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#not entirely sure what the etiquette here is
soaps-mohawk · 2 months
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 5: What I Want
Summary: You begin your training with Ghost, but not everything goes as smoothly as you'd hoped. At least you're learning how to want things, and that it won't kill you if you ask for them.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, some Ghost x Soap
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, oral sex, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, suggestive content, language, brief violence, reader has a breakdown
A/N: I know I was supposed to rest, but I couldn't help myself. I just had to get this one done. I was feeling it. We're finally getting into the good stuff here. Things will kind of pick up after this part, so I'm really looking forward for that.
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(Gif pulled from google)
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You tug nervously at your sleeve, feeling exactly as you did when you had to sit in the director’s office at The Institute. Only, you never got in trouble there. You had never been summoned because you misbehaved. You made it a point not to get into trouble, avoiding it at all costs. 
You’ve been here just over a week and you’ve already messed up. 
Price is staring at you across his desk, leaning on his elbows as his blue eyes bore into you. You’re not staring at Price, you think. No, you’ve come face to face with The Captain. He’s angry, though you can’t be entirely sure. You’ve never seen him truly angry. You’re waiting on the reprimanding, the punishment, for him to tell you they’re sending you back because you’re too much trouble. 
“I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”
You flinch at his voice, half expecting him to start shouting but he sounds almost calm. There’s a strain to his voice, like he’s restraining himself. He’s doing it for your sake, you think. 
“Ghost and I were walking back from the mess when one of the alphas called out to me. He...he asked if I was going to go spread my legs for ‘that freak’ and he said he could offer me a better time.” You swallow thickly, Price’s shoulders tensing just slightly. “I don’t know what happened...I just suddenly felt so angry and it’s like I lost control of myself and I went up to him and he asked if I was gonna take him up on his offer and that he’d like to bend me over and stare at my sweet ass all night...and then I hit him, sir.” 
“Good.” 
You look up at Price in surprise at his answer, your eyes widening a bit. “S-sorry, sir?” 
“I have little tolerance for alphas that think it’s alright to speak crudely to omegas, especially those they were explicitly told to let be. You saved me a lot of paperwork today. Simon would have done a lot worse had you not gotten to him first.” He moves the papers on his desk aside, holding out his hand. “Let me see.” 
You stare at his hand for a moment before you realize he’s talking about your hand. You push your sleeve up, putting your hand in his. Your knuckles have swollen a bit and bruised, tender to the touch as he runs his thumb over them. 
“Simon told me you asked him to teach you to fight.” He says, closing his fingers around your hand. 
“Well, not so much fight, sir.” You say, staring at your hands. “Maybe just how to throw a decent punch.” 
“I’d say the one you threw today was at least half-decent. Corporal Allen is sporting quite the bruise on his face.” The corner of his lips lift in a smile. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore. He’ll be properly dealt with and they’ll all be receiving a lecture on proper base etiquette.” 
“So...am I in trouble, sir?” You ask, pulling your hand back slowly as he releases it. 
“No, you were simply defending yourself after Corporal Allen made a pass at you. Just don’t make it a habit of going around punching alphas.” He smiles. 
“I’ll try not to, sir.” You say, relieved that you weren’t about to get punished for your mistake. 
“Go on.” He nods towards the door. “I’m sure the boys are waiting for you.” 
“Thank you, sir.” You say, standing up from your chair, heading towards the door. 
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Price leans back in his chair as the door closes, the sweet scent of caramel and strawberries still permeating his office. He breathes it in for a moment before pulling out his phone, scrolling through the contacts. 
“You’ll be delighted to hear our girl punched an alpha in the face today.” He says once the other line picks up. 
“She did what?” Laswell asks, genuine surprise in her tone. 
“One of the Corporals made a pass at her, and she left quite the bruise on his cheek. She’s turning into quite the spitfire.” 
“I told you she would fit right in. Underneath all that institute-taught BS there’s quite the personality. How is she settling in?” 
“She’s softening up to the betas already. Still a bit fidgety, but she’s found a way to get Simon to warm up to her.” 
“Oh? How so?” 
“She asked him to teach her to fight.” Price grins. 
Laswell chuckles. “I told you she’s smart. Just make sure he’s gentle with her.” 
“Don't worry, I reminded him to go easy on her. I think it will be good for both of them. Some forced proximity will be good for Simon and she’ll get to learn a few things that could be helpful.” 
“So long as she doesn’t go around trying to fight more alphas.” 
“She’s already promised not to. The Corporal got off easy. I can only imagine what Simon might have done to him.” 
“I’m glad to hear things are going well, John. I worry about her sometimes, but I know you boys will take good care of her.” 
“We’re doing our best.” 
“If you ever need anything, you know you can call.” 
“I know. I’ll keep you updated as her heat gets closer.” 
“Good. I’d hate to have to file that paperwork.” 
Price grimaces. “I know. I hope you don’t have to.” 
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You’re tying your shoes as the knock sounds on the door. You’re not sure how they manage to do it, always seeming to catch you at the perfect moment. You’re glad Kate thought to get you some more active-wear type clothing, though perhaps she expected you’d be getting involved in their training or at least start a bit of your own once you arrived, just as she had thought to get you outdoorsy clothes too. 
You open the door, staring up at the hulking form of Ghost. 
“Come on.” He grunts, turning on his heel to walk down the hallway. 
You quickly close your door, hurrying after him. Not much has changed since your request for him to train you, though you didn’t really expect it to. Not at first, at least. You still have to prove yourself to him. Simply existing and getting involved in their lives would not be enough. 
He escorts you to the gym, a building you haven’t been in yet. There’s a few soldiers milling around, most of them in the weight room. There’s a pool across from the weight room, for more than just swimming, you think. Your father had talked about his own water survival training. You can only imagine the kind of water training they go through. 
Ghost leads you towards the back of the gym, unlocking a door near the exit. It’s set up not unlike a dojo, mats on the floor and punching bags and other training equipment along the walls. Ghost empties his pockets, setting his things on a bench before removing his sweatshirt. 
You can’t help but stare, only ever having seen him in long sleeves. His muscles bulge beneath his t-shirt, the first bit of skin revealed to you besides his neck, chin, and hands. Your eyes are drawn to his arms, taking in the sheer size of them. 
Tattoos. 
He has a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. You have a desire to look at them closer, to trace each one but you wouldn’t dare. Not right now. You pull off your own sweatshirt, folding it and setting it on the bench, leaving you in just a t-shirt and your leggings. 
You fail in your attempt not to stare as he walks towards the center of the mat in his t-shirt and sweatpants, swallowing nervously. He turns to face you, motioning for you to approach with two of his fingers. Your face warms as you hurry onto the mat, coming to stand in front of him. 
“Let me see.” He says, holding out his hand. 
You stare at it for a moment before your brain catches up, and you put your right hand into his. You ignore the feeling of his fingers wrapping around your hand, lifting it so he can inspect your still bruised knuckles. 
“We’ll start with dodging.” He says, releasing your hand, taking a step back. “Let me see your stance.” 
You part your feet a little, bringing your fists up to your face. His shoulders shake in a quiet huff of a laugh as he stares at you. 
“You need to stagger your stance more.” He says, circling you. “Otherwise,” Hands push you from behind, and you nearly avoid face planting into the floor. “You’re too easy to knock over. The last thing you want is the fight to end up on the floor. You won’t be getting back up if you let your opponent overpower you that much. Again.” He motions to you. 
You set up your stance again, widening your feet just a bit. 
“Good.” He says, moving to stand in front of you. “These protect your face.” He says, hands wrapping around your wrists, raising your hands just a bit. “You get hit in the face...” 
“I won’t be getting back up.” You finish for him. 
You know most fights end up with both opponents on the ground. You’d watched your brothers wrestle and play fight enough to know that. You’re not here to learn how to win a fight, only how to protect yourself enough until you can find space to run. 
You barely have time to stumble back as his fist swings at you, nearly losing your footing. “Hey! You could warn me first.” 
“You think someone attacking you is going to warn you?” He asks. 
He has a point. 
“Use your legs.” He says as you set yourself up again. “Move side to side if you can instead of ducking under the punch, but if you have to, don’t let your eyes leave your opponent.” 
You see this punch coming, ducking to your right to avoid getting hit. 
“Good.” He says, repeating the motion with his left hand. “Stay focused.” 
You continue with the same motion a few times, already starting to feel a bit fatigued. Running is one thing, but strength is another. Most omegas aren’t naturally strong, nor are they inclined to increase their strength. That’s what alphas and their packs are for. It’s not unheard of, though, for omegas to increase their physical strength. Perhaps you’ll need to consider looking into doing that as well. 
Ghost takes a step back, letting you rest for a moment. You’re breathing heavily, though he’s hardly looking fatigued at all. He’s used to this, you remind yourself. He probably throws more punches in a day in the field than he’s thrown at you so far in 30 minutes. 
“Now, let’s make it a bit more realistic.” He says, a low rumble at the edge of his voice. 
A wave of scent hits you, your brain nearly short-circuiting. Fear pulses through you, ozone burning your nostrils. You stumble backwards, landing on your back on the mat. You’re breathing heavily, every cell in your body screaming at you to run or submit. 
“That’s...that’s n-not fair!” You say, your hands trembling from the adrenaline coursing through you. 
“Any alpha you fight is going to use every natural advantage they have over you.” Ghost says, stalking towards you. You can practically see it, the purebred alpha within him coming through. “You need to learn to protect yourself against them.” 
“That's...that’s not possible.” You say, the edge of a whine detectable in your tone. 
He kneels down over you, crowding into your space despite the souring of your scent. It doesn’t even seem to phase him as he forces you flat on your back, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. You stare up at him, every fiber of your being screaming at you to bare your throat, submit, give in. 
Don’t back down. 
Don’t back down. 
You push past the fear, the instincts screaming at you as you drive your knee up into his stomach. He lets out a grunt but it doesn’t phase him, his hand wrapping around your leg, using his sheer strength to flip you onto your stomach under him. He presses against you, body folding over yours. You resist the urge, the instinct to press back into him, to be a good omega. 
“If an alpha gets you onto the floor...” He says, warm breath fanning your ear through his mask. “You won’t want to get back up.” 
His face presses against your neck as he inhales deeply before he pushes himself up, grabbing the back of your shirt and hauling you to your feet as well. You’re shaking, your heart thumping in your chest. Your head feels fuzzy, your brain buzzing a bit. Your omega is confused, poised to strike but she’s not sure against who. Ghost isn’t a threat, and you know that, but he had just proved how easily he could be. Any of them could be, with a simple scent change and their sheer strength. 
“Again.” He says, getting into a fighting stance. 
“You can’t expect me to fight after that.” You say, your voice breathless. 
“If you’re in a real fight, you won’t have much of a choice.” He says, the rumble still audible around his own voice. 
He’s right. If someone is attacking you, it’s likely going to be to kill, or to try and take you from them. Your omega shifts uncomfortably as you raise your shaking hands to guard your face. You continue to dodge punches, hitting the ground more and more as you continue to get tired. You’re going to be sore, still feeling your hike through the woods a bit. 
The door opens, giving you a moment to breathe. Soap enters, a grin on his face. 
“Ah, the wee lass is still breathin’.” He says, leaning against the wall. “Came tae make sure ye hadnae killed ‘er.” 
You can practically hear Ghost roll his eyes, his back turned to you as he says something to Soap. You can’t hear what it is, the ringing in your ears too loud. Your omega is still worked up, still poised to strike, more so now in your exhausted state. You push yourself off the floor, not having a moment to think things through before you’re throwing yourself at Ghost’s back. 
He turns before you hit him, catching you and flipping you onto your back on the mat. You hit hard, the breath forced from your lungs at the impact.
“Christ, Simon!” Soap shouts, hurrying to your side. “Ye tryin’ tae break her, ye numpty?” 
“Don’t do that again.” Ghost growls at you, stomping over to grab his things before leaving the room. 
“Easy, hen.” Soap soothes you as you gasp for air, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder. “Be over before ye know it.” 
Slowly the paralysis of your diaphragm begins to lessen, your stomach still aching but the air comes easier now. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to fight the tears. You’ve messed it up. One day and you’ve already done more damage than you would have had you not asked him to teach you to fight. 
“Don’ worry, hen. He’s just worked up, that's all.” Soap says, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. 
“It’s his fault.” You murmur. 
“Maybe, but yer scent...surprised you didn’t notice, hen.” Soap wiggles his brows. 
Your face warms. You hadn’t noticed the uptick of muskiness in the room, the heady scent of arousal before now.
It’s not yours. 
“Me?” You ask, letting Soap help you into a seated position. 
Soap smirks. “It wasnae me that tented his breeks this time.” 
Your face warms even more, your body feeling like it might explode. 
“Come on, hen.” He says, slipping his hands under your arms to lift you to your feet. “There’s still time tae shower before breakfast.” 
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“I can assume you know why you were called in here sooner than our normal weekly meeting time.” Dr. Keller says as you sit in her office. 
“Because I punched Corporal Allen.” You say with a wince. 
Dr. Keller nods. “Indeed. I just want to make sure you’re feeling alright, after that. Getting into an altercation with an alpha can be tough.�� 
“I don’t think I’d call it an altercation.” You say quietly. 
“Maybe not,” She says, shuffling her papers. “But standing up to an alpha can be daunting.” 
“I wasn’t alone.” You shrug. “Ghost was there.” 
“I saw both yours and Lieutenant Riley’s account of what happened. I’m wondering, would you have confronted him if you were alone?” 
Her question makes you think for a moment. Would you have stopped? Would you have confronted him, much less punched him if you were alone, or even with one of the others? No, you likely would have ignored him and kept walking like you did with Gaz. You’d likely have gone straight to your room and cried a little out of embarrassment and disgust. 
“No, ma’am.” You say quietly. “I don’t think so.” 
Dr. Keller nods. “You’re aware of Lieutenant Riley’s status.” 
You nod, a frown pulling at your brows. How did she figure it out? “Yes, ma’am.” 
“I know because I have access to their medical records.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s required for statuses to be present in medical records since purebreds have to be treated differently, just as alphas, betas, and omegas have to be treated differently.” 
You do know that. You know that an injured alpha can get defensive if they feel cornered. You know omegas can die from stress if they’re not taken care of correctly. You know betas can get overwhelmed by large groups of injured people all in the same place without proper training to filter out the scents of agony and suffering. 
“I think you reacted to his scent.” Dr. Keller continues. “You mentioned feeling a sudden rush of uncontrollable anger. Do you remember smelling anything at that moment?” 
You nod. “Ozone.” 
She nods, the pieces beginning to come together in your own head. “I’m sure you’ve figured out how different purebred alpha’s are and how much more potent their scents are. Your own status makes you more susceptible to their scents and the changes in them. You were reacting to the change in his scent. Your omega sensed a threat, and took over for a moment to defend you. It’s a natural response in omegas towards those they see as protectors, or even packmates.” 
Your eyes widen a bit at her words. Ghost is technically your packmate. He’s an alpha in your pack, but you’ve never considered that you see him as anything but. He has defended you, and he had defended you not long before your altercation with Corporal Allen. Had your omega begun to cling to him out of a sheer need for protection after something like what happened in the mess? 
You would like Ghost to see you as more than just an omega in his pack, more than just Price’s omega. You know he’d never claim you, but you’d at least like to get onto friendly terms with him. Soap said it had taken proving himself before Ghost started to accept him. You’re hoping your time spent learning how to fight helps you prove yourself, that you’re not a threat or even a risk. That maybe you can be an acceptable omega for his pack. 
“Aside from this incident, how are you settling in? How are things going with your new pack?” 
“Fine, I guess.” You shrug, starting to pick at your sleeve again. “Ghost is teaching me to defend myself.”
“Oh? Does this have something to do with what happened with Corporal Allen? Or is there a different reason?” Dr. Keller asks. 
“I mean, partially that but also, Ghost, he’s...hard to get along with.” You grimace. “I know that in relationships, a good way to bond with people is to get into their hobbies so you have something in common. Ghost...ghost speaks in violence and I think it would help ease some of my fears if I can at least defend myself.” 
“I think this is a great idea. It allows for some bonding time between the two of you, and it can also be beneficial to ease your anxiety a bit. As long as you’re being careful and you don’t get hurt.” She says, giving you a pointed look. 
You think back to Ghost flipping you onto your back on the mat, narrowly missing getting hit, how he’d pinned you down using his own scent against you. “He’s being careful.” You say, clearing your throat. “Price would put him through the ringer if something happened. Even just as an accident.” 
“How are things going with Price?” She asks, writing something down. 
You shrug. “Fine. He involved me in some training this past weekend. We hiked out to a watchtower and the others tried to follow my scent. We got to spend some time together while we waited.” 
“Have you done much of that? Spending time together?” She asks. 
You shake your head. “Not really. He’s...busy. A lot.” 
“You should start making an effort to get to know him more.” Dr. Keller says. “It’ll make it easier once your heat hits if you’re familiar with him. Have you knelt for him yet?” 
You shake your head again, not wanting to answer out loud. 
“Why not?” She asks. 
“He still hasn’t asked me to.” You murmur. 
“Do you know why omegas kneel for their alphas?” She asks. 
You nod. “It’s good for our brains and bodies. It helps relax us and soothes our omega, makes it easier to process stressful events and can prevent stress related diseases later in life.” 
Dr. Keller nods. “Correct. It’s an important first step in building that bond between an alpha and an omega, when it’s done correctly.” 
Bad alphas can use kneeling to control omegas, put them in certain mindsets, make them more subservient. You know this, you’d heard stories from your fellow omegas after watching their parents. That’s not kneeling. You never had the heart to tell them it was so much worse. 
“Do you want to kneel for him?” She asks you. 
That word again. 
You do want to kneel for him. You’ve wanted to since this past Saturday in the watchtower. You’ve felt that urge, that drive to drop to your knees beside him and let yourself go, let him carry everything you’ve been feeling over the last week. 
You nod slowly, ripping one of the strings off your sleeve. You’re fighting the tears, fighting the emotions welling up inside you. You can feel them building, pushing against your stomach and your chest, threatening to burst right out of your skin and leave you nothing but an empty carcass. You’re breathing has picked up, shaking a bit as you inhale deeply. 
“Why haven’t you asked?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowing as she stares at you. 
“I don’t know how!” The words tear from your lips, almost echoing as they bounce off the walls like projectiles. You haven’t so much as raised your voice in years, much less to a person of authority, but you can’t stop. The dam has been breached. “Everyone keeps asking me what I want, but I don’t know how to want!” Tears cascade down your cheeks, your breaths coming in sharp gasps. You cover your face with your hands, muffling your sobs. “I’m not supposed to want.” 
“Hey,” Dr. Keller’s voice is soft as she kneels in front of you, her hands trying to gently pry yours away from your face. “Who told you that?” 
“That’s what we’re taught!” You hiccup, letting her pull your hands from your face. The tears are still falling, lips trembling as you sob. “We’re supposed to be good omegas. Obedient and serve our alphas. We don’t want anything, we’re only supposed to give.” 
“Well that’s a load of bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” 
Dr. Keller’s words shock you into reality, your sobs halting with a sharp inhale. You stare at her, the tears still spilling from your eyes. Your hands are closed into fists, your sore knuckles aching from the strain. 
“You’re an omega. It’s in your nature to want, to need. You can’t help your alpha if your own needs aren’t being met first. It’s okay to need things, to want things. Are there things you want?” 
“Softer blankets. Fluffier pillows. A nightlight. Something to put on my walls. Strawberry scented body wash. Some goddamn authentic Mexican food.” 
Dr. Keller chuckles lightly. “I can agree with you on that last one.” She squeezes your arms gently. “You’re allowed to ask for things. You’re not a soldier, and even they are allowed to have things of their own, comfort items, with them. It doesn’t have to be material things either that you ask for. I’m sure your pack would find a way to bend over backwards if you asked them.” 
She’s right. The book says omegas can hold great power over the members of their packs if they try. A mix of playing their instincts and the right behavior and temperament can have betas and alphas wrapped around your finger. The idea of having such control over four powerful men makes your head spin. 
“I want Soap to kiss me.” You blurt out, your face warming as you hastily wipe at your tears to hide. 
“Oh?” Dr. Keller’s eyebrows raise as she looks at you. “This is a new development.” 
“We...we almost did...a couple days ago.” You say, burying your face in your hands. “But I stopped it because I thought maybe Price...but then he said he didn’t care...” 
Dr. Keller gently wraps her hands around your wrists, lowering your hands. “It’s okay to want that, and it’s okay to want to kneel for Price. I bet he’d be delighted if you asked him. I bet he was waiting because he didn't think you were ready for it yet.”  
The calming beta scent washes over you, Dr. Keller projecting it to try and help you calm down. Your tears have stopped, your breathing starting to slow as the gentle almond scent goes straight to your brain. 
“I’d like us to still meet for our regularly scheduled appointment this week, but I’m giving you an assignment to complete between then and now.” Dr. Keller says. “I want you to ask one of the members of your pack for one thing that you want. You can pick what it is, and who you ask, but I want to hear about it when I see you later this week, understood?” 
You push back the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Yes, ma’am.” 
“Good.” She pushes herself up to stand. “You can stay here as long as you want. Just let me know when you’re ready to go back to the barracks. Take your time. You are my only patient.” 
She grabs the paperwork off the couch before moving to her desk. You watch her for a moment before letting your eyes wander. You wipe at your face, your cheeks feeling puffy from your tears. You’re glad she’s giving you time to relax. The last thing you needed was to run into a member of your pack like this. 
That’s not a conversation you want to have right now. 
You take deep breaths, letting the beta scent permeating the air calm you down. You sink down further into the chair, letting it surround you. It’s soft, the cushions pressing around you like a hug. You wonder how she managed to get it in the hard, “function-above-all” world of the military. You wonder how she got most things in her office, or maybe if she’d brought them with her. 
It was likely Kate’s doing, you think. The office space was made for an omega, set up to be as comforting as possible. Though, you don't doubt Dr. Keller would have argued her case for having these things fearlessly if she had to. 
You stay in her office for a while, listening to the clacking of her keyboard as the soothing beta scent washes over you. Your eyes are still burning a bit as you force yourself out of the chair, out of the soft comfort you could spend days wrapped in. 
“I’m ready to go now.” You say quietly. 
“Okay.” Dr. Keller says, finishing what she was typing before she stands, grabbing her keys. 
She locks the office behind you before you leave the medical center, pulling up your hood to protect you from the drizzling rain. You’re growing used to the perpetually grey skies and sudden rainstorms. 
Dr. Keller squeezes your arm gently as you stop at the door to the barracks. “Remember what I told you. I’ll see you in a few days, alright?” 
You nod. “Thank you.” 
She smiles softly. “You did good today. I am proud of you.” 
You slip into the door of the barracks as she makes her way back to the medical center, your shoes squeaking on the tile floors. You head back to your room, the silence in the barracks telling you they’re not back yet. 
You kick off your shoes, pulling your damp sweatshirt off as you sit on the edge of your bed. You stare at your ruined sleeve, the seam split to the edge of the cuff now. You got the sweatshirt from one of your fellow omegas at the institute, and you’ve worn it almost every day since. It’s turned a bit raggedy, and your picking at it hasn’t helped any. 
Ask for one thing that you want. 
It would be easy to ask for a new sweatshirt. You’re sure if you asked Gaz, he’d give you the one right off his back. Everything you can think to ask for, they’d have to buy. If you asked Soap, he’d likely commandeer the closest vehicle and drive straight to town and buy you one in every color, even if he didn’t have permission to. 
You could ask for something that’s not material. 
Warmth floods your face as you think about it. How would you even ask? You can’t just ask directly. You could, but you might die of embarrassment if anyone heard you. There’s nothing to really be embarrassed about, but you can’t help it. It’s a bold thing to ask for, and you’re not sure you’re feeling quite so bold today. 
You chew on your lip as the barrack door opens, their voices echoing down the hallway as they return from their morning training. They pass by your door, their own doors opening and closing. You get up, moving to stand in front of your own door, holding your breath. You could just step out, knock on his door and ask. He’s probably changing, though. You’d never get the words out if he thought it was one of the others and opened it half dressed. 
You have to do it, though, before you lose your nerve. If you don’t do it now, you’ll never do it and you’ll have to tell Dr. Keller that you failed. You’re allowed to want things. It’s your nature to want things. It’s human nature to want things. There’s nothing wrong with having needs and wants. 
You can want this. 
You repeat it over and over as you slowly open your door, letting it close behind you. You smell the air, finding the trail of his scent. It disappears down the hall and around the corner towards the rec room. Your legs feel shaky as you follow it, your stomach twisting anxiously. You can want this. It’s okay to want this. 
You turn the corner, finding him coming out of the rec room. He grins at you, eyes sparkling. 
You want this. 
“Hey, lass, was just lookin’ for ye. Are ye ready for lunch-” 
His words cut off as you grab his face, standing on your toes to press your lips against his. He makes a surprised sound against your lips, his body tensing. It’s quick, only a couple seconds before you’re releasing him, taking a big step back. Your eyes are wide with shock, almost as wide as his. His lips are parted in surprise still, his shoulders tensed. 
“Sorry.” You blurt out, your nerves only heightened. What if he hadn’t wanted it? “Sorry, I just...I wanted to do it and I wanted you to do it that day, but I’ve never had a real kiss before and I thought maybe Price would want to...but then he said he didn’t care-” 
Your words cut off as he grips your chin, lifting your face so you’re looking at him. The tension has melted from his shoulders, the surprise gone from his face. His eyes are soft as they stare down at you, his thumb brushing your lower lip. 
“I didnae know it was yer first kiss.” He says softly. “I wouldnae pushed it so far if I did.” 
“It wasn’t technically my first kiss, I kissed another omega at the institute but I don’t really count it cause I did it for her.” You shrug. “I’ve regretted pulling away since that day and Dr. Keller said I should start learning to want things and she gave me the assignment of asking for one thing that I want before I see her again at the end of the week and I could have just asked for something simple but-” 
Your words are cut off as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours again. It’s soft and sweet, his hand sliding from your chin to the back of your head, holding you against him. Your fingers grip his shirt, and you lift yourself onto your toes to press back against him as his lips move against yours. 
His forehead presses against yours as he pulls away, your breaths mingling as you continue to hold each other. “Gaz will be upset he missed out.” He says quietly, lips tugging up in a smile as he squeezes your waist. 
“He can kiss me later.” You say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips once more before pulling away. “After lunch.” 
Soap chuckles quietly, slipping his hand into yours. “After lunch.” 
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You hesitate outside the door, shifting nervously on your feet. You could turn around and go back to bed, pretend like you hadn’t spent an hour convincing yourself to walk down here, like you haven’t been thinking about this all afternoon. You had already completed your assignment for the week. You’d kissed Soap, done something you wanted. You’ve fulfilled that desire, and it didn’t kill you. You hadn’t dropped dead afterward. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything. 
This isn’t a want. 
You knock softly on the door, half tempted to turn and run and hide under your covers until you inevitably have to get up tomorrow. 
“Come in.” 
Your hand hesitates on the door handle for just a moment before you’re turning it, stepping into the office. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, though you suppose if nothing else, he had smelled you standing outside. The thought makes your cheeks warm in embarrassment. How long has he known you were standing out there? 
“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” He asks, setting down his pen. 
You shuffle nervously, clasping your hands in front of you. “I-I was wondering...I..um...” You take a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could kneel for you.” 
You bite your lip as he stares at you, the words having come out fast, almost meshing into one long string of nonsense. His eyes darken just a bit, his scent thickening in the air. 
“You want to kneel for me, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice low and rough. 
You nod, shifting your weight again. “Yes, sir.” 
“Grab a pillow.” He nods to the couch. “I won’t have you hurting yourself.” 
You grab one of the pillows from the couch, wondering how often he’s slept in his office. How many nights he’s spent awake, pouring over files, his mind working too hard for him to find any rest. You set the pillow on the floor before kneeling down next to him, facing his desk. You shift until you’re comfortable, sitting back on your feet. You let out a long breath as your eyes slipped closed, your fingers twitching anxiously in your lap. 
Price’s hand is gentle as it comes to rest on the top of your head. You relax into his touch as he strokes your hair, working his way down towards your neck. You force your mind to relax, easing away the desire to tense your shoulders, to draw them up around your ears. It’s pure natural instinct, one that will fade the more you practice, the more you bond with him. The more you trust him. 
“Ready?” He asks, his voice sounding far away despite the fact you’re right next to him. 
“Yes, sir.” You murmur, pressing your head into his hand. 
His hand slips lower, curling around the back of your neck. You inhale sharply as he finally makes contact with the sensitive area. His hand is warm, the tension slowly easing from your body as he presses his thumb lightly into the side of your neck. The back of your brain begins to buzz, your mind slowly filling with static. You relax even further, your head bowing just slightly as you feel the weight of the last three months lifting off your shoulders. 
All the emotions, all the fear, all the unknowns suddenly feel far away. All the apprehension and the anxiety are soothed to nothing as he holds you, the hand on your neck a firm reminder that you’re not alone in this anymore. You have an alpha now, a strong alpha that you can trust in, that will carry it all for you. 
You don’t need to be stressed or afraid anymore. A warmth begins blossoming within you, spreading from your core out to your fingers and toes. You feel a bit dazed, but not in a bad way. You’re not afraid of the feeling, not with your alpha’s hand around the back of your neck keeping you safe. 
You’re not sure how much time passes, how long you kneel there. It could be five minutes, it could be two hours. Price continues to go over his paperwork, his other hand steady on the back of your neck. It’s not until he’s done that he carefully pushes his seat back, kneeling on the floor next to you. He releases your neck, catching your body as it slumps over, drawing you against his chest. 
“Easy, sweet girl.” He murmurs, pressing your face into his neck. 
You’re shaking a bit, brain still dazed and flying as you breathe in his scent. Earthy, trees, petrichor. The warm muskiness of a content alpha. You made him smell like that. You invoked that scent. 
“Feeling alright?” He murmurs into your hair, gently stroking your side as you begin to come back into your body. 
You hum in affirmation, wrapping your arms around his neck. You haven’t been this close to him yet, not since the scenting and that was more of a formal closeness, a required closeness. This is because you want it. 
“Don’t let me go.” You murmur into his neck, clinging to him tightly. 
His arms tighten around you for a moment before he slips them under you, lifting you into his arms easily. He pushes himself from the floor, moving to sit on the couch with you on his lap. You let yourself go lax in his hold again, feeling calmer and more relaxed than you have in months. You feel safe in his arms, not that he would have let anything happen to you before. 
You’ve always been safe, you think as you let your eyes drift closed again. 
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The water is hot as it runs down his back, contrasting the cool tile against his forehead. His eyes are closed, breaths slow and steady through his nose. He can’t get that damn scent of vanilla and sweet, sweet omega arousal out of his head. He drives his fist into the wall with a growl, cursing the blood rushing south. 
He can’t forget the way you felt under him, pinned so easily and helpless beneath him. He hates the way his cock twitches at the thought of the pout on your lips as he’d swung at you, narrowly missing you too many times. The way you tried to jump him. 
He lets out another frustrated growl, slamming his forehead into the tile. A hand presses against his bare back and he turns on his heel, hand wrapping around Johnny’s throat, slamming him back against the shower wall. 
Jesus Christ, he’s going to kill the mutt one of these days. 
“Easy, Lt.” Johnny rasps, not fazed at all by the alpha’s actions. His eyes flicker lower, to the hard cock standing at attention. “Bit worked up, eh?” 
He lets Johnny go with a growl, stepping back under the water, turning it all the way to the right until it’s nearly freezing. He almost groans in frustration as the water shuts off completely, his eyes cracking open as Johnny’s hand trails up his chest. 
“Easy, big guy. Let me help ye.” 
Simon moves until his back is pressed against the tiles, eyes not leaving Johnny’s sapphire ones as the beta slowly kneels in front of him. Johnny’s hands trace over his hips, outlining scars both old and new. Johnny’s fingers finally reach his cock, wrapping around the thick length. Simon sighs in quiet relief as Johnny slowly pumps his length, their gazes still locked. 
Simon stares down at Johnny through his blonde lashes as Johnny leans forward, dragging his tongue along his head. A low growl rumbles through his chest as the beta circles his tongue around his head, smearing precum on his chin. He’s painfully hard now, breaking his gaze as his head tilts back, eyes fluttering closed. 
His fingers sink into Johnny’s mohawk as the beta takes his cock in his mouth. He breathes through his nose, relaxing his throat as Simon’s cock sinks deeper and deeper, Johnny’s hands closing around his hips to hold himself steady. Simon grips his hair tightly as he begins to move, bobbing his head along his length, his tongue pressing against the bottom of his cock. 
Simon squeezes his eyes closed as an image comes to mind, a smaller hand fondling his balls. His hand wraps around the base of his cock as he imagines soft lips on his tip, Johnny’s tongue tracing the parts of him that you can’t fit yet as you take him in your mouth. The sweet whines that would be pulled from you as he choked you on his thick length, Johnny whispering sweet encouragements to you. 
He can picture the two of you, you and Johnny with your tongues entwined, his cum stringing between your lips. 
He growls, yanking Johnny off his cock and pinning him to the tile wall. Johnny’s lips are parted as he breathes heavily, eyes blown with lust as he stares up at his alpha. Simon’s hand tugs at his hair, tilting his head back to bear his throat. Johnny lets out a quiet moan as he sinks his teeth into the delicate skin, leaving a mark he’ll wear proudly for a few days. 
“Turn around and bend over.” He growls to the beta, his cock still hard and throbbing. 
“Sir, yes sir.” Johnny says, smirking wickedly as he slowly turns to face the wall. 
Fucking christ, Simon groans. They’re going to be the death of him. 
You’re going to be the death of him. 
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Taglist, part 1:
@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006
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ghostaholics · 8 months
Text
𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓
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➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k
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𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.
Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.
It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.
Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?
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𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.
And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.
But no.
Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.
Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.
Law of the jungle, plain and simple.
To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.
Incredible.
You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.
All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.
From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.
Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.
But somehow he did it with you beside him.
You try not to think about the implications of that.
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𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.
Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?
The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."
Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.
Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.
He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.
For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.
But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.
More witnesses.
Great.
Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?
Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.
Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.
Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.
"Say cheese."
An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—
"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.
You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—
"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.
"Aye, thanks mate.”
Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.
Fucking traitor.
"Knobheads—"
They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.
"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.
"Bite me, MacTavish."
"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.
"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"
"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”
“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.
And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.
"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."
"Sod off."
"He'll appreciate bein' included."
Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”
“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.
What.
There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.
Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.
So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.
Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."
Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"
There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.
But somebody else beats you to it.
“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”
Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.
There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.
And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.
But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"
"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."
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𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:
"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"
"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"
"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."
"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."
He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."
Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”
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radiance1 · 8 months
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There was a dragon in space. A brilliant, glowing white eastern dragon that looked like a star moving within space.
It seemingly wasn't doing anything, just floating throughout space with seemingly, no destination in mind. Sometimes it flies around earth, looking but never flying down onto the planet, sometimes it lands on the moon, taking a nap or just playing around by itself.
There were other times it flew through the asteroid belt hiding the Watchtower, yet it hasn't found it yet.
Yet.
The dragon didn't seem like a threat, just playing around within space, minding its own business. Batman monitors it regardless, however.
They didn't know where it came from, what its powers were, why it was here or if its intentions of playing were bound to change into something of hostility. He made eventual plans for it, if it were to turn violent one day, though he leaved it to its own devices for the most part.
His plans were to be used for the What-ifs, not willy nilly.
There came a time when the Justice League were having a debrief in the Watchtower, as they usually do. When the satellites discreetly monitoring it picked up on something.
Another dragon.
One that resembled a western dragon more with black and purple scales.
The first dragon they were monitoring seemed to be off put by the other one, uncharacteristically hostile. Meanwhile the other dragon seemed to be smug, arrogant, seemingly about to on some kind of speech before realizing it couldn't talk in space.
They fought, and they got a view of the dragon's abilities for the first time. Ice, energy blasts, shields, and a wail so powerful it could even be heard clearly throughout space.
the other dragon was no slouch, either, though seemingly less abilities than the other. Fire, speed and strength, which was a given considering their species. It tanked multiple of the other dragon's attacks, though seemed desperate, wary, and even scared of its wail.
They both injured each other, quite severely too. The second dragon seemed to have gotten the upper hand, and got cocky because of that, and so, failed to avoid a wail that blasted it back, followed by two more.
It got hit by the second and barely dodged the third. Then had to retreat due to its injuries.
The first dragon wasn't that well off either, various cuts around its body and green blood leaking out into space. It sluggishly flew to the moon, landed, and then stopped moving entirely.
They decided to try and help it.
-----
Danny was the recently crowned prince of the Ghost Zone, though its king, Pariah Dark, was still in his coffin.
He got a new ability, which was sweet! He could turn into an eastern dragon, which was extremely nice, though a bit annoying having to get used to whenever he woke up and realized most of his body was off his bed because he shifted into a dragon overnight.
What was less cool was how many responsibilities as prince he had to go through, etiquette training, learning history, attending the apparent 'high society' of the ghost zone parties, deciding who gets what fair and square and making sure there was nothing going severely wrong in the Zone.
Something the King was supposed to be doing, but you know, can't when he's sleeping and all.
And how could he forget? The marriage proposals.
He goddamn hated them. So much so that he had to publicly demand to stop sending him them be he's never going to court and marry anyone.
All was good, for a while. But of course, everything couldn't go so smoothly for him. The Observants foresaw a future where he apparently went 'mad with power being the sole royalty' and thought him to be the next coming of Pariah Dark, and then forcibly stated that anyone who can beat him in combat is someone who will marry him, no courting involved and no matter how Danny feels about the ghost.
Danny Obviously didn't like that, not at all. But it was fine, for the most part, because there was no ghost capable of besting him in combat. Well, there were some, but they just simply weren't interested in becoming king or in Vlad's case, marrying him
Prince Aragon
The guy kept trying and trying, no matter how many times he defeated him. Claiming that because he has the ability to turn into a dragon, he simply has to marry him, that he deserved to have Danny as his bride.
Danny still batted him away, making jokes and mocking him for it, even. Though he had a sneaking suspicion that Aragon wanted to marry him to regain his nobility, but that wouldn't happen.
He then disappeared out of nowhere, off the face of the Ghost Zone too. Danny was glad for it, no skin off his back if someone that annoying disappeared, so he went on life as normal, hanging out with his friends, managing ghostly responsibilities, and spending more time with his family.
Even his grades got better! Now that ghost attacks happened less.
Then Aragon reappeared one day, declaring another fight for his hand in marriage. Danny thought it would be easy as all the other times. But something was different with Aragon, he was stronger, faster, more durable.
And it scared him. Scared him how very close the fallen prince was to defeating him in combat, how close he was to losing and having to marry Aragon, how close he was to having to have someone like that as his spouse for what may very well be eternity.
He had a nightmare, that night. One where he lost and was forcibly married to Aragon.
So he ran. He told his friends and family why he was running, and didn't care to tell anyone else why he was running, he just had to get away before his nightmare became a reality.
He went through a lot of dimensions, realms, whatever. Not staying for long, constantly looking over his shoulder just in case Aragon was right behind him, following him.
He ended up in space, near earth and he, tired of all the running and just wanting to stay somewhere for once, stayed. Floating around space.
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briefalpacashark · 1 month
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~Ghost of the past~
When returning to your hometown you faced with some unpleasant memories.
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You stared. Your eyes locked on the projection in front of you. You sat with the boys all in a little meeting room as Price walked you through your next mission.
“Australia?” Soap asked.
“That's right. We got a lead that there a weapons cache. One of makarovs. We head in. Clear it out and take a few prisoners for questioning,” Price explained.
“Excited to go home lass?” You looked over the photos of the familiar landscape. Your expression was blank as you comprehend what Price was telling you.
“Lass?” Everyone's attention turned to you. 
“Huh?” You asked, snapping out of your little trance.
“You alright?” Gaz asked, giving your side a little nudge. Your usual bright smile graced your lips as you leaned back in the chair.
“Of course. Sorry Jonny. Was in my own little world. Whadya say?” you asked. You could feel it. The anxiety creeping up your spine. Ticking the back of your ribs.
“Asked if ya excited to go home?” Soap repeated with a grin. You smiled bashfully nodding your head.
“Of course. Where about we going?” you asked Price. He smiled warmly happy with what he was about to tell you.
“We're actually going to your old base, you got family down there, don't you?” he asked. The fear gripped your lungs, stopping any hope of breathing. You nodded.
“You got any hot sisters?” Soap asked. You chuckled, shaking your head. 
You were going home?
“Sorry Jonny. Only got a brother,” you said.
“Damn,” he faked disappointment as Gaz chuckled. Price smiled at the interaction.
“Who we working with?” you asked. 
“Australian special forces. Not sure what team yet,” he stated. 
That's fine. You thought. There were plenty of special forces units. The chances of meeting your old team were slim. But it was still there. You nodded, readjusting in your seat. You could feel the room getting small. The air getting thicker. You didn't take anything else in after that. Your forced smile stayed upon your lips the entire time. And inside your mind was a mess. A storm of past events that had haunted you for many a day and in the dark of night when you searched for sleep. 
“Doc want to come up here and give us a brief. We’ll be out in the bush and Laswell said you might know an insider's thing or two,” he gestured you up. All the fear and anxiety you felt was pushed way down low, locked away and covered in a black curtain. After all there was no use in worrying about something you couldn't change.
“Alright,” You cracked your knuckles slaughtering over to the white board.
“Rule number one!” You took a marker writing the word death in big letters.
“Anything and everything can and will try to kill you. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. No matter what, check your boots every time before you put them on. One bite from a funnel web and you're dead,” You took on a half joking half serious tone as you slapped the board.
“I can almost guarantee that you will come across a snake. Half of them are venomous, the other half aint. But they both will leave you alone if you leave them alone. You see a snake, you stay still, let him pass and then walk away. DO! NOT! PESTER! THE WILDLIFE! They can and will fuck you up,” the boys grinned as you emphasised the next words.
“Rule number two,” You wrote the word etiquette.
“When meeting someone or walking past someone you will be asked this question. Howya goin? Translated, it means how are you going. This is not a question. It is not an innovation to have a conversation. This is a greeting. The only appropriate response to this greeting are as follows,
Not to bad.
Could be better.
Good mate.
You can then have the option to say, yourself? It gives them the option to answer the same question. Do not feel offended if they dont answer,” You stated. 
“You will be called every name under the god damn sun. You will be called a cunt. It can be used as the greatest sign of affection and the greatest insult. It's all based on how they say it. Pay attention to the tone,” you said.
“You haven't called us cunts before. That mean you don't love us?” Soap asked.
“Speak for yourself,” Price spoke up. You grinned, turning back to the board. 
“Do not call anyone champ. That is the worst insult you can give, it will get you punched,” you wrote the word champ and put a larger x across it.
“If you are driving and someone gives way to you, always and I mean always give them a nod and a two-finger wave,” you explained demonstrating the movement.
“And for the love of god beware the drop bears,” you took a deathly serious tone as you wrote the word.
“The fuck is a drop bear?” Gaz asked. You turned staring deeply into their souls,
“They're about as big as a dog. Corse grey fur, one the most vicious animals you will meet down under. They hide in trees and drop down on unsuspecting prey, on unsuspecting people. They'll rip you to shreds faster than any of the bears here. Tear your face right of the bone” Inside you were howling with laughter as the flashes of fear you saw in the boys' faces. “Alright, that about covers it. Follow those rules and you should be fine,” You smiled cheerily.
On the flight over you found yourself staring deeply at the other side of the cargo area. It was actually happening. You thought about opting out of the mission. Using some bull shit excuse that excused you from attending. Price would have allowed it. 
And leave your team all alone? You smiled, shaking your head. No matter how scared you were, you would never abandon them. After all you had faced worse. Much worse.
But you didn't know if you could face them again.
Them?
Your old team. Every face is still fresh in your mind, as if you had only seen them yesterday. Leaning back, you closed your eyes as the plane started to descend. The fear was fighting to break free.
“You've been awfully quiet,” Your eyes snapped open, and you looked to your left where Ghost sat. His gaze was forward facing his arms crossed over his chest.
“Nervous I guess,” you chuckled. He slowly looked to you his eyes burning into your own seeming to look for whatever secret you were keeping. 
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“Not long enough,” with his eyes boring into yours you felt as if the truth was trusted out from your chest. He hummed, seeming to get everything he wanted from the interaction before returning to his quiet self.
The plane landed and the back ramp opened up. Heaving your bag onto your shoulders you let the boys take the lead, hoping to use their tall asses to keep you hidden. The hot Australian sun of the great QLD hit you all like a wave. You had gotten used to the rain and shady weather of the Uk. You all walked out and onto the tarmac.
“Hot as balls in ear,” Soap commented.
“Captain Price!” Your group made your way over to the soldier that had been sent to greet you. He was a colonel. A well decorated one by the look of his badges. You were glad when you didn't recognize him.
“Colonel James, I presume?” Price asked as they shook hands.
“You presume right. Welcome to Australia, come on,” he nodded you to follow. As you walked you began to feel eyes set upon you. You saw familiar faces mixed in with the crowd. Some recognized you. some didn't.
“I know Ghost is scary, but anyone feel like they're getting more looks than usual?” Gaz asked as he looked around.
“Yeah,” Soap agreed. You kept your eyes on Ghost back hoping to just get inside as soon as possible.
“Fucken hell,” Your blood ran cold at the familiar voice. 
“Ah. Captain. This is Major Adam. He leads the squad you'll be working besides,” the colonel just confirmed your worst-case scenario. “Also known as the Bloody Hells,” your hand instinctively tightens around the gun you carried casually in front of you. You wouldn't believe your luck, actually you could believe your luck. Trust lady luck to throw such a twisted day at you. 
“They wernt fucking about with you lot,” Major Adam stated as he looked Ghost up and down.
“Major,” The colonel warned.
“Come on mate. We're gonna risk our necks with these boys. I think we can dispense with the formalities. Call me Adam. none of that major shit,” Adam went through the lads introducing himself. And they in return.
“Isn't there supposed to be one more of you?” Adam asked. You prayed with all your might that Ghost would stay where he was. That you could hide behind him for the whole mission if possible. Only he looked back towards you stepping back to put you on full view. Adam eyes dropped from Ghost to you. Everything froze as he gave you a kind sad smile. He did look different in the slightest. Still the same drop-dead gorgeous face. Perfect bone structure and curly black hair. His face brought back a flood of memories.
“Y/N,” the way he so tenderly used your name made you want to puke. You clench your jaw as you debate on what exactly you should do. 
“Major,” You gave a curt nod.
“You two know each other?” Price asked calculating your reaction.
“She's a part of our team,” Adam stated simply.
“Used to be. This is my team now,” You nodded to the boys. Adam smiled with an understanding nod.
“Of course. But can I just say a goodbye would have been nice. Hell, even a reason as to why you left,” You couldn't believe the audacity of the man in front of you. He knew exactly why you had left. And he knew you knew. That sweet little smile he wore twisted ever so sinisterly at its edges. 
“Oh, Sargent Y/L/N?” The colonel asked.
“That's her name. She prefers to go by Maddog though,” Adam chuckled light heartedly.
“Mad dog?” Soap asked, turning to you. The boys were all watching you, unsecure of what to make of your behavior. 
“Old nick name,” you stated simply. From the moment he had arrived you had yet to take your eyes of Adam. Yet to release the tight hold you had on your weapon.
“Well, it's an honor. Heard a lot about your work from my brother. He's a medic as well,” The colonel gave you a kind smile.
“Maybe you could give the kid a few pointers,” Adam suggested. 
“Maybe,” you bit. You just wanted it all to be over. You wanted to get out of there. You wanted to get away from the interaction. Away from him. An awkward silence passed over the group as Adam stared at you.
“Well let's get you situated,” The colonel gestured your group forward. Adam gave you all a nod as you passed. Only his hand snapped out gripping painfully tight onto your upper arm.
“Welcome home sweetheart,” Adam smirked as he whispered the words. Your eyes narrowed into a glare. 
“Let go,” you ordered. His smirk widened but he refused to move. 
“What? Didn't you miss me?” he asked.
“Doc!” you both turned to the group who had walked a few steps away. Ghost had already turned to you having been the first to notice your missing presence. The rest turned to the call. The boys could all see it. How rigid your body was. How posed it was to jump into combat at a moment's notice. How white your knuckles had gotten because of your tight grip.
“Behave. Wouldn't want your new friends getting hurt,” the warning Adam gave you had you ripping your arm from his grasp.
“I could say the same to you,” you whispered back before jogging up to your team giving them a reassuring smile.
As you were unpacking your things you could feel the gazes of the boys on your back.
“Sooooooo,” Soap trailed off.
“He was the lead of my old team. Things didn't end on good terms,” you answered quickly.
“Things?” Soap was trying to lighten the mood with his teasing tone. You were surprised when you practically slammed your locker closed.
“I'll be back soon,” you rushed the words out as you left, keeping your back to the boys. As soon as you closed the doors they shared looks.
“She's been a mess since you told us we were comen here,” Ghost announced.
“So you noticed too?” Price asked, readjusting on his cot.
“Should we be worried?” Gaz asked. They had never dealt with this side of you before. 
“That Adam guy seems nice,” Soap shrugged.
“Too nice,” Ghost muttered.
So there you were. ACDC music blasting in the shed you currently resided in. At the moment you were gutting an old truck. Tearing it apart screw by screw, bolt by bolt. It was a part of the engineer's program you guys had. New recruits had to build it completely from scratch. That meant it had to be taken apart first. It was the job everyone hated. Yet since the start of your military career you had one day been volunteered for such a task. You found a strange solace in the task. Solace you so desperately needed as your emotions decided to play trip wire with your body. It was night by the time your team came to find you. You peeked at them around the truck. You expected questions, Soaps prying nature to take over. Instead, they found scattered items to act as seats as they cracked open a few beers. Definitely not army regulation. They didn't pry, they knew you didn't want to talk about it. It brought a warm fuzzy feeling to your belly. They were there to support you. To show you, you weren't alone.
“Need a hand?” Ghost asked as he offered you a beer. 
“Sure, grab a spanner,” you took the beer, cracking it open and sculling it. Praying to find a calm in the effects of alcohol.
“What are we fixing?” he asked, looking over the half dismantled truck.
“Not fixing, pulling apart. All of it,” you stated licking the foam from your lips. You had failed to notice Ghost gaze as it trailed over your face, your lips, and your neck and upper chest that glistened with sweat. 
“Seems simple enough,” he nodded.
“That's not wise. Ghost and vehicles don't mix,” Soap spoke up. A small smile worked its way onto your face as the other laughed. 
“Don't worry Ghost. I trust ya,” you whispered jokingly to him offering him a wink. He gave a grunt as he got to work. He was wearing a short sleeve, giving you a perfect view of his muscles that rippled under his skin with each movement. As you worked you stole glances at his tattooed sleeve. 
“See something you like love?” your eyes snapped up to his face thinking you had been caught out. Only his gaze was focused on the machine in front of him.
“Nah, just something shockingly ugly,” you joked. Again, you could swear his mask tilted into a smile.
“You just smiled,” you stated proudly.
“I don't smile,” he shut you down quickly. 
“Sure,” you nodded not believing him in the slightest.
“Is she here!?” you frowned at the demand. The yell echoing through the shed.
“Woah kid. Slow down,” Price stood to meet the soldier that had just run to them.
“Is she here?” he pressed. You stepped out from behind Ghost spotting a member from your old team. Jamie. Sweet kid. Red hair and a baby face. Good heart. When he saw you, his face crumpled, his body filled with guilt. And relief?
“So you're really alive?” he asked. The boys gave you confused glances at his statement. You became very invested in getting the grease stains off your hands. “It would seem so,” you muttered. It was silent as Jamie simply stared at you.
“What do you want Jamie?” you asked softly. Too softly. Tears started to gather in his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. Your eyes snapped up at the words. 
“I'm so sorry,” he kept repeating the words as you stalked forward.
“Shut up,” you demanded.
“I- I didn't want to. I should have never done it. Im so so sorry,” the words tumbled out of his mouth in a jumbled mess.
“Get lost Jamie,” You ordered.
“Mad dog please,” he begged.
“I said get lost!” you snapped.
“Please, I know it was wrong. I just. I was scared ok. And we were given orders. I- I didn't know what to do,” he was begging at this point.
“Oh you were scared were you?” You asked sarcastically. His mouth clamped shut. You had been sacred. Terrified. That fear lived in your heart, forever embedded into your memory. And what had he done for it. Nothing. “Come on,” you tried to drag him away. Tried to hide whatever would come to light from the boys. Only Jamie stopped pulling back from your grip. 
“He said you were dead,” he whispered. Your hand snapped out gripping tightly onto his collar.
Your mind plunged you back to that fateful day. The day you were standing on hell's doorstep. Bloodied and bruised from your efforts to save your team. The day your team fled in the safety of a helicopter. The day they saw you. Each and every one of them saw you. Alive and fighting for your goddamn life all alone. The day they left you to die. Jamie knew the words he had just said were a lie. His face wouldn't have scrunched up in such an ashamed way if he didn't.
“Doc?” Price called you softly. They weren't sure what you were about to do. But they all stood at the ready.
“Let's talk about this elsewhere,” you demanded once again, going to pull him away.
“No,” he pulled back again. “I'm not leaving until you listen to me,” He stayed. Fine if he wanted to have the conversation you'd have the conversation. 
“What did you come here for Jamie? Forgiveness?” You asked softly. He was still the kid you took under your wing. He was still the boy you had fought beside. Shed blood beside.
“Forgive what? Huh?” you asked. You wanted him to answer. To admit what he had done.
“Please,” he begged. Your resolve wasn't easy to break. But Jamie always had a special place in your heart. He reminded you of your little brother. That made it all the more painful.
“Were human Jamie. We all have moments of weakness. Of cowardice,” you whispered. “I won't blame you for that. I'll forgive you for that,” you stated. You saw the slightest hope in his eyes.
“But I'll never forget,” you finished diminishing that hope.
“A moment of weakness is understandable,” you added. You released his collar fixing it. 
“How long has it been since we last met?” you asked.
“About two years,” he answered in slight confusion.
“Damn long time for a moment of weakness huh?” you asked bitterly. Shame consumed him as he cast his eyes to the ground.
“Fuck of Jamie,” you ordered softly. He walked off without a word of protest, his tail tucked between his legs.
“And Jamie,” you called after him. He turned awaiting your next words.
“He's gonna get you killed,” you said. He didn't acknowledge your words, but you could see they had wormed their way into his brain. And a little part of him knew you were right. 
You could feel the boy's eyes bore into you. Trying to make sense of what had just happened. 
Silently you walked back over to the truck, picking up your discarded wrench and getting back to work. 
“You alright love?” Price asked. The boys were shocked when you showed them your usual bright smile. They were surprised at how normal you could act, but they all knew the smile on your face wasn't accurate to what you were feeling inside. 
“I'm fine, boys,” you said.
“I'd like to be alone for a bit, if it's alright you you lot?” you suggested casually. 
“Yeah, yeah. Course,” Price nodded, gesturing for the boys to leave.
“Well be back at base if you need anything,” he added before walking off. You waited till you couldn't hear the foot falls before you dropped your head into your hand, the tears flowing from your eyes like a tap. 
God, what had you gotten yourself into. 
Your soft sobs echoed in the shed, being just loud enough for the boys to hear.
It was late when you walked into the tent. You knew the boys would have woken up with your arrival, but they stayed in their sleeping positions. You looked over them. How many times had they risked their life for you. How many times had they saved you. 
They had saved you.
Joining the 141 saved you. 
And you were damned if you were to let anything happen to them.
“Price,” you walked over to him. He opened his eyes quickly sitting up.
“Need anything love?” he asked. 
“We can't go on this mission,” you said. He frowned, glancing at the others who had all sat up.
“Whadya mean?” he asked you to elaborate.
“Adam’s a snake sir. He will fuck us over without a second thought if it means getting what he wants. We can't trust him. And we can't go on this mission. It's too dangerous,” you spoke firmly. The only betrayal to the hard font you put on being the red puffy eyes from crying.
“That's not really an option Doc,” he said.
“Then make it one,” you pressed. He pressed his lips together, sighing. You had never asked anything of him. You had trusted his every order, his every choice. “Doc, we all have history. But we are soldiers. Shit goes wrong all the time,” he was trying to reason with you. Trying to make you see that whatever lovers quarrel you had with Adam meant nothing. That's what he thought it was. He would never be able to guess the severity of what had happened.
“Please Sir. I'm begging you, Please don't make us go on this mission,” they hated how frail you sounded. How broken. Price wanted at that very moment to give into you. To do as you said. But he didn't have the full story.
“If I'm gonna do this I need the full story doc,” he gave you the ultimatum. He needed proof to ditch the mission. Reasonable doubt. After all he was a soldier, a good one at that. He couldn't ditch a mission just because one of his soldiers asked him nicely.
“I,” your words got caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him everything. 
But you couldn't.
“I can't say sir,” you admitted.
“Then this conversation is done,” he spoke softly, finishing the discussion. At that moment you hated how rational he was.
“Yes sir,” you whispered, walking over to your bunk and sitting down with your back to the boys. After slipping off your boots you got into bed.
The next day everyone was ready. When the boys had woken up you were nowhere to be seen in the barracks. 
“You think she'll come?” Soap asked as he checked his weapons. To their left the bloody hells were doing final checks as well.
“Don't know,” Price muttered. A soft silence washed over the group as you walked up to them. You wore a simple desert mask that covered the bottom half on you face your eyes blank of emotions. The boys took notice of the guilty bewildered looks the other team gave you. “Well good morning beautiful,” Adam smiled brightly. You paused looking over his face. You had made many memories with the man in front of you. Many sweet and beautiful. But they were all bitter now. Reaching into your pocket you pulled out an old patch. The bloody hells written in red upon it. The edge was stained with blood, the other side burnt slightly. 
“Thought it was time I gave this back,” you muttered holding it out to him. He refused to take it.
“Once a member of the bloody hells always a member,” he said. You huffed.
“Nah mate,” you shock your head, throwing it to his feet.
“Lets get it done,” you said, knocking knuckles with Jonny before getting into the back of the truck.
The mission was a simple one. Get in, clear the base. Collect data and dispose of the weapons. It was going well. You were with your boys. That was until you weren't.
“Tims been hit. Our medics down. We need you MadDog,” you ears rung at the comms. You were currently in a hallway. Price turned back to you.
“This is Doc, what is your position, over?” you asked into the comm.
“West side, next to the green building,” he responded.
“That's the cleared area,” you muttered.
“Take Ghost with you,” Price ordered.
“No, you've still got enemies to face. It's a cleared area, I'll be fine,” you said. You were right and he knew it. He also knew you could handle yourself.
“Look after each other ok,” you ordered before taking off in the direction you had come from.
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Oliver Quick X Reader: The birthday boy
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Warnings: smut, dom reader, sub Oliver, penetration (p in v), fingering, oral (m receiving), cream pie, mirror sex, dirty talk, cowgirl, choking.
Word Count: 2,4K
“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”
Oliver turned around at the sound of your voice. He’d been so focused on how everything had gone to shit that he hadn’t really had the time to enjoy the party. His party. You looked pretty, all dressed up in what Oliver could only imagine was supposed to be some sort of fae costume.  
You passed him the bottle you were holding. He grabbed it from you and took a swing. 
“I guess I'm not.”
“Sorry what?”
It was hard to hear each other through the blaring music. You leaned closer to Oliver so that you could listen better. He tilted his head up so his lips were near your ear.
“You’re right. I'm not having fun.”
You gave him an exaggerated pout before leaning back down to whisper in his ear.
“Want me to change that?”
Oliver looked at you watching the sultry look that made its way into your eyes as you smirked.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Come with me.”
You grabbed Oliver's hands, dragging him through the crowd of people. From time to time someone would try to talk to you but you’d just wave them off. Oliver enjoyed it. He liked feeling like he was more important than those other people. And he was. To you at least. 
The entire house seemed to be filled to the brim with people yet somehow the moment you got to the hall that led to your room there wasn’t anyone around. You could sense the questions swimming around Oliver's head.
“It's basic etiquette.”
“What is?” 
“Not going near peoples rooms. Rooms are private. Not to be used or seen by anyone other than the owner.”
“I’ve been in the rooms.”
“Well yeah. Cause you’re special.”
Your words sent shivers down Oliver's arms. What had he gotten himself into? Ever since he’d arrived at Saltburn you’d been nothing but kind to him. You understood each other in a way that the others didn't. After all, both of you were only temporary guests here. You were Venetias friend and even though this was the second summer you’d spent at Saltburn you still felt out of place. Oliver's arrival had been a surprise. And a pleasant one at that.
You’d found him wandering the grounds one day and from that moment on the two of you had become close. Even though Oliver had never told you the truth he knew you’d understand. You were like him after all. And perhaps that's why he felt comfortable walking into your room and sitting on your bed. Or maybe it was the silent promise that had filled the air as soon as you’d called out his name downstairs. 
“I have a gift for you.” 
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,wanna see?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, close your eyes.”
Oliver did as you asked, shutting his eyes and relaxing into your bed. His fingers moved over the silk sheets. He could hear you moving around the room due to the clack of your heels on the floor. Oliver wanted to see what you were up to but he also wanted to be a good boy for you. He knew how much you enjoyed bossing people around. He was quite fond of it too so he decided to force his curiosity out of his brain and channel as much patience as he could.
You observed Oliver as you got ready, a smile spreading across your face as you noticed his head following you around the room. You turned around to look at yourself in the vanity mirror. Once you’d made sure everything was the way you wanted you slipped your heels off and made your way to Oliver. Oliver felt your well manicured hands on his shoulder causing him to instinctively grab onto your waist. You laughed at the action, manoeuvring yourself so that you were sitting comfortably in Oliver's lap. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your neck but his eyes remained shut. You caressed his hair, placing a kiss to his forehead.
“You’ve been a good boy haven’t you?”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Didn’t give any peaks right?”
“No.”
“Well then I think good boys deserve rewards don't they?”
Oliver nodded, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips. 
“Go on, Ollie, open your eyes.”
Oliver opened his eyes slowly, a shuddered breath leaving his lips once his gaze caught onto your frame. His hands made their way over the lacy fabric you had on, eyes skimming over the parts of skin that were barely covered. 
“Gosh.”
“You like it?”
“I love it. Thank you.”
“Oh this isn't your gift Ollie. This was just something I got for myself.”
“So what did you get me?”
‘You, my darling boy, get to rip this off me and fuck me until your name is the only thing i still remember how to say.”
Oliver stared at you with his blue puppy eyes. You would never get tired of the way he looked at you. Such devotion. Such desperation. Such lust. You smirked at the brunette.
“You up for it baby?”
“Do you have to ask?”
In a matter of seconds Oliver had managed to drag you off his lap and flipped you around so that you were positioned beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist eagerly. Oliver knew you’d told him he was allowed to go fast and as much as his dick begged for him to just plunge into you he had another plan. He took his time kissing your body all over. He loved the whines you’d let out whenever his tongue lapped over your skin. You wanted to tell him to hurry up but it was his birthday so you decided to let him go at his own pace. And boy was it worth the wait.
Oliver's hands found their way to the top of your lingerie, fingers moving slowly against your nipples before deciding to free your breasts. As soon as your tits were free Oliver’s mouth latched onto them. Your hands curled into his hair as he sucked your tits, a moan of satisfaction leaving your lips. Any other time you would have been worried about being too loud but given how loud the music downstairs you had nothing to worry about. Oliver continued his path down your body. Each new patch of skin that was revealed was lavished by his warm tongue before he allowed himself to remove more of your clothing. He eventually got to the part you’d been needing the most attention. His fingers grazed against your hip bone as he tugged the final piece off your body.
“Ass up.”
You did as Oliver asked, lifting your hips off the bed so that he could slip the lace off your body entirely. Oliver hissed as he felt your pussy brush against his dick. You gave him a cheeky smile. He smirked at you and leaned down to place a kiss on your lips. Your mouth parted into a moan when you felt him plunge a digit into your cunt. It slipped in with ease. You’d been thinking about this since you stepped out of the shower so it was safe to say that you were soaked. Oliver gave an encouraging moan as he placed another finger inside. He curled his fingers and you moaned.
“Such pretty noises.”
“Ollie…ugh shit.”
You threw your head back, your body rising off the bed as Oliver began moving his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace. You reached out for him, your hands moving towards his neck. He lifted his chin slightly, his eyes closing as he felt your fingers wrap around his throat. You gave him a squeeze causing a broken groan to leave his lips. 
“Come on baby. Make me cum.”
Oliver's blue orbs found yours a feral look passing over them before he grabbed onto your leg and pushed it up. The new position allowed him to hit your g-spot perfectly. Your hands tightened around his neck as your eyes rolled back into your head, his name leaving your lips in a loud moan. You heard him moan, his hips launching forward as his fingers kept moving inside you. Even in your euphoric state you could tell Oliver had just cum in his pants and the thought alone made you feel even more desperate to have him inside you. Oliver removed his fingers from your pussy making you let out a whimper. He placed his fingers into his mouth and sucked. You watched him palm himself with one hand as he cleaned your juices off the other one. 
“Such a good boy for me.”
You sat up in bed, your hands making their way to Oliver's hips. He removed his hand from his dick so that you could see his cum stained pants.
“You made a mess didn’t you?”
Oliver nodded, removing his fingers from his mouth with a pop.
“Want me to help you clean it up?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes please.”
“That's better.”
You rose to your feet causing Oliver to take a step back. You glanced around the room, your eyes falling on the chair near your vanity.
“How about a change of scenery?”
Oliver looked at where you had gestured to with your head, a small grin forming on his face as he understood what you were suggesting. 
“Whatever you want, pretty.”
“Go sit for me. Legs spread and arms behind your back.”
Oliver did as he was told. He walked over to the chair and sat down, making sure it was angled in a way so that you could stay between his legs comfortably and so that he had a view of the mirror before him. Once you saw Oliver had settled in the chair the way you’d told him to you made your way to him. You walked slowly, making sure he could see every inch of your body as you did. Oliver's hands figited behind him and as much as he wished he could just tug you over to him he knew the rules. And he would follow them. Finally you got to Oliver, dropping to your knees before him. You reached for his pants, unbuttoning them as you stared into Oliver's eyes. He let out a breath as your hands found their way into his pants tugging his dick free. He was only semi-hard but you’d fix that in a moment. 
“You know the rules baby. No looking.”
Oliver gave you a pout.
“It’s my birthday.”
“Rules are rules.”
He let off a huff before moving his face to the side.
“That's a good boy.”
Oliver watched as his reflections mouth fell open with a moan. HIs brows furrowed as you continued to place kisses and licks on his dick. It was only when you wrapped your lips around him that he realised he could see your reflection. You placed your other mirror directly in front of your vanity which allowed him to watch you without actually looking at you.
“Oh you cheeky thing.”
You glanced at the mirror on the other side of the room blowing Oliver a kiss before moving your attention back to his dick. After a bit of sucking as carresing you managed to get Oliver hard again. You rose to your feet, your fingers going to Oliver's chin. He turned to face you. You smiled down at him.
“Ready for me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you aren’t forgetting something?”
Oliver looked at you questioningly.
“Your pants baby.”
Oliver understood immediately, moving to raise his hips so that you could tug his pants off his body. You looked down at his fully nude body with a grin.
“Perfect.”
You moved forward placing your thighs on either side of Olivers. His hands latched on your waist as his lips moved to kiss the valley of your breasts. You wound your hands around Oliver's neck, fingers grasping his hair before giving it a tug. 
“Eyes on me baby.”
Oliver looked up at you, his eyes never leaving your face as you sank down onto him. 
“Oh Ollie!”
“Feel so good darlin’-fuck-ugh.”
You ground yourself against Oliver's dick before beginning to bounce up and down. Oliver helped you out, his hands gripping your body as he guided your movements. You placed your hands on his knees giving you more leverage. Oliver glanced back at the mirror, his eyes following your movements through the reflection. The sight of you bouncing yourself on his dick was almost enough to make him cum again but he decided that this time he wanted to last longer so he opted for turning back to you. One of his hands found their way to your pussy, his finger moving to give your clit some attention. The moan that left your mouth was down right sinful and it made Oliver's chest rise in pride. He was the one making you feel good. Not any of those idiots downstairs. Him.
“Ollie…”
“You close?”
“Yeah baby…please Ollie please.”
He loved seeing you beg for him like this. It made him feel like a fucking king. But seeing you cum made him feel like a God. And he’d much rather be a God than a king. So before you could even process what was happening Oliver had leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple. The movements of his finger on your clit got faster as he sucked your breast and in seconds you were done for. You came with a scream of Oliver's name, your body sagging forwards. Olivers was close too but he needed a little something more to reach his peak. He called out your name causing you to raise your head from his shoulder.
“Yes Ollie?”
“What if I had been a-ugh shit- bad…boy?”
You understood what he was asking for. You moved your hands to wrap around his neck. You gave his throat a squeeze as you learned to whisper in his ear.
“Well then I'd have to punish you.”
Oliver groaned out your name, his hips bucking wildly as he filled you up with his seed. He threw his head back, his eyes looking at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath. You leaned into his body, placing a kiss to his cheek.
“Did you like your present?”
“I loved it. Thank you darling.”
“Anything for my best boy.”
415 notes · View notes
togenabi · 6 months
Text
the language of flowers
gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)
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♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.
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word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)
genre♡— fluff, royalty au
aged up characters♡— 18+
content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread
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author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle
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As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.
On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.
But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.
When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.
You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.
Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.
From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.
You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.
“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”
Your heart stutters. What?
“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”
The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.
“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”
Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”
Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?
You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.
The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.
“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”
On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.
...
Several years later.
The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.
Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:
‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’
You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.
“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”
The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.
Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.
Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?
Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.
The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.
After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.
The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.
“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.
“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.
She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.
“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”
“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”
“I thank you for your well-wishes.”
“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.
“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.
“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”
Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.
Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.
The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.
This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.
You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.
Four months.
That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.
Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.
For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.
You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.
...
So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.
Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.
However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.
You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”
The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.
“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.
You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”
He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”
Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—
“—wife?”
The word knocks the wind out of you.
Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.
You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.
And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.
It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.
Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.
Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.
“Why are you here at this hour?”
He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.
“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."
His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”
“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”
Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.
You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.
“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.
...Through the balcony. Again.
You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.
The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?
The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.
...
Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.
Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.
White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.
Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.
Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.
Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.
Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.
You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.
Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.
Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.
“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.
You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”
Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.
“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.
“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”
You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.
Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.
And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.
“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.
He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”
“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.
“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.
“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”
Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”
“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”
“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.
You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.
A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.
He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.
Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”
An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.
You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.
“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.
“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.
“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”
Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”
After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”
His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.
How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.
“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”
The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.
The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.
... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.
When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.
You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.
By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.
Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.
Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.
When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.
Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?
Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.
But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.
You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.
...
A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.
“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.
“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”
“How long will he be gone for?”
“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”
Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.
A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”
The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.
“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.
You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.
You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.
“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.
Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”
You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.
On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.
They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.
“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”
Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”
The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”
“It was that she companion-zoned him.”
You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.
“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.
Come around? To what?
A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.
But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.
...
Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.
You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.
His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:
‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’
That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.
You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.
Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.
In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.
Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.
‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’
There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.
You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.
...
You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.
But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.
Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.
Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.
“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.
Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”
You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”
Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.
He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.
“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”
He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.
“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”
“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?
You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.
It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.
When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.
You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”
“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”
“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”
“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.
“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”
“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”
...
He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.
The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.
For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.
As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”
Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”
Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.
You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.
When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.
“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.
When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.
He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.
Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.
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kandyshoppe · 4 months
Text
The Dorms Bra Shopping Pt 1
Heartslaybyul (you are here), SavannahClaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomfoire, Ignihyde, Daisomnia, Staff/Others
Heartslybyul Dorm
Riddle:
If you ask him, he racks his brain for a rule that would forbade him, only to find that technically the rules say he HAS to help his beloved when asked upon if he is able
So, he reluctantly agrees, before researching the entire night before on proper etiquette and knowledge on bra shopping.
Ends up fairly knowledgably, and is fairly helpful minus his bright red face
If you ask for his favorite design, he goes for the more soft and girly, very feminine and gentle. Probably those with strawberry designs. He's a fan of the nightgowns because then they're technically clothes he would readily be excited to see. Err, more so least embarrassed about seeing those
Not a fan of looking at the bra and pantie sets because he gets embarrassed looking at panties, but he likes when they have matching socks.
Trey
just agrees, he's been bra shopping with his younger sisters before and isn't as embarrassed as most of the others. He is ready to carry your bags, say you look great in anything you show him, and then get something from the food court.
If you ask him to choose something, he goes for basics. Probably a sports bra and boy shorts, because those are comfortable (from his sister's perspectives), and he wants you to be comfy. Tries to find them in you favorite colour though!
Trey's a basic man, he likes anything as long as youre wearing it. (That's a lie, he likes deep or bright red that stands out against your skin, maybe with some lace! Those get him blushing and coughing into his fist)
While he doesn't know as much as Riddle on any medical stuff, like underwire being painful, or support needs, he is knowledgeable about the etiquette for bra shopping, very polite, and not creepy
Most excited for the food court afterwards. Gets some baked goods, and finishes off your shopping date by getting a matching keychain for you and him
Cater
flash backs to his sisters start coming through. Being forced to come along, stand there bored out of his skull as his sisters gab, maybe even try to dress him up! Not to mention the perfumes afterwards causing him to have allergic reactions, carrying pounds upon pounds of shopping bags, and being dragged around the entire day.
But, he loves you so he guesses he can come along. Ends up better than with his sisters because he's actively apart of the shopping this time! He's not used to having his opinion being asked, so he doesn't entirely know what to say.
He likes the funny ones the best, those for fandoms, or those with weird designs. really likes the ones with pizzas on them, but he does get a little weird by petting the bras and panties because the fabric feels nice.
But sexually, he enjoys the darker colours, black with some warm accents. cant look at you if you put on a corset or stockings! especially if they have bows, please don't do this to him!
He buys himself some nice new briefs while there, and a new cologne, before going home and magicaming about his amazing date (with a few pictures he keeps to himself)
Deuce
Agrees without entirely hearing you, so he's extremely surprised when you both arrive at the lingerie shop. Totally freezes and you end up dragging him into the store, it’s kinda funny to watch.
Stares at the ceiling the entire time, says yeah sure in a weirdly high-pitched voice he's so nervous. If you end up calling his mom, she can calm him down. He's still awkward, but follows you around and answers how he thinks you look, which is amazing in everything!
another who ends up petting the fabrics, and enjoys the blue babydolls the most, or more classy sets. He prefers the sets, makes you look so put together, and dominate. Covers his face and refuses to look at you if you tease him in a set.
He bought a pair of joke boxers with chickens on them and when you both finish he buys you both lunch at the food court, and tries to calm down from the panic attack he went through for that bra store. If you bought him a cologne though, he may or may not cry.
Goes home and screams into his pillow until he goes mute, he is collared and doesn’t care cause his brain is mush.
Ace
Thinks he’s got this, he was on a call for almost an hour last night with his older brother about how to act, and his brother gives pretty good advice! Don’t be a perv, always compliment something, offer to pay but don’t force it, always get food afterwards even if just a drink, ect,
Secret, he doesn’t got this. Second he gets there, all thoughts leave his brain. His brother would be smacking his head against a wall if he knew. Like, CLOSE YOUR MOUTH YOURE DROOLING! You push Ace’s mouth closed, and drag him in.
He tries to be a gentleman but just can’t stop staring at your chest, but he always compliments you! Even if he thinks it’s hideous he finds something, like the colour, or fit. He may even offer up some he thinks would look good on you, though he doesn’t know much on which are comfortable. So, yeah they’re cute but man are they uncomfortable.
He likes the looks of form fitting, and tighter ones. Leathers too! He also enjoys those looks on himself, and probably buys some leather looking briefs. Not actual leather though cause those are uncomfortable!
Does remember to offer but not push for paying, but does buy a meal to share from the food court, and finishes off your date with a kiss goodbye on the cheek (if you’re comfortable! Otherwise, a hug or handshake or just a nod, just whatever you feel comfortable with)
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nagazmulagan · 4 months
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TOUCH AND FIGURE IT OUT. 🌊
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...i see you even if i close my eyes,
i hear you even if i cover my ears...
lazy intimate times headcannons with some of the heartsteel members. part two for yone only is here.
— heartsteel yone, kayn, ezreal x reader (all separate), smut, suggestive, reader is afab, settled relationship, kinda kpop related activities but only kinda
an: i got so mad today because i was writing ezreal angst but i accidentally deleted it but i want to post soo baaaddd so i wrote this T__T
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during the day, they're just handsome idols singing incredibly on stage. but sometimes, after a particularly hard day of working, or after not seeing their significant other for a long time all they want is to be next to you.
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— praise kink, overstimulation, overall really soft. i can't portray him of being much of a sex freak, I'd say he's pretty vanilla
he always wants to be his best self - and that includes his work, etiquette and pleasuring you. he spends most of his time training. yone is always affectionate, and when he misses you - it's extreme. expect him to be glued to your neck, placing butterfly kisses down to your chest and back up. his hands also can't seem to stop the feather-like touches all over your body. he's definitely a pleasure dom – before he even gets to cum, you're gonna have to be at least a bit exhausted. he can be glued to your mound for hours and feast on you like a man dying of hunger, if it will mean you'll be entirely satisfied. and it gets him going, too. he just loves you too much, all he wants to do is for you to be feeling as good as he can make you. and expect him to praise you, too. after all, how else can you know how proud he is of you?
"yone", you moaned softly as you tugged on his hair a bit harder, making him finally pull out his tongue of your cunt. how many times did you come already? you couldn't even count. but he surely did. all you know is that you've been waiting for yone to come back home, and suddenly you ended up stripping on your shared bed. he pulled out so many orgasms out of you and he showed no signs of stopping. not that you minded.
"are we done yet, sweetheart?", yone looked at you, placing his chin on your lower tummy, and smiling in a teasing way, and you could just look at him with your fucked-out gaze. "c'mon, dove. i know you can handle one more. be a good girl and i will do whatever you want", he said, placing kisses down to your clit, when he started to attack it with some kitty licks. he's definitely going to overstimulate you, and you know that you are gonna love every second of it.
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— hard dom, degradation kink, hair pulling, teasing
kayn and yone have one thing in common - and that is working extremely hard. he knows he's hot and just straight great at everything he'll do, but that doesn't stop him from doing even more, beyond the so-called borders of perfection. he almost everyday comes home late, there's no denying that; but he always knows how to make it up to you. just hint him that you're in the mood and he'll smirk, coming as close to you as possible and whispering dirty words of what he's gonna do with you. he expects you to obey everything he orders you to – as long as it is with your consent. he'll even mix praise with degrading words, just to feel you clench hard on his cock. and when it comes to hair pulling, he likes you to tug at his as hard, as he does to yours.
the whole room was filled with moans, groaning and sounds of skin slapping. kayn was taking you from behind, holding a fistful of your hair in his palm. "such a whore", he breathed, releasing a small laugh from his lips. "you're going to cum all on my dick, right?", kayn asked, not really expecting a reply. you were too busy moaning out his name and babbling words like 'faster', or 'harder', which he obviously heard and did just what you asked, but not before teasing you a bit.
"such a slut. can't even form a singular word properly", he whispered, slapping your skin, making you whimper once again. he grabbed your hair harshly and pulled your head up through it. "but it's okay. all you have really have to say is just my name", kayn said, placing a kiss on your hairline, just to let go of your hair and continue his antics, this time with a brutal, fast pace.
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— sub, brat, masochism, degradation, brat taming
ezreal was a simple guy. he talks a lot, makes snide remarks, genuinely committed to being a brat. and his bedroom preferences aren't any different - he'll whimper and say something provocative, just enough for you to punish him. he'll call you mommy if he's extremely desperate, too. he just wants to be taken care of by you. but if you decide that he should be a good boy today and focus on bringing you pleasure, he'll be happy to do whatever you want him to - he has long, slim fingers and he doesn't really know what to do with them, so just tell him to put them inside of you and he will keep brushing over your g-spot. he could do all that on a regular basis, but he's a brat, so he will just put up a fight and wait for you to tame him.
"don't stop", he moaned as you sat on his dick, riding him as there's no tomorrow. "if i knew that remark about one of the hot girls from the staff would make you go so-", he didn't get to finish his sentence as you slapped him in the face, which just made him whimper. you continued to ride him until he was close - and then, you just stopped. he deserves to be punished, after all. how could he think that it was proper to bring another woman into the conversation, especially in the bed?
"no, please, i'm sorry, don't stop", he pleaded, looking into your eyes. he couldn't even stand up, as you've tied him to the bed - he was completely at your mercy. "you know you're the only one who i want on top of me, right?", ezreal breathed, desperate for you to continue what you were doing. he was right, and you knew it - so you just sighed and warned him, continuing to ride him into oblivion, and making a mental note to not let him have his way so easily next time.
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usedtobecooler · 5 months
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follow me down | steve harrington x reader
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a/n: one tiny conversation with @loveshotzz caused a fire to be lit under my ass yesterday, thus this debauchery was written. it's good to be out of the smut slump! 2.3k words.
tw: EXPLICIT CONTENT 18+ MINORS DNI, gloryhole, dubcon, blowjobs, reader has a vagina, alcohol and drug mentions, anonymous sex acts, dirty talk, pet names, rough oral sex, masturbation, no protection.
Maybe this was a terrible, awful, bad idea, but as you sit on your knees in the darkened bathroom stall, you can't shake the nervous thrum of excitement vibrating through your entire body at what's about to take place.
This wasn't what you came out with your friend to do tonight — the plan was to go to this new kink bar on Main, party together and maybe take somebody home, if you were interested enough.
The drinks went down way too easily, the bass of the sensual music flowing through you both as you danced together, grinding up against one another without a care in the world. People were staring, of course they were, two hot women in latex in the middle of a sex club? It was inevitable.
Happening upon the secret bathroom was no mistake, your girlfriend pulling you in through the door and laughing in delight as she showed you, multiple private rooms behind blood red doors, slick grey door knockers adorned on them.
"It's all legit, I promise. No creeps, the guys on the door know better than to let them in here, especially Eddie, he would never," she'd assured, "let loose, babe. Put that talented mouth of yours to good use. I'll be in the next one over."
You eye up the stall, draped in red lighting, creating an aura. Taking in your surroundings for the next who-knew how long, with wide, curious eyes.
The hole in the wall itself was quite wide, clearly meant to be there as the plaster is perfectly cut in a circle, cute multicolored sparkles frame it alongside sharpied numbers and lewd messages.
There's a little box at your side, full of various single-use items you may need or want — disinfectant wipes, gum, breath spray, condoms, lube. You giggle, pleasantly shocked by the attention to detail that the club put into it all.
It's clear that this is what these stalls are meant for, to live out the deepest of fantasies in some sort of safety.
It's almost comforting, makes you want to go ahead with it even more, as you sit patiently waiting for somebody to enter the stall on the other side. Busying yourself with using a disinfectant wipe, cleaning any part of the stall that you think you'll come into contact with.
You're so preoccupied that you don't even notice somebody else has entered the room, until you hear the stall door next to your own click shut. Jeans so tight they almost look painted on ghost past the hole in the wall, nervous hands rubbing at the material.
"What the fuck is the etiquette in here?" The guy laughs, to himself mostly, no other greeting, and it's almost endearing. The nervous lilt in his voice obvious.
"I was expecting you to come in here and just shove your dick through the hole, to be fair," you giggle, picking up your drink and taking a sip, "nice of you to talk first, though. Hi, I guess?"
"Hi," he laughs back, breathlessly. You watch as he shuffles around on the other side, nothing more than a thigh and hand in your eyeline, the side of a zipper. Tighter fitting in that area than usual.
"So, do you wanna do this?" You ask, just for confirmation, veins thrumming with nerves and something akin to excitement, "I think I know the answer already, your jeans are, uh, very fucking tight."
"Shit, yeah. You— you're sure you're okay with this, right?" The man's voice is high pitched, whiny and a bit desperate, the clink of his belt against the stall wall enough to shock you, "I just— I don't do this, ever. But my friend he, he gave me these pills 'n I'm just so fucking horny, and you're, well. You're here and offering, God, I wanna."
You clench your thighs together, teetering between both knees as you get comfortable, "I'm okay with it, promise. I wanna, too." You confirm, voice lilted and dripping in desire, "Can you at least tell me your name, though? Wanna know who I'm moaning for."
"Oh, shit," he grunts, shuffling a little so you can see the tips of the auburn loafers he's wearing under the frame of the stall, "I'm Steve. Fuck, dunno if I should've used my real name but, who cares, right?"
Steve.
"Okay then, Steve," you gasp breathily, squeezing your thighs together once again, relishing in the relief it gives the dull ache on your clit, "wanna drop your pants and show me what you're working with?"
You sound far too confident, so confident that you shock yourself. Your hands shake, brain foggy still from one too many tequila shots and bubblegum flavored cocktails. But, Steve's right there and unzipping his pants in your eyeline, your bleary eyes zoning in on tan, slender fingers that you suddenly wish were inside of you.
"Can you— are you okay with me telling you what to do?" Steve asks cautiously, pulling open his jeans and getting ready to drop them. You bite at your glossy lip, the way the denim hangs almost frames the thick bulge in his tight black underwear. You store the picture in your memory for later.
"I like being told what to do," you admit, soft and sweet, "sometimes my brain gets all fuzzy when I'm into it, and I need to be reminded how to act, y'know?"
Steve lets out a strangled noise, a soft chuckle echoing in the room immediately after, "I'll remind you, honey. Don't worry your pretty little head about that."
Your confirmation, the air of arousal in the small space, suddenly has Steve flipping like a switch. You watch with wide eyes as he tugs down his offending clothing covering his thighs, pushing the layers down to his knees, out of his way. His cock springs out, weighed down by its own sheer size, thick and cut.
"Christ," you mutter, your mouth watering, and you desperately grab for the drink you carelessly abandoned at your side, swigging the last of it for a bit of courage. The burning of dark alcohol settling deep and warm in your gut.
You stare unashamedly as he grips the base of his dick, strong fingers wrapping around it, somehow looking dwarfed now. Your jaw already aches and he hasn't so much as pushed the tip past your lips.
"Open wide, honey," Steve's voice drips in sex as he coos his pet name for you, domineering and strong, a very different version of the man who came into the room just minutes earlier, though you can't say it's not a pleasant change.
Your mouth hangs open, tongue lolling out over your bottom lip, putting on a show for the man who can't even see you. You shuffle a little closer, going cross eyed as the wet tip of Steve's cock slides through the hole. You tentatively flick your tongue against the weeping slit, getting a taste of him in your mouth, before wrapping your lips around the head, gently suckling on the salty skin.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ," Steve groans, sighing blissfully as you start up a steady rhythm, allowing saliva to pool on your tongue and help glide your way along his thick shaft, jaw unhinging as if on autopilot for him. The clean, musky taste and scent of him driving you fucking insane, your hands coming up to touch the wall at either side of your head as you bury in further, choking yourself on him.
You know you're sickeningly wet for it, for Steve. Your core runs hot and aches as you lick and suck every inch of his cock you can get to, whining high in the back of your throat as his salty pre slides down your throat, coating your tastebuds in him. It's almost embarrassing how much you enjoy it, losing yourself in making him feel good.
"Y'r so good at this, baby. Fuck me," Steve's forehead thumps against the stall, jolting you slightly, has your rhythm faltering momentarily, teeth grazing ever so slightly down his shaft. He groans, loud and unashamed, punches his hips forwards until you're moaning around your mouthful, vibrations shocking the prettiest sounds from his lips.
"You're rough, huh? Hands on your knees, like a good girl," Steve grunts, rocking his hips into the stall and pushing deeper into your mouth until he's hitting your gag reflex — your throat tightens automatically at the intrusion and he moans, animalistic and needy.
Your hands move on instinct, coming to rest on your thighs, just below the hem of your dress. Your fuzzy head does the work for you, relaxing your jaw and throat for the impending assault. Your panties drip with arousal, eyes rolling into the back of your head, the idea of being used like this doing unspeakable things to your body.
Strong, tan hands wrap around the top of the stall, gold rings glinting in the low mood lighting in the room. You whine, loud and unabashed when you see them grip the plaster. Mind racing at the thought of those hands all over your body.
"Bet you look so fucking good with my cock down your throat," Steve groans, tiny little grunts escaping him as he punches his hips forward in sharp thrusts, "you feel so fucking good, holy shit. Good fucking girl, taking all of me like this."
You know you look obscene — saliva running down your chin, lips raw and puffy, eyeliner and mascara smeared down your cheeks from the tears that spring from your eyes. Your throat feels wrecked, stuffed full on Steve, and you finally show yourself mercy, hand running under your dress to run over the seam of your cunt.
The slick noises of fluid soaked skin crescendo in the room, filthy and disgusting in the most delicious way, erotic and adding to the senses that get you closer and closer to the edge. Your fingers slip deftly over your slick cunt, working at your clit until you're choking on a sob, body alight with how good you feel.
"You crying, baby?" Steve coos, rocking into your mouth again, tears pooling below your top lip, adding to the salty mixture in your mouth, "You're lucky the walls between us, if I saw you crying I'd only go rougher, I'd break you."
You wail, fingers slipping from your pussy as his words rattle in your ears. Your tongue flicks over every inch of him you can get between the harsh thrusts, swallowing him down and mapping out every bit.
"Can hear you fucking yourself in there," Steve comments, and you can't find it in you to even feel embarrassed, not when he's rammed so far down your throat that you're struggling to breathe and gagging, "so fucking hot, wanna watch. Wanna pull on your hair and fuck that tight little throat harder."
Your knees ache, your jaw feels like it's splitting, whole body alight with the pleasure-pain that courses through you. It's like nothing you've ever felt before.
Steve chuckles, an animalistic noise tearing from him when you suck a little harder, chasing his cock as he tries to pull out. Your core burns hotter with every passing swipe of your fingers on yourself, chasing your high so desperately that you can't find it in you to be mortified.
"You close, honey? You've gone a little stupid on my cock," he comments, tutting at you, "if this is how dumb you get on blowing me, I can't wait to see how dumb you get when I'm buried deep in your pussy."
You whimper, tears spilling down your cheeks as you shudder through your orgasm, your cries muffled with Steve's cock. Your fingers work on your clit until your hips shake, slick drips of your creamy release sliding down your inner thighs.
"Perfect little slut," Steve grunts, hips beginning to stutter in their rhythm, a constant stream of steady praises spewing from his lips, "can't believe you came sucking my cock, I'm a fucking stranger. I'm gonna cum, y'r making me cum, holy fuck."
One, two uneven thrusts later, and Steve's hips shove forward for a final time, cock kicking up on your tongue as he releases inside of your slackened mouth. Your brain and gag reflex barely cooperate, some of his load sputtering out from between your lips as you struggle to swallow it all.
Steve's loud when he comes, moaning so unashamedly that it echoes in the room, and you're so sure that your friend in the next one over will hear him, maybe even the one over from that, too. It's mortifying how attractive you find it.
There's an awkward silence once all is said and done, his spent cock slipping from your lips once you're sure he's finished. The sounds of heaving breaths and clothes shuffling are almost deafening in your ears, as you sober up from what could be considered a mind melting experience.
Steve zips his jeans up on the other side, awkwardly chuckling, "Uh, thank you for the best blowjob I've ever had in my entire life, stranger."
You bark out a hoarse laugh in return, shocked by the casualness of it, though it's so endearing — and inflating for the ego, "Thanks, Steve. It was a pleasure getting to suck your dick."
Steve laughs for real that time, breathless and almost incredulous, "I don't know if this is, uh, kink etiquette or whatever but, I'm in this ridiculous black satin shirt. Hairs high enough that you can see it through the crowd, or so my friend says. Come find me out there?"
You're shocked into silence for a moment, brain running on overdrive, trying to comprehend the invitation to actually go see him, after all of that. You feel ridiculous, how could you be prudish after sucking off a stranger?
"Or not?" Steve asks, with a deflated little huff.
"No!" You awkwardly shout, cringing internally, "Uh, I absolutely would love to, Steve. I'm in a black latex dress, I have a red pentagram necklace on, it's hard to miss."
"I'll see you out there then, honey."
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yourheart-inmyhands · 5 months
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Ok a weird request 😭
Imagine yan!Zhongli, abyss!Aether and Neuvillette with a darling that loves them back (they don't care they're a yandere (and no it's not Stockholm Syndrome)) but just asks their brother to be with them (bc they imprisoned her) and if they accept, they see that the supposed "brother" is a dog- like- darling considers her dog her own brother.
The reason is that I myself consider the dog my mom has my brother- Please I am normal I swear 😭
- Weird anon ✨ (idk if you do this honestly 😭)
so i actaully don't write for aether anymore (i'm so sorry about that ;v;), but i hope you still like the other two! and don't worry about being weird lol, my cat is my literal son, like i'm 99% sure i gave birth to him and just forgot (it's scary how alike we are) XD
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Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including obsessive behavior, implied being held against will, that's about it this one is pretty tame, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!
Yandere!Zhongli allows it, but that doesn’t mean he entirely understands it. Please don’t expect him to grasp the entire thing right away. He’ll ask if your ‘brother’ sits at the table for dinner and if Zhongli needs to prepare additional servings for him, etc. Despite having lived for many, many years and having seen many strange things, Zhongli still struggles to fully understand the situation. He allows it though, anything to make his beloved happy.
“Does he… does your brother sit at the table with us for dinner?” Zhongli looked at the dog sat by your feet, one eyebrow raised in confusion as he anxiously awaited your response. A dog at the dinner table wasn’t exactly good for sanitary eating but he supposed he could allow it to slide for your sake. You had been compliant with his wishes thus far, who would he be to deny you the one thing you had asked for. He at first thought that your ‘brother’ had once been human and turned animal, but when you explained the situation to him, he seemed to feel even more at odds. Regardless, you are his beloved, and he’d comply to your wishes so long as it was in reason. Not only did he want your love, but he wanted you to be happy, and if this silly wish of yours was what it meant, he’d gladly give in.
Yandere!Neuvillette is perturbed to say the least. He had known already that your family had a dog, but he didn’t think you’d be this attached to it. Nevertheless he does retrieve your ‘brother’ and makes accommodations inside the manor for him. He doesn’t much interact with him though, Neuvillette isn’t really a dog-person, he’s not really an animal person at all. This was your one ask thus far though and you’d been accepting of his love so he wouldn’t argue. The dog will not be allowed to eat dinner with you though, he will eat his food in a separate room, as proper etiquette calls for.
Neuvillette didn’t understand the attachment that humans developed with animals, but he also never really cared for animals. The melusines were different, they behaved much like humans and could converse with Neuvillette, animals could not. When you requested that you be allowed your brother, Neuvillette was skeptical at first. When you then explained that your ‘brother’ was a dog, he relented, retrieving the pet for you. While he makes a room for the dog and even prepares meals for him, do not expect him to love the dog. Neuvillette doesn’t much care for bonds with animals like that, he’ll greatly outlive them and simply isn’t fond of the type of companionship they provide, so your brother is all yours. Of course if you asked, he’d walk him or bathe him or do any other such task, but only if asked will he do it. His rule is that you asked for him to brought here and that he is now your responsibility.
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writeforfandoms · 9 months
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State of My Head 1
Find the series masterlist
Your life is pretty good. Run around as a cat, get into places you shouldn’t, and get back out. Occasionally shift back to human to flirt. And on your way again you go. Until you make the mistake of trotting right into a military base and getting caught.
Warnings: Lying, mentions of hunting and eating small critters, reader is a literal cat (cat shifter), swearing, minor violence, world building, shifter etiquette, some self-deprecating humor, mention of death, threats of violence. 
Word count: 4.8k
Eventual Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x f!shifter!reader (I swear this has a happy ending)
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Nighttime jaunts were your favorite. Fewer people to avoid, less noise, fun hunting. Plus, as a cat you could see pretty well in the dark. It was great. 
Tonight, though, you had a new goal in mind. There was a military base you’d never seen the inside of. And the middle of the night would be a perfect time to explore. 
It didn’t take long to find a gap at the bottom of the fence big enough for you to squeeze through. You were small as a cat, no bigger than the average house cat. You trotted past a dirt path, ignored an obstacle course altogether, and finally started sniffing around some buildings. The base was big, larger than you’d anticipated. Interesting.
Also lacking in rodents to chase, at least at this time of night. Damn. 
You scaled a perfect tree next to one building, sharp claws making the task easy. One leap and you went from the tree to the roof of the building, padding up to the very top of the roof. Then you sat, curling your tail over your feet, to observe your temporary territory. This was a good spot - you could see a good part of the base, there was a nice fresh breeze up here, and all was quiet. 
Honestly, a good napping spot.
You’d just wake up with the sun and be on your way again before anyone noticed you. 
Things didn’t quite work out that way. You woke to a creak and a sudden shift in the lighting, sunlight blocked by something. You blinked your eyes open, expecting a shadow. 
And found yourself looking instead at a man. 
You were on your feet a moment later, hissing as he reached for you. 
“It’s okay kitty,” he said, voice soft and easy. “C’mere, I’ll help you down.”
As if you needed help down from the roof! You hissed again for good measure and then bolted, running straight past his outstretched hand and ignoring his shout. You jumped to the tree, pausing to regroup. 
An entire group of soldiers stood around watching events unfold. There was some good-natured laughing and teasing as the man on the roof got back down, swearing. 
You eyed the drop, thinking about how best to proceed. This had definitely not been part of the plan. 
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” another man cooed, both hands lifted towards you. “We’re just trying to help. You’re okay. Nobody is gonna hurt you. C’mere, pretty kitty.”
Almost despite yourself, your ears pricked forward, listening to him. He sounded nice, at least. You crept forward slowly, and a few of the soldiers moved closer too. You backed up, and the man hissed at them and flapped one hand at them until they backed off again. So you started forward again, carefully, until you could sniff the tips of his fingers. 
Well. He smelled okay, at least. Still moving cautiously, you moved closer, letting him grab you. He was gentle, so you decided not to attempt to murder him. Even better, he promptly cuddled you into his chest, scratching your ears. 
Okay. This one could live.
“Wonder where she came from?” one of the others asked, sneaking closer. Not sneaking very well though. 
“No idea,” the one holding you said. “Doesn’t have a collar.”
“Could be a stray.”
“What would a stray be doing in here, though?”
“I’m sure there’s mice and things for her to catch, that’s probably what brought her here.” 
You let the talking wash over you, amused. This wasn’t bad. You’d let them coddle you for a few more minutes and then be on your way. You could run faster than them, after all. 
“What’s all this?”
The soldiers all stopped and turned to look at someone new. He was wearing a silly-looking hat. 
“We found a cat, sir,” the one holding you said. Very unnecessarily, if anyone asked you. (They didn’t. Nobody ever did. It was enough to hurt a girl’s feelings after a while.) 
“I can see that. It doesn’t belong on base.”
“We thought she might be a stray,” one of the others offered. “We were going to bring her to you, sir.” 
He snorted, finally walking over closer, eyeing you. One hand reached out, and for a moment you thought he was going to pet you. Rude, since he didn’t let you sniff his hand first, but whatever. 
Except he scruffed you.
You yowled plaintively as he held you aloft, dangling uncomfortably from his hand. Squirming only got you held tighter. This was embarrassing - you hadn’t been scruffed like this since you were a kitten. 
“She doesn’t belong on base,” the hatted man said. “I’m sure you all have things to be doing.”
With a despondent scattering of “yes, sir”s, the soldiers all left you to your fate. 
“Well, guess you’re stuck with me until I can get animal control out here.” His voice was low and rumbling, and he carried you with him towards one of the buildings. It was really uncomfortable, and you yowled again, trying to grab something to hold on to. 
“Captain,” a new person called, and, really, how many people were there on this base? 
“Gaz.” The captain paused, at least. 
“Why do you–nevermind. Give me the cat, you’re making me sad just watching you carry it like that.” 
“It’s a stray,” the captain pointed out, even as he held you out. 
Gaz was quick to scoop you up, one arm sturdy under your paws, his other holding you steady. “She, I think,” he said, looking down at you. You blinked up at him, already relaxing again now that you weren’t being dangled about. “Doesn’t look like a typical stray.”
He may not have meant it as a compliment, but you took it that way. You knew you looked striking as a cat, with bold rosettes and spots, eyes and ears rounder and bigger than a typical housecat. 
The captain grunted. “Still doesn’t belong on base,” he grumbled. 
“Aw, c’mon, cap. Can’t hurt to let her hang around for a few hours.” Gaz shifted his grip on you to let you sniff his fingers. Oh, you approved. And he smelled nice! You liked this one. 
“Just don’t let it get into any trouble.” The captain waved one hand, heading back inside. 
“You won’t cause any trouble, will you?” Gaz murmured to you, low and soothing. He had a nice voice. 
You blinked at him and very deliberately meowed. Human-raised cats did that, and you didn’t want him thinking you were more than a typical cat. 
“Good kitty.” He scratched under your chin, and you stretched your neck out to give him more room. Mmm, that felt nice. 
“Hey Gaz, whatcha got there?” 
“Soap.” Gaz shifted his grip on you just a little, and you blinked at the new person. Soap, apparently. Ridiculous. “Someone found a stray cat on base and I rescued her from Cap.” 
“Pretty kitty,” Soap murmured, holding out a hand for you to sniff. Oh good, you’d found the polite ones. “Bit exotic, isn’t she?”
“I thought so too, but she’s well-behaved.” Gaz stroked one big hand down your back. 
“Huh.” Soap tickled under your chin. “Ye wanna come cuddle, kitty?” 
“Nuh uh, she’s with me.” Gaz turned slightly away from Soap, much to your amusement. 
“Ye can share,” Soap wheedled. 
“Maybe later.” Gaz smirked down at you as he started walking. “You’re on duty with me, cat.” 
Well. Not the worst thing in the world. You did wait until he had stopped somewhere again to crawl up onto his shoulder, balancing across his shoulders easily to watch the world from this new vantage point. He didn’t even protest, just let you get settled there. 
And you stayed there until lunch time. Gaz sat at a table with Soap, the two bantering. But you mostly ignored them, because Gaz tore pieces of meat off his sandwich and fed them to you. You accepted each morsel delicately, careful not to bite him by accident, quite content with how this was going. 
A good-smelling man hand-feeding you bits of his own lunch? Yes, thank you. 
“My turn,” Soap declared once lunch was over, picking you up and cuddling you to his chest. You made a disgruntled noise but decided to show mercy and not kill him. 
“Take it easy with her, yeah?” Gaz did not try to grab you back but he did watch Soap as the Scot left with you. 
“Well, pretty, let’s torment some rookies, aye?” His fingers scratched through your fur, which was acceptable. For now. But you still scrambled up onto his shoulders as soon as you could, much preferring this to being cradled like an infant. 
Soap was okay, but he was a little too handsy. He kept reaching up to rub your fur or play with your tail or even rub his nose into your side. That got him a gentle swat to the head. But otherwise you bore the indignity with aloof grace. 
“Johnny, if you're not careful, that cat’s gonna kill you.” 
You did not jump at the voice behind you, because that would be undignified. You did not hiss either. You might’ve dug your claws in, but Soap turned too fast anyway. 
“Nah, she’s a right sweet li’l thing,” Soap cooed, reaching up to tickle your chin again. 
And that was enough of that. You tensed, gathering yourself, and jumped from him to the big masked man, who didn’t even flinch when you scrambled up to his shoulders. Ha! Even taller now! 
“Easy, cat.” This one had a nice voice, deep and rumbly. But he let you settle in without touching you, which you appreciated. 
Soap was pouting when you looked at him, and you turned your face away from him, haughty. That’s what he got for ignoring your signals to stop. 
The big masked man didn’t seem to mind you perching on his shoulder as long as you kept your claws to yourself. And you were well-mannered, so of course you kept your claws to yourself. He didn’t annoy you, after all. 
It was an arrangement that worked well for both of you until dinner time. 
You spotted Gaz across the room and shamelessly abandoned your current perch, trotting under tables and around soldiers until you could leap up onto the table next to Gaz. You sat, tail curling around your paws, and chirped at him. 
“Hi there, beautiful,” he greeted, holding out his hand for you to sniff. You headbutted his palm, eyes half-lidded. He already smelled warm and familiar, like safety. 
And, just as you’d hoped, he fed you bits of his dinner. You could get used to this kind of treatment. 
“Gaz, I thought you were going to get rid of the cat.” The captain sat across from him, looking disgruntled. 
“She’s sweet,” Gaz defended. “And she’s not hurting anything.”
The captain grunted, eyes narrowing at you. “At least get her off the table.” 
Gaz didn’t protest, just picked you up gently and settled you on his lap instead. You hunkered down there, gently kneading his thigh. This was a comfy spot. 
After dinner seemed to be downtime. Soap once again attempted to nab you, which you deftly avoided by skittering out of the mess hall. 
Which meant you had some time to yourself. 
You meandered around the base, staying out of reach of the soldiers with ease. Honestly, it was amusing to watch them light up at seeing a cat. Especially since none of them had any idea that you were more than just a cat. 
You did a bit of hunting, more for fun than anything. You were still satisfied with the meal Gaz had shared with you. 
The base quieted, settling in for the night. And you crept towards the barracks, slipping in an open window and then making your way through the halls, sniffing under every door until you found the right one. 
And then you sat and scratched at the door. Politely. 
When that didn’t elicit an immediate reaction, you scratched some more. And then stretched up on your hind legs to sniff the handle and see if you could turn it without shifting back to human. 
“Hey, kitty.” 
You startled, tail poofing up, and spun to look at Gaz. He looked abashed, crouching down slowly with his hands out. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he cooed, gentle and warm. “You looking for someplace to sleep?” 
You chirped at him, consciously willing your tail back to normal. You’d still have to groom it later. When Gaz hesitated, you chirped again and threw yourself against his calves, winding between his feet with obvious affection. 
Amused now, he opened the door for you, letting you in first. 
An opportunity you didn’t miss. 
His room was neat, of course. And smelled like him. Which was amazing. You checked under his bed (boring), on top of his bed (pillow was too flat), and even batted at his footlocker (smelled interesting but also closed). 
“Mischievous,” he said, still amused. “Alright, if you wanna stay you gotta settle down, right? I need sleep.” 
You meowed at him, but made sure you weren’t too loud. That would count as agreement, right? 
He ran gentle fingers over your head and behind your ears before he turned to start undressing. You thought about watching… but gave him his privacy, turning instead to sniff the rest of his room. Humans were so body-shy, for reasons you’d never understood. 
The bed creaked, and you trotted back and jumped lightly onto the bed. He laid down, getting comfortable, and you followed suit. 
You only took up part of his pillow.
“Cat,” he spluttered, one hand gently nudging you to the side. “Oi. I need to breathe, yeah?” 
You lifted your head to give him a supremely unimpressed look. 
“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled. “This is my bed.”
You put your head down again and closed your eyes, pointedly. He huffed something between a sigh and a laugh, but he settled down and stopped moving. You took it as agreement. 
You woke when he got up, stretching out and giving him a bit of privacy to dress for the day again. 
“Don’t think I can keep you with me all day,” he admitted, reaching over to pet the top of your head again. “Probably don’t wanna come running with me.”
No. No you did not. Smart man. You rewarded his intelligence by headbutting his hand. 
“Well, tell you what, I’ll see if I can spot you for breakfast, yeah?” He smiled, scratching under your chin gently. “Just don’t let Price catch you, he’ll toss you out.” 
You purred your agreement. You couldn’t entirely blame the captain - he just didn’t seem to like cats. (You could take that personally. It was in your nature to take that personally. But you decided to be the bigger person here and simply decide he was tasteless.) 
So you had some time to yourself. You avoided the many feet and scaled the nearest tree, using trees and rooftops as your highways. The day was beautiful, sunny and not too warm, and you found a good napping spot on top of a roof. Out of sight from below, this time. 
You did not show up to breakfast, because you didn’t want to be too predictable, but also because you didn’t want to seem too smart. So you napped through breakfast, content to just lay in the sunshine. 
You could get used to this kind of life. Quiet. Having your own territory, not having to fight for space or food. Especially being hand-fed by a gorgeous man. 
But then you also ran the risk of being discovered, if you stayed. And that could end poorly. 
Someone wearing a new cat scarf kind of poorly. 
You stretched languidly before getting to your feet. The safest thing to do would be to stay another day or two and then be on your way. If you really wanted stability, you’d find somewhere in a city to be a human too, carve out your own space as both cat and human. 
It was something to consider, at least. 
Going across rooftops, you investigated more of the compound. You could smell the shooting range, making your nose wrinkle and your ears flick back. But you gamely kept on, sniffing around and exploring. 
This really was a good spot, though. No competition. Lots of room to roam. 
And mice. One of which you caught, shaking until its neck broke. You weren’t really hungry, didn’t need it for kittens or anything. 
So you trotted off to a quiet spot near the fence and buried the mouse. 
By the time you meandered your way back, the sun was high in the sky. Probably lunch time. Mmm. Hopefully Gaz would agree to give you food again. 
You peeked into the mess, looking for your person. He was, of course, near the back, with Soap and Ghost (although Ghost didn’t have food in front of him). Pleased, you trotted over to the table, tail held high. 
“Hi kitty!” Soap reached one hand down, wiggling his fingers at you, clearly trying to tempt you closer. You ignored him and jumped into Gaz’s lap. 
“Looks like she likes him better,” Ghost drawled. 
“She has good taste,” Gaz agreed with a proud smile, offering you his fingers to sniff. You headbutted his hand before tipping your head to invite chin scratches. He obeyed easily. Such a good human, you really needed to think of an appropriate way to reward his good behavior. 
Especially since he once again began offering you pieces of meat. 
“Gonna spoil her,” Ghost warned, though he made no move to actually stop Gaz.
“She’s just a cat,” Gaz said with a shrug. “Besides, if she’s really a stray, she might wander off again.”
“Not likely, with how you’re feeding her.” Ghost watched as you delicately took another piece of lunch meat from Gaz. 
“She’s fine.” Gaz smiled down at you. You slow-blinked up at him, warm and content. 
And he let you ride around on his shoulder the rest of the day, so long as you kept your claws to yourself (which you did). 
You could get used to being a shoulder cat. 
You spent the next two days similarly - hunting for fun and to keep your reflexes honed, eating the bites Gaz gave you, running around base, and sleeping on his bed. If you hadn’t given up on the concept of having your very own person, you would have wanted someone like Gaz. Someone who treated you gently, and gave you room to be your own cat, and gazed at you with affection. 
But it was not to be. For one thing, he thought you were a cat. For another, you knew you needed to move on soon, before you got any more attached. 
You stretched in the early morning light in Gaz’s room, and then blinked. Wait. Something felt wrong about that stretch. 
Your hand bumped Gaz’s shoulder and you blinked again. Hand. Not paw. 
Oh fuck.
Gaz opened his eyes, still sleepy, and you froze, your own eyes wide. He blinked once. 
And then yelled, startled, falling out of bed. You yelled too, because oh shit this was bad. You dove off the bed, uncaring that you were human and nude, and yanked the door open. You shifted mid-step, skittering on the slick floor for a few moments as you tried to get enough traction to run. 
By now other doors were opening, people looking out in sleepy confusion. You were half-way down the corridor when you heard Gaz behind you shout, “Get that cat!” 
Soap got close, attempting to straight-up tackle you. He almost managed it, except you swiped at his hand and then used him as a platform to leap off. 
Your paws didn’t even hit the floor as Ghost grabbed you out of mid-air, scruffing you firmly. You yowled, as loud as you could manage, twisting and fighting like hell. At least until someone swaddled you in what smelled like a t-shirt, forcing you to stillness. When your claws poked out through the shirt, a towel was added to the mix.
Leaving you thoroughly burrito’d and helpless. 
“Gaz?” Soap asked, even as he took you from Ghost. “What the fuck, mate?” 
“Price’s office,” was all Gaz said, staring hard at you. You flattened your ears to your skull, growling low and threatening. It was all you could do in this position. 
The three made their way to Price’s office, still sleep-rumpled but wide awake now. Price joined the group, unlocking the door and ushering everyone in.
Gaz deliberately locked the door again. 
“What’s this about?” Price asked, arms crossed over his chest. 
Gaz, however, was staring at you. “Change.” 
You hissed a little, trying to wiggle out of your forced cocoon. You had no idea what would happen if you shifted while you were so tightly wrapped, but you didn’t think it would end well for you. 
“Put her down.” Gaz flicked his gaze to Soap before focusing on you again. 
Soap obeyed slowly, putting you on the couch. You immediately rolled to loosen the towel and then wiggled your way free of the layers of fabric. A quick glance around showed no way out. 
This was going to be unpleasant. 
You shifted back to human, wrinkling your nose at the shift in perspective. Soap swore, Price grunted and stood up straight, and Ghost pulled a gun on you. Where he’d had it, you had no idea. 
“Gaz?” Price demanded, low and furious. 
“Apparently, she’s not a cat.” Gaz was still staring at you, lips thin, jaw clenched. Oh he was angry. “Woke up to her like this.” 
You sighed. “Shifted in my sleep,” you admitted. No point denying it now. 
Price’s jaw clenched and he grabbed one of the extra chairs, pulling it over until he could sit in front of you. With the three others behind him, it was quite clear who was in charge here. “Put that on.” He nodded to the shirt still laying next to you.
You huffed but obeyed. Humans and their weirdness about nudity. Honestly. The shirt was soft at least and covered you well enough. 
“Why are you here?” Price watched you carefully, but you were less concerned about him. Your gaze drifted to Gaz, taking in the tense line of his shoulders, the anger in his eyes. 
“I was curious.” 
“Yeah? About what, exactly?” Gaz asked, voice sharp. 
You didn’t flinch, but you did look down. “This is unclaimed territory, figured I’d stick around for a few days, do some hunting. Relax. And then move on.” 
“Hunting, huh?” Price leaned forward. “And who have you been contracted to hunt?”
“What?” You blinked at the non-sequitur. 
“Or you could just tell us who’s paying you.” Gaz rocked forward a little on the balls of his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
You blinked. Twice. “You… think I’m a spy?” 
“Fits, doesn’t it?” Price tipped his head a little, restrained violence in his eyes.
“Not really.” You leaned back, drumming your fingers against your arm. “Look. We don’t like people to know we exist, that’s how we got nearly hunted to extinction before. I’m not a spy, I really was just wandering through.”
“Wandering through a top security military base. Sure.” Gaz sounded unimpressed. 
“Really!” You held your hands up, palms out, at your sides. “I haven’t got a clue about anything here, except that the food is pretty good and I don’t have to fight for the territory.” 
“Then why were you sticking so close to Gaz?” Price again. The two were doing pretty well at tag-team questioning you. 
You shrugged, struggling to put your thoughts in order. “He smells good,” is what you settled on. At the disbelieving scoff from Soap, you shrugged again. “He never smelled… wrong. Angry.” You couldn’t help looking at him again. Sure, your sense of smell was muted as a human, but you could still smell well enough to smell the anger pouring off him now. “It’s hard to explain.” 
“You expect us to believe that you chose Gaz, at random, because he smelled nice?” Price raised one eyebrow slowly, conveying exactly how foolish it sounded. 
“That and he never grabbed me.” You grimaced. “Things are simpler. As a cat.”
Price leaned back in his seat slowly, considering. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you arrested and shipped off to a lab.” 
And there it was. Well. At least it came from Price and not from Gaz. You weren’t sure you’d recover if it came from Gaz. “Being turned into a scarf isn’t on my list of things to do this year.”
Soap was the first one to get it, his eyes going wide. He glanced at the others, shifting his weight. Gaz stayed perfectly still. 
“Cap,” Soap murmured. 
Price pushed to his feet, narrowing his eyes at you. “Do. Not. Move.” The four of them moved, stepping out of the room, although Ghost remained in the doorway, both blocking your exit and keeping his gun on you. 
He was absolutely prepared to shoot you. You were absolutely prepared to be shot before they could ship you off to a lab. 
Unfortunately, they spoke too quietly for you to hear much, just the murmur of their voices. Gaz still sounded angry. Maybe one day he’d forgive you.
Sighing softly, you closed your eyes for a few moments. This was a right mess, one you’d be lucky to make it out of with your life. How many had you used up by now? At least five. At least. 
Here’s hoping you still had one left. 
They must have reached a consensus, because they trooped back inside and shut the door again. Price sat again. This time Gaz stayed back, arms crossed over his chest. 
“You have two options,” Price told you, calm, collected. “You tell us everything we want to know, or you get sent to a lab.” 
“I’m not telling you where to find my family.” You narrowed your eyes at him, testing. 
Price didn’t respond to that. Instead he started asking you where you’d been before. Who you knew. Who you saw. Where you stayed. 
Most of it was easy to answer - you’d spent most of the last two years as a cat. You hadn’t been kidding when you said life was less complicated as a cat. Food was less of an issue when you could hunt for yourself. 
The questions about how you shifted, though. Those were harder. You gave as little detail as possible, very well aware that they could hypothetically use that information to find others. 
You had no idea how long you sat there answering questions. A long time. Hours. Long enough for your throat to go dry, for your stomach to complain. Both of which you firmly ignored. 
Finally, though, Price nodded once. “You’re to stay with one of us until further notice. Any attempt to leave will have you shot. Any attempt to shift without permission will have you shot. Understood?” 
“I understand.” You shifted your weight, part of you railing against being threatened. The rest of you was far more pragmatic and simply accepted it. 
Still better than being sent to a lab. 
“Good.” Price stood and fished out a pair of sweatpants, tossing them to you. “Put those on.” 
You obeyed silently, though you had to roll them a few times so they didn’t trip you. Price stepped out of the office first, and you followed quietly. 
The meal that followed was easily as tense as the last one you’d had at home. And silent. Nobody seemed inclined to talk, and you weren’t going to be the first. You just picked at your food, absently wishing to go back to the day prior, when you’d settled on Gaz’s lap and eaten morsels from his fingers. 
Damn you were in deep. That was a problem. Especially considering you could tell he was still mad at you. 
“Stay with Soap,” was all Price told you as he rose. Gaz was quick to follow his captain without a single look at you.
Ouch.
But you stayed with Soap. Because you did not want to get yourself shot just yet. 
“Ye really were just gonna leave?” Soap finally asked, once the two of you were outside, walking around base. He didn’t seem inclined to hold still, something you were rather grateful for. After the stress of the morning, stretching your legs felt nice, even if it was only two legs. 
“Yes.” You shrugged. “I’ve spent a lot of time wandering. Wasn’t planning to settle down just yet.” 
He went quiet again at that, and you let him think. You had your own things to think about, after all.
528 notes · View notes
faeriekit · 4 months
Note
Touch deprived
Kind touches stop after Damian is two.
He does not know this, because at the time, he is two.
The next time someone touches him without the intent of harming him, it is Richard, and it is a surprise. Damian can't help lashing out; he can't help how his heartbeat races, how his breath quickens, how he can't let go of the dagger he drew out of his boot, how he has to leave. Immediately.
The next few touches are equally as kind, if less of surprise.
Damian hates them. He flees from them equally.
He cringes when his father reaches out to touch his shoulder; he dodges Richard's loving tackle-hugs. Cain is impossible to dodge, and he hates her hair-ruffles in equal measure. Todd occasionally invades his personal space and Damian flees before contact can be made. Brown will attempt "fraternal punching", which is just regular hits aimed at his shoulders and arms, and Damian refuses to let those land out of pride in his skill.
Drake, however, does...nothing. Until he invades Damian's room one afternoon.
(Damian does not get off his bed; if Drake is to attack him, Damian could easily subdue him from his reclined posture.)
"What," Damian snaps. He owes Drake no etiquette.
Drake rolls his eyes; the teenager holds up a gray mass as large as a common pillow, arms straining under the weight. "Got you something, your highness. Here."
Damian ignores the incorrect address. "I do not want it."
"You haven't tried it."
And then something heavy falls on top of him. Damian's eyes widen; he scrambles away, prepared to free himself from...
...A blanket.
Damian stares down at it. The blanket sits on his bed, threatening in its mere presence.
"Try it," is all Drake says, eyeing Damian as if the boy is prepared to attack him outright. (He is.) "It's good for anxiety and stuff."
"I do not have anxiety." Damian would never fail deeply enough to have his mental state affected thusly.
"Sure, kid."
Damian is not a kid. But Drake leaves before Damian can correct him on his misinformed opinion, and then Damian is alone with a...blanket.
And. Damian does tests on the fabric, of course. It comes back clean of touch-based toxins, air-diffused toxins, and anything that isn't cotton fiber and cheap plastic pellets. It's only a blanket.
Only...it's a heavy blanket.
...Out of curiosity, Damian uses it one evening. He looks forward to rubbing its ineffectiveness in Drake's face in the morning, but...
...Damian takes the blanket downstairs for movie night the next week. When Richard doesn't reach out to touch him, Damian dares to lay on Richard's shoulder. The blanket presses down against him the way a hug probably ought to.
He is comfortable through the entire event.
294 notes · View notes
moraxsthrone · 1 year
Note
Hello! I'm not sure if requests are open, so ignore if they aren't.
Could I request Hu Tao finding out that Zhongli is married after meeting a lovely lady (reader) who asks to speak with him?
hi hi! yes, i'm taking requests and SLND;LNOMG THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹 PLEASE i would wife the geo daddy down so hard. 😩😤 my blog is still new so this is the first ask i've gotten PLUS i just hit 200 followers, making this a v special 2-for-1 milestone deal for me sskkssssskkssk! thank you for brightening my day and for entrusting me with your idea, my dear. 💗 there’s quite a bit of crack bc that’s just where my brain went with this…i hope that’s okay. 👉🏼👈🏼
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✧˖° pairing — husband!zhongli x f!wife!reader
✧˖° wc — 1k
✧˖° notes — sfw with a teensy little suggestive moment. crack. fluff. slight pda.
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you enter the funeral home, allowing the door to close behind you with a soft click.
“oh hi! welcome to wangsheng funeral parlor! i’m hu tao, may i help you?”
you smile warmly. you’d heard your husband groan a lot about her. but he’d always given her the benefit of being nice and eager to please. “yes, i’m here to see zhongli, please,” you reply.
“oh, our consultant! ah, actually, i’m the director here and if you’re interested in planning for your special day, i’d be happy to help you with that! we have several attractive packages to choose from. in fact, if you prepay for your final arrangements today, i’ll give you a 20% discount!”
“umm…no, thank you. i just came by to bring him this,” you say, brandishing his dark brown leather wallet.
“aha, his wallet?!” she extended her palm, “i’ll make sure it’s returned to him! i’m certain mr. zhongli will be most grateful!”
“actually, i was hoping to see him…is he busy?”
“ahh, give me a moment. i’ll go check,” she says suspiciously.
as tao makes her way back to zhongli’s office, she wonders what else you could possibly be here to speak to him about if not funeral services. ah, yes! perhaps you want to request a reward for the ‘lost-and-found’ item! as often as he forgets his wallet, it’s about time he pay up for having it returned to him, if he even has any mora in it. “unlikely”, she scoffs to herself.
zhongli chokes on his tea and nearly jumps out of his skin at the loud, abrupt intrusion when the director bursts through the heavy, dark oak door. but before he can remind her, once again, to please knock before entering his office, she’s already speaking.
“mr. zhongli, there’s a lady here to see you! she claims to have your wallet?”
his amber eyes go wide as he pats his chest before opening the left side of his waistcoat and reaching inside the empty pocket. “ah, again?” he mumbles, standing from his desk to make his way towards the front of the house as tao follows.
his expression softens the moment he lays eyes on you. “oh, hello darling.” he smiles warmly, closing the distance between you just as naturally as it is for him to breathe. “thank you so much for delivering my wallet. i’m so sorry to have troubled you,” he frets before leaning down to kiss your cheek. 
you return his affectionate smile and hold his elbows as his fingers squeeze your shoulders lovingly. “think nothing of it, dea–”
“MR. ZHONGLI, WHAT’S GOTTEN INTO YOU??!! THAT IS ENTIRELY INAPPROPRIATE!! YOU CAN’T JUST WALK UP TO A LADY AND KISS HER LIKE THAT!! THERE’S THANKING A LADY, AND THEN THERE’S THANKING A LADY!! JEEZ…HANDSY MUCH??” 
torn from your loving exchange, you and your husband turn to look quizzically at the ashen director as her rant continues.
“DO YOU EVEN KNOW HER NAME??”
“ah, right,” zhongli says, straightening up. “hu tao, this is my wife, y/n…”
the girl's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets…
“y/n, i understand you made hu tao’s acquaintance upon your arrival?” he goes on, oblivious to his boss’s shock in favor of displaying proper social etiquette.
hu tao blinks twice before doubling over with laughter. “wife! th-that’s so funny, mr. zhongli! you had me going for a second there!”
clearing her throat, she does her best to straighten up. “ma’am, on behalf of wangsheng funeral parlor, i sincerely apologize for my employee’s untowardness. you’ll have to excuse his bizarre sense of humor. i honestly don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
you chuckle. “while it’s true that zhongli has a rather…unique…sense of humor, he is indeed my husband.”
tao’s smile drops and her eyes narrow. “prove it.”
you think for a moment then lift your left hand to enter the fact that you’re wearing a wedding band into evidence. but hu tao’s scrutinizing gaze shifts to zhongli’s hand to find his fingers devoid of any rings, save for the ones on his thumbs.
“aha! mr. zhongli isn’t wearing a wedding ring!” she points out, unconvinced.
“oh! i nearly forgot!” you exclaim, unclasping your change purse before fishing out your husband’s wedding band. “you left this on your nightstand as well, dear.”
“aha! so that’s where it was!” zhongli slips his ring onto his gloved finger where, much to hu tao’s chagrin, it fits perfectly. “what would i do without you, my love?”
“probably lose your head and forget to put on clothes,” you tease, wrapping your hands behind his neck. “not that i have any complaints about seeing you naked…” zhongli chuckles lowly as he leans in closer, folding his arms around the small of your back to pull you in before placing a gentle, yet deliberate kiss on your lips.
the director's paled expression turns bright red as she stares in shock and awe, hardly believing her own eyes. having been subjected to the intimate display of affection for long enough, she shields her eyes and clears her throat dramatically. “okay! i believe you! please stop now!”
you and your husband part, him straightening his tie while you smooth your skirt in an effort to compose yourselves.
“i apologize, hu tao,” zhongli says, a light pink blush dusting his cheeks. “y/n and i only entered our matrimonial contract a little over a month ago, so we’re still enjoying the honeymoon phase.”
“matrimonial contract? see, mr. zhongli, this is why i was convinced you’d die a bachelor. you lack any semblance of rizz!”
“oh, you’d be surprised how much rizz he possesses behind closed doors, miss hu tao,” you say in your husband’s defense with a mischievous lilt to your tone.
perplexed as ever, zhongli props his chin between his thumb and finger. “what in the name of archons is rizz?”
“exactly,” hu tao jokes, leaving him to look on in confusion while the two of you giggle.
“i’ll explain it to you later, dear husband,” you assure him, patting his chest. he may have six millennia of history under his belt, but you’ll never cease to be irresistibly charmed by his quaint oblivion on such contemporary topics.
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zhongli m.list | main m.list
✧˖° if anyone reading this enjoyed it, please consider reblogging !! zhongli will give you another kiss on your cheek if you do teehee.
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fierymiasma · 8 months
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ꕥ A Little Game // Sebastian x f!MC x Ominis - Silver Trio ꕥ
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Summary: Ominis's smile was dangerous.  "Sebastian here proposed a contest.  Of course, we'll all be together eventually in the end, but while we are wooing you, why not try a fun game?" She gulped.  "A game?" "A contest: whoever charms you more, gets your first kiss." Requested by holotapes
Words: 1.5k
A/N: This will be a short mini-series, I promise it will eventually get to the prompt, please be patient!
|| Masterlist || AO3 || Upcoming ||
Art belongs to @J_Kaluzhnaya
It was hard for her to see anything through the thick billowing steam of the Hogwarts Express.  The hero of Hogwarts spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of her Slytherin friends amongst the crowd of bustling students.  Despite her best efforts, she hadn't managed to find them in any of the train carriages.
Sebastian and Ominis had been acting strange for the entirely of their 6th year.  She had naturally expected there to be some distance between the two Slytherin boys after Uncle Solomon's death.  Yet, as the weeks dragged on and winter turned into spring she was surprised the find the utter vitriol that they two had for each other.  It seemed like whenever the three of them were together, Ominis would sneer some passive aggressive comment aimed at Sebastian's character (or lack of).  And Sebastian would scowl, and tug her closer to his side possessively, trying to keep her away from Ominis. 
It was honestly a nightmare being the mediator between the two boys.  She had absolutely no idea what could have exacerbated the rift that was in between them, but she prayed that it had been resolved by now. 
"There's my favorite girl."  A smooth, purring voice whispered into her ear from behind her.  She squeaked in alarm, nearly jumping out of her skin to bump into the larger man behind her. 
She spun around, hands on her hips, right about to give the rude interloper a piece of her mind.  Any reprimanding words died in her throat.  Her mouth became suddenly dry.
Sebastian greeted her with the confidence of a man who knew how attractive he was.  His already smooth voice had dropped an octave.  Only one summer has passed since she last seen him.  They used to be the same height, but now she had to look up in order to make eye contact with him.  Sebastian had filled in, shoulders a lot more broad then they used to be.  His thick school robes failed to hide the muscular definition he had built up.  The baby fat on his cheeks that she liked so much had disappeared, instead replaced with a handsome jaw line.  His new tan failed to hide the freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose. 
He was…well…Sebastian had always been devastatingly handsome-objectively speaking, of course- but this…this was far too much. 
"You…look….you look-"  her face turned bright scarlet, unable to find an adjective that was appropriate.  It was normal for good friends to comment each other's appearances.  Right?...Right?  Sebastian's lips curled upwards teasingly, no doubt taking joy in her discomfort.
"-you look…well, Sebastian." 
"The summer air in Feldcroft has been kind to me."  Sebastian stared at her with the sort of intensity that made her look away from his gaze.  "I could say the same to you.  It seems that the sun has blessed your skin rather nicely over the long break."
Her brows twisted in confusion.  Had her skin been that bad in their sixth year?  She hadn't been the most immune to typical teenage acne woes, but surely, they hadn't been so awful?  
She brushed her fingertips to her cheeks.  "Sebastian, what do you mean-" 
Before she could finish the thought, a new voice from behind her interrupted their conversation.  "Hello, dove." 
Again, she jumped a good inch in the air, nearly tripping over her feet into Sebastian's chest.  Ominis's smooth aristocratic voice was recognizably familiar.  However, the new nickname for her, "Dove", was certainly not.  Since when was Ominis, the boy who was bred upon fine etiquette, ever so forward with his female friends?  She turned around, blinking in confusion.    
Whatever strange phenomenon happened to Sebastian over the summer seemed to have inflicted itself upon Ominis was well.  In only a couple of months, Ominis had sprouted as tall as a giant.  His legs seemed to travel forever.  It didn't hurt that he was always dressed so well, the well-fitted expensive fabric clung to the sharp lines of his body.  She couldn't help but rudely ogle at his pale neck.  With his high cheek bones and beauty marks, Ominis had always been unfairly pretty.  Unfortunately (fortunately?), it had only gotten worse over time.
Her brain finally caught up with her.  She had been staring rather rudely for a while.  Finally, she blinked, registering the new, odd, nickname Ominis called her.  "D-dove?"  She repeated dumbly.
Ominis smirked, getting closer to her.  Wow, even if she got on her tiptoes, she wouldn't be able to meet him at eyelevel.  "Is that not what you are: an innocent, beautiful bird amongst the sea of hawks?"
Her throat was dry.  Who taught Ominis to talk like this?  In their sixth year, Ominis was nothing but curt, overly formal, and incredibly testy whenever Sebastian was around.
Was this even Ominis at all?  Perhaps this was Polyjuice.  Or maybe it was a prank.  Ominis hadn't taken too kindly to her prank as Headmaster Black all the way back in their 5th year.  Yes, this was certainly some sort of jest to make her feel incredibly nervous. 
It was working.
Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips.  "A-am I to understand, in your analogy, that I am your prey and Sebastian and you are the hawks hunting me?" 
Ominis was so close to her.  She couldn't help but take a step back, only to nearly step on Sebastian's shoes.  It seemed as though the path blocked by Ominis in front of her and Sebastian behind her.  Her head swiveled around.  Neither of the boys seemed particularly upset at the violation of her personal space. 
Sebastian threw his arm around her neck in a friendly manner that was anything but causal from her perspective.  "Ominis, give our poor girl a rest!  She's had a rather long journey after all."  Sebastian winked.
Her muscles stiffened in surprise.  Sebastian was always a more tactile person, always clapping his friends on the back, always pulling her close to his side in a duel.  None of that was new…but the thickness of his biceps certainly was.  As his biceps flexed around her neck, she shivered.  She could feel the toned fibers of the muscle straining against his Hogwarts robes.  Was Sebastian always so muscular?
What…in Merlin's name was going on?  Her brain felt so foggy, maybe it truly was some type of hex they secretly cast on her.  Shaking her head, she tried to get rid of her dazed state of mind.  She needed to gain some type of normalcy to this frankly bizarre exchange. 
Coming up with nothing to fix this rapidly escalating situation, she stuck out her hand for a handshake, as if she was greeting an old acquaintance instead of one of her closest friends.  Even as she did so, she cringed, already feeling so awkward.
"Um….how was your summer, Ominis?" 
Ominis's thin hand reached up to hold her hand, but instead of shaking it, he held it in his.  Her body stilled, frozen in place, not wanting to ever let go of him.  Before she could even react, he bent at the waist bringing her hands up to his lips.  His cold lips brushed against the top of her hand, in a very polite kiss.  It was a featherlight touch, barely there, but it still left a searing burn on her skin that travelled up her arm.  Her heart was pounding in her ears.   
This…wasn't…she wasn't trying to offer her hand for him to kiss it!  Sure, it was normal, even respectful for any gentleman in this day and age to greet a lady in this manner but…common courtesy dictated that it last no more than a few brief seconds.
…and…well, time seemed to be moving differently, but she was certain that his kiss lasted far longer than normal.
As Ominis (quite sadly) pulled away, the bustling noises of the other students around them came back to life.  She was suddenly reminded that they were not alone.  Sebastian, jealous, envious, possessive Sebastian, had bore witness to it all.  Even if it was a polite gesture between friends, there was no way in hell that he would allow it to happen.
She looked back fearfully, terrified that Sebastian's infamous temper would boil over and lash out at Ominis.
To her shock, the same flirty look was on his face.  "Why Ominis, leave some for me next time?"
She felt lightheaded.  She never labelled herself as one of those highbrow fancy ladies who needed a fainting chair everywhere they went but…at this rate, it might be a good idea to conjure one up anyway.
This all had to be attributed to the vapors of the Hogwarts train, a collective moment of craziness or delusion that they all shared.  They were all having an active psychotic break.  Or…some type of magical curse.
"I…I need to go um…" Her brain came up blank.  "-say hello to Poppy and Natty!"
And, the hero of Hogwarts and the most powerful witch of their generation, fled the scene with as much grace as she could muster. 
As she turned to look back, Sebastian sauntered close to Ominis, learning his shoulder against his.  Their bodies pressed closely against each other, uncaring of the lack of personal space.  They both looked completely unperturbed at how she rudely brushed them off.
She shivered.  What in Merlin's name was going on with them?
Part 2
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seeingivy · 8 months
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award show etiquette
actor!eren x f!reader
**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here
content: light mentions of paparazzi/stalking, SMAU!!!! hehehehe, some fun cameos (HEHEHEHE), eren being a jealous little baby, eren and y/n being so corny
an: enjoy :DDD (for some regular readers, play close attention to usernames)
previous part linked here
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Things change in the next six months. You turn sixteen. Falco and Colt buy you a shiny acoustic guitar as a gift for you to start writing songs like you’ve always wanted. The guitar is nice, but the writing doesn’t go so well. You don’t land any new acting roles for your hiatus, but everyone else does. 
All in all, some parts of your dreams feel real, like you’re standing at the doorstep of everything that you ever wanted. But the setbacks are so debilitating sometimes it feels like you’re wasting your efforts. Plus, your dreams come with their own set of nightmares too. 
Attack on Titan truly does trend overnight - really gaining traction around the fifth episode. Whenever episodes air, almost everyone is on social media talking about it - live tweeting the scenes, commenting on how phenomenal the storyline, the acting, the costumes were, trying to guess what happens next. It was almost like a trend, becoming bigger and bigger by everyone talking about it, pointing out all the little details woven into the story, following the press junkets.
The reception of the show feels like a victory. Levi, Erwin, and Hange get praised on the daily and people fall in love with the cast fast. Despite receiving a horrendous first impression score from The Elms, they officially take away their initial criticisms and give a glowing recommendation of you after the airing of the third episode - going as far as calling you the cast member to watch out for. 
The show gets renewed for three more seasons by the eighth episode and suddenly you’re getting offers for things you have no idea about. You need a publicist, a makeup team, a personal designer, someone to control your social media presence and a manager for your next moves. Even though you're not even at that level.
It’s…taxing. You’re not really sure what you want to do next. You’re only sixteen - there’s only so much childhood left that you can cherish. But they all insist that this traction won’t come back and that you can’t fall off. There’s pressure to deliver, to keep the momentum going. 
You don’t mean to sound ungrateful. This is what you wanted, but it's far off from what you expected. Evey beyond the entire thing being stressful, it changes even the tiniest, miniscule details of your life - one’s you never even recognized as important before.
Because when you go back to school, you’re not sure what’s going on. Your usual friends treat you weirdly, people who had no idea you existed are going on about how you guys have always been great friends, no one talks to you unless it’s Attack on Titan related. And it’s not that you don’t love talking about it, because you do, but it feels weird to share and bring to your tiny little unimportant high school. 
You feel like a shiny, plastic toy, something people ogle in the hallways, but never touch or come near for posterity's sake. 
And when you leave school, there’s a flood of paparazzi waiting for you right outside, snapping pictures of you, Colt, and Falco as you wait on the block. And they follow you all the way home, taking a seat outside your house. You think it’s stalking. And surprisingly enough, the law doesn’t see it that way. 
Meaning you have to put up with the fact that they’re waiting for you every morning, following your moves like little vultures. And you’re not sure what’s so interesting about you checking your mail, but you’re advised against it, and suddenly you can’t. 
You can’t go to the park. Or the grocery store. Or even into your own backyard because in all senses of the word, they are kind of relentless. 
It feels harsh to say, but you feel like a prisoner. Like you’re watching life move on outside of you - kids biking down the pavement, Colt walking to the store, your neighbors mowing the lawn - and you never realized what a luxury mundane things like this were.
To be unknown, a face in a sea of people rather than a deer stuck in headlights, frozen where you are. Because the people you knew don’t see you the same way, and really, you’re not a stranger to anyone anymore. 
It sucks. It’s amazing. You hate it. You love it. The highs and the lows fluctuate so fast that sometimes you feel like you’re a crazy person - teetering from one place to another. Everyone loves your acting, but no one wants to sit with you at school during lunch. The paparazzi stay outside your house almost all day, everyday but you got invited to announce an award at the Savants Show. 
In some way, your feelings feel inherently wrong. Because this is some people’s dream, and it used to be yours too, but really you just want to go to the grocery store with your little brother and buy snacks. You want to talk to your friends at recess, not get asked random questions while you’re shoved into your car. 
Marco visits around the four month mark, after you confide in him that it hasn’t been the greatest. He spends a whole week with your family - teaching Falco how to play Go, Colt teaches him how to do card tricks, and the two of you spend all night talking about anything and everything. And you love him for it. Because really, you’re not the only one going through this. Sure, they were primed for this since they were little, but it’s nice to have someone who understands you by your side. 
And Eren calls you every single night, to the point where you’re both falling asleep on the phone together, his soft breathing lulling you to sleep every night. Some part of you feels guilty confiding in him, since he is on the set of a really big movie he’s filming right now, but he always assuages any guilt you have with his words.
“How was your day, Y/N?” he asks, nestled into a gray hoodie, the smallest tufts of his brown hair peeking out of the hood. 
He’s leaning against his headboard, his forearm resting against his head and his eyes shut closed. Because he’s six hours ahead of you, in Switzerland. And it’s the middle of the night. 
“Is your roommate there?” 
He laughs, his dimples appearing in the glow of the computer light. 
“He’s really mad at us about last night. He told me we need to stop giggling so late so he can get some “beauty sleep” or whatever.” 
“I don’t giggle. He must hate me.” 
“Oh, for sure. But Ry hates everyone.” 
“Rude.”
“I asked a question. How was your day, Y/N?” 
“Ah. It was okay, Eren. Same old.” 
His eyes flutter open and he leans forward, the concern washing over his eyes. And you hate when he does this, because really, it’s worse to have Eren pity you more than anything. 
“Y/N.” 
“Hm?” 
“Six days.” 
You smile, brushing down the ends of your hair. Right. Six days till you and Eren are together again. 
“Yeah. It feels like time passed by really fast.” 
“What are you talking about? It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen you. I’m not even sure what you look like anymore.” 
“Bullshit. You literally FaceTime me every single day, Eren.” 
“Still. It’ll be nice. To see you in person, to not have the Wifi lag because Coco is trying to play Roblox.” 
“He got banned the other day.” 
“For what?” 
“He censored a curse word, but still got banned because it picked it up.” 
“Rookie mistake, Falco. He can have my account if it’s that serious.” 
You both laugh, falling into a comfortable silence, as you stare at each other on the screen. The white light of the screen is doing little to illuminate Eren’s face in the dark room he’s sitting in and really, you can only make out the harsh figures on his face.
The bridge of his nose, the shape of his eyebrows, only one dimple, and his lips. And when he leans back, placing the phone on the side, as he nestles into his pillow, you put Eren to the side, typing away on your computer. When you glance over in a few minutes, he’s fast asleep, only the sounds of his breathing coming out of the phone. 
Six days.  
As far as red carpets go, this has to be a memorable first. You arrive there at six o’clock, which is when the red carpet starts. Meaning the rest of the cast is already out there, getting pictures taken, doing interviews while your cab driver is Tokyo Drifting you through the streets of New York City.
The second you arrive, Mikasa’s styling team throws you into a frenzy. You’re attired into a long, flowing green dress, because the original outfit that you had picked out got lost in the airport debacle. 
Right. You would have been there on time if the universe was actually on your side for once. You were supposed to fly in on Thursday, with the rest of the Attack on Titan cast. You were all going to be staying together in a house near the awards show, so that you guys could get started on table reads this weekend before you start filming again next month. 
Except, your flight got delayed and you didn’t make it in time. And they accidentally lost your luggage in the time in between canceling your flight and scheduling you a new one. Which leaves you in your current dilemma, of walking onto the carpet an hour late. 
Somewhere in the middle of the carpet, a very antsy and anxious Eren Jaeger is doing press interviews. He’s styled in all black and a green tie, meant by his styling team to compliment the color of his eyes. He doesn’t get that entire thing, but does it anyway. 
“Do you have any news you can tell us about the next season of Attack on Titan?” 
Before Eren can respond, he feels a hand clamped over his mouth, Ymir standing behind him with a stern expression on her face. 
“Do not answer that, Eren.” grumbles Ymir, the interviewer laughing at the two of you. 
Eren rolls his eyes as he and Ymir stand side by side, the two of them answering questions from the interviewer. 
“Are you guys really friends outside of the set?” 
“No. Eren Jaeger is insufferable.” responds Ymir, Eren reaching over to smack her cheek as they both laugh. 
“Yes, we’re all really good friends. Some of us more than oth-” 
Ymir’s response is cut off by a loud sound of cheering, all of the photographers on that side of the carpet rushing to the front. And when he leans over the crowd of people to see you at the center, with all these cameras flashing at you, he can feel his heart thumping in his chest and an almost inevitable smile spreading across his face. 
It’s you. It’s really you - in real life and not on a shitty wifi phone screen but only ten feet away from him, looking like the sun. 
The entire thing is overstimulating. There’s almost a dozen camera’s flashing, all at one time. You’re trying your best to smile but all you can hear is clicking, twenty different people saying your name trying to get your attention, and your cheeks burning from keeping your smile in th3 same position as you flick your eyes around. 
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see it. The tufts of brown hair you have committed to memory. You look to your right to find Eren and Ymir smiling at you, the two of them giving you waves. And you turn back to the crowd, whisper a polite sorry, and run right into Ymir’s arms first. 
“Ymir, I missed you so much.” 
“Yeah, yeah. I’d miss me too.” 
You pull back, every unpleasant feeling in your chest accumulating for the past six months lessening at the warmth of someone so familiar, someone you love so much gleaming at you in your arms. Ymir rolls her eyes and pinches your cheek as she walks away, leaving you and Eren standing on the carpet. 
You can feel yourself smiling really big and you try your best to will it down, but the pure anticipation and adrenaline of the event, and Eren Jaeger, really standing in the flesh in front of you, stops any efforts you may have. 
“Hi Eren.” you whisper. 
“Hi Y/N.” he whispers back. 
You lean forward and lock your hands around his neck, to which he crushes you in his hold, the two of you giggling in each other's ears as you hug each other, cheeks slightly flushed. And for the rest of the carpet, you and Eren link arms, taking turns answering the interviewers questions and taking pictures together. 
“Do you guys like each other?” 
“I mean, I sure hope Eren likes me. We are best friends and all.” you respond. 
Eren reaches forward, smacking his palm against your forehead. 
“Shut up. You know I like you.” 
You and Eren feel a sudden weight on your shoulders, and in true menace form, Connie Springer is leaning against both of your frames. He leans forward into the microphone, grinning at the interviewer as he starts talking. 
“Oh, they like each other all right. They have all these little things they do on set that none of us are allowed to do with them. Like oh, you can’t eat ramen with Y/N that’s our thing. Or oh, you can’t get slushies with Eren, we’ve been doing that since we got here.” 
You lean forward and flick Connie on the forehead, as Eren rolls his eyes. 
“Are you jealous, Connie?” you ask. 
“No. I just want some of that bitch ass ramen you guys are always making.” 
Erwin and Levi walk up, the two of them pinching Connie’s cheek as he whines. 
“Language, Springer.” Levi mutters. 
He drops Connie’s ear and places his hand in your hair, giving you a warm smile. Erwin gives you a hearty hug before the two of them walk away, meeting Hange at the end of the carpet. 
You turn back to the interviewer, you and Eren answering final questions before walking away all together. The second you get away from her, Connie’s leaning down, crushing you in a hug and lifting you into the air. 
“I missed you yesterday.” Connie mutters, his breath tickling your ears. 
“I know, I was so sad to miss it. I really missed you guys too.”  You’re not entirely sure why - but Connie, Ymir, Eren, these comforting people after six months of hellscape are enough for the air to get tangled in your throat and the warm tears to start welling in your eyes. 
Connie swings his arm around Eren as he talks, smirking at the two of you. 
“Some of us missed you more than others.” Connie grins, poking Eren’s cheeks. 
“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 
“Eren pouted all day. Looked nearly depressed when he had to eat that measly ramen bowl by himself. Stared at pictures of you on his phone.” 
“I DIDN’T LOOK AT PICTURES OF HER ON MY PHONE.” Eren responds, now yanking Connie by the ear. 
Connie rolls his eyes as he runs off, leaving you and Eren to walk the last part of the red carpet together. 
Right before you make it into the venue, you feel a tugging on your dress, to be met with two kids who must be a few years younger than you, matching smiles on their faces. You and Eren crouch down, taking in their outfits
They’re dressed as you and Eren, from the show. With perfect green capes and a red scarf. Why are they watching your show? Seems a bit gory for their age. 
“Hi. I’m Y/N.” you say, holding out your hand. 
They both excitedly shake, stumbling over their words as they start talking. 
“Hi. I-I love you so much. You-you’re both so cool and we just-we love you so much we-” the girl starts. 
“We made-made you a gift.” the boy continues. 
Eren leans forward, holding his hand out, as he gives the two of them a warm smile. 
“You guys are too kind. Y/N and I really appreciate it, truly.” 
They place two friendship bracelets in your hands, which you and Eren immediately slide onto your hands. You and Eren take the time to give each of them a hug, making sure their parents are able to snap pictures, before you head back inside. 
When you’re inside the safe confines of the theater, you look down at the bracelets. Yours is green and Eren’s is pink. The beads in the middle of yours say “attack on eren” and the beads in the middle of Eren’s say “attack on y/n” - like your matching tag names on Twitter. 
“Hey. They accidentally switched them when they gave it to us. My bracelet says your name.” you say. 
“There’s no way they would give us the wrong ones.” 
“They could have gotten nervous. Why would I wear a bracelet with your name on it when you-” 
“I’m keeping this one.” he says, with a tone so definitive you don’t even want to respond. 
You and Eren hold your wrists out to admire them, the soft beads standing out against your fancy clothes. It’s simple. You love it. 
You reach down and tangle one of your hands with Eren’s. He squeezes three times. You squeeze back. 
And for the first time in six months, you feel at ease. 
“Wait so, explain this to me one more time.” you ask, being met with eleven prepared faces staring back at you. 
“These are the Savant TV show awards. There are other ones for things like movies, music, and plays. Any show that is part of this cycle has to send names in to nominate for each award. Five are selected in each category and then a select group of people in the industry, we call them the Institute, usually vote on winners.” starts Bertholdt. 
“Okay. That makes sense. Is that how they pick triple threats too?” 
Eren’s hand is still locked in yours, hidden under the pleats of your dress. He squeezes three times at the mention of a triple threat and you get the message.
You got this.
“Well, triple threats are different. They’re kind of variable and get announced randomly. Some years you can have a lot of triple threats and some years none. But when they get picked, they announce the three pieces that made them a triple threat. Then they have to do this long and personal interview where they discuss their time in the industry - good, bad, all of it - and at whatever award show is next, they pick one of the three - singing, dancing, or acting - and perform a piece at the end of the show.” explains Annie, fidgeting with the ends of her perfectly curled hair. 
“Do we have any triple threats today?” you ask. 
“No. But besides triple threat performances, there’s also other performers and an ensemble showcase. Have you ever seen one?” asks Armin, leaning forward to pull Annie’s hands down from ruining her hair. 
“No. What’s that?” 
“Basically, each year the Savants pick a show to perform for an ensemble showcase. It’s the cast of the entire show, or just a select portion of it, and they usually perform a dance or sing a song related to the show. This year, it’s the cast of Blue Lock, the soccer show?” responds Armin.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” 
“They’re performing that song Get Your Head in the Game from that movie High School Musical? They’re all going to do a bunch of soccer tricks on stage while they sing the song is what I’ve heard. People usually relate it to the show they’re in some type of way.” says Armin
Before the rest of them can explain more, the lights dim and you focus your head to the front, the show starting. You don’t really recognize the hosts or anyone in the room - which to you is a sign that you really should start paying attention - and you try to focus on what they’re saying. 
They’re cracking jokes about different people in the industry, which Eren explains to you in your ear as they talk. What the jokes mean, who they’re talking about, what shows they’re from. They even crack a joke about you and Eren. 
“The cast of Attack on Titan is here tonight.” 
The statement is met with an array of cheers in the room, and in true Connie and Reiner fashion, they’re both standing up for no reason, bowing to the crowd. That just garners them both a cascading sound of laughter from the audience, which only gets louder when Erwin yanks Connie and Reiner down by the ear. 
“Getting to watch the story unfold, all the twists and turns - it’s almost impossible not to pay attention to such a thrilling story. I’m sure we can’t say the same for our hosting skills, because our sweet leads Y/N and Eren have been whispering in each other's ears the entire time instead of listening to us.” 
The light flashes in yours and Eren’s faces, the two of you with widened expressions as you laugh at everyone staring you down. And when Eren says, sorry what did you say? with a confused tone in his voice, the entire audience laughs and then they move on. 
Somewhere around a third of the way into the show, the usher comes to the seats, whispering in your ear that it’s time for you to come backstage. 
Right. You’re supposed to be presenting an award with another actor. And you totally forgot. 
You turn to your right to look at Eren and before you can even express the panic, he’s already settling you down. Eren Jaeger, mind reader. 
“You’ll be fine. You just have to stand there and present the award. He’s really weird but he’s nice most of the time.” 
"What? I can’t do this, Eren. They’re all going to be staring at me and I don’t even-” 
Mikasa and Bertholdt’s hands are on your shoulder, squeezing twice as the usher leads you along. You turn back to look at Eren, and he gives you a warm smile as you try to focus on the task at hand. 
When you get backstage, everyone is in a frenzy. There are so many different crew members running around - microphones in their ears, sound-checking mics, making sure that the video on the screen stops playing on time. It reminds you of the chaos on set that you like to watch, except this is entirely more nerve-wracking because of the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. 
You tap on the guy closest to you, a boy that can’t be much older than you with pink hair. 
“Hi. I’m supposed to present the award next, do you have any idea who I’m supposed to be presenting with?” 
“Ah. That would be Ryomen Sukuna.” 
“Oh. I’ve never heard of him.” 
He frowns, squinting his eyes at you as you lean forward. You take a second to take him in more closely, his perfectly fitted suit with a black tie. You’re not sure why, but you swear you know him from somewhere. 
“You’ve never heard of him? Ever?” 
You shake your head as he starts laughing, the grin on his face so wide. And before you can ask what’s so funny, they’re pushing you onto stage, the bright lights shining in your face. You scan the crowd for Eren, who mouths it’s okay before you and him start. 
You clear your throat as you turn to the guy, who you now realize is the same pink-haired guy from backstage. 
“Wait. What are you doing here?” 
He laughs - and the entire audience does too - as he turns to you, a devious grin in his eyes. He holds his hand out, which you return, as he introduces himself. 
“Hi Y/N. I’m Ryomen Sukuna.” 
You feel your eyes widen as he lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he continues. You can feel your mind running in circles as you clutch the envelope in your hand, zoning back in to pay attention to him. 
“You know, you and Eren spend all night giggling, talking about god knows what. Of course, this asshole never mentions me.” 
And then you remember. Pink hair, Ry. Ryomen Sukuna. He’s Eren’s roommate, from the movie he was just filming. 
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I remember now, you’re Eren’s roommate and-” 
“You’re standing here with me and you’re talking about Eren?” 
“Ah, I-” 
“You keep me up all night by calling Eren and you don’t even know my name. And then I'm trying to have a moment with you and you're talking about another guy?” 
He's doing a bit. Right. Because from what you could tell, almost everyone who presents an award does one. Maybe this is just his. 
“I'm sorry?” 
The entire audience laughs at your words and Sukuna rolls his eyes, saying something about how hard it is to impress girls these days, as he hands you a lollipop. 
“What’s this for?” 
“The people sitting in the front row, Y/N. It’s obviously for you.” he deadpans. 
“Oh, okay that’s kind of weird. Thanks!” 
The audience laughs as you unwrap the lollipop, handing the envelope to Sukuna so you can do it properly.
“It’s about that time. Ready to read the name, Y/N?” 
You nod as you take the lollipop out of your mouth, handing it to Sukuna and you focus on ripping the golden tape on the envelope. Except as you’re opening it, the entire crowd starts laughing and you’re not entirely sure why. 
“Am I that bad at opening this or something?” 
They laugh even more, which makes you turn to Sukuna for reassurance, which is when you see it. Sukuna just put your lollipop in his mouth. Like, the lollipop with your saliva all over it in his mouth. 
“Hey! I was eating that.” 
He pops it out of his mouth and holds it in between you, smirking at you. 
“Want it back, sweetheart?” 
You take it from his hands and shove it back into his mouth - which at this point, the audience is literally screaming at the two of you - as you open up the envelope. And when you read the name and hand the award over, you and Sukuna exit the stage, bickering as you get off. 
“You’re such a weirdo freak. I did want to eat that lollipop.” 
“Then eat it. There’s still some left, sweetheart,” he says, a joking tone present in his voice. 
“You’re so gross. That’s like literally sharing saliva.” 
“We can do that in other ways too if you want.” 
“Ew. Are you always like this?” 
You both laugh as you exit the stage, back into the panic behind the curtains. As people move around you and him, taking mic boxes off, you turn to him. 
“Okay, okay. Let’s start over. I’m Y/N L/N. No more sassing me because I forgot you name.” 
He gives you a glimmering smile, holding his hand out. 
“Okay, okay. Ryomen Sukuna. Call him in the middle of the night and I will do this again.” 
As you both continue talking, a group of people join him at his side, clearly his friends. Another boy with pink hair, who looks literally identical to him, a shorter boy with black spiky hair, and two girls - one with green hair and one with brown. 
They’re all yanking Sukuna by the ears, telling him that he - as always - is doing too much. 
The boy with pink hair turns to you, the look on his face apologetic. 
“He’s always like this. Menacing. We sincerely apologize.” 
You smile, holding your hand out to him as he repeats his name and the rest of them follow suit.. Itadori Yuuji. Megumi Fushiguro. Nobara Kugisaki and Maki Zenin. 
“We’re the cast of Jujutsu Kaisen.” responds Nobara, as she flicks Sukuna on the forehead. 
“Ah. I’m one of the cast members of-”
“Attack on Titan.” they all respond in unison, smiling at you. 
After a few minutes, you’re joined by a group of your own friends - Ymir, Reiner, Marco, and Eren - as well as Levi and a taller man with white hair. 
Marco and Ymir give you warm smiles and squeezes on the shoulder as they congratulate you for doing a good job, saying that the reception was really funny and that you and Sukuna are trending on Twitter. Eren's uncharacteristically silent, brooding in the corner. Before you can mention it, Sukuna beats you to it. 
“Eren. Do you need to take a shit?” says Sukuna, leaning forward to smile at him. 
“What?” Eren responds. 
“You look agitated as fuck. Like you have to take a shit.” 
Ymir and Reiner laugh, poking Eren’s cheeks and teasing him, as you move to the side, paying attention to Levi’s conversation. 
“All they do is cuss. I need to start actually punishing them or they’re going to end up cursing like sailors in a few years.” 
“Tell me about it, Satoru. Jean is actually horrible, I will genuinely wash his mouth out with soap the next time he says fuck near me.” 
Satoru. Satoru Gojo. You may not know many celebrities, but you sure know this one. 
He’s a triple threat. 
“When I got cast on a show with a bunch of kids, I didn’t realize I was going to become a father.” sighs Satoru, grinning at the group of them as he talks. 
“You’re not our father.” the group of them respond, breaking from their own conversations to shoot him down. 
Levi laughs as he looks down at you, placing a hand in your hair as you join their conversation. Satoru crouches down to your height, smiling at you as he talks. 
“Good job. That was real funny, kid.” 
“Thank you so much.” 
“Are you as rude to Levi as my kids are to me?” Satoru asks. 
“We’re not your kids.” respond Megumi and Nobara, breaking from their conversation again. 
“He does kind of remind me of my dad! He always gives good advice on set and helps me and-” 
Levi crouches down, glaring at you. 
“I’m not your dad.” 
“Yes you are.” 
“No, I’m not.” 
Marco and Reiner walk over, holding onto Levi’s arms as they respond. 
“Yes, you are.” 
You all turn your heads to Satoru, who is now pouting. 
“They cast the wrong kids in my show. Mine are so ungrateful,” he says, leaning down to pinch Megumi’s ear, which he just returns by literally smacking Satoru off. 
You all laugh as you get directed back into your seats, as it’s time to present the next award. You wave them all goodbyes as you start walking in line with Eren, who you now realize you hadn’t talked to the entire time. His jaw is locked, an implacable look in his face. You reach down and tangle your hand with his, to which he finally looks over at you. 
“Hey. Was it okay?” 
He stops in his tracks, letting Ymir, Marco, and Reiner walk forward, as you stand in the outskirts of the curtain. 
“It was good, Y/N. Really good.” he sighs. 
“So why are you upset?” 
He frowns as he looks over at you, his mouth in a straight line. 
“It’s stupid.” 
“No it’s not, Eren. Just tell me!” 
“Imannoyedhekissedyourhand” he murmurs quickly, under his breath. 
“Sorry, what was that? It’s kind of loud in here.” 
“igotjealousseeingyouguysupthere.” he murmurs again, his cheeks turning red. 
You lean completely into his space, looking straight into his green eyes. 
“Sorry, Eren. One more time, yeah?” 
“I’m annoyed he kissed your hand! It made me jealous because that should have been me and not him and he’s just doing that because I-” 
Before he can finish, you start laughing, which stops Eren in his tracks and now he’s glaring at you. 
“Quit making fun of me, Y/N.”
“I’m not! It’s just so cute, Eren. You’re so-” 
“I’m glad you find my personal torture cute, Y/N.” 
“Personal torture? Did you get more dramatic from the last time I saw you?” 
“Imagine being me. I just watched an idiot, a real life blathering idiot like Sukuna, kiss your hand before I got to do it. And I was sitting next to Connie too. That’s so annoying and now everyone is going to make fun of me and-” 
And now you get it. He’s…jealous. Of Sukuna. From what Itadori and Maki told you, Sukuna’s kind of infamous for being a cheeky little shit, going about things as he pleases. And Eren’s feeling possessive because you’re best friends. Connie being a little bitch probably didn’t help matters either. 
You’re not sure where you garner up this uncharacteristic courage or boldness from, but you hold out your left hand to Eren.
“What? Trying to rub it in my face now? You’re worse than Ymir.” 
“No, no. Sukuna kissed my right hand. But he didn’t kiss my left, so you can just do it now.” 
You watch his eyes widen and his face turn positively red as he starts blabbering, awkwardly pushing his hands through his hair and teetering on his heels.
“Huh? What? You can’t just- you’re just saying that. This is weird. You’re-you? What? I can’t like- oh my god. What the-” 
You place one of your hands on his shoulder as you look at him, trying to muster the sweetest smile you can. 
“Eren. Please?” 
The ask makes him give in and he shakily places his hand in yours, lifting your knuckles against his mouth as he places a soft kiss in between your second and third knuckle. And when you smile at him again, positively gleaming, Eren curses your existence. He hates you for making him feel like this. 
“Screw you, Y/N.” 
“What? What happened now?” 
"You. You’re annoying.” 
You roll your eyes as you and Eren walk back to your seats, hands locked together and already met with a barrage of insults from Sasha and Annie. They’re pinching Eren’s cheeks, mimicking Sukuna taking your lollipop, the rest of them all teasing him. 
But when you look over and smile at Eren, which he returns, you both focus your heads back on the show, the speakers talking. And when Eren drives away at the end of the night, you hold onto the feeling. 
Just one more month until you’re back together. All of you, for real.
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elizabethwritesmen · 6 months
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I once was poison ivy
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╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗
Part 2 but now I’m your daisy
Older!Fireman!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
Synopsis - You've spent your entire life taking men who intend to manipulate you and manipulating them instead. It's the only way you know how to survive. Then, one day, you meet Steve Harrington and you realize love and lust are so much more than survival.
A/N - This will be a two-parter. Maybe three if it runs too long.
Warnings: Fluff, sexual themes, smut to come in the second part, talks of using men for their money, vivid description of a car accident, drunk driving.
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I've been breaking hearts a long time and Fooling with them older guys Just playthings for me to use
The napkin on my lap was in pieces.
I'd been tearing it apart, whether out of anxious habit or sheer boredom I wasn't sure.
The man sitting across from me just would not stop talking. He started the second I met up with him in the parking lot and hadn't closed his mouth since. I nodded along and provided just enough commentary to seem present, but my brain was miles away.
He cleared his throat, staring at me pointedly until I met his eyes, a saccharine smile gracing my face.
"Are you alright, doll? I know all this shop talk can be a lot for a pretty girl like you to keep up with," he stated with all the confidence in the world, and I fought a scoff at his condescension.
"Oh, I'm fine!" I grinned wildly, almost childlike, "To be honest, I'm just in awe of you. Absolutely fascinated. I keep asking myself what I did to deserve a date with you!"
The lies cut through my teeth like butter, slick and smooth. I knew they worked when he puffed out his chest and a red tint covered his full cheeks, "Well darling, if you keep talking to me like that, you'll get more than one date with me!"
"There's nothing I'd love more!"
I know I should've cursed him for all he was worth, but that's not how my lifestyle worked. I didn't care how much of a pig a man was, as long as his money was louder than his mouth. And this man's money definitely was.
You see, he was older, a business man. He worked at some high end finance job, and he was most definitely the boss. I met him through my own job. I was a waitress and he frequented my corner booth on his lunch breaks. He knew my schedule and came to eat every single day I worked at 12:00 sharp with a new story about his job, his divorce, or his 1970 Chevelle. On the days I didn't work, he stayed away, claiming I was the only girl there worth looking at. And, every time, he left me a crisp 100 as a tip.
The last time he'd come in, he'd ended his lunch by asking me on a date. He told me he wanted to pick a dress out for me and treat me to the nicest dinner I'd ever had. Poor thing had no idea he wasn't the first millionaire to offer that. I agreed happily, pushing down any reservations and forcing myself to look forward to it.
So there we were, at one of those restaurants where you have to dress formally and use certain etiquette. I hated those places, I knew I didn't belong there, but it was what I had to do and I always did it with a smile on my face.
He continued talking and I began fiddling with the Versace dress adorning me, tugging on the hem. I only heard snippets of what he was saying. After hearing a million men tell the same stories, I thought there was no reason to pay any real attention.
Our waitress startled me out of the trance I'd fallen into, dropping the check off at our table.
"Here," he smiled, placing $200 neatly in the little black book, "That's enough for you to add a cheesecake to-go for my beautiful companion, and to buy something pretty for yourself!"
The girl's eyes widened and she grinned, staring at the generous amount she'd been given. It took her mere moments to bring by a bag with the cheesecake in a box at the bottom, and I was finally done.
"I'll walk you to your car," Mr. Boring offered in a way that I couldn't possibly refuse.
Well, almost done.
Once we reached my Passat, he pressed me lightly against the driver's door and planted a sloppy kiss on my lips. I cringed my way through it until it was finally over, and he opened my door for me.
"Maybe we can go out again next week?" he proposed, "I'll call you and we can set it up."
"Of course!" I nodded, eagerly climbing into the seat.
"Oh, and before I forget," he sighed, pulling his wallet from his pocket and fishing out two more crisp hundred dollar bills, "This should cover gas and the rest is a thank-you for making an old man feel young again. Seeing you in that dress made my evening."
I smiled at him as he walked away, my expression dropping the second he was out of sight. And then, I was finally headed home.
Something happened for the first time In the darkest little paradise Shaking, pacing, I just need you
It was about a 30 minute drive to my house, and I had the music cranked up the entire way. I was passing through the last intersection before my highway exit when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
It was an SUV, much bigger than my car, headed straight for me. It was going so fast but in that moment time slowed down. It was too late for me to stop or get out of the way, I knew I was screwed. I yanked the wheel to the right, hoping they wouldn't hit me directly. I thought that if they caught the back end of my car it would hurt less.
They slammed into the back driver's side door, just barely missing me, sending me careening across the highway and into the ditch. I screamed as my head slammed into my window, blood running down my temple and onto my neck.
Finally, everything stopped. My car was, beyond all rationality, still playing music. I turned it all the way down, looking around.
The SUV was upside down on the highway, engulfed in flames. I saw a man laying about 20 feet away from it on the asphalt. I prayed he was okay, and that nobody else was in his vehicle.
Then, I examined myself. Glass had shattered everywhere, and there was a pile of it in my lap. My poor Versace was tattered and bloody, and I frowned momentarily in a small fit of grief. The back of my car was completely done for, and I was shocked my airbags didn't go off. Of course, there was no impact to the front of my car.
It only took minutes for sirens to overtake the scene. There were two ambulances, a firetruck, and several police cars.
I slipped my seatbelt off, groaning at the pain. It felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I guess I had, in a manner of speaking. My body was suffering from the turmoil.
Shockingly, my door opened when I pulled the handle and I climbed out, falling to the ground with a cry and a sharp wince.
"Hey, hey, hey!" the voice was deep, and I glanced up to see the fireman it belonged to running in my direction, "Don't move, just stay still. Please, stay still. God, you could've died trying to climb out of that car. Too tough for your own good!" He kneeled beside me, his arms holding me up, his eyes scanning me for all signs of injury. "Here you go, calm down. It's okay now, I've got you."
His voice was soothing me, and so was his thumb as he rubbed calming circles on my hip.
"Please," I cried, my voice almost too small to be audible. I squirmed, trying and failing to break free, "I need... I need..."
I wasn't sure what I was pleading for. I just wanted relief. My bones felt like they were combusting.
"I'm gonna get you some help, sweetheart, I promise. You're safe with me." He called the paramedics over to have a look at me. They ran straight for us and he lifted me up placing me comfortably on the stretcher.
As he began to walk away, I called out meekly, "Please stay with me!" and reached blindly for his hand. He gave it to me and nodded, squeezing my palm lightly as he helped them wheel me to the ambulance. They got me inside of it and starting poking and prodding, asking me questions.
"I don't want to go to the hospital," I whined, "I'm fine, I don't need a hospital."
"We gotta get you to the hospital, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I know it's scary, but you're tough though, huh?," his voice was still so soothing, and I nodded, holding tighter to his hand that was still intertwined with mine.
"Will you come with me?" I stared up at him, my eyes wide and pitiful in a beg.
"I can't, I have to get back and help clean all this up," he told me, his voice regretful.
"Please," I was whimpering at that point, desperate. I hated begging but he was the only thing keeping me from an anxiety attack. The only thing grounding me. The only thing keeping me from asking questions like, what if I'm seriously hurt? What's going to happen with my car? Is my cheesecake okay? How am I going to replace this dress?
Okay, some of the questions were silly but cut me some slack. I'd just been hit by a truck.
He chewed his lip in thought for a moment before sighing, "Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do."
He was gone for about five minutes, but when he came back, he was only in a white T shirt and his turnout pants. He set his jacket and hat on the bench seat next to me and climbed in beside me, grasping my hand again.
"Thank you," I whispered, and the sweet smile he gave me warmed my tummy.
Hours passed in a flurry of medical stuff I didn't understand and tests being run. When everything calmed down, I was sitting on a bed in an ER, a thick medical grade bandaid on my temple where I hit the window and some pain killers in my system. Fortunately, I wasn't hurt badly at all, just extremely sore and shaken up. I had a concussion, but that was the brunt of it.
"Okay, Miss L/N. I've got a prescription here for painkillers, it should help soothe your soreness and your headache. Other than that, you're free to go," the doctor walked in the room and told me jovially. He was nice, he made me feel comfortable. I was thankful to have him instead of someone colder. But what really made me feel comfortable was the firefighter, whose name I'd discovered was Steve. He stayed right beside me the entire time, even when I was first admitted. He even called my mom for me when I was first admitted, and that's the only time he let go of my hand.
"I think that's all, thank you," I sincerely responded.
"Great. Then I'll leave you be. If anything else happens, come back. Concussions are no joke. But I'm sure Steve knows that, so you're in good hands. He'll take care of you," he gave us a pointed look, glancing from mine and Steve's interlaced fingers to our faces.
"Bye, Joe," Steve dramatized, rolling his eyes.
"Bye Steve. Bye Y/N," the doctor responded between laughs, taking his exit.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Steve turned to me, his hard features softening the second his eyes met mine.
"Have you heard anything else from my mom?" I asked, trying to keep the hope in my voice at bay.
"She checked on you once, about an hour ago. I told her I was taking care of you."
"Oh."
His eyes were boring into me, searching. I'm sure it seemed odd to him, a mother not immediately rushing to her child's side when she hears there's been an accident. Wasn't very strange to me, though. My mom had never spared much time for me.
He cleared his throat, speaking more quietly, "She said she wants me to get you home safe, so that's what I'm gonna do. One of the nurses is gonna give us a ride to the station and I'm gonna drive you from there."
"Well it's settled, then. Let's go," I beamed, grabbing his hand and hopping off the bed. I didn't make it very far, though, nearly collapsing the second my feet hit solid ground.
Steve was quick, catching me and holding me steady. I lifted my eyes and they met his, inches away. I could feel his breath, warm against my skin.
"Be careful there, Super Girl. You're too weak to take on the world just yet," he sighed, and I had to fight the urge to lean in.
He was handsome. I'd noticed it the second he ran over to me, my knight in dirty turnout gear. I'd noticed it again in the ambulance when he told me he could go to the hospital with me. And I noticed it as his arms squeezed me tighter.
"I can walk," I mumbled.
"I'm sure you can, but you aren't. Come on, I've got you," he stated, as if there was no room for argument or disagreement. One of the arms around me slipped down to the crook of my knees and he lifted, pulling me securely into his hold. I gasped, grasping tightly to his shirt, my nails leaving imprints in the soft fabric.
"Steve, I'm heavy!" I screeched, and he chuckled.
"Even if you were heavy, I can handle it," he said, like it was obvious. My stare stayed skeptical and he sighed, "Sweetheart, you're not heavy. You're nothing compared to the gear I wear and haul, and the people I have to carry out of buildings."
I stayed stubborn for a moment longer before giving him a slight nod, "If your back starts to break, put me down!"
"I don't have any plans to put you down, sweetheart," he winked, and with that, he was carrying me to the ambulance bay where an Altima was waiting for us. One of the nurses was leaning against it. She was pretty, like a young Angelina Jolie. Her scrubs hugged every curve and jealousy pinged in my gut at how perfect she was. It turned to discomfort, though, when I saw the way she was looking at us.
There was a scowl plastered onto her face, full of judgment. Her eyes were stuck on Steve's arms around me, and if looks could kill, she'd have me dead in a second.
"Can you open the door for me, Bridget?" he asked, frustration laced in his voice from the way she was staring at us instead of helping.
"Of course, Stevie," she cooed, doing as she asked. He helped me in the back seat, going as far as to buckle the belt around me. My breath hitched as he did so, the proximity turning my cheeks bright red.
Bridget's face dropped as he slid in beside me and shut the door behind himself. She opened it right back, "What are you doing, Steve? Your spot is up front!"
"I'd rather sit back here with Y/N and make sure she's okay. Come on, we should get going. I'm sure she's ready to shower and rest."
She huffed, her anger embarrassingly evident, but she gave a slight nod and slammed the door, climbing into the driver's side and speeding off. My head was pounding, so I leaned on Steve's shoulder the whole time. Every now and then he'd shield me from the sun with his hands or run his fingers through my hair, keeping me as comfortable as he could.
Once we got to the fire station, he helped me out and we waved goodbye to Bridget. She gave me one more dirty look before leaving, and I hoped I would never see her again.
"There you are, Steve!" a voice joined into the mix, and I turned around to see a man about Steve's height with long curly hair approaching. He had a bag in his hand.
"Hey, Eddie," Steve greeted, "Thank you for covering my shift all night."
"All night and all morning. I'm assuming you won't be back after you take her home."
Steve looked bashful. It was cute, his cheeks turning red and his eyes averting downward.
"I promise I'll make it up to you, man. I just couldn't leave her, she needed me," he rushed out an explanation and I couldn't stifle my giggle.
"Yeah, sure she did. Come on, dude, I'm not mad. I needed the hours anyway and I'm not like you, I don't have a ton of beautiful women begging me to escort them to the hospital. My Friday night was all free."
"I don't have a ton of them either," Steve cried out defensively, "Just the one."
"Well then get her home before she decides she doesn't neeeeeeed you anymore," the other man, Eddie, winked then and turned to me, "Oh, by the way, I'm Eddie. Steve's best friend, confidant, life saver, shift coverer. I'm the reason he could be with you all night."
His tone was joking, so I played along, "Oh, well thank you so very much. I would've just died without him. As a matter of fact if he leaves my sight I'm sure I'll faint."
"Marry her," Eddie deadpanned, turning to Steve with the most ridiculously serious look on his face. The only response he got was an eyeroll. "Okay, whatever, get out of here. Here's the rest of your stuff, and what we managed to get out of Y/N's car. You can make the shift change up to me later." He handed Steve the bag and glanced my way, "And Y/N, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again. Until then, I'm glad you're okay."
Steve pulled his keys out of the bag, clicking them. A truck beeped across the parking lot and he wrapped his arm around me, helping me over to it.
The last we heard of Eddie was a scream over the parking lot, "Oh and Steve, put some clothes on that poor girl!"
He glanced down at my ripped up dress and blushed.
"Here," he handed me his turnout jacket, "Put this on."
I did as he asked and slipped back into his arms, allowing him to lift me into the passenger seat. I liked the way the material felt on me, warm and loose. It smelled of smoke but it also smelled of cinnamon and something muskier, all Steve.
As he pulled away, I decided to make small talk. It was a ten minute drive back to my house and I didn't want it to be awkward. Not that a single moment we'd already spent together had been. Steve had a way of making me feel like I was finally safe at home.
"Bridget and Eddie seemed nice," I commented. Obviously, I didn't mean the first part but I had a sinking feeling that Steve and Bridget were something of an item and I didn't want to upset him.
"Eddie is a great guy. We've known each other forever, and he's always had my back." He paused for a moment, "And Bridget was awful to you today. You don't have to pretend she wasn't."
"I just thought you and her were probably friends, or maybe even a thing, and I didn't want to say anything mean about her just in case," I smiled softly, apologetically.
"We're not. But she wants to be. She's a uniform chaser. She doesn't know the first thing about me other than my job."
"Do you get that a lot? Girls that are only interested in you because of what you do?"
"More often than you'd think. But it's okay. I guess it's better than not being wanted at all."
"You think if you were something else, something more boring, girls wouldn't want you?" My brows were furrowed in confusion. How could a man so wonderful have such a gaping insecurity?
"I didn't feel that way at first, but I guess I've become cynical over time."
"Well, I'm cynical with the best of them and I'm telling you that you're wrong," I started, "Don't get me wrong. The turnout gear is ruggedly sexy. Straight out of a calendar, really. But I wouldn't have wanted you to come to the hospital with me if you were any other fireman. I wanted you there because of how you made me feel. Safe, and taken care of."
Silence filled the air. I don't think he knew how to respond.
"What about you?" he finally asked, "That was a nice dress before it was ruined. You must've been on quite a date."
"I wouldn't call it that," I stared at my lap, color rising in my cheeks.
"Didn't go well?"
"It's not that, it's just... I wasn't really interested in him."
"What was wrong with him?"
"You ask a lot of questions," I breathed out a laugh, wanting a subject change. I felt shame, like if Steve found out the kind of men I date and why, he would drop me off and forget about me. I didn't want that. I craved more of him. More of his time, and his headspace. I hadn't known him long, but it's hard not to swoon over a man who spends hours of his time taking care of you.
"I'll stop. For now."
Shortly after he said that, we pulled into my driveway. He helped me out of his truck and into my house, commenting on how cute he thought everything was.
"Where's your bathroom? I'm gonna get the shower running for you," he turned to me and said.
"Oh," I blushed, "You don't have to do that. Really. I can manage to get around."
"I want to. I told you I would take care of you, and I'm not doing it halfway. Now should I go looking until I find it or are you gonna tell me where it is?"
"My room is down the hall, the bathroom is in there," I smiled shyly.
He didn't waste a second, pulling me back into him and let me lean on him the entire way there. I leaned against the sink as he looked around, taking the room in.
"A bath would probably be better than a shower. You're still weak, I don't want you to slip and hurt yourself."
I didn't respond, I just watched him as he turned the faucet on and felt the water, adjusting until the temperature was perfect.
"Thank you," I finally said as he finished up and stopped the drain.
"Of course. You gonna be able to get from the tub to the bed?" he asked me.
I giggled, nodding, "I think I'll manage."
"Okay... if you have any trouble or need anything, you're welcome to call me."
"How am I gonna do that without your number?"
His face went red, a silly smile crossing his lips, "Of course. You're right. Here."
He slipped his phone out, pulling up the screen to create a new contact and handed it to me. I quickly typed in my name and info and handed it back. He called me once, hanging up as soon as it rang, and nodded once affirmatively.
"There. Now you have mine, too."
"I'll call you, Steve."
"Yes, if you need anything at all."
"Okay."
He seemed reluctant to leave, and I was reluctant to let him, but he finally mumbled a goodbye and let himself out. I grinned into my hand, the butterflies still not settled.
I was not the kind of girl to feel things like I was feeling. I had a process, a way of getting through life, and it didn't involve getting hung up on the first handsome fireman I meet. I willed myself to come back to reality, but it was difficult. His face was stamped into my mind.
My phone pinged and I glanced down, his number filling my screen.
"I left my jacket. Can I stop by later and get it? And bring you dinner? I'd like to check on you anyway."
Any hope of coming back to reality flew out the window. I typed quickly and pressed send before I could talk myself out of it.
"It's a date."
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