#lapdog reader au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naeverse · 6 months

Text

Lapdog

🐩staring: NerdMiguel x QueenBee Reader

💗 preview: “Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?

🌸Summary: You, Queen Bee, have been desiring a little assistant for a while—someone who can fetch you things, do your work, assist you in any way possible, and just make life much easier. However, after witnessing a surprising occurrence with one of the lamest students on campus, Miguel O'Hara, you believe you've found just that, and maybe something even better...

💗rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🐩tw/cw. Blackmail, Caught in the act, College AU, Demeaning, Desperation, Dirty talk, Dominance, Handjob, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Ownership, Public Masturbation, Power Differences, Praising, Public, Sex toys, Vibrator, etc…

🌸Word count: 9k

Small, quiet whimpers escaped the lips of the burly man to your left. His head lowered in an attempt to hide as he diligently tackled your college work. His large, left hand trembled while he solved long math equations, expressions, logarithms, and whatever else the packet held. You shifted your gaze from the four-eyed male to two others seated at your booth.

Peter B. Parker, the captain of the football team and the golden boy of the school, sat across from you, alongside his girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, or MJ, who was the editor of the college newspaper. They cuddled up against each other, with MJ on his chest and his arm wrapped around her.

The two were considered your "friends" at the university, forming the famous clique that instilled fear and envy in the entire student body. However, between the adored football jock and the news girl, you, on the other hand, were a much bigger deal.

Everyone knew your name, and if they didn't, you were seen as an utter disgrace due to your cluelessness.

You were known as the university's queen bee.

Everyone loved or hated you; you didn't care. Any attention was welcome. You were the leader of the notorious sorority house of baddies, with a rich family that could drop and sue anyone with the drop of a hat. You could control the student body in masses with just a word, and had everyone, even the staff, wrapped around your pretty, manicured finger.

Whatever you said went, and don't you fucking dare think otherwise; you'd be an idiot to challenge the queen. Having the ability to turn any person into a complete nobody, withering away in debts and charges, kept everyone in their place.

But you wouldn't exactly say Peter and MJ were your friends, just students at college who possessed a certain kind of power that was highly useful to have in your corner.

Peter and his kind, sweet persona solidified bonds with other universities and the dean themselves. He was the face of your campus and was hella popular.

MJ headed the media, and whatever she said or wrote in the newspaper or the college blog was believed by everyone on campus, even if it was false.

Not that anyone would know...

Peter, MJ, and you were at the top of the food chain at your university; no one else mattered and was worth the time.

So why the hell was this lowlife sitting at your booth?

Miguel O'Hara, known as the nerdiest of the nerds on your college campus, sat beside you at your usual booth in Mama's diner, your clique's hangout spot.

To be fair, you didn't classify Miguel as such; more of a loner because he didn't look like a nerd. His body was covered in bulging muscles that contrasted greatly with his quiet persona. He had a towering height that rose above most of the football team, and he got attention from girls.

Or, well...

Girls gave him attention, not like the guy minded them.

He kept to himself, always having his nose stuck in a book. To make him even more of a dork, he worked at the school library. Due to his elusive nature and how hard he was to categorize, the loner had gained a distasteful reputation; many students on campus hated him as a result.

Was he a jock due to his bulging muscles, a bad boy due to his mysteriousness and constant desire for solitude, or was he a nerd for always being found reading, and whenever he spoke, only intellectual things came out?

He was a tricky case.

And not one you cared about until today…

You never would have paid the introverted male any attention if it weren't for you, this morning, stumbling into the library in search of someone to do your homework. Instead of finding a lowlife in waiting, you found something much better…

You found Miguel in his office, located at the far back of the library, moaning and jerking off under his desk. To make matters worse, AirPods adorned his ears, blocking out any awareness of your presence. You even leaned over his shoulder to discover that he was clearly watching porn.

He was definitely an amateur...

But a needy little thing he was...

The sight before you was an honest gold mine, something that would be perfect for MJ to post on the school blog as you captured a video of the surprising occurrence.

It was hard to fathom how much his reputation, if he had one, would plummet once the entire school got a look at this. But then, being the cunning queen you were, you had a better idea for that video…

You decided to use it as a means to have an around-the-clock assistant that would come running at your every beck and call, at any given time. It was a great idea, especially with the lowlife not being unpleasant to the eyes.

So now here he was, being a good little puppy for you and doing your homework, except...

It didn't seem like your associates were too pleased with your puppy’s presence.

You met Peter's gaze, his amber eyes furrowed in confusion as he glanced from you to the muscular loner and back again. "Okay, why the hell is he here?" he finally asked after a while of just staring at the two of you. A smirk spread across your lips at his question. "I believe you have eyes, Peter. He's doing my homework," you simply said with a sly grin, continuing your subtle movements under the table, which only made the geek clench his pencil even more.

Peter and MJ recognized that look on you, that sneaky smile you wore whenever you were up to no good. But this time, they couldn't quite put a finger on what it was and how it involved the four-eyed freak.

MJ looked between you and Miguel as well, her cherry lips pursing. "Why here, though?" she asked, her head still resting against Peter's chest. "Most of the time when we meet at Mama's diner, we gossip, we talk about deep stuff. We can't do that with him here," she acknowledged, motioning to Miguel in the corner, who seemed very focused on solving a long ass math problem.

You couldn't help but look over at him as well, taking in the sight of his heavy breathing and faintly red cheeks, before looking back at your associates, who still wore expressions of confusion and discomfort. You huffed, giving them a fake pout. “Come on, Miguel won't utter a single word to anyone...

Now, would you?”

You asked, turning to look at the large Latino, his amber orbs covered with a pair of black eyeglasses as he remained silent, adamantly trying to avoid eye contact. You scowled, giving him a tight squeeze, followed by a deep stroke making him jolt. His eyes briefly rolled, his mouth stammering, trying to find his words. “No… I won't.” He said so low and deep you had to lean in to hear him.

You could visibly see him struggling, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he tried painstakingly to control his breathing. You grinned, watching him return to work on your math packet like a good little puppy. “See? He can be trusted.” You explained with a smile, continuing your tantalizing play on the nerd, which only made the Latino male suck in a breath and grip his pencil tighter.

You swore you thought the wooden tool would snap in two any second now…

“Fine, but what made you want to bring him of all people?” Peter asked next, turning your gaze onto him. “He holds no power at our Uni. He’s useless to us.” He said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his girlfriend's red hair. You chuckled at his belief that the four-eyed male was ‘useless’;

Currently, he was everything but…

“You know how much I wanted my own little assistant for some time.” You replied with a smirk, tracing Miguel under the table, feeling your fingers begin to become further coated in his essence. “As in someone who can fetch me things, do my work,

Satisfy my every need…”

You abruptly squeezed Miguel once more, a sudden audible groan passing his lips, gaining everyone's attention. Peter and MJ glanced over at Miguel with raised eyebrows before just brushing it off as the geek having one of his weird moments.

Subtly, you shot the dweeb a glare, making his ears redden and clear his throat. He flicked his pencil around in his thick fingers, beginning to erase a mistake he made due to your harsh grip before you turned back to your associates with a nonchalant smile.

“Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?”

You whispered, glancing over at Miguel, who was trying not to acknowledge your gaze, seeming to be very interested in the ways of Calculus II.

“Aww… Peter, you know me so well.” You thought with a small grin, continuing to stroke the trembling male. You could feel the dweeb strain underneath his black jeans, enjoying how greatly he was trying to hide his pleasure. With your thumb, you brushed over his sensitive tip, making him whimper loudly, despite his effort to suppress it by biting his lip.

You shot him another stern look, slightly relieved to hear a groan of annoyance from MJ at the same time. At her outburst, it drew your attention over to her to see she was looking over at the workers in Mama's diner who were diligently working in the kitchen area of the diner. “Gosh, we've been sitting here for 20 minutes, and our order still isn't here.” She whined, crossing her arms over her chest like a pouty child in the grocery store.

“Come on, baby, it should be out in a little bit,” Peter whispered, trying to comfort her. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at her dramatics. MJ always did this to get attention, Peter’s attention in particular, who you’ve noticed was staring at you a lot more than usual upon entering Mama’s diner today.

You met MJ’s blue eyes, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, why don't you two go check it out? See what's the hold-up?” You proposed, glancing over at Miguel to see his defined Adam's apple bob at your words, his nervousness only exciting you further.

Oblivious to your proposal and the fact that you, the queen, said it, Peter and MJ nodded and slid out of the booth. You watched in the corner of your eye as they walked away from your table and towards the front of the diner.

‘Now the fun can begin…’

You thought, a wicked grin spreading across your glossy lips. With them gone, you wanted nothing more than to have some fun with your new puppy. You turned in your seat to finally make eye contact with the panting male, and you couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

The dweeb’s coffee-brown curls were plastered to his sweaty forehead, his amber orbs hooded behind his glasses while his grip on his pencil was slowly loosening. Breathy moans escaped his parted lips as his hips thrust softly into your hand, his eyes rolling with each of his movements.

Upon the two leaving the table, it seemed the nerd had completely dropped his facade, showing just how needy he was.

You laughed, glancing down to see the mess he was making in his black jeans. A small wet patch gradually soaked the zipper and crotch of the denim. “I knew you didn't finish in the library.” You teased, continuing to stroke him. He grunted, shifting in the booth to better angle himself into your clenched palm. “I couldn't…You interrupted me.” He replied hoarsely, making you raise an eyebrow. You abruptly gripped his cock at his response, making him whine.

“I interrupted you?”

You scoffed, not believing the balls on this nerd. “You have more mouth than I thought, Miguel O'Hara.” You hissed, releasing him and drawing down his pants, exposing his huge member fully. His hooded eyes instantly snapped open, deep pants passing his lips. “What are you—what are you doing? Someone could see.” He exclaimed through stammers, his amber eyes blown in a mixture of lust and worry as they looked all around in fear of someone being near.

You rolled your eyes at the nerd’s empty concerns. Your clique's favorite booth was positioned in the back of the diner, completely secluded. Of course, you’ll take precautions; you wouldn’t want someone to capture the sight of you having fun with a loser like him, so the idiot was fine.

Not that you cared at the moment...

“I honestly don't know what you're so worried about. You didn't seem concerned about someone seeing you when you were jerking off this morning.” You taunted, earning an angry growl from him, his cock twitching a little at that recollection. “Mierda, I didn't know anyone was there. The library is always empty in the mornings.” He said in a low voice, his tone rough and holding so much spite in it.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his anger, as if he could do anything about it. His massive body was stuck on the inside of your booth, his well-endowed cock and balls out on display.

He was completely vulnerable to you…

Your eyes trailed him, taking him in slowly, and to your surprise, you found yourself licking your lips at the sight.

Even though the dork was a lowly peasant at your school, carrying his stupid little textbooks and allowing the jocks to beat on him when he had the muscles and height to beat their asses ten-fold.

He had an impressive cock…

It was fully erect, sticking straight up into the air with a small patch of dark brown, coarse hair sitting atop his dark shaft, trailing an irresistible line up under his beige sweater. His cock was long, girthy, and definitely above average, with a brown, angry tip dripping with precum, begging to be tasted and played with.

During your moment of ogling, his large, veiny hand hastily covered the oddly magnificent sight, snapping you from your trance. You glared up at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, coffee-brown curls that hung over his framed eyes, and his attempt to cover his enormity between his legs with his hand.

“Move.” You sternly said, your tone showing just how annoyed and furious you were. You crossed your arms over your white-clad chest, awaiting the loser to obey, but surprisingly, he did no such thing. Miguel simply clenched his jaw, averted his gaze from you, not at all listening to the order you’ve just given him.

Your glossy lips pulled into a snarl, not remembering the last time someone would dare be defiant towards you, but it seemed this nerd, loner, whatever the hell he classified as, was something different…

He knew who you were, yet he was disobeying you, talking back, and worst of all…

Not submitting.

You’ve met many infuriating individuals, but he had to take the cake.

Your jaw clenched, trying to keep your composure and remind yourself that you needed him around because you were a hair's breadth from reaching into your bag and grabbing your phone to do the unthinkable. You cleared your throat, sliding so close to him that you could feel the heat of his bare, thick thighs against yours under the short, expensive pink skirt you adorned.

You brushed a strand of his coffee-brown hair behind his ear, noticing how he flinched slightly before leaning in close.

“Move your hand, or I'll make sure to send that little video of you jerking off to MJ. I think she’ll enjoy posting that onto her little blog for the whole college to see.”

You whispered into his ear, the threat striking the nerd greatly. A wave of satisfaction rushed through your being when he turned to face you, his amber eyes narrowed in rage, but a hint of fear evident in them as well. “You wouldn't,” he said, calling your bluff in a rough, breathless voice which only made you laugh.

“You must really be living under a rock on campus if you think I’m bluffing,” you chuckled darkly as the nerd gulped. “Now…” you began, glancing down at his shielded hand over what you desired. “Unless you want the entire college to know how much of a needy little puppy you are, you will move your damn hand and allow me to do whatever I please.” You sternly said, looking down at his trembling hand and then up at him.

You found it utterly adorable how he tried to keep your hardened gaze, but he would learn that when you want something, you’ll get it no matter what.

He cursed softly, running a frustrated hand through his messy coffee-brown curls. He captured his bottom lip in his teeth and reluctantly moved his hands, placing them on either side of him on the booth’s cushions. You smirked at his obedience. “Good boy,” you praised in a teasing voice, patting his head like the doggy he was; however, he yanked away. You scoffed at his defiance.

‘It seems my puppy needs more training. No worries; he’ll submit if he likes it or not.’

You thought, casting your eyes down to meet his painfully hard and erect cock. Biting your lip, you wrapped a hand around his base, feeling how brick and sticky it was in your palm.

But before granting your puppy the sweet release he desired, he had a lesson to learn…

You harshly gripped his shaft, earning a loud groan to escape his throat. “I'm very pissed at you. Want to know why?” You asked, squeezing his cock even more, making him hiss. He clutched the cushion of the booth in his large hands, clenching his jaw once more. “Why?” He said through gritted teeth.

"Why? You nearly got us caught with those outbursts, idiot," you spat, finding a rhythm and stroking him roughly under the table. His abundant precum allowed you to smoothly run your fist along him. He groaned, his head falling back against the booth.

"Maybe... you should f-fucking stop then," he said through pants, which only made you giggle. "Oh, I'm just finishing what you started in the library, puppy," you said with a fake pout.

"And here I thought you liked getting off in public places."

Miguel moaned softly at your words, his cock twitching in your hand in response. You raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? Don't tell me that's the truth," you teased with a soft chuckle, knowing you'll surely have some fun with that hidden kink of his in the future.

However, no response was heard from him, defending nor agreeing with your proposal; only the occasional low moans and groans escaped his lips. You snarled, pressing your thumb into the crown of his tip, eliciting a rewarding jolt and a Spanish curse to fall from his lips.

"If you won't respond to that, then answer this," you hissed, nose scrunched up in disgust as you continued your stroking. "You act all big and tough when you're alone with me, yet you curl up into a little ball when others are around," you stated with a smirk. "Why is that?"

"Because you don't fucking scare me," he said angrily with a steady voice. You scoffed in amusement, your eyes roaming over his bulging muscles through the sleeves of his beige sweater—the fabric appearing strained. "And others do?" you retorted with a snicker, causing him to growl in annoyance and look away. "It's not like that."

"Oh yeah, then what is it?" you inquired, purposely quickening your pace on his shaft, stroking him faster and pressing your palm into his length, the desire to see him lose control driving you. He whined and whimpered uncontrollably, his large hand landing on your thigh, gripping it tightly through your skirt, urging you to slow down.

You sighed heavily; Miguel was so frustrating. The dweeb's mouth constantly spoke of defiance and disrespect, while his body contradicted him each time—his hips steadily moved in sync with your palm, and his member twitched in your hand. It seemed even he was confused about what he wanted, but being the sweet master you were, you'd assist him in discovering his true desires.

But first, he had to be taught to fix his attitude because he was really pissing you off.

You brushed the pad of your thumb over his tip, intensifying his pleasure with every jerk of your hand. "I don't like your attitude with me," you said angrily, smacking his hand off your thigh and grabbing his chin.

You roughly turned him to look at you, his eyes dazed behind his black glasses, and his lips parted. "I hold the power of your entire reputation in my hands. I can get your big ass kicked out of this damn college just by showing the dean that video of you," you warned, looking at his face in complete rage.

"Do you fucking understand me!?" you exclaimed, your nails piercing into the underside of his chin. Your eyes glared daggers at him as you continued to slide your hand up and down his trembling shaft.

He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as his hand landed on your wrist, deep groans continuing to pass his lips at your movement. "Y-yes, fuck," he moaned, biting his lip. "Yes to what?" you demanded, seeking clarity. With your thumb, you caressed in small circles around the crown of his tip, a smirk spreading across your glossy lips when his grip on your wrist tightened. "Yes, I-I... understand," he said, his deep voice sounding rather airy and breathless.

"Good boy," you whispered, tilting your head at him and glancing down to see more pre-cum sprouting from his tip, dripping down his shaft and coating your hand. Miguel growled. "What do you even want from me?" he asked through trembles of pleasure, his cock twitching in your fist. Your smirk broadened, turning your attention from his cock to the four-eyed male, his chin still resting between your manicured fingers.

"You heard that conversation between Peter, MJ, and me, did you not?" you inquired with a raised eyebrow, making him heave a trembling sigh. "Lapdog, right? That's what you want?"

"Indeed," you chuckled, releasing him. He whimpered, his thighs quivering, as heavy pants passed his lips. He rubbed his chin, pressing his backside into the leather cushions and breathing heavily. You reached over him, grabbing a few napkins from its container to clean your hands, feeling Miguel's eyes on you all the while.

When you met his gaze, you weren't surprised to see the sight of anger and irritation, but what did surprise you was the hint of curiosity found in his intense gaze.

'Was the dork interested in being your puppy?'

"Why?" he finally asked after catching his breath. You laughed, turning to him with a wicked grin. "The better question is...

Why not?"

You replied with a snicker. Miguel rolled his eyes and sighed once more. "And you want me to be your damn lapdog?" he asked, full of spite and rage, his amber eyes appeared redder than usual, but it didn't faze you. "Yes, or that video goes out to everyone," you said with a grin, your eyes lingering along his body. "And I think everyone would be rather shocked to see what you've been hiding under all that ugly clothing," you chuckled, motioning down at his massive and still very hard cock.

He snarled, looking away from you and out the window beside him. A silence fell upon the two of you as you simply took him in—his defined cheekbones, broad nose, thick neck, and massive body covered in a hideous beige sweater, black jeans, and white Converse.

'Goodness, this is going to be fun. The most fun I've probably had in years.'

You thought, faking a pout and leaning towards him to press your plush lips against his ear. He jumped slightly at your closeness, making you giggle as you ran a hand over his chest, tracing his defined pecs and abs through his sweater.

"Come on, puppy. Don't be so mad; you might even enjoy it."

You teased, and to your anticipation, his cock throbbed in response. He groaned lowly, your chest covered in a white crop top pressing into his arm. "It’s not like I have a damn choice," he retorted, his voice still resonating with fury.

"Well… get used to it."

You uttered, licking a stripe across his sharp jawline and enjoying how he shuddered at the feeling. You then pulled away, his amber eyes following you like the needy puppy he was.

"Now, every doggy needs a collar," you uttered with a smile, causing him to scowl. "I’m not wearing a damn collar."

"So quick to assume, puppy," you laughed, only seeming to enrage the geek even more. "Stop calling me that," he growled, causing you to sigh, finding it rather annoying how he still believed he held some type of control here.

He'll learn sooner or later.

"You’ll grow to love it, puppy," you emphasized, turning from his faltering glare to rummage in your $500 Prada bag, fishing out a toy you purchased just for your little doggy. When you acquired it, you turned to him, twirling the dark blue and red crystallized ring in your fingers. Miguel's eyes followed it, his chest heaving in confusion and disdain, but his cock pulsated in desire and curiosity.

He could scowl and glare at you all he wanted, but his body gave him away, every single time.

“What the fuck is that?” He snapped, once he regained his composure, his amber eyes looking from the ring to you through his black eyeglasses. You chuckled, running your fingers along the ring. “After our little run-in at the library this morning, I bought my new puppy something special.” You explained, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The geek looked perplexed for the first time.

It was a cute look on him…

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I promise...” You giggled, glancing down at his dark cock, still twitching in desire. You then held your hand out to him, the large ring resting in your palm.

“Now…show me how much of a good doggy you can be and put this on…”

“Ugh, they are saying it's another 20 minutes.” MJ groaned, climbing into the booth right after Peter. You heaved a sigh in irritation; Mama's diner was never this backed up. It was rather annoying to think you all would have to wait just for three measly milkshakes.

“So, what’s the two of you been doing? He looks like he’s about to fucking faint.” Peter joked, glancing over at Miguel, whose bronze face was covered in beads of sweat. His amber eyes trained on the packet of math work once more. You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know. The math problem must be stressing him out.” You said with a smile, subtly glancing over at your phone that rested beside you on the booth, the vibrator app pulled up on the screen that was already at level 2.

The ring that you had bought for your new puppy was nestled around the base of his cock, right over his balls, stimulating both of his sensitive areas. You gave him the benefit of the doubt to cover himself; you weren’t a total meanie.

You just needed him to know his place, as it seemed he kept forgetting.

So you decided to seat him in front of two of the most popular students at your college with a pulsating vibrator around his cock.

What better way for him to learn...?

"Okay…" MJ trailed off, brushing off the situation as nothing. "Umm, what even is his name?" She asked, talking about Miguel as if he wasn't even there. At her inquiry, you turned to your puppy, giving him a soft pat on the head. "Tell her your name," you said sweetly, noticing the subtle glare from him. "Miguel," he responded in a gruff voice without looking up from the packet.

"Your full name," you added with a smirk, wishing to further annoy him. The dweeb’s jaw clenched at your persistence. "Miguel O’Hara," he growled, hastily returning to solving question 24 of your math packet. MJ looked between the two of you, taking in the interaction before leaning across the table, her blue eyes set on you.

“Seriously, what are you up to with him?”

She asked in a hushed tone like no one at the table could hear her as her red eyebrows furrowed in concern. You scoffed, not believing that she would dare to ask you such a thing.

“Why the hell are you questioning anything that I do?” You spat angrily. “The fucking dweeb is just doing my damn homework,” you said, your eyes glaring into hers.

Perhaps, the load of hair upon MJ's head was the cause of her forgetfulness. Regardless of the culprit, the redhead better keep in mind how much you love fixing her mistakes and kicking her back into line if she oversteps.

You've done it to so many others, she'll be no different…

“Hey, hey, settle down,” Peter said, trying to calm the situation between the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be sliced with a spoon, let alone a knife.

“There's nothing wrong with what Y/N is doing,” Peter said, placing a hand on MJ’s shoulder and pulling her back towards his chest. MJ sighed, giving you an apologetic look. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” You rolled your eyes, dismissing her as you met Peter’s eyes that also looked between Miguel and you. “Although, I must say…” He began, and to your surprise, settled his amber eyes onto Miguel.

You smirked, loving to see how the aroused geek would handle this, your eyes trained on him. Miguel, noticing the lack of conversation, hesitantly looked up to be met with six eyes staring back at him.

“How the hell are you so…massive?” Peter asked with a chuckle. “You don’t do shit except read, play chess, or whatever else you nerds do.” Peter jested, causing everyone, except Miguel, to laugh. Your eyes were trained on Miguel as he glanced over at you and back at Peter before clearing his throat. “Genetics.” He mumbled, returning back to writing out the parametric formula to solve the equations he was on.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, the introverted male’s words not seeming to have reached his ears. “What did you say? Speak up, man.” He laughed, causing Miguel to clench his jaw once more. His pencil halted upon the paper as he casted his amber eyes up to the jock. “Genetics. That's all it is.” He repeated in a louder tone.

“So, you are telling me, you do not work out?” MJ asked in surprise and awe, her blue eyes roaming over his body. You were certain she was checking your new puppy out.

You growled, oddly, shooting a glare at her.

You didn’t know what was with her today, but MJ was working your last nerve.

MJ, thankfully, shut up after your look, but your puppy answered anyway. “A little,” he replied, twirling the pencil in his thick fingers nervously. You couldn’t help but gaze at him—his massive musculature snug under his beige sweater that seemed to hug him in all the right places.

His biceps bulging, his hardened pecs defined, and you could even sneak a peek at his abdominal muscles pressing against the warm fabric. You bit your lip, the desire to get him out of that ugly sweater filling your being until you shook off the thought.

The damn dweeb was making you forget your title and your reputation…

But you couldn’t lie.

The geek was exceeding your expectations…

Not only was he impressive for being at the very bottom of the student hierarchy and having the ability to make you feel all hot and bothered, but despite his cock being heavily stimulated by the vibrating ring, his voice didn't waver or falter.

Your puppy was tougher than you thought…

‘We’ll see about that.’

With a click of your phone, you raised the vibrations from a mere 2 to a 5. Instantly at the change, Miguel jolted in his seat. You watched with a look of pure innocence on your face as Peter’s eyebrows furrowed.

He snickered, eyeing the glasses-wearing male across from him at the table. “Man, you are weird as heck, but I’ll let it slide,” he said with a smile, glancing over at you, his eyes full of admiration. “If the queen here can put up with your presence, which is rare,” Peter snickered, “I’ll be willing to open a spot on the team to see how you do,” he proposed, which shocked you.

It was hard to get on Peter’s football team, yet he was practically giving it to Miguel, the most disliked male at school, on a silver platter.

You couldn’t help but feel a little angry at that, slowly becoming a bit possessive over your new puppy.

But thankfully, Miguel said the words for you. “I-I’m not interested,” he uttered, clearing his throat and clenching the pencil tightly in his large hand. You smirked, watching Peter’s eyebrows rise in shock. He glanced over at MJ, who had become quiet after your glare.

“This dude is really turning down my offer, babe,” he said, nudging MJ, who snapped out of her trance to turn her blue eyes onto Miguel. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Actually…” you said, instantly drawing their eyes on you. “It’s better if he didn’t. I’ll lose my new lapdog, and we wouldn’t want that… Isn’t that right?” You asked, running your manicured fingers through Miguel’s coffee-brown hair. You watched his jaw clench and a subtle blush spread across his lips.

Seems as if he's starting to like the name or you claiming him…

Indeed, Miguel was a naughty one…

Peter’s stunned expression instantly changed at your words. He cleared his throat, giving you a nod. “Of course, but the offer still stands,” he offered once more, looking over at you as he said it.

You gave him a small smile before MJ sat up in her chair with a grin, the color restoring back into her being after you rightfully snuffed it out. “Since the workers are taking so long, let’s play a game. Never Have I Ever, anyone?!” she exclaimed, a smile adorning her cherry lips.

You grinned, liking the idea, before a thought came to your head, causing you to heave a sigh. “Normally drinks are involved. We don’t have any,” you commented, instantly MJ reached into the pocket of Peter’s red and blue varsity jacket, pulling out his metal flask. His eyes widened in shock before he laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, I thought you didn’t know about that.”

“I know everything, baby.” MJ giggled, placing the metal flask in the center of the table. You smirked, glancing over at Miguel, who had his arms crossed upon the table, his head lowered over the math packet. He was panting, and his thighs were trembling next to your own. He wasn’t writing anything as he seemed like he was just sitting there.

But you knew what your needy puppy was up to…

He was enjoying himself, relishing in the sensation from the vibrator ring you had bought him. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

While Peter and MJ discussed the rules of the game, you leaned in close to Miguel, pressing your glossy lips against his ear. “Are you enjoying your little toy, puppy?” you inquired, causing him to suck in a breath. “Ay cono, turn it off,” he panted, whispering to you in desperation. He turned his hooded eyes onto you, and you met his gaze with a sly grin. “Why? You like it,” you whispered back with a small giggle, watching his ears redden and a vein bulge from his forehead as he tried to suppress his anger.

“So no, it’s not coming off anytime soon,” you told him. “Now, you'll play this game with us and finish my work later.”

“I don’t want to fucking play,” he growled, making your forced smile falter. You subtly reached over to your phone, turning the vibrations up from level 5 to 7. Miguel's voice caught in his throat, his hand landing on your thigh once more. You could even faintly hear the buzzing in his jeans that was slowly making the geek lose his composure.

His large palm covered your smooth skin as he gripped it tightly while he quivered. He cursed under his breath, beginning to softly pat your thigh to call a truce. You watched him with a smirk, loving how he was writhing and squirming in his seat, knowing you were the sole cause of it. “I-I’ll play,” he whined, lowering his head to hide, his amber eyes on you over his arm. You smiled, lowering it back to a mere 5.

‘Don’t piss me off,’ you mouthed, turning back to Peter and MJ to find they were, thankfully, still talking.

You didn’t want to hear what any of them had to say when it came to Miguel and you, especially from MJ.

“The dweeb is going to play too,” you said, hastily gaining everyone’s attention. “Awesome, do you want to go around as ages? Whoever is the youngest goes first?” MJ suggested. “I think the oldest should go first,” you said with a wicked grin, knowing everyone would choose the latter since you, the queen bee, said so.

If your intuition was correct, which it always was, you sensed Miguel was older than the rest of you. His demeanor and rough look showed his maturity, and you couldn’t help but become a little aroused at the assumption.

“Fine. I’m 23,” MJ said, glancing over at Peter next. “25,” he replied, soon looking at you. “24,” you smiled before finally setting your eyes on the trembling male. His amber eyes shifted from all of your eager gazes. He cleared his throat, tanned cheeks a soft red. “26.” His voice, like usual, was deep and rather low, but you heard his answer loud and clear.

You were right...

The muscular geek was not only a disobedient lowlife, but he was older than you. ‘How fun?’ you thought, looking him up and down beside you. It made everything even sweeter.

“Well, you go first,” Peter said, motioning to Miguel with his head, his dark brown hair swaying with his slight movement. The dweeb gulped, merely sitting there for a while. It was for so long that you pondered if he had even played the common game before until he finally spoke.

“Never have I ever fallen asleep during a movie,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the table.

'Of course, a boring one, like I thought.’ You groaned, nudging his arm. “Come on, that shit blows,” you said with an eye roll. “We want something steamy, hot…” You whispered, reaching over to caress his thigh under the table. He gulped, clenching his jaw and landing his large, calloused hand on yours to cease your movement. “Fine…” he said, turning to look at you in particular.

“Never have I ever walked in on someone without knocking.”

Miguel asked with a sly grin that surprised you greatly, and left you angry as hell. You growled, hearing Peter and MJ begin to discuss their answers. “Gosh, I walked in on one of the guys with their girlfriends in the locker room,” Peter sighed as MJ didn’t have an unfortunate occurrence happen to her, but not like you cared about either of them at the moment.

You glared at Miguel, his taunting smirk and stupid glasses adorning his face, the desire to slap them both off overwhelming your being.

You turned to see Peter already taking a swig of the metal flask, a grimace on his face after the drink. “Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have chosen the strong stuff,” he commented, glancing up at you. “Now, what about the Queen bee? Walked in on one of those baddies at your sorority house?” He inquired with a chuckle. You looked over at Miguel, his eyes narrowing as he watched you take the flask, gulping down a large mouthful of the liquor.

As Peter said, the shit was strong, and it took everything in you not to cough, suppressing the urge by clearing your throat. “No…” You replied, placing the flask back on the table and subtly looking over at Miguel before meeting your two associates' curious gazes. “Then what happened then?” MJ asked, deeply intrigued.

“Well, I walked in on someone jerking off.”

You noticed beside you, Miguel’s entire body became rigid on the booth; his hand squeezed yours under the table in a rather desperate way. He was begging you with the slight touch to cease any further words.

How cute…

You smirked at the feeling, loving how you had the dweeb filled with anxiety and nervousness about whether you'll spill his deep secret or not.

But you're only a bitch when you want to be…

“That’s all you get, though.” You laughed, causing cries of frustration to erupt, although you didn’t miss the sigh of relief that passed Miguel’s lips even though he was the one who called your bluff and dug his own grave.

“First round, and it seems Queen Bee and I are tied on who’s paying for our order.” Peter laughed, causing you to roll your eyes. “If it ever gets here,” MJ added with a groan.

“Even more of a reason to continue playing,” Peter said with a smirk. “But it seems as if it’s my turn, being 25 and all.” He said, sitting back against the cushions of the booth, humming in thought. “Ah, got one.” He commented with a grin.

“Never had I ever used a mirror during romantic intercourse.” He asked, his amber eyes looking around the table.

Of course, being the fun queen bee you were, you took the flask. “I mean, if you haven’t, you are missing out.” You grinned, taking another swig of the strong liquor, feeling the satisfying sting in the back of your throat when you placed the container back on the table. You could feel the heat radiating from Miguel’s body at the mention of you doing something so naughty.

You wouldn’t mind doing something like that with him only when he was ready…

A small blush spread across MJ’s cheeks at the erotic question. “I’ve always wanted to do it.” She said, bringing a smile to Peter's lips. He snaked an arm around her, caressing her arm as he spoke in a sultry and seductive voice. “Oh really? We can always try it after-

“Oh my gosh. Get a fucking room already.” You interrupted with a snicker, eyeing the two lovebirds. “Okay, okay,” MJ said with a giggle, eyes turning to Miguel who hastily dismissed it with a head shake.

Of course, the fucking dweeb doesn’t know how to have fun.

With you, he’ll know nothing else; you’ll make sure of it.

“Well, it’s your turn now,” MJ smiled. Finally, it was your turn, instantly thinking of a proposition that could really reveal some deep secrets about Miguel.

Something he's been hiding…

You sat back in your seat, pondering your answer when your eyes met Miguel. Just the sight of the massive male was making your brain sprout with ideas. Who knew how helpful he could be with just his mere presence?

Why not reward him for the assistance?

Subtly, you sat up, turning the vibrations up to a 7 while starting your round.

“Never have I ever had a sexual encounter in a public place and secretly liked it.”

You proposed, glancing over at Miguel, who was losing it. He gritted his teeth, lowering his head to try to hide his fluttering eyes and heavy pants, but your associates’ words surprised you. “Gosh, both of us,” you heard them say, drawing your attention from your puppy.

“Yeah, we did a vibrator challenge on each other, and we went to a mall,” Peter said with a smile and a head shake. “It wasn’t enjoyable with the many people around at the sudden bursts of pleasure, but overall…it was fun,” MJ added, snuggling into Peter’s chest.

You slowly nodded, retaining the idea for further use and glancing back at Miguel, who was shaking. You felt his hand on your thigh once more and soon his soft pats, as if he was a wrestler trying to tap out of the ring.

But you weren’t a merciful referee; he could endure it a little longer…

You leaned in close to him, pretending to reach down to pick up the pencil that had accidentally rolled off the table due to his squirming. “Lift your head and play the damn game,” you spat harshly into his ear as he frantically shook his head. “Fuck, I-I can’t,” he whined breathlessly. “Mierda, I’m close. I-I can’t,” he repeated, only making you smirk.

“Be a good puppy, hold it, and play the game, or I’ll raise it to the highest level,” you told him sternly, your fingers finding the pencil in the leather cushions. You soon rose, a smile on your lips as you placed the wooden tool onto the table. “Miguel, how about you?” you inquired in a sweet voice, the lovebirds finishing their swigs of the flask. “Done anything fun in public and secretly enjoyed it?” you asked, curious about how he'd answer and respond.

Like a good doggy, he lifted his head as you commanded. His dark, hazy eyes looked between the three of you before simply reaching over and taking a swig of the flask.

“Fucking hell!? The nerd knows fun!” Peter commented with a laugh, while the rest of you looked on in astonishment. Miguel placed the flask down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Explain,” you urged, nudging him with a kick under the table. He jolted, shooting you a subtle glare, causing you to raise an eyebrow, reaching over for your phone when Miguel gave you a gentle squeeze of desperation. “Okay…” he began, exhaling and trying to regain his composure while holding back his release and being heavily stimulated.

“I was getting a-a handjob under the table…i-in a diner similar to this,” he said, making you smile, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “T-The girl was fucking rude and mean, but h-had skilled hands. Very skilled hands.” He gulped, avoiding your eyes while he spoke. “But t-that’s pretty much it. I liked it...Who wouldn't," Miguel said, looking down at his lap and leaving the table speechless.

You didn’t know whether to be flattered, angry at his description of you, or apathetic. A burning desire in your gut to simply drag him to the bathroom of Mama’s diner and see just how good his cock would feel inside of you.

But overall, the geek had surprised you with his answer, this being the only time he had spoken his mind and said his true thoughts since he sat down at this fucking booth.

“Damn, sounds hot,” MJ said, making you turn your attention from your loyal puppy to her. “Wish I had the guts like that rude girl you described. I could never.” She said lowly, bringing a wave of pride over you. Her compliment only fueled your already replete ego.

After the steamy encounter that Miguel explained to the group, it was now MJ’s turn. However, just when she was about to speak, her phone pinged with a message. She glanced down at the glowing screen, her eyebrows instantly furrowing. “Oh my gosh, babe, we have to go. I’m needed at the university.” She quaked, turning her blue eyes upon you. “I’m so sorry to pause the game and leave so early.” She apologized, hastily standing up from the booth alongside her ride, and boyfriend, Peter.

“I can only assume it's for the newspaper, so I’ll let it slide,” you told her as she thanked you, swiftly scurrying past and exiting Mama’s diner. Peter watched with a chuckle, tucking his hands into his red varsity jacket, standing beside you at the table.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing you around, Queen Bee,” he smirked, suddenly taking your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles. You raised an eyebrow, a smile forming upon your glossy lips. Prior to pulling away, he held his soft lips upon your skin for a moment longer and gave your knuckles an affectionate caress with his thumb, meeting your eyes. “Call me anytime.” He whispered, giving you his signature charming smile and wink that made every person on campus faint and die on the spot before leaving behind his girlfriend.

You couldn’t lie; you were a little shocked at Peter’s forwardness.

You’ve noticed his interest in the great Queen Bee—who isn’t—but he had a girlfriend, and unfortunately for him…

You don’t like to share…

Many whiny groans and the sound of loud buzzing brought you from your thoughts as you turned to look at Miguel in the corner to see something even more astonishing than Peter’s previous advances.

Miguel was panting, breathing heavily with his head pressed against the back of the leather booth. His black denims were drawn down, revealing his strained cock and the beautiful red and blue vibrator ring around his base. His eyes rolled uncontrollably behind his glasses, his mouth agape while he rambled in a blend of Spanish and English.

You could only make out the English phrases and words he uttered, which mostly were pleas and begs, all desiring one thing and one thing only.

“Please—ay cono. Let me cum. Please, let me cum."

He implored incessantly, his words so full of need and desperation. You could tell he was slowly losing it; the pleasure was blinding him, and he was only at level 7. You were hoping to try the highest level on him, but maybe another time…

You didn’t want to completely ruin your new puppy…

You leaned towards him, running a finger over his sticky tip, tracing patterns across it. He whined and squirmed in his seat at your touch. “Aww, you want to stop playing already? I wanted to try level 10.” You told him with a fake pout. He frantically shook his head, gasps of air passing his parted lips. “Goodness, no. Please, I-I can’t take any more.” He begged so perfectly that you almost allowed him to.

Well,

Almost…

“I’ll let you cum on one condition,” you proposed, taking his chin in your fingers and turning him to meet your eyes. His eyes fluttered, his hands found your wrist, grabbing on tightly to stabilize himself. His face was flushed, his defined cheeks a rosy red, and his forehead covered with beads of sweat. He looked adorable, practically begging you with his hooded doe eyes to allow him to cum. You smirked, caressing his chin.

“Tell me you are my little puppy and sweeten the deal with a cute little bark.”

You giggled, eliciting a growl that came out more like a groan. “A-Are you serious?” he panted, making your smile only broaden. “Very, and I’ll only raise the level of the vibrator if you don’t,” you said with a grin, loving the look of defeat that covered his face. “Shit,” he cursed, looking away.

“No, eyes on me.”

You sternly said, hastily yanking his chin back towards you. He clenched his jaw, making eye contact with you once more. His amber orbs were full of anger, but his desire to be relieved of the vibrator and finally be granted his satisfying release led him to speak what you wanted.

“I-I’m your… l-little…

Puppy.”

He uttered reluctantly through shaky moans as you waited patiently for the best part of his whole confession. He growled, shaking his head. “I’m not barking.”

You huffed, giving him a stern look. “Do I have to threaten you again about that video? How about I take that little vibrator and give it to the dean instead?” you said with an evil grin. “It has your… essence all over it. Wouldn’t be hard to discover it’s yours.” You cackled. He scowled, gazing up at you through breathy moans. “You are s-such a bitch.”

“Are you sure? You are looking more like a bitch than me right now,” you spat with a laugh, piercing your nails into his chin. “Now be my good little puppy and bark.” You demanded once more, eyes trained on his furious and flushed face.

You watched Miguel resist you as hard as he could. He put up such a fight, remaining silent to disobey for a good while, but just like any wild dog, they break, they snap...

They submit.

So, it didn’t take long before the most satisfying sounds filled your ears.

“Woof…Woof.”

A wave of satisfaction overcame you, akin to taking a refreshing sip of a chocolate milkshake on a hot day. Your glossy lips pulled into a smile, feeling completely overjoyed as you stared at your official new lapdog. “Gosh, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” you promised, caressing his chin affectionately. Miguel’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his entire face turned red; even his cock frantically throbbed around the pulsating ring.

Like a dog wagging his tail, he seemed to like that idea very much...

You wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking him at a fast pace while the ring continued to buzz against him. “Be a good boy and cum for me,” you whispered. “Make me proud, puppy,” you told him, kissing along his jawline and earning a loud groan to erupt from his throat. His hips left the seat, meeting your fist with each thrust upwards. “Oh yes. Fuck,” he cried through closed eyes.

The leather booth began to creak loudly at his frenzied movement, his cock sliding in and out of your palm, completely slick with his precum. You could feel how powerful the vibrations were on his sensitive shaft whilst he continued to fuck your fist.

“Shit, shit, I’m cumming,” he groaned, before a loud guttural, deep moan erupted from deep within his chest, his thick, muscular thighs quivering. Veins bulge along the underside of his abdomen upon his climax, and with one final thrust into your hand, he shot his white, creamy load.

And the four-eyed male just kept impressing you over and over again.

His release seemed to be endless. More and more of his seed dripped from his slit, coating your hand and the buzzing toy. The vibrating ring and your fisting only seemed to milk him completely, causing him to whimper and whine uncontrollably, continuing to paint his shaft, your hand, his beige sweater, and the leather seats in his essence.

When he was finished, you took in the huge mess he’d made with a grin. “Look at what you’ve done,” you purred, grabbing a few napkins to clean your hands. Miguel didn’t respond, only babbling softly, his words unintelligible.

You laughed at his thoroughly satisfied expression, finding it utterly adorable how fucked-out he looked. You relieved him of the vibrator, turning it off and removing it from his swollen shaft, the toy completely coated with his sticky fluids.

You smirked, eyeing the white-coated ring; it was so enticing that you couldn't help but bring the toy to your mouth to give it a taste. Like savoring the sweetness of honey on a wand, you ran your tongue along the vobrator, humming in ecstasy.

Your eyes fluttered at the taste. His seed was different—something you couldn't quite put into words, but an essence you'd definitely want more of in the future, something you had to taste straight from the source.

After sucking the ring clean, you placed it into your bag and slid closer to Miguel. His eyes were still closed, his chest heaving up and down while his body spasmed—small tremors spreading through his massive being.

You turned his face towards you, a finger resting under his chin. His eyes fluttered open to meet your satisfied gaze. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself, puppy,” you whispered, an airy chuckle passing his lips at your words. “I had no choice…

So I might as well enjoy it,”

He muttered breathlessly, his response made you even prouder. Your little puppy was understanding the game—the fun. You couldn’t help but love the dork even more.

You leaned closer to him, your nose brushing against his.

“Finally… you are starting to get it,” you uttered, pressing a rough and searing kiss to his mouth. Miguel, completely exhausted and shocked, instantly lost the fight, giving you control.

You devoured his mouth hungrily, his plush lips feeling just right and tasting even better as your tongue entered his parted lips. He groaned, kissing you back, but not enough to dominate nor challenge you, which you adored so much.

You kissed him until you were satisfied, sucking his lips until they were pink and swollen, and tasting his mouth with your tongue. You then pulled away from his enticing lips, both of you panting heavily. You looked him over with a smirk, patting his head and running your manicured fingers through his coffee-brown hair, and to your satisfaction, he didn’t pull away—either from weariness or pure enjoyment, it seemed your puppy had accepted his role.

But you couldn’t be so sure…

You smiled, sliding out of the booth and picking up your $500 Prada bag from the seat. His amber eyes were full of confusion as he looked you over. You met your adorable lapdog’s gaze, standing before him in your lavish clothes—a white crop top, pink Gucci jacket, skirt, and heels.

You gave him a sly grin, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Clean yourself up and have my homework done by 10.

I want you at my sorority house tonight,”

You smirked, watching his tanned cheeks turn a deep red. Your eyes took him in one last time, taking in his little mess, his flustered and stunned expression, softened cock, massive body, and those dorky glasses.

All of that and so much more was yours now.

All yours…

“See you then,” you giggled, blowing him a kiss, and turning on your pink high heels, leaving the dork flabbergasted.

You swung open the door of Mama’s diner, stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the bustling streets of Nueva York. You put on your pink heart-shaped shades, the evening sun beaming upon your face, as an unshakeable smile adorned your glossy lips.

You were excited, no, delighted.

You had discovered something better than a measly assistant that you had desired before.

You had a permanent peasant, a puppy who was none other than the outcast of your college—the student at the bottom of the student hierarchy and hated by all was officially yours.

And you couldn’t wait to have so much more fun with your little bitch boy, Miguel O’Hara.

Your new lapdog...

A/N: I enjoyed writing this soo much!! 😆

I hope u guys enjoyed it as well, I'm thinking of writing a Part 2 but...idk 🤔😏

But hope u guys liked!! 💗💗

P.S: Part 3 of 'A Fate Worse Than Death' would be up next week, my apologies, I just had to write this one. 😌

<3 Taglist:

~@oscarissac2099

~@powerful-niya

(Let me know in the comments if you'll like to become a part of the taglist! ❤️)

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel atsv smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you #nerd miguel #sub miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader

1K notes · View notes

dinozarr · 9 months

Text

†⠀❝ FUE MEJOR. ❞ ✶ CHOSO KAMO !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ♱

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ “STREETRACER!CHOSO HEADCANONS.”

★⠀warning y disclaimers — fem!reader. streetracer!au. fluff. smut. lapdog!choso. obsessed. lover boy syndrome. awkward choso. family oriented choso. he loves you so much that he introduced you to his brothers as “his one and only”. (gojo core) pussydrunk! choso. body worshipping. face fucking.

NOTEZ : this is for my lovely girlfriend who i just hit 4 months with on the 20th😫🫶🫶 y/n is based around her. love you mi vida mucho besitos @angelsfae💗🤕

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀who sits comfortably along the front edge of his Black 1970 Chevrolet Nova SS , feet planted firmly along the graveled cement with your body snuggled perfectly within his broad arms as your back rested against his solid chest; small circles dancing along your plump thighs from his calloused hands that held you dearly to him. you two always seemed to stand in that same position every time you went to a track meet, his teammates being annoyed since he’d get distracted by you and would forget to watch the time for their s-race.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀who begged you to be one of their flag girls when the last one quit, just so he could (consensually) slap your ass once you spun on your heels and dropped the flag. it was his favorite thing about having you tag along to his races, aside from your presence alone, of course. each time he won a race and would cross the finish line, he’d do a doughnut around you before jogging to you and spinning you around; giggles and squeals of enlightenment hollering from your lips all the while you cupped his cheeks.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀that hoists you onto the trunk of his car just so you could feed him whatever snack that the gyaru girls were handing out to everyone. your legs would wrap around his waist with his hands resting comfortably against your hips, his finger delving into the smooth flesh of your skin. he loved everything about the position. how close in proximity you two were, you smiling like a bread winning baby while you fed him the sweet treats, his hands roaming your body in a subtle yet endearing way. everything about it was utterly perfect to the man.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀is what most would consider a lap dog (or golden retriever) boyfriend. he may not be a man of many words, but he shows his love through his affection even if it’s very subtle. whether you’re out and about, or at home relaxing with a nice ‘ole horror marathon, he has to be next to you at all times. like even if your legs are laid along his thighs with his hands caressing yours, he will take the initiative to pull you closer until you’re literally sitting between him. his head would rest along your shoulder while his hands wrap around your sides and fiddle with the strings of your shorts.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀that was a socially introverted mess when his brother demanded to meet you. he could barely get a coherent sentence out while you were excitedly introducing yourself to yuuji. the redness that shuttered all over choso’s face when yuuji uttered the words “so you’re the one he swears is his one and only!” was priceless. if you had a phone, it definitely would’ve become your lock screen. that moment indefinitely plays on loop in choso’s head, and your constant hysteria and laughter about it does not help his case one bit.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀even though putting you and yuuji together was his biggest mistake, he loved nothing more than “family outings” with the two of you where yuuji would treat you like a sister. the only reason choso was so hesitant when introducing you two was because of how similar you were. and he was frightened by the fact that two positives could possibly make a negative and you wouldn’t get along. yet, the moment he watched you two pick out matching bracelets, he knew you truly were his one and only, and he was going to make it his mission to marry you some day.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀absolutely loves fucking you on the hood of his precious Nova. he loves watching as you desperately attempt to claw at anything and everything that surrounded you to help push you through the immense amount of pleasure that coursed your body. his hand were always either gripping your plump thighs, making sure your legs were spread just enough that he could watch as a rim of cum formed at the base of his dick anytime he thrusted out of you. or, they were firmly holding your sides with his hips colliding with yours at a star-seeing pace.

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀that would flip you two over so he was laying back down on his hood, urging you to sit on his face with your ass getting a direct view of the nightly Tokyo skyline. you were always cautious no matter how many times he begged you, scared to hurt him since there was metal beneath his head. however, he made sure to let you know that even if he suffocated, he didn’t care, because at least he’d died doing what he loved most. (eating you out)

STREETRACER!CHOSO⠀⟡⠀loved pinning your knees to your shoulders and pressing a hand sternly against your lower abdomen, feeling just how deep his veiny dick pumped into your womb. your tight walls clenched around him so dearly he himself could swear he saw stars each time he thrusted into you. the cum that would leak from your dripping cunt lathered his bed in juices, your tears that were from the pleasure causing you to apologize for the mess. choso never cared though, he’d continue to pound into you just so he could make even more of a mess.

NOTEZ : second post to my streetracer!au. and again, any other ones i make for jjk characters will be within the same universe as this one, and my gojo one, so be advised. and, enjoy, ofc!

962 notes · View notes

batwritings · 5 months

Note

okay here me out! Hybrid au where reader is recruited into 141 and they’re all hybrids, like price is dragon, ghost a wraith, gaz a crow harpy, and last but not least soap is a werewolf. It’s pretty much common knowledge that wolves and vamps don’t mix, so when reader and soap first meet they despise each other, hate each other fr. Reader calls soap a dog, puppy, mongrel or mutt and soap calls reader a leech, bloodsucker and wtv. Now all this bickering leads to somewhere spicy, maybe all that hatred was actually sexual tension 🤷🏻‍♀️ heated and rough sexual tension to be exact. Alright thank u for listening in<3333

Sorry this one took so long friend! This is really similar to an AU that's out there for CoD and I wanted to be sure it was alright with that artist to write something with their concept. But without further ado, enjoy!~

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It was common knowledge within the hybrid community the bad blood (no pun intended) between vampires and werewolves. So when Price made the decision to add you to the team, you and Soap were immediately in an understanding. While yes, in front of higher ups things were kept professional, everyone could practically feel the tension in the room when you were both in there.

Yet nobody could quite tell just what kind of tension it was. See, it was very clear that, due to being the species you were, there was something negative between you and the Scottish sergeant. However it was also blatantly obvious that the two of you did hold some sort of strange fondness for the other.

"Nice work today leech," Soap chuckled, passing you after a mission debriefing. You rolled your eyes so hard anyone who saw you would probably think they'd roll back into your head. You set your gun back in it's locker, slamming the door.

The mission hadn't exactly gone...poorly. The job got done at the end of the day, but there were quite a few screws that went loose. The fact that they were by your hands didn't help the matter by any means.

"You got something to say mutt?" You growled, crossing your arms defiantly. Your day hadn't exactly been the best and you knew Soap knew this. You weren't exactly in the mood for the lapdog's "cutesy little pet names" as Price affectionately called it. You swore that dragon was delusional.

Much to your irritation, Soap was quick to get in your personal space. He had his arms above yours, all but pinning you to the lockers behind you. "I dunno, mate, do you?" Now you knew good and well that "mutt" was Soap's least favorite little nickname you'd given him, so his actions weren't a surprise.

What was a surprise however, was the fact that you could smell the pheromones on him. Being this close to you was turning him on, making you quirk an eyebrow. "Maybe I do puppy," you smirked, reaching down and boldly palming his erection. "You first."

Soap inhaled sharply, growling lowly as you touched him. His clawed hands came forward, swiftly pinning your free hand to the metal of the locker. He juts his knee up, making it and his thigh rub up against your sex.

It's your turn to blush, hand moving more intentionally now to make him harder. You let out a soft whine when he starts to rock himself back and forth, stimulating you. Bodies are moving on their own now, pure instinct driving the interaction.

You're not sure when you ended up kissing him, or when the two of you stripped from the waist down. But here it was, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, the werewolf that drove you absolutely insane, was helping hold you up as he fucked you against the lockers. You had your arms locked around his neck, nails scratching at the base of his ears as you praised him with soft moans of "good boy," over and over.

"So good," he groaned, claws digging slightly into the soft flesh of your ass as he fucked you roughly. A particularly sensitive spot gets brushed by the head of his cock and it has you letting out a keen of pleasure. Combined with the tugging of his knot against your hole, you knew you wouldn't be lasting long.

It was so rough, raw, and hot, the two of you nearly forgot where you were. Each of you was lost in a haze of pleasure, your noises quiet save for the slapping of skin and slight shuddering metal. You drew yourself closer the more you inched towards your climax to nip at his neck, barely nicking the skin to lap at his blood.

"Close dove, I'm close," Soap growls, his previous rhythm lost to the urges and instinct to breed you as his knot slipped inside you. The extra insertion and attempts to keep yourself from completion meant you could only nod dumbly as a sign you were fine with him coming inside you. With a howl that he muffled against your shoulder, he finished, the two of you locking together where you ended and he began. You weren't far behind, head smacking slightly into the metal as you came, drawing your own blood as you tried to keep yourself quiet.

You and the sergeant panted heavily as you came down from your respective highs. The brunette's tail was wagging ever so slightly behind him and you couldn't help but chuckle. There was a lightness in your chest that you couldn't place, but it was certainly nice to not feel at your teammate's throat for once.

"While the show was appreciated," came a voice that seemed to materialize from the shadows. Ghost appears to your right, body shifting out of his Wraith form as he leans against the locker room door frame. "Next time, maybe pick somewhere a little more secluded to work out your anger issues eh?" Both you and Soap couldn't help but flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry L.T."

#bat writes #anon reqs #cod x reader #cod smut #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #johnny soap mactavish smut

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fictionobsession · 1 month

Text

doubt

Pairing: Alastor x f!Reader

Summary: He wouldn’t give anything for her.

Word Count: 1,494

Warnings: toxic relationship, emotional abuse, manipulation, drinking, soulmate au…ish

A/N: alrighty friends so this is part 2 of devotion and uh… it’s rough. this is not a healthy relationship. I’ve got one part planned after this one. if you like happy endings, please just pretend that devotion had one part, okay?

She dutifully followed Alastor through the double doors into the smoke and dim lighting of Mimzy’s. It was early in the day, but as it was still Hell, the bar had a few patrons here and there. The pair approached the bar, where Husker was working on loan to Mimzy.

“My doe, please do stay here with Husker. I have some business to discuss with Mimzy. And if you do get bored, there are a few thugs in the abandoned building at the end of the block that could use dealing with. Oh, and don’t forget you still must go to the butcher, you know the one.”

“The one across town? But Al, there’s a butcher on the next street ov - “ She stops at the raise of his brow. “Of course, Al, I’ll go to the one in Cannibal Town. I know you like it better.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her again, turning on his heel to go into Mimzy’s office to discuss business.

“So how long has he been treatin’ you like that?”

She startles at Husk’s question, but relaxes upon seeing his genuine expression. “Like what, Husk?”

“You know what I mean. How long has he had so much control over you?”

A shrug was all she could muster. “Oh, long before I met him on Earth, I’m sure.”

She could watch Husker trying to figure out the phrasing for his next question, the confusion written plainly on his face. “How’d he own your soul before you even met him, in the living world?”

“Oh! Husk, no, he doesn’t – well, not exactly – he -” she focused her energy inward, a black cord coiling around her middle before snaking off to find Alastor. “He doesn’t own my soul, Husker. He’s my soulmate. Platonically, obviously, not the red string of fate, romantic nonsense.”

It was something she’d never seen in Hell aside from her and Al, but people could hide it, so she had to assume there were others. Based on the look Husker was giving her, though, it wasn’t something he was used to seeing either.

“O...kay… so you’re soulmates. Which means you… share in owning souls, right? If one of you two makes a deal, it’s automatically split between you?”

“Well it’s not like I asked to…”

“Uh huh, we’re coming back to that. But, that means your power is… equal to his. You’re an overlord. Why do you let him treat you like that if he doesn’t own you?”

“He treats me fine, Husk. He’s just – well. you know. He’s Al.”

“When was the last time he consulted you or even told you afterwards about a decision affecting both of you?”

Her lack of answer was answer enough for him.

“That’s what I thought. He doesn’t respect you. He’s using you, just like the rest of his little pets.” He spat the last word with such malice, she couldn’t help but wonder what Alastor was doing with the Sinners whose souls he owned. She assumed they all had decent jobs and responsibilities, like Husker and his bartending. She filed that question away in her mind to consider later.

She gave Husker a warning look, though. She couldn’t just let people refer to her as Alastor’s lapdog. But… that’s what she was, wasn’t she? When had he consulted her about decisions? Well, never, but isn’t that the way she had wanted it?

“I’m sorry, I just…” Husk allows himself to trail off when he realizes she’s no longer listening to him. He fills up her whiskey, her usual drink.

“Husk?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you make me something different? Something new?”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding before mixing her a Tequila Sunrise and leaving her to her thoughts.

As she’s finishing her third drink, Alastor emerges from Mimzy’s office, and the day outside had turned to night. She hooked her arm through Alastor’s proffered elbow, allowing him to guide her out. She pretended not to notice the pitying look Husker was trying to hide from view.

When they stepped out into the night, Alastor finally acknowledged her. “And what all did you get up to while I was busy, my dear?”

“Oh, nothing really, just talking with Husker. He made me a new drink to try! It’s called a Tequila Sunrise.” Alastor wrinkled his nose at her description. “Oh, I don’t think you’d like it at all, Al, it’s very sweet. And I know you’re not a fan of… well, anything but bourbons and whiskeys really.”

“That’s nice, dear. Shall we head back home then?”

She nodded, and suddenly his shadows were swallowing them and depositing them back at Al’s radio tower. She said nothing as Alastor fixed himself a drink, turned on the radio, and made himself comfortable on the sofa. She stood motionless, watching him go about his business as if she weren’t in the room.

“My doe, why don’t you come sit?”

She shook her head slightly before glancing up, remembering that Alastor didn’t make real requests. He made demands framed as requests. She crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the sofa cushion, her back straight and tense, her eyes facing straight forward.

“My dear, what is going on with you tonight? You’re not yourself.” His tone gave away a concern his face would never.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, remembering that they were soulmates for Lucifer’s sake. She could talk to him. He couldn’t hurt her without hurting himself anyway, so they’d have to resolve anything like adults – with proper communication. Which, despite his life being in radio communications, Alastor was distinctly bad at.

“Al, do you actually respect me? Or am I just someone to run your errands?”

“Of course I respect you, my dear! I don’t keep people around if I don’t respect them.” Her eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Well, if I don’t respect them or own them, at least. Where’s this coming from?” His eyes were tense, his smile tight, as if he were clenching his teeth.

“You just… I’m never included in business deals. You’ve never taken me to Overlord meetings. People think I’m someone who made a deal with you, not someone who’s an equal partner with you.” She looked down shamefully, missing Alastor’s eyes briefly turn to the dials that signified his rising temper.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to calmly respond. His tone was upbeat and his smile was wide, his eyes the only sign of his inner thoughts. “Why didn’t you just say so! I hadn’t included you in dealings because you’ve never asked! And I would never subject you to Overlord levels of danger and responsibilities if you didn’t want it, ma chérie!”

She looks up at him then, a soft smile not quite reaching the crinkles of her eyes.

“Did Husker make you doubt your place with me, my doe? I can take care of that. Permanently.”

All forgiveness she had been feeling in that moment vanished with the threat on her friend. Maybe her only friend, she allowed herself to think briefly. She jumped off the sofa, Alastor following her with a slightly panicked look on his face. Her eyes flashed green dials, shadows darkening the room, and green strings shooting out to tie everything together. She bared her teeth as her own antlers grew. “You will do – NO – SUCH – THING.”

Alastor took a single step back, his smile not quite faltering. She had never had the confidence to threaten him, not ever. He wasn’t even sure she had known she had that kind of power, let alone how to use it.

“Of course, of course! I wouldn’t hurt someone under your protection, I just wanted you to know that I will take care of any potential pests that would come between us! There’s absolutely no need to worry.” He started taking steps toward her, his hand outstretched.

The moment he touched her, she deflated, coming back into her normal calm state. “I’m sorry, Al. Just… don’t hurt Husker, alright?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t harm a fur on his fluffy little head.” He ruffled her hair, smiling softly down at her as exhaustion took over her features. “Now, I’ve got to do my show -”

“Can I stay and listen tonight?”

“Anything you want, my dear.”

She curled up on the sofa, watching Alastor, allowing her mind to wander to all the wrong places. She knew what he played on his radio show, but where did he get them? She’d never even thought to ask. He hadn’t really promised her anything, had he? Not until she showed her teeth.

She sighed, bringing his attention back to her for a brief moment. He flashed a genuine smile over his shoulder, the screams playing a perfect background to the scene as she brought her hand to the bit scar that had once made her feel so close to him. She watched him, not for the first time, but for the first time really looking for any clues about his true motivations and feelings toward her.

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fic #alastor x f!reader #toxic relationship #tw: emotional abuse #tw: emotional manipulation #alastor is not a good guy #aroace!alastor

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throwaway-yandere · 1 year

Text

"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.

unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.

Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”

—---

“Get in.”

“B-But what if!–”

“Just get in, Thoma.”

Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–

What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?

The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down.

As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.

"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.

Dainsleif refrained from sighing.

The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties.

A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.

That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.

“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”

The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.

“But My Lady has–”

“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.”

Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety.

“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”

“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”

Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence.

“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”

The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.

Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.

“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.

Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.

“... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.

Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.

“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”

Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”

“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”

“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”

Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”

“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”

Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.

“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder.

“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”

Dainsleif diverted his gaze.

“Home?”

This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–

and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM.

A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow.

Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area.

The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice.

A “home” to get back to...

“I… no longer have a home.”

He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.

For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.

Dainsleif sighed.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”

—-------------

“Found you."

The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma.

“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”

Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.

3 hours more, huh?

Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.

Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.

“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”

…

Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.

“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.

Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death.

So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…

“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”

At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.

Dainsleif cut him off immediately.

“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.”

Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.

“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”

“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”

“Where are they now?”

Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.

(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband.

If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.

(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–

No. That’s an awful line of thinking.

(Y/n) loved him.

… Surely, they did?

"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”

“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”

(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.

That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.

But they’re not.

Dainsleif refused to believe it.

If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now.

“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”

“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.

Dainsleif shook his head.

“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”

“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma.

“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”

Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.

“HAAAH?!?”

Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.

“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.

They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire.

Dain found that amusing.

The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.

He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.

Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.

"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"

Arlecchino snarled.

"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."

…

Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”

It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest.

“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.

Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.

“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”

Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”

“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”

…

“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”

Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”

“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”

—-------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”

—-------------

“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”

“Thank you.”

“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.

As if he doesn't want that to happen.

“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.

Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly.

"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."

Thoma cleared his throat.

"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"

Arlecchino rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."

Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.

"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."

Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it.

…

After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."

"Good."

No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.

"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth.

“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”

Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.

“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”

—------------------------------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”

“1…”

“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”

—------------------------------------

“Halfdan.”

“Dain.”

“Please let me do this.”

Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.

His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.

And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.

“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you."

“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.

The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves.

Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.

An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.

Dainsleif gritted his teeth.

If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.

Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.

Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.

"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"

“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”

“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”

"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"

"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."

"I take it you don't have a clue."

"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."

That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.

"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."

"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."

“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.

Halfdan fired first.

Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours".

Three warning shots followed.

"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.

Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.

Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes...

It’d be too easy to kill him.

There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case.

But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.

“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.

"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."

Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–

And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.

“NGAH–!”

Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek.

He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.

Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.

“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”

Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.

He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.

Until a thought occurred to him.

“I.. Want to carry their memories.”

“... W-What?”

“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”

He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse.

Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.

His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.

Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.

He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.

Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.

‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’

But he did not feel sorry.

Dainsleif loaded his gun.

2 bullets.

That should be more than enough.

‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’

—------------------

As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid.

Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.

The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals.

If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.

"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."

Thoma raised an eyebrow.

What does that mean?

“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Cyno nodded.

“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”

Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.

If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.

“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”

“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”

“... Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”

“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”

Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.

"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?"

Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well.

"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact.

"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."

“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”

The Adjudicator went silent.

He scoffed.

“Damnit.”

Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed.

He unlocked the door.

“Fine, you’re free to leave.”

Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.

It’s as easy as that…?

He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?

It can't be over just like that.

Wasn't he after Ayaka?

What's going on?

Why did he give up that fast?

All the effort he went through… Just for that?

That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?

Thoma combed his hair up.

Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?

Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.

As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.

“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”

Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.

“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.

“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”

Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.

—--------

Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.

He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.

"Eli…”

Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?

“Dain…?”

He’s lost in his thoughts.

Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.

Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.

“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.

"Huh?"

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill.

It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"

As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.

But finding them?

That should be easier.

"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."

“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”

Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.

“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”

He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.

Dainsleif laughed.

The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.

Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.

His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void.

Dainsleif lost it.

“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”

Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.

He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.

Dainsleif let the handle go.

“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”

Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.

The ex-hitman stopped.

His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.”

Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough.

He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…

Maybe this time…

The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.

Dainsleif trembled.

He doesn't know how to cry.

So he cried clumsily.

“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.”

—----------------

“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”

—----------------

[Eight Years Ago]

“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”

Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant.

And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.

Dainsleif laughed.

It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them.

He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–

Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.

1) They like to write.

2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.

So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking.

Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special.

And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).

Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.

“I enjoy the wine here.”

“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”

He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them.

“Well-off friends?”

Dainsleif already knows the answer.

"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.”

They pinched their forehead.

“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”

Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.

“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”

“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”

But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.

His occupation…

Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.

When, he wonders.

When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?

This job was starting to get stale…

If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.

(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.

Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.

He's on a date– he should be more attentive.

Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.

“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”

“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”

“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”

“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”

Dainsleif laughed.

“You’re very easy to listen to.”

They frowned.

“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”

“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”

A waiter passed by.

“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said.

(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."

"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."

"Aight– wait, what?"

Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–

Splash.

"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"

Dainsleif blinked.

"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"

"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."

"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"

Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans.

"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."

They tried not to visibly react to that statement.

Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him?

What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him?

"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.

His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).

"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.

"Please wait."

"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."

"Oh…"

They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.

"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”

Dainsleif didn't say a word.

He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.

This stain… It looked like…

They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed.

… Blood.

“Dain?”

They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.

“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”

Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.

This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:

It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.

He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe,

(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.

—-----------------------------

[PRESENT]

Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.”

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out.

It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable.

"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice.

Dain struggled to keep himself standing.

"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."

Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”

The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.

Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.

“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.

“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. “Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.”

Aether closed his eyes.

There's no way he can reason with him.

This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.

“Fine.”

The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.

“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”

Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.

“Do what needs to be done.”

Aether administered the drug.

—-----------

Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.

This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?

Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck.

“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”

Dainsleif stopped struggling.

He looked up, dazed.

Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.

Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette.

“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.

“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”

Dainsleif coughed.

“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”

The abyss smiled back.

“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”

They rolled their eyes.

“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”

Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies.

Dainsleif cringed.

“But you do have canc–”

“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”

“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."

He heard nothing.

That’s not true. None of their words add up.

They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.

Didn’t they?

… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?

“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”

Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right?

They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?

They clapped.

Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face.

It was (Y/n)'s.

It was his beloved’s.

The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.

"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."

Dainsleif chuckled softly.

Adorable. What a kind gesture.

"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."

They snorted.

"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”

They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.

For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.

Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.

He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.

Haha… Hahahaha….

They had always been dead to him for years now.

Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.

(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.

Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.

“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”

So is he.

Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.

(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free.

“Farewell.”

As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.

“Tch!”

With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground.

(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.

Even so, something about his stare seemed off.

It's as if he wanted to drag them down.

It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.

(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.

In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.

They pointed it at him.

Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.

As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:

“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”

(Y/n) fired.

BANG!!!

…

They shot him.

They shot Dainsleif.

And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.

But they blinked.

Lord– all (Y/n) did was blink.

"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."

Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them.

There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection.

No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?

Their stomach burned.

And they can almost hear his smile.

"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"

If he can't have them alive, well…

Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.

No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.

Dain kissed them.

He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.

Dainsleif grinned.

"I love you."

They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.

Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…

Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.

The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…

(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.

In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun.

Their only option was to wither away.

Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?

His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.

Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.

The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.

Dainsleif was right.

They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Even in death, he will not leave them be.

They sobbed.

No…

But they were so close…

In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.

They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:

"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"

#ansy-writes #yandere dainsleif #yandere dainsleif x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #x reader #tw: yandere #tw: suicidal thoughts #yandere male #tag: hitman dain

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bp-zb1fics · 1 year

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hello !! i just binge watched the bridgerton and i was wondering if you could write something with lee jeonghyeon ! like the reader (it would be a girl but you can change it as nonbinary if you prefer) is secretly dating jeonghyeon, they have a dance/bal and someone is flirting with the reader, you can add whatever you want for the following part like smut or fluff or wtv haha !! btw could the reader be really kind and a bit blunt

Fill your heart with me

pairing: leejeong x fem reader ft. twin brother ricky

genre: regency/bridgerton era au, fluff, suggestive themes

tw/tags: regency etiquette, gossiping aunties, ricky is lowkey unbothered i guess, except when you call his full christian name, gyuvin is a gorgeous mess as usual, dancing, unwanted attention from some unnamed man, leejeong ex machina, banter, many "improper" kisses, leejeong simp lives on

wc: 1825

summary: your favoured suitor and soon-to-be fiance comes to the ball unexpectedly.

a/n ty anon for this! this is really so late but I really do love this req and i wanted to do it justice so I hope you enjoy~ also! there's a lot of like etiquette at play so this is the source i based it off if anyone's interested! also also xiǎo mèi means little sister (reader is the younger twin lol)

check my pinned for more fics!

“Miss Shen is indeed one of the jewels of the season”

“Certainly, she is of fair face and has many virtues.”

“I’ve been told that she is quite skilled in the art of languages, she plays the pianoforte quite well and her deportment is incomparable.”

“And the Shen family is quite wealthy, any gentleman would consider himself lucky to have her as his bride.”

You pointedly ignore the aunties whispering among themselves as you make your way across the floor. Your mother has taken ill this evening, leaving your brother to escort you around. It wasn’t too bad. If an overeager suitor was not to your liking, all Ricky had to do was stand tall and look down his nose at them. Unfortunately, that also went for the suitors that weren’t too bad as well.

“I didn’t like him, Xiǎo Mèi” He says to you as you both watch the poor man make his way back into the crowd, proverbial tail between his legs.

“Richard,” You hiss, drawing yourself to your full height which doesn’t really do anything since your brother is disgustingly vertically gifted. “You need to stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop calling me Richard.”

“It’s what’s proper.”

“And I care because?”

“Ugh, you are infuriating.”

“And you have feathers in your hair.”

If you weren’t wearing one of your best gowns, low cut, splendidly embroidered white satin, trimmed with hideously expensive silver thread, you would have lunged at him already. Instead you settle for squeezing the arm you’re holding a little too hard, glad that your gloves would conceal how your knuckles strain. To your chagrin, you get nothing more than a slight wince.

Fortunately, someone else decides to barrel into him and if your brother was any less steady, he would have been knocked clean off his feet. Meanwhile, you’re fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. Kim Gyuvin may have half the ladies in the room falling over themselves for him but he possessed the grace of a newborn foal and the personality of a rambunctious puppy.

“Ricky-ah!” He greets your brother effusively before turning to you and playfully dipping his head into a pseudo-bow. “Miss Shen.”

“Mr. Kim.” You reply with your own little curtsey.

There’s nothing more enjoyable than the look on your brother’s face right now. All the eligible ladies on your side of the room are giggling and whispering among themselves, definitely charmed by two of the season’s most eligible bachelors. You would be too, except one of them’s your brother and the other one is just as good as that in everything but name. None of them know about the time Kim Gyuvin threw a fit after your brother called his beloved lapdog something he probably shouldn’t have. You do. It sort of ruined any semblance of his image for you.

“As much as I know your brother makes delightful company,” Gyuvin begins.

You stifle a giggle beneath your gloved hand. If the whole of polite society wasn’t watching, Ricky would’ve definitely punched him by now. You resist the urge to make an unladylike snort as Gyuvin extends his unnervingly large hand towards you.

“May I have this dance, Miss Shen?”

“You may.”

You let Gyuvin lead you across the floor. For all of his awkward deportment, you know he has proven time and time again that he is an excellent dancer.

“Is there any lucky gentleman that you have your eye on tonight, Miss Shen?” He asks as you make smooth circles around the room.

“Not particularly, Mr. Kim.” You spin once, the light fabric of your skirt almost floating. “And you? Is there any lucky lady that has caught your attention?”

If Gyuvin had not been a childhood playmate and old friend, then perhaps you would not be so improper. But alas, you’ve known each other from the moment you could toddle. He graces you with a secretive smile.

“Perhaps, we shall see.”

The dance comes to an end a moment later and you give each other a courtesy bow. Gyuvin means to escort you back to your brother but some nosey mother pulls him away, likely to try and introduce her daughter to him. Thus, you are left alone, searching for your brother’s blond head. Unfortunately for you, it seems that your lonesome state has caught the attention of some gentlemen on the hunt.

“Miss Shen, what a pleasure.” A particularly bold one comes up to you. You greet him in kind, although you are well aware that his eyes have fixated themselves on your chest, ogling the low cut of your dress. Still, you must make conversation although you curse the rules of propriety in your head.

“My mother has taken ill this evening unfortunately.” You say trying your best to angle yourself away from his uncomfortable stare and excuse yourself. “So it is my brother who is escorting me this evening. I need to get back to him actually.”

“Oh well he seems to have stepped out, might I keep you company in his stead?”

You’re about to outrightly tell him to leave you be when a familiar voice speaks up first.

“My apologies but I will be accompanying Miss Shen in the meantime.”

Both you and the man turn. You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face when you see your soon-to-be betrothed.

“Mr. Lee, I didn’t know you were joining us tonight.”

“I’m glad that Miss Shen is delighted to see me.” You move forward and take the arm he offers as he turns to the other man who has quite a sour look on his face. “Excuse me, good sir.”

Both of you watch as he leaves with a huff. The ladies and their mamas whisper but you pay them no mind. Soon they would all know anyway.

Lee Jeonghyeon has been courting you since the season started. He was 2 years your senior, good friends with Ricky and from a family that your parents approved of. Everything had been very private up until now as both your families finally began to talk about a public engagement and an even more public wedding. It was to be expected with both of you coming from aristocracy.

“May you do me a favour of having your next dance, Miss Shen?” He asks you as the quartet hints at the beginning of a waltz.

“You always have my favour, Mr. Lee.”

You’re already facing him, one of his large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you towards him, perhaps a bit closer than the dance called for but with enough space between you to keep it appropriate for the many discerning eyes on you. His other hand holds yours, almost hiding it completely in his grasp. And he looks nowhere but at your face and you would almost feel shy as if his eyes hadn’t traced over your features so many times before. Still, you can’t help but blush at how brazen he is in such a public space.

“In the upcoming events this season,” he murmurs quietly, almost intimate in such a crowded room. “I hope that you could give me the privilege of having your first dance.”

He can have all of them, you would have told him plainly but you need not scandalise the ladies even more. So instead, you say.

“Then that privilege is yours.” The way he looks at you definitely holds almost too much passion for others to look upon.

Later, when you’ve found your brother and Gyuvin again, sharing a drink by the refreshments table, he asks another favour that makes you go completely and unattractively red.

“I heard that the garden is lovely at night, would Miss Shen like to accompany me for a walk outside?”

It’s a bold request. And you’re glad he spoke quietly enough that only your brother and Gyuvin are within earshot. Nevermind that the latter very nearly chokes on his drink. It’s surprising that he’s this shocked considering both of them had the misfortune of walking in on you in the back parlour doing things that were at the height of impropriety (you were just kissing…rather passionately).

Still, you’re suddenly glad your mother is not here but perhaps that is exactly the reason why Jeonghyeon asked. Ricky exchanges glances with you before he speaks.

“If my sister desires it.”

You weigh out the consequences before producing a beatific smile.

“It’s a little stuffy in here, perhaps some air would do us all some good.”

So as the crowd falls into another dance, you slip out, your brother and Gyuvin trailing behind you as a semblance of a chaperone. The garden is indeed beautiful at night. Even better, the foliage is grown enough for both of you to slip behind it, creating a little corner of your own. Meanwhile, your supposed chaperones linger a respectable distance, conversing quietly and letting you have your privacy. Finally, Jeonghyeon’s hands slide to your waist, holding you as closer than earlier. You allow yourself a little impropriety, pouting at him, just a bit.

“You should have informed that you would be attending, Mr. Lee.”

“If it pleases my Lady, I shall give her prior notice on the next occasion.”

Boldly, you stand on your toes and give him the lightest peck, your lips barely brushing his. This time, he flushes, ducking his head like a bashful schoolboy.

“It would please me very much.” You beam up at him. He leans down and catches you in a longer kiss, leaving you breathless as you shove at him gently. “We shouldn’t be so hasty here with so many around.”

“Very well,” he says, looking at you so intimately as if you were the only star in the vast dark sky. “Grant me one last favour this evening then, Miss Shen.”

“And what is it that you desire, Mr. Lee?” His face is still so close to yours that you feel faint.

“My name,” he whispers. “If you could call me by my name this evening, just once, I would be most happy.”

You can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat. It feels almost illicit to utter something that you’ve only ever addressed him in writing, have murmured in the most quiet of moments. Here, in the garden, where your willingly oblivious chaperones chat among themselves, with the crowd but a doorway apart, with the stars hanging above you to witness. Still you grant him his favour.

“Jeonghyeon.”

It is but an almost silent breath. Yet the way his eyes slowly shut, as if relishing in the moment, makes it feel like so much more. And oh, your heart flutters as he looks at you again, breathes your name into the air between you because it is for you and you alone.

His hands grasp yours gently and everything fades into the background. It’s only him.

“My darling.”

And you let him kiss you again.

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necros-writing-stuff · 7 months

Note

Dog Dare in rut, DOG DARE IN RUT!

Continuation from the last post kinda.

But dog Dare with Lapdog reader, desperate in how he rubs up against them and covers them with the intoxicating scent of him. The dark spice-like scent that makes your mouth water and legs spread.

It's a struggle to keep your turbulent relationship secret at this time, dancing around Sophia with brushes and smiles until night falls and you can go at it like the animals you are.

You've been much better with Dean since then - practically preening during your visits as he laughs at the two of you.

"You're telling me this old git has the stamina for all that?"

"Surprising, isn't it?"

On second thoughts, maybe it was better when you viewed Dean as a threat and not a gossip buddy. Its become a further excuse to make fun of him. The damned pup had viewed you as a saviour of his boring recovery as soon as you'd apologised with home-made sweets. Stupid fucking sweet toothed ass-

"Dare? You still thinking about spunking in gorgeous over here?"

You gasp, laughing boisterously as Dean's partner. Owner. Whatever he is, cringes and hides behind his can of cola. Sophia was out with her girl friends.

"How come you never call me gorgeous?"

"Because you're a pain in my ass, and so's he. Should have left you at home and you," he points at Dean, "I should have left in that Humvee when it rolled."

Dean's dark eyes shine with humour, the smile never leaving his lips. "Yeah, he's still got all that testosterone running through him. I wouldn't like to be you tonight; how are you even sitting comfortably?"

Is there anywhere on earth where he'll find peace?

#spill your guts #anonymous #darius radner #not dol #gn reader #cw monster people #cw knotting #dean auger #radnerverse #lapdog reader au

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saikokirakira · 1 year

Text

Part 1 of 2: Pagtingin (Feelings) [Steve Harrington x Reader]

a/n: let's pretend this hasn't been sitting in my completed list since ferbruary. it was initially a 3-parter, but i decided the 3rd one to be part of the sequel. guess who's the dumdum who doesn't have a title for it? i'm using the Ben&Ben song I listened to while writing this chapter. it was either this or "baka sakali (Maybe, just in case)". it also annoyed me because "pagtingin" means "look; gaze" but in its context it means "(hidden) feelings," so it's neither wrong or right. language, ammarite?

summary: based on this blurb on a hanahaki au/flayed!reader

word count: 2.1k (brace yourself because the next chapter is almost 5 times long. yep. you heard me.)

warning: steve is an oblivious himbo; unrequited feelings / pining; minor violence; implied underage drinking (it's season 2, ykyk?); stranger things season 2 canon

You had a crush on Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Then again, who didn’t have a crush on King Steve?

Growing up with Steve, albeit shy of two years from the senior, had you following him around like a puppy. You watched him jump from one girl to the next before he surprisingly settled with Nancy Wheeler last year. “She’s different,” he had said before asking you for help on how to woo her.

Stop flirting with other girls around her. Actually listen to her and try to be interested in what she says. Get to know her instead of treating her like another girl. Surprisingly, he listened to your advice – everything you wished he would do for you – and got the girl.

Steve always got the girl.

However, something strange happened when Nancy’s best friend, Barbara, went missing, not much later since Will Byers as well. With your overprotective parents dropping a curfew on you, you barely hung out with Steve anymore. You knew nothing good will happen when you left him too long with Tommy and Carol, and you were right.

Much to your surprise again, Steve and Nancy lasted until his senior year. You couldn’t argue that being with her made Steve want to better himself. You even got to know Nancy for a bit, and for someone quite reserved, you actually liked her.

“Haven’t you ever considered dating?” she had asked you once.

You hummed for a bit, pondering on your answer. “Steve knows most of the nitty gritty on the guys on Hawkins High,” you explained. “He scares the bad ones away, and the ones that are decent are too intimidated with him being my friend since forever.”

“You never thought of dating Steve?”

You laughed lightly. You had a crush on Steve, but you didn’t like him enough to act out on it. “What an odd question from his own girlfriend,” you pointed out, and interestingly enough, it made her uncomfortable. You guessed a lot of Steve’s exes were also pretty intimidated by your friendship with Steve.

“Nope,” you lied smoothly. “Steve never asked me, and we never had the conversation on crossing that line in our friendship.” Still, the pinched look on Nancy’s face remained, and you began to wonder if it was more than just jealousy… or if she was hiding something else.

That inkling you had took form in Jonathan Byers half-carrying a wasted Nancy during a Halloween party. You asked around for Steve only to find out that he also ditched you. You aggressively poured yourself a glass of spiked punch before catching yourself, pouring the contents back in the bowl.

“Smart move.”

You didn’t need Steve to tell you that Billy Hargrove was bad news.

“Harrington ditched you, pretty girl?”

“What do you think?” you shot back. You walked out of the kitchen to find a house phone, only to find a couple making out right against it. “Seriously?”

Billy snickered right next to you.

“You’re still here,” you sighed in exasperation to show your annoyance. “Why?” You narrowed your eyes at the blonde.

“Oh, please, no need to be short with me, pretty girl,” Billy said, flashing you what he probably thought was his charming smile. “Harrington isn’t here for you to be his loyal lapdog.”

“What are you talking about?”

Billy stepped closer to you, and you were overwhelmed by the smell of beer and cigarettes from his person. “From what I saw earlier, Wheeler and Harrington seem to be over,” he whispered in your ear, “so you might actually have a chance this time.”

Rage quickly filled your veins, and you shoved his bare chest, pushing him away from you. Your reaction only amused Billy further. “You don’t know anything about me,” you spat out.

“As a matter of fact, I know everything just by looking at you,” Billy retorted, giving you a once-over. “I don’t often help out girls like you, but you’re just pitiful. Pathetic even.” He continued, “Guys like Steve don’t stay single for long. Takes one to know one, pretty girl. Best make your move soon.”

You hated how you knew Billy was right. Nancy clearly had feelings for Jonathan, and it wouldn’t be long before Steve would be looking for a rebound. Maybe if… maybe if he could see how you and him worked so well over the years, Steve might also see you as someone worth long-term. Even longer than Nancy.

For the next two days, you muddled over how you would tell Steve how you really feel. You settled for simplicity. Just give it to him honest and straightforward. With a motivated resolution, you drove to his house and caught Steve just in time as he was leaving his house.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Steve smiled, pulling his keys out. “Come with me. I need your help picking out something. I’m driving.”

Ten minutes later, you and the florist locked eyes, seeming to have an understanding with each other, while Steve fawned over the bouquet that you chose for Nancy.

There’s just something fucked up over choosing a bouquet you want for your crush to give as a reconciliation gift for his ex.

Mysteriously enough, Nancy wasn’t at her house, but Dustin Henderson, a friend of her younger brother’s, was. You observed how the boy dragged Steve over to the car, where you were waiting, and talked about “a baseball bat with nails.” Steve succumbed to Dustin’s demands and opened the trunk of his car.

“Why the hell do you have a baseball bat mace, Harrington?”

Dustin directed his attention to you. “Are you good with pets?” he asked randomly.

“I used to have a cat and a dog?”

“Perfect. You can come with us.”

For the next three hours, you and Steve followed the boy in his storm cellar, finding a tunnel dug by an animal too big to be a dog. Dustin explained to you about a monster he cared for as a baby, until it ate his cat. Now, he made plans that you and Steve would come back the next day to find it before it was fully grown.

By that point, you simply indulged Dustin and his games. It was all just bad unskippable side quests on your way to confess to Steve. … right?

When morning came, Steve picked you up, telling you that Dustin called him to buy meat to bait his rogue monster pet. Again, you indulged them and came along. If Steve was losing his sanity over his breakup, so were you by still trying to confess in these conditions.

“Why are you still friends with me?” Steve asked all of a sudden, his eyes were focused on the road to the way to Dustin’s house. “I’m no longer popular. My girlfriend broke up with me. I’m currently hanging out with my ex’s brother’s friend finding a cat-eating monster.”

Tell him. It’s the right time. But what if it’s not? Of course, it is. What if he’ll think I’m only taking advantage of his situation? What if he’ll think I’m only friends with him for that reason?

“Don’t be full of yourself, Steve,” you snorted, picking at your chipped nail polish. “I’ve known you since you were a loser. It isn’t so different now.”

“You’re such an ass.”

Your heart mellowed at the sight of Steve’s soft smile. Maybe I don’t have to tell him. These quiet genuine moments didn’t have to change. You loved it as it was.

“You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who... who you just met?”

“You have to admit, Steve, that’s pretty metal,” you commented, bumping Steve’s shoulder.

“What does that even mean?” Steve asked while still tossing pieces of chopped meat along the abandoned train tracks.

“It means it’s an awesome gesture,” you said, patting Dustin on the back. The boy smiled at you, preening from your support. From the past hour, you held a soft spot for Dustin who lacked in confidence but still put himself out there for a crush.

He’s younger but definitely had more guts than you.

“I just feel like you’re trying too hard,” Steve admitted.

“Hey,” you elbowed your friend in the side in warning.

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?” Dustin said quite glumly.

“The key with girls is just…” Steve trailed off, while you cut in, “Oh, I’d love to hear this.” He continued, “… just acting like you don’t care.”

And you burst laughing. You laughed for a good minute with tears leaking from the corner of your eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” you said, “stop giving the boy bad relationship advice, Steven.”

“Are you telling me you never chased after a boy who didn’t show that much interest?” Steve asked, but just as he shot the question, he immediately followed with, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“I wanna know,” Dustin piped in.

“Just one boy,” you whispered in the boy’s ear but still loud enough for Steve to hear. “It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me that way.” Before anyone could catch your hidden meaning, you added, “Besides, I only go for guys who genuinely adore me.”

“As they should!” Steve exclaimed, pointing a finger at you. “Remember what I told you: Never take less than what you deserve.”

“As I was saying,” you emphasized, pointedly looking at Steve for interrupting, then crouching to meet Dustin’s eyes, “just be true with your feelings and yourself, and the right girl will come around for you.”

“I mean, that works too,” Steve mumbled. “Some girls are just special.”

“Like Nancy?”

… and that was your cue to walk ahead of them. You should’ve known that a wholesome moment wouldn’t last. Unfortunately, it would only go downhill from there.

In the next few hours, you were being chased by reptilian dogs, rendezvoused with Chief Hopper and the Byers, and met a punk kid who had mind powers. If you weren’t constantly fighting to stay alive, you would’ve demanded context from Steve. And now, you were in a tunnel under a pumpkin patch farm that led to an evil alternate dimension.

Some side quest for romance.

Steve led the group while with you last in case something snuck from behind. You were all careful not to breathe too hard, and you made sure to avoid touching anything on the walls, keeping eye on the kids as well. Doing so proved more difficult the further you went down the tunnel looking for what Mike called “the hub.” The vines and plant bulbs for some reason looked aware of your presence in the tunnels. In fact…

“Dustin, watch out!”

You shoved him to the side only to be sprayed with spores from the flower bulbs. Coughs and wheezes broke uncontrollably from your mouth as you tried to expel what seeped through your kerchief mask. You just hoped that you managed to get most out when you did.

After the little mishap with the flower, your group – much more carefully this time – finally succeeded in setting fire to the tunnels. You ignored the burning in your lungs when it did, especially when you ran back for Mike who got caught by one of the vines as its last resort. Running on instinct, you snatched Steve’s bat and rushed over to the boy.

“Grab him!” you barked at anyone. You stomped the offending vine with the heel of your boot and swung over and over. You screamed and cried out, not knowing whether it was out of aggression or from the burning in your lungs, until Mike was freed and the rest of the vines retreated back to God knows where.

Steve stared at you in awe and slowly approached you, retrieving back his bat but keeping his other hand locked with yours. “That was awesome,” he chuckled, squeezing your entwined fingers.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last because a pack of demodogs came barrelling down the tunnels in pursuit of us. Interestingly enough, one of them still managed to listen to Dustin – D’Art. So, he was real... Their reunion and goodbye were enough time to escape to the opening of the tunnel.

Steve climbed out into the farm first, and you began hoisting them up, saving yourself last. You barely managed to get Dustin out, who was putting up a fight to see D’Art until his last moments. Then the strangest thing happened…

The demodogs just stared at you.

It remained that way until they dropped dead, signalling the gate finally being shut.

You were frozen and was only pulled out of your stupor when Steve hoisted you out himself.

The way those monsters clicked and growled at you felt familiar. As if they knew you. Yet you didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

It was over.

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfic #hanahaki au #flayed au #flayed!reader #hanahaki!reader #stranger things angst #steve harrington fanfic

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foggyxrayspecs · 2 years

Text

Security Measures

Prompt: Yelena is an underboss in her family’s organization. Her latest mission calls her to exact revenge on an old friend that no longer has her sister’s best interest at heart. While infiltrating his operation, she enjoys dismantling all his security, including his guard dog.

Warnings: dark-ish, sub-themes of human trafficking, heavy petplay

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I like the idea of Yelena taking on a pet that is essentially a loaded gun. With all her new toys, she gets super nerdy about studying the mechanics of how it all works. Then she’d devote herself to mastering the ultimate switch — a deadly weapon and a big, dumb lapdog. Hijinks ensue! Tip of the hat to @scarlettwlw for letting me borrow the Widow AU Yelena. (Much appreciated!!!) All future chapters (link)

The faint swipe of the plastic card key and the affirmative beep of the reader has you up on your knuckles and knees in seconds. The auditory enhancements behind your ears dial in on the soft echoes of boots and amplify them. You frown at the closed door in front of you and concentrate on listening to the soft murmuring of two people entering the corridor. One of them is the Boss, and the other is unknown. A stranger. They don’t sound too tall, but you’ve learned not to judge what’s in small packages.

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

IN THE ROOM

You let out a soft woof to yourself and crowd the door under the handle. As the voices grow louder, you can make out the language. Russian. You preferred it when the Boss spoke English, allowing you to understand what was going on. When you know what's going on, it's easier to guard him properly and not get in the way. Not getting in the way is the thin margin that keeps you on the Boss's good side. A side that has been disappearing as of late.

Uncontrolled, you begin barking your head off, actively dropping your voice to catch all the lower registries of bass you can gather. You've got one thing on your mind — to protect the Boss, the space, to warn the stranger. Sound waves roll off you towards the door, willing the wood to buckle under the weight of your ferocity.

Click. The door opens, letting in the smells from the corridor. The Boss is tense. The stranger is — you sharply inhale — then the world goes black as the Boss tosses his heavy peacoat at you, covering your head.

"SHUDDUP, FUCKING MUTT! Holy hell!" You hear the Boss circle the desk and flop down in his chair, kicking his boots up on the mahogany surface. "Come in and take a seat, Yelena. There much to discuss."

The stranger pauses two steps into the room as the door closes.

"Ah, you have a guardhund," she says, gently surprised.

"Yes," you hear the Boss sigh. "They've been installed here for six months since the attempted break-in. Not worth the money if you ask me."

You feel the coat being gently pulled from your head. As you blink away the darkness, you are immediately captured in the green gaze of the woman. Her eyes assessing. You swallow down more barking.

She mutters to the Boss, "Ivan. You should not treat your protector so haphazardly."

"It's good for them. They aren't a lot of fun, you know."

"Fun? Is this how run your business?"

"Yelena," the Boss says in a low husk. "You know I know how much you like your fun. Lisbon…with Magda?"

The woman chuckled and nodded, "Yes, I remember. Well, the Portuguese had it coming." You could tell she was forcing herself to relax as she sat in the chair opposite the Boss's desk.

Your training keeps you constantly vigilant. You stare down the stranger. You cannot help but give a low growl of warning deep in your throat. She just winks at you. You blink back. You tilt your head, showing the barest amount of curiosity.

"My sister has a pet."

"Oh, yes, I've seen her. Glued to Natasha, beautiful… a little spoiled," the Boss grins.

Yelena chuckles. "Yes, her puppy is quite a handful."

"Well, at least she has personality. This one… " He motions to you. "They just sit there. Staring. It's… a little creepy."

Yelena barks a laugh. "It sounds like they are doing their job."

Over the next half-hour, you listen to the Boss and the woman — Yelena — converse in a foreign language. Yelena sneaks glances at you every few minutes. You take her in unabashedly, watching every move she makes. The Boss didn't seem to care that she was still heavily armed even after the screening from the crew members at the front entrance.

The Boss's sharp laugh and scrape of the chair pull you back into the moment. The Boss rounds the desk and envelops Yelena into a hug, rubbing her arms. You watch her endure the embrace, holding her breath. "Okay, we've got a deal. So good to see you again, Yelena. It will be a pleasure to see you much more often, yes?"

The woman gracefully breaks his embrace and steps back, her eyes falling on you. She easily says her goodbyes with a slight nod and leaves the room. You inhale the last of her heady scent.

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

YELENA'S APARTMENT

"So, he's got a guardhund."

"Christ. How the hell did he get one?"

"Probably his mother. So, we'll need to add that into the mix."

Natasha hums absently.

Yelena takes a breath. "I don't want to kill the pup. How do I… dominate them?"

"Oh, look at you. My little sister… the handler."

"Shut up. I need to know to plan the rest of the mission. And, I don't know… you are the one with the PET!"

"Puppy and a guardhund are two very, very different things." Natasha sighs. "Most pets — even guardhunds — don't respond well to being forcibly dominated. Muzzle grabs and alpha rolls do nothing to assure them that we are in control. Instead, they make us appear more aggressive, out of control, and untrustworthy, increasing their stress.

"Since you've got time. I think you need to play to your strengths. Win them over the old-fashioned way. Earn it. If that fails… food." Natasha hums again. "Also, we could try one other thing…"

Yelena raised an eyebrow.

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

IN THE ROOM | Three days later…

You dig your teeth into your cuff for the thousandth time that day. The leather feels good in your mouth. You begin the delicate work of chewing the edges around your wrist. Whatever you can do to pass the endless time.

After you finish the first phase of your leatherwork, you sigh heavily, looking up at the window where the light is finally dimming.

Your ear perks at the sound of solitary footsteps entering the corridor. You pull back your ear muscle to focus the tech on amplification. It was her again. Yelena.

You push yourself from resting on your haunches and roll forward to balance your weight onto your knuckles. You exhale a soft huff of breath as your body tenses in anticipation.

You keep quiet as she slides the key card and opens the door, quietly shutting it behind her. You frown darkly, watching her.

She drops down to you. She was not looking into your eyes, but you could tell her attention was on you. "No enthusiastic greeting today? Am I not a threat? Forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment."

You offer a low growl and show her your teeth. You are meant to protect this room — its sanctity, its secrets. She slowly raises her hand to one of the many zippers on her vest. You growl louder. She lets out a quick "Shh!"

Your interest is captured when she lifts her hand and takes treats from her pocket. You hold still, nostrils twitching. Your shock collar training keeps you from being ruled by food motivation, but it's been such a long time since you've eaten. The Boss likes to keep you hungry to keep you on edge. Still, you hold when she presents you with an outstretched hand with three delicious-smelling morsels. You growl louder.

"Ahh, no treats? You have a strong will," she says softly.

You watch her with serious eyes. She smelled as good as she did days ago, her voice soothing, her energy calming. She forces a yawn, showing that she's not interested in confrontation. She drops the treats on the rug next to you.

She raises her hand to another pocket and pulls out a handkerchief that smells repugnant. You sneeze and growl heavily. She quickly tucks it away and opens another zipper to remove another folded cloth. "Nope."

Your attention snaps to the new cloth. "Mm, this has your attention. You like this?"

She holds the handkerchief out to you, and you smell it greedily and begin softly licking the cloth texture. "Ah, Natasha was right about the pheromones. She'll love that. Look at how you are licking…licking it all up..."

She tries to take the cloth back, and you can't help but reach out and bite it. You try to pull it back from her grasp. “You love women's pheromones, mm? Want to play tug-of-war?" She lightly tugs the cloth, and you move closer but start digging in with the heels of your palms and your knees, leveraging your strong muscles to pull back.

She grins and gives it to you, watching you as you jerk back and then begin to lower yourself to the ground immediately and lick the cloth in earnest. You hear her hum softly, and then you feel a light touch on your back. She waits three seconds, then moves her hand between your shoulder blades. “Many bruises.” She purses her lips and clicks her tongue, “Have you been fighting? Or, have they done this to you?”

Yelena starts rubbing between your shoulder blades, and it feels like heaven. You barely close your eyes and revel in the touch soothing your knotted muscles. Since you were kicked in the back last week, you had tried to surreptitiously roll on the rug or rub against the Spartan furniture in the room to ease your body aches. You grunt softly as she begins to dig her fingers in. "Aw, you are in such tension."

You lean into her, now sucking on the cloth in your mouth. You subtly ask for more pressure by arching into her hand. She generously gives it to you, softly moving her other hand to guide you on your side. She massages your muscles intensely, and you let out a low whine of pleasure and relief.

"Ah, you are a good pup. Well, you are more like a bear. You are fierce, but you are just a baby. Yes, just a little cub," she modulates her voice high and low, then high again.

You can't fucking help it; you lean into this new feeling of warmth in your chest and let your tongue lull out and turn all the way over onto your back, showing her your belly and narrowing your eyes to everything but her and her beautiful voice. Yelena.

Yelena gives you a brilliant smile and few more belly scratches and then quickly raises to her feet, leaving you blinking out of your joyful haze. You watch her turn on the Boss's computer and tap the keys. After a few minutes, she pulls a stick from the machine's side and tucks it back into a new pocket.

You hear her sigh and walk back over to you, folding herself down on her haunches and gently stroking your chin.

"Drop it." She hooks her thumb into your jaw and pries it open so she can remove the handkerchief. You whine softly, and she smiles at you slowly. "You like my smell. Very good, cub."

After she quietly leaves, you snap up the treats in your mouth and chew as you stare at the door, listening to the light steps of the blonde woman. You hope she turns heel and comes back.

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

IN THE ROOM | The next week…

You can hear the Boss pause his typing. He stabs the intercom with his finger and calls out to his crew operating the front of the shop — only static returns.

You hear footsteps in the corridor. Yelena.

You wait. As the sound of her boots reaches normal human hearing levels, you smell the Boss's anxiety spike in fear.

You wait, wanting to turn invisible. You don't want him to say the words. Those damn words that make you into a ravaging beast.

Yelena swipes the card and opens the door.

"Atta…" The word dies on his lips as Yelena puts a bullet dead-on in the Boss's forehead.

She cuts her eyes to you and pats her thigh twice, "Come here, cub. We're leaving."

Fuck, that voice. You obey.

#dark!yelena belova #dark!yelena belova x reader #dark!yelena #grey!yelena #security measures #scarlettwlw #widow au

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spaceyflowerswriting · 2 years

Note

hehe, can i please request vin jin relationship headcanons? (gn)

vin jin relationship headcanons

details: general canon au, gender neutral reader

a/n: ofc u can anon!! here u go, thank u for requesting~

> he'll view the relationship between you two pretty lightly at the beginning but as time passes and he grows to fully trust you, he never wants to let you go after realizing how much you mean to him

> so it starts like "damn this person actually likes me and i also like them, that's so sick" to "Oh We Are So Ride Or Die Lovers"

> being his partner means being besties with his bestie mary, too, or at least good friends with her!

> when it's not you three hanging out, it's just vin jin being attached to you <3

> always holding your hand, making sure you're holding onto his arm, or having an arm wrapped around you in some way!

> he's not good at expressing himself through words so being physical is often his way to go (unless you find it romantic for him to say stuff like "yo you're like the 'sun' to my 'light,' do you feel? together we're sunlight, shining brighter than any other lame ass couples around" lol)

> definitely clingy, if you couldnt tell by his touchiness yet

> i feel like he'd really like video calls. and he'll do 'em unprompted so if that gets on your nerves, tell him 😭

> vin jin is, well. arrogant and self entitled. he gets a little offended if you set boundaries which i know is a red flag but just knock some sense into him and he'll go along with it. he's just a bastard, not necessarily a terrible person. and over time he gets better with boundary setting, of course!

> his arrogance spreads to you by the way i.e. he's arrogant for both you and him; he loooves showing you off but makes sure people know you're taken by him ^_^

> if you don't like that kind of spotlight then even better for vin jin; he makes sure you're comfortable and away from big attention and your charms are all his alone to admire <3

> he still likes quietly letting people know you two are a couple tho; usually expressed by his touchiness and matching clothes/accessories :]

> absolutely writes cringe romantic raps about you and for you <3 otherwise he occasionally insists on having you help him with making his music

> the type of boyfriend to laugh when you fall and then end up slipping himself the next second

> but also the type of boyfriend to embarrass himself if it means saving you from severe embarrassment; he's got your back >:]

> not affectionately mean but definitely affectionately teasing !

> your biggest hypeman!! hopefully you have the energy to give him some hyping up every once in a while, too 💔

> makes fun of zack for being mira's "lapdog" despite being your lapdog (he says he's not the type of boyfriend who'll do anything for his lover but he 100% will--within reason)

> the guy described in this tweet <3

> he'll always have a bit of tsundere in him. he just gets embarrassed like that. even during your wedding vows he's looking off to the side as his cheeks redden and he's saying, "yeah.... and i'll love you forever and all that or whatever.. can we just kiss already"

> all in all, he's a rollercoaster of a boyfriend, but a lovely one nonetheless 💖

#lookism x reader #vin jin x reader #vin jin #writing these between classes during finals week feels like a sport #requests

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

Text

Previous - Chapter 6 - Next - Series Masterlist - Series Playlist

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, violence, smut, angst, fluff, non-major character death, pregnancy, dub con/fuck or die but only kinda?, enemies to lovers, there's an arranged betrothal somewhere in there that eventually goes away, spoilers for dabi's identity

ao3 link here / art here and here

Two months later

"Samhain, like Beltane, is a time when that which lies between the worlds stretches thin and, in some places, simply rends. However, the nature of Samhain is somewhat different than its warmer cousin; because Samhain is a time of looking both forward and backwards, meditating on the future and the past, even things as small and insignificant as stray thoughts occurring on a Samhain night have a strange way of manifesting into reality. Given this known nature of the sacred day and the plans made by what history will remember as the Samhain Council, it is no surprise that many suspect their plans to have been a spiritual manifestation of what was to come.

— Balthazar the Wise, On the Age of Unrest

The council room was freezing cold despite the fire blazing in the hearth, and Todoroki Shoto was sick and tired of hearing complaints. Most of all, though, he was tired of hearing this specific complaint, and it took all of his patience just to keep from lighting himself and everyone else on fucking fire to get away from it.

"I've told you once and I'm telling you again," Shoto snapped at the young lord standing before him, losing his patience, "I don't know where she's gone, what she's doing it, or why she's doing it, and I won't know until she's back or I learn to close my eyes, strain very hard, and shit a high priestess for you. Is that clear, Aoyama?"

The glittery noble bowed and scraped and offered so many profuse apologies that Shoto would almost have felt bad for the man had he not known that Aoyama was the Empire's little lapdog.

"Of course, my lord," said Aoyama, bowing so low that his forehead almost touched the floor. "Forgive me if I've displeased you, my lord…"

On and on he went, apologizing and bowing and making a bloody great fool of himself— it grated Shoto's nerves terribly. If he'd been a worse man, he'd have the damn fool put in the stocks for an hour and see if he couldn't learn to keep his bloody mouth shut, but as it was, honor restrained Shoto from doing as he pleased. Instead, he awkwardly dismissed pleas for forgiveness and ushered the man out of his sight, slamming and barring the door shut behind him as if in fear of the poor sod coming back.

Across the room, Bakugou snickered nastily.

"You should have let me take a shot at him," said the fair-haired, blast-crazy fool, sparking little explosions on each of his fingers. "I could get him out faster and warm us all up a bit in the process."

"Don't be crass," Midoriya scolded, but the remark was half-hearted at best. "Aoyama is just doing what he has to for his family— they poor guy's scared to death of what'll happen to him if we don't meet their demands."

Todoroki sighed, and Momo, bless her, gave him a pitying look before asking the question he was dreading.

"Do you really not know where she's gone?" Momo asked, worry creasing her brow. "She didn't say anything before she left?"

"No," he replied tiredly. "She was supposed to be back after Beltane because she was only going to the festivals but— circumstances have changed, apparently."

Todoroki was unsure as to how much he should reveal. Too much, and it would draw attention away from more pressing matters and potentially put more pressure on (Y/N) than she could handle at her return; too little, and not only would feelings be hurt, but it could end in bloodshed.

"You know something you're not telling us," Uraraka observed keenly, "And that's alright, but there are some things we're entitled to know, Shoto. Is (Y/N) alright? Is she alive?"

She's right, he mused, shamed by his own secrecy. They deserve at least this much.

"Last I heard, she was in fine health," he replied, his eyes flitting over to Midoriya. "It would appear…it would appear that she is with child as well."

The room was silent, then—

"Yours?" Iida queried, but Todoroki shook his head.

"I— we never—"

He looked away, his face burning with embarrassment.

Kirishima whistled lowly. "Well, I never imagined this happening. Do you know who… ?"

What to reveal, what to omit? Todoroki couldn't have said for sure since Twice hadn't specified, but there was only one person he could imagine the father could be. The father of her child was no lackey, no insignificant pawn in this game of chess; he had to be a big player, someone with the knowledge, motivation, and ability to send a trustworthy scout like Twice into enemy territory just to fetch a Healer for the mother of his child.

The father of her child, Todoroki thought, had to be Dabi.

But how, he wondered, and why?

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I intend to ask soon. I'm to meet with her two months hence with your mother, Midoriya. All will be answered then. In the meantime, I've not the faintest clue where she could be or what she might be planning."

"There's a good explanation," Bakugou reassured him in that blunt, unpolished way of his. "We don't need to worry about that. I don't know about the rest of you, but from the moment I met (Y/N), I felt the hand of the goddess on her, moving, changing her. I'm sure she's exactly where she needs to be, doing exactly what she needs to do, which is more than I can say for the bloody rest of us."

There was a collective wince around the table at that. Tonight would be the observance of Samhain, and every lord and lady at the table felt the pull of home, longed to be with their people— but as it was, their elders were taking care of things within their own clans, leaving the council in this room to liaise and discuss affairs of state.

"I don't see what more we can do than what we've already done," Kaminari sighed, resting his head on a fist, looking as tired as Todoroki felt. "The people of my clan have given all the crops they had to spare and then some, and still the Empire demands more— even the larger villages have precious little to sacrifice tonight, and their spirit is all but broken by fear and hunger."

"It's the same with mine," Mina agreed, "The same with all of ours— but what can we do?"

Nothing, Todoroki nearly spat, but he restrained himself.

"Between the Empire and the League, this land will bleed and limp and starve its way into an empty waste," Momo observed quietly, eyes downcast. "This method of survival isn't sustainable. It isn't even living."

"Is it war, then?" asked Midoriya, equally soft.

Bakugou harrumphed.

"War or famine. A quick death, or a slow, agonizing one." He shook his head. "That's no choice at all."

"The real question is whether or not such a war can be won," Iida interjected. "As we are, divided, scratching and clawing at one another, I would say not. If we were to make peace amongst ourselves and solve our rebel bandit problem, we might have a fighting chance, but as things stand…"

There's no way we could win against a united front.

Todoroki felt the urge to drop his shoulders, but years of training kept them straight, unbending. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.

"We could send another envoy," he mused, "Or go to the Empire ourselves."

Midoriya frowned. "We've done that already. The Empire doesn't care."

"Then we must make them care!" Several of the council members flinched at Todoroki's outburst, but he wasn't nearly finished. "This is not a matter of dirt or money, this is a matter of living, breathing people— people we're responsible for! As their lords, we owe our people our care and protection; if we are not allowed to give it, then the Empire must!"

"The Empire doesn't give two shits about the people," Bakugou growled, leaning over the table with menacing hatred in his eyes. "They didn't when they were slaughtering innocents to take this country, they don't now, and they never fucking will."

"Then Todoroki's right," Midoriya said, chewing on the inside of his lip. "We have to act."

"The only thing we haven't tried is the thing that failed before," said Momo carefully, the powerful gears of her mind turning the situation over and over in her head. "Are we sure we want to pick fights with the Empire?"

"It's no longer a choice." Iida's expression was grim. "It's just a matter of when."

"Exactly," Todoroki agreed, "And since that's the only element in this scenario we control, we have to choose our timing carefully. We must be ready."

There was silence for a moment, then Kirishima spoke up, his usually strong voice quiet and hesitant.

"Since my father passed, I've been working on building my clan's military strength," Kirishima admitted, his expression shuttering closed. "I have plenty of good fighting men and plenty more women that could pound them into the dirt. I can get them ready to mobilize with a year's rations in a little under a month. From there, you need only give the word. I don't want anyone to be caught unawares this time, not after— not after what happened to my father. We still remember the massacre of Scarlet Field even if the Empire does not."

Todoroki's heart sank to his stomach at the mention of that day.

Kirishima's father had been a good man, a loyal man— one who loved his people. The folks from Scarlet Field were a kind, good-hearted farming sort, and as such, Kirishima's father had wanted the working people of their clan to remain as untouched by the war as possible. To that end, he had only sent a handful of fighting men— including his son— to wage war against the Empire, leaving the rest of the people to tend to the land in peace. In the end, that effort had been in vain; once an imperial general caught wind of such gentle-heartedness, there was no hope for the people of Scarlet Field. By the time General Erly and his soldiers were done, every last villager was dead, their bodies desecrated, and Kirishima had returned home to his father's head on a pike.

No, Todoroki thought, they would never be caught unawares again— not while they still remembered Scarlet Hill.

"My archers have been itching to loose arrows on those imperial pricks," said Jirou, who had thus far been silent. "Say the word, and we'll kill every last imperial we can find, right down to their filthy hounds."

Every voice in the room echoed her sentiment, pledging their fighters to the cause. In the middle of the cacophony, Midoriya's voice rose to articulate the thoughts that were caught in Todoroki's throat.

"There's an angle of this that we haven't considered."

The room fell all but silent at Midoriya's stern voice and solemn expression, and he continued, his soft intonation making way for hard truths.

"We need to decide on someone to lead us," he said, his eyes locked with Todoroki's. "Unless we want the same result as last time, we can't allow a Council to run this war. We'll tear each other apart instead of the Empire, and all of us— each and every one— will end up sans heads. Additionally, those of us who are not officially the leaders of our clans still need to convince those who do head up the Clans that what we mean to do is the right thing. Otherwise, this is all for nothing."

"Who do you propose to lead, then?" Bakugou asked, straight to the point. "Are you willing to lead? You're certainly the strongest of us here."

It was high praise indeed for Bakugou to admit to someone being stronger than himself, especially Midoriya. Before the war, there had been a certain enmity between them that had since dissolved, but doubtless there were still old wounds there that hadn't quite healed.

"I don't want to lead," replied Midoriya. "Besides, I'm not the best candidate. Iida, would you lead us? I think we can all agree that you're the most righteous and level-headed of us all."

Iida looked down at his hands, shaking his head.

"Not after what happened in the war," he replied lowly, his eyes squeezing shut. "I can't trust myself with leadership if I can't keep myself from the path of vengeance. Besides, my brother heads up my clean— I can do nothing without his say-so, and I know you don't trust him in the same way you trust me."

Suddenly, Momo perked up, her dark eyes glittering with an apparent epiphany.

"May I speak?" she asked, ever humble, and everyone nodded.

"I think we should let Todoroki lead," she said, watching him with sharp calculation. "His clan is the largest in terms of population, his family has access to the most resources, and despite not being the head of his clan yet, he's been groomed for leadership since childhood. Unless you're unwilling, my lord, I think you would be the best choice."

There was a moment of silence, and as Todoroki glanced around, he realized that every eye was on him. His friends were waiting for a response— one that he wasn't sure how to give.

"This is not something that I would have chosen for myself," he said slowly, meeting the eyes around the room with some amount of apprehension. "But if you all agree that I would fulfill the needs we have, I will submit to your wishes and do the very best that I can to ensure that we succeed in our endeavor."

"Any objections?" Momo asked, and the room was so quiet that Todoroki could have heard a pin drop.

"Looks like it's decided," said Kirishima with a smile. "Congrats mister leader man— now tell us, what's the first step?"

Todoroki closed his eyes for a moment and thought. When he opened them, the path before him was clear.

"We start by talking to all the lords of the clan who are not currently present and creating our own small council. I would like to make the first nomination for that council; Yaoyorozu Momo would make a fine Master of Strategy, and I would have no one else at my side."

Momo accepted readily, and the planning began in earnest. The longer they discussed, the more real it seemed, the more plausible victory became, and a quiet, fierce joy began to swell in Todoroki's chest.

Hurry home, (Y/N) he thought to himself, longing to see her once more, to share this joy with her. Come watch us take back what's ours.

***

In hindsight, Dabi should probably have been paying attention to the meeting Shigaraki had called, but frankly, his mind was on the way (Y/N) had screamed his name that morning as he thrust into her again and again and not on the minutiae of the revolt against the Clans and Empire. However, if Dabi had in fact heard correctly over the distractingly loud thoughts of how it tasted to lick and suck the seed he left from his lover's pretty little cunt, then what Shigaraki had said made no sense at all whatsoever.

"Excuse me," he said, raising a brow. "Could you repeat that? I'm sure I must have misheard you."

Shigaraki, skeletal and pale as death itself, looked at him with hooded eyes and said,

"The Empire has asked us to align with their cause. I agreed."

Huh. So he hadn't misheard.

"Not that it matters," he said, using a finger to light his rolled tobacco, "But is there a reason you're going against everything we've ever stood for, or are you just unhinged enough not to know the difference?"

Shigaraki laughed at that, mistaking the question for a joke as Dabi had intended. The sound was wrong, grating, like a brick against a whetstone.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Shigaraki replied with a manic smile. "Align with the Empire to crush the Clans, then destroy the Empire from the inside out— perhaps with only a single touch of my finger. Isn't it brilliant?"

Brilliant was not the word Dabi would have given it, but…

In all things, we must endure, and in enduring, all things are made precious.

"Sure," he replied with a shrug. "What does that mean for us right now, though?"

"We stay close to the Summit, hidden but ready to attack," Shigaraki replied. "Send raiding parties out for supplies, and make the target locations far enough that it'll cause confusion for the Clans. Can you manage it?"

Dabi nodded.

"Easily."

"Good. You're dismissed."

Dabi swaggered out of the command tent with what he liked to think of as his usual suave grace, trying hard not to let his rage show on his face. Thoughts of coming back to wring more orgasms out of his beautiful woman were gone, replaced by thoughts of strangling Shigaraki with his own two hands, or burning the bastard to a crisp. This was wrong, it was so wrong, and if Dabi didn't start a bloody mutiny, someone else fucking would and he'd be the one having to deal with it.

(Y/N) is going to be so pissed, he thought as he watched the evening sun creep ever towards the horizon. I can fucking forget about a round three.

As if the day couldn't get any worse, by the time Dabi returned to camp, (Y/N)'s mood had significantly worsened, settling into something ill and sour instead of blissful and sweet. When he found her, she was wearing a pinched, uncomfortable expression, and the moment he stepped foot in his own bloody tent, she set to pointing fingers about the whole baby business, blaming him for her discomfort as had become her wont.

"Your little bastard keeps kicking my bladder," she greeted him irritably as he entered their shared tent, her hand idly placed on her round belly as she leaned her back against a wooden chest. "Can you see if you can talk some sense into it before I lose my mind?"

"Our little bastard is not an it," he replied tiredly, wishing he could just bury his face in those gorgeous tits and wait out the time until the apocalypse came for them. "And if he's kicking and thrashing like a bloody maniac, then he got that horseshit from you, pussy-cat. My knee hasn't been right since you bloody kicked it."

(Y/N) sniffed. "You earned every hit you got and then some— you were spanking me, what was I supposed to do? And since when is our child a he, huh?"

"Since I decided he would be." Dabi felt heat rise inexplicably to his cheeks. "Besides, I wouldn't know what to do with a girl-child."

(Y/N)'s eyes softened at that, and she said,

"Love her, I'd expect, and show her the same kindness all fathers should show their daughters." She smiled sweetly at him, then added, "You would train her as you would a boy, but it would break your heart to see her cry, so she'd get everything she wanted from you."

Dabi couldn't even argue with that— not when he struggled to deny (Y/N) anything she wanted. He couldn't imagine a world where a smaller, more fragile version of her running around with a sweet smile and a sharp tongue wouldn't capture his whole heart.

"Oh, and once she got older and the boys started chasing after her," (Y/N) added, smiling wickedly, "You'd never get a moment's rest trying to scare them all away with your mean mug."

It was incredible, the way (Y/N) could form a future in her mind like that. At the snap of a finger, she could think up a world full of love and laughter and happiness unlike anything Dabi had ever known, twisting all of his bitter expectations into a sort of salted daydream that left him thirsty for the day to come to pass when he could live that dream instead of thinking it.

With a tight feeling in his chest, Dabi lowered himself to his knees before her, pressing his forehead against hers. In what universe did he deserve this love? How did he, of all people, get to feel her affection like sunshine on his face?

And why— why— did he suffer so much, wondering why she hadn't chosen a better, more deserving man, when she was his and no other's?

"I got bad news, pussy-cat," he said, closing his eyes to avoid seeing her expression. "Shigaraki's meeting today… he called us all together to tell us that the League is aligning with the Empire."

There was silence for a beat, then (Y/N) was placing her hand on his face, brushing the pad of her thumb over the unscarred part of his cheek. His eyes fluttered open to find her looking at him with ancient eyes so soft and kind that he forgot to be anything but at peace.

"This day was bound to come," she told him, full of otherworldly calm, "And now you must choose. What means more to you, Todoroki Touya? Your vengeance, or the fate of this land?"

Oh, Dabi hated it when she talked to him like this. Ever since that fiasco with the letter, she had been giving him pseudo-ultimatums like this one, presenting hypotheticals of what he would do if and when and how— and now the day had come that he would be forced to make the kind of choice she'd been pushing him to make. He had to choose who he would be: Dabi, the Black Dragon of the League, or Todoroki Touya, the missing son of Clan Todoroki and lover to the High Priestess of Cerridwen.

"I hate the Empire," he said, feeling rage boil to the surface just beneath his skin. "I want every last imperial devil to die screaming, drowning in fire and blood."

(Y/N), with a voice as sweet as honey but deadly as nightshade, said,

"But how would helping the Empire be different from what you've already done?"

Time stopped for Dabi, his heart heavy in his chest, but (Y/N) wasn't finished.

"I mean, you've killed innocent people before, haven't you? Burned villages, stolen food? Would it be so different, fundamentally, to work with them?"

How could she suggest such a thing? Dabi's ears were ringing as though he'd been struck.

"Of course it would be!" he snapped, jerking away from her, outraged. "They started the war, they took everything from us—"

"And many could say the same about you."

(Y/N) expression was placid, completely unfeeling, and Dabi felt sick.

"You can't really believe that this— that what I've done— could possibly compare to the widespread destruction and systematic oppression of those bastards," he raged, his hands tightening into fists. "It's not the same!"

(Y/N) shook her head.

"No, it isn't," she said, "But I want you to think about this, really think. I don't want you to make a decision that you'll regret because you think I pushed you into one or the other."

Always, always she thought of the things Dabi would never have even considered. A man is the master of his own fate, responsible for his own choices— why would he ever blame her for the things he chose?

"Don't pretend that you could ever love a man who sided with them," he said darkly, thinking of the scars he touched and kissed almost nightly, scars that the Empire gave her. Oh, goddess divine, he would kill every last one of them, tear them limb from limb for what she had suffered. "Don't act like you could bear to look at me if I became a flaming sword for them to wield!"

(Y/N)'s brow creased and pain flickered across her features before they smoothed back into that horrifically peaceful mask. Somehow, that was worse than watching her rage at him, cry and scream and slam her fists into his chest— somehow, this control, this coldness, was so much worse than he could have imagined anything to be.

"This isn't about that," she said, her hand drifting along the swell of her belly. "This is about you. Who are you? You have to make that decision."

"I love you," he said, struggling with the words, but unable to stop himself from saying them. "I want to make you happy."

"I know," she said gently, "But you are a man outside of me, outside of us."

But I don't want to be, he wanted to say, but couldn't, I only want to be the man you want!

"Fuck, just— stop with the mind games, okay, just tell me what you want from me, yeah?"

"I want you to choose," she said, firm and unmoving. "I want you to make the choice for yourself, make that decision as your own man. You don't have to do it now, you just have to do it soon."

Dabi shook his head. Coming here, he'd known one thing to be true, and it was as true now as it was then. It was the only truth he was sure of, the one thing he had always known and never doubted. He didn't need time to make this decision, no matter what (Y/N) said about pushing or regret or whatever else she could conjure up to torture him.

"I will never align myself with the Empire," he said, his eyes burning into (Y/N)'s with deadly certainty. "You can bet your ass on that, pussy-cat."

"Good," she replied softly, her eyes glassy as she met his. "I'm glad it was an easy choice."

Dabi sighed. He didn’t know why he even bothered to get out of bed some days.

“I’m going to get some air,” he told her. “Be back in a bit.”

So saying, he stood up and walked out of the tent, more wounded than he'd thought he'd be upon entering.

She's right, he thought to himself as the cold wind stung his cheeks, the overcast sky darkening even further as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky. I'm a killer, and now I'm at the crossroads. I can keep going like I am, or I can go back home, the prodigal son.

Distantly, Dabi wondered which path would warp him more from the man he was now, and the man he might have been. Which one he was now, he wasn't sure; his world seemed to be changing day by day, he seemed to be changing day by day, and (Y/N) was there the whole time, watching, waiting, seeing what he would become.

No matter, he thought, I'll die before I work for the Empire. I just have to decide how to play it— do I go along for now and strike when the time is right?

Or is the time for action now, and all I need do is take up my sword and turn the entirety of this fighting force against Shigaraki Tomura?

Dabi wasn't sure. The only thing he knew was that there was no way in hell he'd take orders from an imperial dog in this life or any other. The rest, he could figure out along the way, preferably after a nice, long walk to cool his head and a hot meal to warm his belly.

***

The night was dark with only a sliver of moonlight to illuminate the cobblestone streets. The whole world seemed to be cast in shadow, and an eerie mist fell over the city of the Summit, the bitter-cold wind biting at human skin to leech its warmth.

Hawks— Takami Keigo to his friends— had a higher-than-usual tolerance to the cold, but tonight was different. It was the kind of night that humanity felt out of place in the world and the Others felt more at home. Still, something drew Hawks to the streets— a restless stir in his gut— and he prowled the night, watching and waiting for something to happen.

He had been wandering a few hours by the time he came to Turndark Alley— one of the shadier neighborhoods in the Summit. The alley was surprisingly quiet for such a hair-raising night, and Hawks was almost disappointed at the lack of scum to clean up off the streets. However, he didn't have to wait long before a scream rang out into the night, a primal call for help that had his blood pumping in a mad rush of adrenaline.

With only two flaps of his wings, Hawks was rising high in the sky, far above the buildings and the people and every other living creature. From his bird's eye view, he caught sight of a commotion happening two streets over, and he cut sharply downward, free-falling as much as flying towards the scene.

As he zipped downward, Hawks could see three bodies on the ground, and a fourth on its feet, fighting for its life against a cloaked figure who appeared to be nothing short of a master brawler. A woman was backed against the wall of a nearby building, and as the cloaked figure grabbed their victim by the head and slammed their knee into the victim's face, Hawks knew he wouldn't make it in time to save the person whose face was likely inverted right now, but he could probably save the woman if he was fast enough. He tucked his wings, hastening his descent, then spread them just before he hit the ground, coming to an abrupt halt directly behind the assailant.

"Jin!" cried the woman, a plain, simple-looking thing with terror written all over her face. "Darling, please stop, I'm okay now—"

The cloaked figure— Jin, apparently— turned to the woman with murder in his eyes. He raised a big, meaty fist, but just before he could bring it down, Hawks' body reacted. Faster than thought, his sword flew from its sheath and was thrust through Jin's chest. It went through easily and out just as quick, but instead of sighing in relief, the woman he'd saved let out a horrific scream as though she herself had been stabbed.

"No!" she screeched, running forward to embrace Jin's body as Hawks drew his blade from it. "Jin, darling, my love— oh, Jin!"

Jin— still alive for the moment— reached out to touch her face, but his hand fell slowly as the life left his body. The woman screamed once more, tears falling down her cheeks, and it was then that it occurred to Hawks that perhaps there was more to this situation than meets the eye.

I had better report this immediately, he thought, squinting at the man he'd just killed. Something's off, and on a night like this, nothing should be left to chance.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hawks said, reaching out to the woman, "What— what happened here?"

"You killed him!" she cried, backing away from Hawks with a horrified expression. "He was— I loved him! He was going to marry me!"

Hawks blinked.

"He was just about to strike you," he said gently, lowering his hand. "From the looks of it, he killed these men. Is that the kind of man you want to marry?"

"They were trying to hurt me!" she protested, her dark eyes darting over the bodies, hysterical. "I was coming home from my shift at the tavern and Jin— oh, my sweet Jin— he brought me roses as a surprise, and—"

The woman choked on her sobs, and it was then that Hawks noticed the roses scattered all around them, bent and broken, stomped into the cobblestones.

"He saved me," she said, looking up at Hawks, the pain in her expression twisting like a knife in his gut. "He keeps saving me, again and again and I— this time I got him killed!"

She began shaking then, trembling, and Hawks reached out to support her then. She let him, and Hawks held her, unsure of what to do.

Later, when the whole mess was cleaned up and Todoroki Shoto— the son of Hawks' liege lord— had arrived to assess the situation, the magnitude of what had come to pass was related to him. Little Shoto, now a man, looked at him with sad, solemn eyes and told the story of how Jin the Twice, the League's fearsome berserker, had fallen in love with a woman at first sight, with his star-match, his soulmate— how he had come to the Summit knowing that this very outcome was a possibility, but he came anyway for the love of his woman and loyalty to his commander, who had entrusted him with a task.

Jin the Twice had come only to be with the woman he loved, and to carry a message from the High Priestess.

Shame burned Hawks down to his very core.

"I should have restrained him," he said, staring down at his hands. "I should have— I should have waited, should have done something, anything else—"

A heavy hand settled onto his shoulder, and Hawks looked over to find Todoroki Shoto watching him with a soft expression and kind eyes.

"You did the best you could," he told Hawks gently, his youthful face somehow as old as a mountain. "That is all my father asks of our clan. The consequences from this point on are mine and my father's to bear."

"But—"

"Be at peace, Takami Keigo," Shoto ordered. "Go home, take someone with you if you don't already have someone to share your bed. Set your heart at ease."

Hawks did as he was instructed, but no man, not even a Todoroki, could command another man's heart. He tossed and turned in his bed that night, wondering what could have been done differently, wondering if he had done the right thing after all.

Goddess forgive me, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the images in his head. Forgive me, forgive me…

***

It was raining so hard that it was difficult to see. Dabi itched with the need to burn; he tried and tried to light a flame, but nothing happened except the hiss of steam from raindrops hitting his skin.

"Touya," whispered a voice he knew well. "Touya, my love."

Dabi turned, expecting to find (Y/N) soaking wet and barely visible behind him, but when he turned, the light of the sun— just the sun, no sky, no clouds, no earth— nearly blinded him. To the left, there was a tree in full bloom, beneath which (Y/N) stood, her hair flowing loosely and her short white shift revealing all that was beneath.

He tried to speak, tried to call out to her, but his voice came out as a thin hiss. He tried to move, but he stumbled, the motion feeling somehow wrong.

"Monster," said the voice. "Beast."

Dabi felt sick. He looked down, first in shame, then in shock; where there had once been a man's torso, there was now the black, scaly underbelly of a lizard. Instead of hands, he saw a dragon's claws, and when he touched his face, he felt nothing at all. Panicked, he clawed at himself, ripping the scales from his body. They peeled away with some difficulty, like pulling away so many stubborn scabs, but the flesh underneath was not his own. Instead, skin as white as driven snow was revealed, and Dabi recoiled from his own form.

"It is time," the voice said, and age-old eyes turned from him and into the sun, casting them in new and vibrant color. "Death comes."

Please, he wanted to beg, but it came out as a wounded roar.

(Y/N) didn't seem to hear him. She turned from him, stepped out of the shadow of the tree, and walked into the sunlight. Dabi, though unwilling and unworthy, watched her as she left, taking his heart with her. He roared and raged and fought against the rain that seemed to cage him, but he couldn't move, couldn't claw his way past the rain to reach the light no matter how hard he tried.

Broken and barbaric, he raised his head to the dark storm clouds above him, screaming his rage to the world.

She was gone.

Dabi jolted awake to the sound of shouting in the distance. Cold and clammy, he reached over to wake (Y/N), but found that she was gone. Dangerously off-kilter, he stumbled to his feet and outside the tent to find two of the sentries in a fistfight that Spinner was breaking up. Caught red-handed, the men stopped fighting, panicked by Dabi's mere presence, but he barely saw them.

"Where is (Y/N)?" he asked.

"Who?" asked Spinner, and Dabi was too numb to even feel frustration.

"The priestess. Where is she?"

He had to find her. They still hadn't finished talking about the future, about his plans—

"Oh, none of us have seen her," said one of the sentries. "If she left your tent, it had to be while this stupid bastard was napping!"

"Oi!" the other sentry protested, and though Dabi knew he should be irritated, even angry, the feelings seemed slippery, just out of his grasp. On impulse, he turned away from the scene to the outer edges of the camp, and when he did, he should have been astounded by what he saw.

The camp had been settled in the flatlands outside the Summit, strategically far from anyone and anything; there was nothing taller than grain or short grass for miles around. There had most certainly not been a forest starting at the edge of the camp when they'd made it, and Dabi had an inkling that he now knew which direction (Y/N) might be found in.

"What's the date?" he asked, unable to keep his eyes off the large, foreboding trees that loomed in the distance.

"Well, sir," said Spinner, "I believe it's a fine Samhain night— one to stay indoors for, sir."

Dabi needed no further answer. He remembered the last time the worlds came a little too close to converging on a sacred holiday— there was no way he was leaving (Y/N) to face it alone.

"Hey, where are you going?" asked Spinner as Dabi began to walk in the direction of the woods. "What— hey, what the hell!"

Dabi didn't answer. He knew what he had to do. He needed to find (Y/N), and he needed to find her now.

Once he entered the forest, Dabi found himself entirely blind. The canopy of trees was so thick that it didn't allow any moonlight to shine through, and Dabi was almost afraid of what he might find if he used his flames for light. Instead, he stumbled blindly through the woods, searching with something more than his senses, more than himself.

"(Y/N)," he said, speaking her name quietly but solidly, like an invocation, letting the strange, dissociative feeling in his chest expand and swallow him. "(Y/N), where are you?"

Little pinpricks of light appeared in the distance, then all of a sudden, Dabi stepped into blinding moonlight, the forest disappearing into nothing as a sky full of silver stars enveloped him. Only realizing that he had looked upwards into the heavens when his feet began to lose his balance, Dabi tore his eyes away from the celestial world, forcing them back to the terrestrial, and when he did, he found what he had been searching for.

A few yards away, (Y/N) was kneeling before a pool of standing water. Fireflies danced above the surface of the water, casting it in golden flickers of light, and the stars it reflected twinkled in perfect imitation of the heavens. Above it, (Y/N) seemed supernaturally frozen, staring into the distance.

"Sweet one," he said, slipping naturally into the tongue of their ancestors. "Are you alright?"

(Y/N) turned to him, and Dabi's heart plummeted to his stomach. Her eyes no longer had whites, irises, or pupils— they were simply glowing with a strange golden light that seemed to pulsate with power. Still, he did not back down, did not shy away; he approached her, knelt beside her, took her hand.

"I'm here," he said, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

"She does not hear you, young one," said (Y/N) in a voice that was not her own, "But I do. Through me, she feels your presence. It brings her comfort."

Dabi didn't know what the proper thing to do in the presence of the goddess was, but he figured touching his forehead to the ground was probably not a bad place to start.

"Rise, child, rise," said the goddess, a hint of laughter in her voice. "There is no need to fear, or to feign worship— this vessel is your goddess as much and perhaps more than I am. The way you worship her is quite enough."

Dabi wanted to protest that it wasn't nearly the same thing, but he decided it was probably bad form to argue with the Creator.

"As you will," he replied submissively, fighting the urge to pull his hand away from holding (Y/N)'s. He would not abandon her just because he was a little freaked out by the goddess thing happening. He would not.

"Will you not speak with me, young one?" she asked him after a long moment of silence. "Have you nothing to say to the Great Mother?"

Dabi had a thousand things to say and also nothing.

"What's happening to (Y/N)?" he asked, squeezing the hand in his grasp. "Is she alright?"

"She is Seeing," replied the goddess, love and fondness coloring her tone. "She is afraid— after all, the future is often dark and terrifying for a mortal— but she is brave. She faces it with a steel heart and the eyes of a hawk. Does that satisfy you?"

"Not particularly," he replied, unwilling to tell a bald-faced lie to the Great Mother, and the goddess laughed.

"Humans are so funny," she told him with an easy smile that somehow made (Y/N) look entirely unlike herself. "You little ones are my favorite creation. Of all the things I have regretted, making mankind is the one I regret both the least and the most."

Dabi wasn't sure what to say to that. Luckily, he didn't have to come up with anything before the goddess spoke again, this time more quietly.

"My vessel returns," she intoned, those light-filled eyes seeming so empty in the face that he loved. "She yearns for you. Care for her, little one— she will need you."

With that, the light shining in the place of (Y/N)'s eyes faded, lifting like a veil. When nothing remained of the supernatural but (Y/N) herself, tears began to slide down her cheeks. Trembling, (Y/N) stared past Dabi, unseeing, and she collapsed in on herself, bending almost in half as her face contorted in a silent scream, holding her round belly with the hand that wasn't holding Dabi's.

Panic filled Dabi as he watched her cry, sobbing with a wild, untamable grief. What had she seen that was so terrible? Even the end of the world itself didn't seem to warrant this sort of reaction, but when he reached out to console (Y/N), she flinched away from him, her eyes full of hurt.

"Please," she gasped at him through her sobs. "Please don't, don't do this to him, he's a good man—"

"Hey, hey, I'm not doing anything to anyone right now," he said, reaching out for her again, and (Y/N) didn't stop him as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face into his neck as she cried. She clung to him like a woman drowning in sorrow, and he held her fast, anchoring her as best as he could.

"You'll kill him," she hiccuped, her whole body shaking as he rubbed soothing circles into her back. "You'll kill him and I can't stop you— oh, goddess, Great Mother, please let it not be so!"

She kept repeating "please," begging him, begging the goddess, begging anyone who would listen to change what she had seen, but what was done was done. She wouldn't— couldn't— tell Dabi what she had seen, and he couldn't fix what he didn't know. Gently, he moved her so that her legs were on either side of his waist, and, thankful to the goddess for the strength to do so, stood straight up with her in his arms. (Y/N), lost to the world, barely even seemed to notice; she just clung to him, mad with grief as he carried her back to camp.

Great Mother, watcher of the world, he prayed silently as he held the love of his life, feeling her every broken sob like a knife in his gut, I don’t ask for much because I don’t deserve much— but if you can, if it’s in your Great Plan, lift this burden from her heart, if only for tonight. Let her sleep, let her rest. Her heart breaks for what is to come; grant her respite for the present.

Shortly thereafter, (Y/N)’s flood of tears reduced to a stream, then a trickle. By the time they made it back to camp, she was exhausted, half-asleep in his arms; when he placed her gently on their furs, she curled in on herself, her tears dried out and her energy completely sapped.

"I love you," Dabi told her, placing a warmed arm around her round belly as he lay behind her, pressing himself against her. He didn't expect a response, and he didn't need one— that she was still here after whatever she'd seen was answer enough. He only hoped that that would still be the case once he did whatever it was she had foreseen.

"Cold," she murmured, shifting so that she was laying on her side, facing him, and Dabi consciously warmed his body, pulling a layer of fur over them.

"Better?" he asked, and she nodded. Dabi watched her face as it relaxed into something resembling the tranquility of sleep, and when he was sure she was resting, he closed his eyes, willing himself to follow suit.

In a few months or so, he would be taking (Y/N) to stay with Midoriya Inko. If he could manage to behave himself until then, perhaps he could avoid whatever fate (Y/N) had seen. At least, he hoped that was the case; the idea of the future being a permanent and inevitable outcome was even more terrifying than the alternative.

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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