scratch that: two somethings, bobbing on the waves.

Two eyes, obviously, catching the light from her cottage in the most unsettling way. Small enough that it must have been a siren, only one hundred or so feet from the shore.

She had taken to sleeping with a pair of soundproof earmuffs jammed tight over her ears, which was terribly uncomfortable and made it hard to fall asleep. Elnora simply brewed stronger coffee in the morning to compensate; lost sleep was better than the alternative.

On the eighth night of being watched she logged her daily reports - measurements of wind and wave and weather alike - and clambered into her little bed, snug beneath the extra quilt that had once belonged to a fellow keeper. His bed stood empty against the opposite wall now, untouched out of respect.

03.

The International Sea Patrol had been a well-oiled machine once, or so Elnora had been told.

She thought that was a funny expression, a holdover from a time when there was so much oil that people took it for granted.

Regardless, there was a time when things had run very efficiently. Keepers didn’t hold any post longer than two months, and would receive a month of rest and relaxation in between each post. They never worked alone, but no pair was together longer than a month to prevent them from getting at each other’s throats. The older keepers talked about this time with reverence.

Somewhere along the line, two months had started bleeding into three. The ISP was so short-staffed, people simply weren’t enlisting like they used to, all convicts and orphans now - but it was such important work. Surely the dutiful shorekeepers could be counted on to man their stations even if it meant staying put a bit longer than they were accustomed to?

Of course, said the shorekeepers. It would be an honor.

So two months became three, and three became six, and six became a year without anyone quite realizing how. And it became more solitary along the way, so having a partner was a lucky break rather than an ironclad regulation.

Elnora’s conscript had called for a year-long post on her lonely shore. By her count she was currently on day five hundred and forty five - and counting.

04.

The morning after the storm, Elnora saw to her daily tasks before going out to comb the beach. There was water to gather from her solar still, wind speeds from the night before to log, sand endlessly in need of being swept back outside.

For breakfast she made a mug of strong coffee and chased it down with a crunchy dehydrated mean. They tasted nominally better if you bothered to hydrate them first, but not so much better that Elnora regretted not making the effort.

The delivery drone was two days late with replenishments to her rations, which had never happened before, but Elnora was trying not to worry about that.

When she was fed, if not nourished, she pulled on the thick boots and gloves that would protect her from the ocean’s sting and grabbed the long, pointed pole that would allow her to examine things from a cautious distance. There were rarely any surprises to be found on her beach, even after a storm, but one could never be too safe when it came to the sea.

Outside, in the water gray light of dawn, she spotted at once the largest of the items that the sea had left her: a humanoid figure, skeletal and green, gills gasping against the air.

05.

Even in its death throes, with the fish all gone and the very water turned to poison, the ocean had refused to go quietly. From the depths it coughed out krakens to strangle ships and drag them down; leviathans that could ram through any hull; sirens, with songs that turned sailors into their own worst enemies.

These beasts were covered extensively in the training every scorekeeper underwent. If one was found washed up dead then it would be immeasurably valuable, for the ISP wanted nothing as badly as it wanted to learn the inner workings of its most dangerous enemies. Any viable specimen, no matter how small, was to be called in immediately for collection.

But first - and this was vital - the keeper must determine that their catch was really dead. For the ocean was a tricky beast, and all its children were the same, and wouldn’t it be just like the damned sea to lure them in close before it struck?

06.

The siren was in poor condition, but very much alive.

Its limbs were long and scrawny, which Elnora knew concealed an awful strength - sailors who got grabbed by their ankles found that the best way of getting free was often to cut their own limbs off, which was much easier than loosening a single siren finger.

Its face couldn’t be human for more than a passing glance - eyes too bulbous, nose barely more than two gashes for nostrils, thin lips unable to conceal its pointed teeth. Its skin was married with thick scars and acid burns, a reminder that even the ocean’s spawn weren’t safe from its wicked ways. Thick dark hair hung tangled down its back, and its chest was dotted with two pinprick black nipples.

Elnora tore her eyes away from that and focused on what, in her estimation, really mattered: the ugly gash in its side, exposing bone and meat to the unforgiving sky.

Overhead, a hungry gull drifted in for a closer look.

07.

The man who’d shared her post - his name was Meech, and he’d been there nearly a year when Elnora came along.

She’d liked him well enough. He was older, and very jaded, and sometimes ranted about how they were being abandoned to die alone on the sea. But he’d also been very gentle, and had a lot of poetry memorized, and he taught her how to knit.

The day before Meech’s year-mark a missive came over the computer: he’d have to stay a little longer, terribly sorry, shortage of staffing, etc. Elnora had sent back a very indignant message on his behalf - it was most unprofessional to not even ask his consent before extending his assignment, or even tell him when his new end date would be! - but Meech sank into quiet resignation. He started keeping odd hours after that, and Elnora often caught him in the middle of the night staring out at the sea.

One morning she had woken to the sound of screaming, or maybe weeping; it seemed somewhere between absolute agony and ecstatic exultation. She never found out what it was, only saw the end results: a swarm of sirens clustered in the shallows, a froth of red that had once been her friend Meech.

08.

The siren came to in the large metal tub that Elnora used to bathe, filled with saltwater that had been hauled inside bucket by bucket and was currently pooling on the worn-down wooden floor.

It blinked its big fishy eyes, which Elnora didn’t like at all.

“I live,” it said, sounding neither pleased nor displeased about this.

“For now,” Elnora said. “I didn’t know you could speak.”

“Unsurprising. There are hardly any things that your kind knows.” The siren looked around with idle curiosity, curling its wormy lip. “You live like this?”

“Shut up. As if you have it any better, living in the ocean.”

The siren looked at its side, the place where it had been gouged wide open, and pressed a tender hand to the wound. The noise it made was somewhere between pleasure and pain, entirely satisfaction. “Mmm. Yes. Mother Sea dragged me across the rocks last night, as punishment for being careless. Silly me, bad siren.”

“What do you mean, being careless?”

“Too close to shore when the storm came. Too distracted trying to watch my favorite shoregirl.” The siren flashed her a smile like a shark’s, all cruel sharp teeth.

“Oh, no,” Elnora said firmly. “I know how you work, getting in people’s heads. It’s not going to work on me.”

“And yet you saved me.”

“Yes. I did.”

09.

After Meech died she’d had a cat for about a week.

It was a pathetic-looking stray - hardly anyone had the money to spend on keeping animals anymore - with patchy black and white fur and one eye missing. It almost certainly had fleas, and maybe worms. Elnora had no reason to believe she’d be able to requisition medicine to care for it, let alone proper food, but she started letting herself fantasize about keeping it around all the same. She started spending hours sitting still so that it would feel safe enough to approach her, and toying with ideas for different names.

Of course that all came to an end when the poor creature tried to eat something that had washed up out of the sea. Elnora screamed and chased it away, but it was no good - she found it the next day stiff and dead, covered in flies, having apparently choked on its own vomit.

She buried it far into the sand dunes, having walked so far that she could hardly hear the waves, determined not to let the sea have it in death.

10.

“Your wound is looking better,” Elnora said that evening, after a long day of stubbornly ignoring the siren. Every few hours she’d splash a fresh bucket of saltwater into the tub, but she always averted her eyes when she did.

The siren stretched out in an indecently suggestive way, looking quite pleased with itself. “Rest and relaxation. All thanks to you, kind shoregirl.”

“Shut up.”

Elnora awkwardly set up the privacy screen that had gone unused since Meech’s death, fumbling out of her clothing and into her bed clothes behind it. She felt twice as clumsy as usual, sweating as she fretted that the siren might somehow be able to see right through the flimsy barrier.

“Shall I sing you to sleep?” the siren cooed, inhuman voice mocking. “Oh, please, let me do something kind for you. A little token of my gratitude!”

“You will not,” Elnora said, but she may as well have told the sun not to rise or the sea not to be deep and dark and full of things eager to kill.

The siren sang through the night with a voice eerie and inhuman, a sound meant to carry miles through the water. Instead it reverberated over and over against the inside of Elnora’s skull, sinking her into a clammy slumber of twilight dreams. She was startled to find herself blinking awake in the morning after sleeping through the night for the first time in months, feeling oddly raw.

“Good morning,” said the siren, smirking at her a few feet away. “Sleep well?”

“Mind your own business,” said Elnora, ignoring the throbbing between her thighs and hurrying to check the drone delivery pad.

Another day without fresh rations.

11.

On the beach at the end of the world there was a road, and that road had led straight to the drafty cottage where Elnora dwelt.

There had been a truck that carried supplies once, driven by a handsome young woman with short-cropped hair and calloused hands and the most terribly kind eyes Elnora had ever seen. The driver always stayed a little longer than she needed to, even though that could get her pay docked, and even started smuggling out cheap romance paperbacks after she learned Elnora liked them.

The driver had mentioned once that more and more trucks were being replaced with drones, and she said it with the kind of forced casualty that signaled she was deeply, terribly afraid. Elnora asked her what she would do if she lost her job to automation.

“Go south and fight the wildfires, probably,” the driver said with a shrug. “It’s crap work - ruins your body - but it’s what most of my family does anyway. And somebody has to do it. It’s all hypothetical, though. They won’t replace us, though. Your deliveries are too heavy, it’s too impractical to use a drone.”

That wasn’t the last time Elnora saw her; that would be too bitterly, perfectly ironic. Months passed, the truck came every two weeks like clockwork, and they both forgot about that conversation entirely.

Until one day a drone came in her place, without even giving Elnora a chance to say goodbye.

#wrote something

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irrelevantwriter · 3 years

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House Call

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, reader being scared and horny, Rio’s BDE (y'all know what's up)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Part 1. Rio shows up unannounced to talk business. Among other things.

A/N: It’s here...it’s happening. It took me a whole 2.5 seconds to become obsessed with Rio once I started watching GG. Ya’ll know how I roll. Anyway, this is me just dipping my toe into the water. I didn't get too deep with a plot (spoiler alert: there isn't any). It’s essentially just reader-insert into the show’s current plot, but with some smut thrown in. For fun. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Added a Part 2! Read it here.

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

“You okay?”

The sound of your friend’s concerned voice filled the line, pulling you back to the moment and the conversation you’d been engaged in before you’d burnt yourself in the spray of hot water.

“Yeah, just washing dishes.” You explained, cradling your cell between your shoulder and cheek as you maneuvered dirty dishes under the spout of water.

“So the meeting with the principal? How’d it go?” Rachel asked, getting you back on track.

You sighed, beginning to scrub at a stubborn coffee stain left behind on one of your favorite mugs.

“Fine. The kids are still having a hard time with the divorce so it’s…” You paused, unsure of how to describe the child-like brooding your son and daughter had taken to participating in since you’d separated from their father.

“Tense? Difficult? Weird?” Rachel listed off helpfully.

“All of the above.” You deadpanned, still scrubbing.

“You take the rest of the day off?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do with these kids. Paul said he’d come over later to talk it over.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of him.” Rachel replied, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her words.

“Well, it’s a start. And as much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, I can’t. He’s still their dad.” You explained for the hundredth time, feeling the stress of your situation with your ex starting to creep into your body. Your shoulders felt stiff and your head began to throb with a dull ache. It was a familiar reaction these days. One you loathed.

You opened your mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere when the doorbell rang, chiming throughout the empty expanse of your home.

“Paul?” Rachel asked, obviously hearing the alert of someone’s company over the phone.

“I guess. Look, I’ll call you later.” You said with another sigh, this one more tired than annoyed. You gave up on the stained mug and moved onto drying it, shutting the water off as you did.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You ended the call, aware that you were short with her, but unable to feel sorry for it. You had plenty of other things to worry about, none of which involved your shitty ex or his new girlfriend.

You placed your cell on the counter and turned to make your way to the entryway, mug still clutched in your hand. The ceramic cup dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces when you saw who was already in your kitchen. You gasped, clutching your chest and yelping at the familiar man in black, the dark ink splattered across his throat the first thing you noticed. Your heart leapt, your body going rigid at the unexpected visit. Pop-ups like this were never a good sign.

“I let myself in.” Rio supplied, voice low and thick with authority and charm. He wore a smirk, lips upturned at your surprised reaction. He always seemed amused by you. That fact only served to unsettle you further.

“What’re you doing here?” You managed to say between shaky breaths, fear making your own voice quiver.

“Just checking in, mama. Can’t I do that?” He challenged with his arms spread wide, daring you to say otherwise.

You didn’t.

You went to move around the large kitchen island but the shards of broken mug prevented you from getting far on bare feet. Rio took notice and strode towards you, all clean lines and hooded eyes. He had a swagger about him that radiated. It sent a clear message about the kind of man he was. Confident. Skilled. Smart. There was an ease in his movements, but a beast lay in wait inside, ready to strike when the need arose.

His piercing gaze took in your dress, uncaring of being discreet or polite. He appraised you from the tips of your painted toes to the top of your head. It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. He crowded your space. He always did. While the scent of him filled your nostrils. Something spicy, but pleasing. It sat in your nose, and you knew from previous experience that you’d smell it for hours after.

You swallowed, wanting to avoid his close proximity. You hastily bent down to gather what you could of the jagged pieces, moving around his sneaker-clad feet that stood before you. You tried to ignore his presence, tried to appear calm and composed. It was an uphill battle. The man always knew how to throw you off. He knew how to keep people on their toes. It was yet another facet of him that you both coveted and despised.

You hissed, feeling the edge of one of the shards dig into the tip of your finger. You stood and sucked the tip into your mouth, trying to clear the area of the blood that had started to surface. His eyes were on you, watching you with interest and a certain level of lust that you didn’t allow yourself to explore. You stiffened when he reached for your wrist and pulled your finger away from your lips. He inspected the cut, his flesh warm and soft against yours. It was a side of him that eclipsed the man you’d come to know over the last several months.

“It’s not bad. I’ll be fine.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free of his. It was futile.

“Band aid?”

“Uh...yeah. In that drawer. Next to the stove.” You pointed in the direction of the drawer, holding your breath as he retrieved the item. This time, you watched him. Watched as he unwrapped the bandage and tended to your finger with all the care of a parent with their child. He held the appendage steady as he got ready to wrap it, but he stopped himself. He locked eyes with you instead, making you shiver.

“I make you nervous.”

It was a statement. A very true statement. And yet you found yourself shaking your head; ironic because your voice felt too unsteady to use.

Your heart stopped when he placed a tender kiss to the cut. The air around you crackled with heat and tension. It was unlike any feeling you’d ever been subjected to before. It was danger mixed with primal fascination...attraction. And it called to you like a raft in a sea of treacherous waves.

He ignored your silent response and sealed the band aid over your finger, ensuring the ends were smooth against your skin. He didn’t let go of you.

“Don’t lie to me, okay? Trust is an important thing. And we’ve gotta have it if we wanna keep doing business together.”

His calm demeanor and gentle chastising made you a puddle of obedience. Your need to please wasn’t just born from fear. It was something you’d been unable to come to terms with until now. You saw it for what it truly was. You wanted to please him. In as many ways as he’d let you.

You nodded in response, agreeing to his statement.

“Let’s try it again then, yeah?” He started, eyes roaming your face. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”

“The constant threat of my life makes it difficult for me to be calm.” You said, choosing to still be untruthful.

You forced yourself not to fidget as his stare scorched your skin. His black eyes roamed across the open expanse of your collarbone and to the modest neckline of your wrap dress. He licked his lips as he focused on the measured breaths of your chest, your breasts rising with each pass.

“That’s not the only reason.” He retorted with a shake of his head. He leaned in close, noses almost touching as he spoke. “Don’t move.”

You said nothing as he bent down, continuing your failed task of picking up the broken bits of ceramic. You observed him dutifully gathering each piece, piling them into one large hand. His face looked pensive, as if he was trying to solve an equation in his head. You leaned against the island for support and bit your lip, unwilling to give into the lecherous thoughts that haunted you at night and managed to infiltrate your dreams.

“Nice dress.”

His compliment made you pause, looking down to meet that familiar smirk. He’d set what was left of the mug onto the counter, the floor relatively clear of large fragments. His fingers now played with the hem of said dress, the flowy material dancing in the air and away from your body.

“Thanks.”

Your voice was small. The apprehension so clear that you could both taste it. He found it funny. You found it humiliating.

He slowly straightened, taking the fabric with him as he gathered it to just above your knees.

“Color looks good on you.”

Again, the juvenile warmth of his praise sent you reeling further into anxiety’s waiting arms. Inwardly, you were responding to every lick of his lips and quirk of his eyebrow. Your thighs shifted restlessly against each other, waiting for that satiation that you hadn’t felt in forever. Outwardly though, you remained as skittish as a wild horse. You were as much on the edge of pleasure as you were on retreating.

“Thanks.” You said with a pleasant smile, wanting to conceal the yearning that bubbled just under the surface. You smoothed out the hunter-green fabric that rested against your abdomen, hoping to urge his hands away from you and the dress.

No such luck.

Instead, he ran his fingers up your skirt and along the outside of your thighs and hips, almost meeting the edge of your lace panties. Your traitorous body showed its hand, your nipples hardening in eagerness. Rio’s gaze predictably caught the action. And his face showed his approval.

“How long you been divorced?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his sudden curiosity. But the switch in topic had you alert again and somewhat clear of the fog he was so insistent on throwing you into.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” You questioned, stepping back from his body.

His hands fell away from you finally, but they didn’t stay idle for long. They skimmed over your hips, pressing your backside into the edge of the kitchen island.

“Answer me, mama.” He demanded, head craning down to meet your eyes. The intensity of his stare made you shift on your feet. He had an amazing poker face. A skill that left you envious.

“Two years.” You dutifully supplied, leaning backwards every inch that he moved in.

“It’s been that long then.” He commented with a nod, a finger tracing along the neckline of your dress, hovering just above your cleavage.

“That long for what?” You asked, taking note of the subtle ways in which his face changed. There was no trace of the teasing, light-hearted flirting that you’d become accustomed to seeing from him. He was serious. Almost as serious as the times he’d threatened your life. His touch was more insistent, telling you what he wanted rather than hinting. His mouth lowered to your ear, his nose brushing against your neck in a far too erotic manner. Your fingers itched to anchor yourself to him. You denied the request.

“Since someone stretched you out.”

A gasp caught in your throat, though you didn’t know if it was more from his words or his touch. He’d managed to slip a hand under your dress, tracing the crotch of your panties with a dexterous finger as he spoke.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stammered, knuckles tightening against the edge of the counter you were currently gripping.

“I mean…” Rio started, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with each syllable. His finger barely teased your slit, but his voice more than compensated for the lack of physicality. “You haven’t had someone here,” He emphasized the word with a firm press of his finger against the soaked material that hid your clit from view. “In two years. Maybe more.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as he continued to manipulate your body. Your head screamed at you to stop, to pull away. But the sensation of his body pressed so firmly to yours was far too comforting to deny.

“You don’t know that.” You attempted, though the effort was obviously pointless. It was true. Since your separation and subsequent divorce from Paul, you’d barely been on a date, much less had sex. Your body was fiending for it...for him. And he knew it.

He scoffed, finding amusement in your words. He pressed his finger along the same dampened area, seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head. He licked his lips when your hand shot out to grasp at his wrist.

“Yeah, I do.” He affirmed with a nod, finger still teasing over your lace-covered slit. “He stepped out on you, didn’t he?” He continued, his eyes taking stock of the way you responded to his touch.

You had trouble focusing on the conversation he insisted on having while his hand was up your dress and practically in your underwear. You didn’t feel the need to supply an answer anyway. He already had all the information he needed.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

You were jolted back to reality by his words, straightening your spine and pushing his hand from between your legs.

“And what? You do?” You threw back, agitation seeping into your tone. You felt like he was patronizing you. He was always one step ahead. Always aware of the skeletons in your closet before you were.

“Never said that.” He said with a shake of his head, not stepping out of your space. His hands were off your body now, but the stains they’d left on you would remain there. They wouldn’t easily be erased. And you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted them to be.

“Why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“Business.”

“A simple call or text works for that.”

“Wanted to come in person.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore an expression of smugness, as if he knew something you didn’t, which was often the case.

“What do you want then?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He retorted swiftly, lips pulled into a thin line.

The seriousness was back, his eyes nearly swallowing you as all humor became sucked from the room. The nerves in your stomach came back full force, the fear aiding them in their efforts. He was challenging you, apparently done with your lying.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to even begin. He was too intimidating. Just too much.

“I-I can’t.” You finished lamely, shaking your head and looking down at your feet.

He tilted your chin up, his mouth only centimeters from yours as he dared you to move.

“Just say the word.” He rasped against your lips, his free hand cradling your cheek.

You let yourself stare back, taking in his dark lashes and the angles of his face. He confused you on many levels, angered you beyond belief. He made your life a living hell. And yet, you wanted him more than anything. More than the money and the thrill of crime. And somehow he was privy to it all. And he wanted to give it to you.

So you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out, your hands finally coming to rest on his chest.

He needed no further encouragement. His mouth settled over yours in a tangle of lips and tongues. He tasted like mint, his lips much softer than they looked. The scratch of his facial hair only added to the moment as you pressed further into him, asking him to take more.

He did.

His hands were rough, but not unpleasant as they trailed along your body. They had the marks of healed scars. Not to mention the blood of those who chose to cross him. They were everywhere and all at once. Your breasts, your neck, your waist, your ass. He kneaded where he knew you yearned for more and tenderly stroked the areas in between. You struggled to keep up as his hips pushed into yours, his own yearning making its presence known.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You managed to say between heavy breaths, Rio’s mouth attaching to your neck and sucking near your throbbing pulse.

“Why not?” He mumbled into your skin, hands unwilling to slow down.

“Things will get complicated.”

He pulled himself away from the crook of your neck, his thumb running over your kiss-swollen pout.

“Yeah, they will.” He said with a chuckle, that devilish smirk staring back at you.

It was all a blur after that.

Limbs intertwined together as you worked on the buckle of his pants while he pushed your dress up and over your hips this time. He harshly pulled the lace away, the elastic snapping against your thighs as it got caught before making its way to the floor. Your mouths didn’t separate, not even when he lifted you onto the counter. He pulled one side of your dress away, exposing the matching bra you wore underneath. Your pebbled nipples called to him and he responded, massaging the flesh with expert precision. You moaned and writhed like a woman possessed. Like a woman that hadn’t been laid in two years.

“Feels good?”

The roughened gravel of his voice made your walls spasm, the hint of self-assuredness causing a wave of arousal to seep from within you. You could only nod, wordlessly pleading with him to continue on. His touch ventured south to your spread thighs. You widened them, allowing him access to the place you needed him the most. He didn’t disappoint.

His fingers were long and probing as they penetrated your sex, slipping easily in. You gasped at the fullness, the stretch around him making your eyes squeeze shut. He let your body guide him as he rubbed at your clit, his fingers curling against your walls.

“I’m...god...I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, only somewhat embarrassed by the suddenness of your climax.

He worked hard and faster. Your nails dug into his back, your mouth landing on his shoulder as you struggled to not cry out. You bit down when the euphoria of orgasm washed over you, trapping his hand within you. He could feel every tremor he brought forth as you shook in his arms. It felt like it lasted for hours, your body unwilling to let the feeling be a fleeting moment in time.

“You still with me?” He asked, lips pressed to your temple.

You nodded, hissing when he removed his fingers from the confines of your body. You watched, feeling as if you were in a daze. He shifted his pants and boxers down, revealing his length to your ravenous eyes. The hand that had been so deeply embedded in you now wrapped around himself. He was long and hard, as rigid as his hands. You felt like a moth to a flame, hand reaching out to feel if he was real. He was.

You swiped your finger over the tip of him and were overcome with wanton pride at feeling the moisture that sat there. His jaw clenched in a way that you’d only ever seen him do in anger. He didn’t allow you to continue. In an instant he was wedged between your thighs, his body already pushing into your waiting sex. Even with the climax from his fingers, he was a tight fit. You both expelled breaths, his a mumbled curse and yours a throaty moan. You shut your eyes as a new burst of pleasure radiated from your core and traveled up your spine. There was only a brief moment of intimacy as he sat unmoving within you, letting your body adjust to him.

It was short-lived.

“Fuck...” He cursed as he began to fuck you into the counter, hands holding your hips in place.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lavished yours with kisses and bites, each thrust of his hips causing his teeth to graze your skin. The chill of the marble countertop beneath your bare ass cooled your overheated skin. You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood as he filled you over and over, each pass making your walls accept more of him. He was deep and hitting that gloriously elusive spot that sat within your womb.

He cupped your breasts while you scraped your nails down his back, hearing him growl in response. The sound made you yearn to hear more. So, you did something you’d always wanted to do...you licked the ink on his throat. You decorated his skin with tantalizing kisses, your tongue aiding your actions. He shivered against your lips, the reaction making your walls clench around him. He was, at least for the moment, a slave to your ministrations. And it was a high unlike any drug you’d ever encountered.

It was animalistic fucking at its finest. He hit every nerve, soothed every ache. The union of your bodies was enough to send you sailing off the proverbial cliff, but his touch kept you tethered to solid ground, longing for more. He rocked his hips mercilessly into you, making your back arch at an almost painful angle.

“Right there, huh?” He teased, feeling you squeeze around him in raw desire. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

You whimpered and tensed when he savagely rubbed your swollen clit, forcing your legs to tighten around him. He laughed, the sound ominous in your ringing ears. You could only hold on as he delivered the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. You spread your thighs wider, trying to get him closer than humanly possible. You opened your neck up to him, letting him have access to your bare flesh. You wanted him all over you and leaving a scorching trail of hunger in his wake.

It was manic. It was frenzied. It was passionate. And it all combined into a seductive elixir that made fireworks burst from within.

“Shit...I’m cumming.” You warned, feeling him double his efforts. Every muscle went taut with blinding pleasure as that coil finally snapped. You felt weightless, and yet the firm body still driving into your depths made you feel sublimely solid. And whole. More whole than you’d felt in the entirety of your marriage.

It was on the tail-end of your climax that Rio found his. His hips stuttered as he grunted and groaned, releasing himself into you and painting your walls. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thighs while his face burrowed into your chest and neck. It was as uninhibited as you’d seen him. And you were addicted to the sight.

You both heaved with shallow breaths, the exertion of each of your climaxes literally taking the air from your lungs. The room smelled of sex and instant regret as you straightened in Rio’s arms. He separated from your body, eyeing you as he redressed. You shifted your dress back together to cover your bra, the mess between your thighs preventing you from closing them completely.

Before you could say anything, Rio reached up and cradled your cheek. He played with your bottom lip, his thumb once again finding the appendage. His eyes took in every part of you, as if he hadn’t fucked you senseless seconds before. He licked his lips in that dangerous way that let you know his thoughts were on more than just money.

“Business is good?” He asked, warm palm still pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cool, cool.” He nonchalantly replied, hand leaving your face as he stepped back from your debauched body. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said with a nod, pushing your dress further down over your thighs, a lame effort to protect any modesty you might’ve still possessed. He smirked at the action.

“Might wanna clean up the mess.” He said with a cheeky upturn of his lips, hands gesturing to the remaining fragments of ceramic that still littered the floor but eyes locked solely to the spot between your legs. The place he knew he’d left a part of himself.

You bit your lip and nervously played with the hem of your dress, feeling his eyes bore into you. Despite still being fully dressed, you felt naked to him. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. You hated it.

He retreated, facing you as he walked backwards towards the front door. You watched him from over your shoulder, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation.

“And lock your door from now on. All kinds of madmen running around these streets.” He quipped, eyes lighting up at his own joke.

He was gone as fast as he’d arrived, causing havoc and then leaving without a second thought. The door closed with a crisp click at his exit, the house now feeling bare without his foreboding presence.

You didn’t move from your spot. You remained on the counter, Rio still leaking from your walls and your dress still disheveled despite your best efforts. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one riddled with panic. His unexpected visit left you with more questions than answers, all of which were tinged with fear. What did this development mean for you? Did it actually mean anything? Or was he simply taking what was so obviously laid out in front of him?

Did it matter?

No. It didn’t.

Because although he may have indulged your craving, your appetite was far from being fulfilled.

#rio good girls #rio #good girls rio #good girls nbc #nbc good girls #rio x reader #rio x you #rio imagine #rio fanfiction #rio fanfic

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Text

Peter, Paul, and Mary

Alpha!Bokuto x Omega!female!reader x Alpha!Akaashi

Warnings: Omegaverse things [heats, ruts], alcohol, noncon/dubcon [coercion], implied mlm interaction [Bokuto x Akaashi], wlw interaction [Yukie x reader], threesome, fingering, lots of licking, blowjob, biased towards Bokuto, cunnilingus [with Yukie], bit of nipple play, asphyxiation

Kabukichō is well-known for it’s lively nighttime activities, hushed whispers of those who work in those frowned upon businesses. Even if the businesses seem shady, they care about their workers. Whether you’re singing lustful songs amidst a smoking crowd, sinful desires behind a curtain and closed doors, or even looking for a show to go with your dinner, every worker there is doing it of their own will and have safety measures in place to keep that.

There’s one place, down the lantern-lit streets and past the sweaty, common brothel that most people attend. Pink, purple, and red lights flicker and welcome guests into the building, one similar to a large western-styled house. Yet, upon entering, the display is one unlike anywhere else. The host offers services of the Omegas and what is and is not allowed. Tables have poles in the centers, a larger stage that offers seats of two rows, ones who come for a show, and two poles for dancers.

It’s an expensive place, offering brothel rooms for Omegas to service guests for 50,000¥ and even having an available VIP room for 100,000¥ for individuals who want a luxurious show just for them. Dancers can dance behind glass or in a cage, starting at 7,000¥ and can be removed at a few of 10,000¥. Only Omegas are allowed to work as dancers and performers, just as only Betas are allowed to work the kitchen and host positions. Alphas come in for a nice treat, expecting to get a show from their favorite Omega and pay for their services to relieve tension. Some Alphas try to come in during their ruts, but are turned away. This is not a brothel, this is a strip club that offers brothel services.

Working there isn’t as exhausting as it sounds. Tips start at 1,000¥ and can go up to as much as 50,000¥ on a regular night. The nights VIP rooms are reserved, workers find themselves getting tipped luxuriously by rich Alphas and Betas who are looking for a good time. Even someone as simple as you can work there and get a good wad of bills in your pocket, getting to go home and finally sleep after the exhausting night’s work.

Akaashi’s asleep when you get home, but Bokuto’s awake and humming as he cooks his breakfast. The showers at Akai Fukurō wash away all the unfamiliar scents of Alphas, even the ones who asked for brothel services, so he doesn’t seem too concerned as you enter the apartment. “Rough night?”

“Yeah, lots of tables requested me to serve them. Busy and exhausting,” you yawn at the end of your statement, rubbing tired eyes. Bokuto chuckles, a nice and comforting sound after the music of the nightlife.

“Maybe you should request daytime shifts? Graveyard shifts are strange for a waitress, anyways,” his concern shows in his voice, but you smile and wave him off.

“I sleep all day and work all night. I’m not ready to change my schedule anytime soon.” Neither Bokuto nor Akaashi know of your actual job. They think you work at a 24/7 restaurant in Kabukichō and not as a stripper, which is preferable. You don’t think you could bear the thought of them knowing you’re one of the people who sell their body for money. The work is looked down on, so you wouldn’t be surprised if Akaashi and Bokuto had that same state of mind.

“Well, I think you should at least consider it,” he smiles at you, then turns back to the stove. “Want some eggs?”

“Sure!”

The day goes by as they all do, but an unspoken tension hangs in the air. Living with two Alphas is straining, always having to keep your emotions in check so they don’t give into instincts. Even having alone time is rare, with Akaashi mostly working from home when Bokuto is gone. Living with the two isn’t stressful, but your heat cycle lines up with their rut cycles, which forces you three to find alternate living arrangements. You always leave the day before your heat starts, knowing that an Alpha’s instinct can tell if an Omega is ready to breed the day it begins. Even if your cycle begins at 9:00 at night, 9:00 in the morning rolls around and you’ll have Alphas begging to mount you and stuff you full.

Although, you’re not entirely opposed to the idea.

Akaashi and Bokuto are very attractive Alphas and are very loving to you, as if you were family. Your feelings for them were both intense, but you forced those feelings down a long time ago. With the way your job is, having a boyfriend or two is out of the question, which is why you are looking into leaving permanently. It hasn’t come up to either of the boys, but you might have to live with Yukie or at the club. They do offer rooms for Omegas, whether they need to freshen up or can’t be at home for personal reasons.

When Akaashi enters the kitchen, you find yourself slinking away. Bokuto’s scent gets stronger, just as Akaashi’s does. Their ruts are going to start soon, so they’re practically at each other’s throats. Despite their close friendship, your existence in their lives can change their demeanor when it comes to their ruts. Akaashi doesn’t talk, but he does nod and slightly bow to both you and Bokuto while he makes his morning tea. With the breakfast finished, you’re off to your bedroom to get some shuteye, knowing your upcoming week will involve lots of hours being awake and active.

Akai Fukurō has security for all their Omegas and safety is their priority. An Omega in heat can still work, but they become more vulnerable to pregnancy that can risk damage and harm to the relationships outside and inside of the club. Simple means to prevent pregnancy are optional, but there is always a possibility of it not working. The only effective method is not having Omegas offer brothel services while in heat.

The rooms on the second floor are completely brothel rooms, but the rooms on the third floor offer a room to stay in for the Omegas. However, similar to the dance stages, each brothel room has the ability to separate it with glass. Separation between the bed and the couch, where guests sit back and can watch the show. On the other side of the glass, an Omega presents themself on the bed and pleases themself while encouraging the guest to do the same. However, the fee for this situation is merely 35,000¥, with an extra 10,000¥ if there are two Omegas behind the glass. Putting on a show for the guest, two Omegas will pleasure themselves and each other and will accept requests of what to do and still can receive tips.

Most Omegas who engage in these activities are those with a close friend working there or coworker who is trusted. Yukie is the one who brought you here, so you both become highly requested during shows of this type. You’ve learned to be much more submissive while letting someone else take the reins, while Yukie has learned to take control every once in a while. An Omega such as you and Yukie need to be stimulated during the heat cycle, so it would make sense to have a safe alternative than have an Alpha or Beta take care of such vulnerable Omegas.

With it being the day of your heat, you’ve left the apartment and settled into the room you’ll be staying in for the week. Yukie rooms with you, her own luggage on her side. She lives with two Betas, so she only stays here for her own pleasure. When the fire of your heat settles deep in your gut, the slick pooling in your panties, you’re aware of the position you’re in. Your heat has officially begun and you need to take your stance in the brothel room. Once you’re in and have positioned yourself on the bed, Yukie follows in behind you with her heat soon about to begin. When she wraps her arms around you and her lips find yours, you can smell the beginning of her own heat. The familiar sound of the glass shield rising from the ground is in the back of your mind, only white noise, as your hands find themselves delving into her pink panties. The glass clicks into place, the pink light coming on and the door opening to have an Alpha enter the room. Settling down on the couch, he has a drink beside him as he watches with interest the scene playing out before him.

With the door officially being locked, the pink lights dimming as a low red joins them, you’re being pushed back on the bed and Yukie’s hands are diving into your own panties. Her hand works its wonders, your easily stimulated nerves finding the friction they so desperately crave. Your hand is removed from her panties, your nails digging into the sheets of the bed. A few rubs on your drenched clit, two fingers sliding up and down before diving into your pussy and suddenly you’re crying out for her touch even more, tears beading on your eyelashes. Licking her lips, you can tell her own heat has started, pulling her face to yours as you mesh your lips together. She moans into your mouth, breaking the kiss and putting her fingers in your mouth, letting your tongue lap at your own juices coating them.

Yukie’s heat has finally begun, so you lay her down and press kisses down her skin, tongue lapping at the sweat from the intense scent and heat of the room. Her eyes are focused on the Alpha in front of her, his hard cock in his hand as he pumps it, groaning. She smiles, then blows him a kiss, only to be broken with a moan as your tongue swipes over her folds. She’s just as soaked as you, practically dripping with slick as your lips press kisses to her folds, tongue flicking against the hot skin occasionally. Her plea of ‘more’ has your lips clasping around her clit and sucking, getting her to tug at your hair, only to let go and hold onto the sheets, one hand tugging and grabbing at her breast. Using your tongue to dive into her pussy and swipe along her folds, lips sucking on her clit, she’s absolutely lost in bliss from you just using your mouth. The introduction of two of your fingers in her has her back arching, crying out your name as she releases over your face. Removing your fingers, you use them to wipe any excess off and let her taste herself, her moaning around your fingers before you remove them and press your lips to hers once more.

Back home, Bokuto and Akaashi find their own ruts hitting hard and fast. Akaashi goes into your room to grab your dirty laundry you left behind, as he promised to wash them before you got back. The scent of your unwashed clothes is too much for the Alpha, his cock springing to life as he notices the black, lace panties on the top. Picking them up is wrong, but you’re not here and he can wash away his scent. He imagines what you’d be like, wearing those panties for him and begging for his cock, only him. It’s almost too much, him leaving your dirty clothes behind as he takes the panties with him, entering his room only to slam the door. Behind the door, he doesn’t lock it, too focused on stripping himself down bare as he inhales your scent, lingering on the panties. He’s so focused on your panties and rubbing his cock, the front door opening is ignored and he finds himself falling into the daydream and fantasy of you spreading your legs, whining for his cock. The mental image of your cunt dripping, desperate for him and all he can give you has his hand moving faster, a groan as he finally reaches his end, coming into his hand. Looking down, he separates his fingers to watch the liquid drip down onto his thigh and floor. Coming down from his high, he finally notices a different scent on your panties, pushing them back to his nose.

Bokuto went out for a jog, arriving home just before his rut hits. With the collar, he’s able to suppress his scent in public so he doesn’t disturb strangers, but that doesn’t help hold his rut back. Sniffing the air, he smells faint traces of you, his sadness immediate when he remembers you’re gone. But he can smell Akaashi — deep into his rut. Passing by your room, Bokuto finds himself needy and dives into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Taking off the collar, he lets his scent envelop your room as he lays himself down on your bed, stuffing his nose into your pillows. Your scent is strongest there, getting his cock hard as he whines, pulling down his shorts and boxers, large hand grasping his cock as he inhales more of your scent. He’s sure Akaashi’s indulging in his own fantasies of you, but he quickly pushes that away and focuses on a common fantasy of his — you begging for his cock while he drills himself into you. It’s such a common fantasy of his, but he loves imagining how tight you’d be, how loud you’d be, how you would wiggle your hips and cry out for more, desperate for more of him. Rolling his eyes into his head, he’s soon spilling his cum against your sheets, chest heaving as he imagines what it’d look like with his cum oozing out of you, how you’d whine for more. It’s enough to have him gritting his teeth, ready to go once more.

The weekend after your heat cycle, you’re heading back to the apartment with triple the amount of money you usually get from working the week. Yukie bid you adieu, going to her own home and sending you off with a prayer your roommates will be finished with their own cycles. The crisp morning air was nice, the beginnings of Autumn and a new volleyball season, meaning Bokuto would be busier in the upcoming weeks. Remembering how bright and cheerful he was whenever you came home, it made your chest ache. He wouldn’t be cooking breakfast when you got home and Akaashi wouldn’t be making the three of you breakfast before you head off to work anymore.

Once the haze from your heat settled, you confessed to Yukie that you were planning on getting a new apartment. Somewhere close to work, but you didn’t want to live with Bokuto and Akaashi anymore. She told you that she’d be there for emotional support, telling you that if they gave you a hard time then she’d send Kaori and Konoha over there to knock in some sense. Despite their status as being below your roommates, Bokuto and Akaashi listened when Konoha and Kaori scolded them. It hasn’t happened since Bokuto tried to jump you, with his rut beginning earlier than expected, but you hope it won’t ever happen again.

The lack of Bokuto and Akaashi’s scent outside the complex told you their ruts had ended. Sighing with relief, you unlock and push open the door, revealing a wrecked apartment living room. A common scene to come home to, seeing as Bokuto and Akaashi are both territorial Alphas that end up finding themselves trying to establish dominance over each other. You’ve never witnessed their relationship go beyond a close friendship, but a part of you is curious to see just how territorial they can get — or how rough they are with each other.

Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you move to your room, only to find it occupied. Bokuto lays on your bed, hidden under the covers but no doubt naked, with Akaashi curling into his chest. It’s such a sweet scene, you immediately take out your phone to snap a picture at them. With the dark of your room, the flash activates and wakes both of them up, you whispering curses to yourself while trying to apologize. “Sorry! You guys just look so sweet together, didn’t mean to wake you guys up,”

“‘S fine.. how are you?” Bokuto grumbles out, moving to turn towards you but stopping, adjusting himself properly and removing himself from Akaashi. Soon enough, his arms are wrapping around yours. It’s peaceful, holding him in your arms while he tries to wake up from his slumber. “You smell weird,”

“I’ve been with Yukie. She’s probably still on me,” you lie. You took a shower after your heat, so the scent is probably the sleazy Alphas you were passing on your way out. “By the way, why are you guys in my room?”

“Mm.. missed you,” he responds, before shoving his nose deeper into your neck. The bed moving takes your attention away, eyes catching on Akaashi who goes to hug you as well. You laugh at him, finding them both to be quite adorable so early in the morning. It isn’t until Akaashi pulls away and leaves the bed do you notice that something is around his neck.

“‘Kaashi, what’s that?” You point to your own neck, but Akaashi just shuts the door and locks it. “Um, Akaashi?”

“One of our collars. We didn’t want to scare you away,” he finally responds, moving closer to you. Out of curiosity, your fingers go down to Bokuto’s neck to find his own collar in place. If they have on their collars, it means that you can’t smell their full scents, just a watered down version.

They could still be in their ruts and you wouldn’t know.

“Oh— Oh my god, I-I have to go,” you get out, panic laced in your voice. Trying to get up from the bed, you find yourself pulled back onto the mattress with Bokuto’s arms wound tightly around you. “Bokuto, please, let me-”

“When were you gonna tell us you wanted to leave?” His voice is no longer tired, but rather he sounds angry and sad, wounded. “I found the different apartments you were looking at. They’re all single bedroom apartments, which means you’re trying to leave,”

“That’s— I didn’t know.. how to tell you,” You confess. “I felt it was better for me to leave, so I have been looking for apartments. I’m only here because I needed help with bills, but I don’t need the help anymore, so-”

“Because you’re a stripper.” Akaashi’s voice scares you, the lack of emotion. Panic once more runs through you, attempting to flee Bokuto’s grasp but he holds you firm. “Your clothes have a faint trace of other Alphas. Your graveyard shift is because the clubs are open at night. The large amount of money you have in your dresser tells me the truth,” he continues. You attempt to refute, but he continues, making your heart drop. “I thought you were better than that.”

Before you can say anything, Bokuto beats you to it. “We can take care of you. We’re your Alphas, y’know? It upsets me that you’ve been whoring yourself out to others. How many Alphas have been inside you, huh? I wanted to be your first, little Omega. Now I have to clean you of those Alphas’ stench,” Bokuto growls out, keeping one arm firm around you while the other leaves. Struggling is futile, but the familiar click of the collar coming off makes you cough from the intensity of his scent.

Your worst fear came true: he’s in his rut.

Mixed with his arousal is anger and sadness, but you try to close your nose with your fingers to not smell him, feeling your own slick begin to coat your folds. Akaashi’s collar is soon coming off, his scent just as overwhelming as Bokuto’s as he hooks his fingers into your shorts. “Please understand us, [Y/N]. We just want to show you why you need to stay with us. We love you and don’t want anything bad to happen to you,”

“Akaashi, no, we can’t, this is wrong—”

“What’s wrong? Having two loving Alphas? Them wanting to protect you? Don’t hurt our feelings, [Y/N]. We know how you look at us, but you don’t need to hide your feelings anymore. You don’t have to choose, you can have both of us,” Bokuto murmurs, lips against your scent glands. Nudging his nose against your neck, he licks a hot stripe against your skin. “We can take care of you,”

“Just give into it,” Akaashi says. His tone is comforting, no longer void of emotion. Eyes shine with love in them, a gentle smile on his face as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “We’ll make you feel good,”

“Please don’t leave us,” Bokuto says once more, his hold around you tightening. You heave a sigh, nodding as you relax your muscles. Both Alphas take that as their cue to continue with their ministrations. Akaashi has your shorts and panties off in an instant, Bokuto’s thick fingers rubbing at the sensitive skin between your legs. You find yourself relaxing into Bokuto’s hold, soft moans as he rubs your clit and brushes his finger against your opening, but he doesn’t push it in. No, Akaashi uses his long fingers to push into you, rubbing against your sensitive inner walls. A squirm here and there, but you pant heavily as he loosens up your walls, his lips pressing to your chest above your shirt. It was just a easy set of clothes to put on, some shorts and a t-shirt to get home in and sleep. The material is in their way, though, Bokuto’s fingers removing themselves from your clit and both of his hands tugging st the shirt.

“I can get-” you begin, only to be cut off by the material being ripped.

“No need,” Bokuto grunts, completely ripping the fabric off of your body. Now bare to both of them, you find your inner thighs coated in your arousal, Akaashi’s fingers removed as he licks them clean.

“Do you want to go first, Bokuto-san?” He offers, sitting in his heels. Bokuto gets eager, flipping you both over so he’s on top of you. “Remember, no knotting, Bokuto-san,”

“I know, ‘Kaashi,” he chirps, licking the sweat off your skin as he rubs his hard cock against your drenched folds. Akaashi sits beside you, guiding your head to his own hard cock, eager for attention. “We can save that for her next heat, right?”

“Mhm, since she’ll be spending it with us,” Akaashi’s hand caresses your cheek, smiling down at you. “Isn’t that right? We can still invite Yukie if you want, but we’re all about you, darling,” his hand moves up your cheek, into your hair and grabs the strands, tugging your head back. “Open wide,”

Akaashi pushes your open mouth on his cock, forcing you to take quite a bit so quickly. His tip hitting the back of your throat has you gagging, but soon you’re moaning as Bokuto inches himself into you. “Ah, you feel so good..” he moans, licking his lips. “It’s better than I imagined,” his hips buck involuntarily as he says that, hands gripping your hips as he forces himself to not force his entire length into you. Although you’re sure he wouldn’t be bigger than what you’ve had before, his girth and his continuous push into your cunt has you seeing stars, moaning around Akaashi as your eyes roll back. Bokuto’s knot is pushed against your entrance, but it doesn’t go in. He sighs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your back before he rears his hips back only to slam them against your ass, your hands flying out to hold onto Akaashi’s thighs as you jerk forward.

Bokuto and Akaashi don’t say much, both too focused on their respective holes. Akaashi keeps one hand in your hair, setting the pace as your tongue rubs against the underside of his cock and flicks over his slit. His other hand wipes at the tears cascading down your cheeks, eyes locking onto yours as he smiles, bring his hand to your nose and clamping down on it, preventing air from getting to your lungs. He doesn’t keep it there long, just enough to feel your throat constrict. With Bokuto thrusting into you, you need all the air you can get as he knocks the air out of your lungs. Akaashi doesn’t want you collapsing on them, letting you off his cock as you gulp down air and moan, pushing your ass back against Bokuto’s hips.

Bokuto is too focused on your body and indulging in his instincts to even acknowledge Akaashi right now. He lets groans and praises spill from his lips as they press into your shoulder, back, neck, anywhere they can reach. Hands tightly grip your hips, trailing from them to your breasts and pinching or tweaking the nipples, a stinging pain in his hips each time they slam against your skin, but he doesn’t care. He’s much too into it, eyes rolling as his hips buck and rut into your heat, tongue wetting his lips each time you let out a particular mewl, popping off of Akaashi to let them hear it. It just pushes him further, his cock getting thicker inside you before he’s whining out, telling you he’s gonna stuff you completely full of his seed.

With one more sharp thrust, Bokuto’s spilling himself into you, moaning as he ruts against the skin. The sensation of his cock completely still in you as his cum spills in has your walls clamping around him, making him hiss as you cream around his cock. You mewl around Akaashi, rolling your eyes back and catching the blush tinting his cheeks. Soon, your oxygen is cut off and Akaashi is forcing you completely down on his cock, save for the knot, letting out a perfect moan of his own while he paints your throat white.

Once the high has settled down, you’re lying on the bed, exhausted, with Bokuto’s arms around your waist. But Akaashi still has energy. “It’s my turn to indulge, darling. I’ve been holding myself back, so I hope you’re prepared,” the smirk accompanying his statement has your pussy clenching, Bokuto’s cum oozing from it and staining the sheets.

Author’s Note : Strip clubs in Japan are in the red light district (in Tokyo) so Akaashi works in Tokyo and Bokuto is a member of the MSBY Black Jackal which resides in Tokyo. I changed the canonverse so they could live in the same place to make things easier [I didn’t want to change Bokuto’s occupation] ; This is more than what was requested however the request gave me the excuse to write out a previous fantasy/daydream I’ve had with a few tweaks. So, thank you for requesting anon-chan ; brothels and strip clubs in Japan are different from the ones in America, so this involved a bit of imagination and research. The brothel/strip club hybrid is called Akai Fukurō which translates to Red Owl (get it bc it’s in the red light district? And BokuAka are owls? I’ll see myself out)

#BB.Kinky #BB.Dark #haikyuu smut #tw.alcohol #tw.noncon #haikyuu omegaverse #Mr. Kōtarō #Mr. Keiji #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #tw.dubcon #cw.brothel #cw.strip clubs #BB.Requests #Bokuto.Spice #Akaashi.Spice #haikyuu x reader smut #BB.🐾

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cinnamonruts · 3 years

Text

SUMMARY → the three times you can’t talk and the one time you do

PAIRING → todoroki shouto x fem!reader

GENRE → comfort/crack

MASTERLIST → if you want to read more fics of mine

READERS QUIRK → the reader has an unidentified electric quirk ( from another multi-chapter todoroki fic that is still in the developing stages ) and when she get nervous sparks come from her face much like pikachu

A/N → these are just blue spring ride scenes that i think shouto would fall into — also, whomever made this manga coloring; it is gorgeous!

i. with your arms full of papers

As the class rep of 1-F there are many duties. Making sure no one blows up the classroom, everyone there needs are taken care of, and of course getting all the paperwork of what you and your classmates have fixed, created and blueprinted to the filing system Principal Nezu has created for your department.

That system being implemented after Hatsume-senpai has made so many inventions that the school did not know about caused many hero students a visit to Recovery Girl. So, now prevent measurements are taken as she sailed off to her second year.

Sliding the door open with your leg, not being allowed to take unfilled inventions outside the support course classrooms, you have to do it this way — something, you should thank Hatsume-senpai for, again — your eyes contact with a mismatched beautiful eyes and an even more beautiful face to match it. Your lips part as you quite obviously stare at the angle in front of you.

“Hi.” he said, staring right back at you. Parting your lips, you try to get words out but instead just sounds come out. Making your eyes widen at the sudden embarrassment of stuttering and falling over your tongue in front of him sets in, “Are you okay?”

Looking down again, you nod, “Maybe she is a mute.” one voice offers up at your silence.

“Mutes don’t try to talk.”

Squeezing your eyes shit, you turn around. Running as fast as you can with the folders. Praying you will not let them fall as you leave the group of students to themselves.

“Uh… should we follow her?”

“I think she does not want to be followed.”

ii. falling into his lap

“Hi.” a voice suddenly says. Making you freeze up at the deep voice addressing you. Turning around, your eyes widen a bit at how much closer he is standing than you had expected, “Support Course, right?”

Nodding you try to step around him to bring some space between the two of you. While also inching closer to the door so you will not embarrass yourself in front of the gorgeous boy again.

Due to that, you did not fully focus on where you placed your feet, you accidentally stepped on his foot instead. Wincing at your metal cladded boots, a gasp leave your lips at the pain it must be ( honestly it is cladded so well that it would hurt a hammer before it would hurr your toes ).

Dropping down, you try to help him. Instead, heads bump into each other. Wincing again you hold your forehead, trying to stop the throbbing. Standing up to fast your blood rush to your head; “Hey—” startled by the new voice, you want to curse at the sudden attention you are getting.

Turning around the girl stands incredibly close. Stepping back you wonder if either of them has ever learned about personal space or if pretty privilege exhumed them from ever having to learn it.

Yet those questions leave as the fast step you took made you wobble in your boots and down you went, taking him with you. Gasping at the hand that squeezed you close, bracing for the impact. Trying not to focus on it, you try to focus on not electrocuting the boy, “I-” you say trying to apologise.

“Are you okay?” the girl asks, cutting you off. The sparks from your face now not being able to be stopped, pushing up from the boy. A groan leaves his lips as you pushed onto something you should not have.

Shifting your eyes to him, fire waves from his face as he glances down. Following his eyes, your sparks flare up even more as you see your hand right on top of— scramble to your feet. Bolting out of the library as fast as your boots will take you as Lugosi-sensei, the librarian, reminds you that you should not run in those boots or you might break a bone.

Being to surprised by the speed she left at, “Well, she couldn’t have run faster from you if she had tried.” Yaoyorozu tells her classmate who is slowly standing up again.

“What even happened?” Midoriya asks baffled at the whole ordeal. He saw it all but it made no sense at all. How was it even able to have that many coincidences happen all at once? How did ‘hi’ get to running — if you could have called it that — out of the library.

Making him shake his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes, “I have no clue. I just said hi, it was quite, she stood op my foot, our heads hit and we weirdly we fell. Then she touched my crotch and she ran.”

“I guess that it was very embarrassing.”

iii. as you cry in public

It is a natural habit at this point; during every prop week, you have at least a couple cry sessions.

Not only having to make sure your project is done well and getting all your papers on track but also those of everyone in your class. Constantly putting out fires figuratively and literally. Gets really stressful and the only — healthy — way of dealing with it is having a cry.

To let all of it out at your special place under the window outside which is where you resided right now. What you definitely hadn’t expected or could have foreseen was an input fire drill.

Trying to clean your face up you and make yourself look as presentable as possible and not like you just cried. Getting your tissues you wipe your face clean, softly thanking your mum for reminding you to always have them on hand.

Feeling an arm around your shoulder, before being pulled into a chest. Stiffing up at the sudden feeling, you glance up having your eyes connect with one grey and one blue eye.

Now being even more flustered by simply having him continuously catching you at the most awkward of times. Instead of truly thinking about it, you take him up on the invite and push your face into his shoulder, sighing deeply having a scent of pine and cologne invade your senses.

Having truly calmed down, you feel internal grateful for this stranger that held you and prevented being seen crying by everyone as he sways us slowly. Making it seem like the two of you were just weird people hugging out of a window instead of what was actually happening, “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

Nodding, you pull away. Smiling softly at him as you leave without another word being too embarrassed to say anything else.

iv. tired of all the work

Rubbing your eyes you lay your head onto your work table. Just for a moment, in a minute you will stand up. It is Friday night and everyone has just left to the dorms; prop week was successful and Principal Nezu has gifted — your class — as the most promising new inventors. Earning your all the price; which is the same every year.

An invite to I-Island and it’s benefactors annual event. I-Island is a floating island close to the coast, but most of them have a quarters on land.

Who have hired many U.A. alumni after they have interned with them. Specifically, the class president who has pulled the class to those achievements. Which is why you wanted to be the rep to begin with but slowly you start to realise why no one else wanted it.

Hearing the door slide open, you can not be bothered to stand up. So, you just groan to signal that you are still there, keeping your eyes closed as you hear soft footsteps come closer to you.

The scraping of the chair and the soft shuffle makes you open your eyes. Connecting with heteroromantic eyes, the handsome stranger. Honestly, there are many things you have gone over to say to him since the last time you saw him a few days ago; ‘I’m not a mute.’ , ‘I’m sorry I touched your no-no-square.’ , ‘Thank you for letting me cry on your shoulder.’ but instead of all of that you just stared in his eyes and softly whispered the first thing that came to mind;

“You have really pretty eyes."

Making him raise a brow as you trace your eyes over his face. From his eyes to the tip of his nose ending on his lips, “You think so?" He asks in the same soft tone.

Nodding, you hum softly, “Could look at them forever." you say, the sleep deprivation letting you say whatever without shame.

“You can." and for the rest of the night of you did. There was slow conversation and comforting silent, truly you could have lived in that moment forever.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST → @tsukkisbae @lovinnoya @tanakasimpcorner @lonelyweeb77 @suga-tofu @yammmers @tanakasprayer @honeykami @intense-socks @bakugoubiddies @bakujirou4562 @littlemaladaptivedaydreamer @melodyofroses @softiehawks @hotgreenteea @falling4fandoms

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angelguk · 4 years

Text

jock!jaykay is your favourite boy! yes, this a childhood bestie!au. jaykay is gym rat who likes invading ocs personal space and likes bullying his bestie for being small and weak unlike him. or alternatively the one where jeongguk realises his bestie has giant boobs. listen to best friend by rex orange county. roughly 2k words. this is brain spew. boobie ogling.

You love Jeongguk.

It's a natural thing to say; a platonic affection for him that has steadily grown over the past decade of your intertwined lives. But, you never expected to develop this level of affiliation towards him. It happened by mistake. He’d stumbled into you at the playground in the middle of recess during one lonesome afternoon. Soft brown curls a halo on his round head and his doe eyes sparkling as he mumbled a compliment at the sandcastle you were knee-deep in constructing. You’d taken one glance at the boy, noted how your stature towered over him and then immediately enlisted his assistance in completing the mammoth of the sandcastle you were creating. He’d lit up — bright like the burning sun behind his tiny figure — jumping in with zero hesitation; small hands quick and sure as he stuffed sand into buckets. He never opposed any of your suggestions, considering them with a timid nod of his head and a tiny sheepish smile that revealed the delightful dips in his cheeks. It was beguiling, how quickly you grew attached to the smart but shy boy who’d wormed his way into your heart. Since then the two of you have been attached at the hip. Everyone knew you in relation to each other. Jeongguk wasn’t Jeongguk unless you were around and the same was for you. You’d spent sleepless nights at his house, huddling under the thick blankets of the fort you’d built in his living room, exchanging horror stories with the aid of a flashlight he’d nicked from his dad’s toolbox. Even his extended families adored you; random aunts and uncles sending cryptic messages via WhatsApp once every blue moon. And he knew yours too — you’re certain that your mother likes Jeongguk more than she likes you. There was even a designated toothbrush for him perched on your bathroom counter, for days Jeongguk was too lazy to go back to his own home. It was wonderful, having that reassurance in your relationship, a steady rock that you clung to amidst the harsh wild seas of life.

And then puberty hit.

Suddenly, Jeongguk was taller than you. His jaw was more defined, shoulders broadening seemingly overnight. Your sleepovers vanished, Jeongguk preferring to hole himself in his room alone. He wasn’t the only one who felt the effects of your ageing. You never thought Jeongguk had noticed it, the way your body had subtly changed throughout your teenage years, the rapid blossoming of your chest because he always treated you the same. The shit-eating grin and snarky comments that appeared at the beginning of freshman year never subduing. That was until one day, he did notice.

“You stink,” you say. And it’s true. He’s just come from lacrosse practice, your bedroom door kicked wide open and his gym bag dumped on your floor. His smelly socks leak from the opened zipper, wafting through the room with dangerous intent. The smile he shoots in your direction grips your heart, digging deep enough to send a thrill through your system. You swallow hard, gaze ripping from his rosebud lips. It settles on your laptop screen with tangible resignation, the sudden spike in your heart rate not completely lost on you.

“Nice to see you too, bestie,” Jeongguk returns, eagerly padding over to your bed. You hold out a leg to his intruding figure, halting him in his steps. From here you can see the sheen of sweat clinging to his golden skin, the muscles in his arm defined beneath the loose fabric of his practise shirt. There’s a strange heat forming in your gut, and you have to take in a small breath before you can let your gaze falter on his. His honey eyes are warm, the glittering in his gaze drawing you close. Even the damp mussed hair on his head has arranged itself into perfectly defined curls. They tumble into his face, crowning him in an innocence that tugs at your heart. There’s an itch in your fingertips. You wonder whether you're allowed to tuck them aside, away from obscuring his pretty eyes.

“Do not come on my bed smelling like the pits of a sewer, Jeon Jeongguk.” You say that instead, settling your mouth into a firm scowl. He whines in relation, swift hands yanking at the hem of his shirt.

“I showered at school! I don’t smell that much — you’re being over dramatic.” Your mattress dips under the weight of his knee but the foot that smacks into his chest prevents him from crawling any further into your space.

“And yet I can still smell you — not my fault you can’t. You reek, Jeon. Go take another shower before you even think of lying on my sheets.” Your laptop wavers precariously on your lap when Jeongguk clasps his large hands around your calves, gently shoving your foot off his chest. You hadn’t discerned how… Big his hands had gotten.

The corresponding flutter you feel in your tummy the moment that realisation strikes feels like imminent death.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go shower.” Jeongguk sighs like you’re the one causing him an inconvenience, shifting off your bed. Your mouth is already open, a retort tipping off your tongue. But then he’s hauling his sweat-drenched shirt over his head, the moment so swift and fluid you don’t even note how your heart halts in your chest. It starts a second later before abruptly falling into cardiac arrest because your gaze lands on his chiselled chest. You never truly registered how buff Jeongguk was. You knew he worked out, the insane regime he’d concocted the only thing he could talk about for months on end. Coach had him doing some insane sets at the gym and coupled with his weekly lacrosse practises it rapidly added up. You knew he was somewhat of a brawny guy. But Jeongguk preferred to wear his old baggy sweats around you and didn’t put much effort into his wardrobe for school. If it was black and clean it was going on. The look was effortless, simple and understated like Jeongguk was. So nothing could ever have prepared you for this. Hard lines of muscles forming his abdomen, flexing at the slightest movement as he tosses his shirt to the ground, a tiny ruffle of his curls accompanying the action. He’s glorious, warm skin glowing as if the sun is trapped within it. Perhaps you blink, blinded by the vision before you. An Adonis at the foot of your bed, shorts tugged low enough to reveal the band of his underwear. And, to make matters worse, the sharp-angled lines that direct your gaze right to his crotch.

You don’t think about it. You can’t. Another hard swallow hits your throat as you rise, arm outstretched to whack him hard across the head, the desire spurring in your guts short-circuiting your brain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for.” The pout he hits with you sends a wave of heat to your cheeks. You respond by landing a rough punch to his brawny shoulder.

“Why are you getting naked in my room?” Your voice sounds like an entity outside of your body, head still not comprehending the naked teenage boy in front of you.

“You told me to go shower!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Your house is a five-minute walk away! What made you think I meant in my house?” He catches the next punch you throw at him. There’s a thrill that surges fast when his large hands enclose around your wrists, grip taut. You tumble into his arms with a sharp tug, your chest colliding into his firm one.

“We used to share baths as kids. Why can’t I use your shower?” he murmurs. His voice is soft, wrapping around you promptly, like poison settling in your system. You abhor the tremor sweeps through you.

“Cause that was when we were kids! Look at you now! You’re all — all — all —,” your gaze falters downwards, hitting the rise of his pecs. It doesn’t take much for him to spot the heat that floods your face, a smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards.

“I’m all what?” Jeongguk implores. He flexes one of his pecs for good measure, a tiny laugh floating from his mouth when he spots how fast your eyes flicker from his chest.

“You’re a dickhead,” you retort, ripping your hands from his hold. Jeongguk lets you go, but when you glance up, there's a caution in his eyes that makes your skin prickle. “Go use your bathroom, you dingus. Come back when you don't smell like a garbage can.”

“But why,” Jeongguk whines. “Your bathroom is right there — like right there. It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Get out of my house before I kick you in the balls, Guk.” For some reason, you poke at his chest, fingertip landing right between the dip of his defined pectoral muscles. His hand snatches yours before you can rip them away, head cocking to the side mischievously. You know you’ve fucked up the second that smile hits his lips, the grip on your hand a warning.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Jeon Jeongguk, you stupid bastard, you’ll end up infertile if I hit you the way I want to right now.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.” He tenses his biceps on purpose, feigning a shiver at your empty threat. The quiver in your knees is betraying. “Like I couldn’t body slam you into this bed right now.” It’s like the light clicks in his head the moment the words drift from his tongue. You didn’t even get a chance to protest, a scream lodged in your throat as his arms swiftly enclosing around you, plucking you right off the bed as if you were a feather. He keeps you suspended for a moment, paying no heed to the pounding of your fists on his broad back, his shoulder digging right into your stomach before he flings you right back into the mattress.

“JEONGGUK!” If your laptop is broken you’re going to kill him. It’s as simple as that. He doesn’t give you time for recovery though, brain still whirring when his broad chest smacks into you. “Ow! What is wrong with you? Get off! Get off!”

The bastard giggles, smothering you under the weight of his bulky body, the mattress pressing hard into your back. You prod and pinch and punch until he grows tired of it, snatching up your wild fists with a quick hand. They hit the pillow over your head with a muted thud, arms stretched out as he shuffles over you. The movement has the material of his shorts bunching up at his crotch. You swear you don’t look, gaze shifting to the taut muscles of his stomach. But that’s worse, your thighs clamping together as heat blooms between them. You’re forced to settle on his face, a tiny whine escaping your lip as he traps you beneath him. But then you realise Jeongguk is not staring at your face, his honey eyes locked on the sway of your chest every time you squirm beneath him. You hadn’t thought about the shirt you’d yanked over your head when you’d gotten home today, picking it solely for the sun scorching outside. The heat had leaked into the house, warm enough for you to forgo one of your usual loose sweatshirts. But it’s a low cut, the rounds of your chest on display for all to see. Even when you lurch up, attempting to knee him in the groin, your chest bounces and his eyes follow, rose lips parted in thought. He catches your erratic leg with ease though, pinning you to the sheets effortlessly.

There’s a lot going on in your head, too much to sift through at the moment. But there’s no denying the fast flutter in your cunt, heat rippling through your nerves as you sit in a silence that feels suffocating. When bites his lip, you ignite. It feels like too much, too quick. A crack in the ice barrier between the two of you, the dam of unresolved emotions behind it threatening to break past and down you.

“Jeongguk…” You try, wafting through this sudden tension. He hums, a low sound that echoes deep inside of you. “What are you doing?” It’s innocent enough to allow the situation to dissipate, give the both of you a moment to gather yourself, sweep this under the rug and move on like it never happened.

He cocks his head instead, contemplating with a quick sneak of his tongue along his petal lips, still staring at your chest. “Uh, realising something.” He pauses like he doesn’t want to ask but question floats out like he can’t help himself. “When did your boobs get so huge?”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook drabble #jungkook this whole thing: *cocks head*#au: jock!jaykay

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ahkaahshi · 4 years

Text

so good to me [akaashi keiji x reader]

pairing: akaashi keiji x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) with a hint of fluff

warning(s): explicit sexual content, quirofilia, breath play, light dumbification, swearing, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 3.2k

overview: baking cupcakes ends up being a bit more challenging than you’d originally anticipated when you keep finding yourself distracted by your handsome boyfriend’s pretty hands.

It’s almost poetic, you think: the way your boyfriend’s fingers dance along his laptop’s keyboard. Even though he’s sending a rather heated email to a coworker who’s fallen short on his work, you can’t help but find yourself mesmerized at the sight of his long, slender digits tapping away rhythmically, only pausing every now and then to find just the right word to use to purvey his displeasure in an appropriate manner. In fact, you’re so entranced by watching the tendons in his hands shift with each movement of his fingers that you don’t even realize you’ve neglected your ingredient measuring duties until his voice interrupts you.

“Sorry, do you need the recipe again?” he asks, drawing your (e/c) gaze to his slate blue one that glows behind the screen’s reflection on his glasses.

Quickly, you shake your head and brush a strand of (h/c) hair away from your face. “We can start when you’re done. It’s okay.” The small smile that graces your features has him leaning down to peck your temple gently.

“I’ll be done in a minute.”

Pleasant tingles travel down your back at feeling his lips brush against your skin as they form the gentle reassurance he speaks. To busy yourself in a productive manner while he finishes up his email, you wander around the kitchen to fetch any bakeware you see missing from the island’s wooden countertop—including a muffin pan. A glance at the time displayed in sharp, blue lines on the stove reminds you just how much earlier in the day you should’ve started baking treats for the small gathering of former Fukuroudani team members you’d offered to host. Akaashi seems to sense your concern, since he hurries to finish his message before opening the tab with the recipe you intend to follow and washing his hands.

As the two of you set to combining and mixing ingredients according to the cupcake recipe on his screen, you find it challenging to keep your daydreams at bay and your attention on your own tasks. Each time his hands dart into your workspace for another utensil, your gaze follows them and your mind floods with thoughts that quickly become less than innocent.

Every glide of his fingers along his laptop’s trackpad makes you wish they were tracing along every inch of your body instead, setting your skin ablaze with his touch. Each time they wrap around the base of the stand mixer he’s using to agitate a bowl of creamy contents, you feel your throat tighten in anticipation as your mind conjures hazy memories of his gentle pressure around your neck. His occasional—and almost curious—grazes of the veins beneath the fair skin on his arms remind you of each time you’d decorated them with small crescents as you clutched onto him while feverishly chanting his name. Watching him work is both delightful and maddening.

And it becomes even more of a challenge to slow your racing heart when you notice his fingers dip into the bowl of frosting he’s whipped up to collect some on his fingertips. Experimentally, he tastes his creation, the thoughtful expression on his features soon easing as he gives it an approving nod. Upon noticing that your full attention is on him, he gestures towards the bowl and offers, “Try some. See if you like it.”

Your heart flutters in your chest as you suggest, “Could you get some for me? My hands are all covered in flour.”

For the record, they’re not, and your observant boyfriend knows this, but entertains you anyway. It’s almost shameful, the way your mouth begins watering when his fingers drag through the fluffy, white topping to gather another dollop on the tips, but you can’t help yourself. Not when you know just how much sweeter the sample will taste when delivered to you by his digits rather than your own. He seems to understand at least a sliver of the thoughts racing through your mind, since he utters a gentle command that brings your thighs together beneath the cover of your apron.

“Open.”

Obediently, you let your jaw slacken so he can move his fingers between your soft lips to spread the sugary frosting across your tastebuds. His unwavering gaze narrows ever so slightly when you move your face closer to his knuckle, taking the entirety of his two fingers into your mouth and dragging your tongue along the smooth expanse of his skin. That quiet groan you can barely hear rumbling in his throat is both a warning and a challenge—letting you know that you’re playing with fire but also questioning just how badly you want to get burned. Solidifying your decision of wanting to play this teasing game with him, you suck on his fingers with enough pressure to create a loud pop when you remove them from your mouth by pulling away.

Judging by the low tone in his voice when he speaks, your intentions have been made crystal clear and he’s not going to let you get away with what you’ve done. “I should’ve known, huh?” You furrow your eyebrows in slight confusion at his words, but he elaborates, “With the way you’ve been watching me since before we even started baking. So simple-minded, sometimes, aren’t you, baby?” A gentle tap against your protruding lower lip brings your attention to the fact that you’re pouting, and you quickly take it between your teeth. “Can’t even do something as easy as following a recipe for cupcake batter because you’re too busy thinking about making a mess all over my fingers. Is that right?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when his palm moves to the side of your neck, just beneath your jawbone. “Keiji,” you whimper softly, feeling unbearably hot under his touch all of a sudden. His cool thumb tracing over your warm skin hardly provides any relief, and only intensifies the temperature of the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“Finish up,” he commands gently, placing his other hand on your hip to guide you back towards the bowl of ingredients you’ve yet to finish mixing. He grabs the hand mixer resting on the counter nearby that you’d taken out earlier before placing the device into the palm of your slightly quivering hand. At your hesitation, he urges, “Go on. I would hate to have to tell everyone that dessert wasn’t ready because my girlfriend was too distracted by wanting me to fuck her stupid on my fingers, of all things.”

Another pitiful whine escapes your mouth, but you turn the mixer on and place it in the bowl in front of you to complete the task you’d originally set yourself to. The sensation of his fingers ghosting along the exposed skin on your neck before making their way down to your hips and holding onto them firmly from where he stands behind you makes your core ache. His warmth against the entire backside of your body has you using every fiber of self-control to prevent yourself from abandoning your job and throwing your arms around him. However, you know that no matter how much you want him, he won’t feed into any of your desires until the contents of the bowl have been poured into the muffin pan and safely tucked away inside the warmth of the oven, so you diligently work on taking things one step at a time—since that’s all you can muster, anyway.

“Good girl,” he praises gently when you finish mixing, his breath falling on the shell of your ear, “You always work better when you’re told what to do, don’t you?” Silently, you nod. Both of you know that your intelligence is much higher than he’s currently giving you credit for, but you love the pleasure you reap from assuming the role of his dumb, little girlfriend in situations like this. Pretending as if you didn’t know better or couldn’t perform without being told what to do always gave you a bit of a thrill—which he knew all too well. He didn’t mind, since he had never been a stranger to assuming control.

“In the oven for twenty minutes. Be careful not to burn yourself, sweetheart.”

His gunmetal gaze follows your figure as you shuffle over to the oven to pull it open so you can slide the tray into its warmth. Once you’ve set it to bake for the appropriate time, you untie your apron and pull it off over your head before grabbing one of his hands and leading him towards the bedroom. However, his refusal to budge takes you by surprise, and you nearly stumble backwards when your movements are stopped.

“Keiji,” you huff, “the rest of our friends are gonna be here soon.”

In an instant that happens too quickly for you to be able to process anything, you’re being pulled towards him moments before you find your back pressed against one of the walls in the kitchen. Your (e/c) eyes are wide with shock but clouded by a thin veil of lust as you stare into his own, which you find are watching you as calmly as ever. “I know,” he states, “So why don’t we take care of things right here, then?” Though his words are phrased as a question, the intonation of his voice along with the way his hand is slowly sliding up your shirt reveal otherwise. He’s not asking.

The intensity of his gaze makes your heart pound erratically against your ribcage and draws you closer to him in spite of his strong presence keeping your back flush against the cool wall. After he brings his face down towards yours to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, it’s hard for you to keep track of everything that happens next. His fingers dancing along the expanse of bare skin from your waist to your lacy bralette beneath your shirt has you melting into his touch, and his passionate kisses are soon taking your breath away. His fingertips skimming over the dainty fabric separating them from your nipples makes you squirm and tighten your grasp around him.

“Come here,” he whispers, placing his arm around your back and guiding you into the center of the kitchen. Grabbing one of the chairs at the other side of the island, he drags it behind him so he can take a seat and beckon you to do the same. When you sit down on his lap facing him, he shakes his head and insists, “Turn around.”

With your back to him this time, you slide back onto the seat, perching between his legs. As his hands work their way up to your breasts, sliding underneath the lace so they can cup your soft, plush skin and roll your nipples between his fingers, you let out a soft moan and focus your gaze on the warm glow of the light inside the oven just a few feet away from where you’re sitting. In the faint reflection on the smooth surface of the glass, yours and Akaashi’s forms are barely visible, and you can’t help but watch as he slides one of his palms along your thighs, pausing to give them a firm squeeze every now and then.

“Please, Keiji,” you breathe, placing your hand over his and guiding it to the waistband of the lounge shorts you’re wearing, “want your fingers inside me.”

He hums, “I know you do, baby,” as he toys with the elastic before pushing it away from your hips and down your legs as far as he can reach. You hear a small chuckle bubble in his throat when you hastily rid yourself of the garment, leaving only one more layer between his long fingers and your aching core. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about. It’s all you can think about.”

You nod in agreement, desperate to do or say anything that’ll get him to move with just a bit more urgency to alleviate your discomfort. Heat spreads across your skin in a powerful wave when his other palm comes to rest on the base of your throat. His fingers slowly making their way up and around your neck, gently pulling you back against his chest while his other digits toy with the edge of your panties makes your pussy throb needily. Before you can beg for him another time, though, he’s dipping beneath the flimsy material to trail his fingertips from your already soaking entrance to your clit.

A loud moan of appreciation echoes from between your lips as Akaashi presses his to your jawline. “Take your panties off for me.” His command has your own fingers skittering down to your hips to shed the material as quickly as possible and you ignore the rush of cold air you feel between your legs at being fully exposed. The reflection in the oven’s window is too unclear for you to tell if he’s watching you the same way you’re watching yourself, but, in the bright lights of the kitchen, you can see your slick shining on his fingertips as he spreads it along your sex.

Your small whimpers and mewls begin steadily increasing in volume as he slides his index finger over your pearl in short, tantalizing strokes that leave you wanting more. And while he enjoys every sound that leaves your mouth, littering your skin with gentle kisses as encouragement, he tightens his grasp around your throat, restricting your airflow in the gentlest manner possible. It’s clear, after your countless experiences with breath play in the bedroom, that he knows exactly how much pressure to use to keep you safe and comfortable, yet make you feel restrained and excited.

As he digs his digits into the tender skin around your neck, your cries of pleasure become more labored and your chest heaves with deeper breaths. He’s careful and understanding of your body, loosening his grip slightly whenever he feels the muscles surrounding your throat straining too excessively, and tightening it again when he hears more of your desperate pleas. Safety and respect for you are always his first priorities, no matter what games you’re playing or kinks you’re experimenting with, and knowing he’ll always take care of you is what makes you melt into his arms and clutch onto him tightly as he pleasures you.

“Keiji!” Another cry of his name rolls off your tongue when he finally plunges his fingers inside of your hot core, which welcomes him with a wet squelch. Each thrust of his digits into you, edging them closer and closer to your most sensitive area has you moaning unabashedly with desire. “Faster, please!” He ignores your request and continues sliding them in and out at a controlled speed. “Please, Keiji, I wanna cum. I want you to make me cum,” you plead with an exasperated exhale.

Without warning, the hand on your neck releases so he can shove his fingers into your half-open mouth, making you squeal with surprise. “It looks like you forgot that you’re only allowed to take orders, not give them, silly girl,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth against the shell of your ear so his voice is the only thing you can hear, “Who’s in charge right now, hmm?”

With his fingers depressing your tongue and quickly filling your mouth with saliva, you slur out his name as best as you can. The proximity of his face to yours makes you hyperaware of each breath and utterance that leaves his lips, as well as the heat they send skittering across your skin.

“That’s right,” he answers, “So, be a good girl and let me make you feel good, okay? Promise I will.”

He takes a soft sigh and lack of complaints from you as a sign of you relinquishing control to him once more and pecks your temple tenderly in response. As he continues pleasuring your needy pussy with his fingers, those he has in your mouth muffle the cries you utter in response to the sensations that you’ve been craving all day. It’s not long before you notice your own saliva start trailing down his wrist, glittering in the lights above as you as it leaves a slick path along the soft ridges of his veins and tendons in its slow-moving wake. His thumb pressing against your sensitive clit as he kneads the spongy region inside of you with his index and middle fingers returns you to the moment once again, and your breathing gradually becomes more labored as you grind your hips against him, desperate for release.

Soon, a rush of euphoria overtakes your body as you finally fall apart at his fingers alone. He lightens the pressure he’s exerting on your tongue just enough for his name to be fully formed when it leaves your mouth in breathy cries, since there’s nothing he loves more than hearing it chanted like it’s the only word in your vocabulary in the heat of your orgasms. He hums with contentment into your neck, nipping gently at the skin there as he lets you use his fingers to ride out your high.

You’re barely allowed a moment of rest following your release before the timer for the oven beeps harshly, bringing you back to reality more abruptly than you would’ve liked. Slowly, you close your legs, and Akaashi keeps his hand nestled in your warmth for what feels to be a long stretch of time before pulling it away from your sensitive core. A lighthearted chuckle echoes from his mouth when he tries to move only to have you slump against him and whine with indignation.

Before he can speak, the sound of the doorbell ringing alerts both of you to the arrival of your guests, and your gaze darts to him, then to your shorts and panties strewn across the tiled floor. “Of course, they decide to be right on time today, of all days,” he growls, placing his hands on your waist to help you stand up so you can make yourself decent.

“Kou’s probably excited about the cupcakes,” you giggle as you slide the discarded clothes back up your legs while Akaashi washes his hands. Once you’re dressed, you approach your boyfriend and give him and affectionate kiss that he returns appreciatively. Another chime of the doorbell forces the two of you to pull away so that he can retrieve the cupcakes from the oven and attend to your impatient guests. “Need help with anything?”

He smiles sweetly but answers, “Not now. You can go ahead and get ready,” before giving you a gentle pat on the rear to send you off down the hall.

“Hey, Keiji?”

“Yes, my love?”

You bite your lip before suggesting, “Once everyone leaves tonight, how about I put on that cute lingerie set you got for me and wait in the bedroom for you on my knees?”

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, “I would love that.” As you prance down the hallway to the bedroom while he approaches the front door, the words you hear him add in a hushed tone make your heart flutter in your chest: “Always so good to me.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya

akaashi: @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @atsunakaashi, @heyhinata

#ahkaahshi gets wild #akaashi keiji x reader #ahkaahshi's mini kinktober 2020 #haikyuu smut #akaashi smut #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #x reader #reader insert #haikyuu fanfiction #tw breath play #tw dumbification #fran writes hq!!

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hellacioushag · 3 years

Text

tw: abuse/sexual assault

the hypocrisy of people using faux outrage about others drawing parallels between tamlin and azriel’s stories when they didn’t bat an eye about someone drawing similarities between a rapist and a sexual assault survivor to justify their shipping needs is astounding. if you read the post no one was saying tamlin and azriel are the same. i’m gonna detail my own thoughts on why these two mirror each others narrative, but with key differences.

abusive childhoods:

i feel like people forget that both tamlin and azriel were victims of an abusive household. the key difference is azriel’s history has made him want to defend those who cannot defend themselves/punish those who are the perpetrators of violence while tamlin gave into his anger and violence at the world. it’s a classic tale of being an abuse victim. you either grow up to separate yourself from your past and do better than your parents or you become just like them.

tamlin’s brothers would have murdered him as a babe in his bassinet if they suspected he had potential or desire for the high lord position. we also know tamlin’s father held slaves and was aligned with others who shared his view of the world in the war. pair these bits together and we can assume tamlin’s father was a more aggressive and violent father than even beron is. tamlin grew up in a home where he did not feel safe. and when his father tasked tamlin with finding out his enemy’s secrets tamlin obliged.

he was present and possibly participated in the butcher and murder of rhys’ family. this was a significant moment for tamlin’s turn into becoming an abuser like his father. he could have lied, he could have denied knowing the information about rhys’ mother and sister, but instead he gave that information over to his father knowing he was signing a death warrant. some could argue that he may have done this because of his own father’s abusive tendencies toward him, but this was the moment imo that tamlin went from a victim to a predator.

as for azriel we all know the abuse he suffered by his family. how his brothers tortured him and tried to have him killed. how he was denied any affection or love growing up and was taught that his existence was a stain on his family’s reputation. azriel could have easily turned into an abuser himself the way tamlin did, but being dumped into the illyrian camps and finding cassian and rhys saved him from that fate. his brotherhood with them was the turning point for azriel to no longer be a victim, but a survivor.

anger issues:

you can’t deny that both tamlin and azriel suffer with anger and control issues. it’s clear in the text they both have a barely contained, deep-seated anger that could be deathly when let loose. the key difference is tamlin has no one to reign him in, no one of his equal to calm that rage. azriel has this support system and has been shown to have utilized it when needed. i’m not going to go into a full analysis on all the examples, but I will point out the main ones I think we all know.

tamlin’s explosive anger was shown when he blew apart the library when feyre and he disagreed about her safety measures in acomaf. he could have easily hurt her had she not had magic to protect her (as seen when this same moment was repeated in acowar). tamlin let his rage and helplessness consume his every thought about protecting the person he loved and instead became the very threat he sought to protect her from. he let his paranoia about her being in danger prevent him from listening to her needs and locked her in a cage. this in itself was abusive, there’s no arguing this point. the part to note is that he as a high lord had no one of equal measure to talk him down, to help him see reason. when lucien tried to step in he was dismissed and abused himself. when feyre tried to speak up on her own behalf tamlin refused to listen and as high lord his word/wants/needs were law in his lands. he had no one who could provide a healthy perspective and so left unchecked he continued his abusive behavior.

azriel’s cold, lethal anger was shown when he exploded at the meeting with the high lords in acowar and attacked eris for a slight against mor. he was inches from letting the rage take hold of him and ending eris’s life. feyre, his high lady and friend, was able to calm him down and make him see reason. azriel is a trained spy and torture master, he’s supposed to be able to keep a cool head in high stressed situations, to act unemotionally to get his job done. however reliving the trauma of seeing a broken mor and imagining eris leaving her there consumed him with rage he could no longer contain. i’m not here to justify his actions. mor’s own trauma of seeing azriel fly off the deep end is enough for me to condemn his behavior. i am however pointing out that i think his reaction was not just about mor, but about reliving his own helplessness and loss of control and letting it consume him into a lethal rage.

the key difference with tamlin and azriel’s moments of all consuming rage is that azriel had someone to talk him down and let him see reason. tamlin refused the help of his own support system (lucien/feyre) and instead gave into his abusive and volatile tendencies. azriel could have easily done that same, but because of his brotherhood and friendships he has people to pull him back from the edge.

desire for love and acceptance:

both tamlin and azriel (and all characters in this series tbh) have a strong desire to love and be loved in return. the problem is when that desire for love becomes an obsession and entitlement. it becomes harmful when you think you’re owed something.

tamlin let his desire for feyre become obsessive. he had his soldiers hunt her down to drag her back to his home. he refused to accept that she was happy and healing away from him because he was in despair without her. he couldn’t fathom that she could be finding peace when he was being torn apart. he allied himself with monsters because he convinced himself that his love for feyre was the stuff of legend and that he was acting in a heroic manner. and even when he found out that she had a mate, something that is considered a sacred bond above all things to their people, he refused to accept that the cauldron/the mother/fate could be so cruel to deny him his happily ever after. feyre was his and he would reclaim her no matter what. he would defy the mother herself for his love. the problem with this is that he did not take into account feyre’s needs. when you love someone you put their needs above your own. he didn’t care that feyre was mated, that she loved rhys, because his obsession for her and belief that she belonged to him outweighed all reason. his love for her turned toxic if you can even call it love to begin with.

azriel is a bit different, but the parallels are there. he’s not at the obsessive point yet (masturbating to pain killers notwithstanding) and he may never get there. one could argue he spent 500+ years being obsessed with mor, but his support system held him in check. that when he saw mor flirting and sleeping with others he leaned on his brothers, on cassian, to distract him and help him through the pain of knowing the person he loved didn’t love him back. and regarding elain i think whatever is between them is entirely too new to relate it to his feelings for mor, but it’s also looking to be just as unhealthy. he didn’t bat an eye about fighting lucien in a blood duel and seemed to welcome the challenge. he knows that if lucien were to die that pain could destroy elain. even if she doesn’t love lucien, has not accepted the mating bond, she and he are soulbound. if he were to die it could shatter her, but he didn’t seem to think of that consequence at all.

when he questioned the wisdom of making them mates in the first place, when he claimed “what if the cauldron was wrong?” and then rationalized his thoughts by saying 3 sisters for 3 brothers.... this is a callback to tamlin refusing to believe the cauldron would deny him love by mating feyre to rhys. questioning why he doesn’t have a mate of his own isn’t inherently bad, but implying that because his brothers found mates with 2 of 3 sisters so lucien doesn’t deserve the 3rd is. when he doesn’t talk to his brother about why he desires elain and instead talks about why fate has robbed him of a sister it stands to reason why rhys would take exception to this way of thinking. it’s bordering on toxic and i’m glad rhys was there to pull rank on azriel.

are tamlin and azriel the same?

no, didn’t you listen to anything said? they are not the same and the key difference as to why is because azriel has a support system of brothers and friends that he can rely on to keep him in check. tamlin has pushed away any form of support and has embraced his beastly abusive behavior. saying that their story parallels is not saying azriel is an abuser like tamlin. it’s pointing out why tamlin’s story is a cautionary tale for azriel’s future journey. it’s outlining that while they may share similar aspects of an abusive past, anger issues, and longing for love and affection they are not the same people at their core because of the way they deal with their trauma.

#acotar #acotar metas #acosf #azriel #tamlin #they are not the same #but they do parallel to each other #can't wait to see people say i'm a tamlin apologist #or i'm equating az and tamlin #cause people in this fandom seem to not understand how to comprehensively read

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the-second-tonks · 3 years

Note

Hey!! could I play the game with Harry Potter? Could I have the characters from the golden era: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Draco, Fred and George and also from the marauders: James, Remus, Sirius, Lilly. If one era counts as one fandom, then just the golden era for now please 🤗

I’m am a female, with the nationality French/British, and I go by she/her pronouns, I'm 173, I have short brown curly hair, with brown almond shaped eyes and fair-ish skin and big chest, with the curves. I'm an INFJ and my enneagram is 9, I am a leo and a slytherin. I am quite shy and soft spoken, and incredibly introverted with social anxiety but once I know, trust and love a person you can't quite get me to shut up. I’d say I’m quite sarcastic and witty naturally and being socially anxious doesn’t stop me from making offhanded comments sometimes. I’m also a hot head, I get angry really quickly and I usually keep it contained, I do burst sometimes and can get rather aggressive, it’s not the best but I’m working on it. So I’d say I feel emotions deeply and pick up on others emotions too. I’ve been called sensitive but I hate it, I think just because I cry when I feel intense emotions doesn’t mean I’m sensitive.

My style is quite bright with funky patterns and I like colour with my makeup(on the eyes). My favourite colours are red and yellow. I love to do art specifically painting and doodles, I’ve done a couple of pieces that I would like to get tattooed on me, I also love reading - my apartment is running out of space for my books, I like all kinds of genres, I gravitate towards more non-fiction but also graphic novels, I’m love Deadly Class and currently reading Watchmen.

I love to bake, everything really from cakes to breads, I love a challenge. I also enjoy hiking and cycling, I love to cycle to clear the mind. And I really enjoy scouring second hand shops and sites, I (probably like others) love being able to find things for cheaper even when i could get them new, I’ll spend ages on Marktplaats which is like the Dutch eBay I guess. I am passionate about the sex industry and the rights for women (men) and children within it and power role within the industry and society. I am also a hopeless romantic, I love all love and love to be loved, love and see it around me.

Hello buddy ! Yep sure ! Nah , all the eras are considered under Harry Potter fandom ! Aww dear , it's okay if you're not sensitive or hate being called that even if you aren't but just remember that being sensitive doesn't mean being weak , infact many sensitive people are the strongest ones you'll ever meet ! Being sensitive is a gift of god , do not forget to embrace it if you have it :)

This game is closed

Harry Potter

His thoughts about you

Are you both twins ? Cause that's what he thinks too . I think if you would've participated in the Harry Potter life game , I would've definitely made you his twin . Ohmy god ! How can you both be so similar . Harry always checks on your mistakes to prevent his , ya know . You both are super strong , brave and introverted together and no one understands Harry like you do , and he's grateful for that . Though you both clash a lot , he still is happy to have someone like you by his side . Harry never liked being called as weak , and you don't like being called sensitive (or maybe weak ?) So , you both get each other's back when someone calls you so .

Your relationship

Bestiesss , but I see this either turning into bro-sis or bestiess . I don't know , but I can't imagine you both being lovers lol . You both are too similar to ya know , love each other in that way , that's what I feel .

First impressions

He's gonna like your sarcasm from the beginning heheh , especially because you sass Malfoy out ryt in front of him 😂and the trio (even Hermione) couldn't hold back their laughter.

Hermione Granger

Her thoughts about you

She's fine with you until you don't talk her ear off while she's trying to study . She'll love how you're always there for Harry and Ron , but she might not like how you loose your cool often . She'll also scold you a lot , but it's upon you if you care hahhaa . She's not going to approve your hopeless romantic side , but she'll not mind it either . She'll be glad to find someone who's more towards non-fiction hehehe . She's gonna like you , but don't expect her to not scold you hehehe .

Your relationship

Friends ! I mean close friends too .

First impressions

As said , she really liked how you boldly sass Malfoy , but she wouldn't like it if you did that to a professor hahaha .

Ronald Weasely

His thoughts about you

He worries about you a lot . That's because he really loves you as a friend . He would never want to see you hurt and he'll often stand up for you . He knows the best ways to reassure you and handle your aggressiveness . You can often then more pick up on his feelings too, which makes it easier for him . Atleast he doesn't have to convey them and be all dramatic .

Your relationship

Bestiess . ... But has more potential .. like you both could date , not sure if It would work out .

First impressions

He was like - "she's bloody brilliant, Harry !" He was impressed by you in the first go . And he really wanted to be friends with you . Yeah in the beginning it was tough , but later , it wasn't with anyone else that you got along so good with (except Harry sometimes hehe)

Neville Longbottom

His thoughts about you

I can't help but see how you get along with everyone in this fandom hahaha . He loves how he can share his anxiety problems with you . He's super shy too , so he'll find comfort in you . Your sarcasm might take him off guard sometimes , but mostly , he'll be super fun with you . He'll be himself , he'll be free and he'll have no pressure of proving himself . He'll love how you make him feel , but we all know Neville's a fighter at the end of the day . Even though he finds solace in your company , he'll not stay there long enough .

Your relationship

Really close and strong bonded friendship

First impressions

He really thought of you as someone who's just like him . But when you opened up , he realised you weren't.

Seamus Finnigan

His thoughts about you

He might not be that friendly with you first , and that's what he regrets a lot . Because on seeing your fun side , he's in kinda love with you . OOO. You got an admirer hahah . He'll definitely ask you out in the fourth year ! He thinks your shyness , which is hiding such a vibrant personality is a perfect example of why someone shouldn't judge a book by it's cover . Your sarcasm is gonna make him laugh always.

Your relationship

Hehe it's upon you if you wanna date him, i feel it has a lot chances to work.

First impressions

As said earlier , he didn't talk a lot with you . Inshort he didn't care much , until he saw you with Dean , being super fun and it intrigued him to know you .

Draco Malfoy

His thoughts about you

Hmm...he hates you when you know what he feels . He just calls you sensitive to get under your skin (successfully) but he secretly knows how strong you are . And he admires that sometimes . Even though he has no hate to give you , he'll not be good with you . Super Meany , but super blushy when you catch his feelings (like if he really wants to be mean or is just doing it for his image) . He'll not like when you sass him , and he'll not spare you until you literally get all agressive .

Your relationship

Could be enemies to lovers . I wouldn't recommend you dating him though , because I don't think he'll be able to handle your agressive-ness and you won't be able to handle his coward nature . Seamus is better .

First impressions

Oh please , I can't even measure the amount of underestimation . He literally thought he could pick up on you ...

Fred and George Weasley

Their thoughts about you

Hmmm.. they're okay with you . They like how you're fun and stuff but they'll not prank you because they've seen your agressive and bursting out side .

Your relationship

They're your bestfriend's(maybe even boyfriend's) siblings hahah .

First impressions

Oh they thought you're innocent little lost Princess hahaha . But they were about to prank you .. and maybe they did too , but seeing your anger , they thought of teasing you more but Molly scolded them the following vacation and surprisingly they agreed on not troubling you . Because maybe they had better reactive people (sorry Fred and George are meanies)

James Potter

His thoughts about you

While in lightning era , if he were alive , he'd love you and you'd strongly remind him of Harry , always . Because I feel like Harry might have a few fights with James , when you'll comfort James... In the marauder's era , he'll like you and you both might even be really close , but he has his own temper so I think you both might get into pretty ugly fights with each other .

Your relationship

He's your (can-be-called) family in lightning era . But in marauder's , he's your friend .

First impressions

He underestimated you , kinda because you were shy and stuff and James is exact opposite of shy , that is bold . He didn't think you both could get along , considering the fact that you're Slytherin .

Lily Potter (neè Evans)

Her thoughts about you

Hmm.. she'll love your shy as well as fun side . She'll also love how feisty your sarcasm is lol . She'll help you open up when you're being super shy and anxiety is hitting you . In lightning era , if she were alive , she'd appreciate your presence with Harry , but she would scold all three of you for your hot-headedness

Your relationship

Friends ! She's your (can-be-called) family in lightning era

First impressions

She was in a class with you , so you both were working on a project together lol . She saw how you were actually interested in non -fiction and you both had loads of discussion on different things !

Sirius Black

His thoughts about you

Hmmmmm...in lightning era , he's actually fine with you and you and Harry are super similar to him . He's always gonna be confusing to you though ... One time he'll listen to you , one time he won't . So buckle up to deal with him lol . In marauder's era , he might consider you really innocent and kinda angel types , so he might flirt with you a lot to fluster you while you're being shy , but I'm sure you'll shock him with your fun side and he might fall for you then hehehhe. He'll also find your hopeless romantic thingy duper cute but I think he'll not admit that easily hhehe .

Your relationship

I might ship you with him in marauder's era . In lightning era , he's your bestfriend's godfather lol.

First impressions

He thought of you as someone who has nothing to do with playboy's , but he was also in love with your sarcasm . Absolutely had no innocent thoughts about you .

Remus Lupin

His thoughts about you

Yeah he was fine with you . Okay let's face the truth that you got along super well . He'll always be there to comfort you and handle your anger , while you'll be there with him for his werewolf issues . In lightning era , he'll be super helpful to you as a professor .

Your relationship

Maybe bestiess in marauder's era ofc . You both always would have a really close and deep bond even without meeting each other everyday

First impressions

Ahh , he was the only one who threw you a comforting and forgiving smile when you literally bursted out and needed space . So yeah he was kind with you from the beginning and that's how you bonded .

Don't forget to interact (i.e like or reblog) with this post .

Thank you for the immense motivation you gave me !

#harry potter ships #harry potter x you #james potter x you #sirius black #sirius being sirius #seamus finnigan #draco lucius malfoy #harry ron hermione #lily evans #remus x you #urgingforyou

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kechiwrites · 3 years

Text

tension headache

Ground Zero x Publicist!Reader

wc: 2.2k

“Being Ground Zero’s publicist comes with its own set of challenges, luckily there are quite a few benefits to sweeten the deal.” warnings: anal play, dirty talk, light degradation, light spanking, d/s undertones (or overtones w/e), bakugo being the king of bullies

author’s note: i’ve been writing this since august and it’s finally done. special thanks to @lady-bakuhoe, @some-kindofgnome, and @nightly-tales for betaing!

Your head is throbbing. The sort of building tension headache you became most familiar with in high school; the kind that starts in the morning and gets stronger with every little irritant. You’re sure it's a tension headache from having your shoulders hunched up to your ears most of the day, a seemingly ever-constant by-product of trying to keep Pro Hero Ground Zero from biting a journalism student's head off. The obscenely large TV hanging above the receptionist’s desk plays Ground Zero’s greatest hits on mute as your heels click-clack towards the steel and glass elevators.

It’s almost the end of his patrol and you know he’ll be up soon, sidekicks and assistants (two this month, because the first had the good sense to resign soon, lucky bastard) in tow. Four consecutive texts rattle your phone in your pocket to confirm this. Each one an iteration of “on our way up!.” Waving at his secretary, you let yourself into his office setting your purse on the floor. Further behind you can already hear the clamor of voices and activity that announces Ground Zero’s arrival, people no doubt scurrying out of his warpath lest they incur his wrath. He pushes open the heavy door and says nothing to acknowledge your presence.

Your forehead throbs with irritation at the snub. You know it’s only a matter of time before either of you begin to push the other’s buttons but your employer seems to have a secondary quirk he uses only for you.

You like to call it Extreme Irritation.

“Would it kill you to be nicer to the press?” You give first, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch pushed against the easternmost wall underneath a frankly, unnecessarily large, framed photo of U-A’s graduating class. “Why do you insist on making my job so hard?”

“Can’t pay you for fucking nothing,” he scoffs, leaning against the desk in the center of his office. Carefully he divests himself of his gauntlets, handing one to his senior assistant, and placing its twin onto the desk next to his big gaudy nameplate, muttering; “Take this to Yumikawa, I think I broke the fucking thing.” When he’s halfway past the threshold, Ground Zero adds, “And tell her to do better with her shitty paint jobs!” His gaze snaps to the newest recruit, a tiny shivering thing who looks like a stiff wind could blow her over, “What the fuck are you standing there for? Go with him! Do I have to fucking tell you everything?”

She practically leaves a dust cloud in her wake. You roll your eyes and begin reading through news updates on your tablet, nails clicking lightly against the screen. Tweet after tweet and article after article summarize Ground Zero’s latest exploit, every title and byline more sensational than the last.

“Ground Zero Overshadows Daring Rescue with Another Tirade!”

“Is Ground Zero the Meanest Pro-Hero Ever?!”

‘imagine ground zero calling you stupid 🥴 #imahole’

You could almost laugh if it weren’t for the startlingly large amount of retweets on that last one. Finally, the pro hero deigns to address you; “I did as you asked, I smiled, I laughed, I didn't blow anyone up.” He actually sounds proud. You blubber in shock. “You called the reporter a fuck wit! They can't even air that!” For good measure you hold up the tablet to replay a heavily edited fancam of Ground Zero sneering at some poor junior reporter. “Isn't that what you wanted? Less of my insults on TV?” He is so smug, it drives you crazy. “Not like that!” You toss the tablet onto the couch beside you and stand, stomping towards Bakugo, who’s leaning against his desk, clenching his jaw, arms crossed, as if he didn’t spend the entire morning making you wish you’d never laid eyes on him. The two of you are growing more and more irritated with each other and it’s evident in the rapidly rising volume of your conversation.

"I'm serious, if you want to be ‘Number One’,” you stress through your teeth, “people have to like you, at least a little bit. That. Includes. The. Press.” Every word is punctuated with a strong poke to his sternum, and you try to ignore the pain of jabbing your finger into his brick wall of a chest. It feels as though the pristine white collar of your button-up shirt is digging into your throat while you try to restrain yourself from biting his stupid, perfect nose off.

Now it’s Bakugo’s turn to roll his eyes, “People like me.” He looks to his sidekicks for confirmation and you pointedly ignore them bobbing their heads in unison.

“Who?! Who are these people that like you?”

Bakugo gestures wildy at his sidekicks, “They like me!”

“They’re afraid of you! They respect you but they don’t like you!” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You like me!” He barks at you.

You almost choke on your surprised laughter. He really was absolutely ridiculous.

“I have to like you, you pay me!”

“That’s right. I sign your cheques, you deal with all the media bullshit and make me look good.”

“You make it impossible for me!” If it weren’t for the intense tunnel vision your arguing was giving you, you would have seen Ground Zero’s sidekicks inching slowly towards the door.

“Well maybe you’re just shit at your job!” He turns away from you to push papers to the side of his desk, the gesture a clear dismissal that only serves to rile you further.

“Oh fucking bite me, Katsuki!” As soon as it’s out you slap your hands over your mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates.

You were exhausted and tense and so mad but it’s not what you agreed on, never at work and never in front of subordinates. In an instant it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Bakugo’s expression is furious when he whirls on you. You chance a look over at his assistants and all colour has left their faces, ‘Impressive,’ you think idly, ‘Considering Haruto is literally purple.’

“Out. Now.” He growls, and his teeth are clenched together so hard you think they might shatter, his throat is rapidly turning red and his hands are clenching and unclenching around nothing. The sidekicks hesitate and you’re a little grateful for their loyalty.

“Fucking out. NOW!” He yells, and they nearly fall over each other trying to get out the door.

“And there goes the loyalty,” you murmur while you watch their hasty retreat. “I’m sorry,” you say, turning to face him head-on, apology punctuated with the slamming shut of his office door. You focus on the wall of windows behind him, the city skyline slowly lighting up in the nighttime, preparing for an infamous Ground Zero meltdown. “That was inappropriate, especially in front of subordinates.” Idly, you wonder what the theme this time will be; Disrespect? Insubordination? Or just a good old-fashioned dress down? He’d become quite wordy over the years, you were almost beginning to enjoy them.

While you muse Bakugou inches closer to you, cheeks a mottled red. His shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, like he’s bringing himself down from the peak of his anger. For a moment you think he’ll just outright scream in your face, but when he pulls you, first towards him and then past him until your stomach presses against his desk, you realize quickly what he’s planning.

His forearm presses against your back until you’re bent over his desk, your hands palm down between the wood and your chest to prevent your face meeting the cool oak. It’s bordering on humiliating how easy he can manipulate you. But they don’t teach hand to hand combat in the business sector, and although you’d toyed with the idea - being in a high-risk industry and all - you never put stock in seriously learning.

The blond’s hand snakes over your shoulder, slightly damp palm advancing until it’s pressed against the smooth flesh of your throat. Katsuki pulls you towards him this way, and for a short moment breathing is a laboured task. The other hand makes quick work of divesting you of your skirt and underwear, coming down in an instant to make contact with your bare ass. He rubs at it covetously, a shallow attempt at soothing your stinging skin.

There’s no formality when he thrusts into you, only a few seconds between feeling the head of his cock parting your embarrassingly slick folds and him being fully seated within you. You grit your teeth against a whine, fingers scrambling for purchase when he withdraws and fucks into you again, and then again, pace slowly gaining momentum until you can swear the heavy oak desk (and seriously that thing weighs a fucking ton) is shifting with the force. Your stomach presses painfully into the gilded metal decorating its edge but it’s good. Katsuki is so fucking good at taking you apart with every inch he drives into you. Above you he mutters lowly about how fucking wet you are, how eager you must’ve been all day, waiting for him to fill you. It goes on like this for a while, you bouncing between his hips and the desk, him whispering filthy, untrue shit in your ears that makes your nipples hard and your breathing shallow.

He places his free hand on your back, first up under your shirt, then slowly slides it down, until it’s resting on the roundness of your ass again. You don’t know what he’s planned till his thumb’s parted you, sliding softly over the clenched furl of muscle above your stretched open cunt.

“Bakugou, no!” you whisper hoarsely, your voice just edging on hysterical as you struggle against his hold.

“Excuse me?” He hisses between his teeth, thrusts not slowing for a second. The hand around your throat tightens and when he pulls you closer so his sneering mouth is brushing the shell of your ear, you unwillingly tighten around his dick in response.

“(Y/N),” his voice is almost pleasant, and had you not been split open on his cock in his office, you’d ask him who taught him an ‘interview voice’.

“Can you tell me who's name is on the building?” While he teases you, you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, thighs tensing and relaxing with the sensation of being spread open beneath him.

“Yours.” You wish you could fall through the fucking floor.

“I’m sorry?” His thumb presses a little more insistently against your pucker. The pressure is foreign, but not at all bad. Dear God, you’re really about to let him do this to you.

“Yours, sir.” You pant, the burning sensation in your cheeks and neck a mix of exertion and shame.

“Fucking say it,” Katsuki tightens his hold on your throat and your whimpers are barely audible over the sound of his hips brutally meeting your ass.

“G-Ground Zero.” you choke out through your clenched teeth.

“Oh good, so you can read!” Katsuki releases you from his hold and you fall forward. With every thrust, your feet lift off the floor, and you lurch forward like a ragdoll. Katsuki pushes his thumb further inside you, belly-laughing when you cry out in pleasure.

“Where’d all that resistance go, sweetheart?” His digit fucks in and out of you in tandem with his cock, keeping you full constantly. “You know what? Next time, I’m gonna take my time stretching you, keep you wide open, maybe you can wear a plug for me, huh? And then after you’ve been soft and needy all day, I’ll slide right into you, fuck you till you gape for me.”

You’re incapable of firing back, mouth occupied with moaning incoherently while you drool against the desk. Katsuki chokes off his own moan, using his unoccupied hand to hike up your leg so he can have easier access to your clit. The calloused pad of his fingertips press hard against you. He goes so slow, pushing and nudging at you until your entire body feels feverish and your climax takes you by surprise, forcing a yelp from your lips when your legs begin to shake.

“That’s it. Come for me. Come on my dick.” Once he’s sure you're done, he pulls his finger from your ass and releases your leg, blanketing your back with his chest. His hips are quick to lose their rhythm as he fills you, ropes of his spend coating your insides. Katsuki shudders against you, hands running a course along your hips. He pulls away, the evidence of your time together sliding down the inside of your thigh without Katsuki’s cock to hold it in.

“I’m going back to working for Hawks.” Your voice is hoarse when you can finally speak again and levering your chest up off the desk onto shaky knees only serves to make your head spin more. You glare at your boss your boyfriend as he dresses.

Katsuki’s grin is derisive while he tucks his softening dick away, “Like fuck, you love working for me way too much to work for that fuckin’ pretty boy.” He leans down in front of you and slides your underwear up from your ankles back into place, followed by your skirt before pressing soft lips to your forehead, smoothing his hands over your cheeks.

At least your headache is gone.

taglist: @enjifuckersupreme @pleasantanathema

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo #bnha x you #ground zero #ground zero x reader #bnha ground zero #katsuki x reader #kechiwrites

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ladyeliot · 3 years

Photo

Damn melody.

Request: @mostly-marvel-musings : Well hi there!! If you’re up for it, could you do a no. 1 and 7 with Tony Stark from your Superhero prompts please?!

Pairing: Superhero!Tony Stark x Villain!Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been trying for a long time to get the documentation that explained the creation of his AI, and that time you almost succeeded.

Warnings: SMUT⚡(+18). Touching, unprotected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 2186

A/N: This is the first time I write a smut, I’m afraid. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Superhero vs Villain!Reader Prompts

The confrontation had made your insides scream in pain. You prayed that nothing and no one would stand in your way as you drove to your lair at extreme speed. The meeting with Iron Man had been planned from the beginning, your chances to get the documentation where the process of development of his AI based on his own genetics was located had been scarce during the last months, but that day you almost made it. The word “surrender” was not in your vocabulary and never would be.

You arrived at your hideout on the outskirts of New York County with barely a breath. Your body was full of bruises and you felt how blood could wash over your face. Your radar sense could do little at that time, Tony had prepared for your arrival and his AI had restricted the electromagnetic emissions that helped heighten all your senses. So that confrontation was catastrophic, little could your martial arts and combat strategy skills do against the legion of drones that awaited you.

As soon as you stepped on the floor you stood in front of a mirror, your appearance was sickly, your right shoulder was dislocated and that was accompanied by the cut on your forehead, making you look like the ruin personified. You slowly lowered the zip of the black lycra suit that was sticking to your body, preventing the pain in your shoulder from making you squirm even more. You left the upper part of your body uncovered, covered only with a bra, which showed a series of hematomas covering the abdomen. Internally you found yourself cursing that person and his power, and you imagined the day when you would finally finish with him.

You took a breath and looked at yourself again in front of the mirror, your eyes had darkened from the rage you felt, that was the best time to place the dislocated shoulder bone, but your internal receptor regions, which were slowly recovering, emanated a signal in your body. You quickly grabbed one of the knives hidden in the back of your ankle and stood on guard. The house was dark, all silent, but a slight breath came into your ears, and it was not yours.

You came down the stairs slowly, the breathing could be heard more clearly, that meant you were approaching it. Your sense of smell quickly discovered who it was and where it was. It was impossible for you to return after what had just happened and better still, how had she found you and how had she overcome the security measures?

“Why do you have a room full of pictures and articles about yourself? you opened the door very carefully and there he was.

He wasn’t wearing the Iron Man suit, instead he was wearing a black Tom Ford suit, accompanied by a red tie, but even so, you knew perfectly well that that didn’t mean he didn’t have his Iron Man suit on him. Tony was in the middle of your small private laboratory, specifically observing a corner where there were photographs of you analyzing facial changes when your emitting and receiving regions were set in motion. The hand holding the knife was shaking from the pain in your right shoulder, and when Tony looked away from you he noticed.

“An interesting sight,” he said, gazing at your naked upper body. He reached into his Tom Ford’s pocket. “Just like this place.”

“What are you doing here?” you spit out those words as if the life in them was gone.

“I only care about you,” he approached the center table and picked up a small gadget in his hands. “External receiving regions, very interesting. Is that what has kept you away from my lab so far?”

Your breath accelerated as you contemplated the behaviour of the person in front of you, he walked around as if nothing had happened and his indifference made your blood boil. Finally he stopped and watched you pointing at your shoulder passively.

“That looks painful,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “I think I’d better put that on you.“

"Don’t you dare come any closer…”

“Okay,” he raised his hands and put them back in his pockets. “I just wanted to be nice.”

His tone of voice definitely contained hints of impassivity, but also of disdain and arrogance, all of which shaped that man. So, thanks to your own pride, which gave you strength, you took a breath and in one quick movement put the bone back in place, hiding the moans of pain while clenching your teeth very tightly. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of seeing you suffer in front of him again.

“You’re enjoying it,” you said, getting your breathing back to normal. “What do you want? Have you come to gloat over your success?”

“No, that’s not my style,” he said without hesitation and then pointed to the knife you were holding in your left hand. “Why don’t you put down that knife so we can talk like civilized people?”

“Do you think that after today I’m going to be in front of you without a weapon?” you held your breath, chin up.

A smile of arrogance spread across your opponent’s face, causing your body to quiver. Tony, noticing the event, smiled slightly and took a step towards you, which caused you to step back away from him. The tension of the environment was evident, and your uninvited guest had the ability to take control in such situations.

“Are you scared?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Scared?” you stood firmly keeping your gaze fixed on his. “Why do you think I should be afraid?

"Perhaps because if I had wanted to, you would have been dead…” he looked at his watch indifferently. “Two hours.”

You mumbled, clenching your fist around the knife and wanting to stab him as soon as he got a slip.

“And if you’re so sure of it, why didn’t you?” you asked, leaving your lips half open and arching an eyebrow, as Tony continued to approach with airs and graces.

“And what are you waiting for to finish up and put that knife through my neck?” he asked, leaving his lips half open a short distance away. “Stop flirting and kill me.

How could he dare to think what you were flirting with him about? You knew you had all the power at that very moment, as he had said you could put an end to that story, but your body was extremely blocked, and his last words didn’t help either. All your senses were heightened at that moment, you felt the touch of the dried blood on your forehead, you listened to his breathing intensely as it crashed into your face and you could smell his woody perfume mixed with the whiskey emanating from his mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tony whispered, drawing a smug smile on his face that caused your gaze to turn to his lips.

“You’re not taking me to bed,” you spit out the words finding some lucidity in your brain. "Ever.”

Tony’s lips opened to show how his tongue slowly danced to his lips. You knew what his game was, you had seen it on several occasions in the charity galas he organized, and you were not willing to fall into it, as it was surely a distraction to achieve something. He was only a few inches from your body, your breasts were almost touching, a subtle movement from one of you and the contact was made. He was teasing you, gloating while keeping his gaze fixed on your lips.

“Who said it had to be on the bed?”

You felt his fingers touching your naked belly, slowly caressing each of the bruises that the dispute with Iron Man had caused you. He turned his gaze to them but quickly turned it back to your lips. Your jaw tightened but when you felt Tony’s lips fall slightly on your right shoulder the tension in your body dissipated. You closed your eyes and let his lips run down your neck, making his tongue come into play as well. Although all your senses were on his actions, you held the knife firmly in your left hand.

“Look at you…” he whispered a few millimeters away from your neck. His voice was hoarse and it was killing you. “Two hours ago you wanted to kill me and now you’re moaning at my touch.”

With your eyes still closed, your mouth curved into a smile of arrogance.

"Look at you…” you imitated his words. “Two hours ago you wanted to kill me and now you can’t resist putting a hand on me.”

You opened your eyes to meet Tony’s dilated pupils, radiating uncontrolled lust. In one swift movement he guided you to the nearest wall behind you, causing your body to collide with force and severe pain in all your contusions. You couldn’t stop a small moan from coming from inside your throat, a mixture of pain and excitement.

“I think thats the first time I’ve heard you moan…” he said, brushing his teeth against your skin before biting you. “It was like a fucking melody.”

Another groan came from between your lips. You wanted to touch him, you needed to touch him. The knife slipped from between your fingers leaving a dry sound when it hit the ground. As soon as you were free of it you reached for his tie, but he quickly spun you around hard preventing you from having any chance to touch his body. You could have easily gotten rid of his tether, especially when his defenses were so low, but you did not. Tony quickly unzipped your suit leaving your whole body exposed.

Your legs opened up in need, and he soon realised that gesture, unsubtly holding his hand so that his fingers touched your clit, while he brusquely brought his length to your ass.

"I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet.” His voice was so dark that it caused your wetness to intensify.

“I haven’t even taken your clothes off and you’re already this hard” you gave a half smile as you bit into your lower lip, feeling his fingers dancing on your folds.

“Oh baby, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me,” he muttered, bringing two of his fingers inside you, causing both of you to groan.

You didn’t know if it was Tony Stark’s possessive behaviour, or the intensification of all your senses, but your body began to tremble. As if the marks he’d made on you that day weren’t enough, his tongue was marking your neck.

“You take my fingers so well don’t you?”

“Shut up and take your pants off.” You ordered to blindly reach out to meet his cock, which was begging to be released.

“Oh honey, you sound so needy” he mocked increasing the speed of his fingers inside you while his thumb stimulated your clitoris. “Let’s see how quickly you can cum.

You moved your hips to intensify the friction, while he, with his other hand, unzipped his trousers and released his erection. You felt that the climax was near, your legs could barely hold you and your breath, which was broken between moans, informed you that you were going to fall down in just a couple of seconds. It was just when you were on the edge that Tony withdrew his fingers leaving you empty, but not for long.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to his body to slide into you with one blow. That feeling of pleasure that you experienced when you felt him completely inside and heard his moaning in your ear, made you free yourself from all the accumulated tension. Tony brought his hand back to your clitoris, slowly rubbing your thigh, sending you to the edge.

You groaned in desperation, calling out his name as if life were your own, which caused you to squeeze his cock even harder.

"My name sounds so good when it comes from your lips,” Tony intensified the speed of friction, crashing into your hips with more force. “Shit, you’re so adorable that I think I could even forgive you.”

The warmth of your interior continued to be latent until you felt it overflow inside you, filling you with all its pleasure and desire. Your breaths were completely out of sync at a frantic pace. Tony held you by the waist, avoiding putting his fingers on the bruises.

“Please remind me again why we are having sex,” you said leaning your forehead against the wall and trying to return to your normal breathing.

“Do you really need me to explain?" Tony whispered, kissing your naked back as he pulled his cock out from inside you, causing a soft moan in your throat. "There’s that damn melody again…”

Tag list: @imerdwarf @mycosmicparadise @lavendertales

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

#tony x reader #superhero x villain #tony stark x reader #female reader #smut #drabble #prompt #marvel #mcu #marvel fan fiction #ff #fanfic #tony stark imagine #y/n #robert downey jr #rdj #superhero x supervillain

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Could you do one with essek where S/O is a part of the M9 and is a Eldritch Knight and he is just simping over a strong + smart reader? (Maybe even S/O saving essek?) I hope you have an amazing day!

I’m sorry this took a while. Work have been hectic so I’ve hardly had time to write. I hope this is to your liking and have a great day yourself 😘

At first glance you definitely fit into the ‘heavy hitters’ category with a physique displaying your strength, on par with Yasha. And while you don’t hide the fact you could crush skulls with your fists you do not live up to the strong-as-a-giant-dumb-as-a-rock stereotype. You are what some may refer to as the perfect balance between ‘jock’ and book nerd; days off spent training during the day while studying well into the wee morning hours. You are a magnet for knowledge and your expertises far surpass the limits of trivial subjects they focus on the arcane. Your roots come from Evocation and Abjuration but you’ve been expanding your knowledge beyond those two schools. The prospect of a ninth school of magic, one you had no access or even knowledge of before brought great promise of broadening your horizons.

When you met Essek for the first time he might have been slightly dismissive. Not disrespectful in any way from first impressions you fell into the same category as Beau and Yasha, presumably just different. He was nothing but friendly and respectful towards you but the moment Caleb asked to learn some Dunamancy and when Essek agreed your request to join in on this lesson surprised him. Regardless, he happily allowed you to join. After your early morning runs you found yourself at Essek’s tower discussing books you had read, things you had encountered and even openly deliberating the ongoing conflict.

You had lost track of time after a quick sparing session with Beau and got dragged into her next routine with Fjord. You ended up having to correct Beau’s ‘teachings’ at times to the point where you took over ending up into another round of sparring sessions with Fjord.

“Again.” Fjord comes at you again swinging his sword. While he certainly knows how to use a falchion his proper technique could use some improvement. You block, parry, turn left around him, strike with the pommel of your own sword against his back and send him stumbling.

“Footwork. Again.” You say once he’s recovered. He makes sure his feet are in the right position, blade angled right and takes a deep breath as he swings again. This time more calculated and mindful of where he steps and which foot he moves first. You block his hit.

“Much better.” You praise as you push him back putting some distance between the two of you. This time he does not stumble but instead stays steady on his feet. This time you strike giving him the opportunity to parry. He does but comes in a little too close to properly strike and leaves his defences open, a deadly move in close quarters. You shoulder check and kick his feet from under him. Fjord falls to the ground and you hear Beau snicker from behind. You hold out your hand to help Fjord to his feet but behind you you feel a punch hit your side. Sneaky little… You take the punch and while Fjord tries to pull you down you instead pull him up, the momentum pushing him in Beauregard behind you and the both of them barely manage to catch each other.

“This is how we’re gonna play now?” You give a ‘come at me’ motion and with a grin Beau does. Dropping your sword to the side and out of the way deciding when dealing with a monk not wearing any kind of armour or protection, you’re not intending to actually hurt it’s probably best to not use live steel. Hands up defensive you see Fjord dispel his blade into its dimension too. Game on.

Beau strikes. You take the first hit but counter with a kick at her shins and a punch to her shoulder. Fjord moves in next you prevent him from moving to your back and manage to keep him to your side. With a high kick you kick Fjord back a few feet. Beau takes this opportunity to go for your other leg but you stand strong and turn it to your favour coming back around with a kick to her side. This goes on for a while, a back and forth of Beau and Fjord teaming up against you. They manage to land some good hit but so do you, to the point where Fjord is almost out of the fight. You notice them make eye contact. You call shenanigans.

Fjords summons his blade swinging down so you summon yours back to your hand, side stepping and blocking the attack with a quick parry sending Fjord to the ground on his ass. This move took you into Beau’s space who took the opportunity to hit you. You could feel your limbs nearly freeze up for a moment but shrug off the stun. If they’re playing dirty so would you. With an open palm you strike against her sternum releasing a shocking grasp. For good measure you use your newly acquired sapping sting spell to knock her prone. You walk over to Fjord kicking the blade away from his grasp, a foot on his chest while you hold the tip of your blade towards Beau.

“Cheaters don’t win against me.” You grin helping Fjord to his feet and dropping the blade out of offensive mode. You grab Fjords blade and hand it back to him with a pat on his shoulder. You notice Beau is awfully quiet after her defeat. You see her staring at the doorway with a raised eyebrow and a grin as she crosses her arms.

“Looks like we got an audience to witness our ass whooping.” Your back still turned you expect it to be one of the others.

“Seems like he’s been paying more attention to our champion than us, though. Let’s leave them be.” Fjord picks up his things and begins to push Beau out of the room. You finally turn around and see who witnessed your little training session and when you see the floating white-haired wizard looking at you in awe you have a minor panic attack.

“Essek, by the Storm Lord. I am so sorry. I must have lost track of time…” You begin apologising as he is taken out of his trance.

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll get changed and freshen up a bit if you can still spare the time. I’m so sorry. I should have told Caleb to remind me of the time.” You go on and Essek floats over to you.

“No need for apologies. You were otherwise engaged. Though I would still appreciate your presence in this endeavour.” He reminds you of your appointment later in the day, or rather now. They had caught a spy with a similar skillset to yours and Essek had asked for your expertise in their questioning.

“Of course yes.” You take him back out of the training room and to your chambers. He waits outside your door while you get changed and make yourself look presentable washing the sweat from your skin and change into your regular clothes.

After you’re done the two of you make your way to the prison making small talk. Essek seems a bit more awkward than usual to the point you swear you see a slight blush creep onto his cheeks at one point but that might just be the cold.

“You have learned quickly. Clever use of your newfound spells.” Essek mentally slaps himself for the way the words came out. Meant as a compliment but sounded like a dig at you.

“I know. I’m sorry. If anyone knows you don’t just use combat spells for fun and games it’s me. It won’t happen again. Believe me, your teachings are much more valuable than to be used for fun and games.” You really didn’t mean to slip up and use Dunamancy for something as trivial as a fun sparring match. You should have known better.

“No. My apologies. I did not mean to say it like that. You use your spells cleverly. They compliment your skills and your skills are… exceptional.” Was that a direct compliment coming from the Shadowhand himself? You raise an eyebrow at him pretty sure he caught onto your bewildered look. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. If you knew one thing about the man it was he did not just give compliments. Not to anyone and when he did you had not witnessed it.

“So about this prisoner…” You change the subject as you approach the prison. There seems to be some kind of commotion going on and no guards up front. You both exchange glances before rushing inside.

There’s a cowering guard in the front room. Essek goes over to him and seems to have some colourful words for the man while you keep an eye out around. The limited light makes it more difficult to see but you can hear just fine. After Essek finishes the guard rushes out of the prison, to get reinforcements you assume. You begin moving towards the hall that leads deeper into the Dungeon of Penance while Essek joins you. You push a finger to your lips before pointing ahead.

Watching up ahead you see a few unmoving figures. Essek notices too but stays at your side. It’s too quiet and there’s too many hiding places.

“Any weapons on them?” You whisper as Essek takes a look.

“All standard equipment accounted for except for one long sword, a dagger and a crossbow.” Essek relays back to you inspecting the bodies.

“I assume this is your prisoner’s doing.” Right as you say that someone jumps out from the shadows and makes a run for the Shadowhand. You notice before he does and grab Essek by the collar of his mantle pushing him away and to the other side of you as you summon your sword to deflect the attack. A second attack is made but you manage to prevent it from hitting Essek who’s still caught off guard. In your move to grab the blade you take out some gold dust, speak the words and the swinging blade is stuck in the air. The prisoner tries to grab it but is unable to move it, stuck mid-air.

“That wasn’t very nice!” You retaliate with an attack. Hit. Essek manages to cast a quick magic missile striking the prisoner who puts some distance between you. He takes out a crossbow and aims it at the two of you.

“You really prepared to die here? Put down your weapons and we can figure this out. No need for more bloodshed.” You try to persuade. From the corner of your eye you watch Essek reach for his components. The movement provokes the prisoner and he releases an arrow. You just in time manage to deflect trajectory of the arrow and prevent it from striking Essek but the second arrow scrapes your arm, the majority of the impact reduced by the edge of your bracer, it still leaves a bit of a scratch. You’ve had far worse. Essek looks at you bewildered, eyes focused only on you.

“I suggest you do what you save the staring for a later moment and help first?” You say in a half joking manner. He snaps out of it. Essek completes his spell and the prisoner is pulled backwards seemingly pulled in by some gravitational pull crushing his bones. The body falls to the ground unmoving. You go over to the body to make sure the prisoner is actually done for.

“You are… exquisite.” You can barely hear Essek say under his breath. You freeze up for a moment not having seen that one coming. At that moment the cavalry comes in. He makes sure everything is sorted and you can go on your way, leaving them to clean up the mess, currently no use for either of you.

“Are you hurt?” He breaks the silence while the two of you make your way back. You look at your arm. Nothing but a small scratch. But a fraction lower and it might have cut something vital but you know what you’re doing.

“No. All peachy.” The silence continues, both of you retreating into your own minds as you walk, or well, float in Essek’s case. You take a moment to look back at the past hour, his words repeating in your head and his ‘off’ behaviour.

“‘You are… exquisite.’? That’s what you said before.” You try to mimic his voice. You may not be the best impressionist but you got the message across. Essek goes to speak but presses his lips back together swallowing whatever he was going to say.

“Don’t tell me it’s going to take another fight with someone to get answers out of you. I might just have to show off in that case.” You wink jokingly with a half smile.

“I wouldn’t complain.” That comment leaves your mouth agape and you stop in your tracks for a hot second to recover.

“I don’t know if that’s sarcasm, a challenge or you actually mean it.” You fall back in line at his side nearing the tower.

“I wouldn’t complain.” Essek repeats once more.

“Well then, perhaps I should find a nice and rowdy tavern or talk to the Aurora Watch to join some training sessions to grant your wish.” You suggest only half serious with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a date.” He returns your expression as you reach his front door.

“Though, for now I think some reading would be just fine. Would you like to join?” He opens the door and waits for you. You step inside but stop and lean in a little bit.

“It’s a date.” You say with a smug smile and kiss his cheek as you enter looking over your shoulder. You seem to have the ability to make the Shadowhand swoon and boy, could you get used to it.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #essek x reader #critrole x reader

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

Text

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,” I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

-----------------------------

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#the folk of the air #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #vivienne duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #babies!#baby fic #pregnancy fic #fluff #jurdan fluff

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