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nagipops · 3 years

Note

hi!! i think the ask box is open right now but what about a fem! reader that was kinda adopted by all the hashiras when she was small, and on her first mission, she gets turned into a demon? and like they're all conflicted but it's kinda sad how the reader wants to die because she was turned :( if you can't write it it's okay! i love ur works sm <3

SWEET NOTHINGS, BITTER ENDINGS PART I.

SUMMARY: in which your overwhelming tenacity leads you to suffer a demonic fate.

WARNINGS: blood, profanity

A/N: thank you darling! this got a bit long so i’ve split it into two parts— the second part will be posted very shortly! link to part two

“(Y/N)!” Giyuu barked. “Get back!”

You steadily held your nichirin blade in front of you with both hands, staring down the towering demon in front of you. Three veiny arms sprouted out from each side of its body, taunting your group as its flaring yellow eyes locked onto yours.

Clutching the handle of your blade tighter, you panted heavily to control your breathing, clenching your teeth. “I’ve got this!” you hollered back, your knuckles turning white.

You heard a clink of metal and the whirling of a sword as a short purple-haired hashira stepped in front of you. “It’s too dangerous.” Her typical honey-sweet voice was darkened with concern and anger. “Please, (Y/N).”

You were shaking with anger, and... envy? All you wanted was to be strong. To bring home a kill on your first mission. To not be seen as a child anymore by the nine pillars who had taken you under your wing when you were just a baby.

I’m not a kid anymore, you wanted to scream. I want to show you what I can do.

“Go,” Giyuu commanded, casting a glance at Shinobu before briefly locking eyes with you. “We’ll handle this.”

Biting your tongue, you glared at the demon for a moment longer before turning on your heel and retreating to the rest of your squad.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Mitsuri wailed, throwing her arms around you. Over her shoulder, you spotted a fuming Obanai glaring daggers at you; whether he was jealous of the pink-haired girl draped over you or angry at your reckless actions, you couldn’t tell. “We were so worried about you!”

“No, we weren’t,” Obanai hissed. “What you did was idiotic and careless. You were putting everyone in danger.”

“Iguro-kun, always so protective!” Mitsuri giggled, patting you on the head before releasing you from her surprisingly tight hold, her expression growing serious. “Tomioka and Shinobu might need our assistance. (Y/N), go find Sanemi and see if he needs help. Iguro, come with me!” She quickly flounced off with a seething Obanai in tow.

Huffing a sigh, you entered the mass of trees behind you to search for the white-haired hashira.

Lofty, swaying pines loomed over you as the sounds of battle crashed throughout the forest. A flock of crows frantically flapped out from the canopy, shooting into the sky as their noisy caws rang through the air. Frigid winds whipped all around you as you hunted down the wind pillar.

A piercing clink of metal, not unlike the noise of a nichirin blade, sounded from your left. Sanemi? Cautiously drawing your sword from its sheath on your hip, you slowly made your way to the source of the noise.

As you neared a small clearing, the sound grew louder and louder, but you still could not locate any hashira or any demons for that matter. You spotted a thick tree to your right and fled over to hide behind it while you scouted out the area.

The clinking continued, and as you listened more closely, it seemed to be coming from...

Above?

Your heart went cold as you realized you didn’t hear any human voices around you.

At all.

You slowly slid your gaze upwards, not daring to move a single muscle.

And there it was. With a rotting arm clutching a chipped, bloodied blade, carving out the remains of a tattered corpse, three feral red eyes piercing through the dark shade and locking onto yours...

A demon.

Fear pooled instantly in your stomach as you felt bile rise in your throat. The putrid stench of rotten flesh and blood nearly made you hurl on the spot, yet your horror kept your nausea at bay.

Were you going to die here?

You felt your terrified breaths grow shallow as the demon above you licked its lips, tossing the corpse down in front of you with a thud.

“N-nemi?” you whispered in fear, praying, praying to the gods that this wasn’t one of your brothers. You quickly studied the corpse and your surroundings, searching for any sign that this bloodied body wasn’t him. You searched for his sword hilt, his white hair, his signature haori, but the darkness of the deep night made any hint or clue futile.

Glaring at the bloodthirsty demon above you, you were petrified with fear. Your heavy feet were locked into place. Your thumping heart nearly burst out of your chest. But you stared the beast down with all your might, slowly reaching your blade out to the corpse in front of you in attempt to retrieve the scrappy remains of what was left of it.

Inch by inch, your gaze unwavering with the demon’s bloodshot eyes, you dragged the body closer and closer to you until it was just within arm’s reach. Steeling yourself, you swiftly grabbed the body and darted away.

You had no time to check whose body you were holding. All you knew was that you had to—

“Kff!”

All of a sudden, your back hit the ground. Hard. With the wind knocked out of your lungs, all you could see was black. You felt your blade slip out of your grasp as your spine seared with red-hot pain. Once you regained your senses, you opened your eyes...

Oh, shit.

Impossibly sharp fangs loomed over you, dripping with foul saliva that oozed onto your heaving chest. Crazed yellow eyes speckled with pumping red veins latched onto yours, a rotting jade-colored head thrashing back and forth as its piercing claws pinned you to the ground. Its breath was the most vile scent you’ve ever smelled in your entire life, reeking of blood and flesh and who knows what else.

And it was just mere inches away from your face.

Stifling a wave of nausea, you swiftly pulled your knees up to your chest and pushed, kicking the demon backwards by its torso as hard as your body would let you.

Darting over to your blade which had fallen to the ground just a few feet away from you, you picked it up and pointed it at the snarling demon who was picking its burly body off of the forest floor.

“You!” you shouted, wiping your slimy face on the sleeve of your uniform. “I’m not scared of you!”

The demon responded with a warbling noise, something that sounded like... laughing?

Your nerves set on fire. Oh, that’s it. You would end this vile monster right here, right now.

“Leaf Breathing, Second Form: Whirlwind of Fronds!” Exhaling sharply through clenched teeth, you felt cool winds start to whip around you, picking up speed as leaves and needles rapidly gravitated towards you as though you were a magnet.

Now!

Growling with fury, you charged at the gremlin with all your might, the swirling flurry of foliage honing in on the center of its chest. Each leaf transformed into sharp, miniature daggers, piercing through the demon’s grayish skin and buying you just enough time to move in close. Wielding your blade with both hands, you raised it above your head before forcefully slicing downwards with a roar, aiming for the neck.

But your opponent was nimble, and it barely dodged its head out of the way, landing you a clean shot down its shoulder to its flank. Shit, the arm can just regenerate itself, you cursed, quickly angling your sword laterally for a slice through the neck as the demon howled in pain.

You slashed your sword as hard as you could, but instead of cutting through soft flesh, you were met with thick, gnarly bone. The demon had raised its other arm in defense, keeping your lethal blade at bay. Struggling to push back against the sturdy bone, you gritted your teeth as you attempted to release your sword from its muscle.

But the demon had already beaten you to it and whipped its hefty arm outwards to shake you off, hurling you across the clearing.

“Hkk!” You landed straight on your back once again with a heavy thud, but you noticed that your blade was still lodged into the creature’s arm. Perfect. Even though single nerve in your body was screaming in pain, even as your limbs trembled as you shakily picked yourself up off the ground, you would never back down from a fight. “Hey, ugly! Let’s finish this!”

The demon howled furiously, clamoring to rip your blade out of its arm.

“Third Form: Drill of Needles!”

Hundreds of thousands of pine needles descended from the midnight sky at your command, whirling into a tight cone while speeding towards the neck of the monster. You heard the earsplitting drilling of flesh and wood followed by a deafening groan and huffed in triumph as the pent-up exhaustion began to release throughout your body.

You nearly hit the ground for the third time when you caught some movement out of the corner of your eye.

Oh, hell no.

There was the same demon, its bright yellow eyes even more furious now, perched high up in a tree.

“B-but...” your mind and vision grew hazy as you noticed the gaping hole in the demon’s chest, with its neck still intact. I missed? You cursed sharply at the sight of your chipped blade thrown carelessly on the ground a great distance away from you.

What do I do? Giyuu, Shinobu, what do I do? Mitsuri? Obanai? Is anyone there?

Your felt your body begin to admit defeat, your legs shaking as they threatened to give out from underneath you, your heaving lungs burning and aching for rest.

The corpse.

Where was the corpse? The same one that got you into this mess?

Sanemi?

You struggled to keep your vision trained on the demon high above as your body started to wobble in exhaustion. “Hey,” you slurred. “Come out here! We’re not— kff! We’re not done yet!”

A snarl sounded from over your shoulder as the familiar stench of rotting flesh flooded your nose once again.

This time, you plummeted to the ground face-first, hearing your nose crack in the process. But your body was too drained for you to properly register the pain.

You were so numb.

Groaning, you slowly rolled onto your back and gazed into the eyes of the demon hovering above you hungrily. Its arm that you had sliced off had already fully recovered, while the other arm choked your neck with an iron grip.

Your vision was nearly white now, your oxygen supply running low as blood trickled out of your neck where the demon’s claw had pierced the skin.

Die. Die. You were going to die. On your first mission. Without a single kill under your belt.

Forcing a smirk onto your face, you squeezed your eyes shut as you endured the pain as best you could. “Hey, now— hck... If there’s anything that Sanemi taught me... it’s that humans... always get the last laugh...” You cracked open one eye, staring straight into the demon’s yellow orbs.

“Noxious... nectar...” you gasped out one last command, watching the bloody pinpricks dotted all around the demon’s greying skin transform into purple specks of poison. The monster thrashed around, violently clutching its head at the pain seeping through its entire body. You watched as your first and last kill take place right in front of you as your vision began to fade.

But not before the demon’s deadly blood dripped into your open wounds.

link to part two.

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#demon slayer #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer x reader #hashira #kny hashira #kny #kny angst #demon slayer angst #kny x reader #kny imagines #kny headcanons #sanemi imagines #giyuu imagines #mitsuri imagines #shinobu imagines #rengoku imagines #uzui imagines #angst

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

No Regrets

A noble!Jaskier A/B/O arranged marriage fic for @greyduckgreygoose as part of a server exchange. - AO3

Ship: Jaskier x Aiden

Rating: E

Length: 2.8k

CW: Smut, Alpha Aiden/Omega Jask, scent kink, fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, knotting, mating bites

If there was one thing in life that Jaskier regretted, it was that he was a noble. Without the ties of his blood, being an omega wouldn’t be so bad. He could have chosen his own alpha, been happily mated if he wished, or stayed free and wild as he roamed the Continent to his heart’s desire. As a child he’d declared that he would be a travelling bard or a merchent, renouncing all claim to the stupid title that now bound his dear sister to the estate. He’d dreamed of his life as a barker to some witcher or other adventurer, strumming tunes on his lute and spreading his music all across the Continent.

A pipe dream.

Jaskier didn’t even regret being an omega. It was actually quite thrilling, the sex was easier with the slick he produced and the desperation his heats brought was really quite incomparable. There was nothing quite like getting fucked within an inch of his life and knotted by some strapping alpha, lost in orgasm after orgasm until he quite literally passed out.

He knew the real thief of his freedom was his blood, his nobility, his dear old parents caught in their archaic ways. Only, now he was to be married to some mysterious alpha that had saved his father’s life a few weeks ago and Jaskier was kicking up a fuss, purposely not looking his best for the wedding. His neck was littered with hickies from a rather lovely beta he’d fucked the night before, but when the alpha, his alpha, walked into the room, Jaskier regretted every decision he’d made that morning.

The bastard was handsome, unbelievably so, and he was wild. Jaskier had been expecting some stuck up noble alpha that only cared about the pups Jaskier could provide, but, oh, ho, ho, gods, this man was a work of art! Long dark hair was pulled back into a messy half updo, long waves falling down past his shoulders. He had tanned skin, covered in scars, from what Jaskier could see, a particularly nasty one striking along his left eye and cutting into his cheek, but gods, those eyes… startling gold like the sweetest honey. Most interesting were his clothes, pretty dark blue garments that Jaskier could have sworn were armoured, and a hood resting on his shoulders. He seemed to be unarmed but something in Jaskier’s gut told him that the man was still dangerous, and that thought had him pressing his thighs together as he felt another rush of slick escape him.

The alpha’s nostrils flared and those gorgeous molten eyes met his from across the room. Jaskier felt as though he had been hit by lightning as he basked in the heat of his alpha’s stare. From beside him, Jaskier heard his mother gasp, the bitter scent of her anger clouding the air, but it was far too late for mother dearest to back out now.

Jaskier was going to marry a witcher!

Maybe his plans of travelling the Continent hadn’t been so far fetched after all. Destiny had truly blessed him on this day, he would be free from the society he hated so much, travelling by this fine specimen’s side until death.

Oh, ho, ho!

He was thrilled.

The alpha didn’t seem too displeased either as he winked at Jaskier from across the room, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. The man bowed deeply to Jaskier’s parents but there was something in his manner that made Jaskier laugh. There was nothing sincere in his greeting, and the Viscount of Lettenhove knew this, that much was clear from the sneer on his face, the nasty curl of his lips.

And oh didn’t that make Jaskier’s victory all the sweeter. He wondered what the alpha had done or said to convince his old man to give up his only son, and a precious omega to boot. Jaskier supposed a life debt was hard to argue against.

The witcher seemed like a bit of a cad, all flirty winks and mockery of nobility that made Jaskier swoon, his knees buckling a little underneath him under the heavy musk of the alpha’s scent. Slick soaked through his underclothes and he wriggled uncomfortably, his hands itching to slip beneath his breeches and tease at his cock, his hole, anything that could relieve him of the aching arousal in his gut. The alpha let out a wave of pheromones, calming Jaskier’s mind and subduing him. Even his poor mother seemed to relax beside him, but the strong scent of alpha, had his father growling low in his chest. The deluded fool, as if he could take on a witcher, although he probably knew he couldn’t and that was the only reason Jaskier was allowed to marry this god of a man.

“You came,” Lord Alfred of Lettenhove hissed through gritted teeth.

To Jaskier’s surprise, the alpha just laughed, one hand resting on his hips. “I told you I would. I don’t lie, human.”

“Not my son, Alfred, please. You can’t give my son to a witcher!” Jaskier’s mother begged, falling to her knees in front of her husband. “Anyone but a witcher, I’ll even agree to that lass from Nilfgaard, please, alpha.”

It was a pitiful display, one Jaskier hadn’t expected from his mother, but one that truly showed her desperation. Jaskier almost felt sorry for her…

Almost.

“What’s done is done, mother, now please, introduce me to my new husband!” Jaskier trilled happily, subconsciously baring his neck to the stranger that he was about to bind himself to, eyeing up the cat head on the silver chain around the witcher’s neck.

He’d heard rumours about those witchers; feral, insane… assassins.

Gods, Jaskier was weak.

He always had liked an alpha that could tear him in two, but it was rarer than it should have been. Jaskier was not a timid and fragile omega, in fact most people that met him confused him for a beta at first. He had a less sweet and floral scent than most omegas, and his chest was covered in thick dark hair that was almost unheard of even in male omegas, but he liked to feel small and dainty once in a while.

“Julian, I presume,” the witcher greeted, reaching out his hand which Jaskier gladly took, his heart fluttering as his alpha kissed his fingers with a surprising amount of grace. Heat prickled over his skin, as their eyes met, and that thick scent of alpha arousal almost had Jaskier on his knees, ready to worship this man’s cock in front of the entire household.

As it was he was barely able to suppress a moan, as the alpha brought Jaskier’s wrist to his neck, pressing it against the scent gland, making Jaskier whine softly at the gentle waves of pleasure that rolled over him. Fuck, the bastard was going to trigger his heat two weeks early at this rate. He bit his lip as he let his gaze roam over the Alpha’s body, hot and heavy.

“My friends call me Jaskier,” he shot back with a wink.

“And what about your husband?”

Jaskier smirked, “Darling, you can call me whatever you like.”

“Julian, you’re being indecent!” his mother snapped, scandalised in a manner that only nobility could manage.

Jaskier scoffed, “I am talking to my future husband, the man that daddy dearest picked out for me. Although,” Jaskier smirked as he turned to face the witcher, “he has been terribly rude and not even told me his name.”

“Darling, you can call me whatever you like,” the alpha winked and Jaskier gasped, stumbling back in mock offence, “but my name is Aiden.”

After that, the wedding went off without a hitch, all the necessary paperwork being completed, as their hands were tied together. It was sealed by a rather enthusiastic kiss as Jaskier jumped into his alpha’s arms, crashing his lips against his new husband’s in a mess of teeth and tongues, finally getting to inhale the alpha’s scent from up close.

His alpha.

His husband.

Jaskier had never anticipated that he would enjoy even thinking those words, but the look of despair on his parents’ faces made everything worth it. He giggled, taking his new husband by the hand and leading him to his bedchambers, thrilled by the protests from his parents who were trying to stop him from consummating the marriage, but there was no fucking way that Jaskier was going to turn down such a tempting cornucopia of delights.

“Eager, pretty little omega, aren’t you?” Aiden growled, a purr rumbling in his chest as he grazed his teeth over the scent gland on Jaskier’s neck, sending a rush of pleasure through him, slick leaking down his thighs.

“Not what you were expecting, witcher?” Jaskier teased, pulling at the ties on Aiden’s trousers.

“Not some stuck up little prick,” Aiden hummed, groping Jaskier’s arse as he pushed down Jaskier’s breeches, leaving him in just a shirt. One hand moved to run through Jaskier’s chest hair, fingers pinching at his nipples, eliciting a moan from his lips that was better suited to a whore house. “Not exactly the fragile flower you claim to be either, omega.”

“Not as easy to break, alpha,” Jaskier hummed as Aiden’s lips nipped along his neck, teeth pulling at his ear.

His scent, fuck, his scent was almost overpowering, strong, rich, sending all of Jaskier’s reason out of the window to be replaced with the desire to be fucked, knotted, mated. A now familiar tug of pre-heat clouded his mind, his cock aching, his hole empty and wanting. With a soft sigh, he ran his fingers through his own slick before pushing them inside, not nearly enough, but it took the edge off as he rocked against his own hand, pressing his body flush against his alpha’s.

He smirked as he mouthed over Aiden’s scent gland, his husband shivering under his touch. He brought his slick covered hand up to Aiden’s lips and the alpha sucked at the digits with a needy moan, his grip on Jaskier’s waist almost bruising. “Now are you going to talk all day, or are you going to fuck me? It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of an alpha’s knot.”

Jaskier’s words made something snap in Aiden, a fearsome snarl tearing from the alpha’s throat, and Jaskier was thrown onto the bed, barely able to catch his breath before Aiden’s hands were on him, calloused fingers running through the mess of slick on his thighs before pressing inside his leaking hole. Aiden’s fingers were thicker than Jaskier’s, caressing, searching, stroking until he hit that sweet spot inside of Jaskier, making him keen.

“Mine,” Aiden growled.

Jaskier moaned, bucking up off the mattress, pushing back on Aiden’s hand. “Yours, alpha, my alpha.”

Any other words Jaskier might have said were muffled by a bruising kiss, Aiden’s tongue licking into his mouth fervently. Oh and it was blissful, the alpha’s fingers fucking him so beautifully, until he was a panting mess on the bed, sweat and slick sticking to his skin. The fog of heat ruined him, turning him into nothing more than a whore, begging to be filled, knotted, claimed, and Jaskier barely recognised his own voice, hoarse, wrecked, as he cursed, and pleaded with his alpha. His fingers scraped down Aiden’s back as he thrust against his alpha’s hand, trying to get more, more, more, but Aiden had the patience rivaling the priestesses of Melitele.

Aiden pulled his fingers out, leaving Jaskier feeling so achingly empty, pitiful cries resounding in the bedchamber, howling as he was denied everything he needed.

“Fucking bastard!” he slurred, as his building pleasure eased, leaving him wanting.

“Patience, omega,” Aiden hummed, kissing the corner of Jaskier’s mouth before trailing his lips down Jaskier’s chest, sucking and nibbling at each of his nipples as he passed them, chuckling at the needy sounds Jaskier was making. He pressed soft kisses to Jaskier’s belly, nuzzling at the curve of his stomach almost reverently until Jaskier huffed, threading his fingers through his alpha’s hair and pushing his head down further. Finally, Jaskier was rewarded with his alpha’s lips around his cock, hot and wet and oh so good.

Jaskier didn’t know many alpha’s who would suck their omega’s cock, but this gorgeous stranger, seemed more than content to get lost in Jaskier’s pleasure, purring around Jaskier’s cock as if he were the most beautiful thing in the world. His fingers gripped at Jaskier’s thighs, keeping them spread as his tongue flicked over the head, lapping up the pre-cum that was leaking from the tip.

But omegas were meant to be filled, and as much as he was enjoying the heat of Aiden’s mouth around him, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t cum like this, not whilst he was feeling so fucking empty, and gods, he needed to cum, he needed it so much he could barely think of anything else. He whined, writhing underneath Aiden’s ministrations desperate for something else, something more.

“Alpha, I need- I need,” he whimpered, his words cut off by another moan as Aiden’s tongue delved inside him, the alpha moaning into him as he tasted sweet omega slick.

The bastard had the audacity to laugh, nuzzling against Jaskier’s thigh as his lips pressed against the soft tender skin. “What do you need, little omega?” he asked before biting at the skin beneath his lips. There was a sharp pain, the alpha’s fangs not quite breaking skin but enough to hurt in the best possible way.

“F-fuck you!” Jaskier hissed, his cheeks heating up but gods, he would not let his alpha gain the upper hand.

Faster than lightning, Aiden was gone from between Jaskier’s leg, straddling Jaskier’s hips and pinning him to the bed. Fingers threaded through Jaskier’s hair and his head was yanked backwards. “Try again, buttercup.”

“Fuck me, knot me, Aiden, alpha.”

“Better,” Aiden growled, one hand moving to pin Jaskier’s wrists onto the mattress and in one swift movement had pushed inside Jaskier.

The stretch felt so good, pleasure and lustful fire burning through him, as he arched off the bed, keening as their scents mixed around him, soothing his omega, his need to get as close to his alpha as possible. Every thrust had Aiden’s cock buried deep inside him, filling him up until he could see a slight bulge on his stomach, the alpha hitting Jaskier’s sweet spot with every snap of his hips, until Jaskier was crying, tears streaming down his face as he begged for release. His alpha’s hand wrapped around his cock, tiny in comparison, pulling his orgasm from him with a start, sparks flying as he gasped, panting into Aiden’s shoulder, biting down gently as his alpha fucked him through the waves of pleasure, but it still wasn’t enough. He ground back against Aiden’s cock, sounding desperately needy, pathetic. In his heat hazed mind, he wondered how many times he could cum on his alpha’s cock. He wanted that, wanted to please his husband, his alpha, his Aiden. Jaskier would be the prettiest omega, filled with his alpha’s cum. No one would mistake Jaskier as belonging to anyone else. He was Aiden’s now, and there was nothing anyone in the world could do about it.

“Alpha,” he whined, “please. Your knot, I need it, please, fuck… gods, alpha!”

Aiden purred, a deep rumbling in his chest, pressing his lips against Jaskier’s scent gland and nuzzling into his neck until Jaskier melted against his chest, fingers digging into his Alpha’s back. Despite his orgasm, he felt more aroused than he had ever been before, a mantra of alpha, fuck, please, falling from his lips in a dizzying blur, until finally, he felt the press of Aiden’s knot teasing at his rim.

“Gods, yes,” Jaskier moaned. “Knot me, fuck, please, Alpha.”

“My omega.”

“Yours,” Jaskier agreed, “my alpha.”

Aiden growled, his fangs latching onto Jaskier’s neck, turning Jaskier’s world upside down as the mating bond snapped into place in a rush of pheromones and emotions, triggering Jaskier’s orgasm from out of the blue. One moment he’d been blissfully sated on his alpha’s cock, the next pleasure tore through him like lightning, cum spilling over his stomach for a second time as Aiden pumped him full, breeding him, the knot popping into place and tying them together.

“Oh- oh fuck,” Jaskier groaned, falling back against the mattress and Aiden collapsed on top of him, still rolling his hips in shallow thrusts to push the knot deeper inside. “Bloody hell, that was good.”

Aiden snorted, not bothering to lift his head from Jaskier’s chest. “Good?”

“Perfect,” Jaskier sighed, running his hands through Aiden’s hair until the witcher was purring happily, nuzzling against him, murmuring soft praise into Jaskier’s skin.

Perhaps being a noble wasn’t so bad, not when your parents married you off to a gorgeous and charming witcher.

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire

#the witcher #jaskier pankratz #aiden/jaskier #witcher aiden #alpha aiden #omega jaskier #omegaverse #jaskden #wolfie's witcher writing

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megumi-stan · 3 years

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| Black Skies | 黒い空 |

Fushiguro Megumi x Reader

TW: Major Character death, graphic depiction of Injuries and gore!

Black. That was all there was.

Black dots swarm your vision, and black strands of hair slipping through your fingers invaded your brain. Megumi’s black jacket sprawled on the floor, and his black sheets clenched by your hands were only a flash in your head, but it didn’t fail to bring you comfort underneath the black sky.

His parting words still teased your ears.

“Don’t die, if you do, i’ll never forgive you...”

You could only beg for his forgiveness as you laid broken on the cold floor, the stench of blood and decay entering your nose and burning your throat, You knew it was a bad idea to follow the curse alone; you were well aware that it was far more powerful than what you were capable of handling, but still you were stubborn and refused to appear weak in front of your lover.

You remembered how Megumi hesitated before running in the direction of Itadori, who was in trouble, and you knew a fist was likely closing around his heart the moment his back turned to you and your footsteps faded away. Megumi trusted you with all his heart, and he had no doubts you would return to him. He probably reminded himself how capable you were a dozen times in his head only to set his resolve.

You wanted to laugh, a bitter sound that got stuck in your tongue before breaking free. You weren’t the great thing he thought you were, after all. The wheeze of air hurt, pushing blood out of the gash across your neck, and your limbs went numb. You could no longer feel anything besides the dizziness in your head.

If only you could see his face for the last time, but your eyes had shut off completely as your heavy lids fell. Your heart ached one last time for all the things you would never witness. Gojo’s sensei revolution, shopping with Nobara through Tokyo and having dancing parties with Itadori. But all those faded into nothing when you thought of Megumi growing up and having a life without you in it.

He would never take you on late night dates in the woods, or slip into your room at night to watch a bad horror film while cuddled up in your bed. You would never take another picture of him while he was distracted, and his hands would never fit in yours anymore...

They were right.... Sorcerers rarely died without regrets, but instead of regretting enrolling in Jujutsu High, your only regret was not being able to say goodbye to the boy with bright green eyes and gentle touch that held you tenderly at night chasing the darkness away.

Cursing one last time your bad luck, you drifted off into nothingness, hoping that, wherever you were headed next, you could at least watch Fushiguro Megumi from afar, silently cheering him on as he continued to live his life.

Megumi knew something wasn’t right at the exact moment a sharp pain stabbed his heart. Shaking it off was not an option, since the unease crept across his skin like oily tendrils, leaving his heart stammering and his fingers shaking.

His shikigami, Nue was battling the special level curse, while Megumi’s body served as a shield to guard Yuji’s fallen form. He reminded himself to breath in and out slowly, to prevent premature tiring but his breathing stopped when he noticed how the faint battling noises in the distance stopped.

Thinking that you had succeeded, He took a deep breath and waited, but when he never spotted you figure running to help him out, panic made him his prisoner.

“Fuck!” The curse slipped past his lips, born out of a desperation out of character for him. Where the hell was Gojo sensei when he needed it?

Strong emotions can boost one’s level of cursed energy, but he knew better than to waste it, so he focused on summoning Orochi to finish things off quickly. His focus was broken the moment he started worrying about you, so the fight prolonged for what seemed like an eternity. Minutes went by, where he could only hear the screeches of both spirits battling until with one last clean bite from the great serpent, the curse was exorcised.

Without thinking, he just flung Itadori’s knocked out body over his shoulder and ran, his feet moving so fast he could barely feel the ground beneath them. He ran through the deserted street and as he got closer to where you had ran off to, the metallic smell lingering in the air like a macabre blanket made his stomach drop.

Megumi’s heart was beating hard in his chest, drowning out the sound of his breaths as he sped up, his whole body ached but it was nothing compared to the ache he felt in his soul the moment he spotted the trail of blood and the curse lurking above you. He dropped Itadori to the floor without a second thought and summoned his divine dog, who jumped at the curse’s back with a feral glint into his eyes. He knew his dog liked you, specially since you always seemed to pet him the right way. The vicious canine was protective of you, and that made Megumi him realise how much of his life revolved around you.

Training, dates, laughs, missions… You were always there.

Right at that moment, he couldn’t care about his own safety or Itadori’s, as he left his side and approached you. The cries of pain and the snarls falling on def ears.

There you were, your uniform torn and burned in some places, your skin bruised and stained with red, your whole neck invisible under the stream of crimson that disappeared under your collar.

And your chest wasn’t moving.

Fushiguro fell to his knees as his hands found your face, cradling it tenderly. His fingers shook and his eyes stung. You were not breathing, and he couldn’t ether.

“(y/n)?” He croaked, barely above a hush whispered, voice shaking, strangled by the knot in his larynx. “C’mon baby... Open your eyes.” he pleaded, shaking you slightly.

Your cold skin froze his soul, and he placed you on his lap. The small light of hope died when he pushed his ear to your chest, willing your comforting heart beat to meet him like it did all the nights he slept using you as a pillow, but the relief never came.

Silence was the only answer he got.

A torn scream burned his throat, but he could barely listen to it with the sound of his soul being shattered. Ugly tears rolled down and turned your skin wet as he held you close, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and pretending that everything was fine, and this was just like when he hid from the jump scares when watching horror films with you.

He cried out again, because no matter how hard he tried, the icy fingers of death held him down, burying his hopes and dreams to the ground, and stunning him. As if he had received a fatal would. Megumi wondered if he would survive too, since it felt like his heart had stopped completely in his chest.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him to lower you slightly so he could see who it was.

Itadori stood there, his hands stained with blood and the curse behind them gone. His divine dog sat by his side, ears flat on his head and sorrow written all over his eyes.

Megumi couldn’t utter a word. He had promised himself he would save those he chose, those who were good and deserved to be saved. He knew there was no one more deserving of salvation than you.

Megumi had failed.

He turned to look down at you once again and his dog came forward. Whining and nudging your limp hand with his snout, urging you to pet him like you always would after he helped on missions, but you would never have the chance to do so again.

A loud howl filled the solemn silence in that moment, where the two boys mourned the death of a dear friend and lover. Their souls tainted black just like the sky above their heads.

A/N: First time writing for Megumi! ever since i casted my eyes upon him i’ve been doomed... guys with daddy issues are my type apparently, judging by my massive crush on Todoroki Shouto...

Anyways, hope you enjoyed!

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kettlequills · 3 years

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ok so this was inspired by this post made by @argisthebulwark - check her blog out! - about dovahkiin soulmates that could feel each other's pain. naturally i ran with the concept of dragonborn soulmates. feat. my ldb laataazin/miraak.

Laataazin has always felt trapped. Before they are Laat-aaz, even, when they are a nameless prisoner, hands-bound, another to be executed through a simple whim of fate. No memories then in the buzzing darkness of their mind, but a feeling of fear, confusion, brief-dawning wonderment on the heels of hot green rage in the drumming space of their chest that was theirs-and-not-theirs. Breath hurting, unused lungs and trembling hands that will not grip round the hilt of the sword Hadvar tries to press into their hands like they know it ought. Like they know scars on their bodies – body, for there is only one Dragonborn, only one.

How dare, their mind rages, how dare the gods try to discard me.

These thoughts, these hungers, these fears, are surely Laataazin’s alone, clear as Masser’s moonlight in the dark sky.

They have known imprisonment, in the cold, whispering bowels of Dragonsreach dungeons, where Mephala murmurs maliciously in every iron bar and chiselled stone, hissing breaths dampening, soft and light as cobwebs falling upon a sleeper’s eye, sanity, safety, sight. Trying to tempt, twist, torment total truth from the prisoner-that-would-be-Laataazin, named Dovahkiin and wrestling the ashes of Mirmulnir into restless ebb. Oil-and-ink in Laat’s nose, and a will that is theirs-and-not-theirs, resistant, defiant, no more daedra than dragonfire, sings firm around Mephala’s words, like the thrum of earthbones a song that refuses to be a bound-and-fooled-slave again.

Don’t complain so much, says the thoughts-that-are-Laataazin, they’ll let you out.

Their dragon-soul, for it must be theirs, is loud, angry, knows their head. It refuses to be quieted, grumbles and snaps at the rolls and reams of papery scrolls the Greybeards set down in front of them, snarling answers in a mother-tongue Laataazin has never known, with the air of distant, impatient distraction, like wings brushing across planes. Laataazin is not much of a reader, puzzles through relearning letters in dusty texts that take bored moments to recall when their body slumps softening into slow sleep. They wake with understanding and vague, boundless frustration, dragon-words in dragon-soul that mutter about Stupid fools and their vapid teachings, you will never learn with these chains on your wings.

Laataazin meditates for endless hours on frigid snowcaps with Paarthurnax’s breath steaming the snow and still thinks of smashing skulls and bloodied steel, still thinks of broken wills and shattered spirits.

It is, they tell Paarthurnax, a losing battle. There is something in them that wants out, and it will stop at nothing, nothing, to claw itself free from the trap locked shut around its howling muzzle.

Mortality is a losing battle, Paarthurnax reminds them. It is their nature to beat against the bars of inevitability, and turn their faces from the grind of time.

Hypocritical lizard, the soul-that-must-be-Laataazin’s mutters, and Laataazin chooses not to share this or the smile it provokes.

Laataazin goes about their divine-driven hunting of twin-souled dragons, who speak to them in a language they know, who challenge them to fights they win, who know them and are stranger to them in a way that only the careless and god-flung may be. They do not want to kill the dragons that are like themselves, who look at the sky and see a glorious road untravelled rather than the distant god-realm for no mortal to cross.

Your soft heart will do us harm, their soul reminds them. Do not spare what hungers to hurt.

Delphine tells them that they are not bloodthirsty enough, that they accept the surrender of too many, and create surrender still where there is not even that. That there is no point sparing monsters, and that Laataazin has a duty, a destiny, a fate.

Laataazin tells Delphine and their soul both that they have chosen a different path. But Akatosh does not make the same mistake twice, and this time, there is no give in the leash of fate wrapped tightly around the neck of the Last Dragonborn.

Ushered by inevitability, they go to face Alduin, and within them their soul rants and raves for its freedom. Fate! Fate! The gods laugh at us.

In Sovngarde, they feel empty, empty. It is a dead place for dead souls, and there is no place for living ties in bodies that breathe and fates that twine. Laataazin’s chest feels cold and dim, unwarmed by so total an omnipresence they had thought it part of themselves. It is not, they know now. There is… something, someone, else.

Gormlaith’s golden hair shines like septims when she smiles at Laataazin, all bared teeth. I knew you would come around, she says, and Laataazin wonders which of them she is talking to, Alduin-that-is-Akatosh, or Laataazin-that-is-trapped. Like standing in a boxful of mirrors, making eye-contact with a thousand versions of an image, an icon, a legend, borne through the ages to consume itself.

It is done. Alduin returns to himself, and fate twirls the key to the shackles of its Last prisoner. Tsun drags their weeping body from the gate and casts it into the realm of air and sunlight, wordless in the face of their inappropriate grief. When Laataazin returns, staggering and coughing out their lungs onto the windswept emptiness of the snow-throat beneath the watching dragon-eyes, feeling slams back into them with all the force of a tidal wave. Pure, blistering rage, fanned so hot it can only be the most animal of panic.

Where did you go? demands the thing-that-is-not-Laataazin. Why couldn’t I feel you?

Laataazin presses their hand to their chest and feels relief, relief, vast enough to swallow the sun.

I thought I had lost you, the prisoner thinks.

Come to me, longs the other.

What force on Tamriel could resist a plea like that? To Solstheim it is and kneeling in the hot ash Laataazin feels the sky all around them open up and his presence close in like breath on their neck.

You are so much louder here, Laataazin tells him, their steps still wobbly from the boat.

You walk on my land now, Miraak replies, and what a wonder to know his name, to touch with travel-sore body land his own has walked, see with dust-stung eyes what his has seen. I grow ever nearer to you.

You did not need to enslave these people, Laataazin thinks at the Tree Stone, watching empty-eyed cultists and blankened reavers work on towering edifices of stone. The mumbling figures remind them of Sovngarde, that terrible emptiness where once a gnawing pain sat. I am here.

I did not think you would come. Miraak’s admission is grudging, a little bitter. But as Laataazin walks through the stone doors of the temple, they hear the clatter of tools dropping, and the shouts of startled reavers.

Laat grins, feels it mark their face wide and feral. Put your best panties on then, for I shall see you soon.

Do not keep me waiting any longer. His pain is audible in the bones that house their heart, his impatience like whips licking the soles of their feet, his eagerness like teeth to their neck. Laataazin opens the Book, and there he is.

“You are shorter than I expected,” is what the soul-of-their-soul tells them, towering over them, crowned in blue and gold like fearless god and dripping ink like blood.

“And you are as obnoxious as I predicted,” Laataazin says, but already they are approaching him, and he does not move away but flinches when their hands meet his chest.

They bear together his pain from centuries of untouched isolation, the nerves awakened by another that burn like needles and dragon-fire, and they bear together the pleasure too, found in smoothing gauntleted hands over thick robes, found in solidity, presence.

I would touch you like this everywhere you could bear it, then more, Laataazin thinks, and their hands come away inkstained when they lift them to cup the golden mask, which tilts, as if its wearer has flinched again at the thought whispered into the ear of his mind like a promise.

The prince that Laataazin favours most is not cunning Mephala who whispers to them in Whiterun, nor Hermeaus Mora, who believes himself masterful gardener of all, but ruby-red Sanguine, who with a gift of a loving if unconventional wife found in a night of revelry wins anew with each feathered kiss their loyalty. It is therefore Miraak who tears himself from this indulgence of touch first, and takes a few steps back. The words of fate are a well-settled cloak employing the ruthless machine of purpose.

“And so the First meets the Last at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak says, ringing, proud. “Tell me, did you enjoy the dregs of my destiny?”

“If you had not turned from your fate to kill Alduin, I would not have awoken,” Laataazin replies, dryly, “so to some extent, yes. To other extents, fuck you.”

“That same fate decrees you must die for me to win my freedom.” Miraak’s mask is expressionless, but Laataazin does not need it – they can feel through the glass of body-barriers the surge and roil of the infection of wounds thousands of years untreated, the bitterness, the fear. It has beat within their heart from the very first moment of their waking in Helgen, as their grief, their loss, burns like wildfires in his.

“Freedom?” says one prisoner to another. “What freedom is this? Aren’t you tired of being what they ask of you? Haven’t you paid the price?”

“Do you not feel how the world has warped around you since you awoke?” Miraak’s hand is tightening on his sword hilt, but he does not draw. “You cannot die, you do not sleep, you are not real, or you alone exist – there can only be one Dragonborn.”

“We will both be free,” Laataazin asserts.

“Time, and reality, would not survive us both,” Miraak says, but Laataazin knows their dragon-soul, and knows he is hungry, hungry, and tired of cages.

Boldly, Laataazin reaches out. Miraak takes their hand, masked eyes searching, like he is a man on open water clinging to the uncertain shelter of driftwood.

“That is Akatosh’s problem,” says Laataazin, “I choose to have you.”

#hi syd let me know if you want me to take this down #inkwrites #laataazin #miraak #laataazin/miraak #this is kinda disgustingly fluffy #and self-indulgent #skyrim #tes

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dimigex · 3 years

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Whumptober Day 5 - Sakura, Kakashi, and Sasuke

Prompt: I've got red in my ledger (betrayal, misunderstanding, broken nose)

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing/Characters: Sakura, Kakashi, and Sasuke

Words: 588

Rating: T

Notes: @chaosandwonder requested this prompt with Sakura, I hope this fits even though it's written from Kakashi's perspective! (Also, @birkastan2018 I think you'd like this one too <3)

STORY BELOW THE CUT

The kunai against Kakashi’s jugular should have been trembling with uncertainty, regret, or sorrow, but it remained steady. An ounce more pressure and it would slide through the skin, into the crimson flow beneath. His heart pounded erratically in his ears, roaring its disbelief at the scene before him.

“This is the real one.” Sakura sounded familiar and foreign. The anger that weighed her voice like lead hadn’t been there three months ago. The bitterness that twisted her words into a sneer had been absent as well. Gone were the soft pleasantries and gentle tones, replaced by the hard reality of betrayal.

Sasuke turned from a dozen feet away; his red eyes spiraling with deadly intent. Kakashi met his former student’s gaze unafraid; there was no genjutsu worse than this reality. No imagined world in which he’d failed worse than he had here. The boy must have seen it; the sharingan faded to inky darkness that threw Kakashi’s reflection back at him. Sasuke turned to Sakura. “How do you know it isn’t another clone?”

“Because he always underestimated me.” Bitter disdain dripped from the words. Sakura’s accusation hurt more for being true, but Kakashi didn’t flinch away from it. The tip of her weapon pushed forward enough to elicit a pinprick of pain. A trickle of blood worked its way down his neck, absorbed by the fabric of his mask.

“Tell me why,” Kakashi snarled, anger bleeding into his hurt and confusion. If he were going to die here, he wanted an answer. He deserved that much after everything they’d been through. After— “How could you betray us?” How could you betray me?

The woman holding the kunai scoffed, and threw her head to get sticky pink strands of hair from her face. “You betrayed me long before I returned the favor. You never even noticed me.”

You’re the only thing I saw, that’s why I pushed you away, the words rose and lodged crossways in Kakashi’s throat. He'd never admitted that thought, even to himself. You were everything.

“And killing me will solve that?” Kakashi’s body felt heavy, chakra exhaustion looming on the horizon. He’d pushed beyond his reserves, again. The rest of the recovery team was hours behind him now, too far to make a difference. If he couldn’t talk Sakura down, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

Sakura’s lips curled into a feral grin that he’d never imagined her capable of. The hatred turned his stomach as she pressed closer. “Killing you is a bonus.”

“He’d be a valuable hostage,” Sasuke cautioned, sliding his sword back into its sheath across his back. Kakashi almost laughed at the idea that the Uchiha would be the voice of reason.

“I’d rather die, you cowa—” Pain erupted through Kakashi’s face, sudden and sharp. Sakura too a step back and shook the sting from her hand. Blood gushed from Kakashi’s nose and lip from the savage backhand. It took him a moment to realize that he’d fallen to his knees during the encounter.

Sakura glared down, an angry goddess about to take her vengeance. She leaned close enough for her lips to almost brush his ear. “Shut up, and you might live through this.”

Confusion and hope bloomed in Kakashi’s chest. Had her voice changed? Was there a tenderness in the words, or was it only his imagination? He raised his head to see her expression and caught the glint of metal as she drew her arm back. Kakashi didn’t flinch as the blow threw his world into darkness.

#Whumptober2021 #No 5 #Betrayal #Fandom: Naruto #fanfic #Sakura Haruno #Kakashi Hatake #Sasuke Uchiha #Actual angst #This wants to be a proper story #but who has time for that #I love the dynamic between these three #like so much #Requests #My writing

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

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Oh? Request open? Since you write for Inuyasha, how about some 18+ content for Koga please?

Mating Season /// Koga x f!Reader (18+)

I’ve always had a soft spot for Koga, and he has so much nasty potential as a wolf demon. Repressed village girl vs. horny wolf-boy is peak lewd.

Warnings: dubcon, wolf characteristics, yandere, light a/b/o, very light breeding kink (there’s like 1 mention of it)

As a villager at the foot of the mountains where Koga’s pack lives, you’ve heard stories since you were a child about the vicious wolf demons who live in caves and eat little girls who stray away from their homes. Now that you’re an adult and you only half believe in fairy tales, you still should’ve known better than to take a nap in the woods with sunset coming so soon. But who could blame you? They were just stories. Rumors. Old wives’ tales passed down from mother to daughter for generations, a warning not to stray from what was known. And you’d been exhausted. During the daylight hours you know these woods like the back of your hand—surely you can’t be blamed for putting down your basket and resting your eyes, just for a moment?

Not that he needs more than a moment. Your fate is sealed the second you step into the woods, into his territory, where he’s isolated himself to spend his rut away from the other members of his pack. It’s hard enough to hold back his…more aggressive instincts when he’s alone; but when he finds you sleeping propped up against a tree, looking sweet and innocent and smelling like a bitch in heat, you really just don’t stand a chance.

Koga’s torso pushes down into your back like he’s trying to pin you with the weight of his body. When you manage to suck in a breath (struggling to let your ribs expand against his iron-solid grip on you), you can smell his sweat and yours mixing with the slightly-damp earth under your feet and the sharp, bitter medicinal herbs you were gathering. With your skirts pushed up to your waist the springtime evening mist is frigid against your bare skin, but the heat radiating off his body is making you feel feverish anyway. Your knees are digging into the dirt and for some reason the thought crosses your mind that your nice white stockings are definitely going to stain, and your mother is going to be so angry, and you almost want to laugh at how absurd the thought is. As if a few stains could possibly matter while a demon is fucking you.

Instead of laughing, you whimper as Koga hits a particularly deep spot inside of you. How many times has he finished inside now? Three? Four? His arm is wrapped around your torso, keeping your body locked into his while he drives into you over and over and over. His thick cock nudges up against your cervix every time he pushes his hips toward your ass. It hurt at first. You aren’t sure when it stopped hurting. Maybe it still hurts.

But oh…it feels so good, too. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this. It’s like you’ve been hungry—starving—your whole life, and now you’re finally getting something to eat. Every inch of your cunt aches, but at some point you start trying to buck your hips back toward his. It isn’t so much reciprocation as it is just trying to ground yourself, or maybe letting yourself go in the moment… You can barely keep yourself upright, and you drop onto your elbows, your forehead inches away from the mud.

The demon growls—growls, actually growls like a wild animal, as if you needed more convincing—and he presses his bare chest down toward you, the sweat soaking off of his skin and through the fabric of your bodice. His thrusts are slower now, not the rapid jerks that he started out with. Maybe he can tell you like this better? Feeling every inch of his cock opening you up and rubbing against the sensitive walls of your cunt is making you afraid you’re going to lose your mind in the delirious fog of what you would call lust if you knew the word for it.

You certainly sound like you want it, your pleas transforming into sweet moans as your body adapts to the mating. You probably don’t even realize how wanton your voice is. Whatever else you’ve said, all Koga can hear in his rut-induced haze are your cries of pleasure and the squelching of his dick sliding in and out of you.

It’s easier when you don’t have to look at him. You can pretend that this is a dream, the kind of impure fantasy the village girls giggle to each other about, comparing their conquests, making up stories about which of the young men is the most handsome, who probably has the most experience, who might have the biggest—

“Ah!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at the creamy smears of the demon’s cum painting your thighs white and collecting on the dirt between your legs. Surely no mortal man would be capable of finishing so many times without even pulling out.

Koga releases your hips and you rock forward, startled, until he grabs you by your upper arm and pulls you upright so you’re sitting in his lap with his cock still impaled inside of you. He rolls his hips experimentally and you hiss in surprise as his thick head drags against a sensitive spot in your pussy.

Before you can get accustomed to the new angle, he’s pulling your head around so you’re forced to look into his face. You imagine that this is how a prey animal feels when it’s stared down by a predator—a rabbit looking at a wolf, haha, your mind supplies involuntarily—there’s something that makes it impossible to look away. The part of your brain that’s still clinging to rationality and trying to compartmentalize notes for a second that oddly enough, he looks just as desperate as you feel.

“Wh-whyyy?” you whine, half-aware that this is the first real word spoken between you. You don’t know why you think he’s going to respond—even though he looks more human than the other demons you’ve encountered, his actions have been just as feral and animalistic as the rest of them, if only less violent and more…depraved.

There’s a bead of sweat rolling down your neck, and Koga can’t take his eyes off of it. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls your head back to expose the smooth column of your throat, careful not to yank it hard enough to hurt you. Humans are so fragile. When he tilts forward to lick the salty droplet off your skin, he feels your shiver all the way down. “You—I smelled you…”

In your half-aware state, it takes you a moment to hear him. “…What?”

The demon nuzzles his face into your hair, and his leisurely sigh stirs the fine hairs on the back of your neck. “Smells so good…waiting for me. Begging for me…”

“I—I don’t understand? Begging? Ah—ahhh…” Not for the first time, you try to push away from the demon uselessly. The rhythm of his slow, rocking thrusts doesn’t falter—you wouldn’t be surprised if he can’t even feel it.

It’s not easy for Koga to listen to your words when your moaning is so much more interesting, but he tries. For your sake. His soft little mate, so warm and weak while you grind your ass into his lap. What about this don’t you understand? He smelled you, he wanted you, he fucked you. And you wanted it too, of course you did…why else would you be wandering around by yourself in the peak of your heat, so ripe and ready for breeding that the smell of your lust is rising off your skin in waves? Why else would you have crossed into the territory of an alpha in his rut…?

But humans don’t think like that, do they?

The thought pierces Koga’s mind with a sudden, harsh clarity that would have been impossible had he not already finished inside your needy cunt four times now. Humans are different. Their senses of smell are so weak, just like the rest of them.

Koga remembers, unwillingly, a time when he crossed paths with Kagome’s party while she’d been on the edge of her heat. He smelled it, and Inuyasha noticed. The mutt pulled Koga aside to warn him not to mention it to her.

“But she’s about to go into heat. She shouldn’t be out of her house, let alone traveling with you, hanyo. Or can you even smell it?”

“Shut up, of course I can! But she can’t. Believe me, I brought it up to her once and she got pissed and said I was a pervert. Humans don’t know about stuff like that.”

They…don’t know. So that meant you didn’t know. You came into his territory by accident. You don’t know you’re in heat. You don’t know he’s in his rut, and you don’t know he’s an alpha. You probably don’t even know you’re in his territory.

The demon’s movements slow and then go still, and you’re left sitting in his lap with his cock still pulsing, a stiff rod of heat in your belly. You wait a moment, wondering if he’s going to pull out, but he doesn’t. His arm is still wrapped around you and his sharp fingernails are digging into the fabric of your bodice, no doubt leaving crescent-shaped marks in your skin. Involuntarily you feel yourself rock your hips against his pelvis, a feeble attempt to get him to pull out or even just move—the sex might’ve been uncomfortable, but feeling all full and stretched and so close to satisfaction with no way to get it by yourself is unbearable.

When there’s no response, you turn around toward him to get your first good look at the man (the demon) who’s made you want things you don’t even know how to say out loud. He’s good-looking—tall, tan, with boyish good looks (that would have earned him quite a few admirers if he were a villager like you) and flat blue eyes that seem oddly unfocused. His hair is tied up in a ponytail and you have the urge to pull on it, just like he pulled on your hair a moment ago. You don’t know his name. “Demon…please. I need you,” you whisper, letting some of the urgency you’re feeling spill into your voice.

Both of his hands clamp down on your hips, securing you in place while he slams his hips up back into yours. “Mate,” he snarls, his voice drowning out your yelp of pleasure, and before your mind goes blank with lust again, a chill runs down your spine because you’re not sure if he’s correcting you…or addressing you.

#inuyasha #inuyasha imagines #koga #koga x reader #smut #this ended up weirdly tender idk idk #i feel like the only audience for this will be me and the person who sent me the ask #but who cares #it's free real estate #yandere x reader #a/b/o #lowkey?#dubcon #tw dubcon

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itstittycitybaby · 4 years

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V Halloween Special

a/n: happy halloween you guys! i will be posting this along with another special on halloween. i went with something very different instead of what i had planned. i really didn’t like how it was coming out and i wasn’t proud of it. so here we are.

The chilly air welcomed you as you lurked into the night. The moon brightened London’s desolate streets. The curfew had rid people from roaming in the night and instead left the ghosts to roam free.

Lit pumpkins sat on doorsteps, grinning at you as you walked by. The halloween lights on balconies shimmered beautifully. Halloween night was eerie and desolate except for your footsteps on the pavement. There were no henchmen in sight. However, you’d find them soon enough.

London had been tainted by Chancellor Sutler’s reign. Its people have suffered greatly because of their weakness. Humans were such fragile things. Something you’ve come to learn from your five hundred years of life.

The people of London were weak but it wasn’t their fault. It was all the Chancellor’s; the power he held over them was great, but your strength was greater.

Your ears perked up. The sound of footsteps that scuffled in the alley made your senses heighten. You could feel them. Four henchmen were following you. A delighted grin pulled at your lips making your fangs flash in the night. A feast was walking straight towards you; the prey falling gently into the spider’s web.

You could feel their hearts getting closer and closer. You turned around, skirt swooshing around your knee.

“What do we have here? A pretty lady out past curfew?” The man’s words slurred. There were four of them. They whistled as they circled in front of you like wolves. You couldn’t help but scoff; men were never polite or kind, no matter what people said. They would always be pigs.

You didn’t say anything, but kept your eyes focused on what seemed to be the leader. He was bigger and more burly than the others. He walked with arrogance and pride. It was cute, really.

“Cat got your tongue? Shame really, would’ve enjoyed someone more vocal.” They closed in on you. They laughed as you got into a fighting stance. You smirked, ready to pounce. “Well, no one will hear you, that’s for sure.”

Foot shifting slightly to the right, you pounced on the man to your left. He cried out as his back smacked to the floor. You straddled him and clenched your legs tightly around him so he couldn’t escape. The others stood in horror as you sunk your teeth into his neck and drank. The man underneath you screamed until he became limp. You chuckled darkly as you rose up from him. “I’m just helpless aren’t I?”

The glimmer in your eyes was feral. You grinned wickedly and licked your lips. His blood was bitter but it would do. The three men pulled out their weapons. “We’ll k-kill you vampire,” the leader stuttered, holding his knife with trembling hands. You giggled. It was high pitched and deranged. You could feel their heart beats rapidly pump in their chests and their blood running cold. “Aww,” you cooed, lips pulling into a pout. “Don’t be scared. You’ll spoil the blood.”

The leader lunged at you. You dodged gracefully, sliding to the left. One of the other men tried to slice you with his dagger but missed.

You dodged their attacks swiftly with ease. Humans were no match for a vampire. Playing with your food always made you excited. Hunting for so many years became boring, but seeing horrible people like these henchmen beg for mercy never failed to get you off.

The sound of metal screeching together made you halt. You and the henchman in front of you snapped your heads at another opponent.

They wore all black with a little hat on their head. If you weren’t in the middle of feeding, you would have thought it was cute. Their dark hair barely touched their shoulders and they had a short curtain of bangs.

What caught your eye was the mask. Guy Fawkes. A strange sight to see from the resemblance of the man. The grinning smile the mask had was eerie. You couldn’t help but admire the person as they gracefully sparred the leader.

Your arm errupted in pain. Its sting traveled throughout your body. One of the henchmen had taken your surprise and turned it against you. You snarled, bearing your fangs. He clutched his dagger tightly and lunged. He was too slow. You tackled him onto the ground and leapt on him.

You clamped your hand around his mouth tightly, muffling his screams as you tore into him. The henchmen writhed underneath you, but you were stronger. His blood had spoiled from the fear that had coursed through his veins. You grumbled as your got off of him, “So much for a feast,” you grunted as you dusted your skirt off.

You heard a hiss. You lifted your head to examine the scene in front of you. The four henchmen laid dead on the concrete floor. Your nostrils flared as a sweet smell hit you. Blood. You felt a tinge of arousal as you basked in the glorious scent. The person in the Guy Fawkes mask grunted, clutching their side tightly. Your mouth watered at the wonderful smell.

Their head snapped up once they heard your boots clicking onto the brick cement. The dagger in their grip tightened as they studied your movements. “I’m not going to hurt you,” you said gently, hands raising in front of you. “I just want to take a look at your wound.”

The person laughed. It was followed by a grunt of pain.“And why should I trust you? A vampire looking at my wounds? A bit funny isn’t it.” There was no malice in the man’s tone. It was genuine curiosity.

“I only kill people who hurt others. Like Chancellor Sutler, for example. I don’t believe you’re on of those people. Feel free to correct me of course, and I’ll have no problem pouncing on you.” V grinned under his mask. The idea of meeting a vampire on halloween night made him want to laugh.

“I’m not a vile man who takes away people’s freedom if that’s what you’re insinuating.” “Then what are you?”

The man’s eyes watched you closely on you once you were finally arms length away from him. His blood smelled so sweet and you knew it would be delicious. He would be delicious to devour. But you were no monster (aside from the fangs and the literal blood thirst that pumped through your veins). This man had swooped in to save you from the disgusting pigs. Even if you didn’t need it, the thought still counts. You owed him a favor now and you were intending to full fill it.

“Ah, you ask a man in a mask who or what he is. Obviously you can see I wear a mask and what I am is a man who wears a mask.” The man coughed, his words becoming more strained and weak.

You snorted. “Listen, as much as I endure your charming dialouge and smooth voice, the more you talk the weaker you get. So, while I take you back to my place, you can tell me then. Sound good?”

He was silent for a few moments. Out of shock for being interrupted or what, you didn’t care. This man was loosing blood and he was loosing it fast.

“How can I trust you?” You sighed. “Well, if you don’t want to die then take the chance. Something tells me your time to die isn’t now. So what will it be? Dying and in the end I drink from your delicious neck, or you come with me and survive?”

V felt his cheeks flush. Well, you were rather forward. He mulled it over before nodding weakly. “Alright, I’ll take the chance. I might need some help getting there.” You grinned. V’s heart beat faster at the glinting fangs in the moonlight. “Perfect,” you replied. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders, the other on his waist. The man leaned on you for support and the two of you limped back to your humble abode.

****

V looked around the flower shop. The bright florescent light flickered on, revealing the wide range of colors to flowers. He was in awe as he gazed around the shop. V had passed by this shop during his missions without a second thought. He didn’t pay attention the shops anymore because he could no longer visit them.

“Your shop is beautiful,” V praised, gazing at a batch of garden roses that were arranged neatly in a bin. “Thank you,” you said, smiling. “I’ve always loved flowers, even as a human. They’re the only things that make me happy.”

“I’m assuming you can’t run it in the day.” You smiled sadly, grabbing the first aid kit from under the register. “You’ve assumed correctly. I have two assistant’s who come in during the day. I’m the one that orders the flowers and take care of the greenhouse.”

You sighed softly, “Ready? I’ll patch you up in the back.” “No witnesses,” V asked jokingly. You laughed. “Smart man.”

****

“Mind taking off your tunic?” V froze; he forgot taking off his tunic was an important part in this matter. You were so charming and sweet that he forget.

“Uh,” he stammered, “on second thought I can do it.” You shook your head. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t ‘suck your blood’ or something like that.” V’s heart striked with guilt. That was not the reason why; in fact, if you actually asked to feed V found himself willing. The thought scared him when he had just met you. What was scarier was you seeing him underneath the persona of the mask.

“You’re bleeding out. I really need to make you’re okay,” you said gently. “Alright,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.” You arched a brow but shut them anyways. It was dark and all you could hear was the rustling of fabric. It was silent for a few moments but the man in front of you murmured that he was ready.

What you were expecting wasn’t the sight in front of you. His skin was pink and very scared. Whoever this man was had been in some kind of accident. He still had his mask on which was odd but you didn’t comment about it. The air was tense between the two of you. The man seemed to be waiting for something. A reaction, or maybe for disgust?

You didn’t say anything at all. The man seemed surprised that you opened the first aid kit instead, and pulled the supplies out that you needed instead. You focused on threading the needle and made a small noise of victory once it went through. “This may hurt a bit,” you warned.

V hissed softly at the sting of the needle going in. Eventually he got used to the pattern of the needle being pulled from his skin. The pain became dull the longer it went on. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“A favor.” V’s brows furrowed underneath his mask. “A favor?” “Mhm. You really didn’t have to step in and help me out there.” “It’s my duty to help a beautiful woman in danger. Although, you could’ve handled them yourself.” You snorted, “Quite the flatterer.” “Sorry,” V grunted as a particular sensitive spot you were stitching. “I genuinely mean it. It wasn’t my intention to make you...uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that,” you said, tying a knot and reaching over for the scissors. “Just surprised. Not many would call my kind beautiful after witnessing someone’s neck being ripped out.” The man didn’t say anything as you snipped the loose thread. He watched you peel the gauze before kneeling back down again. “It must be hard. Having to control your instincts.” “Yes, it is.” You stuck the gauze on him with tape and lifted yourself off the floor. “Thank you.”

You smiled. It was a genuine smile. “Of course.” The two of you stared at each other. You couldn’t see his eyes but his gaze felt warm. It made your heart flutter and if you could blush, you would be like a silly school girl. The man looked like he wanted something more to say but thought better of it. He reached for his tunic and slipped it on, while you went back to front of the store to put the supplies away.

****

The man stayed there for a few hours before heading back out. He stubbornly refused to leave his empty mug in the sink, and persisted to wash it. Looking at the drying mug made your heart tug with sadness. The man was so charming and polite that it made you want him to stay. It had been so long since you’ve had a connection. Now that it was gone, it made your heart sink.

The sun was about to come up and grace the people of London with hope. After the mysterious man left you went back down into the basement. You couldn’t help but think of him as your coffin closed shut. There was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was the sweet blood running through his veins, or his kindness. Whatever it was, it left you craving for more.

You slept as the sun rose lazily. The customers in the shop didn’t know what truly laid beneath the adored flowers. They were clueless and very naive to what true dangers lurked in the undergrounds.

Before your last assistant left for the night they handed you flower. Your eyes widened in surprise. It was a rare rose that had been thought to be extinct. Hell, you haven’t seen one in a very long time. It was a Scarlet Carson and on the stem was a neatly tied black ribbon. “Who left this?”

Your assistant shrugged. “Dunnno. It was in the mail slot on the door. Came with this too.” She handed you a slip of paper. The handwriting was written in calligraphy, its swirls intricate and drawn with care. As she closed up shop behind you, you read the words over and over again.

“Thank you, my dearest rose. I look forward to seeing you again, mademoiselle.”

-V

#v for vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fan fics #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic

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iphoenixrising · 4 years

Note

If it's not a problem I would like to see what happens when omega Tim safe words out?

I just so in love with how you wrote him and I know you've a thing with Dr Tim and safe words but I would really appreciate if you'll give me this with omega Tim

Have a great day/night

Babe asked for O!Tim safe wording out. Taking into account how much he’s been able to take so far in my fics, then it’s apparently going to be truly something for him to safe word, right?

….or is this just another excuse to have AAANNNNNGGGGGGSSSSSSSTTTTTT.

(I regret nothing, but, well, you might, babe :D :D)

It was just supposed to be Pack support. Just the Bats realizing they had an Omega in their ranks, an Omega who had been more on the outskirts than part of the inner circle, an Omega who had been walking a long road alone. Just the Dick and Jay trying to be good Alphas and take care of him. Just giving in to those crazy instincts.

It was never supposed to hurt. It was never supposed to break him. Not like the first time when he was essentially kicked out of the Pack, when his cape was pulled out from under him, and his place became a question mark instead of a given. (Falling from Wayne Towers because Ra’s is such a douce canoe, he’d been beaten to fuck, blood loss and a real concussion to blame when he wondered if they’d bother putting up a case with his suit, if he even mattered that much to Dick, if he ever really did…)

When he presented, when he didn’t have a hint of a Pack scent, It had taken an embarrassingly long time to feel like he could get anywhere near the city. Long after he’d sent Bruce back home, telling him everything with sparse details, why there wasn’t an R on his shoulder, why he couldn’t be Batman’s sidekick anymore. He’d left all the pain locked in his chest, keeping himself as impartial as possible to deliver the hard facts, ignoring the whimpering, cowering Omega in the depths of him crying out for someone, anyone to want him, need him, keep him.

Working his way back in hadn’t been easy. Keeping his presentation under wraps with scent blockers and suppressants hadn’t been either, but there was no way in hell he was going to let something like the fact he was an Omega be the reason they wanted him back. Fuck, no.

But it happened anyway. Slowly but surely, O called him more often about cases, wanted to know if he had any helpful intel. B dropped by the Tower, more than once, to seek him out, told him how buggy the Batcomputer must be this point, but he wouldn’t really know, Tim, because you always handled that, didn’t you? Dick tentatively showed up in one of his safe houses while he riding an undercover stint, pizza and terrible B sci-fi flicks, looked crushed when Tim closed the door on him by sheer self-preservation instinct. Jason Todd showed up to fish him out of the middle of the Atlantic when a case of crimefighting gone hilariously awry ended up with a thwarted world-domination plot and his ass landed in the middle of, you know, the ocean and shit. Damian of all people demanded his presence in Gotham for the upcoming anniversary of Batcow’s induction into the family.

(When he’d blurted out, “why would you want me back? Aren’t you the one that wanted me gone in the first place? Well, I mean, got what you asked for, right? How about we pretend this conversation never happened.”

He had been in no way prepared for the demon himself to come hunt him down with a vengeance. Robin seeking him out no matter where he hopped next on the fight crime, kick ass, and take names train.)

(That kid? Seriously.)

And as much as Dick had apologized after he finally made his way back to Gotham, had said no Omega in his Pack should have been alone, without a Bat safety net (reads as: mother hen), he had seemed genuinely upset Tim had presented outside of Gotham, on his own.

Worse, he hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t come back.

(Like he thought that was an option at the time.)

It wasn’t until later, after they found out he presented, and were…upset he’d been on his own for so long afterwards, that he’d laughed at Dick’s angry expression, shaking his head.

“Come back? Why? To what? I didn’t have any Pack scent by then, and I sure as fuck wasn’t welcome, so why bother? I did what I had to do. We got Bruce back, didn’t we?”

He hadn’t been prepared for how strongly Dick’s musk flared, how the Alpha went deadly serious, had stepped back and palmed some pellets on instinct when facing something potentially dangerous – like a pissed off, feral Alpha male.

It had taken visible effort for Dick to get a hold of his Alpha instincts, which had absolutely perplexed him at the time because really? They hadn’t been partners, allies, friends for almost two years by then.

“It was…I tried to….Tim –“

He’d just waved off the helpless sputtering because by then, it hadn’t really mattered.

“It all worked out in the end. Don’t think about it all too hard, Dick. I don’t.” Which had been an obvious lie, but had at least appeased the Alpha enough not to viciously scent him or use the dreaded octopus hold until he was cuddled within an inch of his life.

So coming back was…different. Unexpected.

Being the official Pack Omega came with Bats all over his everything. Bats coming out of the woodwork when he was starting to run down, when his Heat was approaching, when he’d been out of the city for too long.

(It was all for nothing in the end. Because they’re only after the Omega now, not the boy that used to wear the R…)

“Heat’s easier with an A, Timmers,” Jay had started that ball rolling. “Ya ever gotta need fer the real thing, betcha I know a few Alphas what might help ya out.”

“I can call some Alphas I trust if that becomes the case.” Had been off-handed in his mind, but it had been something else to see Jason’s expression smooth out, to catch the soft noise of leather when the Red Hood’s hands had clenched into fists.

But against his better judgement, he’d let them into his Heat safehouse. At first just to let them deliver Alfred goodies. Later because they wanted to stay, to spend his Heat together.

It was fine as long as they would just leave afterwards. It was fine as long as it stayed just instincts, just Alphas and an Omega. It was fine because they still treated him like Red Robin on the streets and left him alone when he went blackout on cases outside the city.

It was fine until it suddenly wasn’t.

“Gawd, sweetheart,” Jay moans against the nape of his neck, noses against the base, “ya feel s’ good. My sweet lil’ ‘Mega. My purty ‘Mega, lettin’ me in, givin’ it up ta yer Alpha. Gonna lemme be good ta ya, yeah? That’s right. Perfect fer me, ain’t cha?”

It’s his second day, so he’s with it enough to realize what Jason said.

“Yeah he is,” Dick’s fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “He’s such a good Omega for us, isn’t he Jay? He fits so nicely between us. Our cute O–“

“Red.” Tim croaks out from under Jay’s bigger body, the wet sounds of skin slapping fast and furious. He bucks up against Jay with real strength, his eyes already getting ridiculously hot and full.

“Red, dammit! Get the hell off me!”

He yells loud enough to make Jay flinch and jerk up abruptly from where he’d been laying over Tim’s back.

Dick’s hand pauses before untangling from his hair.

And even if the Heat is still burning, his body desperate for the knot that was just seconds ago opening him up for it, Tim pulls off Jason’s Alpha cock wetly, doing it himself while both Alphas seem frozen in their spots, not sure why he would safe word out at all. He seemed to be enjoying them!

Tim’s already clawing and scrambling off the bed, careful not to touch either of them, legs wobbly, messy ass and thighs on display, feeling open and raw and needy, but his chest too tight, his lungs seemingly unable to get enough air.

The bathroom door has a lock. Not that it was much of a deterrent if the Alphas really wanted to get to him, but there’s always the window big enough for him to fit through, too small for Dick or Jay. It would give him enough of a head start anyway.

At one point, he’d pulled a towel off the rack, wrapping it around himself, sitting against the bathroom door to literally block it with his body without being consciously aware of it.

He didn’t move, stayed bare ass on the cold tile floor, concentrated on getting enough air back in his lungs, biting down on his lower lip until his eyes stop spilling over, hot and full, until his chest stops stuttering with half-sobs. Until the Omega in him calms it the utter fuck down.

Soft tapping filters through when the door vibrates against his back.

Dick’s voice filters in while the inside of his head is an utter mess. “… got some pajamas for you, and-and a sandwich. Jay made coffee. Can you let me in, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that,” is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I’m not your fucking Omega. I wasn’t enough to be your partner, your brother, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be your bitch either.”

“What the fuck didja just say ta ‘im?” Jay barks from outside the door.

“It’s just instincts,” he tries to snarl but his voice is hoarse, “that’s all this is. You think I don’t know that?” The laugh is scarily unhinged, “it’s not like anyone chose me, right?”

Because honestly, that hasn’t happened his whole vigilante career.

There’s silence outside the door. Stillness. The Omega writhes inside him, still needs a knot, still wants the Alphas even though Tim knows better than to think they want anything other than a warm hole, another vigilante to share the burden, an Omega’s influence in the Pack.

(He fucking gets it.)

“Apparently, we should talk.” Dick’s voice is flat, something like anger or disappointment.

“Get out,” is what Tim says instead. “Get dressed and get the fuck out. I’ll take care of myself.”

Like I’ve always done. Even back when I wore the tunic.

“Tim, we shouldn’t–“

“No,” and his own scent had changed from candy sweet to alarmingly bitter to his own nose. “You are going to get your clothes on and leave. You two don’t see me through anymore Heats. I find someone else or take care of it myself.”

“What?!” Jay sounds floored, “what the shit is this alla sudden? Ya can’t be serious right now.”

“I’m not fucking around, Jason. You leave, or I will.”

“You can’t go out smelling like Heat!”

“I dunno what the hell’s goin’ on wit’ ya but–“

He stands up on wobbly legs, moves to push the window open, knows they’ll hear the squealing because he’s not trying to be quiet about it.

“Whoa, whoa! All right, all right, fer fuck’s sake!”

“We’re getting dressed and leaving,” Dick is right up against the door. “Don’t go out the window, Tim. We’re…we’re going to go, okay?”

“Then go. Now.” He says from the window without turning around. He can’t chance his inner Omega will push him to whine at the door, to smell like open for business, take me, love me, make me yours because that is not at all where any of them are right now.

He hears them talking, their voices getting more muted as they go back to the bedroom to apparently do as he asked.

Tim climbs out of the tub, window still up, and turns on the shower without getting in, just using the noise as a deterrent.

“Don’t like it, Dickie,” he vaguely catches as the Alphas pass by the door again. “We try ta take care a’ ‘im and that’s what the fuck he says?”

“He safe worded, Jay. What does that mean to you?”

And Tim’s throat gets tight when he thinks about the implications Dick is suggesting.

“Dunno. How ‘bout ya gimme yer theories, Detective.”

“Later. I want to make sure there’s water and Alfred meals left in the feezer.”

“Fine, them let ‘im take care of his own ass. I ain’t never took advantage of a ‘Mega in my fucking life.”

Tim doesn’t leave the bathroom until he hears the front door slam closed. He darts out long enough to reconfigure the security system, makes sure no Bats are getting in without a hell of a shock.

The rest of his Heat is utterly fucking miserable, natch.

He feels wrung out and hurt by the time it’s done and he’s ready to put on the suit again.

He doesn’t put in the Batcomm, for the first time in months, and it goes back in a drawer before he takes off out the window.

#winter rambles #don't blame me #babe is the one that asked #i'm not sorry #omega!tim #alpha!dick #alpha!jay #aob #tagged for anon #aaaangst #angst and smut #natch #dickjaytim #hurt no comfort #get your feels ready #my fic #My writing

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snickiebear · 3 years

Note

If this inspires anything in you, and if you have the time to write it, I hope we can see how you respond to the following prompt:

Kakashi is the god Sakura has to eat and kill.

Lordt help us!

HAHAHAHA MITTENS!! this is literally one of the best prompts ever. thank you SO MUCH!!

i literally had to sit down and outline this so make sure i gave it justice LMAO also, did a little research on japanese kami! which is so interesting btw :))

side note! this is also on ao3 bc i really, really loved it

xiv.

It begins with a girl (doesn’t it always?). A girl made woman who is nothing but smiles and laughter, unfiltered sunshine and the smell of flowers on the warm breeze.

She is good, she is brave, she is kind.

And she grows, that girl made woman, she grows and her eyes open to the world around her. To the hatred of the mortal, to the disease of the gods.

She holds her mother close as she dies in her arms, her father off to war.

They never find his body.

She is the only survivor of her village, war and wreckage in her wake.

This woman made once of sweet sighs and feather light touches learns to survive, learns to harden herself against the world, to bare her teeth and not her throat, to love the scars and hard muscle of her once too soft body.

She meets a woman with too ancient eyes for a face so young and the woman smiles at her, it is a horrible, wretched look. It is a beautiful, timeless look. “Oh, you.” She murmurs, voice old and young, standing slowly. “You’ll do just fine.”

And the girl made woman bares her teeth in a smile, a warning, tilting her head to the side, “Oh? And what shall I do just fine?”

The woman assesses her, amber eyes shining with something cruel, “You will be my avenger, girl.”

And the girl made woman, well, she rather likes the sound of that.

xxiii.

She sees him for the first time at the market, it’s a cloudy day, the streets full of people and the carts slowly selling out of the limited goods available.

The very land has been dying for years now. The mortals do not know it, but Sakura does. Less and less crops, dying plants, brain soil.

The thought itself brings a slight smile of fondness to her face.

But Sakura sees him for the first time at the market, and she knows who he is, what he is. She was under Tsunade’s tutelage for years. Sakura knows a god, a kami, when she sees one, feels one.

So, she walks, shoulders back, spine straight, loose and fluidly until her boot purposely catches on a crack in the cobblestoned road and she’s airborne with a sharp gasp—

Until two strong hands wrap around her forearms, steadying her gently. Sakura looks up, face flushed and eyes wide as she makes eye contact with the Shinigami, who looks at her in concern.

The god takes the form of a tall, broadly shouldered man with a mess of gray hair. Onyx eyes stare at her and they are so black she can see her reflection. Sakura fights the full body shudder that threatens to overtake her.

She has stared into the eyes of a dying god before. Staring into a living one’s should be no different.

“Are you okay?” He asks and his voice rumbles through her, her heart pounding without her consent.

“Yes,” She breathes and offers a shy but sweet smile, slowly taking a step back. He lets his hands drop, fingers grazing her bare skin. She ignores the goosebumps that erupt in his wake. “Thank you very much…”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The liar says, eyes crinkling from over his mask. “And you are?”

“Haruno Sakura,” She replies easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. The Shinigami holds out her basket of goods and she takes it, brushing her fingers against his deliberately, calculatingly.

The wretched kami gives her another eye crinkle, taking a step back himself, “Aa, a pleasure then, Haruno-san.”

Forcing a blush, Sakura waves off the honorific, “Please, just Sakura.”

“Then I am simply Kakashi,” And with a duck of his head, the fraud turns and ambles away.

Sakura turns also, disappearing into the crowd of much too skinny humans, too poor, too stupid. She allows herself to grin, wide and unfiltered, and with teeth. And that scaled, clawed, fanged thing inside her peeks its eye open and purrs.

xvi.

Tsunade— or at least that is what she wants Sakura to call her — takes a long swig from her jug and cackles to herself. “I was right when I picked you, you know.”

Sakura glances up from her scroll of poisons, “You still have yet to tell me why it took only one look to think I can do whatever avenging you want done.”

Swirling the liquid in the jug once more, Tsunade chuckles, “Call it intuition, yeah?”

She huffs, snapping the scroll shut and stealing the jug from her master, taking a long drink herself. It is horribly bitter and disgustingly tart, and Tsunade laughs herself hoarse at the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re going to do great, mighty, quiet things.” Tsunade says after a long silence. Sakura looks at her curiously. “You will bring war upon earth, disrupt the very heavens. Sweet child, you only know a taste of the power you could hold.”

And Sakura, well, she’s been alone since she was eight years old and surrounded by disease ridden corpses, she’s stolen and cheated and bartered her way through survival. She knows her way around a knife, a piece of glass, a sharp rock.

She has spilt blood just to eat for the night.

“You’ll teach me,” It is not a question.

That cruel, beautiful smile unfurls on her master’s face, “Of course, Avenger. Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything.” Sakura breathes, demands, pleads.

A soft, aching laugh. “Very well, come here and listen closely.”

And Sakura is a clever girl made woman, she listens to everything Tsunade says, and everything she does not.

So, when Tsunade leaves her alone for the night, Sakura stares at the ceiling of the cheap Inn they are staying in and allows herself to smirk.

xxiii.

She sees him every time she goes to the market after that. He crinkles his eyes at her with a, “Good morning, Sakura-san.”

And in response Sakura blushes and murmurs a sweet, “Hello Kakashi-san.”

It goes like this for weeks until he changes their routine, leaning against one of the carts, tossing an apple into the air. There is only one farmer who can now produce apples, and even then the fruit is weak, no longer crispy and juicy.

The very land, the very life of this village is being drained away. Just as the other villages Sakura has traveled through. There will always be consequences to her actions, she supposes.

Kakashi tosses her the apple and Sakura makes sure to fumble with it before clutching it close to her chest, a teasing smile on her lips, “Kakashi-san, this is new.”

“Mah,” He hums, shrugging, “Just didn’t want you to miss out on your usual, is all.”

Sakura smiles, tucking the apple into her basket, the usual contents dwindled down to a simple jar of jam, a measly loaf of bread, and now the apple. She would need to make this quick and move towns soon.

“Say, would you like to come to lunch with me?” It’s a shot in the dark but she’s hoping that Tsunade was right when she said Sakura was infuriatingly charming. “I understand if you would not like—"

Kakashi cuts her off with a wave of his hand and a friendly look in his eye. Sakura wonders, idly, what he would taste like freshly baked and seasoned. “I am not one to turn down free food, of course.”

She laughs, a light and tittering thing and bares her throat the slightest bit before looping arms with him, “I shall lead the way then.”

Luckily, she has some dried meat and left over vegetables to make something decent and she smiles as him as she sits.

“You’re a healer.” Is what he says, eyeing the herbs and the bandages she had left out.

Sakura shrugs, “I try to lessen pain,” It is one of the many things Tsunade had left her.

He looks at her as if she is something new and so very interesting and she knows what he sees. A thing of life, a thing of preservation, has invited a creature of death, a creature of destruction into its domain, and allows that dark creature to live there.

It is what she wants him to see. Sakura smiles with teeth and she knows he does not see the wolf that sits in front of him.

xvi.

“Dodge!” Tsunade barks harshly and Sakura just barely avoids a direct hit, her skin still burning from the way the air sizzles from her master’s blow.

Sakura twists and flips backwards to gain some space between them, thighs quaking and sweat pouring as she pants, chest heaving. “I fucking am!” She bites back.

“Do it faster.” And then Tsunade is in her space, uppercutting and a blow to her stomach, sending Sakura flying into the corpse of trees behind them.

But Sakura is used being beaten down and she snarls loudly, landing on all fours, fingers digging deep into the ground before she lunges upwards, narrowing avoiding Tsunade’s next hit before spinning horizontally and lashing out with her foot.

And for the first time, Sakura lands a hit on Tsunade; sending her stumbling back, golden blood bleeding down her face.

She lands, gasping for breath, knees collapsing out from under her as she stares wide eyed as her master wipes blood and sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Her amber eyes sharpen to knife points as she grins, feral and oh so wild, “Very good, Sakura. Now we’re making progress.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sakura smirks, tasting blood and salt and victory. “Think you can handle more, old lady?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.” Tsunade smirks, stalking towards Sakura to pull her up, “Now let me see that jaw of yours. And the stomach, the hell did I tell you about the sto-“

“I know,” She snaps, rolling her eyes as her body throbs something fierce. She allows herself the weakness of leaning into Tsunade’s as they trudge back to their small cottage. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” They leave it at that. Then, “That was a good hit, my pupil.”

And Sakura, well, she’s feeling indulgent, so she smiles, a slight twitch of the lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, shishou.”

xxiv.

She finds him at the usual spot, draped over a branch like a limp curtain, book in hand. Sakura is still not quite over the fact that the death god reads awfully written porn, but at this point in her life, nothing can truly shock her.

Sakura is well past expectations.

Hiking up her pants, she climbs up the tree and to the branch he’s lounging on, straddling it so her back is to the trunk. Kakashi makes a curious noise when she pulls out her book from the waistline of her pants, “I never took you as an Icha Icha reader, Sakura-chan.”

Peering over the top of her book, Sakura quirks a brow, “If you can read porn, so can I.” A pause as she turns the page, “Plus you’re reading Paradise, I’m reading Violence. Two very different pieces of literature.”

What she will not tell him is that Tsunade taught her how to read with these books, she’s memorized every page, paragraph, and line written.

“You wound me so,” He sighs, going back to his book.

Comfortable silence descends upon them and the only sounds are of nature and the rustle of paper. Time passes and she cannot help the slight twitch of her lips whenever Kakashi giggles at a certain part. It is nice, this quiet.

But she knows it will not last. She will not allow it.

And like an omen, low rumbling of thunder rolls through their quiet, small droplets landing on her hand before the rain steadily picks up. Sakura snaps the book shut and shimmies down the tree, Kakashi landing soundly next to her.

“My place?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

Kakashi intertwines their hands, gently and slowly, his hand encompassing her own as he looks at her, dark eyes reflecting the sky as lightning strikes. Something hot pools deep in her belly when she makes eye contact with him.

And she knows. She knows that she has him.

They stand in her small cottage, dripping and studying each other before they move as one, ripping at each other’s clothes, all lips, teeth, and tongue.

She claws at his back when he thrusts into her, rough and unyielding. The rain pounds outside as her back arches and he groans deep and rasping.

He falls asleep, his face pressed into the crook of her neck and Sakura allows herself to smirk, the taste of glory on her tongue once more.

xiv.

Sakura glowers and bares her teeth at the woman, “You still haven’t fuckin’ told me what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Truly, the only reason why Sakura is even here is because of the free food and shelter. She is well aware that nothing is free in this world, Sakura has learned that the hard way.

The woman tilts her head, studying keenly and Sakura rears her head in a snarl. But the woman’s lips pick up at the corner, “What’s your name girl?”

“Sakura.” She bites out, fingers curling into fists. Glancing around the tavern, she notes the exits, the windows, the people who could be an issue. Then again, she’s sitting across the biggest threat in the room. “And yours?”

The woman hums, “Call me Tsunade.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” She grounds out. Sakura nearly bites the woman when two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, the woman’s face inches from her own.

“You are the catalyst, girl. The commination that will teach the world the very meaning of power.” Sakura’s eyes sharpen at the last word and Tsunade nods. “You like that, hm? I will teach you then, Sakura. And you will enact my vengeance on the heavens itself.”

Sakura stares, tension slowly melting from her body as she stares at this woman, at this savior. And she thinks, she remembers how cold her mother’s body was, the look of grief her father wore when he left.

She remembers tripping over the bodies of friends, of neighbors, half coherent and sickly.

Looking at Tsunade, Sakura licks her lips, “And what will you teach me?”

“How to turn that rage into a dagger and slit gods’ throats with it.” The woman purrs and Sakura smiles.

xxiv.

She wakes to a freezing cold chest to her back and puffs of air on her neck, just as she has since that night.

It is exactly as Tsunade said it would be; fishing. Lure, hook, and reel.

Sakura lets herself smile with teeth, a smug and sharp thing before she slowly extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they had become. The Shinigami slumbers in her bed, wrapped in her blankets.

Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, she looks at the god who she has fallen in love with. He loves her with just as much ferocity, she knows. And despite it all, she finds herself not quite hesitating when she goes to dig through her cabinets, finding the small nine pedaled flower. It once had ten and after this morning it will only have eight.

It is as if sinking into a familiar skin as she picks one of the petals, tucking the flower back where it was. Humming under her breath, Sakura grounds the petal in a small bowl before brewing some tea, sprinkling the powder into it.

The Shinigami’s arms snake around her waist, kissing her temple as he rumbles, “Good morning.”

Sakura turns her head to smile at him, offering the tea.

The scaled, clawed, fanged thing within her has its ugly maw open, head throw back as it cackles and howls.

xviii.

“Listen brat,” Tsunade says, snapping open a scroll.

“I’ve already read that,” Sakura interjects, her brows raising. “You know that.”

Tsunade slaps the back of her head, “When I say listen, I mean it.” She shoves the scroll into Sakura’s lap before striding towards a chest that had not been there before. “Come here.”

Slowly, Sakura makes her way towards the opened chest and peeks inside. She drops the scroll, “Is-is that-”

“Weapons to kill the divine,” Tsunade finishes for her, nodding. “Find one you like.”

Sakura swallows harshly as she kneels down and digs through the weapons, careful of every sharp point, as she palms a knife, a curved dagger with a golden blade. “This one.” She whispers, looking up to her master.

Tsunade nods in approval. “There are few ways to kill a kami.” She holds out one finger, “One, with an ichor dipped weapon.” A second finger. “Two, a very particular poison.”

Picking up the scroll, Sakura glances down the list before landing on one flower, “Kami koroshi.”

“That’s right.” Tsunade nods, “And do you know what to do with it?”

Sakura stands, flipping the dagger in her hand. It feels like coming home, having a blade at her side, bathing in the intimately dangerous knowledge of how to bring about the destruction of the heavens.

“Crush it for indigestion.”

xxiii.

Her stomach aches with laughter, clutching at her sides as she cramps and chokes on her tears. “An-and then wha-what happened?” She manages to get out as Kakashi laughs himself, leaning against the wall, a jug of liquor in hand.

He passes it to her and Sakura takes a long drink, reminiscing of a time similar to this.

“Then I told him, fuck off you little shit—" Kakashi wheezes and Sakura shouts with laughter, curling over as she gasps for breath. “And go blow som-someone else!”

They both dissolve into giggles and howls, Kakashi joining her on the floor. Sakura’s panting by the time she catches her breath, wiping tears from her face, and when she looks over Kakashi is not much better.

Brushing hair from his face, she points skyward, the stars winking down at him. “Hey Kakashi,” She asks, drunk off her ass and still giggly. “Where do you think we go when we die?”

Silence meets her question, and she sluggishly looks to the side to find him watching her, eyes soft and so full of— of—

“You’ll go somewhere safe,” He says softly. “Somewhere beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She mumbles, eyes dropping closed.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Is the last thing she hears before the dark overtakes her.

xix.

Tsunade sits across from her, laughing as she takes another long drink from her jug and sets it down heavily.

Sakura simply watches, leaning back in her chair, eyes cold and head tilted as her master coughs once, twice, three times.

Her arms begin to lose its color, being paler and paler and Tsunade watches with detached interest before laughing. She looks to Sakura, “Took you long enough, you fuckin’ brat.”

Snorting, Sakura stands, dagger in hand as Tsunade’s body begins to writhe, her breathes coming quick and uneven.

She yanks her master’s hair back, exposing her throat and slitting it in a single slide, so deep that she knicks bone, golden blood spraying.

The body drops forward, ichor pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor. Sakura sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she kneels down to look into Tsunade’s lifeless eyes, “I will take it from here, Shishou.”

The promise rings out into the silence and Sakura revels in it.

xxiv.

Kakashi takes a sip of the tea as they both sit down, Sakura across from him. She takes a bite from the rest of their bread, watching him keenly.

He jerks suddenly, choking and hacking as he looks to her in horror and alarm. “You—"

“Me.” She confirms easily, getting up, dagger in hand.

The Shinigami roars and pushes the table away from himself and into the wall, Sakura ducks, the wood barely grazing her head before she lunges.

His already pale skin grays some more as he attempts to fight her off. She laughs at him, holding him down with one hand, knees on either side of his hips. And in the morning light, her dagger glints like a heaven sent prayer.

She plunges the blade into his head and drags it down his breast, carving him open as the kami screams and screams and screams.

Sakura feels his life bleed out from him under her hand. It is quiet once more.

And the girl made woman smiles, all bloodied teeth and gold stained hands. "And here we are." she whispers, caressing the corpse's cheek, reveling in her quiet victory. "Divinity dies at my wretched hands once again."

xvii.

“Shishou,” She begins, treading carefully. Her teacher looks at her in question, quirking up a brow. “Why were you outcasted from the other Kami?”

Tsunade— or more commonly known as Inari, Goddess of Everything Important, of the very Life— laughs and it is a hollow sound. “Oh, darling girl,” She says, a bland smile on her face. “Even gods hunger for power."

xiv.

Sakura sits, a feast laid out in front of her, a goblet of wine in her hand as she smiles, eyes flashing with something predatory.

Picking up her fork, Sakura spears into the first bit of meat, taking a bite and moaning at the way it melts in her mouth, the way the spices and flavors all blend.

She sips at her wine, running her tongue over her teeth before she laughs, throwing her head back and cackles at it all, with it all. Oh, she is a god killer, she is god taught and god fucked and she will be the one to rule them all.

Sakura sits, a feast laid in front of her, and eats the Shinigami’s flesh, one bite at a time until she can feel the power in her roar.

xix.

The corpse still sits at the table as Sakura rummages through the shit Tsunade had left behind, finding a thick envelope sealed in wax. Prying it open, Sakura laughs.

If you’ve found this, it means you’ve finally grown a pair and done what you were supposed to do. Well done, my pupil. You know your mission. I have trained you well. Do not disappoint me.

And behind the scrawled letter is a recipe.

She looks to the corpse and back down to the paper before she stands, going to gather the ingredients needed.

Sakura stands, flipping through the rest of the contents of the envelope until she pauses at another paper; a list of names and common dwellings.

The Shinigami’s is underlined three times in red.

xxv.

It ends with a girl (doesn't it always?), a girl made of nothing but destruction and anger, all slit throats and bleeding teeth.

She is horrid, she is wretched, she is powerful.

And she has grown, that girl made woman, she has grown and her eyes are wide open and she is intimately aware of the hated and evil of the world, of the weaknesses of the divine.

She finds them laying under a tree, peacefully existing and smiling at each other. The blonde one laughs, clutching his stomach while the raven simply watches on in adoration.

Sakura takes out the list, and under the Shinigami’s name crosses off two more, Raijin and Fujin.

Smiling, she makes her way towards them making sure to look a little lost and a bit scared.

And that thing inside her, the scaled, clawed, fanged thing, it smiles wide and hungry.

#silly things from silly friends #kakasaku #that one ninja anime #200 follower event :)#a shared pen

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omsrandom · 3 years

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Love is A G̴̢̈́̿L̴̥̋͑Ȋ̶̥͈̥͋̉T̶̢͎̀ͅČ̸̪͍̏H̷̰͚̳͒ Chapter Preview: Speed Metal

for the lovely @insanely-creative-things! Happy birthday! The alternative title for this chapter is: Local Wine Uncle Takes Child to Illegal Street Races

“You know Soundwave is going to offline you if I get caught,” she hummed as she sat in the driver seat. Knockout’s laugh echoed through the speakers.

“If you get caught,” he reminded her. “You can’t stay in the ship all the time Shockie. Even hatchlings got to leave their nest more than you.”

She didn’t have a good rebuttal against that, instead just sitting back as they pulled up into the line. Almost immediately, the person to the right rolled down his window and keyed KO’s arm, making her cringe. “Just don’t kill him while I’m here,” she just asked. “I still have nightmares from when I broke my arm.”

The mech just let out a growl, and they shot forward, leaving her to sigh in resignation.

He was quick, she wouldn’t argue against that, but if she wasn’t bracing herself for every turn, no doubt she’d be slamming her head against the window at every bump. As they came up to the black car, she just turned her head away, hearing the tires squealing and the metal-on-metal crash as the human was sent soaring off a cliff edge.

“He’ll live,” the mech murmured, and she felt tension bleed out of her, replaced with a giddy sense of excitement.

“Then let’s finish this!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, she couldn’t stop her fifth yawn as she walked down the sidewalk towards where Bulkhead was supposed to pick her up. It would be her first time actually seeing where the physical Autobot Base entrance was going to be, and she messed it up by going out last night.

“You ok?” she jumped as Jack pulled up beside her.

“I didn’t think humans could yawn that much,” Arcee agreed quietly, making her snort.

“Just wait until finals come up,” she murmured. “If they’re anything like what I did online, all of us are going to be pulling 24 hours or more.”

“Ratchet won’t like that,” Jack agreed. “You did online classes? I thought you were homeschooled.”

“Uh, yeah, Up until, maybe, like, I was 12 or 13? Then S-my dad enrolled me online because his job was getting more and more difficult to do at home.” Jack just nodded, not looking too deeply into her answer. “Anyways, gotta go to, uh, Bulkhead? I think?”

“Good luck with Miko,” he chuckled, letting Arcee drive off. She’d deny it to this day that her little huff of laugh was anything more than slight fondness.

Things were… tense, later on. Miko had been blasting loud music through her phone, which helped keep Ashi awake, but… the Autobot base entrance wasn’t what she was expecting. It was a literal mesa base. No wonder they could never find it.

But that wasn’t a real concern. Jack was late.

Arcee made sure he was never late, so why, after two hours of being out of school, was he not at the base yet?

He wasn’t there when she went to the Nemesis portal spot, but no, she wasn’t concerned, ok?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ashie yelped as someone picked her up, holding her in their hands. “We’re going out again Shockie,”

The redhead groaned at Knockout’s words. “I need to get this report done,” she argued. “While I still remember where the base entrance is!”

“One little race isn’t going to hurt hatchling,” Breakdown called from the next room, where he had a buff kit ready to go. “We both know Commanders Starscream and Soundwave will be the first ones to forgive you if a report is late.”

“But it’s still the principle!” she tried to argue.

“Ah ah! We’re going out, and nothing you can do or say will stop it,” the red mech’s words sounded as final as a nail in a coffin (whatever that meant) so she put on a long-suffering face and looked at Breakdown.

“How do you deal with him?”

“I don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Jack asked quietly as they walked down the steps, and she just grimaced.

“Yeah, my brothers are just assholes,” she shrugged. “They like playing pranks on each other and shooting nerf guns in the middle of the night, and Dad put me between their rooms to try and stop it. I just got caught in the crossfire.”

“Ouch,” Jack hissed. “You should tell them to knock it off, at least until Mr. Gregory’s test is done.”

“I’ll think about it,” she hummed.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you!” Both her and Jack turned around to see Sierra exiting the school. “The race, how great was that? I was like, yeah, go Jack!”

“Race?” she murmured, and Jack’s eyes widened.

“You can’t tell O-,” he cut himself off.

“Jack totally blew Vince out of the water with that sweet bike of his,” Sierra told her. “He promised to take me on a ride.” Something made her blood both boil and freeze.

“Oh?” she just choked out instead, hating how small it sounded.

“Before we met!” he tacked on. “Sierra, this is Ashi, my girlfriend. And Ashi, the race was no big deal,”

“You got that right,” Vince snarled, pushing between her and Jack, forcing her to take some steps back. “If you think you can run with the big boys: the circuit, tonight, 11 pm.” She glanced at Sierra, whose eyes were flickering between her and Jack before the teen’s voice caught her off guard.

“Deal,”

Oh, Primus, she was going to kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn’t go to the Autobot base that day, instead going directly to the ship, to the medbay where Knockout was checking Megatron’s vitals.

“Shockie, what a wonderful surprise! Anything you need dear?”

“There’s a race circuit going on tonight at 11,” she said, getting straight to the point. “I need to be there.”

Knockout frowned. “Even I wasn’t going to have you go out three days in a row. What’s so special about this?”

She swallowed, knowing full well what was about to happen. He was the only one aside from Breakdown and Megatron who knew what the power of the words she was about to say was. “My soulmate will be racing in it.”

Knockout froze before turning to her in an accusing way. “You were supposed to keep us updated if you met them,” he reminded her quietly, too quietly for the mech. “Why didn’t you?” She shifted her gaze to her feet and murmured her response. “That was too quiet for my audio receptors to pick up. Louder now.”

“He’s…” her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it seemed to echo through the room. “He knows the Autobots… he’s my key to getting behind their defenses.”

“Slag,” Knockout said, and she felt it. “Slaggit, hatchling, you can’t have anything normal happen to you, can you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Knockout pulled up to the line, she was expecting Jack and Arcee, but definitely not Bumblebee, and the red mech seemed to feel the same as her if the quiet curses seem to say anything about it. “I’ll be quick,” she promised, exiting the passenger door and quickly weaving her way through the crowd to Jack and Bee. “Jack,”

“Ashi!” he snapped around, staring at her in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

“One of my Uncles is racing tonight,” she stressed, shifting her gaze to Bee rapidly, hoping he’d get the hint. Judging by how pale he turned, he seemed to get it. “I just came to wish you luck, and there won’t be any hard feelings, right? Uncle K can be a bit mean in these things.”

“No hard feelings,” he echoed back. “You’ll be safe?”

“Only if you are,” she sighed, quickly going back to Knockout. “He knows you’re here, but not you exactly.”

“He knows you’re a Decepticon?” Ok, so maybe Knockout was still a bit pissed off at her.

“He accidentally got warped into our ship, and our first words were said while I was in uniform. And then we met out of uniform and it only took a day for him to realize who I was.” she still felt bitter over it, but just shrugged instead.

Somehow, Vince ended up between Knockout and Bumblebee, and she was very grateful for the blackout windows and the redhead teen tried to glance her way. “Creep,” she grumbled, bracing as the countdown started.

In a second, they were off, Bee and Vince instantly duking it out for first and second while Knockout stayed back in a casual third. “He’s not really trying to struggle, is he?” Knockout mused aloud, making her laugh. She did notice he was driving a bit more carefully, and she was thankful for that, even if he was watching Bee’s movements to do it.

Then, Knockout gained on Vince and spun him out, making her laugh. He continued driving forward, obviously trying to get first in what would possibly be the only friendly Autobot-Decepticon interaction for a while, when the yellow bot began to swerve, signaling that he had realized who was behind him. Knockout moved to follow him, and she realized in abject horror he had pulled his ion guns out.

“Knockout,” she warned.

“Relax. I don’t plan on hitting them. Fear is a good motivator.” he fired, and true to his word, every shot missed, and the two Autobot allied quickly left the drainage ditch in favor of an actual road with Knockout still following. Bee was suddenly trailing something, and it took her a moment to realize what it was.

“Oil!” She yelled, but she was a moment too late as Knockout spun, and by the time she was finished, she was feeling sick and seeing stars.

“Primus, Sparkie, you ok?”

She let out a wheeze and held a thumbs up. “Fucking shoot him for me,” she choked out. “I’m going to throw up in the ditch.” Immediately, the door opened, and she launched herself out of his alt-mode and onto the road.

As he started to drive away, she stumbled to the side, where she hung over the rails and…

Oh god, were they really hiding under a bridge?

Jack at least had the decency to look ashamed as he caught sight of her, but it quickly turned to disgust as Vince pulled up and got out of his car. Knockout screeched to a halt, backing up to her.

“It’s the school bully,” she murmured. “He’s an ass and a creep who can’t take no.” Knockout silently transformed, and her phone vibrated from her jean pocket. Taking a glance at it, she read:

Want me to teach a skeeze a lesson then?

Maybe her grin was a bit too feral as she nodded. The mech immediately reached down, pulling him up and tossing him into the air as he transformed. The teen was bound to the passenger seat, and without a thought, she hopped into the driver's seat with a grin. “Let’s go, Uncle K,” she giggled, and Vince’s eyes went wide as he realized who she was. He was knocked out not even a second later, so it was ok.

“What’re we gonna do with him?” she asked. “He’s only a year older than me, so he’s still technically a kid, not an adult.”

“So major body harm is out of the question then.” Knockout mused. “Psychological isn’t though. You said he couldn’t take no for an answer?”

“He’s made me his main target, but there’s probably a dozen other girls he’s tried this with before and it worked, otherwise he wouldn’t be so insistent.”

She finished up the final note just in time to hear cars circling the building, making her sigh. “Fun’s over,” she said.

“At least we got some enjoyment tonight,” Knockout sounded just as disappointed as she felt. She finished folding the papers up as much as she could while they were on the move, and as she finished stuffing them in Vince’s pockets, the sound of a semi-horn made her freeze.

Oh, Primus, they called in Prime??

The large mech immediately slammed them off the road, and it was only Knockout’s quick thinking of tying her down with straps that she hadn’t immediately been ejected as he slammed into a ditch. It left her in a daze, and all she could really do was just lay there, slumped over as Knockout frantically tried to get his back wheels on the ground.

“Stay online Shockie!” he called, thunderous footsteps getting closer and closer. As Prime easily picked Knockout up, she realized how much deep slag she was about to get into when she got back to Nemesis.

The passenger door was ripped off, and Vince was removed, and she could all but feel the disgust from Optimus as he grabbed her as well, throwing Knockout to the side. The mech transformed an angry, desperate look on his facial plates.

“Give her back,” he snarled, but he faltered as Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead all pulled up. “Slag you! Slag you all to the pits!” He drove off, leaving her alone, injured, and surrounded by enemies.

“Are you alright, Miss Lawrence?” Prime asked.

“Think you broke my ribs,” she murmured. “When you slammed into him.” he might’ve had a mask over his face, but just through his optics alone, she could tell how much that sentence hurt, and she planned on weaponizing it.

“Let us get you to Ratchet then,” he murmured. Bumblebee rolled a window down, showing Jack with a pained face of his own. A morbid part of her wondered if he had felt her pain whenever one of the ‘bots had shot her or not.

“This was my fault,” Jack’s voice was distant as if he was getting farther away.

“We must get these two to medical immediately,” Prime cut him off, and she noted in a sense of vindication that he was jostling Vince around while keeping her perfectly still. “Explanations can come later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hadn’t even realized she had passed out until she woke up, once again in the comically large medical berth, IVs carefully hooked up to her. A glance at the clock told her that calling Soundwave would definitely result in death, so she just carefully turned it off and slipped it under her pillow. He knew how to remotely turn it off if he needed to talk to her.

“Should you not be contacting your parental unit?” Ratchet asked, making her grimace.

“I should’ve done it the second I realized something was off with the race,” she admitted. “Calling this late in the morning would just result in him getting angry at me.”

“Is he not usually angry?” Ratchet’s voice held confusion, so she just tilted her head. “The bruises and cuts across your body indicate you were attacked.”

“Are you trying to ask if my father…?” she trailed off, just staring blankly at him. “I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed when I’m in the base, Ratchet, but I trip over everything. I fell down the stairs a few days ago here and you didn’t react, so I just thought you knew not to get too worked up.”

“I-” the mech sputtered, turning away. “Your ribs are wrapped, no running or exercise for the next two months. Optimus would like to talk to you before you leave about what happened.”

“I got kidnapped, not much more I can say,” she shrugged.

The look he gave her told her she hadn’t been convincing enough.

#Transformers #Transformers Prime #TFP #Ashi Lawrence (OC)#Ashi #Jack Darby #Arcee #Bumblebee #Knockout #Breakdown #Optimus Prime #tw: mention of possible child abuse #but not really because the 'cons would happily die for Ashi #You cannot change my mind the Knockout would be THE WINE UNCLE #LIKE HE'S THE SAME COLOR AS WINE TOO #Love is a Glitch Commission #Love is a Glitch (Fic)

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decayandfanfics · 3 years

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The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

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Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

You show me the man and I’ll show you the rule.

Tomura thinks he knows nothing about beauty, but then she proves him wrong.

(He thought her pretty before already, but after seen it…he concludes she’s the most beautiful, terrific thing he’s ever seen. Not that he would tell her that.)

A feral dangerous creature living inside of her with no other match.

No other but him.

Oh...you have no idea...She told him.

It happens so fast. One moment she’s there, sitting in front of her laptop, pretty and quiet and serene. All harmony and light, resting softly under the sunlight, between her dumb succulents and the spices that fill her home. Then he can hear Dabi’s caustic laugh and the wrong words. He’s disrespectful, an instigator, skilled in the art of making others lose their composure like is his favorite game.

He hears the foul words, the berating, and the mocking aimed to him, while she sits wide eyed and impossible flustered by the kitchen table.

Dabi smirks triumphant, like he always does after giving everyone a piece of his drama and Tomura watches him, wincing, reminding himself again that Dabi is supposedly oldest than him and Toga, and yet he does his best to being an annoying brat.

Tomura knows better to just let him bark, his remarks mean nothing to him, he knows what he is, and he knows what he isn’t. He’s a freak, yeah. That too, but he isn’t a child anymore, so he let it slide, keeping his eyes glued to his phone arching an inquisitive brow, ready to just let it die there.

He just forgot about the stupid little stunts of bravery she has this tendency to commit. (An annoying dangerous trait that makes him chuckle with something akin to fondness.)

She’s having none of the bullshit, Dabi’s little remarks had fed her up after a whole week of spiteful teasing, her precious patience has run thin.

“blue eyes are a mutation too, so you are no one to talk about it.”

The moment she opens her mouth, Tomura feels something warm filling the hollow place where his dead heart should go and it’s so foreign to him that for a moment he panics and thinks (very stupidly) that maybe his energy drink-based diet is finally going to kill him, and he (barely in his sweet twenty’s) is having a stupid heart attack.

But the pain never comes, it’s just her, voicing a clever answer, defending him.

“A quirkless little bitch? Seriously, Dabi? Where you raised in a fucking barn that you know nothing but fuck this and bitch that?

He wants to make her shut it, but he can’t find the words. Not when her remarks are sharp and funny to hear. (Besides, her voice sounds so sweet when she’s throwing smart ass angry comments just to back him up.)

It warms him and enrages him equally. How dare she to defend him? He can speak for himself on his own and doesn’t need her to make any back up about an insult he doesn’t care for. Stupid pretty woman. Trying to shut Dabi, putting herself in danger for the likes of him...Is she insane? (later that day, he’ll conclude that she must be pretty fucking nuts to have them all in her home after all, but somehow the thought only makes him like her more.)

“yeah. I know stupid cunt too.”

Dabi likes to cause havoc and now he’s pissed, so he throws a vulgarity aimed at her. Tomura feels the hot pang of anger at the other man, because the offense is not only an insult, but also a lie. She’s not stupid nor a cunt. She's sharp as a knife and kind enough to share with them.

“Dabi, cut it out.” He warns with a grimace, and now the fight has everyone tense in the room.

“I’m sure you do. Pretty useful to describe yourself I bet.” She snarls showing her teeth, an angry frown darkening her features and Tomura swears her eyes begin changing color.

“you sure like to bet, like how you are betting I don’t burn you alive for being an annoying bitch.”

This time Tomura gets fucking furious, something animal revolving inside of him at the idea of Dabi threatening her. But the fight is escalating so fast, he can’t say anything before she answers back.

“Fuck off, Dabi. This might be shocking for you, but you don’t scare me.”

He wants to laugh at this, truly. Feisty little thing she is when angered, all her soft ways and nerd knowledge thrown out the window in a fit of cocky bickering and a part of him is living for the chaos of it.

“now, that’s pretty fucking stupid of you.”

“Dabi, shut up!” Tomura growls irked with the way her hair has begun to float over her shoulders, now completely convinced that she’s not quirkless at all.

“I’m not the one insulting everyone just because I cannot deal with some fucking daddy issues.”

God fucking dammit woman, just shut up. He thinks frustrated, giving her a look worth a stab.

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT” Dabi snarls before kicking the little table in the living room, breaking one of its legs with a loud crack.

“CUT IT OUT!” she screams this time, standing from her chair “I don’t have to know when it’s plainly obvious you have problems with authority.”

“you really think you are so clever, don’t you?” Dabi states, crossing the living room, aiming to her, so Tomura leaves his place in the corner to stand at her side without even thinking why.

“I know I am, asshole!”

Dabi stops his tracks, looming over her like a monster. His eyes scanning her face before looking at Tomura, who stands by her with his hands open in front of him in clear warning.

The black-haired man looks at her before moving to Tomura, his brows raised in surprise as he chuckles darkly.

Shigaraki hates the way he looks at him, like he knows his thoughts. Like he knows he’s been creeping into her room to watch her sleep and the sinister lustful visions that sometimes plague his dreams after some playful back and forth every time she defies him with some smart-ass comment.

“stupid woman. You should know better.”

And then…he just slaps the laptop out of the table; the computer smashing open against the cemented ground.

Tomura remembers this moment like one would remember the witness of a car crush or a catastrophe. A simple second enough to amaze him for a lifetime.

The way her eyes just ignite into scorching red lights shining like burning embers under her frown brow. Her hair floats free from gravity over her shoulders like a terrible chaotic crown as her mouth flash pearly teeth in a feral snarl.

He watches how she claws her right hand, fingers curling, knuckles tensing and Dabi is suddenly choking under the pressure of some raw power. His limbs twisting painfully in horrific motion and unnatural angles in complete agony.

A second later and before anyone could grasp what’s happening, her other hand pointing pinky, index and thumb to Compress, Toga and himself, keeping them frozen in their place, a strange rigid pressure making him feel like he’s full of cement and any movement will shatter his bones and snap his spine.

He can’t move, he can barely breathe. Feeling like if every fiber of his being, every muscle, every cord is solid hard under his skin, unavailing him to get away.

But he can watch, so he watches her terrified and amazed.

Her quirk is rare, and powerful and dangerous. But she keeps it locked away, sleeping soundly, safely caged inside her ribs, like the best hidden weapon, perfect for torturing bodies and bending wills. Buried deeply under her layers of kindness and humor.

One twitch of a finger, and Dabi’s neck would snap in two and they can do nothing but just watch when little blood vessels begin to burst in the white of his eyes as he pants desperate for air, his veins contorting furiously under the marred skin of his neck and the flames scatter in some random parts of his body without any control.

Tomura swears he can hear Dabi’s bones crackle under the invisible force as his spine bends backwards in a sickening angle.

And, as sudden as it begins, ends.

Her hair falls and her eyes are no longer red. Dabi breathes again falling to his knees and for a moment Tomura thinks he will cry out of pure fright.

For a moment he wonders if Toga and Compress want to cry too because that felt like certain death, but is sweet, somehow. Something within him squirms joyfully with the notion of her own violence. She is as dangerous as him, no damsel in distress, no little girl in need of care, no simple quirkless girl, but a horrifying woman. A dangerous and powerful creature with a quirk made for torment, just like-

He looks at her, just to find a sad disappointed face. A thick trail of blood began sliding silently from her nose, tainting the perfect bow of her lip. Only then he notices the bloodshot eyes and how the color has run from her face.

She stands quiet and bitter watching between her hands and Dabi trying to catch his breath. Her face giving away guilt and self-loathing (two feelings he’s very familiar with.) but unlike him, she is no tormentor, she grasps no joy in watching Dabi suffer, nor do she wish of making them quiver to the sight of her.

She is kind, and brave, and witty. Humorous girl, quick at wordplay and puns; buying vitamins and oranges for them and something about no one getting scurvy under her watch.

He wants to laugh hysterically at her sight because she is magnificent, and for a moment he thinks that the boy with the destructive touch and the girl with the tormenting gaze sounds like a hell of a name for rulers and his heart shivers in excitement, but she is crying and clutches her guilty hands against her chest and ask them to forgive her for using her quirk on them.

She didn’t mean to; she didn’t want to. She likes them all very much, so she promises she’ll never hurt them again, and somehow it reminds him of something, but he cannot place a finger on what exactly.

He feels the sorrow drowning him. A grudge so horrid it makes him want to vomit and scratch his neck raw because something in her resembles something in him, but he cannot really grasp the motive of such connection, only knowing it has something to do with the hands he carries around like a symbol of his own distress and a little black-haired boy crying in some familiar backyard.

The sound of the bathroom door startles him and she’s no longer in the living room, but he can hear the quiet sobbing coming from behind the door.

Finally, Dabi decides to just fall backwards against the cold floor, still panting, an arm over his eyes.

Only then Spinner breaks the dreadful silence and ask the question they all want to make.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.”

Chapter 10

9 notes · View notes

iamtaran · 4 years

Note

For the prompt thing: 15 and 37-together or separate I don't mind either way

:D Thanks so much for this prompt!! My first ever!!

15: “Was that supposed to hurt?” and 37: “So lie to me then.”

Three months after Jaskier last saw him on the mountain, in an upscale tavern in Novigrad playing for a gathering of minor mages, successful merchants, and actors, Jaskier looks up and sees Geralt standing in the back of the common. He is so startled that he ends up ending his set rather abruptly and stumping down from the little raised stage in order to quickly pack his lute away. If he can just get between the two parties exiled to social exclusion in the back and up the stairs to his room-

“Jaskier.” A hand lands on his shoulder. “You-

Jaskier shrugs the hand off roughly, and his voice is a whip crack even over the din of the common: “No.”

Because of course it’s Geralt, and of course he is standing there looking dumbfounded– as dumbfounded as he can, at least, when half the muscles in his face seem permanently pressed into his neutral scowl. They slacken now in surprise. Jaskier feels a mean little curl of pleasure to have shifted even those.

“No,” Geralt repeats, like dragging the word over gravel. Jaskier cannot bear to look at him. He slides the last of the leather ties shut on his lute case and slings it over his back with too much force. It barks off the table behind him with a twong. He fights the urge to wince. He is hot across his neck with a familiar anger (which is in no way masking hurt, thank you) and unwilling to withstand a second more of this than humanly possible, and so turns abruptly away.

“That’s right, Geralt. No. Forgotten what it means? I know you’ve heard it enough in your life,” Jaskier says cattily. As he walks away, he throws caustically over his shoulder with a jaunty wave, “but let me introduce you one more time.”

He takes the stairs two at a time, an uphill rock fall of flailing and banging limbs and boots too heavy on the wood so that the whole tavern must hear the racket. No matter how much noise he makes, however, it is not enough to mask the sound of heavier boots following behind him on the stair. Jaskier scowls.

He had locked the door to his room, specifically because he room was nice enough to come with a lock. He had been pleased that his belongings would be safe while he performed. Now, he regrets it immensely. Stubbornly, he yanks the key from the pouch on his belt and struggles to fit it into the door. Struggles, because his hands are trembling. He curses.

He feels Geralt stop just behind him. His presence seems to exude– something. It sets all the hair on Jaskier’s body standing in emotion so strong he feels it in his fingertips. He doesn’t look. He refuses. As if Geralt is not there, he finally gets the key in the door and bursts in, swearing profusely when his boot toe catches on an uneven board and he stumbles. He tosses his lute on the bed. Still ignoring the undeniable presence in his doorway, he begins picking in the hooks down the front of his doublet. One tears loose under his numb fingers. He snarls.

“Jaskier-”

He whirls around.

“Did you not hear me?” His voice cuts through the room like a lobbed spear. “I’m uninterested, thanks very much. Now get out.”

Geralt’s brows snap together in consternation. The look is so familiar, which somehow simply rockets him from angry to furious like nothing else. Three months he’d had to forget, or try. Why did Geralt have to, to ruin it?

“You won’t even let me speak?”

“You didn’t let me, before,” Jaskier spits. Geralt– flinches. The molasses-slow shift of guilt oozes across his stiff features as unwillingly as ever. Even so, its presence is enough to give Jaskier pause, just for a moment. Not too long ago Jaskier would have flogged himself to see that expression, to catch a hint of it. Now it makes him grind his teeth.

“You…” Geralt sighs hard enough his nostrils flare and opens his hands wide. “You’ve always been a better man than me,” he points out as if clawing the words out pains him. Jaskier doesn’t take the olive branch.

“Pretty words for someone who claims not to be a man at all. Are you a man, Geralt?” Geralt’s eyes flash up to meet his, shockingly vulnerable for a split second. A single arrow of shame cuts through the red haze for a moment. Jaskier scowls and thinks, guess I’m not the better man after all. He changes course. “What could you possibly want to say to me? You got what you wanted, after all.” He turns away to finish undoing his jacket. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to look at him. To not have to read him as clearly as a friend of decades. His mouth runs away with him. “I’m off your hands. What, have you further complaints you were not able to air? Perhaps some long-carried unhappiness to get off your chest? Because I admit to being wholly uninterested-”

“No,” Geralt interrupts in a tight-strung voice. “I’m not- I didn’t find you to yell at you, Jaskier, what the fuck?” His honest bemusement grates. Jaskier throws his jacket on the bed and shoves his sleeves up to the elbow if only to have something to do with his riotous hands.

“Oh, then we’re breaking with tradition, then,” Jaskier says meanly. He flutters about the room impotently, unable to stand still, unable to look at him, yet unable to leave. “How quaint. Except, again, not interested so will you please-”

“-I’m trying to,” Geralt cuts himself off with a curse. “I came all this way to talk to you, will you just-”

“-and I’ve said no! Multiple times! You stubborn-”

Geralt bulls across the space so suddenly that Jaskier freezes.

“Will you look at me?” Geralt demands. Jaskier’s head snaps around.

“FINE!” he shouts. It does what he wanted; Geralt jerks back at the volume, eyes flown wide. Jaskier follows him with a single, sharp stab to the chest from one string-hardened finger. “I’m looking at you. Is this what you wanted? Do you see what you came for? Because that’s all that matters, right, is what you want?”

Geralt swells up like a thunderhead in a rush of barely-withheld frustration. He has to visibly quell himself. “I… care. About what you want.” His tone comes out bitten-off at the ends. “It matters. And, I’ll,” he scowls, “I’ll leave if you want. If you’ll just let me-”

“Let you what?” Jaskier snips, just to be an asshole. Geralt breathes in and out one through his teeth and rumbles,

“Apologize.”

Jaskier stares at him hard, with that deep unhappy line between his brows and the ready-to-pop tension of his mouth like an over-tightened lute string. He sees all of it and wishes he couldn’t. Geralt’s jaw is ground so tight Jaskier feel a sympathy pain in his molars. He looks paler than Jaskier remembers, with deeper shadows under his eyes. His hair is the dark grey it goes when it hasn’t been washed in a while. He smells of horse, sweat, road dust, and fire smoke.

Jaskier tamps down on the sympathy that wells up in his chest like vomit and curls a petty lip.

“I wouldn’t think you’d know how. Do you need pointers?”

Geralt frowns.

“Don’t be childish.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps, feeling at once like he had won and yet burning, uncomfortable, unquenchable, out of control, “oh, I’m the childish one? Shall we reflect on your little tantrum, Geralt, some three months past? Side of a mountain, dragon hunt– ringing a bell?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt grits out. Jaskier has to fight to keep his face from betraying his surprise. He doesn’t want to be surprised, or to feel anything stirring hopefully in his gut with the words, delivered however begrudgingly. Geralt steps closer so that he is all Jaskier can smell. His eyes catch the lamplight like copper coins. “You didn’t deserve that. I was…” He rakes a cruel hand through his hair, numb to how it yanks his disheveled queue further out of arrangement. It looks as if he has repeated the motion many times before he had arrived. “I was angry and I took it out on you because… because-”

“Because you’re an arse.” Geralt glares, mouth already open to argue. Jaskier raises his voice over him. “Admit it! I was an easy target for you to take out your upset over things ending between you and Yennefer. That’s how it always goes with her! She chews you up and spits you out, only this time it wasn’t temporary. So you took your hurt out on me, your obnoxious, worthless travel companion. Like an arse.” The bitterness curls directly off his tongue. He hopes Geralt can taste it.

“I…” Geralt chews on the words– like glass, if his expression is anything to go by. “You’re… right about Yennefer. But you, you’re not-” Jaskier is barely listening anymore. He feels righteous and vindictive, like draining an infected wound but it’s not a healing pain at all. He doesn’t realize he is trembling.

“I was an easy target,” he snarls. “Easy to cast aside. Like trash.” Geralt bristles.

“Don’t put words into my mouth,” he barks. Jaskier flares up at him.

“Am I? You threw away over two decades of friendship in a squalling fit! Only, of course,” Jaskier laughs sharply, “of course, we weren’t friends, were we? You couldn’t even stand the word. I’m amazed you made it so many years with my unbearable presence.”

Jaskier had been watching closely: the jumping of the muscle in his jaw, the clench of his fists at his sides. It’s the snapcord tight draw of the tendon in Geralt’s neck that marks the breaking of his composure.

“Don’t be fucking stupid!” he snaps. His flashes teeth like a feral dog. “Of course we were fucking friends!”

An unholy vindication swells up in him when Geralt makes an aborted move forward as if to shove him.

“No,” Jaskier hisses, and then he is shouting. He can’t stop shouting. He shoves out with both hands. Geralt doesn’t budge and he shoves and shoves and he won’t fucking budge. “I was your friend! Me! For years! But you were never-”

“Never what?” Geralt pushes back. “Never saved your life from jealous husbands, thieves, shapeshifters?” Again. Jaskier staggers back a step. His heart is pounding rage in his throat. “Never saved you from your own stupidity?”

Jaskier feels as if he’s been slapped.

“Thanks ever so!” he snarks over the pain. “If this is how you apologize-”

“I’M TRYING,” Geralt bellows, spittle flying. His eyes flash the color of gold in the sun. “But gods dammit, Jaskier, you can’t make this easy, can you? Nothing can ever be easy, not with you around to fuck it up.”

Jaskier slaps him.

In the sudden quiet, the sound seems inordinately loud. Three breaths pass with only their heavy breathing and the murmur of voices from below.

Ever so slowly, Geralt turns his head back, eyebrows drawn up into a little fist of hurt, before his forehead smooths. He lifts one eyebrow pointedly and sneers.

“Was that supposed to hurt?”

The room seems to drop away. Right, then.

Which is when Jaskier reels back and punches him in the nose.

Afterwards, after Jaskier has bloodied Geralt’s nose and Geralt has broken the bed frame with tossing him back onto it– after they’ve wrestled like school boys, elbows flying and pinching and slapping and biting and pinning– after Jaskier had gotten the upper hand for all of a moment with an old move learned with the other noble boys destined for knighthood whereas Jaskier was, apparently, destined to end up on a shitty little palliase in Redania locking a witcher’s elbow behind his back– –

After Geralt has, of course, come out on top and managed to pin Jaskier sweating and swearing and sputtering beneath him– and after he manages to haltingly, breathlessly, quietly press out his apology to a captive audience– and after Jaskier finds something inside him breaks open like a dropped wine bottle and, pinned, he has no choice but the let the ugly hurt and broken shards puke out–

Afterwards, they lay huffing and panting into silence. Geralt’s shoulder and elbow press into his own, exuding heat like a banked fire. His hair tickles Jaskier’s ear on that side. His chest rumbles on a hum, and it could be indistinguishable from any other such room. Any other such bed and night. If he closes his eyes and pretends that his chest has not been wrenched open, Jaskier can almost pretend. They had never parted and travel on instead. Hunts, and vodka passed beside the fire, shared strange and lonely sights in the wilderness, and two friends.

Jaskier swallows. His throat hurts from yelling.

“Don’t take this to mean you’re forgiven.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier scratches an itch, squirms.

“You look like shit. Have you been surviving without me?”

Geralt chuckles a dry sound like something catching fire.

“In a sense.” A pause stretches. “How have you been?” He clears his throat. “Without me?”

Jaskier stares at the far wall. This pause, by contrast, stretches more languidly than a stray cat on a fence. Whip-hard and starved. He feel Geralt turn to take in his sudden stillness.

“…I don’t want,” Jaskier says quietly, “to talk about how I’ve been, Geralt. I don’t want to open up to you. I don’t want to bear my soul, and I don’t want to be honest. Even if we’re…” Better. Closer to alright. “…It’s too soon.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums just as quietly. Jaskier hears the shift of fabric. When he turns his head, he finds cat eyes back at him from a bare foot away. He swallows– chest open, chest closed tight, chest flayed. Geralt presses his lips together and bumps their shoulders. “Lie to me, then.”

Jaskier watches, just perceptible, as the corner of Geralt’s mouth curls uncertainly up. He breathes. Chest open, chest closed tight, chest flayed.

He smiles.

“I’ve been fantastic. Smashing. All gay parties and glowing candlelit nights.”

If his voice chokes and cracks on the lie and his smile wobbles, Geralt does him the rare kindness of not noticing. Instead, he turns onto his side and curls up delicately, so carefully, until his forehead is just pressed to Jaskier’s shoulder through the thin material of his shirt. His breath rushes out, fluttering the sleeve.

“…Me, too.”

Jaskier swallows.

His chest is an open wound. But he thinks he feels it healing.

#taran writes #prompts #the-griffin-and-the-lost-boy #fanfic #geraskier

324 notes · View notes

catfe-overlord · 4 years

Text

“Feral”

Part 3

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

::in which the Bakusquad comes in clutch, and Kirishima and Bakugou have a cutesy moment together::

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Kiri, you with us?”

That voice was Ashido. Yeah, that was definitely her giggle that followed. Funny, because he was just dreaming about her.

“You were, were you?” she snorted. Someone else snickered.

Yeah, he’d dreamt they were at the amusement park. Kaminari got sick on a roller coaster. Ashido got cotton candy stuck in her hair. He’d nearly pissed himself in the haunted house.

Laughter erupted, jarring him out of the last remnants of sleep that were clouding his mind. He blinked up at his three friends, who were all grinning down at him, their giggles dying down to welcome him back to the world of the living.

“Do you always talk in your sleep, dude?” Sero asked, holding his stomach after laughing too hard.

“Uh, I wouldn’t know,” he retorted. “I’m sleeping.”

“Oh my gosh, that was hilarious. My face hurts from smiling so much,” Kaminari stated, wiping a tear from his eye. He forced himself to turn serious after a few moments of collecting himself. “Hey, Kirishima, I’m really sorry about electrocuting you yesterday. I panicked, and I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. It’s just, Bakugou is terrifying on a good day! When he turned on me and something was definitely wrong, like, he had claws and slit eyes and he looked like he wanted to cut me to shreds, I couldn’t stop myself! It happened so fast, I—”

“It’s okay, Kaminari,” Kirishima stopped him there. “I totally get it. Mistakes happen. It was probably a good thing you stopped Bakugou when you did. He could’ve killed someone.”

Ashido leaned in to give Kirishima a big hug. He was thankful for the warm embrace. Other than the new gauze Recovery Girl must have applied after he passed out, he’d slept shirtless and his blanket had fallen down to his waist at some point in the night. He could feel the goosebumps on his arms.

“How are you feeling?” Ashido asked after pulling away.

“Better. Groggy, definitely, but it’ll pass once I’m up and moving. Thanks.”

She pinched his cheek before standing up straight and snapping her fingers at Kaminari. “Fetch the gifts, peasant.”

He stuck out his tongue in her direction before turning toward a few plastic bags on a table across the room. He brought them over to Kirishima’s bed and dumped the contents at his feet. “Ta-da!”

It was everything Kirishima had purchased yesterday at the mall. His crocs and hair dyes and gel and the red sweatshirt. He was so relieved to see them. He’d spent nearly ten-thousand yen on everything, and after Bakugou had been hit he’d just dropped everything and didn’t think twice about it.

“Whoa! I can’t believe you guys found all my stuff,” he beamed, the smile evident on his face. “Bakugou’s too?”

“You bet!” Ashido winked. “We left his two bags outside his dorm, since the door was locked. I doubt anyone would have the balls to touch something of Bakugou’s anyway, so I don’t think we have to worry about it going missing before he gets back.”

“Speaking of Bakugou,” Sero said warily, “how’s he doing? I mean, I know you just woke up, but you were with him last night, right?”

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m honestly not sure how to answer that one. He was definitely still struggling with the quirk when I left him last night, but he’s a fighter.”

“What exactly did the quirk do you him?” Kaminari asked. “He looked terrible. And he had murder in his eyes, like, more intense than usual.”

Kirishima chuckled at that, but he didn’t really find it funny. “Aizawa kind of explained it to me. It’s like he’s stuck in some—how’d he say it?—oh, ‘animalistic rage’ is what he said. And it changed some of his appearance, but I’m sure you guys saw that. I’m actually going to visit him in a little while.”

“You are?” Ashido asked excitedly. “Where is he? Is he still here, at UA?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s in a safe room. But I’m not sure it’s such a good idea to see him right now. He could hurt you guys. The only reason I can go is because of my quirk.”

Ashido pouted. “I know you’re right, but it still sucks. Just keep us updated on Blasty, okay?”

Kirishima offered her a smile. “I will. And I’ll tell him you guys said hi.”

Sero stood then and stretched, cracking some of his joints. “So, Recovery Girl said you should be good to go once you were up. Wanna grab some breakfast?”

Kirishima could feel his mouth water at the thought. “An omelet sounds delicious right now.”

After Kirishima cleaned himself up, removed the last of the bandaging from his torso, and threw on his new red sweatshirt and his fresh crocs, the proclaimed “Bakusquad” made their way to the cafeteria. It was a Saturday, and other students were filing in and out at their leisure. Kirishima caught sight of Midoriya and his own group of close-knit friends, and they waved to one another.

Kirishima inhaled his food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite. His friends chattered amongst themselves, and he half listened to their conversations, but he didn’t say a word other than a grunt of affirmation here and there until his plate was clean.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he was just leaving to head back to the dorms. It was Aizawa.

Heard Recovery Girl gave you the OK. Visit Bakugou whenever you want. Text me when you get here and I’ll let you in.

Kirishima smiled down at his phone. “Guys!” he said, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll catch you later. Aizawa just texted me with the go-ahead to see Bakugou.”

Ashido slumped, but she waved him off. “Alright, but tell him we wanna visit soon too!”

“You got it,” he said, spinning on his heels and heading over to the building he remembered Aizawa leading him to last night.

Once he’d been buzzed in by Aizawa and lead down the elevator to the sub surface level that held his best friend, Kirishima suddenly found his stomach fluttering with nerves. He wasn’t sure which Bakugou was waiting for him: the angry, feral Bakugou he’d fought on the street yesterday or his angry, less-feral-more-bitter friend that he cared so much for.

Or maybe it was the Bakugou he’d said goodnight to. The quiet, careful Bakugou who didn’t dare hurt his friend. Who fought the quirk with every last ounce of strength he had to hold himself back.

When Kirishima peered through the one way mirror, it wasn’t a sight he’d expected. It was just Bakugou, still obviously under the effects of the quirk judging by the black, clawed hands and cat-like eyes, and he was just laying on his side on the shredded mattress, head propped up by his elbow. He was finishing up a bowl of rice and chicken, and he had a manga in front of him that he slowly flipped through.

“He’s been like this for the past hour,” Aizawa informed him. “He goes between ballistic and himself pretty often. I’ve had a few conversations with him this morning, but no one can get near him yet without him attacking. If you want to go in, I’ll allow it, but I want you to stay away from physical contact.”

Kirishima nodded. “I mean, Bakugou isn’t a very touchy-feely kind of guy on a good day.”

Aizawa swiped his key card through a small device attached to Bakugou’s door. The little red light turned green. “Well, he’s been asking when you’d come by.”

Kirishima was genuinely surprised by that. “Really? Why me?”

Aizawa sighed. “Because you’re his best friend.”

Kirishima tried to suppress his smile, but he knew he was failing miserably. Aizawa waited patiently while Kirishima pulled off his new sweatshirt and tossed it onto a chair before he finally opened the door for his student. He’d raised an eyebrow, surely wondering why the redhead decided to go shirtless, but he didn’t ask questions.

As soon as Kirishima stepped through the door, Bakugou looked up at him and stared for a long moment. His face slowly twisted into a snarl. Kirishima suddenly felt pretty self conscious and a hint of fear at what his friend might do next, but before he could say anything, Bakugou was yelling.

“SHITTY HAIR! WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR SHIRT?!”

Kirishima stopped breathing. His heart might have skipped a beat. His lips twitched into a smile, so grateful to have his Bakugou back to normal, at least for now. “I was wearing my new sweatshirt, and I didn’t want you to ruin it.”

“Well, fuck. Go put it back on, dipshit.”

“But what if you get all angry again and tear it up? I like it.”

“I’m not gonna do that, fucker. And if I did, I’d just buy you a new damn sweatshirt.”

Kirishima smirked. “What, you’re not enjoying the gun show?”

He flexed, and the look on Bakugou’s face was priceless. His cheeks turned a deep shade of pink, and he turned away to glare at the wall. It took Kirishima a moment to realize he was blushing.

He put his arms down and turned back toward the door, but the smile was still evident on his face. “Alright, I’ll put it back on. But don’t ruin it, Bakugou. I swear, I’ll be really pissed off.”

Aizawa was already standing at the door holding the red sweatshirt. Kirishima thanked him and pulled it back on before making his way over to the wall beside the head of Bakugou’s bed. He slid down to the floor into a criss-cross position and stretched his spine.

“Kirishima,” Bakugou said then, a seriousness in his voice Kirishima wasn’t used to. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. For hurting you… and ruining your favorite shirt… and probably losing all of the shit we bought.”

Kirishima blinked. “What?”

Bakugou glared at him. “I’m not gonna say it again, Shitty Hair, so accept it.”

“Oh! No, dude, listen. You don’t have to apologize for anything. The Bakusquad found all of our stuff. See?” He used a hand to refer to his sweatshirt and crocs. “I bought these yesterday when you were looking at those headphones. Ashido said they left your stuff at the dorms. And don’t worry about the shirt! It was getting pretty old anyway. I have lots of favorite shirts.”

“No, that one was the favorite. And I fucking ruined it.”

Kirishima tilted his head. “You were under a quirk, Bakugou. Really, it’s okay. I was way more worried about you than some stupid shirt.”

Bakugou looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but he managed to restrain himself. Instead, he said so quietly, “You called me Katsuki yesterday.”

Kirishima looked up at the blond, surprised. “Uh, yeah. I did. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I just… I thought maybe it would help? Like, help you to remember yourself, and overcome the quirk.”

Bakugou wet his lips. “Yeah. It did. Help, I mean. It did help me. So, uh, thanks.”

They were both quiet for a few long moments. Kirishima thought about the way his name sounded in Bakugou’s voice yesterday. He wasn’t going to point out that Bakugou had returned the favor in calling him Eijirou, thinking maybe he didn’t remember it. Kirishima didn’t want to make things awkward. Er, more awkward.

“You can keep doing it. If you want.”

Kirishima stared up at Bakugou, trying to read his calm expression, but the blond wouldn’t look at him. “Huh?”

He sighed through his nose. “You can keep calling me by my given name. I wouldn’t mind it. Fuck.”

Kirishima went light headed for a second. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—!

He gave Bakugou a bright smile and a thumbs up. “Sure, Katsuki! And feel free to use mine too!”

Bakugou sank to the floor a few feet from Kirishima, leaning back against the cot. He had his arms wrapped around himself protectively. His face was still flushed pink.

“If you don’t want to waste your day here, it’s fine,” Bakugou spoke. “It’s boring as fuck, I get that. It’s Saturday, and I’m sure there are a lot of better ways you could be spending it.”

Kirishima laughed. “No way, dude. I’d rather spend time with my best bro, even if we’re stuck here. You’re not a chore, Katsuki.”

He seemed to shrink in on himself. “Well, you’d better fucking bring some cards or something next time. I’m not a conversationalist like you and the other extras.”

Kirishima made a mental note of that. “Cards. Gotcha. Anything else you’d like?”

Bakugou’s eyes tightened. “Mm. There’s a book I was reading that I left on my desk. You still have the other key to my dorm, eh?”

“Yep! So, cards and book. Got it. Just text me if you need anything else. You have your phone, right?”

He grunted in confirmation. “Aizawa has it. I don’t want it because I’ll probably just fucking break it. I’ll have him text you.”

Kirishima nodded. He’d stretched out his legs so their feet were almost touching. Aizawa was pretty persistent on avoiding physical contact, but Kirishima couldn’t help wondering if a simple touch really could throw his friend into a frenzy. He didn’t want to ruin the moment though, because he really did enjoy being with Bakugou.

It was at that moment Kirishima noticed the jolt that seemed to pass through the blond. His eyes were wide, and his hands were shaking as he stood in a rush.

“You should go,” Bakugou said quickly, unable to look him in the eyes.

Kirishima quickly scrambled to his feet as well, aware that Bakugou stood between him and the exit. “Are you alright?”

“Get out, Eijirou.”

Kirishima flew past Bakugou on his way to the door, but he stopped to look back at the blond. “I’ll be back later.”

Bakugou clutched his head—the source of his pain—but he managed a nod.

And with that, Kirishima left.

+++++++++++++

Oh boy oh boy I love these kids. They take up too much of my brain capacity. Anywho! I have two more chapters planned and I think that’ll be it. I have many a fic planned, and as much as I love this lil guy (which was honestly supposed to be a oneshot), I’m just about ready to move on. Also, I love prompt suggestions !!!???? So like ???? Please send them my way ???????!!!

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed and stick around for the last two chapters (which will hopefully be up by the end of the week). Have a lovely night, friends

Read part 4 here

Read part 5 here

Read part 6 here

8/19/2020

#bakugou is hit by a quirk #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #kirishima angst #kirishima whump #bakugou whump #bakugou angst #kiribaku #bnha #mha #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku fics #boko no hero academia #my hero academia #whump #angst #kiribaku fluff

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