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pearlywritings · 1 year

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Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife.

pairings: Alhaitham, Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, a little bit of bullying, a bit of unwelcome drunk flirting, characters are whipped for their wives

word count: 5.4k+ words

a/n: part 2 can be read here!

Alhaitham

Your husband is… Truly something. Honestly, that's the best way to describe this epitome of nonchalance, smugness and sarcasm, sprinkled with sharp glares and served with a smartass sauce. No one would be able to swallow such a nasty pill, yet you somehow managed. But that's what doctors say, right? The medicine might be bitter, but it'll get better. And it did.

Hard to believe, but the Akademiya's Scribe is enamored by you - it took time to realize, many interactions for him to see that you do not rise annoyance in him, multiple times sharing the eye contact and hundreds of hours being your interlocutor to cognize the beauty of you, but when he fell - he fell hard, and the realization didn't make him feel repulsed. On the contrary, it brought him inexplicable peace, and, being an efficient and straightforward man he is, Alhaitham faced you the very next day and asked out on a date.

The rest is history. You dated, you moved in, you got married - the sequence your husband perfected in its briefness to be over with quickly anytime his colleagues or anyone asked about you and your relationship. You, of course, would give a more detailed summary to your friends, speaking of him so tenderly, always witnessing the same reaction - disbelief. And you get it where they come from - after all, your partner is known to not be the most cordial person. He prefers it that way though - he is bothered much less and can dedicate that free time to his lovely wife.

He makes it a point to not leave the house unnecessarily early, just exactly enough to get to his office on time, and same with finishing his work, bluntly rejecting anyone who tries to approach him with stuff. This way he doesn’t waste a second with you, quite on contrary, sometimes a couple of hours can be added, if you visit him during the afternoon to go grab lunch together, or enjoy the one you brought with you, and then rest somewhere in a private spot with your head on his shoulder, holding a bigger hand that is resting on your thigh, while his other one is occupied with a book. This is enough to power you both up to push through the rest of the day, and Alhaitham really appreciates it, never failing to give you a kiss on the lips and murmuring the soft words of reassurance, before parting your ways till the evening.

Today is one of those days when you find yourself in the House of Daena with a home-cooked lunch neatly wrapped and warm in your hands. A couple of librarians greet you on the way, knowing perfectly well who you are, and you smile at them. One older woman, who’s always been fond of your character, informs you that Alhaitham hasn’t left the Grand Sage’s office since the moment he arrived, and you thank her for going out of her way to reassure you that you will not need to search for him.

There’s another exchange of greetings at the bottom of an elevator and just seconds later you start ascending to the above of the huge library. The quiet whirling of mechanisms is calming and you hum softly to yourself, imagining that tender look in those light turquoise eyes, a rare shine in orange-ringed yellow pupils and a slight pull of thin lips upon seeing your figure and catching a whiff of food you brought. A content sigh escapes your chest and you prepare to soon step off the huge round platform.

But instead of catching a glimpse of your husband, you are met with sharp black eyes, staring at you and a scowl present on the face of a person you don't believe you've seen before, at least not long enough to remember. You blink in surprise, eyes darting to look at the man from head to toe - he is wearing the Akademiya’s robes, but there is no indicator to which Darshan he belongs to. A Matra perhaps? But you are used to seeing a completely different face of a scholar Alhaitham appointed as his secretary for the period of time he’d fulfill the role of an Acting Grand Sage. Panah has soft brown eyes, always nodding to you in a greeting and leaving upon your arrival if it is lunch time and his boss doesn’t instruct him to stay and carry on with his job, not minding you two.

This one practically glares at you, arms crossed and posture intimidating. You simply tilt your head in question, waiting for him to say something.

“Who allowed you to enter?”

The tone of his voice is pretty rude, and the gruff voice doesn't add grace to it. You are not one to judge someone by their looks - your husband is the proof of that, so you decide to brush it off and simply answer.

"Shohre of course, as usual."

“...as usual?” His brows furrow, and you get even more confused with the question. Is your husband having some kind of an impromptu inspection? He didn’t tell you anything about it in the morning, and since the Akasha got turned off, there is no simple way to warn you of it.

"Is Alhaitham holding any meeting, perhaps?" You try, knowing it's absurd since he doesn't love his sweet lunch time being interrupted, but right now it's hard to find an explanation for this hostile-acting man's actions.

"You have so little respect for the Acting Great Sage?"

This time the booming edge in his words makes an echo in a pretty vast space and almost makes you flinch. The situation is escalating pretty quickly.

"Sir, I don't know who you are, but I do not believe I ever deserved such treatment from you. Would you be so kind to explain what's going on or at least let me see the Acting Great Sage-"

That must've sounded kind of sarcastic, because the man looks like he is ready to fume akin to a kettle.

"Who even are you!? Who do you think you are? Demanding a meeting like that - you must know his schedule is packed, so don't you assume that your pretty face would get you through-"

"Jahan, what is going on?" The "Jahan" shuts instantly upon hearing a deep, dripping with authority voice behind him. Your face instantly brightens when you spot the tall man approaching you two with his arms crossed and the most nonchalant expression etched in his features.

“We have an intruder, Sir.”

What in the Archon’s name- This is becoming ridiculous.

"An intruder?" He lifts his brow and glances at you, gaze lingering just for a few seconds longer. Then it returns to his subordinate. "I don't see one here."

"This woman," you move just in time not to have his index finger directly point you right in your face, "came here without prior appointment, not stating her purpose, not even stating her name!"

"Is that so?" You almost snort at how little Alhaitham cares for what this man has for an explanation, instead moving directly to you and taking a heavy lunch boxes from your hands, allowing your shoulders and arms to drop in relief.

“Her name is of no matter. All you need to know is that she is my wife.”

The room falls silent. The man stares at his boss with eyes so wide, you worry they’d pop out of his sockets. Your husband though doesn’t show any reaction to the stunned look on the man’s face, balancing all the containers in one hand, offering you the other, which you take with a smile.

"S-she what?"

"My wife. And she, along with the necessary descriptions, is literally the only person on the list of the people who are free to come and leave whenever. On the list Panah passed to you along with other instructions before taking his sick leave. Did you even skip through those?"

The tone of your husband is cold with a mocking edge, rubbing his subordinate’s incompetence in his face, and you don't need to look at the man to sense his panic.

"I-I, no of course I thoroughly looked through every single one, but I do not remember such paper, it must've been lost along the process-"

"It doesn't matter. Now you are aware. But there is one more thing you need to learn about my wife visiting."

"Yes, Sir?"

"You leave the moment she enters."

There is a momentary pause (you know Alhaitham is rolling his eyes inwardly at how slowly the notion seems to reach him), before Jahan snaps out of his stupor, slightly bows, mumbling something and quickly walks off to the elevator.

Not even waiting for the mechanism to start, your husband tugs on your hand and you take the hint, following him to the sofas and a table.

"What an imbecile," is murmured in annoyance and you finally chuckle, covering your mouth with a hand.

Your husband is truly something, but one thing is absolutely certain - his wife is the only person that really worths his nerves and time.

Ayato

Kamisato Ayato is a character of many admirable traits and worth-mentioning accomplishments, a great leader, an amazing big brother, a boss held in high regard, and a loving husband of three years to you. This last, but not the least, is Commissioner's favorite, and he makes sure to show it every opportunity present in his individual mischievous way.

You know he gets away with a lot of things, and for numerous reasons, ranging from being the head of the Yashiro Commission, to him being pretty unknown by face among the commoners due to Ayaka handling all the public affairs. This one in particular is harmless, but there is that little thing which drives you up the wall - he does it only when you are present, leaving you very flustered and with a fast beating heart.

"My name? Oh, I am a husband. This gorgeous woman's husband."

"Lord Kamisato? No need to be so formal with me, just call me her husband."

"'Kamisato Ayato' and all my titles are so long to write down, can't I sign it with 'Y/n's hubby' instead?"

"Kamisato Y/n's husband. That's who I am."

"Ayaka, have you forgotten? No more calling me 'big brother', only 'Y/n's husband- Stop laughing, I am serious!"

The last one is literally happening right before your eyes, with the younger sibling hiding her smile and suppressing her giggles behind her intricately decorated fan, as the older one has taken his glove off, wiggling his fingers to show the glistening golden band wrapped around one of them. You, on the other hand, are trying to cover your heated face with a stack of papers you picked when Ayaka entered the office and addressed her big brother as, well, big brother. Peeking above the filled with reports sheets you catch a sly smile playing on Ayato's lips, while his usually piercing eyes reflect the special kind of adoration he holds for you.

You know why he is doing this - the man fought hard for your heart and then hand in marriage, and since it is now a reality, he absolutely keens on that "I am your husband" notion. Sometimes it's a perfect ice breaker in introducing you two to new people, sometimes it's a reason for an eye roll (yours as well), at times it puts people in stupor which Ayato uses to his advantage, but there is always only one initial thought behind every single one of them - showing the world he is proud to be your partner with a label "husband" on it.

And this sentiment is fully returned! However you never had an opportunity to do the same - he always beats you to it, and leaves bashful long enough for the moment to become wasted. You know you can always talk it through with him and he’d be more than happy to give you a chance, but, after all these times he left you speechless, it’s simply a matter of pride to pay him back. Besides… You really-really want to see his reaction if you told someone important those words.

That you are his wife.

You hear a soft knock on the living room’s door where you and Ayato are sitting next to each other at one side of the low table.

“Lord and Lady Kamisato, the guests have arrived.”

“Wonderful, please let them in.”

The man notices your elation upon hearing those words and smiles to himself - your friends from another nation, whom you haven’t seen properly in ages, finally managed to reach the coasts of Inazuma and seek a meeting to reconnect with you and also meet your mysterious husband you’ve written and praised so much in your letters.

The scene is heartwarming. Two girls around your age are tightly hugging you with excited squeals while the man that came in together with them, patiently waits to be introduced. Ayato follows his example, watching your grinning face, filing away every single detail about it - the sparkles in your eyes, the rosiness of your cheeks, that adorable wrinkling of your nose when the girls say something cheesy, and the pure happiness written all over your visage.

“Oh, Y/n, it’s so nice to see you again after so long! So much happened…”

“Yes! We totally should discuss every single event! But I offer to start by introducing us and our husbands.”

“One of you got married?” You ask surprised. “I know that only one of you got recently engaged-”

“Me! But the wedding is so soon, that I already call him my husband, hehe. Oh, we brought the wedding invitation for you and your husband as well, I hope you two will make it!”

“Girls, girls, let’s calm down,” you laugh, pausing them and gesturing to the two men silently observing you - both pairs of eyes shining with admiration. “Ayato, my dear, I want you to meet my friends I’ve told you so much about…”

Your husband hears familiar names, ones he’s remembered long ago, and nods in recognition, offering each a kiss on the back of their hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet people my beloved holds in high regard.”

“Likewise,” they giggle, giving you teasing looks about how gentlemanly your spouse is, and you roll your eyes, but a smile tugging on your lips doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And I’ll take an opportunity to introduce our companion,” one of the women says, stepping closer to her fiance and offering everyone his name and a slight description of his field of work, to which Ayato hums with interest.

“And these,” your other friend gestures to you and your husband, “are Kamisato Ayato and-”

“Wife.”

Everyone falls silent and looks at you with confusion. You yourself are stunned, eyes slightly widened and heart skipping a beat. The word really just flew out of your mouth faster when you could think about it.

“Excuse me?” Your friend gapes at you, and suddenly it clicks. This spontaneous reaction, caused by your unspoken desire, presents you with a perfect opportunity. You finally can get “revenge” on your husband.

“That’s what I said, sweety,” with a smirk and boosting confidence you glance at Ayato and meet his lilac eyes, staring at you with a hint of amusement. “I am this marvelous man’s wife. You know, 'Kamisato Y/n' is way too long to pronounce. So, maybe just a wife instead?”

The silence reigns again, with the three of your guests clearly being in stupor and your husband observing you with an unreadable expression. But suddenly he laughs. Joyfully and sincerely, it plucks on the strings of your crazily beating heart. Instantly there are arms wrapping around your waist and lips pressed against your temple, and you can feel the smile he hides in your hair.

“Yes, that’s right… This remarkable woman is my wife. Most incredible and lovely wife.”

Turning your head slightly you manage to catch a soft blush dusting his porcelain skin, before he faces away from you. Oh Archons, he loves it and he is bashful!

As you fully turn in his embrace and start teasing him, loud enough for only the man to hear (you are not that cruel to embarrass him in front of people), your guests' existence is forgotten for a moment. Both girls sigh and look at the completely lost man, whose hand his future wife takes and rubs a thumb over his knuckles.

“Ah… Please, don’t mind that. She always had a strange sense of humor, and it seems that her husband only enabled it.”

That is true, but you look genuinely happy, so they can bear a week of occasional cringing.

Diluc

The annual harvest celebration has been a tradition in the Ragnvindr family for as long as the Dawn Winery existed. When Master Crepus was alive, it was hosted in the grand mansion with spacious halls and intricately decorated staircases, the one Diluc used to call his home. Guests would gather, wine bars would be uncorked and red liquid fill dozens of glasses, as he and Kaeya would curiously watch the adults interact, sneaking out of their rooms to spy from the hiding spots they knew so well.

But not anymore. Gone were the days of careless happiness he calls the past now, gone his father, gone the mansion, and gone his desire for active social interaction. It's been some years since his return and the sale of the mansion in attempts to run away from said past. The celebration came to a stop for as long as he was gone and then while he tended to re-establishing the business after arrival.

The Dawn Winery, despite all the maids and winemakers, would become so quiet. And it's not like he stayed there for long too - he was always somewhere, preoccupied by something.

That is until his life was shaken and turned upside down, and all by the hands of one single person. The person, who brought light back to his dark crimson eyes, who made him stop and think about how he can not just exist, but live, and happily so, waiting for every opportunity possible to be in the loving presence; the person who brought out that part of him he buried deep down in his graveyard of a soul, and gave it freedom to be again. The home actually started feeling like one, not a building he had a study and a bedroom in, but a place he could share with another, basking in the long-forgotten sensations, having his heart dance jigs and face soften in a tender gaze.

Many changes occurred, and, with some encouragement, he decided to bring back the tradition his father held in high regard, with only his sons' birthdays being more important to the late wine master.

The Winery is not as big as the family mansion used to be, but it is still enough space, with some of the furniture moved and the floor cleared, it can host many people. Besides, there is always a lovely outside with benches, and tables, and chairs, and it seems that Barbatos is kind to you, sending delightful weather as his gift.

Diluc is not a fan of social gatherings, however, he couldn't help but feel giddy when Adelinde exclaimed in elation at the prospect, be rather content when he saw happy smiles of the citizens - it's been a while since any proper celebration, and the monster rampage last month has been keeping everyone in a gloomy mood, and most importantly - he couldn't betray the trust and confidence his wife put into him.

…right. His wife. The ending to his reputation of the most eligible bachelor (not like he ever cared for the title), and the talk of the town for the past couple of weeks. Diluc Ragnvindr is a rather private man, and upon mutual agreement the wedding was private as well, with only few attending, and those few knew how to keep their mouths shut till the right time came. Or not, since one Cavalry Captain loves getting on the redhead's nerves and spilling some beans to the people who are willing to listen, and then not saying another word to create an intrigue.

So yes, this celebration is also a way to finally introduce the owner of the Dawn Winery's wife to the public, and put an end to all the speculations and maybe seal some lips that spew hatred towards the 'lucky woman', and there are a number of those.

You haven't been taking your eyes off the small group of nobles, standing almost in the middle of the first floor hall, loudly discussing the matter, inevitably drawing the attention of the ones not involved in the conversation, but standing rather close to them.

"I am telling you, she must be some dirty little thing, seducing our poor Master Diluc," the raven-haired tall man claims, elegantly holding a glass of dandelion wine in his long fingers. With his white and black clothes he reminds you of a dalmatian. Barking is almost identical too.

"You are right! She must be some commoner, too ashamed to show her face. If she was of a noble origin, the wedding would be grand and public," ah, and this bear-like looking man… you remember him - he was very active in trying to arrange a marriage of a very uninterested Diluc and his 17-year old daughter. You almost grimace at the thought.

"Oh yes! And we all know, that such well-known and ancient family as Ragnvindrs ought to have one of the noble daughters getting married into it," it is the first time you see this dramatically dressed woman, but even so you would've doubled in boisterous laughter if not the pretty dress Adelinde helped you lace an hour ago, that could potentially be ruined with the drink in your own glass.

You will yourself to tune them off for a moment and check on other guests. It quickly becomes clear that this conversation makes them uncomfortable. Some manage to entertain you though, by making fun of those nobles, parodying the pompous manner of their talking and snickering at that.

Nevertheless, one shall put an end to this idiocy.

"Afternoon, good sirs and ma'ams," the group direct their gazes at you, approaching them with a polite smile and a glass absent from your hand. "I've caught pieces of your conversation earlier, and couldn't help, but feel concerned."

The derogatory gaze the woman throws your way doesn't go unnoticed, but you simply choose to ignore it.

"Is that so?" The 'Dalmatian' hums, as if condescendingly. "Are you worried about Master Diluc as well, young lady? Such compassion is admirable."

"Oh, I hardly worry about Diluc," some eyes widen at your lack of his title acknowledgement, but you once again ignore it. "I am concerned about you. You know it's bad manners to berate a person in their own house? I'd really advise you to stop talking, especially about the matter you seem to know nothing about. Not to make bigger fools of yourselves at least."

"How dare you-" the woman you haven't heard talking before, but saw her nodding a lot, with those huge feathers in her hair waving with each tilt of her head, starts gasping because of your 'insult'. "How dare you speak to us like that! A servant must stay silent until asked to open their mouth!"

"I am not a servant here, nor anywhere else," the assumption doesn't surprise you, since all the maids were allowed to wear pretty outfits even while doing their job - after all it was a celebration honoring them as well, they help the Winery keep running.

"When who in the Archon's name are you-?"

"Y/n Ragnvindr," a deep soothing voice rings behind you, so loud and clear, that it immediately shuts all the sounds in the room.

Your lips curl in a wider smile, all the while holding the bewildered gaze of the woman who decided to pick a fight with you.

"Yes, dear?" His chest is now against your back and a hand, clad in a white glove, reaches for yours. "Are you done with welcoming our partners from Liyue?"

"Of course," the back of your hand is brought to his lips to leave a chaste kiss there, and only then you turn your head and catch a dangerous glint in those blood-colored eyes. He is pissed, but neutral face hardly betrays him. "I see we have a problem here."

"Mhm," you hum, not letting go of his hand and looking back at the tensed individuals, who were bad-mouthing you just minutes ago. "It surely isn't how we planned to reveal our marriage, but the situation called for it, I suppose."

"L-lady Ragnvindr, we didn't know-"

"Can these people be escorted out?" Your question interrupts her harshly, making her flinch. "They disturb other guests, and clearly do not know basic rules of respect."

"My dear wife," you can practically feel menace radiating off of his body, and voice dripping with smugness, "no need to ask me. That's your house as much as it's mine, and you contributed so much into organizing this event. So don't be shy to make your own decision."

"Well then," your smile gets even sweeter, contrary to your eyes that burn holes in their distasteful figures, "Get out."

Kaeya

"Hey pretty tits, hic! Argh, you come here often?"

You wouldn't think that a question like this was addressed to you, if the heavily smelling of alcohol man wasn't occupying the bar stool to your right, leaning forward in your direction. You slightly turn your head and suspiciously watch the swinging glass in his trembling hand, half full and threatening to spill the dark liquid. He really had too much tonight.

"...was that supposed to be a compliment?"

Leaning back to avoid any unfortunate outcome, you give him an unamused look, finished with an arched brow. From the corner of your eye you can't help but notice Charles staring at the man. It is nice to know your good acquaintance doesn't ignore the possible trouble a drunkard can cause another customer.

But you can handle it.

"It was!" He exclaims so happily, childishly proud that you acknowledged the fact. Should you tell him he sucks at it? And that there is only one man whose drunk flirty compliments you'll ever accept, and even in a state like that he would manage to be good, putting a smile on your face? Right now though, the urge to grimace is stronger.

"...thanks," I suppose?. "And yes, I come here often to spend the evening with my partner."

At that his face visibly falls and you turn away, assuming it is enough to cut the conversation short, and concentrate on savoring your first drink of the evening. You ordered it while waiting for one particular Cavalry Captain, and even though it's not strange for him to come later due to astronomically fast piling up paperwork, today he seems to be particularly busy. Maybe you should purchase a bottle and come to his quarters?

Just before you could do just that, there is a hand sliding over your right hip and a hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. You don't even flinch or freeze, recognizing the alluring presence immediately and leaning back into the firmness of his chest.

"You are late, Kaeya."

A soft chuckle and a kiss to the temple make it pretty clear that the azure-haired man cracked your fake rebuke on the spot, knowing that you are not one bit angry at him, but actually really happy to finally have him here.

"I apologize, princess," another kiss, this time to your cheek, "work's been a bit tough. But I am glad to finally be here with my woman."

"Youuurr?"

Ah, you completely forgot about the drunkard to your right.

Turning to look at Kaeya's reaction, you are stricken by the star-shaped pupil gazing right at you - he hasn't even glanced in the other man's direction, instead fixated on you completely. And that is making wonders to your poor heart.

"Who's that, snowflake?" His tone holds curiosity, but you know your lover, and you know when he is ready to be an ass. You shouldn't encourage this, however…

You'd love to see Kaeya Alberich tell the suitor off for you.

"No idea. But he said I have pretty tits."

He hums at that.

"True, but I would've aimed for that delicious butt. I am a simple man, after all."

You barely slap his hand in time, not nearly as drunk to start touching each other right here and right now. At your jab in his ribs he simply laughs heartily, settling his palm back onto your hip and momentarily redirecting his attention to the troublemaker who's been staring at you two throughout the whole exchange.

"You are not from here, are you?"

Only when your lover says that, do you decide to take in the other man's appearance. Indeed, if you were to look longer at him (not like you were interested) it would be easy to guess Fontaine as his land of origin.

"And what?" He straightens his back and puffs his chest as if trying to intimidate. What a rooster. "Does it prevent me from pursuing a pretty woman from another region?"

Oh, so now it's not simply one flirting remark, but a full-blown pursuit? How troublesome.

"Oh no, no, of course not," honey is dripping off those pretty lips, pulled into a smirk. "It's just that otherwise you'd know it's a bad tone to hit on someone's ex-girlfriend."

Confusion appears on the pursuer's face and you look inquiringly at Kaeya as well. The only answer you get is a wink and a mouthed request to order him a drink. Still perplexed, you nevertheless turn to Charles and ask him to make the Cavalry Captain the usual.

Meanwhile the man pulls his thoughts together.

"It's stupid! If she is your ex, then how does it not give me the right to date her? Ridiculous. Why do you even hold her like that!?"

The shouting gathers attention from other patrons - some were invested almost from the beginning, seeing how that unknown man tried to make a move on you, and snickering behind their mugs of alcohol at his unawareness of your relationship.

And Kaeya is all for the show. Many eyes watch as an elegant hand wraps around the glass of his favorite drink and brings it to the silent lips. It feels like everyone stopped breathing and the silence is pressuring, like a string ready to snap and reveal some shocking truth. You, on the other hand, roll your eyes at the male's love for theatrics and put an elbow onto the counter and lean your cheek into your open palm. This is going to be crushing, you almost feel sorry for the guy.

When the Cavalry Captain takes the third sip and sighs in delight - then, and only then, - he looks dead into the other man's eyes, so oppressively that he shrinks under the weight of this cold gaze.

"Maybe because she is my wife?"

If it was physically possible, the drunkard's jaw would hit the floor. The glass, he's been holding just seconds ago, however, follows its destiny, breaking from the impact with floorboards and ruining the prolonged silence and earning a grunt from the barman.

"S-she's what?"

"His wife," you raise your hand and show the ring, getting quite tired and wanting to save at least some of this man's dignity. "So, if you could, please, let us two have our date night. Uninterrupted."

Finally it seems to have him sobered up a little and he starts profusely apologizing to you, to Kaeya, to Charles, to Barbatos and Focalors, while digging his porch with mora out to pay for his drinks and minor damage he caused.

When he stumbles outside and the other patrons stop following the drama, you turn to a contently sipping on his wine Kaeya, who is excelling the nastiest grin on his face.

"Ex-girlfriend? Seriously? That's how you call your wife now?"

"Well, technically I am not wrong, right? Since you are not my girlfriend anymore," he shrugs his shoulders, finishing the last few gulps and putting the glass back onto the counter.

"Then the next time we meet new people I will introduce you as my ex-boyfriend. What? Technically you are," having his own words being thrown into his face makes Kaeya laugh, and he hugs you tightly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"Deal. But only once, to make it even. I enjoy being called your husband way more."

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calummss · 7 months

Text

Sweet Ultraviolence | Klaus Mikaelson

masterlist

summary: it was no secret that klaus mikaelson felt for you, but you didn’t, maybe deep down but not enough. so how do you react when the nortorious serial killer gives you the most fucked up surprise?

pairing: fem! reader x klaus mikaelson

words: 4k

a/n: scene taken from the sexiest ahs scene ever. here’s a link !! probably my favourite klaus fic i have written. also smut!! i’ve written smut?? i’m not a smut writer so if it’s bad pretend it never happened….

‘Just because I agreed to this doesn’t mean it means anything.’

‘This date?’

‘Don’t call this a date.’

‘Why?’ Klaus asked,grabbing his wine glass, his gaze sitting on your frame as he sipped the red liquor. ‘We’re at my house, eating a lovely dinner with a beautiful girl. By my definition it is a date.’

‘Please,’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you felt the warmth of the fireplace hit your bare skin, engulfing you in a hug. ‘You are fully aware of why I am here so let’s not read something into this.’

Sitting at a table with Klaus Mikaelson was not as romantic as it sounded. The dark walls pushing in on you, a dark gaze staring at you, darkness that made up the house. Even the plate of meat, potatoes and vegetables seemed less appetising as they normally would. Maybe it was the blood seeping out of the flesh that made you feel agitated, maybe it was the notorious vampire serial killer that so desperately wanted you to be his.

‘Still,’ he paused for a second, ‘you came.’

You yourself took a sip of the white wine you had mixed with sparkling water, the subtle bitterness biting your tongue, the warm fuzzy feeling of the alcohol leaving a familiar taste of comfort.

‘Klaus, sometimes I think you are so delusional, like how are you functioning?’

‘I function just fine, love.’

‘Get me another one of these,’ you held up your glass, lifting it to your red painted lips to drown the last drop of its contents. ‘And maybe I’ll continue to act like I am loving this dinner date from hell.’ You gave him a wide grin displaying your obvious sarcasm.

Klaus smirked, his twisted smile making your stomach churn. This would be a lot easier if he weren’t attractive but of course the maniac looks like he was carved by Lucifer himself.

‘That’s a tempting offer.’

He barely lifted his hand signalling the compelled boy that he wanted something. ‘Another white wine with sparkling water for my ravishing date, Taylor.’

‘Wow,’ you jested in fake astonishment, ‘so intimidating. Raising your hand, getting whatever you want…do you enjoy it? Getting everything with the snap of your fingers.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘You compel people to do stuff for you. Don’t you want people to do things because they want to? Care for you?’

‘No one cares about me, love.’ He chuckles, ‘I’m the monster, remember?’

You didn’t reply. You stayed silent, staring at him being the only communication amongst the quiet room, only the cracking of burning wood to be heard. ‘Why do you like me?’ You shoved the potato around your plate, using it to smear the watered down blood across the porcelain.

‘What’s not to like?’ Klaus shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into the chair, the definition of his abs to see seen through the thin material of his shirt.

You looked up from your plate. ‘Just answer the question, please.’

‘You’re like a ray of sunshine on a bad day. When I’m near you I feel you good nature rub off on me—makes me want to stay close. You’re kind even if not to me, you treat everyone the same and give chances to people that probably don’t deserve them. You help when help is needed and disregard yourself for others. You’re beautiful. You smell good, and the fact that I cannot have you makes me want you even more.’

‘I’m not something you can own, Klaus,’

‘I can’t own you love, but I can own your heart if you let me.’

Again you stayed quiet, scared that if you speak he could hear the smitteness in your tone, knowing that for a second he had gotten under your skin.

‘Admit that you are drawn to darkness, Y/n,’ his eyes stared into the most inner part of your soul, ‘even the purest of heart are drawn to it.’

‘I never said I’m not, Klaus,’ you took a sip of wine. ‘I like darkness. The unknown, the excitement…Just because I don’t like your darkness Klaus doesn’t mean I’m denying my thoughts or feelings.’

‘Keep telling yourself that.’

‘You aggravate me.’ You downed the rest of your drink again, setting it down with a loud thud.

‘Makes you more attractive.’

‘Taylor?’ You smiled over at the boy Klaus had compelled for tonight’s dinner, that what you had hoped anyway, ‘Do you by chance have any earplugs, sweetheart?’

Taylor’s eyes grew wide, pressing his lips together as he turned his head towards Klaus for further instructions. Klaus felt his stare but continued to stare at you with a grin.

‘What are you staring at, Taylor? Get the lady some earplugs.’

Taylor left soon after, leaving the two of you alone which made you chuckle at Klaus who didn’t deny your request.

‘What?’ He asked plainly.

‘Nothing.’ You cut a piece of the steak and let the blood coat your tongue, continuing to feel his eyes linger on your for the rest of the night.

A week later and you were back at school. Vacation was over and reality hit. Thankfully you were seeing Mr. Saltzman today. A class you could pay a little less attention to since you sat in the back of the room, daydreaming away. You were too busy talking to friends that you didn’t realise a pair of eyes that stalked you from afar. Eyes watching your every move.

Finishing up the conversation you said your goodbyes to Dana and Heather and turned around to head towards the gym but when you took a step back you collided with a body making them stumble and spill their drink on the floor.

‘Oh my god, I am so sorry. Are you okay?’ You reach out to help Connor find his balance but he slapped away your arms, letting out a deep growl.

‘What is your fucking problem, bitch?!’

‘Excuse me?’ You drew your eyebrows together. It was clearly an accident. Why was he getting so worked up?

‘I said what is your problem?’ He came dangerously close.

‘Hey,’ his friend pulled him back, trying to reassure him that it was an honest accident.

‘You better apologise.’

‘I literally apologised, asshole. How about you pipe down on your ego and take a long second to reevaluate your life? Pathetic.’

Connor’s face turned red, his strength releasing him from his friends grip, his face too close to yours for your liking. ‘I’ve disliked you since I’ve known you, Y/n. Don’t give me more reasons to hate you.’

‘Get a life.’ You laughed out loud.

‘You better watch your back!’

‘Okay, Connor. Will do.’ You called after him as he left the scene,his head turning your way as you cleaned off the few drops of water that caught themselves on your fabric. Chuckling to yourself, you headed the way you were supposed to go and headed towards cheerleading practice, the anger giving you a surge of adrenaline that reassured you that you were going to nail the landing you had failed to complete for weeks.

Klaus had watched the scene from afar, his eyes trailing Connor as he walked past Klaus whose forehead creased, his eyes turning lifeless as he turned around and followed Connor to wherever it was he was heading to.

Practice was good and you were right; you managed to pull off the stunt earning you praise from the coach, letting you know that if you keep up the good work you will be the best cheerleader Mystic Falls ever had. You hated saying it but you lived off of praise. Was there a better feeling than being seen for your hard work and determination? Not really, but that was your opinion. You headed towards the locker room, your red cheer uniform starting to slowly take up some of the sweat from practice. It was late. Everyone went home instead of you. You wanted to perfect the new choreography and stayed long after practice ended. So when you entered the locker room it was dead silent. The squeaking of the locker made you flinch as you placed your water bottle into the side pocket of your bag. You were about to take out your bag to change when you heard the sound of droplets hitting the floor. Wet drops. Only then had you noticed that your feet were also wet. And it wasn’t sweat…it was too much for it to be just that… When you looked up to where the sound was coming from you froze. Staring up at the ceiling just above the lockers, the body of Connor hung from the wall. Broken arms and legs that were twisted inhumane. His intestines spilling from his torso, head hanging from his neck like it was about to fall off. His blood was dripping onto your locker, the smell of blood prominent and not something that could be ignored. As you stared up at him, taking in his lifeless body, a faint smile spread across your lips as you thought back on the scene earlier in the hallway.

‘You like my surprise?’ A voice sounded from behind you and you knew exactly who it was so you didn’t bother to turn around, too fascinated by the body hanging like a spider.

‘You did this?’

You heard his footsteps come closer, his heavy footsteps giving away his exact location whenever he moved, so much that after a few seconds you knew that he was standing right behind you, him too staring at the body.

‘I didn’t like how he talked to you or his lack of respect, his entitlement.’

You rubbed your lips against each other, turning around to slap Klaus across the face, feeling a painful sting across the palm of your hand, grabbing a handful of his shirt and getting up on the bench looking down at him. Vertical wrinkles appeared between his eyebrows, his eyes bigger than before. Fear. Fear that he had fucked up the last chance he had of being with you. Scared that you would never ever look at him again. Fear that he had lost you before he even had you.

You took your finger and slowly dragged it across his face, pulling down his bottom lips as you stared at him. ‘That is the most fucked up thing anyone has ever done for me,’ you stared into his eyes that were still wide, your lack of transparency making him feel sick. ‘That’s so hot.’ You dragged out, taking that fistful of his shirt and crashing your lips onto him, your hands roaming his hair, tugging as you felt him against you. His tongue running across your bottom lip, tasting what he had craved for so long. He continued to place wet kisses down your cleavage, continuing to kiss your legs, holding onto your ankle as he came face-to-face with the blood on your foot. Looking up through his lashes he saw you wipe away a single tear, inhaling the scent of blood before dragging his tongue across the top of your foot, licking the sweet taste of blood. Coming back up to kiss you again, you could feel his hot breath ricochet off your cheeks, his growling making your cunt ache from between your legs as he continued to kiss you.

‘I thought you hated violence.’ He breathed, allowing you to catch your breath.

‘I was wrong.’

‘Does that mean—‘

‘Shut up and kiss me.’

Klaus had never shut up so quickly, pressing his body against yours wanting to be one with you. Ripping off his shirt you felt him against your skin. His fingers curled around the hem of your panties, dragging them down your legs. You curled the finger around your top, ready to take it off but Klaus’ hands shot up to hold them still. ‘Don’t take it off. I want to fuck you in it.’

You suppress a moan as he lowered his head underneath your skirt, feeling his breath on the inside of your thighs, already making your legs tremble. You let out a quiet yelp as you felt his tongue licked your slit, closing his lips around your clit as he started to swirl his tongue around your cunt, sending vibrations through your stomach as you moaned. ‘Fuck,’ your hands grabbed his hair, trying to give yourself some stability. Klaus noticed your legs growing weaker. He picked you up with your legs over his shoulders and laid you down on the blood covered floor, feeling the blood go up your ass. Klaus continued to suck on your clit, concealed groans vibrating against your cunt, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as his tongue focused on your most sensitive spot. You could feel your thighs go numb from holding them up. Your breath becoming shorter the more Klaus dragged his tongue across your cunt, collecting your juices, making you realise you were about to come. You felt your muscles contract, your legs starting to shake as the knot tightened faster than it had ever before.

‘Fuck,’ you pressed air past your lips, ‘please don’t stop.’

Close to coming, Klaus gave one last suck before you felt your stomach explode, squirming underneath him as he continued to flick his tongue over your sensitive clit, making your body shudder with aftershocks.

‘Fuck Klaus, fuck fuck fuck.’

You felt Klaus press a kiss on your cunt before coming out from underneath your skirt, catching your lips so you could taste yoursef.

‘You like this don’t you?’

You nodded.

‘You like the way I touch you?’

You nodded again, feeling his hand make its way down to your cunt again.

‘Stop,’ you breathed, stopping his hand trailing down to your cunt that had craved his touch the moment he stared into your eyes. ‘Let me,’ You slowly dropped to your knees, blood staining them s you reached for his trousers, starting to unbuckle his belt, your fingers slipping off the buckle.

‘What are you doing?’ Klaus let out a suppressed smile, his head hanging low to see your hands undoing his belt, your lips caught between your teeth.

‘I want this.’

‘My cock?’

‘Yes.’ Another deep breath.

‘I thought you hadn't done this before?’

‘I haven’t.’ Having undone his buckle and strap, you grabbed his front pockets and pulled down the rough fabric, the bulge beneath his boxer meeting your eyes, a warm heat spreading through your legs. ‘But how do you know that?’

‘Watching you is my favourite pastime.’

‘You’re fucked up…’

‘So are you, love.’

Taking a gulp, you pulled down his boxers to release his cock that sprang against his stomach. Your breath caught your throat. It’s big. Klaus could feel his pre-cum pumping through him just thinking of your innocent lips tucked around the head of his tip. His chest swelled with air as he trailed his finger down to the base of his cock, twitching under his own touch. Your breath hitched, trying to get as much oxygen into your lungs, as you watched him come towards you, knowing that his size would make it hard to breathe. His hand stroked over his hardened shaft, collecting a small speck of pre-cum. You grabbed his thick pulsing length, a groan leaving his throat as your fingers wrapped around him. You leaned over, carefully licking his tip, slowly building your way to sucking on his head, spitting on it as you wet his pink cock.

‘Fuck,’ Klaus hissed, his dirty blond curls falling back as his hand tangled itself in your hair.

You gagged on his size, but you refused to let go of him, pushing his cock deeper into the back of your throat. Saliva filled your mouth as you focused, moaning against him as he gently started thrust in and out, not wanting to hurt you.

‘So, so eager for me, aren’t you?’ He groaned.

His hands found their way to your hair, pulling your head back, allowing him further access to your throat. A mixture of tears, saliva and cum dribbled from between your lips, but he didn’t seem to mind, deep groans continuing to escape his pink lips. The slight sound of you gagging letting his moans increase in sound.

‘Such a pretty face. Look at you.’ He glanced down, staring into your eyes. ‘You look so good taking my cock. Your first time having a cock down your throat and you’re doing so well.’

A pool of cum was now dripping below you. You couldn’t help it, you were so turned on. You needed him. You need him inside of you soon. Growling, he pushed the head of the shaft past your lips, hitting the back of your throat. Klaus tangled his fingers into your messy hair, eager to push in deeper. You swallowed around his throbbing length, earning a huffed moan. You continue stroking him, your hand gliding along his shaft, your own arousal starring to grow

‘You’re so fucking good at taking my cock,’ he thrusted in and out of my aching mouth. ‘Your first time and you already know how to send me over the edge.’

He pulled out his cock giving you time to breathe. You gasped out for air, before he slid back inside of you. Pre-cum was leaking from his tip, the salty taste mixing in with your own spit. You pulled in your lips around his cock, sucking harder, your tongue pressing up against the head and circling around it. Your lips and throat we’re starting to turn numb, every thrust releasing a tear, every salty tear mixing with the shaft.

‘Look at me,’

Your eyes shot up and stared into his.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ He moaned loudly before releasing into your mouth; hot jets hitting the back of your throat. ‘Be a doll and swallow.’ He worked hard to suppress a moan, jerking himself through his orgasm. Both of your chests were heavy—you had almost forgotten what breathing felt like. He huffed and dragged his fingers across your face, stroking your cheeks as he stared at you with sparks in his eyes. ‘You did so well, my love.’

Carefully grabbing you by your throat, Klaus pulled you up and swiftly turned you around, his hard cock pressing up against your firm ass as his hands glided over your tits, smearing the blood across your uniform and cleavage; drops of blood running down your chest as you placed your arms behind your head as Klaus started to place kisses again the thin skin on your neck, gently sucking on it, making the hairs on your body stand up.

‘God, you’re so fucking hot.’

You hummed in response, his mouth on your neck making it hard to concentrate.

Klaus brushed the tip of his cock against your slit, teasing you as his moved it along your cunt, adoring the way you whimpered at his slightest touch.

‘I thought you were a gentleman and wouldn’t fuck a girl so shortly after the first dinner.’

‘I’m not a gentleman tonight, my love. You make it hard to control myself,’ Klaus whispered in your ear, sending a chill down your spine that stopped before it reached your toes as he thrusted into your core making you shout out.

‘Oh my god, Klaus. Fuck you feel so fucking good.’

His cock stretched out the walls of your cunt that welcomed him, each thrust slowly adjusting to his size. His lips kept him busy at your neck and collar, leaving trails of dark marks. Hickeys or blood, it was hard to tell. You could feel the blood slowly dry out on your skin, but new blood spread across your body as Connor’s blood continued to seep out of him, letting you and Klaus be covered in his surprise. He began to pump his cock out of you with pace. Your hands grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, asking for more. Throwing your head back onto his chest as one hand wrapped around your throat, the other holding your waist.

‘Not satisfied darling?' He smirked against your skin, picking up pace as he pounded into you. Your tits moving with every thrust, the sound of skin filling the locker room.

‘You're so fucking tight.’ He grunted into your neck. 'It's like you were made to take my cock. Look at you, taking my cock like the good girl you are. Who would’ve thought you were so sick and twisted?’ You felt a new bundle tighten in your stomach. ‘Fucking in a school locker room covered in blood. God made me immortal because you are my match. Fuck, you feel so good.’

Those words felt like fireworks exploding inside of your gut.

‘Shit!’ You cried out in ecstasy, as he pulled you into a climax, sending your body over the edge. He kept on thrusting, overstimulating you, until moments later, he reached his high as well, and filled you up with his cum. Klaus stayed inside of you for a few seconds, breathing heavily as a sweat pearl rolled down his forehead, holding you tight in case your legs were to give in.

‘Your body was made for me.’ He huffed. Klaus slid his cock out of you, staring at you, slowly lowering you to the red messy floor, setting you down before laying down next to you, holding his head up with the palm of his hand.

You took a few seconds to breathe, catching your breath as your high started to fade, catching a glimpse of the body up high. ‘You can’t leave that there. I’ve got class at seven in the morning.’ You mused, gazing at Klaus who had blood spread across his chest. He looked so hot you could fuck him again.

‘Don’t worry, love,’ he reached for the bag behind him. ‘I know how to clean up messes. I’ve done this for over a thousand years.’ He placed a cigarette between lips, pulling out a lighter and taking a drag of the hot smoke. He truly was irresistible.

‘Have you killed a lot of people?’

‘Yes.’

You grabbed a knife that laid behind your back, the knife Klaus probably used to cut certain parts of Connor. ‘Would you kill me?’

Klaus took another drag over the cigarette, the smoke making his voice sound deeper than it was. ‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘Would you kill for me?’

Klaus stared up at Connor pointing at him, ‘You have to ask?’

‘There’s this guy, Dean Gabriel. He took away the only person I ever loved.’ You said, staring at the knife, feeling Klaus prop himself up. ‘He violated my sister. Made her feel disgusted, defiled her without her consent. She took her own life because that man ruined her life in twenty minutes. And whilst she is no longer here, he gets to roam around like nothing happened…’

Klaus leaned forward, his voice sounding huskier, ‘Just tell me where he is and he won’t see any more sunrises after I find him.’

Gazing at the knife, you swung your leg over Klaus to straddle him.

‘Promise me he’ll suffer.’ A tear fell down the apple of your cheeks, ‘I want it to be painful.’

‘I promise.’

You lowered yourself to kiss him, your tears mixing with the blood on your face as your heart was finally lighter than it had been for a while. All because of a surprise you enjoyed more than he had anticipated.

1K notes · View notes

vampsywrites · 11 months

Text

lawnol a mì te’lan.

synopsis: after assisting lo'ak in meeting up with payakan, neteyam discovers your involvement and confronts both of you. emotions escalate, leading to neteyam lashing out on you and a fight breaking out between him and Lo'ak. however, he would soon come to regret this as a cruel twist of fate takes you away.

word count: 4.8k | author's note: i recommend listening to the songcord when the funeral scene comes up

tags: DEATH, ANGST, FEM! OMATICAYA READER, grieving, blood, gunshot wounds, sibling arguments, lo'ak and neteyam's tense situation, fighting, mentions of punching, funeral, established relationships, flashbacks, war

Syulang - Na'vi; Flower

The smell of incense wafted through the pod, mingling with the pungent scent of medicinal paste and herbs. The room was dimly lit, filled with a hushed tension that seemed to permeate the air. Tucked in the far corner of the room, you were busy patching Lo'ak up, applying a cool creamy paste onto his battered body.

As you began to soothe a bruise on his arm, Neteyam stormed into the room, frustration evident on his face. His steps pounded against the woven floors, sending a trickle of fear up your spine.

"What were you thinking Lo'ak? Meeting up with that killer tulkun, again!" He hisses, roughly pushing at his younger brother's head. "Why do you have to make things so difficult?"

"Neteyam," you soothed, moving to stand before him, "Your brother is actually seriously injured. Can we please have this conversation another time?"

"My brother wouldn't be injured if he didn't go past the reefs again. My brother wouldn't be injured if you didn't help him sneak out," Neteyam seethed, towering over you as his golden eyes burned with a blend of anger and disappointment.

Under his intense gaze, you curled into yourself, ears pinning back. You knew what you did was wrong, but you had never seen Lo'ak connect so deeply with someone before.

"Payakan is Lo'ak's spirit brother," you hushed softly, arms and tail wrapping around yourself as you tried to explain yourself to Neteyam, "Outcast or not…They are spirit brothers, Neteyam."

Neteyam clicked his tongue and threw his head back in frustration. Your name then escaped his lips, laced with cold disdain, "I would have expected this from him, but I never imagined you would actively go out of your way to assist him. You were trained to be Tsahìk, and I trusted you to act responsibly."

He took a moment to breathe, his pause magnifying the weight of the situation. "I couldn't be more wrong."

The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you, as his words pierced your heart. Shame washed over you, causing your body to tremble as you grappled with your emotions.

"Neteyam, I…" you tried to speak up once more, but your mouth ran dry, throat shutting close.

"I…I'm sorry, sir," you force out, voice quivering.

Lo'ak's gaze intensifies, and a surge of protective rage surges through him. He swiftly moves to your defense, shoving Neteyam away, a low hiss rumbling from his chest. "Y/N did what she thought was right. We're all responsible for our own actions. Don't you dare lay this shit on her for something I did."

Neteyam's lips were pulled back into a snarl as he pushed Lo'ak back, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "Responsible for our own actions? That's rich coming from you considering how much you just love to start shit."

Lo'ak growled before he moved to grapple Neteyam, forcefully pinning the older boy against the pod's walls. The impact caused the wall to shake, knocking a few bottles of herbs from the shelves, which tumbled and clattered onto the woven floors.

"Lo'ak—!" you gasped out seeing the boy draw his hand back, knocking his fist into Neteyam's face.

Neteyam staggered backward, colliding with the wall, as the force of the blow resounded with a heavy thunk. Momentarily dazed, he blinked and glanced up at Lo'ak, his hand instinctively reaching to his throbbing jaw.

“You skxáwng,” he growls.

"Yep. That’s me," Lo'ak quipped, his grin transforming into a menacing sneer. "Your disappointment of a brother. The fucking outcast of the family here."

Neteyam scoffs, wrenching himself off the wall, stomping forward until he was in front of Lo'ak. "What was the one thing dad asked for? Not to cause any trouble, right?" Neteyam huffs. "I'm just looking out for you! We are brothers, Lo'ak. Sully's stick together"

Lo'ak bares his teeth then, a growl ripping from his throat.

"You are not my brother."

Before you could process it, Neteyam's knuckles, flesh and bone, connected hard with Lo'ak's nose. The sound of the impact echoed through the pod, a sharp crack that filled the air. Your eyes widened as you watched Lo'ak reel backward, his body colliding forcefully with a wooden pane. The sudden eruption of violence from the normally composed Neteyam shattered the silence that had settled in the pod.

Lo'ak's snarl shifted into a pained grimace as he clutched his nose, blood streaming between his fingers. The pod fell into an eerie stillness, the air heavy with tension.

You stepped forward, a mix of fear and concern driving you. "Stop! This won't solve anything," you implored, reaching out to Lo'ak with a gentle touch.

Neteyam watched as you fretted over his younger brother, a burning mix of guilt and resentment bubbling up in his gut.

Lo'ak stared up at Neteyam, his anger wavering, replaced by a mixture of hurt and disbelief. His eyes searched desperately for a hint of remorse, a glimmer of understanding. But the older boy just stood there, his jaw clenched.

Shaking his head in frustration, Neteyam turned towards the chamber's entrance. His gaze lingered on Lo'ak, expression hardened with resolve.

"No flying or diving for a month," he declared, his voice carrying a note of finality.

With that, he strode out of the room, leaving behind a tense silence.

Lo'ak clicked his tongue before turning to you, concern etched on his face. He sent a cautious look your way, his voice filled with compassion. "You alright? That was rough back there. His words, I mean."

You mustered a watery smile, trying to brush off the events that just transpired.

"You're the one injured here, I should be asking you that. Plus, I'm used to it," you replied, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of amusement. Lo'ak attempted to speak up once more, but you swiftly redirected the conversation, your hands already reaching for the healing paste.

"Come, let's fix you up."

The recent days had become a harrowing blur, with a sense of impending doom hanging heavily in the air. Throughout the village, warriors hastily armed themselves, and healers busied themselves with gathering herbs, all while a dark storm loomed ominously above.

It was undeniable—the sky demons had returned.

In the midst of the mounting turmoil, you found yourself travelling through the waters with your friends, following Lo'ak after he abruptly plunged into the depths of the ocean, navigating past the reefs with his ilu.

The salty air clung to your senses as you leaned forward, desperation lacing your voice.

"Lo'ak! Where are you going?!" you cried out, tightly grasping Neteyam's waist as you both pursued him on the back of an ilu.

Lo'ak remained eerily silent, his focus fixated on the abyssal strength of the wavves before him. With an alarming agility, Lo'ak dove down, the sleek figure of his ilu slicing through the water with ease. Gripped by fear and worry, you turned to your beloved, seeking solace and answers.

"Nete—" you began, but your words were swallowed by Neteyam's grim interruption.

"He's going after Payakan," Neteyam replied curtly, his teeth clenched. Gripping your thigh tight, he positioned himself with a firm hold on the ilu's saddle. "Hold on tightly."

With a commanding click, Neteyam directed the ilu to dive down, plunging deeper into the unknown depths.

Then, as you emerged from the depths, you found yourself in the middle of the battle. Crashes of boats and metal birds floating all about you.

As you surveyed the battlefieds, you froze, heart sinking at the sight of Lo'ak perched atop a familiar tulkun, desperately attempting to remove the tracking device cruelly embedded in Payakan's flesh.

Without a second thought, you propelled yourself forward, driven by a surge of adrenaline, disregarding Neteyam's frantic shouts as you rushed to aid Lo'ak in freeing his spirit brother.

The others, recognizing the gravity of the situation, quickly rallied to your aid. Hands reached out, working in unison, as you all grappled with the device, pulling, tugging, and knocking against it in a desperate attempt to break its grip.

"Pull!"

Each moment felt like an eternity but with a final surge of combined effort, the tracking device relinquished its hold, tearing free from the tulkun's skin. A collective breath escaped your lips, mingling with the creature's relieved exhalation.

However, any semblance of relief quickly dissipated when Jake's voice pierced through Neteyam's communication device.

"Boy? Are you there?" Jake's voice quivered with anxiety, instantly sending a shiver of panic down your spine. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach intensified as you strained to listen to every word exchanged.

Neteyam swallowed, his throat constricting, before he mustered the courage to respond, "Yeah. I'm here, sir. What's wrong?"

The tense silence hung heavy in the air as you all held your breath, anticipating Jake's next words.

"Is your mate there?" Jake's voice crackled with urgency, the weight of his inquiry sinking into your bones, evoking a gnawing sense of apprehension.

Neteyam hesitated, his eyes briefly meeting yours, before he replied, his voice tinged with unease, "Yes. Yes, she is here—"

Before he could finish, Jake interrupted, his tone laden with concern, "There's been a report that a female na'vi was spotted on the docks of the boat. Are your sisters there?"

The weight of those words hit you like a thunderbolt.

"Shit," you cursed under your breath, running a hand through your braids.

"No, sir. Both Tuk and Kiri are not here," Neteyam replied, his voice laden with dismay.

Jake's voice crackled through the communication device once again, the urgency palpable in his words. "Stay vigilant, Neteyam. We can't afford any risks."

Neteyam nodded, his expression grim and resolute. "Understood, sir. We'll stay on high alert."

As the connection ended, Neteyam immediately began to issue orders, his voice firm and commanding.

"Ao'nung, take Roxto and Tsireya away from here. The open waters are too dangerous. We'll regroup by the rock outcrops," Neteyam directed, his tone brooking no argument.

The metkaniyan nodded, a stony frown etched on his face as he hurriedly ushered his sister and friend away from the immediate vicinity, their ilus awaiting them nearby. Neteyam watched them depart, his gaze lingering for a moment, before he turned his attention back to you and Lo'ak.

"That means you two as well."

"No, Neteyam, no," you protested vehemently. The mere thought of leaving him alone in the face of the approaching war was unbearable to you. "I am not leaving you."

Your plea hung in the air, thick with emotion. It made Neteyam take a moment to pause before he reached for you. An arm curled around your waist as he pulled you close, pressing a searing kiss against your lips.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he drew back, his brows furrowed as anguish swam around his sharp eyes. His gaze shifted to Lo'ak, a silent understanding passing between them. Neteyam's voice was strained but resolute as he addressed his brother, "Go. Now."

The weight of his decision lingered in the air, and you pleaded desperately, your voice wavering, "Neteyam…"

But his mind was made up. Casting one final, heart-wrenching look back at you, he rushed away, vanishing into the crashing waves.

Frantically, you turned to Lo'ak, and it only took one look for you to know that he shared your thoughts.

"We're going after him," he declared, his voice echoing your own desire.

Without wasting another moment, you set off, running towards the crashing waves, adrenaline surging through your veins.

The open waters beckoned, their depths mocking with unseen perils, but you refused to be deterred. The clicks of your ilu's came close and you both made haste, clambering atop the creatures as you dived towards the boat.

By the time you had arrived, half of the vessel was already submerged in the water, and you and Lo'ak quickly scaled its metallic walls, scrambling across the deck.

As you scanned the surroundings, your gaze locked onto three familiar figures at the edge. Kiri is the first to meet your eye and she starts shouting for you to take cover.

The echoes of gunshots reverberated through the air, jolting you into immediate action. You and Lo'ak swiftly slid down towards the figures, engaging in a fierce struggle as you pushed aside soldiers in your path.

Lo'ak managed to snatch a gun along the way, arming himself for the impending confrontation.

"Y/N!" Tuk called out for you as you ran to their position.

Reacting swiftly, you scooped the young girl into your protective embrace, shielding her from the bloodshed unfolding around you. Meanwhile, Lo'ak urgently guided Kiri to safety behind a nearby wall, ensuring she was out of harm's way and sheltered from the relentless barrage of bullets.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Neteyam retrieved the gun from Lo'ak, his movements experienced. He positioned himself around the corner, using it as cover, and unleashed a volley of return fire at your assailants.

"Y/N! Move them out!" Neteyam's cry echoes through the chaos, his voice strained as a bullet narrowly misses his skull.

"Yes, sir!" Reacting swiftly, your instincts kick in without hesitation. Grasping Tuk's hand tightly, you forcefully propel her forward alongside Lo'ak and Kiri, sprinting towards safety.

A sudden prickling sensation on the back of your neck momentarily distracts you, but the rush of adrenaline surging through your veins pushes it aside.

Neteyam, ever vigilant, stays close behind, providing cover fire to protect you all as you navigate through the perilous terrain. With every beat of your heart echoing in your chest, you reach the edge and, without pausing to think, leap over the railing, plunging into the water below.

As the shock of hitting the water subsides, you gasp for air, determined to stay afloat. Despite the biting cold and the sharp tremors running through your body, you maintain a firm grip on Tuk's hand, ensuring she resurfaces beside you.

That was when you realized something was wrong.

The hollers and war-cries of your friends echo in the distance but all you could focus on was the searing hot pain burning up on your neck. The wild waves toss and rock your aching body, carrying you further away from the safety of the group.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" Tuk questioned, immediately taking notice of how pale your face had gotten. The girl paddled closer to you, a shrill scream ripping out of her throat once she saw the murky red waters around you.

The others reacted with alarm, rushing over to you. Choking and gasping for air, you felt your head sink beneath the waves, saltwater filling your lungs.

Fortunately, before you could drown, a pair of strong arms encircled your middle, pulling you up from the depths. As you were turned around, you found yourself face to face with Neteyam, his expression panicked while his mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words as he took in your pale face.

"Syulang—" he began, his voice choked with urgency.

"Bro! What are you waiting for? Get her on!" Lo'ak's voice interrupted, snapping Neteyam out of his trance. His gaze shifted to Lo'ak and Kiri as they guided an ilu towards you. He hastily moved to lift you atop the saddles, before clambering up to sit behind you. After making tsahelyu, he instructed the creature to move, making sure to swim above the waters due to your injury.

Heaving, you felt blood seep from your mouth as you curled onto Neteyam's chest. His normally steady heartbeat was frantic, a panicked endless thrum that seemed to almost blend into one. His lips were pressed tight against your temple as his fervent prayers seeped against your burning skin.

"Stray strong. I need you to stay strong," Neteyam's voiced hushed.

In the distance, he spotted a rocky outcrop where his parents stood, urgently waving them over. Lo'ak followed closely behind, his voice trembling as he called out to them. "Dad! Mom! It's Y/N!"

Working together, both Lo'ak and Neteyam carefully lifted your body onto the rocky stump, surrounded by Neteyam's family. Your breaths now came in short, labored heaves, your chest rising and falling rapidly as it struggled to draw in enough oxygen.

Jake stepped forward, his hands pressing against your shoulders as he gently rolled you over to examine your wound. A sinking dread settled in his chest as he saw the gaping exit wound at the base of your nape.

Neteyam stood by his father's side, his hands trembling with panic. "Sir? What's wrong?"

"Pressure. Put pressure," Jake's voice came out monotonous which sent a strike of fear through Neteyam. Immediately, the boy did as told, his large hands pressing onto your frail neck. Your eyes darted frantically across the faces gathered around you, wild and unfocused, until they finally settled shakily on Neteyam.

"Sir, I—" you gasped, more blood slipping from your lips as you inadvertently bit down on your tongue in pain. Neteyam quickly hushed you, his frown deepening at the militaristic term you had used. "Sir, I'm sor—"

Then, the pain began to dull and a sense of impending finality washed over you. Heaving, you allowed yourself to lower your façade of strength and embrace your vulnerability in what could be your last moments. With a trembling hand, you reached up and pressed it against Neteyam's cheek, tears welling in your eyes as you took in the sharp features of his face.

"I'm scared," you winced, feeling small and lost, like a frightened child. "Ma'Neteyam… I am so scared."

Grief and anguish filled Neteyam's expression as he reached for your hand, pressing his lips gently upon it.

"I know, syulang. I know. I'm sorry," he murmured, a pool of guilt building up in his stomach as he recalled his last conversation with you and Lo'ak. "You'll be alright, okay? You have a strong heart."

As he looked into your wide, fearful eyes, Neteyam felt a surge of emotions wash over him, carrying him back to the vivid memories of your childhood.

The scenes played out in his mind like a reel of nostalgia, as if he were standing once again among the towering, thick trees of Omaticaya. He could almost hear the laughter that had filled the air as you both explored the wonders of the forest together, the exhilaration of climbing the sturdy branches, and the shared secrets whispered under the shelter of rocky caves.

"Neteyam… I'm scared," you whimpered, your heart throbbing in your chest as you felt the coarse texture of the sturdy tree trunk pressing against your back.

Both of you were out playing in the forests and had lost track of time. It was way past eclipse now.

The dense forest was sprawled out before you, engulfing everything before you in an ominous shroud. The fading light of the setting sun cast elongated, eerie shadows that danced amidst the towering trees.

A young Neteyam stood in front of you, his hands gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks, tenderly wiping away the droplets. Then, the warrior boy radiated a warm smile at you. "I'll keep you safe, syulang."

The air resonated with unsettling growls and haunting howls. Amidst the gloom, pairs of luminous eyes glimmered from hidden crevices behind the trees, concealed beasts lying in wait. Though fear still lingered within you, you summoned the courage to step into his awaiting embrace, seeking solace and security in his arms.

"Do you promise?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I promise."

"I'll keep you safe, syulang," Neteyam hushed, his voice filled with desperation, as he leaned in to press a kiss against your cracked and bloodied lips. The taste of iron flooded his mouth, but the concern for your well-being eclipsed any discomfort he felt.

Drawing closer, his forehead gently touched yours, causing his tears to mingle with yours as they cascaded onto your cheek. "I promise."

Neteyam's trembling fingers delicately brushed against your neck, seeking the faint and weakening pulse that throbbed beneath your clammy skin. Your breathing, labored and high-pitched, struggled to utter his name, "Neteyam—"

"Nete...I," Then, in an agonizing moment, your eyes dulled, your body going limp as you gasped out your last breath. Neteyam froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he withdrew from you, his movements graceless. "Syulang?"

"Neteyam… I," Lo'ak croaked out, his voice laden with guilt as he moved closer, attempting to offer comfort to his brother. "I'm sorr—"

His well-intentioned gesture was abruptly met with a forceful push, as Neteyam's frantic state escalated. Disregarding the presence of the others, he gathered your lifeless body into his trembling arms, holding you close as he began to hyperventilate. "No, no, no, no—"

Lo'ak stood motionless, his gaze fixed upon the devastating scene unfolding before him. Blood stained the younger brother's hands, a haunting reminder of his involvement, the guilt and remorse etched deep within him. Kiri pressed herself against his side, offering what little solace she could.

Tears streamed down Neteyam's face in an unrelenting wave as he shook vehemently, his grip on your lifeless form tight. Every breath he managed to take came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with profound anguish as his quivering lips whispered a fervent prayer to Eywa.

"Great Mother, I beg of you, please don't take her away from me. It's not her time. Please, I can't bear to lose her," the words tore from his throat, strained and desperate, a raw and hoarse plea echoing through the air.

But the silence that followed was deafening, and the universe remained indifferent to his anguished pleas. Fate had dealt her cruel hand and there was no reversing what has happened. A despondent hush settled upon Neteyam as he cradled your cold body, his fingers trembling as he traced the contours of your face, desperately clinging to your fading warmth.

'All energy is only borrowed, and one day you have to give it back.'

These were the words that had been etched into Neteyam's consciousness since his earliest memories, told to him when he was a mere babe. Through the years, those words had taken root in his heart, their significance growing with each passing day. They held a bittersweet reminder of the transient nature of a Na'vi's existence, an understanding that all things, no matter how great or powerful, would eventually fade away.

And now, as he stood amidst the darkest hour of his life, pushing a leaf which cradled your lifeless body along the gentle waves, the weight of his mother's words pressed upon him with a poignant intensity. They whispered to him the solemn truth of loss, the inevitable fate that even the brightest and most vibrant blooms would eventually wither away.

Far off by the shores, the Metkayina clan were gathered together to honor your death. Soft songs were sun by artisans in the distance while warriors surrounded the waters, ready to assist your grieving mate in anyway.

The ebb and flow of the waves embraced your body, as Neteyam delicately allowed you to be immersed in the water. Neytiri and Jake moved to swim towards him, their concern evident in their eyes, but he shook his head, a silent request for solitude as he embarked on the final journey with you alone.

Silently nodding, they swam away and watched from a distance, their hearts heavy with grief for their son as Neteyam held you close, whispering words of love onto your cold lips.

Taking you into his arms once more, Neteyam took a deep breath, and with a graceful dive, immersed himself into the depths of the ocean.

In this underwater sanctuary, time seemed to stand still as he held his breath, allowing the weight of his emotions to wash over him. The silence enveloped him, broken only by the gentle lullaby of the underwater currents. His tears, blending seamlessly with the surrounding currents, were carried away into the vast expanse of the sea.

With a heavy heart, Neteyam loosened his grip, letting you go and releasing you into the gentle caress of the water. As your curled up form sank slowly towards the ocean bed, soft hues of blue and green cradled you in their hold, painting the scene with a poignant melancholy, as if the ocean itself mourned your passing.

A soft glow of bioluminescent algae adorned the waters, casting a mesmerizing luminescence upon the solemn setting. Each flickering glow, like a delicate farewell kiss.

Neteyam watched on as the golden tendrils engulfed you in its shimmering embrace. Then, finally, glowing like a chorus of tiny stars, the algae weaved their radiant tendrils around you, a final act of nature as Eywa took you in.

Ngaru irayo seiyi ayo,

Srrìri tìreyä,

Ma Eywa, ma Eywa.

Neteyam swam before the tree of ancestors, his heart heavy with a mix of anticipation and sorrow. His hands grasped onto his queue tightly, feeling the sacred bond beneath his battle-hardened palms. Just beside him, Tsireya floated along the deep waves with a heaviness in her gaze, her eyes downcast as she shakily signed to him, her hands trembling with emotion, 'Are you ready?'

Both of them had embarked on this solemn journey together, a quest to connect with the Metkaniyan spirit tree, seeking solace from your spirit and Eywa herself.

Neteyam had requested Tsireya's presence, knowing the sisterly bond that had blossomed between the two of you over the months. He understood that she, too, carried the weight of grief for your loss.

He nodded, a bit more frantic than he'd like. Tsireya smiled at his eagerness, her eyes shimmering with shared anticipation, her hands signing once more, 'Is there a specific memory you'd like to see?'

Neteyam paused, his mind drifting through the vast ocean of memories that he held of you, each one precious and poignant.

A minute passes, and finally, with a gentle nod, he signed his answer.

Neteyam found himself standing amidst the lush foliage of the Hometree, bathed in the soft glow of the sun. The vibrant colors of the forest danced around him, creating a tranquil backdrop for his restless heart. With each purposeful step, he moved stealthily through the forest. And then, his eyes locked onto a familiar sight—a burrowed cave where you often retreated to immerse yourself in craftwork.

His heart quickened with anticipation as he approached, his hand reaching for the necklace that hung around his neck, feeling the smooth beads under his fingertips. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he unclasped it and dropped it to the ground.

The remnants of this memory came rushing back, the echoes of your shared past resurfacing with vivid clarity. As he drew nearer, your teenage form seemed to flicker and shift, transforming before his eyes into your adult self. The passage of time etched upon your face, mirroring the weight and wisdom you accumulated over the years.

Time seemed to stand still as your gazes locked, a magnetic force pulling Neteyam closer to you. Emotions swelled within him, a blend of joy, sorrow, and a deep yearning to bridge the gap that separated you both.

"Hey," he smiled tearfully, his voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and vulnerability, "What are you doing, syulang?"

Your face lit up, a radiant smile gracing your lips as you gestured for him to come closer.

"I just finished weaving something. It's for you," you exclaimed, your excitement palpable. "Come, let me put it on."

Neteyam eagerly obeyed, lowering himself before you, allowing you to clasp the necklace around his neck.

"My mighty warrior, it suits you," you remarked, your voice filled with warmth as you beheld the necklace settled atop his chest.

Neteyam huffed out a bittersweet laugh as tears streamed down his cheeks. "It does."

Concern then etched across your face.

"Ma'Teyam," you murmured softly, your touch soothing as you gently ran your hands through his braids. Neteyam's tears continued to flow, an outpouring of emotions that spoke volumes of his love and longing. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side.

"Why do you cry, Nete?"

"I'm just…" Neteyam took a moment to steady his breath, his voice a tender reflection of his inner turmoil. A mixture of joy and sorrow lingered in his words. "I'm happy to see you."

Your laughter, a melodic and breathless symphony, filled the forest with its warmth. It wrapped around Neteyam's heart, offering a fleeting respite from the weight of your loss.

"Oh," you replied, your voice tinged with affection, "I am happy to see you too, Nete."

Tsireya stood from afar, allowing Neteyam to meet you in spirit alone. She watched over him as his form drifted, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

Her heart then swelled with warmth as she witnessed his lips curve into a genuine grin, seeing his once stern expression melt away into a state of serene contentment.

Lawnol a mì te’lan.

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cjayius · 1 month

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BLOSSOM — NISHIMURA RIKI

SYNOPSIS. being forced to tutor the school's most popular student, you assume that he hates you, as you do him. which is why you're quite surprised to find out that he doesn't share the same feelings as you.

pairing. jock!riki x f!reader wc. 0.93k tw. y/n is oblivious as hell, sad riki genre. slight angst (?) ( CATALOGUE ) part 2 soon

you feel riki’s presence before you see him, the air tingling with an unusual tension as he takes his usual seat beside you. your heart skips a beat, anticipation crawling through your body.

“ wow, the great nishimura finally decided to grace us with his presence. “ you remark, tone laced with sarcasm as you glance sideways at him.

riki meets your gaze, his expression a mix of frustration and something else, something you can’t quite decipher. “ did you finally decide to stop being an asshole ? " he retorts, voice tinged with annoyance.

you bristle at his words, a surge of defiance rising within you. “ you’re one to talk, “ you shoot back, tone sharp with indignation.

his jaw tightens, glancing at something behind you. “maybe you should go have fun with your boyfriend, taki. “ he mutters under his breath, but it was loud enough for you to catch it.

you freeze, the mention of taki sending a jolt of confusion through you. “ what’s that supposed to mean ? “ you demand, setting your book aside as you gaze intently at the boy beside you.

before he could respond though, a tap on your shoulder shifts your attention towards the pink-haired boy now standing in front of you. taki.

as taki interrupts, his cheerful voice cuts through the tension between you and riki. " hey yn ! sorry to interrupt, but i was wondering if you're free tonight ? i thought we could grab a drink together. "

you hesitate, glancing briefly at riki, who remains silent beside you. despite the sudden unease in your stomach, you manage a small smile. " um, sure, taki. i think im free around 7. "

riki's expression remains unreadable, but a flicker of something passes through his eyes before he looks away. you can't quite decipher it, but you push the thought aside as taki beams at your acceptance. " great! how about we meet at dream cafe around 7:30?"

you nod, offering a faint smile. " sounds good. " with that, taki gives you a friendly wave and heads off, leaving you and riki alone once again. for a moment, neither of you speaks.

finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. " guess you've got plans tonight then. "

you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond, " yeah, i guess, so. " you murmur, looking down at your fingers to avoid his gaze. he scoffs, his frustration evident. " figures. "

before you can stop him, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you to grapple with the tangled mess of emotions you were feeling right now.

in the locker room, riki's shoulders slumped with defeat, his friends exchanging worried glances as they listened to his lament.

" i don't know, guys. " he confessed, voice tinged with resignation. " maybe it's time i just accept the truth. y/n and taki seem like they'd hit it off. i mean, she deserves someone like him, right ? "

jake and jungwon exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. jungwon had his own reasons for pushing riki to confess, knowing full well that y/n harbored feelings for the boy. but he kept hanni's words to himself, knowing how complicated things could get if riki found out.

" cmon, man, don't sell yourself short, " jake interjected, tone firm. " you're a great guy, and you've been pining after her for ages, you owe it to yourself to atleast try. "

jungwon nodded in agreement, gaze earnest as he met riki's eyes, " exactly, you can't just let taki swoop in and steal her away without a fight. you'll regret it later. "

riki sighed heavily, torn between his desire to move on and the lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, things could work out. he knew deep down, he couldn't ignore his feelings forever.

" fine, " he relented, " i'll do it. i'll tell her tonight. "

in the dimly lit interior of jake's car, riki leaned forward, smoothing down his unruly hair, fingers combing through the dark locks in an attempt to tame them.

jake glanced over at him from the driver's seat, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. " nervous ? " riki scoffed, trying to play it cool, despite the nervous fluttering in his stomach, " of course not. "

tonight was supposed to be the night he finally confessed his feelings to y/n, but now, with the sight of her and taki together still fresh in his mind, he couldn't shake the doubt that lingered in the back of his mind.

as jake pulled up to the curb near the cafe, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. he glanced down at the white rose clutched in his hand, a silent offering of his affection for y/n. for a moment, he hesitated, uncertainty warring within him.

but then he remembered jake's encouraging words, the way he had urged him not to give up without a fight. with a determined nod, riki pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

but just as he rounded the corner to the cafe, his heart sank at the sight that greeted him. y/n and taki emerged from the cafe, their laughter filling the air, their smiles radiant in the soft glow of the streetlights.

taki's arm was around her shoulders, and they looked so happy together that riki's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

defeated, he paused, his hand tightening around the stem of the white rose. he couldn't bring himself to interrupt their moment, couldn't bear to see the disappointment in y/n's eyes if he confessed now. with a heavy sigh, he turned away, the weight of regret settling over him like a shroud.

instead of heading back to jake's car right away, riki found himself drawn to a nearby park bench, where he sat in silence, lost in his thoughts. what was the point of confessing now? y/n was clearly happy with taki, and he couldn't bear the thought of ruining that for her.

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #kim sunoo #lee heeseung #nishimura riki #park jay #park sunghoon #yang jungwon #sim jaeyun #jake enhypen #ni ki fluff #ni ki x reader #ni ki imagines #ni ki

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shadesoflsk · 6 months

Text

BLANCA NAVIDAD

pairing: leon kennedy x fem reader.

summary: Leon never liked Christmas. Memories of him being taken away from his parents and countless missions made him a bitter man. However, he wouldn't have guessed that one day, he would be placing Christmas stockings with a wife and a little bundle of joy next to him.

warnings: Mostly fluff, dad leon, mentions of injuries, alcohol problems, Leon being an orphan, mild hurt (nothing bad I swear) so cheesy and sappy.

"to give up one's very self – to think only of others – how to bring the greatest happiness to others – that is the true meaning of Christmas."

The sounds of boxes being moved filled your living room. It’s the first week of December, and both of you have postponed the task of adorning your house with Christmas stuff until now. Between Leon’s job and your newfound activity (taking care of your 1 year old daughter) it’s been nearly impossible to find enough time to dedicate yourself to this special holiday.

Leon had told you it was more than okay if you wanted to do it by yourself. He knew how much you love this holiday. And ever since halloween ended, you found yourself eager to buy even more stuff to fill your home with. Nonetheless, you waited for your husband. There was no way you would let this opportunity slip away.

And, as you walked into the living room carrying a box albeit Leon’s constant bickering about how you shouldn’t lift heavy things, your heart melted at the sight of Leon placing a christmas hat on you guys’ daughter, which was too big on her and partially covered her sight.

“Da-da” With the baby on his hip, Leon was once again trying to teach his daughter how to say his “name.” It all started with a simple joke about him being the favorite parent, but now it has turned into a serious situation, at least for him. He wanted his daughter to master the art of speaking before Christmas. Although he has noticed that his little one barely said anything else than babbling nonsense. She was almost there, those bwaaah would turn into dada, he was sure.

She had none of that, though. As soon as Leon started talking, she laughed. As if he was telling her the funniest joke ever. Your daughter had heart eyes for both of you, but you had to admit it – she was definitely a daddy's girl. The way her eyes get so big whenever she sees Leon, and how her tiny fingers wrap around his thumb each time he's feeding her – yeah, she loves her dad.

He was an expert in fatherhood. He had no recollection of ever taking care of kids before. But, as soon as his little girl was born, the father's instincts kicked in. The way her cries filled the hospital room made him want to turn off the world for a second and give his daughter and wife a well-deserved moment of peace.

However, he never thought his life would get so lucky that he would get to experience being a dad. Ever since he was born, he was surrounded by disaster and misfortune. Having to grow up at an orphanage wasn't the most ideal place to mold a child into a perfect human being, but it seems that the little time he had spent with his parents shaped him correctly.

“Ma-ma.” You walked behind Leon and placed a hand on his other hip. Your baby instantly kicked her little feet in excitement for seeing her mom. Maybe she's a mama's girl, too.

“Hey! She was almost saying dada.” Leon feigned disappointment as you tried luring your daughter into saying mama first. This was a competition between you and Leon. Which prize will be having the satisfaction of being the “favorite parent.”

“Yeah of course. My bad.” You chuckled, voice filled with sarcasm knowing that your daughter has been the laziest of babies. Most 1 year old babies already say mama or dad. Or both. Yet this little rascal just likes existing, eating, sleeping, and exploring.

Leon saw you carrying a box and sighed in mild disappointment. You could already hear him saying “I told you not to carry heavy things.” Ever since you recovered from surgery, he has gotten even more doting. Every need of you was met by the second, and you wouldn't complain, but you're still a functional adult who can actually lift boxes.

You remember when things didn't used to be like this. In the past, you weren't instantly devoted and whipped for the man that is now teaching your daughter how to say dada. You remember how your past self leaned over the counter, you were met by an usual reek of alcohol this man had. And, with a witty and drunk smile, he said his usual line.

“Another bottle here.” It was his third one that night. Not his third glass, his third bottle. He was slowly killing his liver and himself by the way kept drowning in this deadly and burning liquid. You had never met him before, but the way his dark blue eyes sometimes shone under the dim light, you knew he once was someone important. Or at least, someone needed.

“That would be your third one tonight.” You stated matter-of-factly. However, Leon didn't miss the way you refused to move and get him his booze.

“Look at that… Smarty knows her numbers. Aren't you so, so clever?” The disdain in his voice had reached your ears. He was never the talkative client, he just spent all of his nights at your bar and drank to his heart's content. You know you shouldn't stick your nose in someone else's business yet you couldn't bear nor allow him to basically kill himself in front of you.

“Now can you please shut up and serve me another bottle.” He groaned as the empty bottle almost fell from the counter. His heavy eyelids almost closing if it wasn't from the fact that after the words he spat, you threw a glass of water to his face.

“You don't fucking talk to me like that.” Your usual warm and easy going self was long forgotten. No matter how many hardships and problems he may have, there was no way you would let him walk all over you like that. “I don't know what fucked up things you have experienced or how many people have betrayed you. But if you have time to drown yourself in this addiction and be mad about it, you also have time to make a change.”

Those words stuck with him. He knew he was being pathetic, Chris, Rebecca, hell even Claire had told him the same thing too. But he felt even more miserable when a random bartender called him out like that. Especially when you just needed to complete your job. Why would someone care? He pays, he gets his booze, repeat. But, you at least cared, even though it was something every rational human would do.

Eventually, his daily dose of booze decreased. You witnessed the small changes in him. Going from three bottles to just one, and to finally a few glasses. You witnessed how his usual dark clothes were replaced with a somewhat more colorful attire which brought out his once dull and empty blue eyes.

His slender frame slowly took form, recovering his muscles which were more visible now. His stubble remained, though. It was like a reminder of his own age – and his now different approach in life. Wiser and more careful with his own decisions. Your words didn't completely change him, but they surely helped him to see his life in another light.

Ultimately, a new Leon set foot in your bar. He was beaten up, his navy blue shirt had some blood spots while his dark brown hair was disheveled. He smelled like sweat and gunpowder. “If you ever need a tour guide in San Francisco let me know.” He said with a charming smile as you moved around your area of work.

“I'll keep that in mind. What can I get you?” You chuckled as you went to retrieve his order. You could already hear him say it.

“Grape juice...”

“And your number.”

Soft whines pulled you back from your trance as your babygirl grips on Leon's shirt. She wipes her face against the fabric. The little one was starting to get fuzzy since nap time had come.

“Oh, someone is sleepy.” He coos, bringing her closer to his chest. Leon takes off the little Christmas hat that was on her head. Immediately, the little one brings her hand to her hair. She has picked up the habit to caress her own hair when falling asleep. Before she even gets to cry, Leon rocks her to sleep. His deep voice soothes her, the gentle tunes of a Christmas song was his choice of the day.

“May your days be merry and bright and may all your christmases be white.” Leon wasn’t the best of the singers but he would sing his heart out to his daughter. It was a tradition now since Leon never had someone to sing to him. The baby calmed down at a comical rate, as if she just needed her dad’s embrace to feel safe. She was safe. As long as Leon lives, you and his miracle would have the best life ever.

“I’m almost jealous, she falls asleep so fast with you.” You set down the box, stretching your arms. This is the first box out of so many, you weren’t the biggest spender nor a shopaholic but when you married Leon, some perks came with him. Those perks included having unlimited access to his black card which you use wisely.

Wisely was an understatement, though. Having several copies of the same gingerbread man who dances every time you press a button wasn’t the wisest decision. But you and your daughter love it so Leon has to shut up. Everything for his family.

In the past, Christmas was a simple but dreadful date. He didn’t understand the point of it. When he was a rookie cop, he at least tried to force some polite smiles and give words of affirmations to his colleagues back at the police academy. He stupidly thought that once he got to work, his life would change. But the universe had other plans for him that night in September. He spent that year’s Christmas wishing to die. The government had taken away his right to end his life. Dying wasn't an option. The girl he saved back in Raccoon City, Sherry, needed him.

Year after year, he grew resentful, angry and bitter. He expected to spend this holiday alone until his last days of life. Having to grow old and wither away, no one to care, no one who would remember him as a human and not a machine. Not the government’s lap dog.

But somehow, he met you. He was a dick at first, he knew it. Until this day, he never understood how you could choose him. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t go back to his addiction one day. He vowed to never do it again, and he was sure to keep his promise. However, you could never know the extent of his words. You lived –at least to Leon– uncertain of how long he would be sober. But much to his dismay (or pleasure) you gave a chance to that renewed man, to that agent who had come from a mission in San Francisco that almost got him killed.

He was content with just you. He never asked for more, scared of being too greedy, too wishful. Your presence was enough for him, your smile made all of his problems go away. Your tender words were the medicine for his broken and beaten up heart, every last bit of self hatred went away with you. There was nothing else he wanted.

Until he realized that maybe, he could have the life he had always wanted.

When you announced you were expecting, Leon couldn’t show his happiness at first. He was scared. Hell, he even had to take a deep breath before telling you something. He never had a father, well he had one but his memories are too foggy. He grew up thinking kids were a mistake and that somehow, he was a mistake, too.

He found himself slipping into the unborn baby's room when you were asleep. Watching how both of you have decorated the space where your little one will be welcomed. His fingers grazed over the white crib, already imagining what his daughter would look like. He likes to think he looks like his own mother, a blurry memory of her blonde hair swaying with the wind. His daughter will have a better life than his. He's going to fight for it.

His eyes would travel over your body. He knew how anatomy worked but watching it before his eyes was so extraordinary. Your little miracle was safely tucked inside of your belly. He has always known you were beautiful but damn – it seems that motherhood suits you a little too well. He was grateful, really grateful. You gave him the opportunity to indulge in the normal and domestic kind of life.

“She's already asleep.” Your sweet voice called him, bringing him back to the present. While he was reminiscing about the past, the baby had already fallen asleep. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she breathed softly. Her tiny fingers still gripping his shirt.

“She's so lazy.” Leon whispered, his voice filled with softness and lighthearted teasing. He gently laid her on the couch, making sure to place some pillows around her in case she moved. A welcomed and soothing silence surrounded your still not decorated room. This was the perfect opportunity to start your Christmas task.

“You know… Now you can help me put up the countless decorations we have in these boxes.” You chuckled as you placed your hand on Leon’s cheek, your thumb grazing against the growing stubble. You loved moments like this where the only thing that lingered in the air was normalcy and harmony, no missions, no worries, just a happy family.

“I’ll help you if you promise you won’t judge my artistic side.” His lips turned into a sly smirk before he pressed soft kisses against your lips. A sweet yet sincere demonstration of love. He always worries he’s not enough. You play your role as wife and mother, so he ought to be the best husband and father he can be while also balancing his job life. No bioweapon could compare with the fear of losing his own little family because of himself.

Time seems to fly when you’re surrounded with love, Leon lives by that saying. You both decided to put up the tree first since that’s the most arduous task to complete. It takes you almost an hour between placing the ornaments in the correct place and Leon being scolded because he can’t match colors even if his life depended on it.

“Now big boy, you gotta put the star at the top.” You crossed your arms as Leon placed the last ornament on the tree. It wasn’t the best tree, especially since Leon didn’t give any artistic advice on his side. Some colors looked rather odd combined with others, but Leon thought it was abstract.

Almost inaudible babblings made you turn around and found your baby already awake. She was playing by herself, her hands reaching for the ceiling. You had to admit it – she was sometimes an angel. She easily entertained herself and barely cried.

You reached for her and walked toward the tree. Now her fingers tried to grab the Christmas ornaments. The colors reflecting on her blue eyes – that she got from Leon. By the way she kept babbling nonsense it almost looked like she was talking.

“Huh? Right I told your mom that too but she didn’t like the idea.” Leon acted like he understood what the little one was saying. And she also engaged in the conversation, two people against your own ideas.

For a few minutes, you focused on your daughter and how amazed she seems to be with everything. In her own world, that tree was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.

But out of nowhere, both of you looked back at Leon who was sniffing and gently sobbing in front of the tree.

“Sorry, sorry…” He chuckled before wiping away some of the tears that continued falling without stopping. He then waved his hand dismissively, expecting you to drop the subject. Now he had two pairs of eyes intensely looking at him, yours and your baby’s.

After a short while of him trying to keep his tears of joy at bay, he eventually spoke once again.

“Thank you. For… For this.” A gentle smile formed in his face as he opened his arms. You wasted no time to welcome the hug. Now, the three of you were in front of the Christmas tree. The babbling, the sobs, and the soothing music in the background formed a domestic and warm scene. Full of love, emotions, and devotion. His thank you conveyed so much more than just merely words of gratitude. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for believing in me, and thank you for marrying me and thank you for giving me the family I never had. He wanted to say those things, but he remained silent. He knew you would understand the meaning behind his simple thank you.

He would have never expected something like this. He had always thought he was doomed from the start. That his life would be about saving others and never being saved. But he was saved, and he will always be saved.

His daughter’s hands reached for his face, her fingers grabbing his cheeks and nose. Leon obliged, moving his face closer. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until her lips moved on her own.

“Dada!”

He will never shut up now.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #this is sojskahdja

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ghouljams · 9 months

Note

god pls tell me medieval ghost gets readers parents approval or imma throw up in sadness i need them to be happy forever

You take a moment to collect yourself after your disastrous meeting with the duke. Your eyes are hardly watering but Ghost hands you a handkerchief at the slightest sigh, dutiful as always. You often wonder what he thinks of you for being so emotional over these little sorrows. It's hardly worth getting worked up about, a less than ideal man, a practically perfect knight. Yes, hardly worth the sniffles.

"I'm alright," you tell Ghost, glancing up at him. His gaze is fixed on you, watchful as you dab your eyes with his handkerchief, press the soft fabric against your lips and imagine him doing the same, before holding it out to him. He holds a hand up in refusal. You settle it in your lap, fingers playing with the hemmed edges of the fabric, you can't bear to look at him like this. "I should tell my mother that the Duke's fled," you stand, hear the shift in Ghost's armor behind you.

"Pathetic fool," Ghost grumbles.

"Agreed," you hum, swiping your hands over your skirts to be sure they've fallen back into place, "I hope I never marry if that's the sort of men I have to look forward to." Ghost hums, deep and dissatisfied. It's not him you're talking about, you hope he knows that. No, you hope he doesn't know, it's worse if he knows. He mustn't know.

"Queens have ruled before," he says. Ghost follows a step behind you as you exit the sitting room. You're sure your mother is in her quarters, if she hasn't already heard word of your prospective suitors hasty exit.

You spot her in the foyer, your dissatisfied guest walking away from her. You turn on your heel to avoid the shit show and nearly bump into Ghost. His hands grip your shoulders to keep you from bouncing off his armored chest, and you wince a little at the picture you two must make. Your mother's voice calls to you and Ghost spins you to face her. She looks cross.

She motions for you to follow her and the three of you make your way to her drawing room. She holds a hand up to stop Ghost from entering. He gives a short bow and moves to the side to stand with the other guards. So, it's going to be that sort of conversation.

Your mother pulls your aside as the doors close firmly behind you, eyes searching yours. You feel significantly smaller than you are under her gaze. "The Duke left in a hurry," she says plainly, "apparently he was concerned about-" a sigh "-living up to your expectations."

"Should I not expect anything of my future husband?" Sarcasm drips from your voice, you know you're pushing it. The queen's voice seems more steeled when she speaks next, a tone that makes you flinch.

"He had other concerns about you and your knight. Concerns which seem to be shared by many, I'm told." Her voice softens, falls gently into your mother's, not the queen's, questions. "Tell me honestly, have you and him..." she winces, her gaze darts to your skirts. You feel your anger boil at the insinuation, not for yourself but for Ghost.

"No! No, he would never-" You try to swallow the bitterness rising in your throat, the painful truth of your situation, "Ghost would never touch me."

Your mother looks relieved, you wish you could feel the same. "Good," she nods, "good."

"Is that what people are saying? What people think? That he would-" you can't stop the anger that bleeds out of you, the shock on your mother's face as you raise your voice, "Ghost is an honorable man, he has been loyal to me for years. How dare you- How dare anyone even think to imply that he would be such a- a brute! That he would ever do anything to harm me or my reputation as your-" you spit the words at her, "-perfect princess."

"Oh," your mother's face falls, understanding written clear over her features, "oh my sweet child, you love him."

"Of course not," you look away from her, "what would be the point? He wouldn't lay a finger on me even if I did."

"If you said that he-"

You cut her off quickly, quietly, "I won't sully his reputation for my own selfish desires." Your stomach clenches, your throat scratching hot as you swallow down the lump in it. A princess does not let her emotions get the best of her, especially when it comes to trivial ones like love.

Your mother turns your chin with gentle fingers so you're facing her again, and leans forward to bump her forehead against yours. You take a deep shaky breath as her hand cups the back of your neck, warm and comforting in a way she could never be outside of her private rooms. You close your eyes and enjoy it, enjoy the shared space, the joint inhale and exhale. It calms you.

"I'll stop the suitor meetings," she tells you finally. You pull back, shocked.

"That's not-" She raises a hand to stop your refusal.

"There are no suitable candidates currently on the list anyway, it would be a waste of your time to meet them all." She speaks with the conviction of a queen, waving off the roster of well established gentleman with the affection of your mother. You smile, weakly.

"Thank you, I'll- I'll try to quell the rumors in the meantime."

"Why? I see no reason to bother with petty falsehoods, continue as you were." You nod, and your mother cups your face, her eyes sad, almost nostalgic. You wonder what she's thinking, you know better than to ask.

Ghost stiffens when you exit the Queen's rooms, the other guards snapping to attention as well. For all the yelling you'd done, you hardly look upset. Though that was nearly two hours ago. Since then a maid had been in and out with afternoon tea and you'd been much quieter in your conversation.

Honorable you'd said. Honorable. As if the thoughts of you that ran through his head were so... honorable. Though you were right, he wouldn't lay a finger on you. In his dreams he holds you tightly in his arms, spreads you with both hands, caresses you with his mouth. One finger is nothing, he needs all of them. Needs to run his hands over you, hold your face between his palms, feel the give of your soft skin where he touches and God if he didn't need every point of contact he could get. He wants to feel your breath against his lips, taste the last sip of wine on your tongue. He wants to hear you say his name, his real name, with such desperate wanting it would make an angel blush. He wants, and it is not an honorable thing.

An honorable man. How highly you must think of him. If you knew how he thinks of you late into the night you'd shun him in the morning.

"Ghost are you still here?" You ask, peaking your head out of your changing room.

"Always, my lady," he answers on instinct, watching your smile with growing unease. You nod and brush off your maid's entreating hands to exit the safety of closed doors.

He is just a man, worse than a man, really. The way his breath comes short seeing you in your dressing gown, the soft white fabric hanging so delicately off of you, your silhouette illuminated through the linen by the flickering candlelight. You bend to pick a novel off your table. A dog. He's no better than a dog. His eyes rake over your exposed flesh, his fingers itch to grab, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

"I thought you might like this one. I know its not your usual fair, but-" You come too close to him, hold out your book too innocently. Youre too warm, too tempting, tried too hard to defend him. His fingers grip the back of your head, tight in your hair, tipping you back as he leans down before he can stop himself. Your eyes are wide with something he doesn't recognize --he knows all of your expressions but this one it seems-- his breathing comes heavy, panting in the short distance between your lips.

"Simon," you whisper, soft, honest, questioning. Is it fear in your eyes? He's worked so hard for so long to keep you from ever feeling that, and now you can only turn it on him. He hasn't heard you say his name in years, he doesn't want to hear it like this.

Ghost all but throws himself away from you. His own disgust with himself giving purpose to his actions. Your face falls, lips downturned and brows furrowed. This expression he knows, you're upset, and it's his fault.

"What's wrong?" You ask, he can't look at you, can't stare down his own shame. "I'm sorry, did I- I shouldn't have called you that." It twists like a knife in his chest to hear you apologize. You're right, you shouldn't have called him that, all you ever do is fill his head with delusions of something better than this daily torture.

"Nothing, I- that was a mistake," he growls, not even bothering to look at you. Your heart pulls so tight you think it might stop. A mistake, is that all it was? You reach out to touch his armor, to beg him to say it wasn't, and he jerks away from you again. "Forget that ever happened," his hand is tight on your door, "please."

Your heart jumps in your throat, you can see your maids watching you from the doorway in your perifery, watching it all unfold. You pull your hand back. One must always remain poised when observed by gossips. Even when they want nothing more than to fall apart. A mistake. "Of course," you steel yourself behind the voice of a princess, "its forgotten." You turn back to your maids, back to being dressed for dinner, "You're dismissed, see if you can't find someone to check your head. We wouldn't want you making any more mistakes."

"My lady," you hear the creak of his armor as he bows, the open and shut of your quarters' door. You're a fool to think he'd fight for you. To think you're more than just his duty. His mistake. Of course you are. Ghost wouldn't lay a finger on you.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #knight!ghost #medieval au #poking the bruise and poking the bruise and #i meant to finish this earlier but this weekend has been so busy #i wrote most of this at like midnight on friday bacause i literally could not stop thinking about it #where do duty and love meet? where do they mix and where do they so painfully diverge #just KISS HER you pathetic man #princess!reader

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Redamancy.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 1k.

“You scowl too much.”

If anyone else were to speak to Scaramouche, Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbinger in this way, they’d certainly be reduced to a pitiful pile of ash on the ground. Perhaps he’s thought about subjecting you to this fate, once or twice. That number could very well have been bumped up to three times if the indignant air he currently regards you with is to be considered.

Then again, no one aside from you would get to experience this deceptively domestic scene. You sit beneath a canopy, branches free from winter’s thaw hastily preparing buds to herald in spring. Scaramouche holds your thighs captive, the soft flesh serving as his pillow. Indigo locks splay out against and tickle your skin.

“There’s a lot to scowl about,” he replies, though he makes an effort to relax his tense facial muscles. The contemptuous smile he gives makes his previous expression look benevolent in comparison. “I’m stuck dealing with a fool of a woman who’d probably wander off a cliff because she was too busy admiring the clouds.”

“Clouds are meant to be admired.”

“Case in point.”

“You make it sound like I’m chained to you with iron shackles, though,” you raise your ankle (notably shackle free, imagine that), drawing his attention and ire. Your sarcasm never fails to rile him up. He never seriously tries to put a stop to it, however. Such is his capricious nature. “If I’m such a bother, why not let me wander off the cliff?”

Scaramouche grits his teeth. “Because…”

There’s a pause, then, weighty and tangible. You know what he both wants and fears to say. If he were any less of a coward, he’d fill the aromatic air with truth, rather than engaging in his usual sidestepping. He’s so proficient at the act you swear he could moonlight as a crab. This mental image earns a barely contained giggle from you, one that further sours his mood, if such a thing were possible.

Knowing you as intimately as he does, he correctly assumes that he’s the unwitting source of your amusement.

“I can’t stand you,” he grumbles. Whether it’s to you or himself, you can’t decide. “Truly, I can't.”

“Then hand me over to someone who can.”

There’s a flash in his eyes then — otherworldly, malicious — he disregards composure like a snake abandons shed skin. He rises in a flash. Inhumanly cold fingers take your chin captive, bringing you closer to him, his delight in the ease with which he can manhandle you evident. Always the type to go for grand gestures, this one. His theatrical outbursts befit his moniker.

Scaramouche grins, beset with an onslaught of bitterness akin to a black hole. It draws in and swallows anything unfortunate enough to be nearby.

“You just love testing my patience, don’t you?”

If you feared him, maybe you’d tremble, but you don’t, so you are still. It’s likely that you should fear him. He is volatile, a mess of contradictions too complicated to untangle, a vessel who fills himself with acrimony, the same way humans must with air. He delights in it and considers it his birthright.

Your smile is not without kindness and that’s what bothers him most.

“Come, don’t pout. I have no intentions of being complicit in whatever havoc you'd wreak if I was with another.”

His eye twitches at the pesky word ‘another’. The mere thought of this faceless, nonexistent being having the audacity to lay claim to you, even in the land of fantasy, has his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening. You can see the ripple of muscles beneath his synthetic skin. He’s a wonder, this proprietorial doll, who can exalt and condemn you in the same breath.

You are mine, and mine alone, his eyes seem to scream, and I’d sooner end the world than exist in it without having you for myself.

“You really do scowl too much,” you reiterate your opinion from earlier, gently, almost sweetly. Whatever spell Scaramouche was under temporarily breaks, or perhaps he’s held prisoner to a new one, far more agreeable if not equally dangerous. “Your face is too pretty to always be frowning.”

You enchant him by running your finger over his lower lip. It trembles by your command. His eyes go lidded, a lovelorn haze obscuring the former tempest. He can never decide if he wants to destroy or devour you. For someone like him, he can’t do one without the other. His love for you is a death sentence, despite the immortality that should’ve never belonged to your mortal body.

It’s you who kisses him.

He temporarily forgets himself. The arrogance, the hurt, the fear that you might slip between his fingers should he ever relax his hold. You find him foolish in that regard. He can have you in the palm of his hand if he likes, and you know he’d like that very much. There’s nowhere else for you to be. Not when he’s seen to the fact himself.

Scaramouche melts into your person, returning your kiss with rapture, drunk on the way you offer yourself to him. He makes a deep, breathy noise, willing you closer, demanding total subservience. You let him have his way. Civilizations could rise and fall in the seconds that follow, and he’d pay them no mind, too absorbed with savoring your temporary connection.

It is what he lives for; what he'd kill for.

His fair skin is flushed when you part. From the apple of his cheeks to the tip of his ears, he’s painted in a color from your palette. The pigmentation suits him. Red is the color around his eyes, of his longing for you, and of what would spill across the land should you ever part.

“There,” you whisper, as if it were a secret meant for him alone, “That look suits you far better.”

He wants to deny it — you can tell by how his grip tightens — but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. If he gets to delight in you, it’s only fair that you can occasionally delight in him, he supposes.

Such is your capricious nature.

#i wanna chew on him #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x raeder #yandere genshin impact x reader #scaramouche brainrot #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #reader insert #my stuff

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chibieggplant · 1 month

Text

Allies

Angy Law | Fluffy

Inspired by @mariistyping fic Allies? No

You had initially gone to the medical bay to seek out Law and review the plans for the upcoming mission. Although only a few weeks had passed since meeting each other, the bond between the two of you had grown significantly, resulting in a unique connection that was hard to ignore. You found yourself sitting intimately next to him, with your legs casually draped over his lap. As Law's fingers traced along your jaw, you inched your face closer to his, and the conversation about plans became irrelevant and faded away. It would be an understatement to say you both were startled when Nami waltzed into the room, talking about how Chopper needed more medical supplies.

Nami's sudden appearance surprised you both, breaking the spell that had fallen over you. Looking over to see her expression, which could only be described as shock, you quickly got off of his lap and hid away the feelings of embarrassment that started to creep up on you. The two of you had decided to keep your feelings for each other a secret for now, so Nami's suspicion as she narrowed her eyes, trying to process the situation was well warranted.

You discreetly cleared your throat, trying your best to appear nonchalant. While Law got up from his seat with a noticeable blush on his face, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “N-nami, we were just discussing the plans for the upcoming missions and reviewing the erm…” You could tell by the look in her eyes and her slightly amused expression that she knew exactly what was happening. Looking back at you, she smirked and responded. "Oh, is that right? I'm sure you two were...discussing everything."

“W-well, we’re allies, so naturally, staying prepared is crucial. And uh, hence why we were…we were making sure we are ready for…” you trail off and shift your gaze to Law, who is now looking at you with narrowed eyes. “Anyway...I think the plans are pretty much sorted, yeah, so…” you briskly walk past Nami, making a beeline to your room to dodge any potential questions and further humiliation.

Nami's smirk didn't fade as you hurried out of the room, leaving behind an awkward and tense atmosphere between her and Law. As soon as you were out of the room, the two of them started staring at each other in silence. Law was both annoyed at your haste and frustrated at himself for being so reckless, but more than that, he was pissed at your choice of words. “Allies?" He muttered under his breath. That was a mistake. Your choice of wording profoundly impacted him, stirring something deep inside him which led him to question who you saw him as. He acknowledged that he had no right to be upset with you, but the word you chose left him feeling angry nonetheless. “Excuse me” Without sparing even a passing glance towards Nami, he strode hastily towards your room.

Your attempt to dodge Nami seemed to have been a catalyst to kickstart Law’s need to confront you. His steps were quick and heavy as he walked through the halls of the Thousand Sunny. He stormed in your room without knocking. He was clearly pissed off, and it showed. "y/n-ya..." His voice was soft, yet firm.

You were lying on your bed with your head buried in your arms, lost in a sea of self-pity and embarrassment when Law burst into your room. As he stood there, staring at you, his eyes were filled with frustration and annoyance. As your gaze met his, an almost palpable tension filled the silence that ensued.

“Allies?..." There was a slight tinge of hurt when he asked the question. He glared at you for a few moments before speaking again. "Was that the best you could come up with? Allies? Is that how you see me? An ally?" his tone was laced with a hint of sarcasm and bitterness. He let out a small snort and crossed his arms, looking away with an agitated expression.

“We said we weren't going to tell anyone!” you protested as you stood up from the bed. “I didn't expect Nami to come waltzing in. That was the best I could come up with on the spot…” you uttered with a slight pout.

Your statement had done little to appease Law's agitation. Instead, it only fueled it further. His expression only hardened. "That's not the point, y/n-ya! You could have come up with any other word besides allies!" He spoke harsher than he intended, his voice slightly rising.

“Well…well, what would you have referred to us as?” You crossed your arms in a huff. He was taken back by your counterquestion. His expression softened slightly as he realized you had a point. His stance stiffened, and he looked down slightly, his voice losing some of its sternness. "I-i don't know…Friends? Or..." he stopped speaking, his voice fading away as he let out a deep sigh of frustration “But definitely not allies.." he mumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed with himself for becoming so annoyed at the situation. There was a short moment of silence before he sighed again and his expression softened once more. Instead of speaking, he simply stepped towards you and pulled you into a warm embrace. “We’re not allies” He murmured softly as he nestled his face in the nape of your neck.

The suddenness of his embrace caught you off-guard, but you welcomed it willingly as you wrapped your arms around him, too. He was so warm, and the comforting pressure of his body against yours made it easy to bury your worries. You were both silent for a while, with only the sound of his heart beating strongly against your chest. Finally, you broke the silence by whispering. "Just so you know, you're much more than an ally."

When you spoke, he could feel your soft breath on his neck. A warm smile spread across his lips as he let out a small chuckle. You could feel his tension slowly subsiding as he pressed a kiss firmly to your neck “Good," He said simply. His embrace slowly loosened slightly, but he still maintained a firm grip, refusing to let go just yet. There was a pause before he finally spoke again. "You know I don't like all the mushy stuff, right?" He mumbled, his voice low and quiet.

Though his tone didn't quite capture it, you knew there was a slight smile on his face as he made his comment. It made you grin faintly as you nuzzled your face into him. He was right, though. He was terrible at mushy stuff; but it was cute when he tried. “Yeah, I know” As you nestled into his arms, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The warmth of his embrace made you feel secure, and you knew that he cared for you sincerely.

"But…I'll make an exception just for you, okay?" He drew back a bit, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. This all was still a new experience for him, but he was making an effort for you. You could feel his heartbeat quickening as he tried to hold on tight to his cool and stoical exterior. He didn't want to be the type to get too sappy, but he couldn't help himself from time to time. His hand rose to gently stroke the side of your face as his gaze locked with yours. "Besides…now I have a girlfriend. I guess I better get used to it." As he spoke, his voice grew softer, and his hands gently moved to run through your hair. Your heart skipped a beat as he called you his girlfriend for the first time. “Girlfriend?” you whispered softly.

"Girlfriend." He said once again, this time firmly and clearly. "Now when someone asks you about our relationship, you can say boyfriend, not ally” Although he intended to say this playfully, it was evident that he was expressing his thoughts seriously.

You let out a quiet chuckle, finding yourself smiling as he held you. Him calling you his girlfriend was a pleasant surprise. Though not quite the romantic gesture you expected, it was comforting and endearing in its own way. He may not yet feel comfortable being all cutesy and sappy, but this was more than enough to make you happy. You felt his eyes fix onto yours as he smiled, his gaze filled with warmth. “So, does this mean we can finally tell everyone about us?” you grinned with anticipation, hoping that he'd give a positive response.

Unable to resist a smirk, he returned your grin and gave you a quick nod. "I think we can. Maybe it's a good thing Nami caught us. Now everyone can know that I'm your boyfriend.” His smirk grew as he whispered that last part, his voice tinged with a subtle note of possessiveness. He hadn't intended to come out like that, but he found himself wanting to make it known that he was your significant other.

Your smile widened at the response. You were happy to be able to announce your relationship openly finally and have confirmation on the relationship between you. As he continued to grin, his hand rose to brush the strands of hair out of your face, and he leaned forward slightly to whisper another few words. “Just to clarify, I'm yours, and you're mine, alright? And no one gets to touch what's mine.” He had a subtle tone of voice, seemingly humorous, but in reality, he meant every word.

The tone of his voice and the hint of seriousness he conveyed left you in no doubt that he meant what he said. Although the sentiment may have seemingly been playful, it was evident that he fully meant it, albeit in his own way. You smirked once again before leaning towards him, your fingers reaching up to grab his hand. "I can't decide which is cuter. Your mushy moments or the possessive side of you." You giggled before adding, “But I think I like both.”

He smirked and shook his head, his face now a deep shade of pink as he realised how mushy he had just been. After a moment, he sighed and let out an amused chuckle as he squeezed your hand. "Oh, shut up. I know I don't give off a romantic vibe." He replied with a flicker of irritation, although he knew he was anything but irritated right now as he continued to gaze into your eyes.

You feigned a scowl as he expressed his irritation, and you responded playfully. "And yet here you are being adorable and mushy…you could have fooled me." With that said, you gave a soft chuckle as you squeezed his hand once again. In a moment of impulse, you drew close to him until you faces were only a few inches apart. Your movements were enough to catch his attention, and he noted the distance between you. He let out an amused sigh and raised a brow. You could have sworn by the quick flash of his grin that he was enjoying this, even if he wouldn't admit it. You were about to speak, but you were cut off by Law suddenly leaning in and locking his lips with yours. Your breath hitched as his hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer to him. His lips were warm and welcoming as he embraced you passionately.

As you wrapped your arms around him, your lips seamlessly blended with his in a heated kiss that felt natural and effortless. The embrace of his arms around you made you feel safe and secure as if nothing else in the world mattered. As his hand reached up, he gently caressed the back of your head while his lips pressed against yours, deepening the kiss with a firm yet tender touch. He drew you in, his lips parting as his tongue flicked across your lower lip. He let out a soft hum, his tone filled with intensity as he pulled back a bit, caught up in the moment. He uttered just one word -”Mine”- but it carried a weight that left no room for doubt. He leaned in to kiss you once more, your mouths meeting in a tender embrace. His hands smoothly glided down the curves of your body, firmly grasping the sides of your waist, bringing you even closer to him.

When your mouths met again, you could feel his intensity as your bodies pressed together. As if driven by sheer passion, he placed one hand on your lower back and pushed tightly against you, his other hand reaching up and wrapping around the back of your neck. His touch radiated heat as the heat of the moment filled the air. Your breath hitched with each movement, and your lips parted in a soft gasp. You could barely catch your breath in moments, the passion filling every corner of your being. His kiss was vigorous and consuming but filled with tender affection as he parted his lips to speak.

"Always remember, you belong to me, and I belong to you" his voice was soft and smooth, although you could sense the undercurrent of possessive intent creeping into his tone. The hand on the back of your neck tightened ever so slightly, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you back into another kiss. He made sure to express all his intentions clearly, and he did so successfully. He wanted you to understand that you were his.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #anime

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merakiui · 1 year

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Mother

yandere!kabukimono x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, pregnancy, implied codependency, brief mentions of murder/death, brief mention of childbirth note - recently i was inspired to write a kabukimono story, so i hope you can enjoy it!

i. the miracle of life.

There is a little human growing within you.

Kabukimono has never heard of such a phenomenon, but according to you it’s a normal facet of life for all creatures. He, who has only ever interacted with men, young and old, and the occasional grandmother, has never known the word pregnancy. It’s a complicated concept he struggles to parse at first—like that first sip of sake or the stickiness of a sweet. It’s something that leaves you pleasantly rounded like a ripe lavender melon, softens the skin on your bones, and allows you to grow into the kimono that was once two sizes too large. It’s something you speak of with overwhelming warmth, a fondness so enticing it’s almost tangible. It’s something the men at the furnace discuss with great pride and merriment, swapping stories of their beautiful, beloved wives and the tiny miracles that dwell within the womb, adoration painted upon weathered countenances.

Miracles. Kabukimono has heard the word once or twice. Miracles, as he has come to learn, are wonderful things wrapped in silks. Newborns swathed in softness. Frail humans who manage to overcome illnesses that are said to snuff both body and soul with the excruciating passage of time. Sometimes a miracle is simple and not nearly as exciting as tales of heroes and villains or a mortal fight for recovery. Sometimes a miracle is waking up to begin another day. Sometimes it's torrential rain battering thirsty farmlands. Sometimes it’s a delicious meal prepared by a loving hand.

If Kabukimono’s existence were to be defined as a miracle, it would be both a grandiose, gilded lie and bittersweet flattery all in one pretty package. Miracles are wanted, loved, and accepted. Disasters, curses, failures—however you wish to name the wandering puppet—are unwanted, despised, and abandoned. Kabukimono may not know every truth of this vast world, but this is one he’s understood from the moment he awoke in a lonesome pavilion.

There is a little miracle growing within you.

“Although they’re not very little now,” you remark, taking his cold, bloodless hands in your warm, blood-filled ones.

You guide them to your belly, secured snugly with a hara-obi, and he averts his gaze, if only to be respectful of the bare flesh you’ve put on display. The men at the furnace note he often stares at you; they’ve said it’s unbecoming of a young man to fix licentious eyes upon a maiden. Once, they joked of repentance for invasive gazes: A man who strays too far from his honor when a lady is involved shall gouge his eyes out and present them to her in hopes of earning forgiveness. Kabukimono, unable to comprehend the sarcasm or the laughter, procured a shard of shattered glass, raised it to his eye, and was promptly stopped by a very concerned Niwa.

“Now listen here,” he had said, addressing the group of chuckling men, “it’s not very honorable to trick others.”

Kabukimono knows that there are two types of tricks: the painful kind and the painless kind. Betrayal falls under the painful category. Swapping his bitter tea for sake falls under the painless category (though he was not spared of the dizzying, disorienting effects or the subsequent hangover). Had he sliced his eyes from his skull, he wonders if he would have felt the sting, the agony, the fluid filling empty eye sockets—if such fluid even exists within his unique anatomy. Kabukimono is grateful for Niwa, for he often rescues him from painless tricks that may turn painful should he follow through with blind trust.

And, had he truly lost his eyes that day, he never would have had the pleasure of looking at you like he does now.

“Not very little…” he parrots, and he can practically feel the heartbeat from your miracle the moment his hands rest upon your belly. It shimmers in the candlelight, but that’s only because you’ve applied herbal oil meant to soothe weary muscles and prevent stretch marks. “How big will it become?”

You hum, idly trace patterns onto the tops of his hands, and say, “It’s difficult to approximate. Imagine…a very big lavender melon.”

Kabukimono can do that. He peers past you at the purple pile on the table, spoils from his last walk. He always returns with too many, but then pregnancy leaves you with a voracious appetite and sometimes you can eat more than one melon in one sitting. It’s very admirable, so he brings more each week and you never stop him.

“That’s big,” he mumbles, awestruck, and he slides a hand across the width of your stomach. “How does it fit?”

“It’s a miracle.”

“Oh.” He leans closer, suspecting he feels movement from within, and he’s proven correct when something shifts under his palms. His eyes, blown so very, impossibly wide, flick up to yours. “It… It moved!”

“Of course,” you say, smiling, and your eyes are the prettiest gemstones in the moonlight. He could stare at them forever. “They kick and squirm often. This, too, is the sweetest miracle.”

“How so?”

“A restless baby means they are alive and well within.” You look like a statue of the gentlest goddess when you cradle your stomach. “It’s all I could ever hope for.”

Curiously, Kabukimono withdraws his hands and lifts the hem of his silks to view his own flat, porcelain stomach. He presses a palm against synthetic skin. It’s cold, but there is life crackling beneath his hand, just barely contained within the frame his mother personally sculpted.

Mother. It’s another word he knows well, but he cannot seem to apply it to anyone other than his creator. But, as he has come to learn, a mother is meant to provide and protect. His mother is currently absent, so she cannot do those things.

“You must have something you want.”

Kabukimono lowers the fabric, cinches it tight, and peers at you. “Something I want?”

“Like a miracle of your own.”

“I am unable to conceive a miracle.”

You stare at him for a moment before laughing a quiet, melodious laugh. “It doesn’t have to be a child. It can be anything you want.”

His hands rise to his chest and he intends to admit his true wish—a heart and a place amongst humans—but instead he says, “I would like a mother for myself.”

“Do you not have a mother, Kabukimono?”

“I do… I did.” He shakes his head, finding that the admittance is too troublesome on his tongue. “I’m…unsure.”

You nod, your features softening with understanding. “Perhaps something else then?” Kabukimono reaches out to touch your belly, hesitates, and draws away, conflicted. You offer an encouraging smile. “You can touch. I don’t mind, and I don’t think the baby minds either.”

And so he does.

“I want to see your miracle when it’s brought into the world,” he whispers, speaking more to your baby than to you. “And I would like to know the miracle of life.”

As if in response, your little miracle kicks.

ii. the miracle of death.

Your little miracle almost fell from the sky that envelops it.

On the way to the furnace, a man bumped into you and you were sent stumbling on uneven ground. Kabukimono does not want to think of what could have happened if he hadn’t been a few steps behind—if he hadn’t rushed to your aid with a quickness rivaling lightning. He’d caught you in his arms and, noting the raw panic sullying such a friendly face, could only exhale a slow, relieved sigh.

When you fell, you were holding your belly, shielding it as if it was worth more than your own life. When you fell, the man who had been the catalyst for this short-lived horror did not jump in to catch you. When you fell, you were a sliver away from tragedy.

Kabukimono tastes red-hot anger in his throat, but he cannot understand where it’s coming from or why it consumes him entirely. But he must get it out of his system. It’s unpleasant and wrong and sordid. He doesn’t like it. Not at all.

And so, later that same day, he repays terror tenfold and leaves the man clinging to the strand he calls life.

“I won’t allow you to take my miracle away.” It’s spoken like a fact, shot through with syllables of deadly certainty. The sharpened tip of his blade prods at the man’s abdomen, a warning, a threat, and a promise all at once. For nearly taking a life, you shall pay for it with your own.

“Your mother?” the man had sputtered, terrified and confused, sticky with sweat and tears.

Kabukimono does not let the man speak again, for the sword sinks into his stomach, and unease morphs into painful torment. To be certain the man won’t survive, Kabukimono twists the sword, sullies his hands in the process, and yanks it free with startling strength. Blood speckles a pristine canvas. It’s warm and wet.

He did not say mother. He did not. You’re a miracle. You are not his mother. You will be a mother to your miracle, not him because he isn’t a miracle.

He did not say mother.

Kabukimono finds himself sitting across from you now. There is a ghastly tear in crimson-spattered silks. You suspect the truth in the liquid staining his attire. Surely you must. But you keep your lips pursed and thread the needle through with expert fingers, humming as you work. Kabukimono sits primly, watching you with bright, indigo hues. You hum a melody he has never heard before.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m uninjured.”

“I’m glad.” You snip the excess string away and tuck the needle into your sewing kit. “It’s fixed. I’m sorry if it looks a little awkward. I’m not the best at—”

“It’s perfect,” he insists, admiring the stitching as if it’s the most valuable thing in all of Teyvat. Irreplaceable, for no one could replicate your exact pattern, and that’s what makes it so special.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He’s quiet for all of two minutes before the silence shatters his resolve. “Your miracle…” He frowns, suddenly ashamed. “He almost hurt your miracle…”

“But he didn’t, and I have you to thank for that.” You hold your hands out, palms up, and add, “Your hands aren’t meant to break and destroy others. You were given these precious palms to embrace others, to protect others, to respect others.”

Slowly, he places his hands in yours. His seem to weigh heavy like a grimy sin, yet somehow all it takes is a single touch from you and all of his filth is cleansed. His fingers curl around yours, entwining like vines.

“I will embrace others. I will protect others. I will respect others.”

You squeeze his hands reassuringly. “When you’re upset, rather than acting rashly, take a step back and sit with your feelings. If the unpleasant thing persists, come to me and we can discuss. But please don’t take your frustrations out on others. You weren’t made to hurt others.”

“Then if I was not made for destruction, what else could be the purpose for my creation?”

To that, you’re unable to produce a satisfactory reply. Instead, you pull one of your hands free, lick your thumb, lean towards him, and scrub the blood from his cheeks. He blinks at you, unaccustomed to such consideration. The men at the furnace often tease him for trailing after you like a lost, little duckling, seeking your approval and affection. Tonight, since the men are nowhere in sight, he thinks he can allow himself to be greedy without any admonishments from Niwa or Katsuragi. You sure do like that (Name), huh? the latter often muses, exchanging wary, furtive glances with Niwa, as if both are preparing to weather a calamity.

Kabukimono always speaks the truth unless he must take care to conceal it. So when he tells them, I like her more than I like the world that surrounds me, he means it. Because without you there is no world.

“Thank you, Mother,” he murmurs, as if it’s a secret, a title not meant to be uttered by him.

Oh, he said it again. He said mother.

iii. the miracle of motherhood.

Kabukimono kneels at your bedside like an angel of death dressed in the purity of white. He watches you throughout the hour, listening to your cries, your groans, your hisses, while a grandmother assists below, whispering soothing consolations that somehow reach Kabukimono’s ears despite the shrill noises that fill the room. Kabukimono has learned she’s a granny who delivers life, so he puts his faith in her to take good care of you and your miracle.

The process is much longer than he anticipated. Though you’re covered in sweat and tears, your chest heaving, your hand searching for him in the midst of the commotion, you are the most beautiful miracle he has ever known. He closes his hand around yours and you squeeze so hard you might just tear his wrist from the joint. But it doesn’t hurt him, and he spends the afternoon at your side, watching the toll the miracle takes on your body.

He never blinks, burning the scene into his retinas.

Some time later, you are holding your miracle in your arms, tears tracking down your cheeks in salty streaks. Kabukimono watches mother and child with wide, adoring eyes. After all this time, your miracle is finally here! You’re holding such a fragile human and there is love trickling from your lash line. Kabukimono wants to cry with you, but the tears won’t come.

So instead he smiles. You seize his wrist and drag him down to where you rest, and the smile widens.

“Your miracle is leaking,” he observes, and you snort in amusement.

“Crying,” you correct, bumping your forehead with his. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

Kabukimono is inclined to agree, but your eyes are not on him. For the first time in the many months he’s been acquainted with you, he is not all you see. Somehow that saddens him, carves a hole into him, but he can’t mourn. He shouldn’t. He’s come to learn that the miracle of childbirth is an occasion worthy of celebration. He should be happy for you—and he is—but there is a pang in his chest. Something is not fitting where it should. Something is amiss.

“I think I’ll name her…Aika.”

“Is it common to give miracles names?”

“Of course. Everyone has a name, even you. We’re all given one the moment we’re born.”

Even me…

Aika continues to cry and you rock her to and fro in your arms, shushing her with a song. She settles within minutes, lulled to sleep, and you follow shortly after. He refuses to leave your bedside, preferring to watch over you like a dutiful guard.

Kabukimono weighs his two warring wants: a name of his own, generously given by his mother, and you. In this very moment, you are attainable. A name, however, is not. But perhaps he can survive without one if it means you’ll accompany him through nameless wandering.

He’s only ever whole when he’s with you.

iv. the miracle of rebirth.

The Balladeer stands at an all-too-familiar doorstep. He has since swapped his pure linens for a shroud of darkness, and he’s taken on a new alias (he refuses to call it a name, for only you can grant him one). You haven’t changed in the many years that have since followed, for you are not fully human like him. Yet you veil yourself in the wonders of humanity, always empathetic in nature, tainted with weak emotions. You will never be human, but then neither will he and there is catharsis in similarity. The both of you stand on equal ground in that regard, or so you might have thought.

He is better because he feels nothing, or so he believes. Perhaps, in the center of the labyrinth that is his mind, he recognizes his flaws and the fact that he is worse because you can accept the many aspects of humanity.

Shrugging these irritations away, he composes himself, squares his shoulders, and knocks thrice. He could forego etiquette altogether, kick your door down, and force himself inside for the sake of a cruel surprise, but he refrains from doing so. He suspects your newest miracle might tumble from your sky if he shocks you and then you will never know the sweet cycle of motherhood again.

You know better than to ignore Death when he comes knocking. The door opens wide; there’s no need to crack it and peek through the thin sliver when you’re already aware of the person who awaits you on the other side.

As he has observed over the course of many months, you do have another miracle, hidden under the softness of a floral-patterned kimono. He smiles at you, sharp and wicked under a blanket of stars, and spreads his arms for a hug.

“Mother,” he says in a sarcastic singsong, knowing it unnerves you terribly when it spills like sin from his lips. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Like an old habit, you welcome him in. Beyond your doorstep, the corpse of your most recent lover lies slumped and bloodied, decapitated and disemboweled, dragged so far there’s a vermilion trail marking the path. Sometimes you think these humans are not killed by The Balladeer but rather by the sheer ferocity of the hatred and anger he harbors. He’s always diligent with each of your lovers, swooping in the moment he catches their scents, like a predatory cat finely tuned for slaughter.

He palms at your stomach, uncharacteristically gentle. “Aren’t you just full of miracles, Mother?”

There is a little human growing within you, and The Balladeer has made it his duty to bear witness to the birth of each one of your miracles.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere kabukimono #yandere kabukimono x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader

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kitasgloves · 6 months

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SUNA RINTARO is aware of how mean he can get. He knows that he has a potty mouth. He's creative with insults and revels in getting under people's skin. He isn't technically considered the kindest guy in the room but he wasn't heartless. His moral compass wasn't fucked up. His personality of a nosy and sarcastic middle blocker gained him a reputation.

He wasn't sure how you found him yet here you are, capturing both his attention and heart. You combated his backhanded insults with clever rebuttals that rendered him speechless. You matched his sarcasm like no other. You handled his nosiness like an expert. And holy shit Suna thinks, it's impossible to not going to gain feelings for you.

You taught Suna how to be patient. His relationship with you made him realize that he's capable of being a romantic, something he found ridiculous back then. He wouldn't have imagined holding hands while walking down the street, kissing in sidewalks, dates at the park, cuddling under the stars, and falling asleep with you in the same bed. You made Suna believe that he couldn't live a life without you.

But then again, Suna was mean. On the other side of those sweet romantic moments were bitter ones. Another thing with Suna was that he's prideful. He has the need to prove that he's right and to justify his actions. He's petty enough to hurl personal insults at you during an argument. His tone is venomous and passive aggressive, he never shouts at you. But there's an underlying tone of maliciousness that can't get over your head. Suna thinks it's normal for couples to have arguments and that he doesn't have to worry about upsetting you.

However, when he throws you a foul comment about an insecurity of yours, he sees the flash of hurt within your eyes and his heart stops. You always tried to be the bigger person during arguments, often trying to de-escalate the situation and take every jab from Suna because you know it wouldn't be mature to insult him back. But now, it begins to sting.

Suna falls silent, racking his brain for the right words to say. But he's too late, your eyes are already wet.

"What the hell, Rintaro?"

The ache in your voice delivered a dagger through his chest. Suna knew he fucked up the moment you turn away and walk out the door. For once, he regrets having a shitty personality. It's rare enough for someone to tolerate his behavior, and it was you. But he has hurt you all because of his stupid pride.

He begins to think of the horrors. You returning only to collect your things in his apartment and end your relationship with him. His blood went cold thinking about it. Suna thought about being replaced by somebody else, then his blood went hot. When his emotions blocked all logical thought, that's when he realizes that he has lost.

You and Suna didn't speak for days, he granted you some space. When you text him to finally talk, he has never jumped up from his bed faster in his entire life. He meets you by your favorite spot at the fountain at the park, where you both shared your first kiss.

When Suna saw you as he approaches, his chest grows tight. He thinks you're going to break up with him, it seemed inevitable considering the shit he has done. As he stops in front of you, you offer him a tiny smile.

"Hey"

"Hi"

There was silence. Suna was unsure if he should be the one speaking. He has never felt this scatterbrained in his life.

"Rin, I'm sorry I walked away that time"

What the fuck? Suna wasn't stupid to know you shouldn't be the one apologizing. One more thing about Suna is that he horrible with apologies. He rarely said sorry for the shit he did. God, he's such a dick. He's the one who insulted you yet you come back to say sorry. He thinks that you pushed back to he hurt in hopes to fix what happened between you and him. Suna felt like a total asshole.

"No, [Name]. You shouldn't be apologizing"

"...You're so mean sometimes, Rin"

"I'm always mean, even to you babe"

"Yeah, you hurt me real bad"

"I know, I...I'm sorry"

"I still love you Rin no matter how shitty you get"

"You're the only one I know that does that"

Suna suddenly feels small when you walk up to him with an embrace. He lets himself melt in your arms. He closes his eyes and soaks in your warmth. He can't believe he almost lost you, he couldn't bear to experience it again.

"I'm sorry for being a dick, [Name]"

"Don't tell me you're going to cry"

"I'm not! Are you trying to be mean to me right now?"

"Just a little payback that's all"

Suna laughs. Oh, he adores you so much. And he knows he's your big meanie.

#— ♬ ©kitasgloves #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna x you

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strafepanzer · 7 months

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chapter four: loose ends

of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! angst, more talking about feelings, fem and male receiving oral, making out, alcohol consumption

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: 6.7k

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: ahhhhhh omg i love the last scene of this fic so much, i hope you enjoy it too!!

Overthinking has always come easy, but this is just ridiculous.

Thoughts plague you as you wander with the rest of the group through the forest path towards the beach. Chatter flows effortlessly, yet your mind ticks.

Why had Shouto acted like that with you? Did he overhear you in the dorm with the rest of the girls? Did he not like seeing you in your swimsuit? Did Bakugo say something to him? Either way, there was no reason for him to be acting like that towards you.

Your lonely upbringing led to you making friends with most people you came across, but your even matchup with Shouto all those years ago had you gravitating towards each other from the get-go. Your easy, fiery personality melted his cold, icy heart and it wasn’t long before you were study buddies, training partners.

You graduated high school together, entered university together. It wasn’t only huge milestones like those that you shared and bonded through, but simple things like going to movies with friends, bar-hopping; hell, you even organized a surprise birthday party for him at the beginning of year and invited everyone he’d formed friendships with over the years.

Including Momo, which you were kinda (very) bitter about at the time.

A shiver runs over your skin and you wrap your arms around yourself, glancing over at a very animated Denki as he explains the importance of nu-metal to Shouto.

Shouto with his two-toned hair and heterochromic eyes, with his fire and his ice, with his inability to read the room and lack of tact. You’d opened up to him about being an only child and having parents that worked away constantly, and he told you about his mum, why he hated his dad so much. Even so, he’d had his dad design you a suit that could withstand the even hottest flames, despite the fact that he never went out of his way to talk to him.

You were best friends.

It’s not his fault that you were – until yesterday— in love (was it love, really?) with him, and he didn’t feel the same. Not his fault that you felt you needed to distance yourself from him. What was his fault was the accusation that the guy you’d fallen for wasn’t genuine.

And he hadn’t even said anything about it to your face.

Why didn’t he say anything to you?

What you feel for Bakugo isn’t the same as what you felt for Shouto. For him, there was longing; there were schoolgirl fantasies of picket fences and weddings and two spoons for one dessert. Of a family with two kids and a dog and a cheesy adult life together. With Bakugo, it’s different. You want to touch him, hold him, feel him. You’ve fallen for his eyes, the dangerous way he looks at you, and his hands, how they feel on you, the size of yours in his; the way he speaks to you, calms you, treats you like you’re more than a crush. It’s now and it’s real, and you’re exploring it together.

You hold your cold fingers against your burning cheeks as you scan the group for him.

He’s looking at you from where he’s walking, a little bit ahead of you, and you speed up to catch him.

“You okay?” He mumbles, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his boardshorts. You resist the urge to drape yourself against him, the naked skin of his back and chest, swells and dips of his muscled arms. You hum a yes, but your eyes are on the ground. “Right, seems like you’re fucking swell.” His sarcasm is comforting, you knock him with your hip.

“Thinking about you.” Your words leave your lips in a sigh, and he arches a brow at you. It wasn’t a lie, not really. “You’re nice to me.” You smile, holding your forearms behind your back.

“Yeah?” He’s intrigued by your admission, probably more confused than anything. “Why are you thinking about that right now?”

“I told the girls I liked you, and they were confused. Apparently, you’re mean.” You shrug.

“Huh.” He raises his eyebrows, doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask why. He’s oddly calm.

“You don’t care that I told them?” You frown.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say anything.” You grumble childishly, he chuckles.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” He asks softly, drapes an arm over your shoulders, pulls you against him.

You’re sure you stop breathing. You look up at him, but he’s looking ahead— or pointedly avoiding your gaze, you’re not sure. It’s strange how natural it feels, and you smile despite yourself, pull your bottom lip between your teeth and take a breath in through your nose.

The air is cool, but you’re warm, heart beating sporadically in your chest as you walk through the woods, tucked under Bakugo’s arm. It’s peaceful, calm—

“Oi,” Eijiro calls, jogging up to fall into step next to you. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell your best friend that you’ve got a girlfriend.” He complains with a whiny sigh. “Unmanly, Kastuki.”

“Want me to tell you when I take a fucking dump too, dumbass?” Bakugo growls, pulls you closer. “It’s none of your fucking business.” He reiterates.

“I’m your best friend.” He complains, sets his eyes on you. They trail down your neck to your chest where your jacket is unzipped “I like your swimsuit.” He winks, and you flinch as Bakugo holds up a palm, sends off an explosion in his direction.

“Bakugo!” You scold, hide against his chest to shield your eyes.

But Eijiro’s ready for it, used to it, it seems. He simply dodges, flashes you a knowing smile. “Be gentle with him, he’s sensitive.” He winks, again.

“Fuck off, fuckface!” Bakugo yells, and with a laugh, Eijiro jogs back to Kaminari and the group of teens watching the interaction. Kyoka flashes you a thumbs up and you roll your eyes with a grin.

After a few moments, you look up at him. “You didn’t correct him when he called me your girlfriend.”

“You already said you’d be mine.” He shrugs. “If you don’t wanna put a damn label on it, we don’t have to.” His red eyes are looking down at you, ready for a response.

“No, I…” You make it out of the trees and onto the sand, see Aizawa in the distance with a huge bonfire ready to light. Bakugo stops walking, holds you close as your classmates walk past, shouts profanities at anyone who stares too long.

Shouto doesn’t look as he passes.

Your stomach knots up, and you snake an arm around Bakugo’s waist, pull yourself closer to him. He’s warm, and it’s comforting, solid and stable.

The sun is setting oranges and pinks and purples and blues in the sky, reflecting like molasses against the serene waves of the water. Higher in the sky, the moon’s already out, stars twinkling as twilight threatens to take over the sunset.

You don’t want to move, just want to stay under his arm, looking at the sky forever.

“D’ya wanna be my girlfriend?” He asks quietly, and when you look at him, he’s blushing, watching the sun set in the distance. You watch him for a minute, revel in the serenity of the moment; then you stretch up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“If it means you’re gonna be defending my honour, then yes.” You grin. His eyes flash down to your body, the curves of your torso, your bikini top. He bites his lip.

“Among other things.” He says lowly, voice husky as his free hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb drawing along your collarbone, nudging the jacket from your shoulder. “Your swimsuit,” His eyes are watching his fingers trace the orange piping of one of the triangles.

You shiver, and you’re sure nipple beads under his touch; your whole face heats up. “H-happy coincidence.” You whisper, the same twisty, fluttering feeling in your stomach returning.

He hums, lips descend to your neck. “Happy indeed.”

“Oi!” Eijiro yells from a distance. “We’re waiting!”

Bakugo huffs a sigh, kisses your neck gently. “To be continued.” He mumbles, nuzzling your ear with his nose, sending another shiver up your spine. He zips up your jacket—all the way to the top—zipper tickling your chin.

“Okay.” You laugh, step away from him and drag your hand down his arm, linking your fingers. A shy smile grows on your face as you lead him over to the group, Aizawa is staring at the pair of you with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s this? A couple? In my camp? I give you all far too much freedom.” He grumbles, and Bakugo squeezes your hand. Kyoka pokes you in the arm, waggles her eyebrows when you look at her. “We’ve been cut short.” He says, sighing. “We’re heading back tomorrow because of reasons out of my control, so I’ve put on a party for you.”

“A party?” Deku gasps, chatter ensues.

“But!” Aizawa calls over the noise. “I have a speech that you have to listen to before I go.” His eyes briefly shift to you and Bakugo, then to some of the other students. “I understand that youth is… exciting.”

“Sensei, please.” Kaminari groans. “Not the birds and the bees.”

He ignores him. “You’re making friends, dating, being young.” He takes a pause, for the drama, probably. “But for you, life after university doesn’t entail boring office jobs or climbing the corporate ladder, does it?” You glance around, everyone looks as confused as you. “You will be heroes. I know about your job offers. Four of you have offers overseas, the rest of you have at least one offer here.”

You see where this is going. The cool wind on the beach picks up, and you pull your hand from Bakugo’s grip to fold your arms.

“You’re bound to get even more offers come graduation.” He continues, takes a deep breath. “It’s going to be exciting and new, and although the bonds you create here will be lasting, they’ll be… interrupted.” He rubs his face, tucks some hair behind his ear. “What I’m trying to drive home is this: don’t let the bonds you have affect your journey. Don’t take an offer with a lesser company because your best friend is close by, or your girlfriend doesn’t want you to leave the country.”

You feel that last one like a slap in the face.

Suddenly the vague tidbit of gossip about Bakugo heading to the U.S after graduation is in the forefront of your brain.

There’s a heavy silence, and your stomach is in your throat. You want to look up at Bakugo, gauge his reaction, but you’re frozen.

“Well, just something to think about, I guess.” His tone lightens, and he picks up some bags. “I got takeout. Cooler is full of drinks, but please—for my sanity—don’t drink too much; All Might’s the one who put the deposit down on the cabin and it wasn’t cheap.” He hands a bag to you, one to Kyoka, two to Iida, and trudges off.

There’s a stunned silence, until Bakugo takes the bag from you, opens it and digs some containers out.

“I’m gonna have this one,” he says, holds it out for you to take. “What do you want?” Kaminari and Eijiro flank Kyoka for food and there’s chatter where Iida’s trying to fairly assign containers.

“Uh, the same?” Your voice is small, and he sends you a pointed glare. You cave, tell him your favourite take out dish, and he fishes it out, hands the bag to Deku.

“Come with me.” He grabs your hand, drags you towards the water’s edge. He sits, and you follow suit.

“Look, if you—”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, pokes you in the forehead. “I like you, you like me. Don’t fucking listen to him.”

“But—”

“If you don’t wanna do this, we won’t.” He frowns, rests a wrist on a propped-up knee.

“I do!” You argue, pout. He grins, leans over and kisses your lips.

“Then we’re doin’ it.” He takes his container from your hand, replaces it with yours.

You glance down at the food, his hands. “You forgot utensils.” He realises it as you say it, frowns over at you, embarrassed, then bounds up, heads back to the group. You follow him with the food, a little anxious at your classmate’s reactions to the PDA, but mostly everyone is busy, itching to eat something.

Shouto is crouching by the unlit bonfire, left pointer finger pointed at the base as if he wants to light it. He feels your eyes, turns, and you give him a small grin and a wave. He sends you a tight smile and turns away.

“Here,” Bakugo hands you a pair of chopsticks, follows your line of sight.

“He hates me.” You sigh, glance up at him. “Not that you care.”

“I care. I just don’t want the fucker getting between us.” He sends Shouto’s back a glare of his own, and nods towards Deku and Kaminari, who are sitting on a log with Kirishima and Sero; Kyoka’s on a towel in front of them. “Wanna sit with your friends?”

“They’re your friends, too.” You roll your eyes, lead the way over to them.

“Eh, I put up with Eiji for reasons unknown.” He shrugs, but you gasp at the nickname.

“Eiji?”

“Shut up.” He glares, but you just laugh, fall down onto Kyoka’s towel next to her.

“Hey.” You chirp, conversation stops. You get the feeling that if Bakugo wasn’t sitting down on the log next to Kaminari, that you’d be met with a thousand questions.

“Hey?” Kyoka scoffs, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“Yeah, can’t come over here holding hands and expect us not to ask questions.” Eijiro gets up, slides between Kaminari and Bakugo, nudges Bakugo, almost knocks him off the log.

“Fuckin’ shitty—” He grumbles, but you cut him off.

“Ask away.” You shrug, opening your takeaway box and hiding a smile behind it. They jump on you.

“How?” Kirishima.

“Why?” Sero.

“When?” Deku.

“What exactly is it about this guy that you like?” Kirishima asks again, and you feel all eyes on you. All questions directed at you.

“Ah, well,” you did offer for them to ask you. Bakugo’s eating, but you can tell he’s just as interested in your answers as everyone else. “Look at him.” You shrug.

There’s a burst of laughter and Denki and Sero are complaining.

“You can’t do that! You can’t just fall back on looks! He’s looked like that for years.” Denki complains, annoyed.

“Yeah, we wanna know what he did to finally bag you.” Sero grins, and Bakugo bristles.

Finally?

The boys on the log all see your confusion, and they glance at Bakugo, who is busying himself with his food.

“You didn’t tell her?” Eijiro asks, but Bakugo says nothing, shoves a lump of chicken into his mouth and looks out at the water.

“Tell me what?” You’re suspicious now, but it doesn’t outweigh your hunger. You hoe down another mouthful of food.

“He’s liked you since high school, that’s what.” The red head laughs. But it can’t be right, because the whole reason this thing with him started was because—

“I told you I didn’t like her like that.” He says, reading your thoughts as he waves his chopsticks in your direction. “Your imagination is fuckin’ wild.”

Eijiro ignores the interaction between the two of you. “Yeah, remember in our final year’s sport’s festival when you turned into a human torch and your clothes—” Disintegrated.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I don’t want to remember that.” You laugh, whole body heating up in embarrassment.

“You’re making me sound like a fucking pervert, it wasn’t because she was naked that I fucking—you know what? I don’t need—” Bakugo’s getting flustered, and you’re enjoying every second. “Just fucking drop it, or I’ll kill you.”

“Technically, Cementoss cubed her in before anyone could see anything anyway.” Kyoka adds, thumbing in your direction. “But you’re telling me that you knew, and you didn’t tell me?” She glares at Denki then, who jumps in shock at her accusation.

“He said he’d kill me!” He defends dramatically.

Your attention creeps back to your boyfriend—you’ll need to get used to calling him that—and you watch him as he eats, looks out to the ocean, steals a glance at you. You grin at him, and he blushes, rolls his eyes.

The rest of the class find their way to the adjoining logs, towels are laid down for the students that were too slow, as everyone sits down to enjoy the food. When the food’s gone—Iida, Izuku and Bakugo eat thirds—Denki rushes back to the house with Kyoka to get her hero boots—for music, of course—and chatter ensues.

Mostly about you and Bakugo.

Go figure.

“Come for a walk.” Bakugo holds his hand out for you to take, and you grab it. Then you’re slipping off your sandals and walking along the edge of the water, bathed by the last light of the barely there sun.

You chuckle, he glances down at you, brow arched in a silent ‘what?’. “You really like me.” You laugh, poking him in the stomach. “How embarrassing!”

“Wow.” He rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Really mature.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You ask, watching as the water runs up to cover your feet, sand tickling the tops of them.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He grumbles, looks up at the stars.

“Katsuki,” You smile, testing his name on your lips as you turn to him, cover your joined hands with your free one. “Kiss me.” You demand gently, propping up on your tippy toes, and licking your lips.

He doesn’t reply, just covers your mouth with his, presses a hand to the back of your neck. You drop his hands and run your fingers through his hair, hum against his lips as his other hand dips under your jacket and runs up your back.

With a surprising push, you tumble the both of you down onto the sand, laughing. You’re straddling him, running your hands down his torso, lips on his throat as he reaches for the lip of your zipper, runs it all the way down until your jacket’s open.

He breathes your name and you stop, push back to meet his eyes. “I, uh,” he starts, staring up at you; he pushes some hair from your face and runs his thumb along your wet bottom lip. “I’m not just… second best, right?” He says it so softly, you’re not sure it’d even come out of his mouth.

“No.” You frown. What? “No way.” You’re torn between being sad for him—it’d take a lot for him to ask—and being offended that he felt you’re ingenuine.

“Fuck, it’s just,” he breathes, drags his hand down his face. “I’m not used to this, and I’ve wanted you for a really fucking long time, so…”

“It’s okay,” You mumble, lean down to kiss his forehead. “I’m here.” His nose. “Touch me.” His lips. You look into his eyes for a brief moment, then his kissing you hungrily, hands in your hair, leaving you breathless.

“Okay you two, that’s enough!” Mina yells. You take your lips from Bakugo’s neck and sit up, send her a glare that she probably can’t see. The sun’s completely gone now, moon high up in the sky surrounded by the kind of stars you can only see out by the countryside. It’s nothing like being in the deep smog of the city.

Bakugo gropes your butt over your swimmers. “I’m not done.” He grumbles lowly. You laugh down at him, pinch one of his pretty pink nipples. “Oi—”

“Come on!” She yells, closer. “Geez, I can’t believe I’ve gotta find out about you two from Denki. Denki! I thought we were friends.” She rants, closer. You hop off of Bakugo, dust the sand from your knees and calves.

“I’m sorry, it’s kind of a sudden thing—”

“Why the fuck are you screaming at us to come back?” Bakugo snaps, turning his back to Mina, adjusting his… oh. You laugh and link arms with her, hold your hand out for him to take when he’s ready—which he does. It’s nice to hold his hand. Good to just be touching him.

“We’re about to light the bonfire, and y’know, who better to do it?” Mina sighs, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“Uh, Shouto?” You snort.

“Don’t know where he is. He took off with Momo and they’re not on the beach; Tsu said not to bother with looking for them.” She shrugs as the three of you trudge up the beach, through the soft, dry sand.

“Couldn’t have pretended you couldn’t see us, though? Fucking figures.” Bakugo mumbles, and you squeeze his hand, send him a smile over your shoulder.

“Shut up, stop being such an asshole.” Mina grumbles. A few of your friends cheer upon your arrival.

“Fire time!” Denki announces, bouncing up from the log he was perched by Kyoka on. “Okay, Fire Princess, light us up!” He does a jiggy dance, points dramatically at the fire. Mina jogs over to sit next to Toru, and Bakugo rests his chin on your shoulder.

“C’mon, Fire Princess, we’ve got things to do.” He whispers in your ear.

“Are you ‘things’?” You laugh, raise an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. You laugh and shake him off, move closer to the huge mound of logs and sticks and kindling, crouch at the base. Generally, you’d use your hands to shoot the fire, but you’d been training on something you called ‘dragon technique’ lately, and—if it didn’t get out of control—it’d look really fucking sick.

You pick a spot right at the centre of the base, between the logs and sticks, and—like blowing out a candle—you purse your lips and blow, the flames hitting their target with ease. Your friends cheer, and you shoot a look back at Bakugo as you tuck some hair behind your ear.

Like any normal fire without petrol, it takes a while to grow in size, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugo lays his towel out and you drape yourself between his legs, both of you watching the fire grow —and Ochako and Mina dancing in front of it—as Kyoka plays some pop/rock song that she’s been ‘totally obsessed with lately’ from her boots.

“Here!” Kirishima grins, throws you both a drink. You sit up to catch yours, the other one whooshes past your head and into Bakugo’s hand.

It’s beer.

“I don’t know if you drinking is the best idea.” Bakugo says lowly in your ear, reaching over to pluck it out of your hands. “Remember last time?”

“Last time?” Eijiro butts in, looking at you quizzically.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, boring story.” You laugh, toss a look over your shoulder at Bakugo, who’s drinking your beer, Adam’s apple bobbing.

You glance around and find Momo sitting with Mineta and Tokoyami, beers in their hands, no Shouto in sight, which is strange until,

“Can I have a word?” You look up and see Shouto, standing over you and Bakugo. God, he’s so fucking quiet, like a ninja. You feel Bakugo tense behind you, so you pinch his thigh.

“Yeah, of course.” You smile, moving to get up. Before you’re at full height, Bakugo grabs your jacket, pulls you down by the collar to plant a kiss on your lips.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the pleading look in his eyes; it shoots into your heart like an arrow.

“Be right back.” You smile, trying to reassure him, then you ruffle his hair and follow after Shouto, who must have walked off the moment Bakugo kissed you.

It’s quiet, besides the music thumping in the background. Serene.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, looking up at the moon. You follow his line of sight, take in the glowing orb, shadowy craters scattering its surface. When you don’t say anything, he elaborates. “I didn’t think of your feelings, or Momo’s. I can…” He takes a breath, huffs a sigh. “I can tell you like him, and he can’t keep his hands off of you, so—”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you’re making it weird.” You laugh, the weight of the past few days falling off of your shoulders. It's embarrassing how a few simple words could completely diffuse the situation.

“Bakugo seems to really like you, but if he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him.” He says seriously, stopping in his tracks, looking down at you.

“I think I’ll be okay, Shouto.” You smile. You hold out your arms for a hug, but when he steps closer, there’s a loud whistle.

You both look to see Bakugo watching, arms crossed over his chest. “TWO FUCKING FEET APART!” He yells, Kirishima chuckles into a fist next to him.

Shouto retracts his step, shakes his head with a smile. “As long as you don’t hate me.” He rests a hand on top of your head, smiles and takes it off.

“I don’t think I could, to be honest.” You beam up at him. And it’s the truth, he’d always hold a special place in your heart: the first love, the best friend. “C’mon, you need to go thank your girlfriend for making you a better person.” You nod towards the group, see Bakugo sit back on the towel in the distance.

“True, true.” He runs a hand through his hair, turns and begins walking you back to the group. “So, you’ll keep training with me?” He asks, almost a mumble.

“I… I hadn’t thought about stopping that, Shouto.” You say, brows furrowed. You usually spend holidays with the Todoroki’s, with your parents generally gone during them. Gone almost always.

Last year, you even spent Christmas with them.

Endeavour even called you the morning of your birthday.

“Good. Endeavour would be… disappointed.” He says slowly, flicking his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head.

You snort. “You mean, I wouldn’t be the buffer?” Endeavour treats you well to impress his youngest son; you know this, he knows this, his siblings know this. You elbow him. “I’m not stupid, Shouto.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles nervously, mildly ashamed. “I mean… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay.” He smiles as you walk back up to Bakugo and Kirishima. “Have a good night.” He calls, gives you one last smile, then scans the group for Momo, heads to her.

The sand crushes beneath your feet, gets between your toes. “Hey,” you call with a smile. Bakugo downs the rest of his beer and smashes the can, tosses it beside another one—also reduced to a misshapen tin ball. “Whoa, slow down, sexy; the night is still young.” You laugh, plant yourself in his lap.

“What, you’re not running off into the sunset with the man of your dreams?” He asks gruffly, signature scowl on his face.

You know he means Shouto, but you wrap your arms around Bakugo’s neck regardless. “No, I’m sitting on his lap while he makes listless accusations.”

“Ooh, big words.” His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, hands grab at your naked thighs.

“Big words for a big girl.” You grin back proudly, leaning up to press your lips to his. “Your girl, Mr I-Need-Constant-Validation.” Your hands sprawl over his chest, feeling the hard muscle, as his face flushes pink and he pouts.

“That’s not true.” He scoffs. You laugh and kiss him again, and Kirishima clears his throat. You pull away, embarrassed, and look over to him.

“Just want you to know that I’m still here.” He chuckles bashfully, flashing his razor-sharp teeth at you in a grin.

“Sorry—”

“Maybe you should leave then, idiot.” Bakugo snaps at him, eyes still on you.

“Mean.” You pout. “He’s your bestie.”

“I don’t see yours hovering around.” He says against your lips.

“I’m still here.” He groans, and you kiss again. “Alright, consider me gone.” He shakes his head with a slight laugh, springs up from his spot on the sand, mutters something as he walks away.

Bakugo actually laughs, and it’s so smooth and reassuring that you lean in for another kiss, drape yourself all over him. “I think… we need to ditch this party.” He whispers.

You agree, but deep down you know bonding with the group is important, especially now with graduation looming overhead. “The party just started! And Aizawa got us beer.”

“And vodka.” Kyoka announces her arrival, Bakugo groans. “Hey to you too, asshat.” She smiles, joins you on the towel, hands you a can.

“Thanks.” You smile.

Bakugo lifts you from his lap, places you easily next to Kyoka. “I’ll go get my own drink.” He says, sends your friend a glare, and trudges off.

“I know Denki’s an idiot, but that guy? Hard work.” She laughs, takes a sip. “Probably cranky because he’s up past his bedtime.”

You laugh, watch him as he approaches Momo and Shouto. “Ah, he puts up a front. Once you get past his hard exterior, he’s a softie.” You smile, turning back to her. She snorts. “He is!”

“Oh god, you really like him. Like, a lot.” She accuses, whacking your shoulder.

Yeah. Yeah, you do. It’s kinda scary, and Aizawa’s words ring back through your mind.

“Do you and Denki know what you’re doing after UA?” You ask, changing the subject, curious about what they’d discussed. As a couple.

“Hm? Ah, every time I bring it up, he gets upset.” She sighs, shakes her head.

“Really?” You take your first sip of the vodka, cringe at the sweetness as it hits your tongue.

“Mm.” She nods, lays down and rests her head on your lap. “We had another argument about it when we went back to camp to get my boots.” You smile sympathetically down at her, dust her bangs from her forehead with your fingers. “I actually have a lot of offers, mostly spy work, but still. He… he’s upset about it. Doesn’t want me to go too far.”

“That’s sweet, isn’t it? You sound annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” She frowns, tries to drink from her can laying down, but it dribbles from the side of her mouth, down your thigh, and you squeak, jolt at the cold.

“Shit!” You yelp, and she chokes on her drink as she laughs, and more splutters over your lap and your jacket as she struggles to sit up. “Kyoka!”

“I’m sorry!” She laughs, wipes tears from her eyes and vodka from her mouth.

“Get up, we’re going in the water.” You say, standing up, wiping at the rivulets running down your legs.

“Oh, no I’m not. It’s cold as fuck.” She frowns, swats your hands away as you try to grab her.

“Yes, you are! Come on, we’re at a beach!” You argue, stand to unzip your jacket, shrug it from your shoulders and let it fall to the towel. “Get up, Kyoka.” You’re pleading, now, hell-bent on getting in the water.

A low whistle travels through the air, just loud enough for you to hear over the music. You look around and see Mineta sitting on a towel not too far away, staring at you. He winks at you, and you bristle, your eye twitches in annoyance. But before you can chew him out, the menacing presence of your new boyfriend fills the air, and his hands are splaying over your stomach, his red eyes glaring at your pervy classmate.

“You like your eyes in their sockets, asshat?” He asks, just loud enough for Mineta to hear. He pales, swallows, and nods. “Then keep them off my girlfriend.”

It’s in that moment that you decide Bakugo’s scarier when he doesn’t swear. Its menacing, bone-chilling.

He reaches down for your jacket, kisses your lips on his way back up to standing. “Let’s get outta here.”

“But—”

“Gotta clean you up, don’t we?” He asks huskily, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your heart stammer, sends your brain into overdrive.

“Y-yeah, we do.”

“Okay, goodbye, have fun getting freaky.” Kyoka says quickly, and you poke your tongue at her, before you’re walking away under his arm, heading towards the forest.

“Hot spring?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“If we make it there.” He grins.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You narrow your eyes playfully, and he shrugs innocently as he takes you away from the forest path. “Bakugo,” you laugh. “Where are you taking me?”

“Just here, against this tree.” He grunts, swinging you around until you’re—laughing— backed up against the trunk of a thick redwood.

“What’s that even mean—” you ask, but he drops to his knees in front of you, and your whole body goes hot. The moon shines brightly through the canopy of the trees, bathing Bakugo in a kind of angelic glow, so incredibly unlike him. How ironic. He licks his lips as his hands reach for the backs of your knees, edges his mouth closer to your sticky thighs. “N—Baku—”

“Shh,” he coos softly, dark eyes staring up at you as you dig your fingers into the bark of the tree, suck your bottom lip between your teeth. His lips ghost over one of your knees and he trails slow—painfully slow—wet kisses up your thigh, licking over the sticky residue left over from Kyoka’s drink.

You manage to keep it relatively together, until a hand goes to your hip, and he licks up so close to the apex of your thighs that you moan, and he growls, hands gripping you tighter.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, voice rough and gravelly as he looks up at you, nose running up your clothed slit.

“Bakugo!” You jolt, but he doesn’t stop, replaces his nose with his lips, tongue. He pulls your hips closer to his face, tongue running along the nylon, drenching it, making it stick to your lips. Then a hand is gone from your hip, and your swimmers are pulled to the side, and his lips kiss your pussy, tongue licks a stripe up your folds, and your fingernails are digging into his scalp as your head thunks against the tree, eyes screwed shut because, “Fuck,” you breathe, gasping.

You can hear him growl, feel the vibration against your clit as he wraps his lips around the bud and sucks.

You barely muffle your cry, as pleasure runs hot through your bones and you go spineless, collapsing into his arms. He doesn’t give you much time to recover, kissing you hard, slippery tongue between your teeth coaxing more moans from you, revving you back up again.

His fingers rub you gently between your thighs, toying with the wetness. “I think we made a bigger mess.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groan, embarrassed, and he licks his lips before capturing yours again in another hungry kiss. You’re pulled onto his lap, straddling him, and rubs you more surely, teases you with a finger. “Do it,” you urge him, breathless yet again, and he wastes no time

“So wet, baby.” He moans, jerking his hips up with his finger’s thrusts, kissing your cheek, then your neck. Your head falls back, the now familiar pleasure building as he adds another finger.

“Let me… I’ll do you, too.” You breathe heavily, grabbing at the strings of his board shorts, ripping the Velcro open.

When you finally have him in your hands, he groans against your mouth, and you pull away from him to spit on your hand, before giving him a few wet pumps and kissing him again.

“You…” you breathe, and he looks at you, slows his fingers. “Do you want to pu—”

“No,” he chuckles, uses his free hand to push the hair from your face. “Not here.”

“Are you sure, because I—” he kisses you quiet, pushes a third finger into you, and your head falls to his shoulder, whole body on edge again. “Ahh, f—feels good, Katsuki.” You breathe, and he bucks up into your hand, reminding you to do him, too.

“Say it again.” He growls, licks a stripe up your neck, nips at your ear. “My name,” he breathes.

You moan, his fingers hitting that spot again, and again, and again—“Katsu—” and you’re coming again, back arching, whole body going tight, stars spinning behind your eyes as his face nuzzles your chest.

He pulls himself out of your hand, ready to finish himself off, but you’re hungry for him already, pushing him back, taking him between your lips for the second time that day.

He’s groaning—a salty, musky mess—and it makes your head spin, gives you a power you never even dreamed you’d have. You look up at him through your lashes, see his dark eyes drinking you in. He reaches down and pulls your bikini up—breasts springing free—and gropes at your tits, closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the grass in bliss.

You grip a thigh, hold him down with a splayed hand over his chiselled abs, and take him deep once, twice, three times, before coming up for air, eyes watering. He grunts, pushes back up into you, and you do it again. His hands are in your hair, holding you down as he calls your name, and he cums hot and heavy down your throat, cock pulsating between your lips.

You swallow all of him.

“Ah, s-sorry,” he breathes heavily, sitting up to check on you, pushing your hair from your face, and holding you like you’re made of glass.

“Mmm… Hold me,” you smile blissfully, fall against his chest as he chuckles, kisses your hair. “This’d be better in a bed. We could just… fall asleep.” He hums in response, traces patterns on your back, tickling the skin.

“Do you wanna go back to the party?”

“Won't that be… suspicious?” You smile up at him. He kisses you, holds your face with both of his hands, rubs his thumbs along your cheeks.

He’s stirring it back up within you, conditioning you to want him after every deep, sensual kiss. He pulls back, breathless.

“You think I give a fuck what those extras think?” He says, tone betraying the almost grin on his face. You roll our eyes, push away from him and stand up.

“Come on, then.” You whine, fix your bikini top, then the bottoms.

“Babe, you look so good; come back down here.” He bites his bottom lip, and it’s so sexy that your eyes go wide, face blazing as you take him in: half-naked, cock out, sweaty, flushed.

“If I come back down there to you, I’m making you fuck me, so let’s just go.” You cross your arms, pick up your jacket, and turn, heading towards the fire.

“Oi, I said come back here!” He calls, fixing himself up, and following. You break into a run, and you’re laughing as he chases you, dodging trees until you’re on the beach. He’s hot on your heels, so you drop your jacket, make a sprint for the water. “Come here!” He’s yelling, but you’re still laughing as you enter the freezing water, fall against a wave.

When you come back up, he grabs you, pulls you onto his lap and kisses you gently. His hair is wet, flat against his head, and he shakes it out, attempts to fluff it back up.

“Gotcha.” He grins, and you kiss him again, bathed by moonlight, your fingernails in his hair, his hands on your back.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #leese writes #ol&l fic

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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thewatcher727 · 6 days

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Writing Description Notes: Voice/Tone

Updated 26th May 2024 More description notes

His voice drifted into her ears like a soft melody.

A giggle slipped out of her lips.

He had his hands cupped around his mouth, trying to amplify his voice however he could.

The words broke through her thoughts like a knife, cutting a path where before there was none.

His voice was laced with concern.

Her voice lifted at the end to signify the question.

A few very colorful expletives leapt to the forefront of John’s tongue but he knew speaking them would end the conversation.

In spite of his insipid words, John’s voice was free of malice.

He noted the way she carried herself in her voice. While she had grown far more comfortable with others, Jane still carried her loyal lineage proudly.

As if offended by the words.

A sing-song lilt entered her tone.

She cursed the confusion in her voice

As much as the towel kneaded at his ears, the sympathy pouring from Jane’s every word stayed unfailingly clear.

His voice was dangerously calm.

The smaller man finally decided to say, hesitant sycophancy in his voice.

His voice dropped an octave lower.

The voice did not enter through Jane’s ears but arrived directly in her head

The voices raised up as if on ever spread wings.

Her pitch was soft, but there was no mistaking the bitterness and emotion behind those words.

His words flowed like a gentle stream, soothing her troubled mind.

He spoke with the authority of a seasoned leader, every word carrying weight and importance.

A hint of mischief colored his tone, as if he had a secret to share.

Her voice was like a warm embrace, offering comfort in times of need.

A shiver ran down her spine as his voice took on an eerie, otherworldly quality.

She spoke with a measured, deliberate cadence, every word carefully chosen.

His voice was as smooth as silk, effortlessly persuasive.

Her words dripped with sarcasm, a sharp and cutting edge to her tone.

He muttered under his breath, the words barely audible but heavy with frustration.

The tension in the room was palpable, and their voices reflected it, strained and on edge.

They spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid to be overheard.

His voice carried a sense of resignation, as if he had accepted his fate.

She sang her words, the melody of her voice enchanting those who listened.

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cranberrv · 7 months

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slut!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which you’re love-struck

( warnings : fem!reader, tipsy!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, HEAVILY inspired by ‘slut!’ by taylor swift )

clink, clink…

the sound of beer or wine glasses echo through buck merrill’s bar as people cheers or they hit the table.

you and dallas are on a couch, you’re a bit tipsy, and he’s made it his job to take care of you. he’s a gentleman when he wants to be. his arm is around you, pulling you in and making sure you don’t do anything stupid. you’re laughing and talking with him, it’s pretty late so the atmosphere in this bar is a bit quiet. you’re spending most of your time gazing up at him as he talks, the eye-contact between you two is endless. he’s addicting to you. he has no idea how love-struck you are with him, but everyone else knows.

girls glance over at you two constantly, bitter looks in their eyes. they’re judging you. your short dress, the way dallas is spending so much time with you, how tipsy you are. you come across as a bit of a slut to the naked eye. you’re so obviously not a slut, but maybe it’s worth it for once that they’re giving you these dirty glances and thinking their crude thoughts. why? because dallas has so clearly noticed them. any girl that glances at you gets a very threatening glare from his cold eyes, only to warm up as soon as he looks back at you.

everyone wants him, but they aren’t adorned with the smell of his cigarette smoke on their clothes, they don’t have his arm around them, they don’t have his full attention. you do.

you take another sip of your beer. he’s so badly wanted you to stop, so badly wanting to care for you and make sure you feel good in the morning. but he doesn’t say anything, just letting you make your own decisions.

“you should probably stop starting beef with random girls, dal,” you tease, playfully pushing his shoulder. “their boyfriends are all starin’ at you.”

“it’s fine, [y/n], not like they’re gonna do anything, huh? they’ll thank us for making them realize their broads are in love with me.” he says, a playful and arrogant touch in his words.

“god, you’re so cocky, aren’t you?” you roll your eyes. “it might blow up in your pretty face someday.”

he shrugs. “well ain’t that a shame,” he says sarcastically, looking out at the party and pulling you closer to him as he does so.

your eyes have not once left him this entire party. a smile grazes your lips at his sarcasm and teasing, your eyes full of love, admiration, and pure joy at his constant attention toward you tonight.

“dallas,” you say softly, grabbing his attention. he looks down at you. “you look good tonight.”

he chuckles softly. “thank you, sweetie.” he never calls you pet names, and you always get jealous when he calls other girls that. but now you’re that girl.

more comfortable silence falls after that. he’s waiting for you to say something, he knows you want to say something, by the way your mouth keeps opening and closing. you’re just trying to figure out how to word it.

you’re exploding, you need to tell him about your silly crush. your brain is flooded with alcohol, completely forgetting that one confession could ruin your entire friendship.

you finally speak, words soft and delicate, a bit nervous to tell him. “what if all i need is you, dal?”

his eyebrows shoot up ever so slightly. he stays quiet, a bit surprised by your words. he knew it was coming, he could feel it, but it’s shocking nonetheless.

he’s not saying he’s in love with you, but he’s going to. he’ll say it eventually. the silence is excruciating painful, waiting for him to say something. truthfully, your confession was a bit vague, a bit hypothetical, but he got the message. he knew what you were trying to say.

“say something, dal,” you eventually speak. you’re not one to beg for attention, but suddenly all your proudness has dissolved.

his head turns to you, looking down at you. your heart beats faster. it’s almost like looking in a mirror. the look in his eyes has changed, mirroring the exact look you’ve been giving him all night. one of admiration and warmth. your cheeks have turned flamingo pink, and the sun is rising. have you really been here all night?

half-asleep, he’s taking his time. you know what’s about to happen. but it’s happening oh-so slowly. dallas winston has never hesitated with a kiss, until now.

half-awake, you’re taking a chance. putting your hand on the back of his neck, your lips parting slightly as both of your pretty faces near each other. the neon light is making this feel luxury, like a hollywood movie. the time in the movie where the two finally realize their feelings, and the excruciatingly painful burn when they take a bit too long for their lips to touch. your eyes flutter closed, so do his. his guard is breaking down, he’s pulling you in, and you’re about to pay the price for your confession as your lips touch.

tangerine and aquamarine lights flash under your eyes from the bar, and you think you’re in heaven. almost every single girl in tulsa has kissed dallas, but this is different. he feels different. you’re not just his pretty skirt for the night. you’re his best friend turned crush turned his hopeful lover. he wants you so badly. you two are drunk in love. you’re addicting to him. he’ll never forget this moment. you’re all dressed up, people are looking at you two, and it’s oh so worth it. you’re lovesick and whipped for each other on this couch.

“ if i’m gonna be drunk, might as well be drunk in love. “

#the outsiders #dallas #dallas winston #dally winston #dallas winston fluff #dallas winston headcanons #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston x reader #dally winston fluff #dallas winston fanfic #dally imagine #dally x reader #dallas x reader #matt dillon #taylor swift #1989 tv #vault tracks

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rreskk · 6 months

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MIDWEST DESIRES

Summary: A desire. All it took was the desire to spiral out of control. You didn��t want to ignore the past argument but he had persuaded you with pure confidence. That man was the death of you and he left you breathless.

TW: Smut.

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 2496

Daring to touch, he stood motionless in front of you, shoulders just about fitting the doorway of your humble home. Them puffy sleeves from the winter coat he was wearing thickened the width of his shoulders, hence the slight mishap of size. Yet the winter coat warmed him up greatly, his cheeks turning a bushed red and his nose sniffling with the after effects of seizing the cold North Yankton snow outside. The blizzard was only an open doors away, and you could already feel the radiation from his shivering frame. The front door – that was open in retaliation of his presence – interrogated the warmth of your home.

“Trevor.” You addressed as the last time you had said his name, it wasn’t in a wanting manner. Not at all. You felt the urge to close the door since you were developing the shivers as well, and you were dressed in clothes for bedtime. It was selfish of him to keep the door open with his wide figure and snarky face that didn’t exactly express the delightfulness of you answering his knocks in the first place. Bitter, you thought, but you couldn’t shut him out. He had no other home. Nothing.

“Mph…” He’d huff and refuse to acknowledge the changing temperatures of your house. His mullet was hidden, shying away in this ushanka that covered his ears as well, only leaving the crest of his face and shifty, all-knowing eyes, the moustache sitting over his top lip that you couldn’t see it shiver at the cold. His breath even struggled to straighten it’s posture when speaking after the shortened grunt. “Don’t say my name like that.”

The irony of not wanting to be named was almost alien to his personality as everything resulting to this argument would be the product of his attention-seeking tongue. So your interest was instantly aroused. There was lack of corresponsive evidence to believe it.

“Why?” You questioned, moving aside and gently tugging the door closed. The freezing bite of the weather evaporated within that second.

Trevor hung his head low and ignored your question. He took the signal of the door closing and misunderstood it for a “I’m making myself at home” note, claiming the sofa as his own, his scrawny, long limbs hogging the two seats. There wasn’t even a space for you. But it wasn’t like you wanted to sit next to him. The grudge remained; the distance thickening as he’d spitefully avoid the need to communicate.

It placed you in a position of risking another fight, or letting him toy you around with his unpredictable mannerism. Neither you wanted to happen. The last thing you wanted was his dirty, scandal-grasping fingers touching any surface of your house while he’s sitting in the spotlight of the local FEDs. Knowing someone has probably died in his arms through the last 24 hours would always stain your mind, yet it didn’t repel you from him.

He threw off his ushanka and ruffled up the messy locks that were thinning and lessening. Even his hair looked unbothered about the situation your relationship was it. This is when you decided to stand up for yourself and walked over to the sofa, standing before him, his eyes inspecting you with judgement and annoyance.

“What?” Trevor grumbled lowly, his voice rumbling deep from his chest.

Pretending it didn’t give you butterflies, you tried to remain monotonal. “This wasn’t an invite for you to stay.” However, it came off like you were struggling to maintain a stern tone. It wobbled a bit.

“You closed the door.” He scoffed when rolling his neck and staring at your chest area with confliction and pervasion.

“To keep the heat in.”

“Sure.” Sarcasm dripping from his abrasive mouth.

“Why’d you come?” For once, you wanted a truer word from him, not just some smart-ass remark that’s not really smart. It would just be irritating and dimly witted.

His eyes searched your face and his shoulders shrugged in response. His coat would even rustle from his forced movement, the silence disturbed and your will-power to embrace disapproval collapsed. It made you tick, itch, clench your jaw, the slightest sounds from his stupid, green coa –

“The fuck you glaring at?” Trevor murmured, “I wasn’t the one starting the argument. On my behalf, I was the peacemaker.”

This made you laugh, stomach clenching and your posture bending as you’d hold your knees for stability. The seriousness of his defence made it worse. He has to be joking, you thought. There was no way he was playing the peacemaker when he spiralled the debate into an argument and refused to solve it as he’d disappear for 3 days straight, leaving you with the suspense of believing your relationship had ended.

“Yeah, because that’s the truth.” You mocked, not laughing anymore.

“Are you calling me a liar?” He eruptively stood up from the sofa – livid. You were stunned when he stood less than an arms-length away, finding your little mockery offensive and disrespectful. “Don’t be a fucking prude, eh? Don’t you wanna make-up? Don’t you wanna have dear ol’ Trevy back? Or have you never loved me.”

“Oh, I’ve loved you. Still do. And it gives me a migraine.” You whispered.

“A migraine I can cure, baby. You know how it is…” His softness was inviting but you knew this was just a manipulation tactic to avoid the blame. He took notice of your sudden shyness the moment he stood up, and he abused it. That dickhead.

“I don’t think you can cure it this time.”

“How so?” Trevor tickled and placed a bare hand, so cold and cruel, around your waist. You could feel it through the fabrics of your shirt. Like you’d imagine, he grazed the surface of your neck with his shivering lips that were dry as desert. It felt like prickles whenever he spoke against you. “Don’t stay mad forever, sugar.”

Future corpse: death by Trevor and his charismatic density. Even if you tried to fight back, your body language denied access. You fell into him, his arms – without hesitation – suffocating you and his lips immediately trailed up your sweet neck with his sweet kisses.

His hungry mouth fell over your throat and jawline, mercilessly slandering the acres of your skin like there was no sign of life in you. You had to clench the back of his jacket for stability as he was diving in – big time. If you lessened your grip, you’d both fall backwards and into the coffee table. Praise be, you weren’t going to let anything disrupt this process of “making-up”, or whatever he referred it. Make-up, make-out; his moto, most likely? Who knows. He doesn’t do communication despite blaming the lack of understanding on you.

But ignoring the present problems as you were too busy growing eager for the heat.

Trevor reached your lips and was stealing words, thoughts, your breath. His kisses were intense to the point of panting, your lungs struggling to sway around the oxygen he’s threatening to take. You both were heavily breathing, the blood rushing over to your head, the room becoming increasingly hot. God knows how he’s coping in that coat. While he selfishly abused your lips with his own, your hands grasped the zip and tugged it down. Trevor grunted lowly when it was thrown off his shoulders and onto the floor. The chills crawled down his spine when the air touched his naked arms. You felt him shiver, the closeness between you both becoming inseparable.

“I can’t fucking wait anymore,” He whined and clenched your wrist, “Lemme see you, ay? Take it off…” You made eye-contact and he pressed his forehead against yours, grinning. “Take it all off.”

The thought of facing the chilly temperatures with only his body temperature aroused you beyond belief. And it wasn’t like you had a choice. Before you could answer, Trevor had plunged the back of your shirt, disregarding it by tossing it over your head, the forceable nature causing the material to rip a bit as you’d hear a small stretch. The cold punched you in the stomach and your arms crawled with the need of comfort. As you rubbed yourself for warmth, he threw off his own shirt and wasted no time, pulling you back into the proximity, his touchy fingers groping the cups of your bra, smirking and giggling at the feeling of your clothed breasts.

Trevor toyed you around for a few minutes. The bra stayed on but he pulled one of the cups down as your breast would hang out and into his sight. He made it bounce, squishing it, caressing it, worshipping it. You had to stand there with a throbbing throat, becoming ugly for him. Nonetheless, you were left red and puffy. He had poked for too long that you breast had marks of his hands outlining around the nipples. Such pride, he groaned kiddingly, biting down his bottom lip.

And your neck. Fuck. His moustache left rashes all over your jaw and neck. Even your mouth. Just like your chest area, you were becoming red all over. The kind touch of Mr Philips was as guilty as any murderer.

“Mhm.” You winced at the itchiness of the perceived rashes. It was silenced when Trevor returned his attention onto you and them hands harshly gripped your backside, edging you closer to the wall behind where he turned you around in a ridiculous speed. Swearing you were experiencing whiplash, it wasn’t know. Not like you could say anyway. He pushed you against the wall with your breasts being pressed and your hips being pushed against him. You felt a trembling hardness fight against your ass, making you murmur his name as pleas.

“I need you,” He said, “I’m gonna have you – “ He ruffled his belt and hissed with frustration when his jeans struggling to lower. You were forced against the wall anyways, not being able to help but hearing him groan so sensually.

“Just fuck me!” You protested to rile him up. There wasn’t anything like an angry Trevor treating you like a little to no person. It was hot, sexy, a desire.

Something zipped and then your arms were pinned against your back, your face planting the wall. The roughness you wanted; you got.

“I’ll fuck you so good.” Smirked Trevor, ripping off your trousers that dangled around your ankles. He gently felt around your naked backside before pushing you against his erection that sat to bully your pussy. It wasn’t in, but it was there, warming you both up. The fact it was there was winding you up. So bad, you wanted it, so bad.

“C’mon.” You pled and grinded against him.

A sigh of pleasure escaped his throat when you took control. He held onto your waist and watched the way your ass moved against him. The wonders came wondering and you gasped in surprise when he removed himself before digging into your pussy, fucking the Hell out of you.

Trevor rocked you back and forth as he thrusting in and out. You both groaned and made sexual noises at the matched efforts to feel each other’s skin and friction.

“Atta girl…” He panted, “Jesus, argh!”

You took him in, wetness seeping and drooling. Trevor used a hand and grabbed the back of your neck, making sure he was keeping you in your place with your face, all scrunched up with pleasure, against the wall. A little power-play made it better. While you were sizing him up from your aggressive rocking hips, he maintained that place and kept you working while he groaned.

“Fuck, fuck!”

“I love your voice, sugar.” He murmured, the sound of slapping making it harder to hear him.

Now the room was the opposite of cold. It was fucking boiling. You kept your arms invisibly tied to your back during this but it itched to wipe the sweat from your brow. The overstimulating yell storming around your lower stomach. It was approaching, all that bottled up annoyance dissolving into a waiting release.

“I fucking missed you. Couldn’t stay away, angel. Just wanted to feel you.” Trevor whined when fastening the pace. He was due to get emotional when having sex with you. Always has, since the first-time. It was sweetening. It comforted you despite being hammered sloppily. It made you want to forgive him for every ungodly thing he has ever done while living.

“More…” You needed more reassurance, “Please. I want more. More. Trevor. More…”

“I fucking want more! Shit. Just gonna fuck you… Forever, damn, baby… I’m gonna fucking cum.” His words were broken in several pauses breathlessly. His hands deepened, now bruising your body. The way he was stammering forwards. There was no more thrusting. He was deep inside, letting himself beat against you.

You moaned against the wall and flattened out your chest, losing control. Unable to produce words, you could only weakly grunt and cry softly. Your pussy throbbed with him inside and he was visibly twitching. The sensation was going to kill you.

“I’m gonna…” He repeated dramatically, “Shit. Shit. Shit!” Then in a haze, like the blizzard happening outside your front door, he came inside you, his hips jerking and legs threatening to fall. Trevor leaned back and sobbed a painful moan as he attempted to move with the orgasm, leaving marks of himself and making you struggle with him.

After he had came, it was no longer an ability to deny your body. Stimulatingly, your core shrieked and it trickled down your thighs, drooling down his cock as well that laid inside you. There were no moans to moan since you were all out. You panted and gagged with your cheek hot from the wall. The orgasm spiralled out of control and you fell back into him, his arms grabbing your waist and his chest hitting your back.

“There she is…” Encouraged his raspy voice.

You whimpered, “Shit… Oh, yeah.”

“How’s that for an apology? Made you feel good, eh? I love my girl, would stay like this forever.”

“I… Accept – “ You took deep breaths, “ – Your apology. Jesus…”

Trevor pecked the back of your ear before swaying you to the sofa where you sunk into the cushions. He massaged your inner thighs as you were based in his lap, nakedly hogging each other’s personal space with the smell of nasty sex filling your living room space.

“More of this,” He pointed to your smile before smirking, “And less of your grumpiness, yeah?”

“Standard practice for you to say.”

“And less of the fucking cheek. I’m just a guy wanting his girl to love him.”

“Poor Trevor.” You teased.

“Love me…” He whined and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I do love you.”

“What was that?”

“I think you stink.”

“Of your sweet cunt, baby.”

“And dirt.”

Trevor glared but remained quiet, trapping you in his embrace as you both finally recovered from that argument. In a bang, as per usual.

#grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #trevor gta #grand theft auto v #trevor philips/reader #trevor philips x reader #trevor philips fanfiction #trevorphilips #trevor philips headcanons #trevor philips/you #my fanfic writing #my fanfic #my fanfiction #grand theft v #grandtheftauto

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