#vague hawks x reader

[myballsyourballs]

OKAY IVE BEEN IMAGINING A HAWKS X BAKUGOUS OLDER BROTHER READER?? okay but here me out bro, reader has been dating hawks for a while now, occasional family dinners at readers house with his parents, not brother, due to the fact that he’s training.

reader never brought up the fact that his younger brother goes to ua, and hawks never said anything about teaching 1a gym time-to-time, one day, reader goes to pick up katsuki early from school, and he realizes hawks is teaching, basically how everyone would react to one, finding out bakugou has a brother, and two he’s dating hawks??

(ps, hawks knew of readers last name, but never thought anything of it,)

big bro

keigo takami x male! older bakugou brother! reader

genre: fluff and slight crack oneshot (1,300ish words)

notes: i’m not a massive fan of how i wrote this (i don’t think it’s very good) but it’s been sitting in my drafts for months so here you go

synopsis: reader is katsuki's older brother who is dating hawks -- katsuki doesn't know reader is dating hawks, and hawks doesn't know katsuki is reader's brother. it stays that way until reader has to pick up katsuki from school early while hawks is teaching.

masterlist | make a request

Principal Nezu is shorter than you expect.

You expected him to be a man-sized rat, not a rat-sized man; though you suppose that isn’t an apt description either, given that he’s at least 2 feet tall and most rats aren’t 2 feet tall.

Regardless, he's still pretty intimidating when you run into him in the hall and he starts to ask you what you're doing.

"I'm looking for Bakugou Katsuki -- uh, my little brother. My parents wanted me to pick him up early since we're leaving today to go on a trip." Nezu seriously makes you nervous.

“Bakugou Katsuki is in Hero Training as of right now. You’ll be able to find him in the gym!” He smiles at you, teeth surprisingly white for a rodent. “Make sure to alert his teacher before you leave,” Nezu continues, an unnerving glint in his abyss-like eyes. You decide not to ask why he knows Katsuki’s timetable by heart.

“Sure. Thanks, Principal Nezu,” you smile, offering him a handshake kindly.

“Anytime, Bakugou-san.”

As you step into the gym, the first thing you notice is the smell of sweat. That, and the temperature. Despite the amount of heat emanating from the fire quirks of a select few and the body heat of everyone in the gym, it’s — surprisingly — rather cool. UA's unflinching ability to invest copious amounts of money into air conditioning was impressive. Your eyes trail across the sweeping ceilings and expensive equipment, whistling lowly. I should come here more often.

1-A looks to be split into pairs — sparring, maybe? — each student difficult to view clearly under the thin blanket of steam and smoke that surrounds them. Katsuki, however, is easy to spot among them. His explosions light up the room, the sound of the loud booms only rivalled by his rage-fuelled yelling. You watch, amused. Glad he’s… letting that out.

As much as you didn’t want to interrupt class (the idea of 20 different teenagers having their undivided attention on you was a terrifying thought), the teacher was nowhere in sight and you were running out of time. “Katsuki!” you call, waving at the angry red glare that lands on you. The boy, in response, rolls his eyes snidely and stays rooted on the spot.

You sigh. Little brothers are so goddamn annoying. “Let’s go, dude,” you urge, emphasising your words with a vague ‘hurry up’ gesture. He scowls, but obliges nonetheless, walking slowly over with his hands shoved into his pockets. Once he's in front of you, he stops.

“My teacher isn’t here. I can’t leave yet.”

“Isn’t it their job to, you know, teach? Where the fuck did they go?” You furrow your brows.

“Fuck if I know,” Katsuki responds, matching your curses with equal indifference. “He went with Deku to go and get something.”

“Izuku’s here?”

“Why wouldn’t he be, dumbass? He’s in my class.”

And that’s when you notice the rest of 1-A. 18 pairs of eyes stare at you in utter shock and confusion, burning with questions. Your body stills, awkward under their gazes.

“Is that… your brother?” a red-haired boy with sharp teeth asks, looking between you and Katsuki slowly.

“Yeah,” Katsuki replies nonchalantly.

You take in the other boy's appearance: the insane amount of gel in his weirdly-styled hair, pointed teeth and the fact that he was sparring with Katsuki. Close friend, bad hair?

“You must be Shitty Hair.” you say, prompting half of the class to erupt into giggles. Vaguely, you recall his name is Kirishima, but Katsuki says it so rarely that you barely even associate it with him. ‘Shitty Hair’ blushes at the attention, nodding bashfully with an awkward smile. He rubs the nape of his neck, glancing once again between Katsuki and you.

“I can see how you’re related,” he laughs uncertainly.

“I can see who got the good genes,” a pink-haired girl with horns calls, “clearly not Bakugou.”

“YOU WANNA SAY THAT AGA—”

The doors slam open. You first see Izuku, who pauses at the commotion, and behind him you see… your boyfriend? What the fuck?

“Keigo?”

“[Y/N]?”

“[Y/N]-nii?” Izuku adds.

“Nii?” someone whispers in confusion.

“Hey, Izuku,” you respond weakly.

Silence falls. You take a moment to appreciate Keigo in his hero costume before the dots connect and you turn to Katsuki accusingly.

“He’s your teacher!?”

“He’s your brother!?” Keigo counters.

You turn to your boyfriend. “I told you I have a brother. You know my last name. You’ve literally met my mother and she’s the carbon-copy of Katsuki. Keigo, what even?”

“Er, well, in hindsight, maybe you’re right— but... you’re so nice,” he says, disbelief evident in his wide eyes and confused brows. “And he’s so… not—”

“The fuck did you just say—!?”

“Young man, I will give you a detention if you swear at me again,” Keigo says sternly, schooling his face into something unnaturally serious and crossing his toned arms over his chest. You can see the humour dancing his eyes, prompting you to chuckle quietly.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yes, Hawks-sensei,” he mutters, face contorted into a scowl. He angrily taps his shoe on the ground.

“Stop being a shit,” you chide, grabbing Katsuki by the shoulder roughly and rubbing your knuckles into his skull. The rest of 1-A watches on in absolute disbelief. (Except Izuku. He’s used to this.)

Katsuki groans exasperatedly, “You stop being a shit.”

“Hey!” Hawks gasps dramatically, “don’t call my boyfriend a shit!”

Silence.

You rub a hand over your temple in an attempt to ease your oncoming headache.

“YOUR FUCKING WHAT?!”

“Katsuki—”

The rest of 1-A is left in shock. (Including Izuku, this time). Some start yelling, some look like they’ve turned to stone, the usual. You’re too busy trying to hold back your feral little brother from attacking Keigo — you know he won’t actually, you’re just hoping Keigo knows that too.

“Wait, you’re gay?” A boy who you can recall as Kaminari splutters. Your face crinkles into confusion, nose scrunching like you’ve smelt a bad odour. You can see why Katsuki calls him Dunce Face.

“It runs in the family,” you say, with a pointed look to Katsuki.

His exhaustion must’ve caught up to him since he only offers a middle finger in response. Kaminari bursts into startled and slightly scared laughter.

A warm arm makes its way around your waist and it takes an embarrassing amount of effort for you to suppress a smile. You don’t even have to look at Keigo to know that he’s grinning.

Neither of you are big fans of PDA, but the urge to hug him right now is particularly strong; especially since he’s right there, but there’s also 20 kids right there which sucks and you have to go—

Right. You and Katsuki need to go. That was the point of this whole ordeal.

“Keigo,” you murmur, quiet enough for only him to hear. The rest of the class has ignored the two of you in favour of chatting amongst themselves or questioning Katsuki. Keigo hums, meeting your eyes. He smiles, his golden irises pooling with affection and his arm squeezing gently around your waist, seemingly in a trance. You chuckle, “I need to go.”

He startles. “Right! Right,” he says, clearing his throat. You pretend not to notice the faint tinge of red high on his cheekbones.

“Okay, 1-A. I’m gonna go sort this out quickly,” Keigo says to the class, his voice raised slightly in order to drown out the talking. “So please continue sparring — without quirks — until I’m back. I won’t be long.”

The class answers an affirmative, and then the two of you (plus Katsuki) are out the door. You turn to face Keigo, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I thought I just needed to tell you Katsuki was leaving and then you’d sort it?”

“That’s true… but I missed you,” Keigo sighs wearily, acting like he hadn’t seen you in years. (You spent the night with him literally yesterday.)

“Stop before I tear my fucking eyes out,” Katsuki interrupts. Keigo lifts his head to glare unhappily at him.

“Piss off, Katsuki,” you grumble, placing a slightly longer kiss on Keigo’s lips. You pull away at the realisation that you’re probably late, which means you’ll probably have to face the wrath of Mitsuki Bakugo. “I should— we should go. I’ve stayed way longer than I needed to.”

“Thank fuck,” Katsuki grumbles, occupying himself with his phone. Teenagers.

Keigo groans dejectedly but lets you go nonetheless. He watches you walk away, waving. “Bye, honeybear!”

“Don’t call me that!”

#hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x male reader #keigo takami #x male reader #male reader #reader #keigo x male reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami x male reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks fic #hawks fanfic #keigo takami fic #keigo takami fanfic #masc reader #x masc reader #x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugou #bakugo fic #bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #mha x reader #mha x male reader #mha

[hitoshiyoshi]

bunnies can moo? | amajiki tamaki

synopsis ↬ mirio's bunny tamaki needs help with his heat

warnings ↬ hybrids, reader is a cow!hybrid, tamaki is a bunny!hybrid, nejire is the reader's owner, mirio is tamaki's owner, mirio and nejire are both pro-heroes, i made the reader chubby because fuck it why not, however some parts I might describe body shape vaguely, reader is literally treated like a pet, some nejire x reader but you can skip over that if you'd like, collars, thigh-riding, some mentions of insecurities, reader says 'moo' sometimes, reader is innocent and a bit dumb, breeding k-nk, or-l (receiving), unprotected s-x, milk but no milking, lactation(?), mentions of pregnancy but no actual pregnancy, a lot of c-mming scenes, just a disclaimer i know nothing about the heat cycles of bunnies and cows, all i know is what i googled, I'm sorry if this sounds crap or if there are typos, this exhausted me so much, let me know if I’ve missed anything :)

pairings ↬ bunny-hybrid!amajiki tamaki x cow-hybrid!fem!chubby!reader

word count ↬ 5.5k

fun fact ↬ did you know that bunny babies are called kits/kittens ? 🐰

Nejire anxiously ran her fingers through her hair as she listened intently to Mirio over the phone. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to fathom some of the nonsensical words that left his lips. When her turn to speak came, she stumbled over her words. Desperately trying to find coherent sentences as her feet tapped against the flooring of her apartment. Finally, piecing her string of words together, she said:

"This month's been the worst, Mirio," She tensed for a bit and exhaled before deciding to continue. "I feel so bad... There's nothing I can do to help her."

She peered behind and searched the room, trying to see if you were sneakingly eavesdropping on their conversation. She knew you all too well; whenever you realized how stressed she was, you would always try to cheer her up. In the worst situation, you would mirror her emotions. Nejire knew the last thing you needed right now was more stress. Mirio hummed in a concerned tone; he sympathized with her as he was enduring the same predicament.

"I know how you feel," Nejire calms briefly, at least she has someone that could understand her. "My Tamaki is going through the same problem." His throat hitched over the last word.

"I don't know what to do. She's been following me everywhere I go... I don't wanna be rude, it's not her fault," Nejire's palm rested on her forehead. As the seconds passed, she'd grown more upset.

Indeed, you had been attached to her hip since the very start of your torturous heat. Today was no exception; Nejire sat in the living room with her back facing you. Only a few feet away, you stood and listened in to her conversation. You hurried downstairs before she could see you, clear essence dripping down your bare and plump thighs. Earlier, you stripped out of your bottoms and panties; your skin felt so hot and icky, it was unbearable.

She was the only sense of relief you had. Your previous heats were manageable; the feeling of Nejire's skin against yours seemed to calm you enough. Yet, for the past few days, it's been different.

'Embarrassed' was the wrong word to describe how she felt during the start of your heat. It came so suddenly, the same day you two visited Taishiro and his bull, Kirishima. You kept grasping onto him, trying to coerce him into mounting you in the middle of Taishiro's office. Nejire quickly pulled you off before the redhead complied, and he certainly would have.

As you two were leaving, you must've caught the attention of another hybrid. This time, a blonde-haired hawk with the brightest crimson wings who wanted to approach you, before she shooed him away

At home, there was not much of an improvement. Somehow, traces of your wetness would leak from your cunt and drip onto nearly every fabric of the home. Nejire's already changed your bedsheets twice and cleaned the mess from the couch each time you sat. Always complaining that wearing clothes makes you feel "too sticky and warm!" whenever she would scold you.

"Just have some patience," Mirio coos over the phone. "I'm sure it'll be over soon. I've been busy trying to find Tamaki a new partner, but he doesn't like the ones I show him. I tried using toys once, but he hates them. He's gotten so stressed, won't even let me tend to him."

"Oh, poor Tamaki..."

"Yeah... You know, you could always try that with (Y/N). Using toys or finding her a mate. She's such a cute doll, it won't be hard."

"I don't know if a mate is a good idea... I'll consider using some toys on her, though. Maybe that will help..." Nejire pauses on the phone, staring out into space while in deep thought.

"Hmm... a mate?" Mirio chuckles to himself quietly before continuing. "My Tamaki really needs one right now. Why don't we kill two birds with one stone? C'mon, it'll be convenient for both of us..!"

"You mean... make them mates?" Nejire lets out a soft gasp at the thought, startling herself. "But—But they aren't the same... Is that even okay?"

"Don't stress over it. Different hybrids do it all the time," Mirio says, a little too confident and comfortable for Nejire's liking.

Hearing your whimpers behind her, Nejire turns to stare at you. Her eyes widen at your state: clutching the lower half of your body as your slick coats your inner thighs. You stared at Nejire with puppy eyes, expecting her to fix your problem. She already knew what your actions meant, as you two have been through this ordeal numerous times. She shifted in her seat on the couch, stuttering over her words to a confused Mirio.

"Oh—Oh, sorry! I gotta go. Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?" Nejire exchanges her 'goodbyes' with him and quickly hangs up. "What's the matter, babydoll? Pain?"

"Moo..." You say while nodding. Your heavy head soon falls, staring at the ground before Nejire's soft voice calls to you.

"C'mere," She pats a free space on her thighs and coaxes you to her.

You move, taking a few cautious steps toward the couch and stopping once you are in front of her. Still staring down, this time at her lap, your hold on your tummy eases for a bit. She pats her exposed thighs again and looks up at you, ready for you to sit. Nejire seems a bit saddened and confused when you remain still.

"You want me to sit?” You ask, to which she nods. “But— What if I’m too heavy?”

“Don’t say that, princess. You're perfect,” She holds your waist and ushers you to her lap, making you sit over one of her thighs while facing her.

Your hands instinctively more to wrap around her neck as Nejire beams at you with bright and welcoming eyes. "i know what you want," she coos once feeling your warmth pressing deeply into her thigh. Her hands move to lock around your hips, holding you still while gently rocking you against her skin. One of them moves to your upper back, caressing it while you nuzzle into her neck. The other grazed down to your ass, cupping your full flesh in her palms.

"Hah~..!" Mewling into her ear and rolling your hips softly into her thigh. Nejire smiled to herself as she helped to guide the movement of your body, not minding that her thigh was covered in your mess. Her thigh softly bucked upwards, pressing your swollen clit deeper and relishing at your needy whimpers.

"Did that feel good?" Neijire mumbles quietly yet loud enough for you to hear. You could only respond with a soft moan, rocking your hips back and forth into her skin for some relief. "Yeah? You're such a cutie,"

Her hand moved from your back to gently caress your swooshing tail. Stroking and tugging at it lightly, the way you always enjoyed it. With every pass along her thigh, a warmth pooled in your lower region. Walls twitching as you rubbed on her body, your dripping slick lubed up your cunt. Desperate for more friction, your hips quickened their pace with Nejire's firm hold aiding you.

Rutting your clit against her and panting, she recognized the familiar hitching of your voice. The same sounds she'd been hearing since morning. "gonna cum soon, doll?" She said, relishing in the sweet wet sounds of your pussy on her legs. Her knee bucked into you once more, making you quiver and gasp. Both hands returned to cup your ass as she coaxed your body nearer to a climax.

Feeling you twitch on her skin, she softly laughed to herself. Nejire knew what would happen next, she'd been studying your movements after every heat. Soon, you stilled in her hold before pressing yourself into her with your nails digging into her skin. You released one final moan before your muscles soon quivered along with the frequent flicking of your tail. Your warm juices gushed onto her skin as you panted onto her neck.

"You made a mess... Hmm, you came faster than last time too," She says, staring down at the glistening clear nectar coating her thigh.

"Oh no... 'm sorry," Whispering while clinging to her arms, you lifted yourself up to peer down with her.

"It's okay, don't worry. But hey," Nejire pinches your chubby cheeks, forcing you to look up at her. "Tomorrow, I have a surprise coming... It'll make you feel all better again."

"Really? A surprise?" She smiles brightly seeing your tail flick back and forth. "What is it..?"

"Ah, I can't tell you, or else that'll ruin the surprise..." Unfazed by your pouting lips, she gives you a light tap on the nose. She's not sure whether her plans will work, but still, Nejire decides to stay hopeful. "Now, let's clean up. We've gotta get to bed soon."

Nejire tries to untangle your bodies from each other, except your hands refuse to move. She sighs, not in the mood to deal with any defiance until she feels you nuzzle closer into her neck.

"What's the matter?" She asks but is only met with incoherent whispers and your needy touches. Finally, it clicks in her head.

"Ah, I see... Wanna go again?"

Nejire takes a step back from you, making you twirl while examining your attire. Releasing a pleased hum, she asks if you like the clothes. You nod along and stare at yourself in the full-body mirror. It wasn't the best, but certainly different from the usual style you wear on special occasions. She takes a pink and gold collar and wraps it around your neck; your name is carved into the leather. A small silver cowbell is attached at the center, ringing with every movement of your head.

You wore a white long-sleeve shirt paired with a denim overall dress that flows past your thighs, stopping at your knees. It's loose on certain parts of your body, letting you roam and move freely.

Nejire thought it would've been best to have you all dolled up and make you feel special for this big day. But with Mirio's advice, she decided to go for something simple. He said, "Tamaki won't care about what she has on, that's not what matters," in a tone that made her second-guess agreeing to this meeting.

"I really didn't want to do this, babydoll," She murmured anxiously but seems to regret it once she sees you become nervous as well.

She went out of her way to avoid it until there wasn't much left for her to do.

The same night as Nejire's first phone call with Mirio, she ordered some toys that she thought would be enough — mostly vibrators and dildos in different sizes. She even paid for ultra-fast delivery, making it arrive the next day. You watched as she unboxed each of the toys, presenting them to you as if it was Christmas Day. A bubbling excitement to try out your new gifts seemed to overtake you that night.

It went well, but only for a few minutes.

After helping you strip out of your stuffy clothes, she makes you lie down on your bed. Nejire held up two toys, both vibrators, and asks which is your favorite. They’re quite large; at least bigger than you expected, since Nejire mentioned something about wanting to “start off slow.”

One in the shape of a bullet and fully colored in magenta. While the other was a pastel pink wand with the image of a rabbit carved into its plastic covering. You pointed to the wand; she smiled at your choice and placed the other toy away. There wasn’t any particular reason why you chose it, you just liked how it looked.

Nejire nestled herself to your side before turning on the wand, hovering it over the hood of your clit. Pressing it into your sex on the lowest setting seemed to be enough; the pulsating head sent waves of pleasure through your core. She glides the wand across your folds as wet sputtering noises echoed through the walls.

She leaned downward, her hot mouth enveloped around your hardened nipple. Suckling at the bud and making your moans grow louder in your bedroom. Nejire swears she’s read something online about milking cow hybrids on their heat; it makes them feel so much better. It was only to help you and nothing else, she repeats to herself as the rich and sweet taste of your milk coats her tongue.

With your approving mewls, she pulls her head back and watches as your white liquid cascades down your breast and onto your duvet. Perhaps it was the feeling of her tongue darting against your bud, trying to lap up any milk that came out. Or the feeling of the wand on your swollen clit, making your hips buck upwards desperately. Soon, you felt it fast approaching; ready to unwind and release on the pastel head, more than just once that night.

Until your hands cling onto Nejire again. It’s not your fault, you just need to touch something… anything. To feel, kiss, and hold. You did just that. It must’ve caught her by surprise — your lips pressing a warm kiss into her neck as your hands groped her breast. Nejire pulled away in an instant, just before you could climax.

Nejire tries to convince herself that she’s not into cowgirl pussy. Or maybe she is — no, she isn’t… right? Well, maybe she could try just once. No. No. She isn’t. She’s made you cum all those times, sullying her perfectly clean panties when reminiscing. But she swears on her life, she isn’t.

She mutters a soft “sorry…” before hightailing out of the room, so fast you couldn’t reach out to her in time. Pulled apart with so much force as you watch her leave, visibly confused and slightly pissed.

Nejire grabs her phone, reluctantly yet anxiously dialing Mirio’s number. Praying that he answers soon, which he does. She takes a deep breath and says, “alright, fine… let’s do it tomorrow,” to which he laughs and agrees.

That’s how you two ended up here.

Standing by the front door and waiting for Mirio to arrive, Nejire caresses your horns and strokes your ears. She believes she's trying to relax you, but she seems to be the only one nervous. Her hands touch your collar and smooth out any wrinkles in your clothing. Leaning down, she whispers countless times about how beautiful you are. It wasn't unusual for her to give you compliments, but with each affirmation, she seems to calm down.

Nejire jumps at the sound of the doorbell, startled by the noise. She curses under her breath before holding your hand and guiding you to the front door. Her hands seem to tremble as she unlocks it, not even bothering to ask who's at the door. She already knows, they've arrived exactly on time.

When she opens the door, a tall blonde man appears — the brightest smile is plastered across his face. He greets Nejire with an upbeat voice and pulls her into an embrace, which she more than happily returns. His muscular arms flex through his tight long sleeve shirt, you almost miss it with his blinding smile.

As soon as they separate, his round doll-like eyes land on you. His hands move to his hips, in a superman stance. He arches his back, leaning lower until you two are face-to-face with each other.

"So, you must be (Y/N)," His large palm pats your head, stroking your ears rougher than Nejire. "Aren't you the cutest?"

"...Thank you," You sheepishly say to the man, who doesn't appreciate your shyness.

"Oh, c'mon..." He pinches your round cheeks softly, "Don't you remember me? Lemillion? Say it with me... the future's gonna be..?"

"Moo..?"

"...Grim!" He says, but you remain unfazed which makes him a little disappointed. "That's what you're supposed to say, but don't worry... it's me, Mirio! I guess it's been a while since the last time we saw each other.”

“Yeah, about a year,” Nejire says while caressing your shoulder. “I don’t think she still remembers… hopefully,”

“It was when we rescued her from that awful farm," Mirio’s face grimaces in disgust before he continues. “From those terrible owners… I can’t believe it’s been a year, it still feels like yesterday.”

"The vet said it wasn't a good idea to bring it up again, Mirio," Nejire frantically says, not wanting to discuss your bad memories. “She doesn’t— uh, we’re starting to move on from that…”

"She doesn't seem too bothered, right?" Mirio glances at you once more but continues speaking, obviously not caring about your input. "She was so sick when we found her and the others, it's a miracle she survived."

"Yeah..." Nejire mumbles with glossy eyes, you swear it looks like she's holding back tears.

"You know," Mirio's deep blue eyes lock with you again. "You should be thankful for Nejire. She helped nurse you back to health and took you in from the shelter. She raised you well! Just perfect for my precious Tamaki!"

Tamaki? You try and peer behind Mirio's frame to see another man with indigo hair standing with his body towards a wall. You can't see his face too well, his large bunny ears cover his reddening cheeks. He's almost as tall as Mirio but his hunching back makes him seem smaller than he actually is.

"Tamaki's still as shy as ever,"

"Sorry, he's been like that since we got here..." Mirio stares back to examine Tamaki who sinks further into himself once feeling all the eyes on him.

He proceeds to ramble about finding Tamaki on the same farm; injured and walking around, a few feet away from the cowshed where you stayed with the other cows. Your previous owner never let any of you outside to graze or play around, so you never saw Tamaki or anyone else. Mirio proclaims this to be fate, perhaps it is as your eyes are transfixed on the bunny.

The way his ears flop down into his face is so... adorable? It makes your heart swell at his actions. Tamaki feels the same way about you too, except it's a different "swelling" — the aroma of your lingering heat travels through his lungs and shoots to his length with every breath. Tightening in his sweatpants into a noticeable bulge that he can't hide anymore, and no one bothers mentioning. You only notice the cute twitching of his nose at the scent.

"Well, come inside," Nejire steps back away from the door to let Mirio in. He grasps Tamaki’s arm and tugs him inside. “I prepared everything just as you asked.”

She walks them to your bedroom and opens the door for Mirio to see. Your bed is neatly made and covered in a fresh pink duvet — specifically used for this occasion. Various toys are left out on a small table; Nejire thought it would be best to have them, just in case. Mirio only laughed and said you would never need to use it. She warned you not to touch them, luckily there was no need since she’d brought you to another orgasm only a few hours prior. Quenching whatever needs you had for a short time.

“It looks perfect,” Mirio takes a step inside, only to glance around the room. “You did better than I thought you would,”

“Really? Does the design look alright? Are the bedsheets too thin? Is the room too cold?” She spews questions at Mirio, just like her usual behavior but he only responds with a deep chuckle.

“You worry too much, Nejire… Now,” He turns to Tamaki who still has his face aimed towards the ground with no interest in looking. “Why don’t we get started? We have a playdate with Yagi’s bunny tonight.”

“I think Tamaki’s getting excited already,” Nejire laughs to herself before leading you into the room.

“Are you, boy?” He scratches the back of Tamaki’s ears, making them twitch in surprise while his feet thump on the ground. Mirio nudges him into your bedroom and turns to you while saying, “now, take care of my precious sun,”

Nejire gives you a warm smile; a visible hint of concern covers her face as she says, “come and call us if you need anything.” Mirio winks at you and shuts the door.

“Hi..!” You say, maybe a little too excited. Your voice causes Tamaki to retreat further away from you.

“Hi…” Tamaki mumbles back, battling between trying to find somewhere to hide or devouring your scent.

Tamaki’s shoulder slumped inwards, too standoffish and cowardly. He wore a plain t-shirt and loose sweatpants, it seemed like he had something large inside? He stood awkwardly in your room, not knowing where to stand. He seemed too scared to look up and face you properly, he hadn’t even gotten a good look at you since he arrived.

“Are you okay? You look scared…” Concerned, you took a step closer to him but it only makes him tense. "You don't have to be scared of me. Do you want me to show you around my room? C'mon, I have some new toys..!"

You pointed over to the small table where an array of toys was laid out. Tamaki shyly looked up to glance at them; his eyes soon landed on a pink wand that was marked by your scent. Oh god, as if he needed more temptations to battle. With every passing second, trying to avoid you became impossible. Well, Nejire hasn't shown you around your friends often during your heat. It must be nice seeing a new face.

"Huh..?" Tamaki stares down at you, just briefly. You reach upwards and scratch at his ears. He releases a pretty loud groan and thumps his feet against the ground.

"Bunny, you're so adorable! Won't you play with me?" You take another step closer, and the scent of your heat engulfs his lungs.

"W- Wait, I can't..." He moves another step backward, making you move in his direction.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes scan over his body and notice the tent in his loose sweatpants. "Is it this? Does it hurt, bunny?" Pointing at the bulge, your palm soon instinctively moves to palm him through the fabric.

Tamaki's breath hitches, startled by your touch as he shudders at your hands on him. As a whine leaves his lips, you pull away, thinking that he is in pain, "'m sorry, did that hurt..?"

He sharply exhales and nods, "yeah..." while his rosy cheeks deepen in their color. Perhaps it was the way your hand curiously touched him, trying to explore his new territories. Or maybe it did "hurt"? He'd been “hurting” since he stepped into your home. Tamaki knew the perfect solution to take the pain away; he'd done it so many times before, why did he feel shy now? He seemed to accept your scent and the need to make his claim over you. It was only primal. It was only natural. With your lingering touches, you must want it too, he thought.

"Oh, I can get Mirio to help," You say while facing the direction of the door. Tamaki reaches out to hold you back from walking; his grip on your arm is tight, too desperate and needy.

"No, no. Please don't go," He pleads, giving you a strange expression.

"But you said you're in pain?"

"Yeah, I am, but—" He stares down and smiles to himself, still blushing. "You smell really good..."

"I do..?" Your eyes trail down to his, Tamaki's looking at your tummy — or at least that's what you think. His nose twitches again, inhaling you another time this evening.

You lean into Tamaki, breathing in his scent just as he did yours. Oh, how did you miss it? To any normal person, they would've been indifferent. But, to you, it was a sweet-smelling musk that sent a tingle to your core. You wanted more, your pupils dilated as you locked eyes with Tamaki. He smiled before reaching down to hold your hand. Until you feel warmth return to the pit of your stomach. Oh no, it was starting again.

Tamaki's hand intertwines with yours, afraid to let you go now that he senses your heat intensifying. You thought it would be fine for a few more hours, at least that's what Nejire claimed.

His other hand presses against your soft tummy, trailing down each dip and curve before stopping at your mound. Somehow he acts with a bit more confidence, too mesmerized by your scent now. With a strong need to touch, hold and feel. Anything to get close to your body. You need Nejire, now.

"I—I have to call Nejire... Oh no..." Not yet, not when you haven't gotten the chance to spend time with him. It seems like Tamaki has different plans in store for you.

"I can take care of it for you..." He kneels until he's at eye level with your heat and hikes up the hem of your skirt.

Marveling at the sight of your exposed heat, he peered up with glee. His nose and ears twitched simultaneously as Tamaki remained eager to sink in and devour you. Flattening his tongue, he takes long licks against your slick covered skin. His tongue moved from your inner thighs right to the warmth erupting in your core. Your hands instinctively grasped his indigo hair, trying to hold something but pushing him closer. Until you feel his nose rubbing against your clit, taking in your scent and wanting to melt into your body.

"T—Tama...Ki~" You mewled out as you felt him glide across your folds, collecting and tasting everything on his tongue. A new sensation you've never felt before; it was different from Nejire or any of the toys she'd used on you.

He happily maneuvered his warm muscle to your swollen clit. Darting his tongue across your bud, he feels your thighs tremble in his hands. Soon, Tamaki held your plump hips closer as he stopped you from falling. It didn't take long before you no longer want Nejire's help anymore. You'd forgotten all about her when you saw saliva and your juices covering Tamaki's chin. Attaching his lips to your bud, he suckled on the nub as wet sounds echoed through the room.

Bucking your hips against Tamaki’s tongue, you felt him slip his warm muscle past your folds. He trailed along your delicate skin, soon dipping the tip of his tongue inside your entrance, just briefly before slipping out. His lips curled into a sly smirk against your skin as you shuddered. Peering up, he becomes so enamored at your reactions — at every twitch your body makes and the not-so-soft yelps that messily escape through the grit of your teeth. His tongue soon finds your clit again, this time focusing deeper on your sex.

"O—Oh... Hah... Bunny— Slow down... Or 'm gonna..." You tried to say, instead stuttering over nearly every word as Tamaki quickened his movements on your clit. He didn't seem to care, his ears no longer hung low instead they protruded. Your walls clenched on his tongue as they gushed clear nectar that he soon greedily lapped up.

Panting, you tried to take a step away until his hands grip deeper into your skin. Tamaki's not done just yet, "where ya going, doll?" he dribbled past his lips, "i've gotta clean you up first." He licks your folds clean until only his saliva remains. With each pass of his tongue on your sensitive heat, you tremble softly.

When he's satisfied he pulls away, quickly standing and helping you sit on the end of your bed. Tamaki uses his hands to wipe any of your mess on his mouth, he blushes a deep pink as he realizes what he's just done.

"Oh fuck... I'm so sorry," He says with an earnest and genuine expression on his face. This time, Tamaki can stare at you — at least he doesn't seem too embarrassed. "I mean— You just looked really nice... You probably hate me, I'm sorry..."

"No, I don't," You offer him a warm smile that calms him. "Is that why you were so shy around me?" Tamaki nods to your question. "I—I really liked it too... Can we— Can we do it again?"

“Yeah,” Tamaki takes a few steps closer until he stands directly in front of you.

His hands fumble with the straps of your overall skirt, not used to the clothing. After a few tries, you help him unbuckle each strap and slip out of them. He helps you out of your shirt and carefully places your clothing neatly in your room. When he’s in front of you again, you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants. He stops you with his hand halting your movements.

“Can I touch?” You ask with puppy eyes but Tamaki isn’t fazed by you at all.

“No… don’t worry about me,” He says while gently nudging you on your back. “Wanna save it for later. But now, I just wanna taste you again…”

Tamaki’s hands softly caressed your hips, gently raising and spreading your legs before dipping into your inner thighs. He stared lovingly at your slick as a blush covered his cheeks again, proud at the sight. He lowered his head until he disappeared between your legs, holding them tightly to keep you still.

You can feel his hot and heavy breath against your skin. Tamaki’s lips trail soft kisses along your thighs, stopping once he’s arrived at your swollen clit again. He places one last kiss on your bud before using his flat tongue to lap at any essence that leaked from your entrance. Still sensitive from your orgasm, you quiver and moan with each touch on your clit.

Soon, he removes his tongue from your folds and eases up briefly. His middle finger glides along your slick, teasing your clit gently before plunging inside your warm entrance as you release a soft moan at the feeling. Your walls clench around his finger, sucking him deeper as he moved in and out. Tamaki’s hips buck into your mattress as he tried to build friction on his aching cock. Each roll of his hips matched the movement of his fingers, trying desperately to mimic as if he was actually fucking you.

Leaning down once again, you feel his tongue flick against your clit. Delicate yet sharp touches before he’s attached to it, suckling on your bud. Tamaki’s middle finger curls into your velvety walls, trying to find the spot that makes you clench around his fingers. As he does, your hands claw at his scalp, not too rough but enough for his hips to roll deeper into the plush mattress.

“Mmph~ Hah..! Tama—” You try to call his name, but a sudden warm feeling returns — a flood of ecstasy threatening to spill over again.

Your walls quiver around Tamaki’s finger as he slows his pace to help you cool down after your climax. “fu—fuck,” he says while slipping his finger out of your cunt. He’s too busy peeping down at the annoying tent inside his sweatpants. Of course, he wouldn’t let the opportunity pass. He placed his middle finger inside his mouth, although he knew your taste well, Tamaki suckles on his finger until it was glossy and only stained with his saliva.

“Fuck..!” He hisses under his breath when he’s done. Easing up off the mattress, you see it. A wet spot in the fabric of his pants, right over his clothed tip. The lightest damp patch stained your mattress sheets.

Tamaki’s eyebrows furrow and he seems agitated at the sight. It took you some time to realize as you were still dazed. He’s disappointed; what a waste of perfectly good seed. It’d been so long since he’d done this with someone, maybe he got a little carried away? God, he wanted it inside you so bad. He couldn’t wait any longer, or else it would’ve driven him mad. Tamaki needed to be inside, feel your walls on his cock just as they did with his fingers. If he got really lucky, you could cum on his shaft.

When you asked if he was alright, he simply chuckled and nodded, “yeah, yeah… even better since you tasted so good.” Tamaki eases up off the mattress, he fumbles with his shirt and sweats before throwing them on the ground — hastily and with no care. You follow and sit up just as he returns to his original position. Tamaki raises his hand to gently push you back onto the soft duvet until you stop him…

“Will you let me touch now?” You ask while flashing puppy eyes at Tamaki who can’t resist them.

He nods again, opening his arms as an invitation for you to come closer. Loosely holding onto one of your hands, Tamaki pulls you closer to him. He gazed away shyly as he heard your breath hitch in surprise. His mushroom tip, the same color as his pink cheeks, leaked his clear precum. Veins adorned his protruding shaft as it nestled high with patches of indigo hair covering the base.

Tamaki guides your hand to wrap around his length. He places his fingers over yours, helping you pump along his foreskin. It felt so uncomfortably stiff in your palms. Almost brimming with impatience despite speckles of white along his pink head. You cheekily traced your thumb along his oozing slit, to which Tamaki responds with a sharp gasp.

“Lay back down, doll,” He whispers but ushers you along impatiently. His hand replaces yours as he strokes his cock. Staring down at your heat while nestling in the space between your legs.

Soon, Tamaki presses his tip against the hood of your clit; he closes his eyes briefly and prepares as if it’s his first time. His tip prods your entrance as he enters you, hips easing closer inch by inch. Expletives leave his lips as he stretches you out; you fit so snugly and tight, coaxing him deeper inside you. He caresses along your sides before stopping at your hips and grasping your plump skin.

The sudden pressure invites pain through your entrance despite his skillful tongue making you climax. As he bottoms out — tip kissing your cervix — he holds himself up with one of his arms with the other still attached to your skin. Positioning himself so that you two are face-to-face. Tamaki smiles and stares down at you with unwavering and lovestruck eyes. Until he notices your furrowed eyebrows as you wince through your teeth.

Seeing this, his lips curl into a frown. Now, you're his mate — or you will be very soon, Tamaki hopes it's for life — and the only being of importance on his mind right now. When he asks what's wrong in a caring and tender voice, you trail your hand down to your lower stomach and say, "pain..." He presses his lips against yours, trying to shush any cries that leave your throat.

As a minute passes, he starts moving his kisses along your neck and chest to make you relax. Waiting until your face begins to soften, he starts to move and shifts backward before his hips connect with yours. Tamaki's kisses soon become harsh; suckles and nips into your skin leaves behind light bruises. His teeth sink into a small space on your neck, not too painful but enough for you to release a quiet gasp. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, urging him closer to your body until he nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder. Tamaki's hips move languidly, gently rocking as his cock massages your velvety walls. His breath hitches in his throat as he moans; raspy and hushed, it tickles the hairs on your neck

His sweet touches on your body replaced any pain, soon making your tense muscles loosen. Placing his lips along your jaw, Tamaki tries desperately to hold off the primal urges in him wanting to devour you whole. The way you squeeze tight around his cock nearly makes him uncoil and spill his seed inside, completely swallowed by your slick warmth. His hips start to slow; lifting his head upwards as he slides out of you until only the head of his cock is inside. He peers down at your essence coating his cock, making his foreskin shine under the light of your bedroom.

Tamaki lets out an exasperated sigh, still pissed off from releasing it too early. He can't waste anything this time. You're too distracted by the sight of his ears sticking up that you notice him adjusting your legs too late. He tightly grasps the back of your thighs before pushing them up to your chest. "sh—shit...", he swears as he presses you further into the bedsheets. Burying deep inside you with every sharp thrust of his hips, Tamaki picks up his pace. His gasps became louder, incoherent whines that bounced off the walls of the room. His voice easily surpassed yours with the wave of ecstasy coursing through his shaft.

One of his hands moves from your legs and travels to your chest. Tamaki's palm gropes your breast, squeezing around your flesh until sweet, rich milk starts to flow from your nipple. He leans down, attaching his lips to your bud and suckling as your milk squirts out and onto his tongue. His other hand tweaks your next bud with two of his fingers making more of your milk spew out; the tiny amount that failed to touch his tongue dripped along your breast and onto your bedsheets. Darting across your nipple with the same rhythm of his hips, warmth returning to the core makes you call to him:

"Tama—ki..! Mmph~..." Stuttering out his name must have triggered something in him. As if you were coaxing him closer and accepting him as your mate. Plant his seed, to breed and mark his territory inside your aching walls.

His thrusts become sloppy, balls slapping onto your dripping cunt and soft ass. Slick trickles down your cheeks and splatters onto your sheets as your bodies melt together into one. Tamaki starts thinking of your belly even fuller with his kits and babies growing inside, your tits swollen and plump leaking with milk. The nonexistent images running through his mind made his hips pump into you with vigor. His face, flushed and covered by his wet hair, lifts up as his hands cage either side of your body. Your nails claw into his shoulders and litter his with red indents, marking him just as he did to you.

Tamaki presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. His body stills and then shudders over yours, he loudly grunts as his cock twitches inside your walls. Draining all of his seed and coating you in his scalding white cum. His grasp on your body tightens as if he's worried that you'll run away, he keeps a lock on your body. You give gentle pats on his back, trying to calm him while his chest rose and lowered heavily.

He catches his breath for a few brief moments, reluctant to pull away until he's done. But, like the energetic bunny he is, he can't seem to stay still. Tamaki slips out of you and covers his hand over your heat, careful not to make anything spill. He wraps his arm around your waist and gently turns you over until you're on your tummy with your ass up.

"What—What are you do—doing?" You croak, thighs quivering and weakened with your ass up. You can't kneel on the bed completely so you lay flat on your tummy and peer back at him.

"J—Just one more time..." Tamaki says, already sinking into your warm heat. "Please," Yet, he doesn't give you any time to answer.

His hips piston into you, smacking against your full ass while his hands find their way to your love handles. He grips your flesh in his palms and guides your ass to his cock, just right. "oh fuck—fuck... can't wait, babydoll... full with my— our kits... we'll—nngh... we'll be a big hap—happy family..." Tamaki pants while rambling over you, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress. "don't you want my—my cubs, doll? a big litter..."

Perhaps it was in the moment or your heat making you want more of him, "please... tamaki, i want it—fill me up..." You stutter over your words, but it pleases him. Your walls begin to flutter around his cock, pulsating and squeezing around him. You can't see it, too enamored by bliss, but you feel Tamaki's nails dig into your sides and hear the hiss of his teeth. The whites of his eyes flash briefly as they roll to the back of his head. Mouth agape, a painful whine flees his throat. He does as you ask, filling you up to the brim with more of his creamy cum.

As he calms from his high, he doesn't notice the trickle of his essence that leaves your entrance and runs down your thigh. "you're so perfect for me... i can't wait..." Tamaki's reluctant to pull out, not yet... Instead, he maneuvers your body until he can spoon you. Cock still nestled deep inside you, he wraps his arm around your side and tummy. Exhausted, his warm body lulls you to sleep.

The closing credits of their final movie flashed across the screen as Nejire and Mirio sat on the couch. Mirio's eyes drifted off as he yawned, taking a sip of his beer. Nejire's feet anxiously tapped against the mahogany flooring. Her hands would constantly play with her phone, too worried to actually use it besides checking the time.

It was getting late and the once loud noises made between you and Tamaki had died down quite a bit. She wasn't sure if she had heard anything for the past hour. Her eyes went to Mirio who seemed like he was close to passing out from exhaustion from waiting for Tamaki. Nejire cleared her throat, wanting to dump her racing thoughts, and said:

"Mirio," The blonde's gaze moved from the television screen to Nejire once hearing her call him. "Don't you think we should check on them now? It's getting really late and I'm a little worried..."

"I told you, there's nothing to worry about," He sets his nearly empty beer can on the coffee table. "But sure, we've gotta get going soon."

With little patience, Nejire stands from her seat and begins walking in the direction of your room. A drowsy Mirio follows behind her, stumbling along the way with the amount of beer in his system. It's oddly quiet, not that you were a loud person, but it made Nejire restless regardless of this.

As she approaches, Nejire notices the dim light coming from your room. She knocks on the door and calls your name. There's no response.

"Just open it," Mirio says bluntly while shrugging his shoulders.

Nejire hesitates as she twists open the doorknob, instead choosing to peer through a small gap. It’s a little dark, she doesn’t see you immediately but when she does, her heart melts.

You and Tamaki lay in bed together with bodies intertwined with him holding you in a protective embrace. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all?

“Ha… I’ll just call Yagi and cancel our plans,” Mirio laughs, joining Nejire as she stares.

She almost forgets that you’re both nude until she sees the cum-stained sheets. Squeaking in surprise, Nejire hurries backward and shuts the door lightly.

“She—She won’t get pregnant, right? Right?” Nejire frantically asks, not amused by Mirio’s calmness.

“I dunno… maybe? Maybe not? We’ll see in nine months.”

“Maybe?” Nejire bubbles with anxiety, praying that you’re not. “I thought you said it was fine!”

“Uh—” Mirio scratches the back of his neck with a guilty expression shown on his face. “That was a lie… I kinda got desperate. Tamaki was being a little difficult.”

“But—But we won’t have the time to take care of them…”

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you agreed,” As Nejire was about to respond, he shushes her. “Shh, don’t raise your voice, it’ll be fine. Cheer up…” Mirio pats Nejire’s shoulders before taking a few steps away from the door.

“Where are you going?”

“You don’t mind if we sleep over, do you? Wouldn’t wanna disturb our new lovebirds…”

| ✎ hitoshiyoshi’s kinktober masterlist |

#tw:hybrids #tw:breeding #tamaki x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #amajiki smut #amajiki x reader #tamaki smut #amajiki tamaki smut #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #mha x chubby reader #mha kinktober #amajiki fic #mha amajiki #mha tamaki

[fatesundress]

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that. 

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone. 

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

[nebbyy]

King Baldwin IV x reader - I’ll be waiting for you

A/N: Well, how could I not make another fic for King Baldwin when the other one I made is my most liked post yet, so I decided to write this little pieceee. Sooo I guess I should warn y'all that this one will be a little less historically accurate (not that the first one was that great of a historical piece but you get the idea). Oh and as usual, this fic came into my mind the moment I saw the painting just below (which is "the Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets Over the Dead Bodies of Romeo andJuliet" by sir Frederic Leighton)Now enough chatting, more King Baldwin brainrot. 

Summary: in a desperate attempt to protect his kingdom after having punished Reynald de Chatillon, the king is exhausted and the long ride has increasingly worsened his already wary condition. Once he’s escorted back to the palace, his loving wife wastes no time to reunite with her beloved husband.

Warnings: kinda angsty (no happy ending tbh), vague descriptions of Baldwin’s illness related wounds. Also, reader specifically described as female.

Word count: 3209

You sat on your throne, high and proud like the royalty you were. But under the facade of your noble confidence, you felt small. Smaller than ever, actually, as the yelling of all the men in front of you filled the air and rose up to the open sky. With a simple, reckless act, Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan had just screwed years of efforts that King Baldwin had spent trying to maintain that delicate peace that required so many lives and time to build. All washed away from the raging river that were Reynald and Guy. 

While the two men tried to defend their senseless attack, backed by a substantial group of men, another opposing group shouted at them, berating them for the offense they had given not only to Saladin but also to Jerusalem itself.

You sigh, fighting the urge to cover your ears, and curl into your own body; you opt to just turn your head and look at your beloved husband. He looked to be in a similar state as you were: although his face was now fully covered -a means of hiding the decaying state of his leprosy-ridden body- his head was bent with weary alertness, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance. You watched his body, languidly seated on his much larger throne, the only sitting position that brought him no discomfort, though it looked almost more like he was about to lie down. 

It broke your heart to see how that disease had ravaged Baldwin's body, in recent years more and more. To see him there, on the same throne on which he once sat tall and proud, while now he barely had the strength to stay upright. And you knew he was thinking the very same thing.

You were about to open your mouth, whisper something to him, anything, in order to shake him out of his thoughts and that chaotic situation, but you were interrupted in your actions by an official, who rushed to the king's side, handing him a scroll. His bandaged hands clumsily opened the scroll, and you found salvation from the noise of the room by concentrating on watching Baldwin read carefully. You watched his eyes, blue as the sky and like the waves of the sea that brought you to the Holy Land, now covered with a pale glassy glaze. 

You frowned when you heard Baldwin freeze in place, even his sitting became more erect, as if a cube of ice had slid down his back. With his gaze still fixed on the words written in that letter, he merely raised his hand slightly, a clear sign of his will.

"SILENCE!" his guard's shout resounded through the hall, overpowering the furious shouts of the men who had been barking at each other for hours now. They all turned to look at the king; their faces, a few moments ago darkened and wrinkled with anger, were now smooth and relaxed, their eyebrows raised in astonishment at their king's order. Funny, you thought, how these men because of your husband's condition sometimes simply forget how much power he possessed over them. Before it was as if he wasn't even in the room, and they were all playing at being great leaders, now there they were, staring at him, motionless as statues, submissive as ants. You curled your nose discreetly, your face a mixture of disgust and contempt. Pathetic, you thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Baldwin finally looked up at the crowd in front of him, finally revealing what it was that had shocked him so much. "Saladin has crossed the Jordan with 200000 men," silence fell, and you felt your body going numb. Your ears seemed muffled, you could barely perceive what was happening around you. At that moment you felt so much fear for your kingdom, and concern for Baldwin and what this impending attack would cost him.

And anger, against those two fools who out of sheer vanity had endangered the lives of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. They had put Jerusalem itself at risk; they had put Baldwin at risk.

I was brought to attention by Baldwin, who was struggling to pull himself up from his throne, walking toward his most trusted man. "We must meet him before he reaches Kerak. I will lead the army," your husband's voice was hushed and soft, so that only the man in front of him could hear. But it did not escape your ears, the implication those words had: Baldwin wants to stop Saladin, and he wants to do it himself. But this could cost him his life. 

You couldn't stop yourself; you jumped up from your seat, eyes wide in an expression somewhere between fear and surprise. Baldwin turned to look at you, the woman who always took his breath away at the mere sight of how beautiful she was. You did not fail to have that effect on him again this time, but not because of your beauty: in your eyes he saw your terror, that this was the last time you would see him alive. They hypnotized him, and begged him in a silent prayer not to leave, to give up this plan, have an ambassador sent, anyone else. Hell, let him send Guy himself to intercept the Saracen, let him be beheaded and his murder settle the account that he himself opened. But the storm of emotion in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotion flowing from your eyes

But the storm of emotions in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotions flowing from Baldwin's eyes, barely visible because of the cover concealing his tortured face. He too, through them, was silently pleading with you: but he was asking you to trust, to let go and follow his plan, to try to forget for at least a moment all the warnings the Physicians had given him over the years.

Eventually, you relented, turning your gaze away and opting to stare at a random spot in the corner of the room. Baldwin gave a silent sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, a sign of gratitude, although you could not see it. He turned to the men of his court, and with the little strength his body afforded him, he spoke in a loud, determined voice: "Assemble the army and protect the city."

All this reminded you of the last time Baldwin fought Saladin: he had barely completed his seventeenth year, and young and still full of life, he was ready to ride against the invincible Saracen king. But on that day God had been more merciful. He had granted you, if nothing else, one last night to spend with your husband, had given you the gift of a minimum of time to ensure that you bid Baldwin a proper farewell before he met what could well have been his end. Instead this time, you barely had time to briefly remove the thick veil from his face to give him a fleeting kiss and exchange a handful of words. You fought back the tears as you looked at him, opting instead to bring your hand to his cheek, the flesh of his lip having receded and decayed to such an extent that it had receded down to his cheek, eventually turning into a long scar that protruded down to his cheekbone.

"Let me go with you, I will wait for you at the castle of Reynald de Chatillon-" "No. It is too dangerous. If things go wrong with the negotiations, I don't want you or my sisters anywhere near that man." It was not often that Baldwin interrupted you while you were speaking. He respected you too much to not allow you to finish your sentences, so the fact that he did just now spoke of how important this was to him. 

"Then promise me you’ll come back to me. Safe and sound." He snorted softly, giving a hint of smile before copping his face with his hardened hands, "You know I can’t promise it." You know that, but that blatant honesty of his, which you always loved so much, was not what you wanted at the time. No, you wanted reassurance, no matter how truthful, no matter how worthless his promises may be at the end of the day, You need that fleeting distraction that mitigates the fear that’s been eating you from the inside since Baldwin put on his armor. May you risked never seeing him again.

"Please just say it." Your voice came out much softer than you meant, almost less than a whisper, perhaps because of the knot in your throat, which threatened to break free carrying a river of tears. For a moment he remained silent, turning suddenly his face towards the voice of a nobleman who called him from the entrance of his room, but did not even dignify him with an answer. After all, his attention was completely turned to his world. To you. Before I answered you, I drew your head to his with my hands, so that I could place his forehead against yours. Finally, he spoke softly, in that loving tone that he reserved only for you: "Then I promise you that I will return to you in no more than three days, and when I return I will be victorious, and I will be riding."

After that, that moment between the two of you, which so much looked like a heartbreaking farewell, lasted just before Baldwin had to go to his horse to guide his men to the enemy.

And it wasn’t long before the harsh reality became clear to you: he had lied to you. Not maliciously, of course, you were the one who begged him to say those words after all. But the fact is that three days became four, that news of the army of Jerusalem had not come any more, that the last thing you heard of your husband was that only the ride had already tried his weakened body.

Another day passed, then another, and at the dawn of the fourth day since his absence you felt your heart sink. Had something happened to him? Had the negotiations failed? What if his illness had suddenly got the better of him? Or worse, Saladin and his men had shot him, stabbed him, or yet again captured and publicly executed,…

Your mind began to spiral into an ocean of possible reasons behind this delay, and you swore that your breathing had finally stopped once and for all when a messenger on horseback arrived at the palace, frantically dismounting from his steed to rush into the throne room and bring you the message: "The negotiations were successful, but the king is in critical condition! He is returning to Jerusalem on a canopy," you dismissed the man with a slight wave of your hand, so weak that you almost looked numbed; Baldwin's advisors began to chatter, but the background murmur of their murmurs did not seem to reach your ears. No, your attention was elsewhere; it was entirely on your husband.

You took your leave of the court, hurrying to your rooms. There, like a hawk waiting impatiently for prey to feed on, you perched on the balcony overlooking the city below you, on the walls from which not many days ago Baldwin had emerged leading the army.

It was there that you began to think again, this time with a clearer mind as you knew that at least Baldwin was alive and on his way home. On his way to you. Still, this whole situation reminded you of when you were only sixteen years old, and you stood on that balcony as you do now, waiting to see Baldwin return on his horse. And on that day, when he was visible to the naked eye, and your eyes met, you saw all the life and strength of one who had just defeated the greatest enemy of his time. At that moment, he seemed almost immortal to you: he looked like a god riding proudly, leading the thousands of men behind him towards their home.

How unfair fate is, to cut short his life so early. His physicians gave him no more than thirty years, but that time seemed to you to be shortened even more when you finally caught sight of his canopy. There he lay, sprawled and motionless like a dead body, surrounded by the soft cushions and riders on either side of his transport.

Just two years ago such a journey would not have fatigued him in the least; now he was risking his life just by riding a horse. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears thinking about how much he had loved riding a horse, and now he found himself bedridden, unable in his passions. You wasted no time running through the palace corridors, eager to reach your beloved as soon as possible.

One turn to the right, then another, then down the steps, and finally straight to the palace doors, where the finely decorated canopy led the love of your life.

You rushed to his side, gently taking his mutilated hand in yours while the other stroked his masked face. He breathed faintly, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his strength after his disease had dealt him this last bludgeon. Feeling your gentle touch, Baldwin's eyes fluttered open, his glassy eyes the color of heaven meeting yours.

"You've been reckless, my love. Putting your life at risk just to do the job of a messenger!" you scolded him, but Baldwin only smiled fondly at your words. "I promised you I would've come back. And that I did, alive too." Although his voice was so weak that it sounded more like a huff of air rather than a sentence, its tone was still laced with playfulness.

It made you unable to resist the smile that was threatening to form on your lips; you did not grace him with an answer yet, opting instead to move your hand to remove the silver mask from his face. You could see his surprised and relieved expression, as he was now finally able to breathe more freely and to look at you properly. He breathed in the sight of you, almost as if trying to take in as much of you as he could. "I can't tell if it's the travel or the sight of you that takes my breath away."

You just smiled bitterly and shook your head at his silly declarations, "It must be the ride, it has tired you so much that it's making you speak nonsense." he giggled weakly, much more tiredly this time, almost as if he was about to doze off. But he fought the tiredness nonetheless, opting to just shake his head and admire you with a lovestruck look. "Maybe I am hallucinating, I think I'm seeing heaven above me."

It was supposed to be a compliment that would've made you giggle and blush, like the ones that he showered you with daily. But instead, it made your heart clench at the bare idea of it. The idea that this would be his last moments before the energies spent for this expedition would be too much for him to handle, and God will reclaim his most virtuous man. It made your throat tighten, and your lower lip tremble.

You tried to hide your troubled state, moving your hand quickly to the curve of his neck. There, you placed a soft, butterfly-like kiss on the little places of skin that haven't been mutilated and bloodied by the leprosy. You kissed him one more time, then another, and another again..

In the end, you lost count of how many kisses you had given him, in a desperate attempt to mend your premature grief, to ground yourself in the feeling that Baldwin is there. He is alive. Yet the feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest rising up and down and his arms weakly holding your soft body, it wasn't enough to stop the tears to start flowing down your cheeks.

And that didn't go unnoticed to Baldwin, who mustered all his strength left to hold you just a little tighter. "Have my words upset you?" you sniffled, trying to recollect yourself before lifting your head to look into his eyes. "No, my dear, you could never. I just-" you stopped for a second, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat, "promise me this is the last time. Please, tell me that you will stop this nonsense. Let your trusted men handle these matters, command your man like a king not a general!" your hands had moved to his arms, a gesture to both ground yourself and to accentuate just how desperate you were in that moment, only wanting him to just listen.

"I beg of you, my love, stay here. Where you can rest. We both know that you don't have much more time left to live, so stop doing everything in your power to shorten it anymore." A sob slipped from your mouth at the last part. It truly astonished you how careless he seemed about his own condition, almost as if he forgot that any move could be the death of him.

He frowned and sighed at your words, squeezing your forearms softly before he spoke softly. This time though his tone was clearer, less weakened by the outcomes of the past days. "I already spoke to the physician about this: I have no choice, my angel. I'll be bound to my bed until a miracle will better my condition, or until death will take me."

You shut your eyes in relief, resting your forehead against his and sighing shakily, trying to recompose yourself. "I can't live in a world without you.."

"God will give us more time. I promise I won't leave you as long as I breathe on this earth. And. when my time will be over and there will be no future for us in this life, I'll be waiting for you in heaven, if I'll be granted the blessing of a place next to you there."

Not too long after, the physicians that Saladin had promised him arrived at the palace, and you were assisted as they tended to Baldwin's many wounds caused by his sickness. More than the sight of the gruesome pieces of open flesh, what appalled you was just how numb his body had become, so much so that he did not even feel their hands and tools working into his skin. It made you wonder wether or not he even felt your kisses from before.

And you make yourself that same question months later, when you place one last kiss into his forehead as he slept soundly before going to bed yourself, only to wake up to a cold body beside you. You wonder if he ever got to feel that last gesture of love before God had finally claimed him.

You only found solace in the thought that Baldwin would be resting in the realms of heaven above your head, contrary to what the Saracens believe.

A/N: Wowww this gets more fun by the day!! King Baldwin will probably always be my favorite character to write for. He’s my muse. As always ill be waiting for your feedbacks!!!

Oh and also, be prepared in the future for more fics waiting to be posted, I’ve got about ten that are just waiting for the right time to come to light, and many more will come in the future since I’m really finding it therapeutic to write.

#writers on tumblr #angst #fluff #my fic #king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #reynald de chatillon #guy de lusignan #reader insert #f!reader #historical fiction #fanfic #x yn #x reader

[ngayawneluoer]

parallels

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ neteyam x reader

requested! - neteyam comforting you after you get told off by your father word count: 1,795 note: tsu'tey is your father bc dad tsu'tey just... works...??? the vision is so clear he just is a dad and it also works perfectly because he is of course canonically alive don't you guys remember him in atwow? im also like not very happy with this but I haven't posted in so long and I feel like if I don't post now I never will lol

You could smell the gunpowder even from your vantage point in the sky, the stench of war entirely swarming your senses, though it was nothing new to you. The scorching explosion burnt bright against the emerald trees, annihilating the forest's flora with no remorse. This was the way of war, you had learned. Being a watchdog with the two Sully brothers meant that you had seen more than enough destruction and bloodshed to know that sacrifice was inevitable in war.

You kept an eye on the conflict as you flew between Neteyam and Lo'ak, though the latter looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pull away and join the warriors on the ground. Lo'ak had begun to take after his father - both boys had - but Lo'ak tended to do it in the most reckless ways possible, which is why it didn't astonish you in the slightest that he wanted to directly disobey his father by joining the ground team.

"We have got to get down there!" Lo'ak exclaimed, looking back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Of course, he couldn't stay put for even a minute. Sometimes it felt like Lo'ak did it on purpose, intentionally winding Neteyam up to get on his nerves. Their bickering was nothing new to you, though you wished Lo'ak would behave for once.

"No way!" Neteyam hissed, glaring at his brother. "Dad will skin us!"

"C'mon, don't be a wuss!" Lo'ak mocked, as if challenging his brother before turning to you, "(Y/N), you're with me right?"

"No, I am not!" You derided, though it did nothing to halt the stubborn boy from his sudden descent towards the sea of warriors below, "Lo'ak!"

"Lo'ak, get back here!" Neteyam growled, fidgeting in frustration on his ikran.

Your eyes met your partner's, identical expressions of annoyance present on your faces. This was a common occurrence within your group: Lo'ak dragging you and Neteyam into trouble. Though Neteyam watched the two of you like a hawk, you indulged Lo'ak in his troublemaking ways far too often. That said, you had your limits, and diving headfirst into a ruthless war crossed those limits.

You could tell what Neteyam was thinking without him having to verbalise it: "Lo'ak is an idiot" "Can you believe he's done this?" "I'm gonna kill him." The typical speech your boyfriend held whenever his brother did something as idiotic as this. You had probably heard it a million times, and yet every time, you and Neteyam would rush into trouble without hesitation for Lo'ak. It was no different in this instance, with Neteyam ultimately rolling his eyes before plunging down to follow Lo'ak. Left with no choice, you followed the Sully brothers with a groan.

You could vaguely hear Lo'ak's keen urges as you landed your ikran, barely able to keep up with him. Neteyam landed beside you, his current demeanour the complete opposite of his brothers.

"Lo'ak!" Neteyam yelled in an attempt to control his rowdy brother, though his plea fell on deaf ears.

You joined with an irate "Lo'ak, enough!" but it had become abundantly clear that there was no stopping him.

As expected, the boy paid no mind, joining the crowd of Na'vi who were gathering armoury from the train wreckage. An older warrior passed him a gun, to which Lo'ak let out a trill, returning to you and Neteyam with the weapon in hand.

"You don't even know how to use it," Neteyam grunted.

"Dad taught me," Lo'ak grinned, loading the gun before playfully pointing it at you as if it was nothing but a toy.

Both you and Neteyam jumped to knock the gun away as Neteyam hissed protectively, "Lo'ak, don't be an idiot!"

You scowled, all too aware of the urgency under which the warriors of your clan seemed to operate. "Alright. You've had your fun, now let's go," you said, all too eager to get out of the way of the adults.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't get the chance to leave of your own accord.

"Gunships inbound, fall back!"

At the sound of explosions, warriors around you started running, and the three of you joined them. Despite the adrenaline running through your veins, your legs were not quick enough. A tremendous explosion blew you off your feet, your ears ringing as you hit the ground.

-

"Go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed."

Jake was not one to sugarcoat words when it came to discipline; Neteyam knew that much. He was thankful for his mother, for he feared he would have been scolded for another hour if nobody interrupted his father. With his father's lecturing over, Neteyam could finally walk away in search of you.

He should be going to his grandmother to get healed - even if he wouldn't admit it, he was in pretty bad shape. But to hell with his wounds; he needed to know you were also okay. The events of the battlefield were blurry, but he vividly remembered the force of the explosion, how it flung the three of you away like nothing but ragdolls. As he had faded in and out of consciousness, he recalled seeing you hold your bleeding arm, Lo'ak helping you walk as their father carried Neteyam over his shoulder. He also couldn't help but feel guilty; you were hurt and only because he hadn't managed to stop his brother from being an idiot once again.

It didn't take long for him to find you; you were hard to miss with how your father barked at you, drawing everyone's attention. Your ears were pressed back against your head, tail flicking in annoyance. Opposite you, Tsu'tey seethed with nothing but unbridled anger as he spat out words Neteyam couldn't quite make out - though he could guess what the subject of his lecture was. Tsu'tey was a mighty warrior, consistently authoritarian and phlegmatic. And whilst Neteyam was used to seeing him with a scowl, he had never seen him quite this mad, especially at you.

You had confided in Neteyam about how difficult it was to live up to your father's expectations, how you wanted nothing but to make him proud - it was something you and Neteyam had always been able to bond over.

Like Jake, Tsu'tey was hard on you. But unlike Jake, he never once shouted at you this way. Although you knew it was only because he was afraid to lose you, you hated being yelled at by your father. You could've handled the quiet disappointment you occasionally received or the disapproving teasing, but the yelling was a million times more embarrassing. It made you feel like a little child again, weak and naive.

Too embarrassed to meet your father's gaze, your head hung in shame. Sure, in actuality, it wasn't your fault, but it's not like he would understand. Regardless, you knew you wouldn't get anywhere by talking back to your father when he was in 'disciplinary parenting' mode; your best bet was to give him some spiel about how sorry you were and how you would learn from your mistakes. (It technically wasn't untrue - you were sorry, and next time Lo'ak does something stupid, you'll know to drag him back by his tail.)

As Neteyam approached, your father's harsh scolding sharpened into decipherable words.

"You have your job, do as you are told and nothing else!"

You only looked up upon hearing Neteyam's voice, an unexpected addition to the conversation.

"Sir, it was my fault. Do not blame (Y/N)," Neteyam spoke assuredly, once again taking the blame to your dismay.

You peeked at Neteyam momentarily, though his eyes remained fixated on your father, an unwavering confidence you wished he could show with his own father.

Tsu'tey, however, remained unimpressed, "I am not a fool, boy. I know my child has a tendency to throw themselves in trouble."

"It wasn't like that. Not this time."

Your father glared, carefully contemplating his following words, but he eventually sighed, solemn eyes shifting to meet yours, "Don't let this happen again, (Y/N). I mean it."

"Yes father."

Tsu'tey cursed under his breath as he paced away, the conversation officially over with his departure. And whilst Neteyam's intrusion had cut this particular scolding short, you were sure there would be more to come as soon as the opportunity arose. The thought alone filled you with endless frustration.

Neteyam thought he had done the right thing by taking your side, but to his surprise, you rolled your eyes, grumbling as you stomped away from him without a glance. He stared after you, dumbfounded, but rushed to catch up to your receding figure.

"Hey, wait," He said, falling in line with you. Judging from the look on your face, you were undoubtedly upset, persistingly avoiding his gaze, "(Y/N), talk to me."

You huffed, stopping so abruptly that it caught Neteyam off guard, and spun to face him with a snarl, "I didn't need you to stand up for me."

Neteyam paused, stunned, "I… I'm sorry. I just didn't want your father to blame you for something that was my fault-"

"It wasn't your fault!" You hissed, "That's my point. I don't need you to take the blame for me. My father will be disappointed regardless."

Your face softened, rage dissipating now that you had gotten your true sentiments off your chest. As much as you loved Neteyam and appreciated his efforts, you wanted - needed - to do things like these alone. Being a mighty warrior, living up to your father's expectations, it was all you wanted.

Your arms wrapped around yourself and your face turned away from Neteyam, hiding the tears welling in your eyes as you battled the insecurity of being unable to live up to your father's expectations.

He hated seeing you like this; he felt useless. Neteyam frowned, a hand rising to your shoulder to comfort you, "I understand," he said with a sigh, though he didn't have many more words to offer. He was in a similar situation; you knew that much. Comfort was all you could offer each other - there wasn't much else you could do about your parents' tough love.

Whilst Neteyam knew he couldn't resolve all your problems, the least he could do was care for you. He couldn't help but notice the scrapes on your arm, dried blood encrusting the injured skin below.

"Is your arm okay?" He asked with nothing but concern and adoration in his voice.

Eywa, he was the sweetest. You fought a smile as you allowed him to grab ahold of your arm, trusting him to inspect your wound for you.

"It is fine," You muttered, turning to look at him, "You look worse than I do."

"Ouch," He scoffed playfully, finally breaking your shell and revelling in the smile blooming on your lips.

You stepped forward to meet his body, burying your face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, relaxing into the affection you both needed right now.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been mad at you. I know you were trying to help," You murmured, words muffled by his chest, though it didn't stop him from hearing them.

As tender as the morning sun, he rubbed the bare skin of your back with his warm hands, the gesture comforting you and drawing a low purr from your chest. He placed a kiss on your scalp before his head rested atop yours, "It's okay."

Your gaze rose to meet his golden eyes, "Let's get you cleaned up."

Neteyam had never failed to put you first, and you hoped the small act of taking care of his wounds would begin to return the favour. You knew Mo'at would have probably done a better job with all the supplies and wisdom available to her, but Neteyam didn't complain when you gathered your own supplies and began tending to his cuts. Despite the occasional hissing from the pain, he sat patiently and enjoyed your delicate touch. As you wrapped up his final bandage, you pressed a fluttering kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you for being patient with me," You spoke faintly, "and everything else."

With a peaceful smile, he brought your face to his, leaving the softest kiss on the tip of your nose, "You never have to thank me for that."

#neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #neteyam #avatar the way of water #my fics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[seijorhi]

Etched in Red: Ruby (Part One)

Event Masterlist

Hinata Shoyo x female reader

Part Two

w.c 1.3k

tw: stalking, yandere themes, implied dub/non-con.

“I… have to go,” Kenma sighs. “Bye, Shoyo.” The last part’s tacked on like an afterthought, his attention already drawn over his shoulder, fixed on something Hinata can’t see. The source, no doubt, of those two loud thumps. 

Hinata doesn’t bother hiding his smile, signing off with a wave. It’s not the first time their video chats have ended this way, he’d wager it won’t be the last. Come to think of it, he had mentioned something about a stray a few weeks back. Maybe…

He shakes himself free of the thought, glancing down at the time on his open laptop and– shit. He’s gonna be late. 

It takes all of fifteen minutes for him to throw on some half decent clothes and bike across town. These days, with the sponsorships and all, he doesn’t have to work so hard, riding over town delivering food all night. 

He doesn’t have to, but he chooses to. 

On Friday nights, at least. Usually around six-thirty. He waits on the sidewalk, flicking through the app, declining, declining, declining, until he spots an all too familiar order. His face lights up. 

Accept. 

Being that he’s already parked out front of the restaurant, it means he’s got a little time to kill, but that’s cool, too. The staff know him by name, share knowing, vaguely amused looks when he pokes a head in to see where everything’s at. 

“Won’t be long, Shoyo,” one of them tells him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he walks on by. They never actually ask which order he’s there to pick up.

And it’s habit, more than anything else, that has him checking said order when it’s called. Normally, a quick glance is all it needs, but… his smile fades, head tilting a little. There’s too much food. Almost twice the usual. 

The girl at the counter shrugs before he can even ask. “That’s the order we got. Girl’s probably got a friend coming for dinner.” Her eyebrows waggle, telling Hinata exactly what kind of friend she’s thinking of. “Either that or she’s real hungry.”

A wave of unpleasantness creeps under his skin, his insides twisting. He thanks her all the same, quick to bundle the food in the carry case and settle on his bike. By now, he knows the route like the back of his hand, he’s ridden it so often. He could do it blindfolded, in the dark–

… Were you having friends over? 

You don’t usually, not on Fridays. Sometimes you come back to the apartment tipsy and late, but you haven’t ever brought anyone back with you – aside from that one time, with the tall, loud girl who wouldn’t stop trying to drag you into impromptu karaoke. He’s never seen anyone else though. You’re like him, aren’t you? A creature of habit, routine. Six-thirty every Friday, the same order. 

Is it the tall girl again? Another of your girlfriends? 

Someone… else?

That uncomfortable feeling returns. Would it make a difference if it really was just a friend?

Before he knows it, Hinata’s out the front of your apartment, heart thudding away like his chest’s full of lead. Normally, you’re already there on the steps, waiting for him, because he knows you watch the tracking app like a hawk, because that’s what you do. That’s the routine – your routine; six-thirty, Friday night, you and him, on these steps. It’s his.

Hinata doesn’t realise his hands are shaking until he goes to grab your food.

“Shoyo?”

He whirls, expression bright. There you are. Lovely and beautiful in the golden light of dusk, smiling back at him like nothing’s wrong. The sight alone should ease the static beneath his skin, loosen the knots in his stomach, but it doesn’t. His smile feels too tight, his cheeks aching with it. 

Who are you having dinner with?

He doesn’t realise he’s actually spoken the words aloud until you blink at him, offering a somewhat sheepish reply. “Oh, you noticed that, did you?” How could he not? “A friend from back home. She’s staying with me for a few days, and since I apparently never shut up about this place, and it is a Friday night tradition…” you trail off, shrugging easily. “Here we are.”

Right. A friend from back home. Robotically his arm jerks forward, holding out the food for you to take. 

“Thanks for this,” you continue, blissfully unaware of the absolute, chaotic mess currently wreaking havoc inside of him. “It’s kinda weird, right, how you’re always the one picking up the order? They should really just cut out the middleman and hire you on retainer.” You’re joking, of course, the giggle tells him that much, and Hinata forces himself to chuckle along with you. 

“Same time next week, then?”

Do you hear the same faint tinge of desperation he does? He really, really hopes not. 

“You betcha,” you shoot back with a wink that seizes his heart with an invisible fist, already turning to make your way back inside to the warmth of your apartment. To the friend from back home who’s no doubt waiting for you.

From up above, a shadow moves across the window he knows is yours.

Not a date, Hinata reminds himself, just some nameless, faceless girl she used to know. One who’ll be gone soon enough. Back home, away from you. 

Honestly, it should be a relief. 

So why does it feel like his blood’s about to boil? Like the floor just opened up beneath him and everything’s falling apart? Standing on the sidewalk, hands flexed at his sides, his breath comes out in short, choppy pants. 

On wooden legs, he stumbles back to his bike. Kicks a leg over the frame and settles himself down, hands wrapped around the handlebars in a white knuckled grip. And still, he doesn’t move.

He can’t even think over the deafening roar in his head. 

This – Fridays – they’re his. Yours, yes, but his, too. And this girl, she’s… she’s intruding. She doesn’t belong. She shouldn’t be there.

And if she’s up there, what’s to stop others from stealing as well? 

Across the street, there’s a sudden banging noise, and Hinata turns just in time to see a scrawny looking tabby dart through the mouth of an alleyway. A stray.

For a while, longer than he’d probably like to admit, Hinata stares after it, his brain ticking over.

With one last, lingering glance up at your window, he huffs out a sigh and pushes off.

—

One thing Hinata learned during his stint as a delivery driver is that if you buzz the wrong apartment and someone’s home, more often than not they’ll let you in anyway. 

It’s only Wednesday. He’d been good, waited the four agonising nights while your friend took up space in your apartment. But she left today, and Hinata knows you, knows that you’re probably exhausted from having to put up with her, that you don’t have any plans tonight other than curling up on your couch and watching TV. 

You won’t mind him showing up instead, even if he maybe – probably – should’ve waited ‘til Friday. 

The food he’s got isn’t from your favourite restaurant, either, it’s from his, and he’s pretty confident you’re gonna love it. He brought flowers, too. Just in case. 

Excitement thrums through his veins, jittery and bright, and, unable to help himself, he bounces on his toes.

You answer the door wearing pyjama shorts and an worn, faded tee and Hinata beams because you’ve never looked prettier, even when that cute little crinkle scrunches between your eyebrows, “Shoyo, what–”

Right now, he’s supposed to say something charming, or funny, maybe. Something to smooth out the confused expression he doesn’t wanna call a frown. He should be a gentleman – he got the flowers and the food, he even went out and bought the fancy, expensive cologne Heitor recommended because Nice goes nuts for it. 

There was a plan. Or, sort of a plan.

It didn’t involve him dropping the flowers and the food on the floor, lurching forward like a man possessed to haul you into a scorching, life-altering kiss, pushing you back into your apartment and kicking the door shut behind him, but holy shit–

It absolutely should’ve.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere hinata shoyo #yandere hinata shoyo x reader #etched in red #yandere hinata #yandere hinata x reader #tw: dubcon

[teyums]

His Secret Admirer (Part Two) - Neteyam x fem na’vi reader

part one | part three | part four |bonus chapter

wc: 4.6k

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long y’all, I had such bad writers block trying to figure out which direction I wanted to push this story in. This honeslty isn’t as good as I wanted to be but maybe I’m being too hard on myself. This is the first multiple part fanfic I’ve written in almost seven years. 😅

contains: angst, some language

“~~~” resembles a time skip or change of POV

Neteyam sat silently on the floor of his family’s tent, his elbows against his knees and his head held between his hands while he listened to his mother chastise him for what felt like the thousandth time today. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to keep you out as long as possible, constantly bringing up new topics so the conversation wouldn’t fall off. He never meant for you to stay out past your curfew, but he got so wrapped up in spending time with you that he didn’t want it to end.

“Where were you?” Neytiri seethed, pushing his head to the side with two fingers while her son ignored her. “Do you know how many times we called for you? What is the point of having this if you do not listen?” She hissed, motioning to the necklace he wore that contained a small walkie-talkie.

He bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything out of anger, his arms now crossed in front of him while he tried his hardest to tune out her incessant interrogation. He vaguely remembered shutting it off, not wanting him or you to hear it and bring the two of you back to real life. “I was out, mother.” He mumbled.

She scoffed with antipathy, turning away from him and flicking her hand into the air with annoyance, seemingly tagging Jake into the conversation before she did something she would regret.

Jake sighed, looking down at his son with a puzzlement. “Out where? Can you at least tell us what you were doing? It isn’t like you to stay out this late, son.”

Neteyam had enough of being watched like a hawk for his entire life. When he would try to go out and have fun just like Lo’ak would do, it was an issue. He stood to his feet suddenly, his voice raised and laced with frustration. “I was with a girl, okay? Is that what the two of you want to hear? If I tell you this will you guys finally leave me alone about this whole mate thing?” He yelled, his shoulder brushing against his father’s as he stormed past him and into his room.

Jake noticed Neytiri’s eye twitch with aggravation, her mouth slightly ajar with stupefy as she watched this unusual display from her eldest son. She had never seen him act out in such away, let alone disrespect his father, this was unknown to them. When she stepped to follow him, Jake grabbed her arm and slowly shook his head, silently telling her to leave him be.

Neteyam felt no matter what he did, his parents would find an issue. For years Jake wouldn’t let him act on his feelings towards you, constantly telling him that girls were not his main priority but he would let Lo’ak run around and pursue whatever girl he pleased. And now, they’re pressuring him to find a mate at the same time multiple men have noticed and already expressed their interest towards you. He couldn’t blame them, you had developed into such an alluring woman. There was just something about you that he couldn’t shake. Your beauty stunned him, you had changed so much over the years that when he would see you prance around the village with Kiri he couldn’t even gather the courage to approach you. He had no chance competing with Ta’olu, he saw the way he looked at you, he heard the way he spoke about you during the hunting party meetings. All the years he had been gone from your life, it seemed like Ta’olu had conveniently stepped right in to take his place.

And if he were being honest, Neteyam resented his parents for putting him in this position. He didn’t want any of the other girls they were trying to set him up with, the mere thought of mating with someone he wasn’t truly in love with sent shivers through his spine and not the good kind. Not the kind you gave him, anyway.

But every time he tried to tell to them about you, about the girl he was actually in love with, he was shot down before he could even say your name. Something about “status” in the clan, and them knowing who would make the best Tsahik to stand beside him.

Bullshit.

“You got to choose who you wanted to mate with, why can I not do the same?” He would yell at his parents, but his words would constantly fall on deaf ears.

The eldest Sully boy barely knew what a crush was. He felt his entire existence boiled down to being the protector of his younger siblings and the future clan leader- what his parents wanted him to be. He hadn’t known what it felt like to be in love until the night he laid eyes on you. He passed it off as inviting you to be his friend, but deep down he knew it was more than that, Lo’ak and Kiri included. The day he was told he could no longer spend time with you split his heart into two. But all it took was two painfully short hours in your presence to mend it back together again.

~~~

Sleep had been the last thing on your mind the past two days. You spent both nights tossing and turning- all you could think about was him. A reoccurring image of Neteyam’s sweet smile flashed behind your eyelids every time they closed, the memory of his voice causing them to open despite your attempts to keep them glued shut. The brief time you two had spent together, and how special it felt after years of being reduced to rushed conversations and short glances. You groaned, sliding both your hands down your face and letting your fingers drag across your lips. You had no idea what you were going to do. But what you did know was that night was one of the best nights of your entire life and barely anything happened. You felt like a little girl again and your crush was returning with a vengance.

You thought about what your mom had said, that you should make your move and let him know how you feel. That following morning, you begged her to teach you all that she knew about being a healer and the two of you got started immediately. You figured if you wanted to be Neteyam’s mate, you had to possess skills that would serve useful to an olo’eyktan. Although, you wish you had gotten into this sooner, because now that you were older the lessons were long and grueling to make up for lost time. You had no idea mixing up a bunch of herbs with a stick required this much thinking.

“[Y/n]?” Your mother’s voice brought you back to Pandora and you turned your eyes to meet a disapproving stare.

“I’m sorry, Ma.” You sighed, shaking your head and sitting up straight now to give her your undivided attention. “I can focus, I promise.” You nodded reassuringly, in which she returned with an unconvinced grunt. You didn’t blame her.

God, this was going to be a long process.

You thanked the spirits when the lesson finally came to an end, standing up and dramatically cradling your back with your hands to stretch it.

“You will have to get used to this if you want to learn the ways of a healer.” Your mother said in response to your display, picking up the materials that laid spread out on the mat of your hut and tucking them away into their designated areas. When you had asked her to start teaching you all that she knew, she was more than overjoyed. She had actively been trying to get you to learn the medicinal ways of your clan, almost like she was playing matchmaker from the start.

Feeling bad for wanting to escape so soon, you instead decided to walk around the house readjusting the most random objects, feigning interest in the same rug that had been there for years. You stood with your hands held in front of you, rocking back and forth from the tips of your toes to the backs of your heels as you avoided her gaze with an awkward whistle.

“Yes, you may go now.”

A smile big enough to almost split your jaw worked its way onto your face and you gathered your things at the speed of light, trying your hardest not to look so excited when you made your way out of your home.

Now that the lesson was over, all you could focus on were the plans you had made with Kiri for the day.  The two of you were to venture into the forest in search for small materials that could be crafted into beads for bracelets or necklaces. While you had never really been very interested in healing work, you loved to make jewelry and were a damn good seamstress. You alone had sewn together many Na’vi’s hunting attire.

You loved hanging out with someone who felt connected to nature just as much as you did. Nobody had really figured out just how connected Kiri was to Eywa, but just from watching how she carried herself you knew it was much stronger than any of the others- maybe even stronger than Tsahik.

The village was bustling with na’vi and very lively today, the simple sight of it all warmed your heart. You watched as preparations began to unfold for the clan’s annual Festival of Lights, a celebration in thanks to the spirits for a bountiful hunting season. It was your favorite time of year and everyone seemed much happier the days leading up to it- especially Neteyam. This was one of the rare times of the year he could actually relax and enjoy himself, free from all duties and allowed to simply live his life the way he wanted for a few days.

Or so you thought.

You decided that you would craft a gorgeous necklace for Neteyam with the rare marbles you hoped you’d find near one of the fresh water springs, and what better time to give it to him than during the festival tomorrow? You knew you couldn’t express your feelings to him without an offering. If a Na’vi woman favors a Na’vi male for her mate but has not been suggested to him by his parents or the man himself, she must present her love with an offering in which he can accept or decline. The clan was very big on arranged courtship, which made admitting your feelings so much more of a big deal and ten times scarier.

As you paced through the path to the Sully’s quarters you greeted the elders that passed you and smiled at the small children who were busy entertaining themselves with a friendly game of tag.  Before you knew it, you were in front of the hut that housed a big chunk of your childhood memories. You pulled back one of the curtains with your hand, poking your head through as to not barge in and waving at Kiri who sat criss cross on the floor while dicing up some fruits.

“[Y/n]! Come in, come in!” A welcoming grin made its way onto her face as she waved you inside the home, quickly standing up to discard her task embrace you in a hug that rocked you back and forth. “It’s been too long.”

You hugged her back and laughed at her exaggeration, pulling back from the hug slightly to roll your eyes at her. “It’s been a week, Kiri.” You quipped.

She held onto your forearms with her five-fingered hands, an overly serious look taking over her expression. “Yes, a week too long my sister!”

“[Y/N]!” A squealing Tuk came running out from the other room, her short braids bouncing with almost as much energy as the little girl they belonged to. She squeezed herself between you and Kiri, hugging your legs with so much force you nearly stumbled and beaming up at you.

“Hi TukTuk.” You chuckled at her excitement, stroking her braids affectionately. “I swear, it’s like every time I come over here you’re so much bigger than last!”

Tuk was like the younger sibling you never had, and even though she annoyed the absolute hell out of her siblings you loved having her around you, her constant optimism was refreshing.

The little girl accepted your compliment with a toothy grin, piping up to change the subject. “Neteyam told me to tell you he said hello! Can you date my brother already so I can have two sisters?” She questioned eagerly, jumping up and down on her toes.

Your eyes almost popped out of your head hearing the words that came out of her mouth. You blushed profusely, not knowing what to say and instantly looking at Kiri for help who was already hunched over in a fit of laughter. “Kiri!” You whisper shouted, watching her straighten up instantly.

She wiped a potential tear from her eye, clearing her throat and gently pulling her little sister from your legs. “Alright Tuk. [Y/n] and I have some activities to do so why don’t you go down to the village and find Mama, hm?” Kiri suggested, resulting in the little girl shrugging her shoulders and skipping off with contentment as if she hadn’t tried to blow your life up right where you stood.

Kiri gave you a suspecting glance and a teasing smile, using her fingers to poke at your sides while you tried to get your face back to its usual shade of blue.

“Don’t you dare.” You held a hand up in her face before she could begin terrorizing you, turning on your heels and grabbing her wrist to lead her out of the hut.

~~~

“Kiri, stop taking all the pretty ones! The least you could do is save some for me, this was my idea you know.” You scoffed, watching her scoop up a handful of small, gorgeous multi-colored marbles you had finally found after almost an hour of looking and dump them into her satchel. She shook her head and snickered at you, taking half the amount she collected for herself and dropping them into your bag which contained other materials that could be crafted into beads.

“Thank you.” You smiled, laughing when she stuck her tongue out at you just like her younger sister.

“Yeah, yeah.” The snarky girl crouched down to continue her search, waving you off with a hand while she sifted through the soil beneath your feet to find more. “Why do you need these again? I haven’t seen you make jewelry in ages, last time I asked for a necklace you said you didn’t make them anymore.” She queried.

You tightly pressed your lips together and nervously rubbed your arm with your opposing hand, shrugging off her question as if it hadn’t caused your brain to try and come up with fifty different answers that were far from the truth. “No reason, just wanted to make some things for my mother. Her birthday is coming up, wanted to give her something really special.”

Kiri narrowed her eyes at you, rising up so the both of you were eye level. God, you knew her connection with Eywa was absolutely insane, but since when did she have the power to hear someone else’s thoughts too?

“You’re lying. Her birthday was almost three months ago.” She spoke, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head at you with a smirk. “So, do you want to tell me the truth, or are we gonna sit here and act like you didn’t just forgot your own mother’s birthday?”

You let out a short huff, bringing your hand up to the bridge of your nose and pinching it. Of course she saw right through your excuse, you knew better than to lie to Pandora Jesus- at least that’s what Lo’ak used to call her. You would never say that to her face, though. Unless for some odd reason you were craving a mouthful of dirt for lunch. “Fine,” you started, looking away while you spoke and lowering your voice. “It’s for your brother.” You mumbled, the two of you deciding to start on your walk back to the village while the conversation proceeded.

“No way! Neteyam?!” She gasped dramatically, holding her hand up to her mouth as she attempted to look shocked. Your mouth fell open once realizing she was forging her surprised expression.

“Wait… you knew the whole time?” You gulped.

The look on your face made the slender girl titter with satisfaction. “No shit, both me and Lo’ak. Hell, you damn near drool every time you look at the man!” She sneered.

You groaned and threw your hands up in the air, more out of embarrassment than anything else. This was the first person you had told about your crush on Neteyam other than your mother, you truly thought no one else knew. To see her not even the least bit surprised made you wonder who else had caught on.

The two of you decided to start on your walk back to the village while your conversation proceeded. “Does he know?”

“Oh, of course not.” Kiri responded almost immediately, raising her arm to pluck a fruit from the tree above you. “You know my brother is oblivious to girls. He’s probably the most sought out in the village, yet he still finds it difficult to believe when someone likes him. He does talk about you quite a bit though.” She shrugged, taking a bite out of her newly acquired snack.

“Really?” Your ears perked up and the giddy smile on your face didn’t seem to help to hide the newfound hope brewing inside your chest. You ducked your head under low hanging branches, jogging a little to keep up with Kiri’s fast strides once you realized you were falling behind. “Well? What does he say?”

You could almost see the smile on her face from the back of her head, probably because you could hear it through her voice. “He said he misses hanging out with you, wants to do it more often. I believe that’s why he hasn’t chosen a mate, because once he does, the two of you won’t be able to spend time alone like that anymore.” The thought of your time being cut short for the second time right after the two of you had found each other again was enough to make you panic.

“I heard my parents talking last night. They’re wondering why he hasn’t picked yet.” She suddenly stopped walking and turned to face you, her hands grabbing yours with an encouraging smile. “So I may have put in a good word or two. After all, I think you’re a much better fit for him than any of the other girls.”

You finally felt as if everything was piecing itself together, your nerves began to melt away just like your heart did at Kiri’s words. Your gaze fell to the floor when you felt your face heat up like campfire and your tail began to swish with delight. “So, what I’m hearing is there’s still time?” You asked, sounding much more optimistic than you had intended.

Kiri’s eyes left your own and looked past your head, the corners of her mouth twitching into a mischevious grin when she seemingly spotted something you hadn’t. “I don’t know,” she started, grabbing your shoulders to turn you around. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Before you could even process the words that came out of her mouth, you were pushed forward with so much force that you stumbled out of the trees and into Neteyam’s line of sight. By the time you whipped your head around to hiss at Kiri, she was already gone.

You nervously turned back around, laughing to yourself at the stoic expression he carried around everywhere he went. You couldn’t help but feel starstruck every time you saw him, it was like your mind pictured him moving in slow motion simply to taunt you. He looked incredibly different from the years prior and you definitely were not complaining. And even though he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, it was pretty obvious how truly extensive and challenging his training must be. His arms had developed broad, toned muscles and you wondered if his abs would sound hollow had you knocked on them. You quickly straightened up when the solemn look on his face replaced itself with a bright smile once he picked your face out from the others.

You cleared your throat and tried to regain your composure as much as possible while he approached you, giving him a sweet smile in return and meeting him halfway.

“Hi.” You mentally cringed as soon as you heard the greeting your brain decided to choose. But lucky for you, his smile only got bigger. You could speak complete gibberish and he would sit and listen like he understood.

“Hey… How are you doing? With, you know.” He motioned down to your foot.

You tilted your head at him in confusion and it took you a few seconds to realize what he was referring to. Once it finally clicked, your cheeks flushed a bright red, remembering the predicament your injury had gotten the two of you into. “Oh! This old thing? Pshh.” You babbled like an idiot, looking around to try and focus on anything other than the handsome face in front of you.

He laughed at your display, the air around the two of you settling while you both tried to think of the words to say next.

“So I-“ Two voices overlapped as you guys opened your mouths to speak at the exact same time, making the both of you burst into a fit of laughter. You covered your mouth to hide your grin, shaking your head at him rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“You first.” He smiled.

You nodded your head and swallowed your pride, building up the courage for your request. “I really enjoyed flying with you on your Ikran the other night. And I was wondering if… maybe we could do it again sometime?” You questioned reluctantly, not entirely sure of what his answer would be. You figured spending some more time with Neteyam to prepare yourself for tomorrow would do your nerves some good.

“You’re not afraid anymore?” Much to your surprise he actually looked interested, his eyebrow raising along with the pitch of his voice. He couldn’t believe someone who had previously shown so much fear wanted to do the exact thing they were frightened of, again. Ikran rides were very exciting though, so really he was having a hard time believing you wanted to do it with him, again.

“No, I’m not.” You turned your head to the side a bit as you blushed. “But only because the mighty warrior helped me overcome my fear.” You teased.

Watching Neteyam trip and stumble over his words was like being able to come face to face with a Palulukan and not die. So in other words, extremely rare and not a common sight. He took your hand in his and looked down at you, hoping the loud beating of his heart would answer your question since his voice was having trouble staying steady in your presence. Your cheeks were sore now from how hard you were smiling.

“I would love-“

Just as he was about to agree to your proposal, an ear-bleeding voice made the both of you wince.

“Nete-yammm!” You watched as Eyiti waved her arm above her head like a madwoman and damn near sprinted in you and his direction. You cursed to yourself and rolled your eyes, which Neteyam did not happen to miss. Little did you know, he felt the exact same way about her as you did. Once she approached the two of you she batted her lashes at him and you swear you almost threw up in your mouth. Her eyes shot down to your intertwined fingers, the both of you begrudgingly releasing the other. You felt the urge to tighten your grip, but you knew it wasn’t a good look for the olo’eyktan’s son to be seen displaying public affection with a woman who had not yet been suggested to him.

She cleared her throat with satisfaction, completely disregarding your presence and continuing to eyefuck him. “Are you busy, ‘Teyam?”

The sound of her voice using the nickname you had reserved for him was enough to make your eye convulse as you felt irritation overwhelm your previously good mood. You dipped your head to the side a bit to catch her gaze, waving a hand in front of her face to break the trance she was in. “Uh, hello?” You spoke up, tilting your head to the side with a tight lipped smile once she glared at you. “Yeah, hi. It seems you’re missing a few letters there. You know, the ’N’ and the ‘E’.” Neteyam looked at you with an astounded expression, and even you were surprised at the fact that you managed to speak up. If you weren’t mistaken, you heard the slightest chuckle from him too.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and you felt a hint of accomplishment from ruffling her feathers a bit, only for her to turn her attention back towards him. “You promised you’d finish organizing preparations with my parents to be my date for the festival, remember?” She spoke, her hand now finding its way to stroke his arm.

Hearing those words come from her of all people felt like a knife driving right through your chest. You looked to Neteyam with disbelief clouding your eyes, hoping for something, anything to let you know that what she had just said wasn’t true. He only shut his eyes for a brief moment, opening his mouth to speak but a deep exhale followed instead of words like you expected. Her mouth curved into a sinister grin only you could notice. After dealing with her for so many years, you knew she would hide her true intentions behind fraudulent innocence.

You felt betrayed and you hated yourself for it. The two of you weren’t even together, you hadn’t even been suggested to him. You scolded yourself for even thinking the few hours the two of you spent together after years apart meant anything more than a friendly catch up to him.

He shifted his gaze to you, the look on his face more than apologetic. “I’m sorry, [Y/n]. I can explain this…” His voice was filled with remorse but his heart yearned to say more. There was something more than an explanation dancing behind his eyes, but you were much too embarrassed to look at him and discover it. He desperately felt the need to rectify the situation but you simply shook your head and took a step back.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed all of a sudden and not caring if you had failed to look unbothered. It was impossible to hide how you truly felt from him, your efforts would have been futile regardless of how hard you tried. “It’s fine, go.” You stopped your voice from cracking, daring not to look at him while you felt his stare only grow stronger.

You felt his fingers brush against your forearm as he reached for you, resulting in you raising your arms slightly to avoid his grasp. “I hope the two of you have fun.” You choked out, excusing yourself before you became subject to further humiliation. You heard his voice call out for you but there was no way you could turn back to face him, the tears you had made such an effort to keep unshed were now threatening to spill over.

You kept your head down as you walked, nearly falling back onto your bottom when your body came in contact with a ridiculously hard surface.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I should have been watching where I was going.” You blinked away your tears, looking up to see none other than Ta’olu staring down at you.

The tall male peered at you with a confident smile, amusement written all over his face, not at all minding that you had used him as an anchor to not fall over. “No worries, I was actually coming to find you.”

You cocked your head to the side with interest. You weren’t entirely sure why he would have been looking for you, seeing as the last time you had asked him to hang out he ditched you for some random girl he had met the day before. “Okay… what’s up?” You cleared your throat, trying to set aside what had just happened a minute ago.

His stance shifted slightly and he grabbed hold of your hand, the interaction not being nearly as enjoyable as it was with Neteyam. His hand on yours was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and hibernate for the rest of the year. His gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his question being exactly what you feared.

“Would you be my date for the festival tomorrow?”

a/n:Isn’t Eyiti just the worst? And who the hell is this Ta’olu dude? 🙈*mischievous laughter* I’m so sorry for leaving y’all on a cliff hanger but I had to end this chapter here! I wonder what’s gonna go down in part 3 🤔 I’m sorry if i missed your tag! I wrote them down but when I entered it in some of them wouldn’t pop up 💔

Please like + reblog if you can it’s much appreciated 💞

tag list ⬇️

@eringaitskill @bwormie @fanboyluvr @ssc7514 @meivap @afro-hispwriter @hello1kittyz @melsunshine @katsukiswrld @mcdonaldsplayground @itscheybaby @neenieweenie @babyvinnie @msjae @laylasbunbunny @epicy0n @dreamersbelieveinus @elegantzippercashshoe

#avatar 2 #neteyam #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #avatar twow #neteyam fic #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fluff #neteyam avatar #neteyam fanfiction

[kiame-sama]

Of Cats And Hawks- (Yandere!Hawks x Reader) pt 3

Warnings; yandere behavior, yandere relationship, yandere temperament, possessive behavior, various animal courtship behavior, perverse Hawks, NSFW themes and content, nesting behavior, item theft, scent kink, oral (fem receiving), tail pulling, feathers, bit of a masochist Hawks,

~~~~~~~~

"Just like that..!"

The voice panted and huffed in exhilaration, hands working tirelessly to get everything he needed how he needed it. It was almost a frenzy of movement as the soft sound of fabric sliding against fabric could be faintly heard. Each desperate breath working on getting that scent and drowning in it like some sick degenerate.

He is a sick degenerate.

As far as Keigo was concerned, he was a filthy and depraved lunatic when compared to you and how calmly you seem to have approached it all. Countless hero centered magazines put the two of you in the headlines and numerous fan-clubs did analysis of the potential conflict the two of you would endure as a couple. Keigo was thrilled to have claimed you so obviously and had been working ever since your last meeting.

Keigo had more things to do, but he did allow himself a nice recreational distraction every now and again. Buying clothing your size and grabbing whatever he can from your room while you weren't there, replacing your old clothes with the new ones and hoping you don't notice. Taking your scent soaked clothes back to his apartment to add to his current shrine, as unconventional as it was.

"Smell so good..! Make me lose my mind..!"

Keigo groaned into the clothes he held up to his face, drinking in your natural scent and moaning in bliss. After another long inhale, he lovingly wove it into his current obsessive project. His sparse and near dismal apartment was already rather barren compared to how others thought he lived, so it wasn't like the odd nest was in the way of anything.

Nesting was a new behavior, even for Keigo, and he was curious to see just what this new development did for him. He had approached the hero association about it- seeing as they controlled almost every part of his life- and their response was not as he expected. Instead of making him remove his dearest darling from his life, they encouraged him to advance the relationship. Having been given the all-clear to push the relationship forward, Keigo found himself nesting.

The nest itself was an amalgamation of clothing, pillows, and blankets. Despite how garish or gaudy some may find it to be, Keigo thought it was beautiful. He was especially pleased with the many colors that were in it, vaguely understanding that it was likely a bird instinct that demanded the multitude of colors.

"Need you so much...!"

He panted softly and nuzzled his face against the clothing that he had so lovingly woven into his nest, his wings fluttering rapidly behind him. It was during this affectionate display that a knock came at his door, breaking through his concentration sharply. The silence that followed almost made him believe that whoever it was went away before there was another knock followed by a familiar voice.

"Keigo? The others sent me to check up on you. You haven't been to the agency in days and no one has heard from you since."

Oh, Darling, there you were.

Did you know he has been waiting for you anxiously to arrive? Did you know that he was building this fantastic nest for you? Did you come to help soothe the itching and frustrating ache inside of him? Did you see how many colors were in his nest just for you?

"Keigo," your voice called again, spurring the Hawk hero to stand and rush to the door, "say something so I know you are okay."

When he threw the door open, you clearly had not expected him to rush forward to see you. Your tail was fluffed and your ears were back as Keigo pulled you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you loudly. Your eyes easily adjusted to the dark of his home and you tried to take in as much as you could about the situation despite the sudden way you entered the room.

"Please... Help... Please, I need... I need help..!"

You felt genuine concern hearing how out of breath and frantic Keigo seemed at that moment. Usually Keigo was very level headed and confident as the hero Hawks, but something about his tone sounded truly pitiful to you as he hung onto you and whimpered like an injured animal. It was then another scent registered to your mind, one that was sharp and intense. Your brain recognized it almost immediately as pheromones coming from Keigo, and those pheromones told you just what exactly he needed help with.

You had agreed to try a relationship with Keigo and it wasn't far into that relationship when you learned how you were the only truly stable partner he has ever had. He told you about the Hero's Association and how he had been drafted in as only a child, meaning you were the only support Keigo had in and out of the hero world. Though the Association did attempt to have you keep an eye on Keigo, you refused to be another spy in his life.

Keigo was whining and slowly grinding his hips against you, letting you feel the rather hard erection he had as he continued to whimper softly. His hands were clinging to you desperately and he panted heavily in your ears, feeling almost feverish to the touch.

You took a moment to decide what you wanted to do, and the obvious choice was the one you settled on.

"Such a bad birdy," your voice was a soft croon, "already ready to go and here we both are, far too dressed for this situation."

The second Keigo actually registered your words, you felt his feathers rip through the clothes you were wearing. You knew he had stolen a fair portion of your clothes as the ones he replaced them with were covered in his scent, but you knew now why he so desperately wanted them. Each piece of clothing he had taken was woven into his nest and even as the scraps of what you wore fell to the ground around you, his feathers tried to weave the scraps into the nest as well.

Keigo fell to his knees and gripped your thigh, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder as he buried his face between your plush thighs. His tongue was hot as it wormed its way into your soft folds, slurping and lashing against you. You couldn't help the surprised gasp as Keigo almost viciously worked you over with his tongue.

His wings slowly came up, feathers moving from where they were to lift you up, holding your legs spread for the blond. Keigo looked like a wild animal as he crouched between your legs, eyes rolled back as he shoved his face against you, refusing to pull back for air. You whined and gripped his hair, feeling one of his hands suddenly grip the base of your tail and give a light tug.

He pushed two fingers into you, working your hot hole open enough to add a third finger. Each pump of his fingers was accented with a light tug at your tail, leaving you mewling in pleasure. The sensation of him pulling your tail, working you with his tongue, and sliding his fingers into you had you cumming roughly, holding his head with your hands as you whined and rocked your hips.

Despite how early in the relationship it was for you, you also felt sorry for Keigo and the state he was in. You knew very well how hormones from your animal quirk impacted the way you reacted to certain situations. Clearly Keigo was pleased as he kept his face buried between your thighs and worked almost tirelessly to lap up the plentiful juices your body provided.

"That's enough," you panted, pulling a desperate Keigo away from your weeping folds, "no more for you."

"N-no! No, please! Please, I need-!"

"No more standing, Keigo. You built a nest for a reason, right?"

His golden eyes were almost completely black with how his pupils were blown wide and dilated. Of course, once your words registered to his hormonal mind he was throwing you down onto the plush nest he built for the two of you. Most of your missing clothes were present in the nest along with any blankets Keigo had to his name. He clearly spent quite a lot of time on the nest and had likely been building this nest since he had last come into work.

He climbed on top of you much like a predator stalking up on his prey, his wings were flared to either side of his body as he panted heavily. Something about the way Keigo looked- wild and untamed- sparked interest in your mind as you let the red-winged hero run his hips against yours. Every thrusting motion slid his hot cock through your folds, slicking him up with your juices.

"Soft 'n good... So warm..!"

Keigo was nearly drooling as he continued to rut his hips, whining from the blissful sensation running through him. His hands were kneading your soft breasts and his lips roamed over your warm skin all while he continued to whine and gasp. He still didn't enter you as he struggled to line himself up, doing what he could to not have to pull his hands away from your soft figure.

"Keigo," you almost growled in frustration at the lack of contact, wanting to reach down and grab him yourself, "just... get in, damn it..!"

He finally managed to angle himself well enough to prod at your weeping hole, pressing into you with a loud groan of pleasure. You gripped his shoulders tightly as that thick length bullied its way inside of you. The stretch almost seemed like it would be too much for your soft body to handle. It was only when he bottomed out that you realized he wasn't just thick, but he was long too.

"F-fuck! So good..!"

Keigo actually was drooling at this point as he gasped and tried desperately to keep himself still. Regardless of how clouded his mind was by instinct and pleasure, he still kept in mind how fragile you possibly were. Holding himself still was proving to be a difficult task but one he was dedicated to.

"Move..!" You gasped and tried to slightly adjust your hips, "Move, Keigo..!"

The hawk hero didn't need to be told twice as he set a quick and brutal pace, his wings spread and flapping behind him. Your hands were buried in the feathers along his wings, pulling a few as you held to the feral hero. Similarly, Keigo's hands were busy roaming your body and pausing to palm your soft flesh appreciatively.

It was only when Keigo gripped your tail and gave a particularly rough tug that you became much more vocal. You let out a yowling moan as he continued to tug and toy with the appendage, claws sinking into his wings. Keigo moaned deep and rumbling sounds as he continued to tug your tail, relishing the sound of you yowling for him so sweetly.

"Good-! Good kitty..! Claw me up, pretty kitty, please..! Fuck, I need you to do it!"

Soon his pleas became breathless babbling and appreciative moans as you did exactly what he was begging for. All he could do at that point was hold your tail and piston his hips into you wildly until he could no longer move. Everything he wanted and a precious lover the Heroes Association actually allowed, it was all he could ever ask for. Well, the current sex was great too, but he hoped it would be an ongoing arrangement.

Keigo could feel the way your walls tightened up around him and he lost all sense of self. The quick witted and resilient hawk hero was little more than a mindless slave to the feel of your body and sound of your voice. Truly nothing mattered to him beyond pushing you into as many orgasms as he could wring from you.

He knew you could handle it well enough. After all, you were his feral Street Cat.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere bnha #bnha yandere #yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo x reader #x fem!reader #fem reader #x female reader

[greetings-and-salutations]

“Get Your F*cking Hands Off Her, A*shole!”

Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x Reader

Countdown to Cobra Kai Season 5 - 8 Days left!!!

Masterlist

(Gif not mine)

Requested? No

Summary: It was an unspoken rule around West Valley High that (Y/n) (Y/l/n) was completely and utterly off limits. No one dared test the boundaries when it came to that rule, for fear that her Mohawk-clad boyfriend would go all Cobra Kai on them. Of course, every now and again, a newbie didn’t get the memo…

Warnings: starred out swear words, overprotective Hawk, creepy dude making (Y/n) uncomfy, prejudice against “North Hills” with a substantial lack of reasoning to back it up 😬😂, lack of adherence to plot line of the source material

Pairing: Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE 😬😬 I’m trying to get back on schedule as soon as possible, I promise! 👌👌👌

Eli Moskowitz and (Y/n) (Y/l/n) were in love. Everyone knew it, and, because of Eli’s status in their school’s hierarchy as “Hawk” the “Cobra King,” no one dared refute it. It was a system that worked. An unspoken line, if you will, that, when crossed, was swiftly dealt with. And the perpetrator never did it again. Hawk made sure of that.

But there were still some who, to them, the pretty girl in math class was simply the pretty girl in math class. Nothing more. No ties to a Mohawked gang leader, and certainly no harm in asking her out on a date this weekend. Perhaps to the movies? There was a pretty cool drive in just across town…

“That’s a bad idea.” Toby turned to look at the girl who’d spoken, an embarrassed expression on his face at having been caught staring, before he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, in an attempt to cover it up.

“What?” He asked, glaring at her, annoyed by her unhelpful interjection in something that clearly didn’t involve her. He didn’t know who she was, being the new kid usually meant that was the case, but, Toby could already tell, whoever this girl was, she wasn’t someone he wanted to be spending his time with. She gave him the heebie jeebies, and not in the good way. Her face suddenly transformed into a smirk, before she gestured towards where his eyes had been trained just moments before.

“You’re staring at (Y/n) right?” She asked her own gaze taking in the sight of the girl at her locker just down the hall. Toby cringed a little, having hoped he’d been a tad more discreet, but this creepy girl had seen right through him.

“So?” He asked, defensively, wondering what exactly she wanted from him, landing on simply “picking on the new guy,” before she opened her mouth and spoke again.

“Yeah. That’s not gonna happen. Trust me, dude.” She replied, vaguely, but Toby just rolled his eyes, not believing her for a second.

“Who even are you?” He asked rudely, but the girl just laughed, an unsettling sound that left Toby’s skin crawling.

“Tory with a y.” She answered, as if he should know. (He didn’t.) “Listen, newbie.” She pouted sarcastically, before patting his shoulder. “I get it. You don’t know how things work around here.” Her patting ceased as she grabbed his shoulders, rather harshly turning him back towards the math class girl; towards (Y/n). “But I’m telling you right now, She’s not someone you wanna mess with.” Toby scoffed, his patience for this conversation wearing thin, as he pulled out of Tory’s grip.

“She seems harmless.” He said, before turning away from (Y/n) and towards his unwanted companion. “You, however, weird me out, so I’m gonna go talk to (Y/n). Bye, now.” He began to walk off, heading towards the girl’s locker and mentally psyching himself up as he did, before a loud voice called out after him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Tory yelled, but Toby just rolled his eyes again, before mumbling under his breath.

“You can’t tell me what to do, psycho…”

+ + +

“And then I told him that if he tried to do that again I was gonna take his face and-“

“Hey, Hawk!” The boy turned around when Tory’s voice sounded over the conversation, an annoyed look on his face at being interrupted.

“What is it?” He spat angrily, causing Tory to raise her hands in mock defense.

“Just thought you’d wanna know I just saw the new guy practically eye-banging your girl in the hallway.” She said casually, but Hawk’s heart stopped all the same.

“What?” He asked, through gritted teeth, hoping he’d heard her wrong. But Tory just nodded her head.

“Some dude. Troy or Tanner or something. New kid. Just moved here from North Hills or some sh*t.” She was still talking but, past the point of confirmation, Hawk was done listening.

“Where is he now?” He asked, his fists clenched, itching to do to this new kid what he’d been about to describe before Tory’s interruption. Nobody messed with his (Y/n)…

“Last I saw he was headed towards (Y/n)’s locker. Something about asking her out?”And that was when Hawk snapped.

“The he*l he is!” (Y/n) was HIS girlfriend. Everyone knew that. Who did he think he was? This punk coming in and trying to cheat the system, and steal away HAWK’S girl? This Troy, or Tanner, or whatever-the-f*ck his name was, was gonna pay. And Hawk was gonna make sure of it.

“I’m gonna go deal with this sh*thead. Beat his a*s…”

+ + +

“You’re (Y/n), right?” (Y/n) (Y/l/n) spun around quickly at the voice, confused as she didn’t recognize it, before coming face to face with the new kid she vaguely remembered from one of her earlier classes. She smiled politely, before responding.

“Yeah, that’s me.” She agreed, before a frown reached her face. “I’m sorry I don’t-“ She began apologizing for not recalling his name, but the boy cut her off with a shrug, leaning against the locker beside hers and effectively boxing her in, though (Y/n) assumed it was unintentional.

“Toby. I just moved here.” (Y/n) nodded along at his words, as she took a small step back, only for her foot to collide with the metal of a locker door.

“Toby… hi.”

“Hi…” (Y/n) wondered what exactly it was that he wanted, or whether it was just to introduce himself. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he left yet?

“Did you need something?” She asked, hoping she didn’t come off as rude or anything, though if she did, he didn’t point it out, or do anything really other than shake his head while laughing at himself.

“Sh*t, yeah. Um, I was actually wondering…” He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers in an intense gaze that she was both unwilling and unable to reciprocate. “Well, you’re really pretty, ya know…” (Y/n) didn’t like where this was going. She made to carefully remove his arm from the locker, so that she could walk away, but Toby apparently wasn’t finished, and reached for her wrist, holding it tightly in his grip to keep her in place. “Hold on just a second!” (Y/n)’s eyes widened in shock. “I dunno… I was sorta thinkin-“

“Get your f*cking hands off her, a*shole!”

+ + +

If Hawk wasn’t already seeing red at just the idea of someone he didn’t know flirting with (Y/n), the sight of her being held up against a locker with that frightened look on her face would surely have done it. And it did, for the next move Hawk made was not something that he would have ever done in front of his girlfriend had the situation not demanded it…

“Get your f*cking hands off her, a*shole!” It was like time had slowed down, and there was no one in the room but them; Hawk, and the sleezeball touching his girl.

The new guy spun around, his expression clearly annoyed, until he noticed the murderous one pointed back at him. His face dropped in worry.

“Look, dude. I dunno what you think-“ He began (trying to explain himself, perhaps?), but Hawk’s attention remained on his hand… that had yet to move.

“Oh I know exactly what I think!” He practically growled, stepping forward threateningly. “I think you’ve got your sh*tty North Hills hands all over my girlfriend, and if you don’t let go right now I’m gonna send you back to North Hills; only this time it’ll be in a body bag!” On a normal day, Hawk would’ve smirked at the “I just wet myself” look that had suddenly appeared on the dopes face, but this wasn’t a normal day. On a normal day, if some douche bag decided to mess with Hawk they’d do it directly, not through (Y/n). There was a level of respect there, at least for the girl. Because, everyone knew, messing with him was on thing, but (Y/n)? Practically a death sentence.

“I-I didn’t know-“ The new guy stuttered out, his grip finally releasing from (Y/n)’s skin, the girl slipping away from him and behind her boyfriend the moment she was able. Hawk felt her small hands tighten against the back of his hoodie and his angry frown deepened.

“Oh “you-you didn’t know”?” He mocked, carefully removing his girlfriends fingers from his clothes and advancing towards the other boy, nothing stopping him now from cracking this dweebs skull. He’d teach him not to mess with his girl again…

+ + +

Smack!

Smack!

“Ow!”

Crunch!

Pop!

Pop!

“Ughhhhhhhh…”

Crack!

“Stop, please!”

Hawk dropped the bruised and bloody body of the new kid harshly on the floor, before standing over him, his breathing heavy. (Y/n)’s eyes were wide. She’d never seen this side of him before. Sure, she knew he got into fights. She had to clean him up after them all the time. But he usually made it a point to keep her out of them. Though, (Y/n) supposed there wasn’t much way to keep her out of this one, since it happened over her. She frowned, suddenly feeling immensely guilty.

“If I see you anywhere near her again, we’ll be back here. Got it?” He snarled, his back now to (Y/n), which she appreciated, as she wasn’t sure she wanted to see his face look like that. She liked the soft way her Eli looked at her. She didn’t think she’d be too fond of visions of angry Hawk intruding her lovesick thoughts. “I said: Do. You. Understand!?!” (Y/n) watched the guy nod his head so fast she thought it might fall off, before scrambling to his feet. Hawk turned to make his way towards his friends and his girl, calling back over his shoulder as he did. “Now, get outta here before I change my mind.”

+ + +

“You okay, Princess?” Hawk had cooled down a little at the look on her face, hating that he’d contributed to it, but also knowing he’d had to do what he did. (Y/n) nodded slightly, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Hawk frowned, worried she was upset with him about the fight, though he couldn’t fathom why. That douchebag was hurting her. He’d just put a stop to it like any good boyfriend would. Speaking of…

“Can I see?” He gestured towards her wrist, receiving a small noise of agreement. He reached for her hand, his anger gradually returning as he took in the obvious fingerprints against her smooth skin. He tried to calm himself down, talking a deep breath before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her wrist.

“You’re gonna have a bruise.” He mumbled against her skin. But (Y/n) just shrugged.

“I don’t care.” Hawk sighed, running his hand down the side of his face anxiously.

“(Y/n)… you know I had to, right?” He asked, watching her face carefully as it changed, relief washing over him as she slowly nodded her head.

“I know… I just wanna go home. Can we?” She looked up at him with a small pout that Hawk was quick to agree to.

“Course, (Y/n/n). We can do anything you want.” He promised with a soft smile that dated back to his Eli days and was reserved exclusively for her. (Y/n) grinned a little, though Hawk wasn’t sure what was so funny. He wasn’t gonna comment on it though, just happy he’d got her smiling again.

“Ice cream?” She asked hopefully, earning a chuckle from her boyfriend, as his arm wrapped around her shoulder and he steered her towards the door.

“Sure, Princess. Whatever you want.”

Tag lists are open!!!

Tags: @electriclcvewp @kaqua @nickangel13

#Countdown to Cobra Kai Season 5 #cobra kai fanfic #eli cobra kai #hawk cobra kai #cobra kai hawk #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai fic #hawk moskowitz x reader #hawk moskowitz #eli hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz fanfic #eli moskowitz fanfiction #eli moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz

[nights-legacy]

Don't Mess with Our Girl - DabiHawks x Vigilante! Reader

Main Masterlist ~ MHA Masterlist ~ #2

@lil-writer-523

2190 words

Warnings: vague mentions of torture, fighting, language

+ Y/N is a vigilante that is secretly dating with the #2 hero and highly wanted villain. You've been seen helping both men at some point in time. While out on a patrol one night, you get caught by a rogue villain and tortured. Unfortunately for them, the two men are already on his case and are out for blood.

Y/N's POV

Walking through the city at night would turn most people off but not me. I loved the night. I loved to take night time strolls, go stargazing, and Moonlite picnics. It made sense since my quirk was starlight oriented. There is also a lot of trouble at night. Normally.

"Damn. Nothing tonight." I groaned and layed back on the roof. I checked the time and decided to call it a night. I rolled back into a handstand and set my feet on the ground before scaling down the side of the building.

I never really worried about someone attacking me. I was able to protect myself easily and most people don't mess with me anyway. I shouldn't have let the false sense of security delude me. Out of nowhere, I was grabbed from behind and a rag was placed over my mouth roughly.

"Should have been more vigilant, little girl." Someone growled in my ear. I tried to throw my quirk back but the person grabbed my wrist and wrenched it behind my back.

"Ah!" I yelped and my head started to feel dizzy. I realized the rag was drugged and before I could think of anything to do, I passed out.

When I woke up, I was laying on the ground with my arms bound behind my back. I tried to get the bonds off but they weren't budging. Looking around and I was in a dilapidated warehouse of some sort.

"Oh she's awake boss." A voice said nearby. I quickly sat up and found the person who spoke. They were sitting at a card table playing a card game of some sort.

"Who are you?" I demanded. The two men only laughed. One stood up and came into a better light. My eyes widened when I saw a jagged scar across his neck, disappearing down onto his left shoulder. I knew who this was.

There was a man that always butted heads with Dabi if they met out in the streets. Keigo had some encounters with him too. He was known as Slit and was known for his love for torment and torture.

"Slit. It's not a pleasure to finally meet you." I sneered. He smiled big and walked closer.

"Miss Starlight. It is finally nice to meet you." He spoke in a jagged voice as he squatted in front of me. He roughly grabbed my chin and held my face. "You really are a looker, aren't you?"

"Fuck off!" I snap. He only smiled and roughly let go of my jaw. I stretched my jaw as he moved away. "Why am I here?"

"For fun." He said.

"Who's?" I glared.

"Mostly mine. But..." He turned back towards me. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood in a wide stance. "But you are here for an actual reason."

"And what's the reason?" I asked. The man at the table got up before coming over to grab me. He pulled me off the floor and drug me towards another room. Slit followed behind and I struggled against the other man.

"Dabi pissed me off and Hawks arrested my right hand man."

"And? That's what they're good at. And what do I have to do with that?" I winced as I was shoved down on my knees in front of a water tank.

"You're going to be the one that pays." He snarled with an evil grin. A shiver went down my spine as the two men shared a sinister look.

*Time skip*

I gasped for air as they brought my head up out of the water. Coughing and sputtering as the henchman held a tight grip on my hair. I struggled against the bonds again. I was soaked to the bone and cold. My lungs were screaming from the torture.

"Had enough?" Slit asked, sickeningly sweet. I glared at him and he started cackling. Motioning with his hand, the hackman shoved my head underwater again. I barely got a breath before he held me under. I struggled and tried to kick the guy off but I was growing weaker as the minutes ticked by. He pulled me back up and dropped me to the ground.

"Fuck." I coughed and sputtered. Squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to calm my lungs down. Tears mixed with the water already on my face. A shadow came over me. Glancing out of the corner of my age and saw Slit standing over me.

"You have held up longer than I thought." He knelt next to me. "That just means I get to have more fun."

"Psycho!" I snapped through my panting. He glared at me before grabbing me by the next. Lifting me from the ground, he shoved me against the side of the water tank. "You're in for it."

"Screw you." I spit. He raised his hand to hit me when a voice called out from somewhere.

"Never took you for a coward, Slit." Slit looked around frantically and I immediately found Dabi leaning against a pillar in the shadows. Slit looked at me and followed my line of sight to Dabi.

"Dabi." Slit muttered. Dabi's eyes were nearly glowing in rage. He was leaning against his shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest. "How am I a coward?"

"Going after her when your fight is with me and Hawks. She had nothing to do with this and now you just dug your grave but bringing her into this." Dabi stepped forward.

"Oh, have I? I'd like to see you try. Plus, I'm surprised at you. I never pegged you for someone to care about some girl."

"Well you were wrong. As usual." Dabi lit a fire in his hand. “You don't mess with our girl.”

"Good to know." Slit smirked before reaching down, grabbing my leg and flipping me over into the water tank.

I had no time to get a breath before submerging into the water. I squandered in the water and tried to find my way to the surface. Being so disoriented and my hands still being bound wasn't helping matters. I couldn't help but take a breath and water filled my lungs.

I started to black out when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me from the water. I coughed and hacked up water as I was lifted out of the tank. My bonds were cut and I latched onto whoever was holding me.

"I got you. Birdy. I got you." I heard Keigo whisper into my ear. I whimpered and hid my face in his chest. Keigo flew away from the tank and landed. I felt his wings wrap around me as I started to shiver.

"Keigo..." I coughed a little.

"Sh. It's okay." He patted my back as I coughed up the water caught in my lungs. He pulled his wings back to look me over. In the background we can hear Dabi and Slit fighting.

"Hawks! Lookout!" We heard Dabi yell.

We turned to see Slit jumping at me with a knife. Keigo blocked with his wing and knocked Slit back. He took over the fight as Dabi ran over to me. He threw his coat over me and I could feel the heat radiating off it. Picking me up by my arms from the ground, he led me away from the fight.

Out of nowhere, the henchman jumped out. He was covered in bright red thorns. Dabi shoved me behind him. They charged at each other. Flames flew everywhere and I could see the henchman trying to slash Dabi with the thorns. I could see the moment Dabi had enough and there was a big burst of flames. The henchman screamed and ran of in flames towards the water tank.

"Dabi! Let's get out of here!" Keigo landed next to me, setting a hand on my back. Dabi nodded. I looked past Keigo and saw Slit on the ground but still conscious. Dabi stepped forward and threw a fireball at the rafters and beams, setting the building on fire. "Dabi! Hurry!"

"Coming!" Keigo pulled me out with Dabi right behind us. We ran from the building and down the street. Exhaustion caught up with me and I stumbled before my legs gave up on me.

"Shit, baby." Keigo caught me before I hit the ground. He picked me up. I clutched his jacket while holding onto Dabi's that was still on me.

I spaced out after that before passing out. When I woke up after that, I was in dry clothes and covered in a warm blanket. I could feel someone's chest moving agaisn't my back. I opened my eyes and looked at who it was. Dabi sat there, holding me against his chest while he rested his head against his hand. He looked like he was asleep.

"Fly so high but I need to come down for oxygen." Keigo was singing somewhere in the apartment. I smiled before a pop from a fire I only just now noticed spooked me. I turned to look at the fireplace while Dabi shifted against me.

"You're awake. You had us worried." Dabi muttered.

"Sorry." I set my head back on his chest.

"Don't be." He grunted before looking behind him. "Birdy! She's awake!"

"Oh great. Coming!" He yelled back. We could hear the tinks and clatters of dishes from the kitchen. After a minute, he hurried out with a tray. He was dressed in a plain tshirt, sweats, and fuzzy socks.

"Here, sit up." Dabi said before helping me sit up and pulled me back against his chest. Keigo grabbed a mug off the tray and gave it to me.

"Here, drink." He said before hopping on the couch and curled up with us, slithering under the blanket and pulling my legs over his lap.

"Thank you." I drank from the mug and sighed. The warmth of tea was nice. Keigo rubbed my legs and Dabi buried his face in my hair.

"We're glad you're alright sweetheart. You had us worried." Keigo said.

"More like you had birdbrain panicked." Dabi said with a smile. Keigo rolled his eyes and smacked his head. Dabi glared while I chuckled and took a sip of my tea.

"What happened?"

"It all happened so fast." I started. "I was out like normal and as I made my home, I was grabbed from behind. They drugged me so fast, I couldn't do anything."

"Damn fucker." Dabi muttered.

"How did you two know I was taken?" I look between the two of them.

"You had said that morning that you would be home by midnight that night so when you didn't show, I got worried and called Dabi. When he hadn't heard from you, we both knew you were in trouble."

"It took us over 18 hours to find you." Dabi added. He grabbed my chin and made me look at him. "Don't let it happen again."

"Dabi." Keigo chuckled. Both Keigo and I knew what Dabi meant and that he meant well. He always came across rough but a long time ago, Keigo and I learned how to speak "Dabi".

"I won't." I cuddled into Dabi's side. "I think I'm going to take a break from the vigilante stuff anyway."

"You sure?" Keigo looked at me surprised. He began to rub circles on my leg. Dabi leant his head against mine.

"Yeah." I sighed. "I'm gonna have to rest anyway but..."

"Obviously." Dabi interrupted by muttering. Rolling my eyes, I choose to ignore him.

"But I am just getting tired of the same thing right now. I just want some downtime. Is that alright?"

"Of course." Keigo kissed my head. "We want you to do what makes you happy. Right Dabi?"

"Hmm?" A sleepy reply came.

"Touya!" Keigo exclaimed before punching the opposite shoulder I was laying against.

"What?! Hey!" Dabi jumped before glaring at Keigo. "What is your deal?!"

"You're falling asleep while we're trying to have a conversation!" They began to bicker and I chuckled. I snuggled in between them and drank my tea. The normalcy of their bickering was comforting. Dabi pulled me closer and Keigo laid a wing over our laps. It was cute how attentive and protective they were even if it was absent minded.

"Old married imbeciles." I muttered against the rim of my teacup.

"Hey!" They both yelled at me. I giggled furiously. Keigo pouted and Dabi rolled his too.

"See if we save you again." Dabi snipped with no malice in his voice.

"You'll always come save me Hot Stuff." I teased.

"Shut up." He muttered, turning away with a blush. Keigo laughed and poked more fun at the other male. Ever though he was sulking, I could see a small smile behind Dabi's hand.

"He's smiling!" I said excitedly. Dabi glared at me. "I said what I said."

"I can't with you two." Dabi groaned and let his head drop back. Keigo and I burst out laughing. These two were the light of my life and I was theirs. You don't mess with me unless you want to get in deep shit with my boys.

Tag List: @iris-shihabi @cl0verbby @lilparcheesie @keigos-baby-bird @evilunicorns4minions

#imagine #imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #mha #mha imagines #boku no hero academia #my hero academia imagines #bnha #bnha imagines #dabihawks x reader #hawks imagine #hawks x reader #hawks #mha hawks #bnha hawks #dabi imagine #dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi #keigo imagine #keigo takami #mha keigo takami #keigo x reader #bnha keigo #bnha x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero x reader

[bel1ewrites]

Hi! I was wondering how you would feel about a smut request about Jealous Sam using a remote controlled vibrator, like where it’s the reader’s birthday and Sam had a little “challenge” for her where the reader had to wear the vibrator and she’s really competitive so she accepted, sorry if this didn’t make any sense, and if it’s too vague I completely understand, thanks!

a/n: tysm for this request, it got me out of my little slump. Sorry about the delay of this post, I know I promised to get it out earlier but I ended up having to meet up with a friend.

Birthday Challenge (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

Description: It's impossible to say no to her.

WC: 2k

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, top!Sam, bottom!Reader, alcohol, Sam's lowkey an asshole in this

SAMANTHA had a tendency to get competitive. You’d figured this out fairly early in your relationship after a mini golf date that ended in her apologizing profusely for throwing your ball into the water after you’d won, swearing she didn’t know what had come over her. She took any opportunity to turn anything into a competition, no matter the stakes. 

With this in mind, you knew it shouldn’t have come as a shock when she proposed a challenge of sorts on the night of your twentieth birthday. 

“Oh come on,” your competitor huffs, holding the special little gift out to you like a prayer. “Don’t be a wimp.” Her tone has an edge to it, a teasing little lilt that tugs at your resolve. 

“I am not wearing that to dinner!” you persist, glaring at the purple lace and small black device in front of you. The vibrator is bullet shaped and no more than three inches long, smooth silicone coating the outside and creating a matte look. She’s standing like a guard in front of the bathroom door, preventing you from entering your bedroom to get ready for the night. 

The two of you have reservations at six and you can’t afford to be late, having scheduled them three months in advance. Deep down, you know what the outcome will be: either you’ll have to agree to play her little game or you’ll be forced to miss the dinner she’d promised to pay for. 

She dangles the material in the air, pinched between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes full of humor and a shit eating grin plastered across her face. You can feel the clock ticking, each second taking little bits of your willpower and destroying it bit by bit. With a loud groan and a stomp of your foot, you rip the gifts out of her hands and push past her, storming into your room and dropping your towel. 

She watches you with the eyes of a hawk, making sure you put the vibrator in its proper place and getting momentarily distracted by your naked and dripping figure. Exasperated, you step into the material and slide it up your legs, feeling the slight bump of the object nestled against your clit.

“Happy?” You sass as you grab your bra from the bed and clip it on. 

Sam’s pupils are dilated when you look up at her, shoulder leaning against the doorframe and eyes trailing up and down your body. “Very.” She wets her lips. 

—----

By the time you both make it to the restaurant and are seated in front of a perfect view, you’ve forgotten about the whole incident. There’s too much going on for you to think about it, the clinking of forks and the sunset falling over the horizon. Sam pulls your chair out for you as you sit, grabs your shoulders from behind and bends down to kiss the top of your head like a perfect gentleman. 

She’s wearing a new suit you haven’t seen before, dark red and expensive looking. Almost black waves fall down her back and over her shoulders in effortless union to frame her face perfectly. 

Your dress matches the color of her suit, material ending at mid thigh. She’d insisted on buying it for you a while ago; as soon as she saw you step out of the dressing room she was reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her wallet. It has a low neckline that exposes a healthy amount of cleavage, the thin straps keeping it from baring your chest to the world. It’s backless and somehow both form fitting and loose at the same time, expensive silk rubbing pleasantly against your skin. 

“This place is nice,” you smile, placing your elbows on the table and propping your head up on your hands. 

“It is.” Sam agrees, eyes falling to your lips and then lower. 

You’re about to tease her for looking so enraptured by your tits, but before you can the waitress appears out of thin air, pen and notepad in hand. She smiles warmly at you, then at Sam. “What can I get you both to drink?”

You expect Sam to answer first, but she doesn't, which results in a little gap of awkward silence until you decide to break it. “I’ll take a Manhattan and a water.”

She writes your request down. “And for you-”

“Whiskey,” Sam cuts in. “Neat.” Her jaw is tight, muscles shifting as she messes with the rings on her right hand. You have no idea why she’s glaring at the nice waitress and you feel a ping of sympathy for the woman who quickly walks away with her head down. 

“What was that about?” you question wearily. 

Sam scoffs. “She wants to fuck you.”

Eyebrows lifting in disbelief, you choke on your breath as she moves her hands under the table and stares at you. One of her eyebrows is raised as if she doesn’t trust that you’re unaware of the obvious one sided eye-fucking that went on between you and the waitress. 

Once again, said woman materializes out of thin air with your drinks and places them on napkins before you. She tucks the tray under her arm and unexpectedly rests her empty hand on your bare shoulder, making you jump slightly. Alarms go off in the back of your mind when you see Sam lean back in her chair with a smirk on her face, eyes dark and on yours.

“Would you like any appetizers, sweetheart?” The waitress asks, squeezing your shoulder lightly. Oh. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Sam mocks, voice low. “Do you want any appetizers?”

“Um… I-” you’re cut off by an unexpected vibration. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it has you jolting in surprise. A little gasp escapes your throat. 

“Are you okay?” the stranger with her hand on your shoulder questions with worry. 

“She’s fine. We’ll have the baked brie with all the shit on it,” Sam answers for you, dismissing the waitress with her tone of voice and taking a pull of her whiskey. 

The second her hand leaves your shoulder you shakily reach for your drink and chug it, the pleasant warmth taming your racing heart. Your face is almost as red as your dress when you place the empty glass back on the table and throw mental daggers at your cool and collected girlfriend. All she does in return is grin as the vibrations come back. 

“Cut it out,” you grit, hands gripping the sides of the table, legs crossing tightly. She’s got the bullet on a low setting, but it’s pressing into you perfectly and your eyes fight the urge to close. 

It gets stronger when Sam turns it up and tells you to look at her. “I think I’ll tell her about our little secret the next time she comes back,” she husks, sitting up and leaning forward to put one hand over your tight knuckles and keeping the other out of sight. “Let her know who you belong to, y’know? Or I could just make you cum in front of her.”

You fold your forearms over each other on the table and drop your forehead to them. Doing this in the middle of a restaurant feels dirty, it feels wrong. Nevertheless, you still find yourself humming quietly as your clit throbs, waves hitting you and making the muscles in your lower belly clench, a heat settling there and a buzz starting to fall over your mind. You aren’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or the pleasure. 

“Dirty girl,” Sam chides, clicking her tongue and turning off the vibrator after over a full minute of stimulation. Shame floods through you when you realize that you didn’t want it to stop and that you feel all empty and achy without it. Sluggishly, you lift your head up and put your hands in your lap as Sam flags down a waiter and orders you another Manhattan. 

“I’m starved,” the devil across from you groans. “Are you hungry, baby? God, where is that damn brie? Why don’t you read over the menu.” 

As if she’d summoned her, the waitress pops back up seconds later with the brie and Manhattan in hand. Apparently she learned her lesson the last time, because she barely says anything as she takes your orders, rushing away as soon as possible. Sam seems pleased by this. 

“Hey, question,” she begins, munching lightly on the appetizer. “Do you think you can cum quietly before she gets back?”

Scraping forks and clinking spoons and light chatter fill the space around you as you shake your head violently. “Samantha, no. Please let's just-” the vibrations begin again and your jaw drops slightly. “Just fuck me when we get home,” you whisper urgently, tone slowly turning to a whine. Wriggling against the chair and pleading with your eyes, you watch as she simply sits back and observes. 

“I don’t know about you, but I think we should do this more often,” she says conversationally, finishing her whiskey and upping the strength of the vibrations. “Wow! This thing has patterns too?”

Suddenly, the bullet begins pulsing in time with your clit. Each wave hits you in the perfect spot. It’s quick and precise and you’re dripping and panting and no one knows. You can’t help the uncontrollable moan that comes out of you, all quiet and needy and music to Sam’s ears. No one but her can see the flush of your cheeks and the way you shift forward slowly. No one but her knows she’s the one making you bite your lip and breathe heavy through your nose.

Hot. It’s too hot in here, you’re sweating and shaking uncontrollably. To anyone else it must seem like you’re having a stomachache; only you and your conniving girlfriend are aware of the pleasure coursing through you and its filthy, in all honesty. It’s filthy. 

Sam runs a hand through her hair and watches you and ultimately decides she’s discovered a new kink when she catches herself wishing the waitress would come back and see you all desperate for her and only her. She can see that you’re on the edge, reading you like an open book and knowing you need a push. 

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” she groans when you roll your hips slightly. “I don’t even know how to describe it. You’re all desperate and you’re biting your lip so hard I think it might bleed and I want nothing more than to just fuck you on this table in front of everyone.”

Her rambling is flooding through you, each word like a lightning strike in your stomach that makes you feel all warm and tight. You can tell she’s having a hard time not throwing caution to the wind and just bending you over the table by the tremor in her voice; it makes you put your head down and whine. 

Body taut with anticipation, you focus on the overwhelming feeling spiraling within your lower abdomen. “Sam,” you whine out before the pulsing vibrations running through you finally break the tight coil and you cum with the taste of her name fresh in your mouth. 

Sam watches you go tense and shudder through your orgasm, quickly turning the strength of the vibrations down to the lowest level and allowing you to ride it out. She bumps her leg against yours under the table to anchor you while waiting patiently for you to get through the aftershocks. 

Slowly, you pick your head up from the table and uncross your legs uncomfortably, startling when the silicone shifts against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Sam’s looking at you with unadulterated adoration all over her face, she’s reaching her hand out over the table in a silent request for you to hold it and you do. 

Footsteps sound behind you, the waitress showing up just in time to witness the dark flush on your cheeks and your chest and your shoulders and the still slightly glazed over look in your eyes. Sam is beaming at her. She’s sitting there all smiley and nothing close to how she was earlier. It makes you roll your eyes. 

“Thanks!” She calls after the woman who says nothing and keeps her gaze on the floor the whole time she’s placing the food on your table, scurrying away ASAP like a scared child.

#sam carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #scream #screamxi #smut #melissa barrera #wlw #gxg #lesbian #melissa barrera x reader

[flowersandbigteeth]

I’m not sure if your requests are still open, but if they are, would you be willing to do something for a faun in heat/a rut doing some sort of courtship ritual for his human mate? I’ll let you decide what he does for this ritual since I know you’ve said before you like more vague asks! (She/her for the human mate if you could?)

This story got a little dark, but is for the true yandere fans and not as sweet as I usually write ^_^ I can't believe I did two blizzard stories in a row without even realizing it until I went to pick the gif

General Plot: You bring home a drunk faun and get a bit more than you bargained for

Faun (Hawk) x female reader

Word Count: 3k

W: vague reference of murder and minor character death, spooky spells, sort of mind control? very yandere behavior sfw

“Hey…you ok?” you asked the Faun, glassy eyed, slouched on the side of the road. You picked up the open flask lying next to him and sniffed, pulling your head back as the stench of strong spirits hit your nose. 

He was handsome, even in his drunken state with pretty auburn hair sticking to his forehead and a sculpted physique. He was rather large for a faun with broad shoulders and thick, powerful legs tipped with hooved feet. Curling gold horns stuck out from his head, tangled with some dead grass. He lolled a bit, before trying to get up, only to slip in the snow and land face first in the slushy mud. 

“You’re going to freeze to death out here,” you said, frowning and glancing down the long empty road that you took to get home. He wasn’t from your village, you’d never seen him before. 

“Gnnnnghhg!” he moaned, rolling over on his back and spitting out mud. 

“Can you walk?” you asked, looking up at the sky, where gray clouds promising more snow accumulated overhead, “there’s a blizzard coming. You’ll die if you sleep here.” 

There was no way you could lift him and you wondered if you should run back to town and get some help from an Orc, but it was already late in the day. The sun was about to go down and everything would freeze soon. You weren’t sure if he would even survive the hour walk back to town. His gold skin was already looking a little blue and you had no way to know how long he’d already been out there.

He groaned again, so you heaved his thick arm over your shoulder and tried to help him up. It took a few tries and a lot of coaxing, but you finally got him on his own two feet. 

“My house isn’t far,” you told him, not that he was really paying attention, focusing on stumbling forward. 

“Ssssmell sssooo gooooo,” he murmured as you arduously helped him put one foot in front of the other, his horns knocking you in the face every time he turned his head. 

You didn’t normally pick up vagrants and take them home with you, but it was the middle of winter and your heart was too soft to let him freeze on the side of the road. You prayed to the goddess he wouldn’t make you regret it. 

After a long, exhausting walk, you let out a relieved sigh when you reached the gate to your little cottage in the woods. It was quaint, built by your late grandfather of carefully cut, interlocking stones, keeping it nice and cozy inside. 

Stuffing him through your rather small front door, you managed to get him on the couch which he promptly flattened with his weight. You sighed at the pile of splinters and fluff underneath him, but turned your attention to lighting your fireplace. Once you had a nice crackling fire going, you found a quilt big enough to almost fit over him and draped it over his prone body. 

He appeared to have fallen asleep, so exhausted you quickly fed yourself with some leftover bread and cuddled up in your oversized chair under another, smaller quilt to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. 

–

Hawk woke with a start and blinked at the wooden ceiling above him. The last thing he remembered he was dancing around a bonfire with his friends, drinking and celebrating their rut. There had been pretty maidens all around and music playing, the usual type of celebration for a faun, as well as lots and lots of alcohol. 

He didn’t normally overdo it, but apparently this time he had. The whole point of the celebration was to find a willing mate and he needed to be conscious to do that. He rolled over on his side to find himself in a small, warm home. He wondered if he’d found a mate after all and she’d taken him inside. Soft singing drifted to his ears from another room before you appeared holding a cup of water and some fresh bread. 

“You up?” you asked with a smile, “I was worried you would sleep all day.” 

Hawk blinked at you once, then twice before his own smile appeared on his face. He’d chosen a beautiful mate. He adored your pretty doe eyes looking down at him and the loose hair framing your face. The whole house smelled strongly of your sweet scent mingling with fresh bread. 

He accepted the cup and bread, drinking thirstily and taking a big bite out of the thick, soft slice, smeared with strawberry jam. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you told him, “I found you on the side of the road yesterday…do you remember that?” 

He shook his head, chewing on a large bite. You giggled. 

“That’s not surprising,” you said, “you were pretty drunk. It’s fortunate you could still walk or you might have died.” 

He frowned at you and swallowed heavily. 

“You weren’t at the party?” he asked and to his dismay you shook your head. 

“I don’t know anything about any party,” you explained, “I just found you passed out on the side of the road, like I said.” 

“Oh.” he said flatly. 

That meant he hadn’t found a mate as he’d assumed. You were just a good samaritan. Still, you were quite lovely. More lovely than any of the other women he’d seen at the celebration. 

“Is your husband around?” he asked, nervous to hear your answer. 

At that you laughed. 

“No…” you said slowly, “I don’t have a husband…”

He grinned. That was one obstacle he didn’t have to worry about, at least.  

“Name’s Hawk,” he said, holding out a large hand to you. 

Taking it you couldn’t help but notice how much bigger it was than yours, with long strong fingers. 

“Good to meet you,” you replied cheerfully before glancing outside, “you might want to head home soon if you want to beat the storm. It’s looking pretty bad outside.” 

He followed your eyes to the window where snow was being whipped around in the gradually rising wind. 

“Don’t think I’ll make it home before it hits,” he murmured, considering he didn’t actually have any idea where he was, “can’t I stay here?”

He watched your face fall with concern as you thought about it, but finally, deciding you couldn’t send him out into a blizzard, you nodded. He rewarded you with a handsome smile. 

Shifting on your destroyed couch, Hawk was becoming more and more aware of his rut. His skin was getting feverish and he clenched and unclenched his fists trying to stay his instincts. The longer he was alone with you, the more he was aware of the gnawing ache that was consuming him. 

His eyes drifted over your form, wrapped in a simple cotton dress with fluffy socks. He needed to rut you and mate you, but mating wasn’t as simple as throwing you on your back and having his way with you. There was a ritual to complete, one that would have been done in the company of his fellow fauns if he’d stayed at the party where he should have been. Blood had to be spilled, though usually it was done all together to prevent an unnecessary slaughter. Usually they sacrificed a pig or a sheep, some farm animal that wouldn’t be missed. Here, alone in your cabin with a blizzard outside, there was no apparent sacrifice available. 

His salvation came as a knock on the door. You almost didn’t hear it as the wind whipped outside, rattling the trees, but hurried to the door to see who could possibly be visiting you in these conditions. 

“Hello (Y/N),” your friend Quillon chirped, beaming down at you. 

His face was red and wind burned from the cold. 

“What are you doing here, Quillon?” you gasped, shuffling him in out of the snow, “the weather is terrible! You shouldn’t be out.” 

Before he answered, his eyes immediately shifted to the shirtless faun still sitting on what remained of your couch. 

Following his eyes, you found your cheeks warming. 

“Oh, this is Hawk,” you explained to the fairy, “I found him on the side of the road.” 

Quillon immediately frowned, but turned his attention back to you. 

“I wanted to make sure you were supplied for the blizzard,” he said. 

Hawk almost growled, with every passing second he was growing more attached to you. 

He’s probably trying to get “trapped” here just like me, he thought darkly, his sharp green eyes watching the way Quillon’s smile grew as he took in your little floral dress and plaited hair. He obviously liked you as more than just a friend. Well, that’s just too bad, Hawk thought to himself, she’s mine. 

“I brought more firewood and some food, enough to get you through a few days,” Quillon went on, easing himself into your living room to block Hawk’s view of you. 

“That’s so kind of you,” you beamed, then peeked back outside. You couldn’t see anything past all of the snow that was falling. You quickly shut the door to block out the draft. 

“It looks like you made it here just in time, but I doubt you’ll make it back safely. Why don’t you stay? With my food and yours there should be enough for all three of us,” you said. 

He glanced back at Hawk uncomfortably, before hurrying outside to bring in the supplies he’d brought. 

When everything was inside you made Quillon take off his boots and got him settled on your chair. 

“I should make us some lunch,” you decided, “I bet you both could use a warm meal.” 

Hawk and Quillon feigned good will in tandem, giving you bright smiles until you left the room and their faces dropped. 

“What are you doing here?” Quillon snapped, “why don’t you go back where you came from?” 

Hawk looked smug. 

“(Y/N) brought me here herself. I think she likes me,” he said. 

Quillon snorted. 

“(Y/N) has a warm heart, goddess bless her. I won’t let you take advantage of her kindness. You need to go,” he snarled back. 

“Like you can do anything about it,” Hawk said. 

“I’ll throw you out myself if I have to,” he growled. 

Hawk’s eyes glinted. 

“Maybe we should settle this outside,” he hissed, “I don’t think for a minute you could take me.” 

Quillon was already putting on his boots, prepared for a fight, despite the nasty weather and wind. 

“The faun and I are going to check the barn, sounds like one of the doors is rattling!” he called to you, watching Hawk warily rise to his full height. 

“Be careful!” you shouted back, working on chopping up meat for stew. 

Hawk laughed to himself as he followed Quillon outside. He had probably 70 pounds on him and Quillon wasn’t a small guy. Hawk’s eyes bled to red with murderous intent as they made their way through the wild wind and snow far enough away that you wouldn’t hear the fight. Of course, Hawk didn’t play fair. He didn’t wait for Quillon to square up, attacking him the moment he was out of shouting distance from your house. 

Quillon did shout, but it was muffled by the high wind and trees smacking together, creating a cacophony of sound that acted as the perfect cover. 

The fight ended quickly and in only a few moments, Quillon was motionless in the snow. He dragged his lifeless body into the barn, where he decided to stage the ceremony. Despite the protests of your pigs and goats, all of which could have been perfectly usable sacrifices, he cleared an area in the dirt floor and quickly used Quillon’s blood to draw the sacred sigil on the dirt floor before it got too cold to run freely. First he drew a large circle and then traced the magic symbols that would facilitate the binding. His chest puffed with pride that he’d dispatched his competitor and was going to bind you to him with his very blood. 

When he was happy with it, he carried the rest of your friend into the woods to be covered in snow until spring came months later. The last thing he had to do was drag the cart Quillon had brought with him to carry supplies out of your eyesight. Once you were bound it wouldn’t matter if you saw it, but until then he needed it hidden. It was cold and tough work, cutting through the wind, but the thought of his future plans warmed his heart. 

Brushing snow off of his shoulders he made his way back to your warm, cozy home. 

“Everything okay?” you asked, peeking your head out of the kitchen, “where’s Quillon?” 

He was a shockingly good liar, putting on an absolutely innocent face to answer you. 

“He said he was going to run home for some supplies he forgot while the weather isn’t too bad, looks like the doors of your pig pen are broken,” he said with a small smile, “said he’s afraid the pigs will wander out into the snow and freeze.” 

You frowned because you wouldn’t have felt comfortable traveling in the snow, but maybe Quillon was made from tougher stuff. 

“Broken?” you said, “that’s impossible! Those doors are made from solid oak, my grandfather made them himself.” 

He shrugged. 

“You can come see for yourself if you like,” he said, hiding the wiley smile that wanted to bloom on his face. 

You twisted your lip as you put on your warm coat and some heavy boots, following him through the blinding white snow to your barn. Inside, it was very dark, so you didn’t even notice  when you stepped into the sacred circle he’d crafted on the floor. 

“O woll teki yua hustegi end meki yua my wofi!” you heard Hawk boom into the barn, his loud, deep voice echoing off of the wall. 

Turning around, confused, you suddenly felt hot all over and your skin felt like it was prickling under your jacket. Around you, the circle he’d drawn glowed gold, casting eerie shadows on Hawks face, making him appear totally unhinged with the wide smile that grew across it. 

“Wha-” you started to say, but your words were caught in your throat as you were overcome with a wave of need. Your body needed his. You could feel it in your very bones. 

You stood there frozen, trying to comprehend what was happening, but your consciousness was drifting away, becoming more feral. Your mind was desperately seeking Hawk’s scent and his skin against yours. You crumpled to the ground, the last bits of sense bleeding out of you. 

Hawk chuckled, pleased that his spell had worked. You were his now. You could never love another, you would always be seeking him. Only his scent would smell like home to you, all others would smell rancid. Anyone else’s touch would burn. Another male’s kisses would make you nauseous. It was an ancient secret spell only the fauns knew and guarded very closely. 

You whimpered on the floor forgetting all about the barn door or where Quillon went. From then on you were Hawk’s and his alone. He scooped you up in his large arms and rather obediently you pressed your head into his chest, his scent and touch like a balm for your burning skin. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he purred at you, knowing you were probably not thinking about anything at all but him. He kissed you on the head, making you mewl, the sensation sending a ripple of pleasure starting from that spot and rippling outward over you. You shuddered in his arms, trying to rub yourself against him, covering yourself in his scent. 

“I’m going to take good care of you, my pretty starling,” he assured you with a smug smile as he carried you through the snow back to now his home where you would start your life with your new mate.

#sfw yandere #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #monster lover #monster x reader #faun #monster x girl #monster oc #fantasy fluff

[sundrop-writes]

One Moment Per Episode With Dick Grayson

Season One, Episode Two: "Hawk and Dove"

Summary:

Even though Dick denies that he needs your help, you can't let other innocent people - like Hank, Dawn, and Rachel - get caught in the crossfire of his stubbornness and annoyance toward you.

So when you have a vision of Dick fleeing back to some of the only friends he knows, you don't hesitate to chase him. And yes - you make sure to bring coffee this time.

Dick Grayson x Fem!Powered!Reader. Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Bantering/Humor. Set during Season 1, Episode 2.

Word Count: 6,000

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns - I still want to warn that some people might accuse this character of being an OC/might consider this an OC, but the reader received a great reception in the last chapter, so you guys might like her uniqueness if you read this; as usual with my stories, the majority of pronouns used in the fic are you/yours; and other than clothing style and a scar that informs her backstory, the reader's looks are not described and are left vague (as far as race, body type, hair colour, etc. - those things are not described); the reader character does have powers - the reader character is psychic and can see glimpses of the future in dream-like visions; the reader actually has a vision in this one (and there is more descriptions of her visions in general) (looking back, I wish I would have opened the first chapter on a vision of the apocalypse but oh well); the reader and Dick are 'exes' - their relationship was never official (they never explicitly called each other boyfriend/girlfriend), but they used to have sex often (and they both have feelings for each other that they never openly spoke about), and they are childhood friends, so there is a lot of emotional history there; this fic uses Y/N; this whole chapter (and this whole series, really) involves intense criticism of Dick's character - the Titans version specifically - so if you don't like that and if you don't like the Titans characterization of him, then turn back now; mentions of canon-typical violence; non-graphic descriptions of Dick having an infected wound as a child (speaking to his characterization); mentions of non-canon character deaths - happening in non-canon branching paths in the reader's visions (things that don't come true, but have the opportunity to come true if she doesn't interfere); mentions of gun violence; lots of stereotypical monogamous jealousy going on here - some canon, and some not (not the kind of thing my poly ass typically writes, but it does well with Dick's toxic personality, so I like it) - Hank being jealous of Dick and Dawn's reunion, and Dick trying to evoke jealousy from the reader over his past relationship with Dawn (though I have made it clear in the text that Dick doesn't have feelings for Dawn anymore); Dick accidentally pointing a gun at the reader (because of mistaken identity); this time there is equal pining and horniness between Dick and the reader (mostly because I am a simp for Dick in that navy button down shirt, unf); mentions of Dick's past trauma (the death of his parents) and his PTSD reactions because of it; mentions of Dick and the reader having sex in the past and their sexual desire toward each other and some mild sexual themes, but there is no explicit smut in this chapter (there might be some in future chapters); the reader gets injured in a fight with The Family; mentions of Dawn's canon injuries and subsequent coma; I believe that's it for this part.

A/N: I actually wanna say that this chapter was complete and ready to be edited in my drafts, and because of the comments and feedback I got on the last chapter, I actually went in and made some additions to this chapter. People really seemed to like the banter between Dick and the reader character, and there wasn't much of it in this part, so I made sure to add more of it - because if you guys tell me that you like a certain aspect of a fic, I will play up that aspect in future chapters or in future fics. That is why commenting matters. Writers listen to your detailed feedback and put it into future stories - we aren't just looking for comments to stroke our egos. So if you guys like this chapter and the banter in it, know that you helped shape it from what it originally was!

...

Dick had basically told you to fuck off - he didn’t want to be involved, but he already was. 

The events were already set into motion around him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now. So - rather than turn around and go all the way back home, you had simply gotten a hotel room in Detroit, waiting for him to ask for your help, or waiting for some signal that he would truly need you. 

You fell into an easy sleep, and soon - that signal came to you. 

… 

A rooftop. Two old friends. Tense smiles under a beautifully bright day that didn’t suit them.

“She killed someone?” Dawn nods toward Rachel, who is sitting beside the large dove house that Hank built, looking at the gentle animals in quiet fascination. She feels peaceful in their presence. “She’s just a kid.” 

That’s what he wants. He wants everyone to underestimate her. 

“Whoever they are, they’ve got people in the department.” Dick replies. 

He’s talking about the people who kidnapped her right out from under his nose - the ones who nearly succeeded in making her a ritual sacrifice. Just one of many forces that were coming after her. One of many forces that seek to harm her. 

“We needed somewhere safe to regroup.” He adds on. “And think about what I’m gonna do.” 

Somewhere safe? 

“What about Bruce?” Dawn poses. 

Of course Dick wouldn’t go fleeing back to him. Daddy issues. He thinks of Dawn and Hank as his true family. The Titans have always been his true family. Since losing the Circus, it’s the only family that he’s known. 

Oh. Somewhere safe. Of course. 

Dick visibly shudders at the thought of going back to Bruce. “He’s no good with kids.” 

That's an understatement. 

“A cop, huh?” Dawn gives him a small grin. “That’s one I never would’ve figured.” 

Well, he seeks out order. But he's a stubborn, bull-headed person who demands to be the leader at all times. He’s terrible at following rules that he hasn't made - terrible at falling under someone else's authority. He thinks that being a police officer is bringing forth real justice. 

It was never meant to last. 

Dick knew this. He doesn’t like admitting his own faults. So, he rushes to change the subject. 

“How are you?” He asks Dawn, clearly curious. 

It’s almost as though he wants her to say that her life has been notably worse without the Titans. Just like his has been. 

It's been too long since he's spoken to her. He loves running without looking back. It’s something that he’s very good at. 

“We’re great.” Dawn answers, flashing him a smile. She's insistent on this ‘we' - reminding Dick that she's not alone. She's not a single person anymore. “Hank’s feeling the life a little. Age waits for no man, and all that.”

Of course. This should have been obvious to him, but he’s a little too absorbed in his own problems to consider it. 

“How bad?” Dick asks the obvious question. 

“Two fractures, three concussions in the last year, and a herniated disc.” Dawn replies honestly. 

Dick has been through worse. He acts like it’s nothing, but it’s not. He’s the type of man to attempt to put a band-aid on a bullet wound. While traveling with the Circus, he stepped on a nail once, and tried to hide it from his parents - pulled it out himself and only told them when the wound began to fester and get infected. 

Fiercely independent and stubborn, even back then. 

“Jesus, Dawn.” 

Yet, he acts as though this is surprising. He acts as though this isn’t the norm when you exchange your bodily safety for the safety of others. 

“We’re still good out there, Dick.” She presses, sounding as though she is trying to convince herself. They need the team. That’s what’s missing. The downfall of her confidence. “Really good. But one slip-up-” 

“You should quit.” Dick declares this firmly, confidently. He always believes his own authority as fact. “You both should.” 

Deep down, he knows that both Dawn and Hank will never quit. Like himself, they do not take well to ‘retirement’. They will die doing this job or they will find quieter ways to keep doing good - but they will never rest. Rest feels too selfish. 

“That’s the plan.” Dawn replies. It feels like a lie coming out of her mouth, and she smiles around the discomfort of it. “As soon as we take out these gun suppliers he’s obsessed with. One more chance to do some good and then he promised he’s out.”

Suddenly, there was a flash of something else. 

Guns. Piles and piles of guns. Dawn being shot in the head from behind. Bright red blood soaking into white hair. A sneak attack while they have their guard down. Hank, overwhelmed by grief, unable to consider his own life as enemies surround him. 

He is forcefully pulled off her limp body. 

His screams bounce off the concrete walls as he is chained up and tortured. 

Things never go according to plan, do they? 

Dick gives her a sharp look as he considers the possibilities. Almost as if, due to his paranoia, he too can see the future. 

He wants to offer his help, or tell them simply not to go, but Dawn steals the words off his tongue. 

“You could help us out.” She remarks brightly. 

Yes, he could. He should. 

Another flash of similar events. 

This ends just as bloody. Similar howls of pain echo through the warehouse. Hank is limping as Dawn supports him, but all three of them are alive. They all make it back to the apartment alive. 

Dick is working on his personal definition of justice. It’s not exactly clean. (But it works.) 

But still, he hesitates. 

“I’m out of the life, Dawn.” 

Liar. 

Suddenly, Hank appears. He is surprisingly quiet for someone so large. 

“The hell are you doin’ here, Dick?” He barks out the name like poison - in a harsh, jutting way that many others have done before him. 

Everyone becomes tense. It’s an unwelcome reunion. 

“Hank.” Dawn speaks his name curtly - a reminder. Mind your temper. 

“I had a situation.” Dick tries to explain himself, being far too vague. 

But again, how does one cleanly summarize encountering a young girl with powers like Rachel’s and being so unsure how to handle it? And of course, Dick hates to admit being unsure of himself. He hates to admit needing help. He prefers to phrase things delicately - as though this were a choice, a fun day trip, rather than the desperate fleeing that it truly is. 

“Nice little reunion you got goin’ here.” Hank says sarcastically. 

“You know it’s not like that.” Dick replies. 

He is right, but poor at defending himself against Hank’s flare of jealousy. He is so walled off that he doesn’t dare to admit he doesn’t have eyes for Dawn anymore, even in the slightest. That relationship was nice, but those feelings died out long ago. He simply can’t see her in a romantic light anymore because his heart belongs to someone he believes could never want him in return. 

Follies for another time. 

“Sure looks like it to me.” Hank grunts in return. 

“Hank.” Dawn says his name sharper this time, capturing his attention as he stares at Dick with fire burning in his eyes. 

She nods toward Rachel, who is staring at all of them with confusion. 

It’s her. She’s the reason why we’re all here. She’s the reason we’re all going to be alive years from now. 

“What the fuck?” Hank is confused. Reasonable. 

“Can we just go back inside, please?” 

Good idea. 

… 

You woke up in a cold sweat, fumbling around numbly to turn on the lamp of the hotel room that you were staying in. Having your mind widen across the astral plane could be absolutely exhausting. 

Of course Dick had gone back to them. 

Looks like you were headed to DC. 

…

“Dawn, you can’t hit this job. Look at the number of security contractors here-” 

“Come on, don’t change the subject.” 

Dawn was cut off from speaking any further by a loud thud coming from the front door. Something almost akin to a knock. Hank (who had gone out to pick up some beer) had a key, so - that definitely wasn’t him. Rachel was in the guest room watching Game of Thrones - 

Dick and Dawn exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing. 

There was someone at the door. Someone unannounced.

And whoever was at the door might be someone looking for Rachel - someone seeking to harm her. In the kind of silent communication that had only been developed over years of working together as a team, Dick gave Dawn a nod and she calmly raised from her chair to go and check on Rachel. And then he grabbed his service pistol, flicking the safety off and cocking it - he swiftly walked to the front door, and while pointing the gun at whoever was outside. 

It was a clear warning, and also ready to fire if the person tried barging in. Dick opened the door slowly, and peered into the hallway, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he waited to see who it was. 

You. 

It was you. 

He let out a sharp breath of relief when the information fully penetrated his brain - the fact that it was you standing there, and not someone intending to do him or Rachel harm. Not an enemy. 

You were standing there as innocently as ever, wearing a red dress with a beautiful paisley pattern on it - still sporting those same brown leather boots and that same cozy jacket. Again, you looked so damn beautiful, and it shouldn’t have been comforting, and Dick shouldn’t have been filled with want. You were holding a paper tray full of coffee cups - which you had pressed against your breast for balance, and in the other hand, you had a large brown bag that seemed to be full of pastries from the smell. 

“Fuck.” He swore sharply, his arm still holding the gun up stiffly - his body still filled with the conflicting fight or flight response pumping through him, unanswered. 

You let out a bright laugh at this, seemingly amused by Dick’s tense aura. 

“Your greetings get more pleasant everytime I see you, Dick.” You said, nodding toward the gun that was still extended in your direction. 

He let out another tense breath, and forcefully unlocked his forearm then, in order to put the gun down. He put the safety back on and tucked it into the back of his waistband as he opened the door fully to let you inside. 

“You really are such a warm and welcoming person.” You added on, sarcasm ripe in your voice. 

“You’re an asshole.” Dick replied, still feeling the ache of a fight or flight response tearing through him as he tried to calm down. 

He knew that you hadn’t meant to scare him - or maybe you had, seeing as you hadn’t apologized, and seemed to find the whole thing entirely amusing. But at least you weren’t someone that he actually needed to shoot. So that was a plus. 

“I am not.” You replied snarkily, stepping past Dick and making your way into the apartment. “I’m nice. You told me that next time I should bring coffee, and I did. That’s the farthest thing from being an asshole.” 

“Dick, what’s going on?” Dawn called out, stepping out from the guest room with Rachel hot on her heels. 

Realization spread across her features when she saw you placing your goodies on the counter as Dick closed and locked the front door. 

“Y/N,” Dawn smiled, walking over to give you a hug after you had set everything down. 

You embraced her tightly for a moment before she pulled away with a smile. Dick rolled his eyes at this - still annoyed at your presence. He would never admit it, but he was upset that Dawn was much happier to see you than she had been when he had arrived. 

“Another friend?” Rachel asked, hovering at the edge of the kitchen, slightly hesitant of you. 

“A good friend.” Dawn confirmed, shining her smile toward Rachel. “Rachel, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is-” 

“Rachel. Hi.” You cut off Dawn as she made the introduction, giving a gentle wave toward Rachel while she nodded shyly at you. 

“A friend who’s not supposed to be here.” Dick added on gruffly. 

“Grumpy grumps don’t get danishes.” You said, holding up the large brown paper bag. 

Dick sighed and rolled his eyes, wanting to protest about you distracting from the larger point with pastries - but technically, he had asked you to bring them. 

“We’ve got… a medium vanilla latte for Dawn,” You pulled the cup out of the tray, now doling out the coffee orders. It was something that you knew partially from memory, and partially from the omnipotence that came with your powers.

She took it with a quiet ‘thank you’. 

“A small black coffee with extra sugar for Rachel.” You offered her the paper cup, and she loosened up on her hesitance toward you, eagerly leaning in to grab it. She smiled at the fact that you knew her preference and didn’t question her for drinking coffee at such a young age. 

“Thanks.” She said brightly. 

“A large black coffee for grumpy pants.” You said, holding out a cup towards Dick. 

When he reached for it, you teasingly swiped it back before you actually gave it to him, and he heaved out another sigh. 

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?” He asked sharply as he popped open the lid on the cup and took a sip. 

You decided to ignore him. 

“And an Americano for Hank.” You went on speaking about the coffee, rather than answering Dick’s question. “What kind of sociopath drinks watered down espresso anyway?” 

“He-” Dawn spoke up, about to tell you that Hank was at the store, not even there to enjoy it while it was still hot. But then, there was the sound of lock and key in the door and it came bursting open. 

“Dawn, I got your stupid fru-fru coconut ice cream. I had to go to three different stores for it, and-” 

When Hank saw everyone gathered in the kitchen, including the surprising addition of you, he glared as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

“Well, isn’t this a real goddamn-” 

“A real goddamn summer camp.” You cut him off, literally stealing the words out of his mouth. 

“God, I fucking hate it when you do that.” Hank sighed, a visible stiffness running through him - similar to the way Dick looked when you said ominous things. He was creeped out and defensive at the same time. 

“Would a pecan cinnamon roll make you feel better?” You posed, pulling a smaller bag out of the bag of pastries and offering it to him. 

“You know, you always were my favorite.” He replied, quickly changing his tune as he came to grab the treat from you, a snarky smile spreading across his lips. 

Dick reached for the brown bag sitting on the counter to get one of those danishes you had mentioned. You saw this out of the corner of your eye, and you snatched it away from him. You had meant what you said. He tensed up visibly but didn’t argue. 

Dawn giggled, pointedly looking between the two of you before she reached into the bag herself - of course, only for you to slide it closer to her. 

Dick sighed harshly and tried to move on from the subject. “Now, are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?” 

…

It wasn’t long before Dick sequestered you away, demanding answers. He dragged you into Dawn and Hank’s bathroom, actually. This left Dawn to awkwardly fill the space with Rachel, who was wondering who you were, and was asking more questions as she sensed the tension between you and Dick. Meanwhile, Hank scarfed down his pecan bun without a single care about the circumstances of your visit now that he was fed. 

You sat on the edge of the bathtub with your arms crossed, looking at Dick with firm calculation, just like you always did, waiting for him to speak. He shoved his hands in his pockets - something that made his whole stance tense and broad and horribly appealing. It was something that reminded you that he had stayed perfectly fit since you had last seen him - and he had nothing but fine, firm muscles under that shirt. 

You forced yourself to focus as he stiffened his jaw and stared right back at you. 

“Well?” He scoffed. 

“‘Well’ what, Grayson?” You nagged back, knowing fully well what he meant. 

He sharply rolled his eyes. That seemed to be a reaction that you invoked from him quite frequently. 

“Why the hell did you follow me?” He sighed, his breath too tired to be as fully demanding as he intended. 

You wondered when the last time he had slept was. He was someone who wore insomnia strangely well, especially considering that Bruce had driven him to be sleepless since his teen years. It was something that he was accustomed to by now, so he never got the ‘bags under eyes’, ‘half dead’ thing that most other people did when they didn’t sleep. He simply looked like himself. 

You hated how much internal destruction and self abuse suited him. 

“Who says I followed you?” You replied, your natural instinct toward snark acting up again. “Maybe I just felt like dropping by. Dawn and Hank are my friends, too.” 

You almost added on ‘apparently they like me more than they like you, anyway’ - but you didn’t feel the need to kick him so badly when he was already down. 

Dick let out a quiet growl, reaching up to firmly pinch the bridge of his nose with his finger and a thumb. 

Already, you were wearing his patience thin. 

You knew that you couldn’t tell him the truth. 

One thing you knew for certain - Dick Grayson was a control freak. It was something that had been carved into him by trauma and fully solidified by years of training with Bruce. 

That night, so long ago - having his parents slip out from his grasp when he had been so young, while performing a routine that they were known for courageously doing without a safety net. A routine that they were so certain of and knew so well, having never factored in the act of murderous sabotage that ultimately killed them - it made Dick want to obsessively control every single aspect of his life and everyone else’s around him. 

Not only did he want to help those around him avoid danger, but he wanted the people around him to behave exactly how he imagined that they should at all times. 

He was constantly on the lookout for frayed ropes - for the unexpected variables that might be the downfall of someone that he loved. He felt that his parents’ death had been his fault, that he hadn’t been diligent enough that night, so he needed to be hypervigilant in every other aspect of his life to keep more people from dying. 

It was part of the reason that you bothered him so much. You were always unexpected - always a wild variable that he had to chase down. Whether it was your actions, your words, or your reactions to the things that he did and said - he felt like he could never predictably nail you down, and he absolutely fucking hated it. (It was probably also one of the reasons that he got such a fantastic release from fucking you - but that was a box of emotional issues he was not yet willing to open.) 

But - being the control freak that he was - he liked to try and control the outcome of your visions. 

Yes, you did see the future in your visions. And yes, the version of that future that you saw could sometimes be changed. It was part of the reason that you tried to interfere to stop bad things. You had seen many things before that had never come true - both good things and terrible things. 

But you had warned Dick time and time again that the future is not random. You never saw simple flashes of random possible outcomes and one of those realities might come true. No - you saw people’s intentions. You saw the results of the choices that people make. 

If someone intended to commit a murder - you would see death. If they changed their mind - you would see life. If someone interfered to stop that murder - the future could change in a lot of strange ways because of it. 

Life is a winding path with a lot of branches to it, and when someone makes a choice, some of those branches die off. 

Dick Grayson’s controlling, all mighty, ‘need to interfere’ mindset certainly had a way of changing the future. He constantly felt the need to use the information from your visions to force people into making the ‘right’ choice. But sometimes, on the path we choose to avoid our fate, we run headfirst into it. 

You were never going to tell him - but Dick and his controlling nature had gotten people killed before. 

You had discovered over time that it was better to simply not tell him things - to hold back information until it was the right time for him to hear it. 

“Do you actually enjoy being irritating?” Dick rasped harshly at you. “Or is it just something that you’re good at?” 

You shrugged. “Probably both.” 

He let out another stiff breath. 

“Look, I’m here for Rachel.” You said, trying to correct course. “She’s mourning, she’s confused, her powers are out of control. She needs someone to help guide her. Someone who might be able to show her how to keep her powers under control.” 

“O-kay.” Dick said, clearly dubious, not fully convinced. He looked at you with his brows firmly knit, and you felt the need to further convince him. 

“Look, I’m not stalking you if you think that’s what it is.” You added on. “I had a vision, I saw you and Dawn on the roof-” 

“Okay, okay, I get it now.” Dick smirked sarcastically, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, making his biceps bulge inside of his button down shirt in a way that was far too appealing. 

Focus - you reminded yourself. Focus. 

“What?” You replied, genuinely confused. 

“You don’t like me spending time with Dawn.” He declared, continuing to smirk at you as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

More than anything, this left you utterly fucking confused. 

“What?” You chuckled, repeating the word like a gaping parrot - a nervous, awkward edge in your voice. 

You liked Dawn. She was one of your best friends. 

And you didn’t give a rat’s ass if Dick and Dawn spent time together. Especially because you knew that Dick coming here was him fleeing to a friend while in crisis, not him looking for a hookup. Especially not while Dawn and Hank were together. Dawn was nothing if not intensely loyal. 

And nothing would have happened while Hank was in the apartment. You had never seen Dick and Hank fight - but Hank was just a bit bigger, and because of his upbringing, he had absolutely no qualms about fighting dirty, even when he was fighting a friend. So you knew who you would bet on in that fight. 

So - what the hell was Dick talking about? 

Even with your strange sense of omnipotence, you couldn’t tell at the time - Dick was baiting you. Hard. He wanted you to flip out, to get jealous. 

It was the emotionally stunted thing to do, but he wanted to see some sense that you cared. 

At least Hank going full cave-man mode upon seeing Dick meant that he thought what he had with Dawn was precious and worth protecting. It meant that he saw Dick as a threat. 

When you continued to stare at Dick with nothing but confusion, gaping like a fish, he flailed, realizing what a terrible move this was. And for some stupid reason, instead of dropping the subject altogether, he dug himself deeper into the hole. 

“You know, the thing with me and Dawn is all in the past.” He said, mentally squirming, waiting to see how you would react. “There’s really nothing going on between us.” 

“Yeah.” You smoothed your lips into a firm line, completely uncaring about this line of conversation. “Good for you.” 

Perhaps mistaking the annoyance in these words as the jealousy that he was so urgently seeking, his tone completely changed then. Like a child throwing a tantrum, he had gotten the negative energy that he wanted from the interaction - so he kept on digging in. 

“Okay, you know what?” He snapped. “If you’re not gonna tell me why you’re really here, then I’m just gonna have to assume that you’re bullshitting.” 

“Oh, I’m bullshitting?” You replied, resisting the urge to break into a grin. 

He had seen solid proof of your powers on many occasions. He had seen you do things that couldn’t be proven by science. So why was he only accusing you of ‘bullshitting’ right now?

“Yes.” He replied stoically. “You didn’t see anything - you don’t actually know anything. You don’t know shit. You’re probably just guessing, and making shit up as you go along and hoping people will believe you.” 

“Okay.” You shrugged. 

You were unphased by this declaration. You knew by now to trust your visions - even if Dick was revoking that trust. You knew that you had solid information, and if you didn’t follow it, the lives of the people that you loved were at risk. 

You guessed that this was just Dick throwing a tantrum because you wouldn’t share that information with him. 

Dick ground his teeth. Unconsciously, he was still intensely frustrated that he hadn’t gotten more of a reaction out of you. Whether it was the information that he was looking for - or some greater sense of anger or urgency that he felt when you were around. But he needed something. He needed to know that you still felt something because of him.

You were always so damn calm. Far too calm for his liking.

“You’re just guessing.” He pressed on. “It’s not that hard to know I would come here. You just fucking followed me because-” 

“So you’re saying that all the military tactics Bruce taught you never paid off, and you’re intensely predictable when fleeing under pressure?” You chuckled, pointing out the flaws in his own logic. 

Dick flinched. 

He hated how uncomfortable your words made him. Squirming in that discomfort - he went low. 

“And you’re admitting that you’re just a bullshit carnival psychic like your mother was?” 

It was a tender wound. 

The moment that your face fell - shifting from mild amusement at your own joke to intense pain and hurt - Dick’s insides recoiled with regret. 

“Y/N-” He sighed. 

“Nope.” You cut him off sharply, shoving past him. 

He let you, finally allowing you to escape the tense air of the bathroom so you could go out and properly catch up with Dawn while drinking your coffee. 

… 

No matter how angry you were with him, you couldn’t let him die. 

Even as you laughed and chatted with Dawn, and got to know Rachel a bit, you couldn’t get the flashes of horrifying possible futures out of your mind. 

… 

Where is Dick Grayson? Where is Dick Grayson? Where is he? 

A crazed family singing showtunes. A skipping rope being used as a whip - knives plunging through flesh. Torture. Pain. Screams. 

You saw Dick fleeing with Rachel in the night, believing that he had made the right decision to protect her. Believing that he was keeping you, and Dawn and Hank safe. You heard a sharp screech of tires as he was cut off on a dark backroad by an old-fashioned station wagon with wooden paneling. A car crash. Dick flew through the front windshield - and as he bled to death, his last moments were spent hearing Rachel’s cries for help as she was dragged from the car. 

Bad decision. 

Dick spoke about ‘some job’ that Hank and Dawn were planning and instantly, there were flashes through your mind of Dawn shot in the head, laying on the floor in a pool of her own blood - Hank’s screams of anguish as he was chained and tortured. 

They need his help. 

Why were you there? 

To stop those bad decisions. Hopefully. 

You couldn’t explain it all to Dick - you couldn’t play it all out for him so simply. He was a control freak. If you told him all the details, then he would insist on making a choice. He would insist on running the play. And he might make one of those stupid choices. You had to avoid making the same mistake that your mother had. Don’t give those stubborn, powerful men too much information and trust them to use it wisely - because they most likely won’t. 

“You should go with them.” You told Dick, your voice curt - the first time that you had acknowledged him in hours. 

He seemed shocked by you even looking in his direction, let alone speaking to him after the comment he had made. 

“Look, Y/N-” 

“I’ll stay with Rachel.” You added on. 

When Rachel eagerly agreed to this, it seemed to seal the deal for him. 

He acted as though it was his plan all along. 

Whatever made him feel better about it. 

… 

You and Rachel ended up on the rooftop. She gravitated toward the doves - she found them calming, as she told you. 

“How do you know Dick?” She asked you, clearly unable to keep down that curiosity that was naturally biting at her. 

With the cool night air whipping at your cheeks, you found it easy to be vulnerable with her. 

“We grew up together.” You told her. 

“You were a part of the Circus?” She asked, giving a small amused grin at the thought. 

“Yes.” You confirmed, mirroring her smile. Sometimes the nostalgia was painful, but unlike Dick, you didn’t try to forget it. “My mother was a fortune teller - a psychic. She was considered one of the best. People would come from miles around, or even follow the Circus from place to place just to have their palm read by her.” 

Rachel laughed at this, clearly amused. 

“So what - she had a big crystal ball, and she would read the lines on your hand to tell you how long you’re gonna live?” 

You shrugged. 

“Something like that.” You confirmed.

There was a beat of silence. Knowing what Rachel was going through, you felt the need to confess something to her. 

“My mother - she died when I was about your age.” You told her, knowing that it was likely something she needed to hear. 

It can always be comforting to know that you’re not alone. 

Rachel looked at you with large, piercing eyes - heavy grief still dancing there. It was still so fresh. Your heart ached for her. 

“What happened?” She asked. 

With her powers, you were surprised that she didn’t already know. 

But you thought it apt to explain it to her. 

“My mother didn’t just do card tricks and read palms.” You said. “She was special. Special like us, special.” 

A distinct look of dawning came across Rachel’s features. 

“She had powers.” She said softly. 

You nodded. 

“So, wait - are these kinds of powers… genetic?” She asked eagerly, seeming to perk with interest at this. 

Suddenly, a million long-dead questions about a father she had never known overtook her like a tidal wave. 

Obviously, her mother had been perfectly normal. Had she gotten her powers from her father? If she found him, would he be able to tell her who she truly was? 

“I suppose so.” You answered meekly, hating that you didn’t know for certain. “I hate that I can’t say for sure.” 

Rachel’s face fell at this.

Then, something occurred to her. 

“How did your mom’s powers kill her?” She asked. 

“It - it wasn’t really her powers that killed her.” You began to explain. “It was more… the way she used them.” 

Rachel looked at you expectantly, and you continued. 

“Before she died… she saw what happened to Dick’s parents in a vision. How they died.” You explained. “She tried to stop it, and the people who were intent on killing them weren’t too happy about it. So they killed her too.” 

It was a fate that you were constantly trying to avoid - stumbling into death while trying to save those that you loved. It was one of the reasons that you put up with so much attitude from Dick Grayson. You would much rather have him alive and giving you lip than have him dead because of some mistake that you made. 

Rachel looked pensive for a moment - watching the birds as they rested in their large cage. 

“Is that why you’re helping us now?” She asked quietly. “You’re trying to keep us from getting killed?” 

“I’m doing my best.” You remarked, anxious hope ripe in your voice. 

…

Clustering voices. A tense argument. 

It was broken up by - 

“Hello there.” 

The faux sweetness of a dangerous stranger. 

Fear shook you. The sound gave you a sense of deja vu. You recognized them from a far off vision. 

Before you could warn the others, it broke into a brutal fight. 

You used all the training you had, but you were distracted by Dick being thrown off the roof. Something hit you in the head, hard - you heard Dawn cry out for help, and you saw a cluster of blonde hair and limbs as she went flying. 

Rachel screamed and reached out for you and you desperately reached back - you were dizzy and blinking heavily and didn’t even remember being knocked down. 

“Dawn! Dawn!” 

You heard Dick shouting urgently and then you realized in horror that she might be dead. 

Dawn. 

You were sluggish and felt wetness on the side of your face that must have been blood, but you forcibly peeled yourself off the ground, stumbling toward the sound of Dick’s voice - toward the fire escape. You tripped down a few of the stairs, your blurred eyes only focused on the shape of them - him crouching over her body, blonde hair splayed across the pavement, limp legs. 

She’s not dead. 

She can’t be. 

When you made it to her, you fell to your knees beside her. With the last of her energy, she locked eyes with you. 

Fear. Anxiety. Terror. Trust. 

She knew that you would help her. 

Her eyes drifted closed, and Dick panicked. 

“Dawn, Dawn!” 

“Be quiet.” You barked at him. 

You needed to concentrate. 

“You’re telling me to shut up?” He griped back, his fear and panic foaming up through his lips as intense anger directed towards you. “Shouldn’t you have seen this coming? What happened to-?” 

“I don’t appreciate the attitude.” You ground out, looking up at him to find nothing but pure fear staring back at you. “Now - Shut. Up.” 

You placed your hand gently onto Dawn’s forehead - you concentrated hard, focusing your powers on her. You couldn’t do anything about her physical injuries, but you could preserve the parts of her that mattered the most. You could keep her spirit alive. You could lock her memories away in a safe place so that she would be whole when her body healed. 

“What kind of voodoo bullshit is she doing?” Hank huffed out, having just made it down the fire escape himself. 

“Be quiet and let her work.” Dick told him, waving a dismissive hand in Hank’s direction. 

For once in their lives, both of the men sat in silence, actually deferring to you and following your lead. 

They trusted you to do something good for her, rather than doing more harm.

...

A/N: If you want to be tagged in future parts of this, you can sign up for my DC Titans taglist - just let me know that you want to be a part of that taglist by commenting below, and keep in mind that I have taglist rules. Also, I only have a general taglist for DC Titans fics, not a specific taglist for this series because this series updates sporadically and not on a schedule.

Please do not ask me when this fic will be updated - this fic does not have a schedule.

While this is technically part of a 'series', each chapter is meant to be enjoyed on its own. The overarching plot of the series is still that of the original Titans show, and I won't be making any major changes to the canon of the show - I just intend to showcase smaller emotional moments between the reader character and the canon characters. This is something I want to work on casually in the background between working on other things. This fic is not my main focus, and I will not be rushing to update it or complete it.

To me, this fic is a nice slow casual walk through the woods to enjoy the scenery, rather than a marathon with a clearly outlined route and a specific finish line as other series have been for me in the past.

Comments and reblogs are encouraged, and I am thankful for them - but please keep those comments focused on the actual content of the series - it's plot, the characters, their dynamics, even predictions for the plot of future chapters are okay, as long as you are not asking when the fic will be updated. Please do not spam me asking me to update this or asking me when I will update this - because I am not in a rush to do so. I have a lot of ideas for this series that I am excited about, but I want to work on it slowly and casually because I don't want to lose my enthusiasm for it and I know that rushing will take that enthusiasm away.

If you enjoyed this - great, thank you, I am so glad that you do. But if you expect this to be updated weekly like a factory pumping out stuff on a clearly outlined schedule - then you are in the wrong place. If you are expecting constant updates of this fic and you will be disappointed if it doesn't get updated regularly - you should just block me now and pretend you didn't read it.

But if you are a patient person - feel free to read and enjoy my other Titans works while I am working on updates for this (and working on other exciting things). I particularly recommend reading Your First Kiss With Dick Grayson to scratch that emotionally constipated Dick Grayson itch if this fic left you feening. Also, feel free to send me a message telling me what you thought of this fic or other fics in general.

Also - if you can't get Dick Grayson off your mind - my requests are open. And I would really love some requests for shorter fics with Dick, like headcanons or reactions. Otherwise, comments are appreciated and I really hope that you have a great day!

#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans fanfiction #dc titans fanfiction #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x you #bat boys x reader #dick grayson imagine

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

okay so this request was sent through the dms (best to go through inbox for future req) and they chose to stay anon. so they requested steve with hargrove reader (i made them step siblings so i hope that helps for mostly everyone reading) where reader is being abused at home and steve finds out and is being super caring (short summary)

pairing: steve harrington x fem hargrove!reader wc: 2.4k

tw: mentions of hitting, abuse, blood and cuts

masterlist

“mr. harrington, you will be partnered with miss.hargrove. and i expect equal work, steven.” mrs.johnson glared at the king before going back to handing out assignments.

you could feel his gaze lingering on your skin, tracing your profile as you looked down on your open book. you didn’t bother giving him your attention, not planning on doing the work outside the classroom. best to keep him distant.

there was a loud commotion happening in the room. head tilting up you saw everyone with their assigned partners, you included. a look to your left and steve harrington locked eyes with you.

he was turned in the seat so his body was facing your side. his left elbow sat on the scratched brown top, his palm cupped his cheek so his head was slightly tilted. a dark curl kissed his forehead.

your eyes squinted, “what?” not understanding why he was watching you like a hawk.

his brows rose an inch and a small pout formed on his lips, “nothing. just sitting with my partner.” and he flashed a smirk. it made your eyes narrow into slits.

you rested your pointer finger into the crease of your book and twisted your stomach to face him more head on. “look, let’s just do most of the work here and then split up what needs to be finished and do it separately. how’s that sound?” voice bored and not looking for any actual input.

but steve squinted his eyes and pouted, “sounds dumb. let’s just do it at my house when school is over. can’t focus with all this noise.” a playful smile replaced the pout. he was trying to be cute.

it wasn’t working.

“i’d rather do it in a class environment then do the rest on my own.” pushing back. steve kissed his teeth, “oh, well you heard mrs. johnson. i need to put in work, so we gotta stick together and make sure it’s even teamwork. need to try and bump my C to a B this year. dad’s on my ass.”

and you knew the feeling.

but you took a deep sigh while slightly shaking your head, “i just don’t think it’s the best idea for us to hang out… outside of school. you know…” being extremely vague and closed off. hoping you didn’t have to verbally give a reason for steve harrington to just back off.

Steve’s demeanor changed at your words and tone. the hand that was pushing up his cheek feel to the table surface, his body leaning in close and his voice dropping into a whisper. “is it billy? ‘cause i can handle him, done it before.” and you kinda knew what he was talking about.

how steve came to school one day with a fucked up face and how max told you billy wasn’t gonna bother either of you anymore. you didn’t realize the two were connected but haven’t bothered to push.

with steve making the assumption the problem was billy you took the handed excuse. “i’d just rather not piss him off today. he’s been ignoring me and i don’t want to be on his radar.” lips set in a tight line as you looked at your book.

“well… do you want to work on it at the library? neutral ground.” you couldn’t help the huffed laugh, “very persistent, are we?” finally holding stable eye-contact.

steve flashed his dazzling smile as he shakes his head, “what can i say? i take my education very seriously.”

eyes squinted, “uh huh… very. trying to bump a C to a B with only a few weeks of the semester left. very studious.” taking your turn to tease.

steve shook his head as he looked down at his lap, right knee bouncing up and down quickly. “but seriously, just come to my house. we can get whatever snacks you want, maybe a pizza if it goes late. my parents won’t be home anyway.”

“woah, trying to charm me into your bed, harrington?” he rolled his eyes, “fuck off, hargrove. i’m driving you home like a respectable young adult.” he smoothed a hand through his hair.

there was a heat crawling up your neck that you were choosing to ignore. along with the twisting in your guts. so instead you questioned steve again, “why are you so insistent on doing this together? at your house? and don’t use mrs. johnson as an excuse.” needing to understand this persistent attitude he’s developed.

his knee stopped jerking and his hands fell limp to the table or his lap. he looked to be debating something in his head, teeth rubbing at his bottom lip.

“come on, steve. just spit it out, can’t be bad.” trying for encouragement.

he heaved a sigh, “i, uh, i just… want to hang out. with you. you seem cool.” you couldn’t help the raise to your brows, ���cool? i keep to myself.”

he shrugged, “look i don’t know. i just want to get to know you. you’re nothing like billy.” “that’s cause we are only related by marriage. i don’t share any of those shitty genes.”

steve sighed again, “if you actually don’t want to come over to do this project or just to hang out, i understand. we can just do it here at school in the library. not gonna force you to be by my side.”

he got quiet as he turned in his seat to face the front with his head tilted down and his knuckles rapping along the top. your eyes followed the shape of his body, getting stuck on his face that wasn’t hidden by his hair. his lidded eyes and his lashes that touched the tops of his cheeks, angular nose coming to a nice point, and pink lips pushed to a slight pout.

a groan settled in your throat, “i’ll come over.” sounding almost begrudgingly about your statement. steve perked up and turned just a little, “really?” he almost sounded hopeful.

a deep breath through your nose, “yes, steve. i’d be happy to hang out with you.”

-

“so, i hear your going to harrington’s after school. that true?” billy’s nosy self leaned against the lockers to your left. his stupid face stuck in your periphery and his loud gum smacking a ringing in your ears.

replacing unneeded textbooks with ones you need for homework tonight, you sighed, “yes billy. it’s a partner project. kinda have to work together.”

“dad’s not gonna like that.” he stated like he cared about your well-being (he couldn’t give two shits). “yeah, well, i’m trying to keep good grades to get out of this shithole. so my academics are coming first. i can handle my jailer.” final words as you slammed your locker closed and headed to the parking lot.

you rolled out your shoulders twice as you made the short walk to steve harrington’s maroon bmw. he was sitting on the trunk with his head down while scribbling away. “nice car, harrington. almost prettier than you.” your way of greeting him.

he hurried to close one of two notebooks he had, face looking a bit red in the cool january air. “you okay?” eyeing him head to toe. he played off the moment with a smile, “yeah, yeah. ready?”

he hopped off his car and it bounced with the loss of his weight. steve walked to the back door on the passenger side to throw his things on the floor, then he reached a hand out for you.

“what are you…” “asking for your stuff. come on, i’m freezing out here.” a light shake to his hand made the point.

you waited a second longer before handing over your books then shrugging your backpack off and over to steve. he then closed the door and instead of heading to the drivers side, he opened your door and nodded at you. “always open doors for girls, harrington?” instinctively teasing him.

you missed the shy smile, but heard him say, “only the special ones.” he kept his voice, low. hoping you wouldn’t hear it as he closed you in and ran to his side.

-

the harrington household was big, style a decade old, well cleaned, and empty. the only inhabitants were steve and the occasional cleaning lady and landscaper who come by when his parents call in a request. you didn’t say it aloud, but you wished you could live in this empty house. just you and max, staying away from the bad that stained your indiana home.

“we could just work at the dining table.” steve directed the both of you to the dark stained oak wood, four polished and carved seats pushed in. only two were occupied close together.

the room was mostly quiet, pages moving and pencils writing were the main noise when not discussing the work. steve actually putting in some elbow grease with his portion of the project and would ask for help if he was stuck, it was nice.

you leaned back into the cushion of your chair with a sigh that turned to a low hiss. “you okay?” steve asked with concerned puppy eyes.

you ignored him, “uh, where’s- where’s your bathroom?” his brows pinched in the middle then relaxed a fraction,

“uh, down the hall to the right.” pointed over his shoulder. you excused yourself quickly down the hall and locked the door behind you. twisting your torso to the left the pain spiked again. lifting the bottom of your shirt, the deep purple bruise taunting you, you couldn’t feel the wet blood sticking to your skin and shirt.

you threw the shirt down, unlocked the door and walked back to the table where steve had his head laying on the table with his eyes closed. his head looked up when you loudly gathered your work pile together,

“where you going? we’re not done.” steve pushed himself out his chair. you didn’t bother looking his way, “uh, i- i, uh i forgot about something. very important.” a half-assed excuse, just needing to leave the too quiet house now.

“well, i could drive you. wherever or drop you off at ho-“ “no!” yelling the word at kind hearted steve. you deflated a bit, palms running over your head, “sorry. no, i’m fine on my own.” turning away from steve to grab your bag and shoes.

“woah, woah, woah. wait, just-“ “steve, i gotta-“ “you’re bleeding.”

you stopped in your tracks, books to your chest. “what?” confused and panicked.

“you have spots of red showing through your shirt,” steve voice was closer now. it made you jerk away. “i’m sure it’s nothing. uh, thanks for… yeah. i’m just gonna-“

“hey.” his voice was carful, gentle like the wind. he was holding the bone of your wrist like fine china. only used to a crushing touch as if you were an aluminum can that’s been drained of its intoxicating drink.

you could feel the shape of his body from behind, envision his deep brown eyes melting in emotions. “y/n, come on, let me look. might need to clean it.” it felt like he was talking to a scared child. and you felt like one in the moment.

“i’m fine, steve.” steeling yourself. building your guard strong.

he rounded from behind to stand in front of you, blocking your exit, “please, y/n. i just want to make sure you're okay.” his thumb rubbing over your wrist while he stared directly into your eyes.

and you couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted. it started with a glossy view before you felt the cold droplets hitting your cheeks and rolling down your nose and over your lips and chin. lips wobbling as you tried to swallow the sobs but once one slipped the others ran free. you’re sure you would’ve collapsed to the floor if it wasn’t for steve catching you in his arms and guiding the both of you slowly down.

“hey, hey. it’s okay, you're okay.” steve pushed your head into his neck while he rubbed a palm over your shoulder blades. “im here for you, y/n.”

“i- i don’t- don’t wanna go- go home, steve. please.” fingers curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close as your tears stained his skin.

“it’s okay. you don’t have too.” a ragged inhale through your mouth, “i- i have to. for- for max.”

steve’s hands worked gently to move your head away from hiding and back into the light. whites of your eyes red, lids growing puffy. cheeks flushed in color with tear tracks. steve worked his thumbs at wiping away your distress, wishing he could whisk you away from this town.

“let’s not think about home right now. let’s just clean you up.”

a meek nod was all it took for steve to pick you off the floor and lead the two of you towards the bathroom. steve places you on the closed toilet, knees hitting the wall so steve could grab stuff from the cupboards and clean you from behind.

you closed your eyes and forced yourself to keep taking deep and slow breaths in and out. in and out, in and out until your head didn’t feel so light and your heart stopped racing.

“okay, i’m gonna need to lift your shirt, is that okay honey?” steve squatted by your side with the tips of his fingers touching your thigh. bleary eyes watched steve, took in the way he called you honey, smooth and soft. without a word you pulled the back of your shirt off, head out of the opening so all the fabric sat on your collarbones.

“thank you. just let me know if it hurts, i’ll stop.” words you’re not used to. usually it’s just yelling obscenities as you suck in your sobs.

a wet stinging sensation caused you to flinch away. “sorry, sorry. i’ll let you know when i’m going in. okay, so three, two…. one.” and the sting was still there. it wasn’t painful like the first.

steve did that two more times before he asked a question. “did… did billy do this?” and you knew what he was feeling when he spit your step-brothers name with venom. you zoned out on your fingers, “no. not… not billy. higher up.” pinching the skin around your bones, thinking about the horrid man.

steve was quiet, not cleaning your wounds since he didn’t count down. a tiny flinch came as a reaction when you felt his fingers prod around your bruises. “i’m sorry.” words a whisper meant only for your ears.

you shook your head slightly, “don’t say sorry. it’s not your fault. no one’s fault.” “including yours. it’s not your fault.” it was like he could read into your mind with how quick his response was. you didn’t bother saying anything back, just a look over your shoulder, puffy and droopy eyes taking in the sight of steve before looking back to his wall.

-

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x female!reader #steve harrington x hargrove!reader

[novoaa1writes]

day 0

image source

pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader, natasha romanoff & tony stark (platonic)

summary:

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Or: Natasha wants a pet. Lucky for her, she knows a guy who can help with that.

contains: non-con dynamics, pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~3,300

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, non-con bathing, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, referenced physical and psychological abuse, discussions of administering post-op painkillers (morphine, oxycodone, anti-inflammatories, etc.)

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here, and as with every reader-insert i write, the reader is intended to be ethnically ambiguous! also, no use of y/n... i don't personally mind it much, but i understand it's typically preferred without

translation for russian terms in the end notes!

(previously named “build-a-pet”)

— —

Natasha had been on mission when she received the call. 

Burner #1—professional access. A select handful of people had the means to call it. Phil, Clint, Nick, Maria. Pepper, too. 

Burner #2—a separate, off-books agenda. Personal in nature. Accessible to none save for one individual. 

It was the second of the two that rang to signal an incoming call.  

Eyeing her target—Pavel Mikhailovich Novik, Bratyerstva head and prolific serial killer—intently through the tac scope, she brought the phone up to her ear and answered the call:

“Romanoff.”

“Gah! Always business with you, huh?” Tony Stark’s conversational—if not somewhat indignant—tone filtered through the speaker. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

Were Natasha not otherwise occupied at the current moment, she might’ve scoffed. As it was: “A little busy, Shellhead,” she muttered, shifting her aim in time with Novik’s uneven stride as he made his way across a municipal street. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you tell me what you’ve got?”

“I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking.”

He was a short, stout man. Novik, that was. Flat-footed gait, the kind that had long since ruined the arches of his well-worn shoes. Broad shoulders; barrel-chested torso. Thick dark hair cut short on his scalp and, in the case of his square-shaped jaw, removed completely—but permitted to grow to damn near cat-whisker length everywhere else. 

A wheat-link chain hung loose around his short neck; the chunky watch on his hairy wrist gleamed when it caught the light. Both solid gold.

He was dressed nicely enough in a red button-down that looked soft as satin, and charcoal black trousers with a matching blazer to boot.  

Natasha had to bite back a disapproving hum as he strode into the establishment—a pub, no less—and hoisted himself up onto a barstool with little ceremony. 

He was armed, of course, but only barely; a pistol in one inner coat pocket, a switchblade in the other. He also wasn’t entirely clueless, as evidenced by his company: a pair of stern-looking men who stood flanking him on either side, the material of their cheap polyester suits straining to contain their hulking figures, jackets bulging with poorly-concealed semi-automatic weapons. They watched the bartender like hawks as he set a clear bottle—Dębowa—and an empty glass in front of Novik before promptly scurrying away.

They turned their matching glowers away from their boss as he began to drink, surveying the small, dimly-lit pub with heavy-browed suspicion.

It was a clear message. A bit garish for Natasha’s tastes; but clear nonetheless. 

As it was, she barely had to shift herself any further to catch him in her crosshairs through a series of high, rectangular windows lining the interior of the grimy pub. 

All bark, no bite. 

A far less jaded woman might have snorted. 

A far less jaded woman Natasha was not. 

“… Long story short, we’ve made some serious progress. I want to check in, though, if you could swing by for a quick visit. We’ve only got a short window before some of these alterations are irreversible. Plus, I figured you’d want to see them.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, her pulse thrumming wild and fast beneath her skin. “You figured right,” she managed to answer, her mouth dry. It was all she could do to keep Novik unharmed in her crosshairs, her finger from squeezing the trigger. 

“So, when can we expect you?”

Natasha flit her gaze to the clock face fastened atop a tall, spindly spire on the nearest street corner, then back to Novik. “Give me six hours.”

— —

“Boss, three reports intercepted from secure, heavily-encrypted channels. All high-profile killings, all on European soil.”

Tony Stark, though intrigued, did not look up from the task at hand: himself perched adroitly along the rim of the tub, lathering your naked body in sweet-smelling soaps; you, slumped uncouthly in the cradle of the bath, glaring up at him with defiant eyes and murder in the tick of your jaw. 

“Time window?” he questioned after a pause, lowering one sudsy hand to knead at your lower belly and grinning wolfishly when you couldn’t smother a quiet whine. 

“Six days.”

“Locales?”

“Qormi, Malta; Kutaisi, Georgia; and Gomel, Belarus.”

Stark hummed in lieu of answer, a vaguely preoccupied look in his narrowed gaze. His large, calloused fingers didn’t cease their humiliating ministrations over your quivering belly, making you pant in an effort to hold back a low, guttural trill. 

“In that order?”

“Yes, boss.”

You hated him. You fucking hated him. 

“Walks like Natasha, quacks like Natasha…” he trailed off, giving your belly one last squeeze before withdrawing slightly to cup your other hip with his palm. “Probably Natasha.”

You’d only just begun regaining your strength following the latest procedure, though not nearly enough to do anything other than glare.

Stark slanted his gaze back over to you. If he was at all cowed by the force of your glower, he did well not to show it. “You’re adorable when you’re plotting my demise, y’know that?”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes.

— —

“So, how was White Russia? Eat any draniki?” Stark questioned as he settled bodily into an armchair, gesturing for Natasha to seat herself on the settee across from him. 

She did, her features calm and impassive. Her shrewd gaze flit to you once, but was quick to refocus. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“C’mon, give me something,” Stark carped, huffing petulantly. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, only the back of his head and a bit of bearded cheek, but you imagined he was probably pouting like a third grader. “For old times’ sake?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Stark quipped. “Though, I suppose I can’t say the same for Novik. He didn’t even get a trial.” 

Natasha’s placid expression did not falter. “Who?”

“You know what, I’m just gonna give you this one—”

“Generous.”

“—but only because we’ve achieved a mind-blowing amount of progress within the past couple weeks. Like, seriously: mind-blowing.”

You felt yourself shudder at the reminder. Progress, indeed.

“Oh?” Natasha queried lightly, brows raised. Once more, her gaze dipped to you… and stayed there. 

You ducked your head and averted your eyes, cheeks aflame. You’d grown accustomed to being naked around Stark—mainly because you didn’t have a choice. But Natasha… 

For the first time in years, you found yourself missing your long hair, the way you could cower behind it at a moment’s notice. Now, you were exposed. Vulnerable. 

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, though she remained silent. Then, after a beat or two— “Your progress?” she prompted.

“Right, so, here’s the run-down…”

— —

You’d tuned out for the most part as Stark began his long-winded, vainglorious speech to Natasha about his—your—successes since last they’d spoken. Much as you understood it was likely prudent to listen in, acquire a little more knowledge on what exactly he’d done to you, you’d also been there long enough to know that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyhow. 

Natasha would do with you as she pleased. Stark, too, provided Natasha was the one asking. 

In the beginning, that intrigued you. Made you want to learn more about them and their dynamic; to understand why it was what it was. You didn’t get why Stark would run, jump, and heel for the likes of her—intimidation factor notwithstanding. 

By this point, that intrigue had since dwindled, if not dissipated entirely. It was what it was; consequently, they were, too. 

You were still angry and strong-willed and a far cry from broken, but you weren’t stupid, either. Just because they treated you like a chained-up dog didn’t mean you had to gnaw off your own limbs in a desperate bid to escape like one. 

And, besides… it wasn’t often you got moments like these. Moments where you weren’t being poked and prodded and shot up with God knows what. You were collared, sure, your body riddled with all kinds of aches and pains, but none of it held a candle to the agony you’d known in days past. 

Lost in your head though you were, months’ worth of training ensured you didn’t miss the moment Natasha called you over. 

“Ко мне,” she spoke, pitching her voice just above appropriate speaking volume.

It was like someone lit a fire under your ass. The second you heard it, you shot up on all fours. Pain came fast on its heels, but you grit your teeth and bore it, swallowing down a cry as soreness shot through your hands—you flat-out refused to call them ‘paws’—like wildfire. Every heightened reflex stood on high alert. Your back, too, felt like it was on fire, spinal column alight with tenderness. 

Still, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it’d been a week back, when you awoke in observation all bandaged up and so acutely in pain, you feared it might kill you. You also knew better than to dawdle. Clenching your jaw tight, you shuffled forth on sore palms and bruised knees. Your muscles burned. 

You were grateful to feel the tip of your nose graze Natasha’s jean-clad knee, signaling a justifiable stopping point. 

“Молодец,” she praised, her voice pitched an octave (or two) higher, and you felt like singing. 

You even arched your poor, aching back in a shameless effort to attract… well, something, you supposed. Head pats, perhaps. An open-handed stroke down your spine, even.  

Damn that animal, desire-seeking hindbrain.

Fortunately, Natasha seemed to understand. Her palm met the nape of your neck, slender fingers curling their way into the mess of hair at the back of your scalp—God, but that felt divine. A mounting hum in the back of your throat was all the warning you got before—

Fuck. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut, and the sound—along with the pleasurable vibrations—stopped altogether. 

Not again. 

“Ah-ah-ah, puppy,” Natasha tutted, her free hand descending to squeeze your nose tight—effectively cutting off your air supply. And still, the other remained; combing through freshly-washed hair at the base of your skull, occasionally scritching your scalp with the tips of her blunt nails until the insides of your throat quivered and your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. It was all you could do to keep from opening right back up and giving her a nice long purr. (Which, you’d deduced, was exactly what she wanted.) “None of that.”

She was using English now, you noticed. 

And, just like that, the realization hit that she hadn’t been before. 

Now, you could… you could hear her words and understand them, and from that understanding know their meaning. Before, it was like… like hearing the words and knowing what they were supposed to mean, then acting accordingly. You couldn’t take apart the syllables, the letters in your head, not like you could with English. 

P-u-p-p-y. That spelled ‘puppy.’ When you tried to conjure the word she’d used to summon you over, there was just… nothing. A blank space. A short one, telling you you knew the approximate length of the word you were looking for, but… empty. 

Your gaze darted to Stark, who just slouched back in his cushy armchair looking immeasurably pleased with himself. At any other time, the mere sight would’ve been enough to spark some measure of annoyance within you. 

Now… Now, all you could feel was fear. 

He didn’t do that, did he? He… he couldn’t’ve. 

All the rest of it: the obedience, the meekness—that? That was conditioning, plain and simple. You weren’t exactly a PhD, but it didn’t take a genius to note down from the very start that some behaviors got you alone time in a small, dark room without food or water or sunlight for days on end, and others got you… well, not that. By a certain point, you would beg him to yell at you, choke you out, take you over his knee and spank your ass raw when you misbehaved; something, anything, so long as it wasn’t that. 2 times out of 10, he’d take you up on that. As for the other 8… well. 

But this—implanting knowledge in your subconscious, tuning it to mimic compulsory behavioral urges, all while you remained none the wiser? That was a hell of a lot more complicated than reworking your spine, or tweaking sensory receptors, or even altering your vocal tract to make that obnoxious purr. 

It was like he’d rewired your brain. 

You didn’t even notice that you’d since relented: gasped out what little breath remained and began wheezing, all doubled-over, sucking in new breaths of air like a half-drowned cat. Though, you sure as hell noticed how that rattling, restless, vibrating sensation arose in your throat with every shuddering inhale; how, on every exhale came exactly what you’d feared—that pathetic, trilling purr. The one that warmed your body from head to toe while simultaneously making you wish you had never been fucking born. 

God, but Natasha’s hands were like magic…

Your head still spun. Was it from the oxygen deprivation, or the realization that Stark had been inside your head? Probably both. 

Terrified, dazed, and overwhelmingly confused, it took you some time to re-center; tuning back into Stark and Natasha’s conversation, if only to posture yourself accordingly. You could figure out the rest later, you reasoned.

“… The spinal alterations don’t inhibit their ability to stand upright, by any means, which is the exciting thing,” Stark was saying, damn near perched at the edge of his seat—almost vibrating with renewed vigor. Weirdo. “They just enhance their natural capacity to remain down on all fours and go about their day for extended periods of time: a day, a week… hell, indefinitely! Which, for humans, would be pretty much unthinkable. I mean, can you imagine?”

Without allowing a moment’s pause for Natasha to respond (which you’d come to understand was quite typical), Stark wasted no time in steamrolling on. “‘Course, the process of transplanting new bones was rather tricky, and we had to do a couple of them more than once. Dr. Cho estimates a week—at most—before they’ve healed enough to allow for more… strenuous physical activity.”

Natasha snorted. Her hand had long stilled its pleasant ministrations in favor of resting inert at the base of your skull, slender fingers curled loosely around your nape. You felt how they twitched and tightened their grip ever-so-slightly when Stark spoke of what he’d done to your spine. “Are they in pain?” 

Funny. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought she cared. 

Stark raised a brow. “Ballpark?”

Natasha must’ve nodded, or dipped her chin in confirmation, because a beat later, Stark spoke again.

“Imagine you got ripped open, rearranged, then stitched back up,” he summed up. “Twice.”

Dimly, it registered within you to be struck by his forthrightness, though you did not dare mistake it for empathy. 

Natasha was quiet for a beat. “Sounds about right,” she said eventually. 

“It doesn’t have to be this bad,” Stark offered, though there was a curious shift in his intonation, this time; a knowing and almost resigned look in his eye that made you wonder if he and Natasha had had this conversation before.

The way Natasha’s hand twitched, blunt nails digging into the skin of your nape, was answer enough. 

“Were I their doctor, I’d be prescribing some serious pain meds,” Stark continued on dryly, making a show of tilting his head and gazing off into the distance as though he was deep in thought. “Morphine, oxycodone—“

“No.”

“—maybe a local anesthetic or two,” he mused, beginning to count them out on his fingers. “Anti-inflammatories. Anticonvulsants. Something for the anxiety, even—”

“I wanted a pet, not a vegetable.”

Stark’s lips twitched—though with exasperation or humor, you could not tell. “Do you realize how quickly even the most powerful anesthetics will metabolize through their system? They’re not human anymore, Red. At least, not entirely.”

Now, that piqued your interest. 

“Neither am I.”

“It’s different for them. You know that. You got Erskine’s serum. Some unrefined bootleg variant, granted, but that man was nothing if not brilliant. Everything he touched, he turned to gold.” Stark spoke of him—this ‘Erskine’—as though he put the very stars in the sky. You wondered if he was truly brilliant, or just insane. You wondered if for Stark, there was any difference. “As for them… well.” He gestured vaguely towards you. “They got some anthropomorphic whack job’s bone marrow.”

You blinked. You got what now?

“He has a name, you know,” Natasha commented archly, the earlier indignation having dissipated from her tone. 

“Point being—I’ve met the guy. He’s seriously unhinged.” He paused there, as if expecting Natasha to argue. When she didn’t, he steamrolled on: “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scavenge some digitized medical reports and psych evals from his time at the facility, along with anything else they could piece together after he escaped. Violently, I might add.”

“I won’t say he’s devoid of empathy, or a moral compass, because we both know that that’s not true,” Stark explained, then muttered under his breath: “Even if his senses of both concepts are seriously skewed.”

“Tony,” Natasha interjected, a note of warning in her voice. 

“Just listen, alright? I’m getting there.” Stark huffed out a sigh, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My point is that he wasn’t like that, at the start. He was no saint, to be sure, but he wasn’t like that. It wasn’t until they started a particularly ill-inspired series of ‘tests’—though I’d argue a better term would be ‘torture sessions’—to assess his healing capabilities that he really started losing his marbles.”

You head was beginning to spin. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Who were they talking about? 

“See, because his capabilities—extraordinary as they were—weren’t superhuman. They didn’t transcend healing itself, let alone make it any less painful to endure. In fact, I think they actually concluded that it was made more painful by his body’s ability to undertake those processes at such an expeditious rate.” Stark breathed out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache brewing. 

He wasn’t the only one. 

“He nearly went insane, Natasha. Joking aside, it almost beggars belief that he’s as high-functioning as he is,” Stark asserted, no longer pulling his punches. “I know you don’t want that for them.”

It was silent for a beat… Then two. 

“Fine.”

Stark promptly quieted, renewed interest sparking itself alight in his gaze. “What was that now?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

A slow grin spread across his clean-shaven features. 

“No opioids,” Natasha was quick to amend. “Nothing addictive. Just… anything that’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

Silence for a beat. Then two. 

Stark squinted at her. “You sure you and that bleeding heart of yours are up for this?”

Natasha’s grip around your nape tightened even further. “Shellhead,” she gritted out, her tone hard as weathered steel. Even the sound of it was enough to send chills down your spine. 

Stark, in contrast, was not at all similarly affected. He simply tilted his head to one side and made a show of continuing to appraise her with shrewd, assessing eyes. Then, finally: “You should try yoga.”

— —

end notes: L O fucking L

also the anthropomorphic whack job they’re talking about is logan (wolverine) from x-men, in case you’re wondering 

edit: i’ve since written a continuation of this, linked below!

translation of russian terms (with stresses bolded):

ко мне | ko mnye | “come”

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

sources:

“organized crime in eastern europe” | to be so clear, i just made up “bratyerstva” from the term “братство” (bratstvo) which means “brotherhood” or “fraternity” in bulgarian, macedonian, russian, and serbo-croatian dialects. it is also the name of a ukrainian political party (ukrainian: братство, romanized: bratstvo), but it is not an actual belarusian word. it also bears some resemblance to братва, a slang term used to refer to criminal gangs in russia and other ex-ussr states. honestly, the closest you’d probably get to an actual word with this would be the polish “braterstwo” (brahterstvo) which also means “brotherhood” or “fraternity.” (however, in some informal contexts, the term “братерство” has been used in ukrainian dialects to convey synonymous meanings.) anyway, this is a brief snippet (~10 pages) from an academic article about organized crime in eastern europe, if the precedent behind all that intrigues you. i thought it was pretty informative!

white russia | another name for belarus, though there’s some controversy/nuance to that (and big surprise, it’s got everything to do with russia). this links to an article from euronews talking about... all of that

draniki | an immensely popular dish in belarus. they’re basically potato pancakes. several other european countries have close equivalents. 

— —

next part: come, sit, stay

link to masterlist

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gnc!reader #dark!natasha romanoff #softdark!natasha romanoff x reader #stuff i wrote

[euphoricsunflowers]

until my lips turn blue — jeon wonwoo

a/n: thank you to @etherealyoungk for inspiring the confidence and motivation i needed for this! and thank u to @pusoatbuwan for being the best thank u bestie :) i hope you all like it !!

word count: 6.8k

content: fem!reader, mafia au, non idol au, mafia boss!reader, hacker!wonwoo, seungcheol is a bit of a dick i’m so sorry this is not representative of him irl, bestie mingyu, random monsta x kihyun cameo bc i needed a random idol lol, angst, mentions of food, murder, weapons, and drugs to varying degrees.

summary: to thank you for your gracious efforts in tracking down an attacker, seventeen offers to repay your favor. you ask for a date with the cute one with glasses.

“so,” you say, gazing at the fresh scar on seungcheol’s cheek. it hasn’t had a chance or any time to fade yet and you can tell by the fire in the eyes of his men that this was recent, “what happened?”

it’s hard to remember how you exactly got wrapped up in this mess. seungcheol ‘invited’ you over to discuss a certain issue, something vague like ‘internal matters’, but it felt off from the get-go. something was wrong.

and, clearly, you can tell something is wrong now.

he heaves out a sigh, letting his head fall into his hands before pushing his hair out of his face, “i don’t even know,” he says, “all i know is that my underboss in currently in the hospital, lying to every single medical personnel about why he has stab wounds on his thigh.”

your eyes wander around the room and they find a picture of seungcheol with another person, smiling like they were friends. you’d learn later that was him. yoon jeonghan. the underboss.

there’s 11 other people in this room besides you and seungcheol, which adds up in relation to your current knowledge of seventeen’s higher-ups. contrary to the name, there's 13 of them that are considered the most important to the seventeen organization, including their boss.

Seungcheol eyes burn into you, but you hold your ground, “well, that is unfortunate. i do send him my best regards, and i hope he recovers well and quickly, but i suppose…” you look around at all of the others, as if to calculate in your head the best move, “i don’t know what it is you want from me.”

“if i may be blunt,” he says as a proposition, but it’s more like a question. you nod, “i don’t know either,” he admits, “i don’t know what i expect you to be able to do, much less be willing to do. what i do know though, is that you have a reputation of being able to track people down like a hawk.”

you don’t acknowledge the compliment. he shifts, almost uncomfortably.

“all i am currently requesting is your assistance in finding the one who attacked us. should you help us, we will compensate you in whatever means you see fit,” he says almost desperately, you can’t see it in his face but you feel it, “i want revenge. i need your help to get it.”

“you’ll make sure i get something out of it?”

he sighs, “i’ll see to it that you get whatever you want out of this.”

“what do you know?” when you ask, one of the 11 other men steps up, handing a folder to you.

he doesn’t bother introducing himself, but you know of him. he’s incredibly well known for being able to gather information. he probably knows the street you grew up on and the color of your socks right now off the top of his head. his name is joshua, you remember. you’ve heard someone call his name before.

“these are stills from the security footages of the compound. this here—” he points to a spot on the first paper in the folder, “— is our guy. right here, he gets into a car. i ran the license plate, and it’s registered this individual here.” he points again, this time to a mugshot in the next page. there’s a list of charged and convicted crimes next to the picture, “but i don’t think they’re the same person. they have different builds.”

you agree, soon focusing on the name of the individual the car belonged to, “i know this man.”

seungcheol perks up at the good news, “you do? from where?”

“he’s the director of financial operations at a company an associate of mine owns. he’s very powerful, but he’s also had accusations of corruption and funding violence for years,” you say, “he responds to me directly, actually. it shouldn’t be too hard to get the info out of him.”

“well then,” seunghcheol says, “my men will assist you in any way required for the operation. feel free to ask for their assistance,” and with that, he leaves the conference room.

“is there anything required of any of us for you to investigate, miss?” one of them says after a moment. he’s tall, has too pretty a face for this kind of business. he kinda looks like a puppy.

“no, i should be able to go from here,” you make eye contact with another one. he’s wearing glasses, the thin frames complimenting his face well. he doesn’t acknowledge you more than just the brief eye contact, looking away as soon as it happens, “i’ll call the director now.”

“go right ahead,” joshua says, and you pull your phone out and call him, putting it on speaker.

the phone rings several times. there’s an unplaced tension in the room, and you’re not sure who exactly here is bubbling with anger, but you reconcile it with the fact that these are not just associates. they’re friends. and their buddy is in the hospital.

right before the last ring ends before it’ll stop trying, he picks up.

“hello?” he says.

“director lee, hello, thank you for taking my call,” you say, feeling eyes on you from all over the room.

he responds, “ah yes, hello boss. it’s my pleasure. what can i do for you?”

“well, i was hoping you could inform me on something,” you say, relaxing more into the chair, “you see, i’ve been looking for an individual who was found driving your car last night in unknown territory. did you know about this?”

he pauses. you can tell it’s to come up with a lie on the spot, “no, in fact. i had just assumed my car was stolen. i was almost about to alert the police, but i’m sure you understand why i did not.”

“i understand, director. i need you to cooperate with me,” you say.

“yes, boss. what can I do for you?” he asks.

you take in a deep breath, saying, “for reasons i am unable to disclose, i believe this individual is after us. also, the most recent sighting of your car after it was found so far away is in our territory, at the diner down the street from headquarters,” you fake a pause to hopefully show some hesitancy. you were far too good at playing scared, “i am… nervous, director. this individual stole your car, could have obtained the weapons we keep near the peer, there’s no telling what they’re up to or who sent them.”

the all watch you make a dramatic voice as you play up any potential worries. that’s the only way he’ll talk.

“i understand, miss. may i speak openly?” his question makes them all look up, and you almost have to mute yourself to silence your victory.

“yes, director. tell me,” you say with a hidden smirk on your face.

he pauses, and you worry for a second that he’s going to chicken out, but he doesn’t, “i sent the individual. my car was never stolen.”

bingo.

you ask, “who is it?”

“i’ll send over the information after this call,” he says. there’s a smile on joshua’s face as you look up, both silently understanding the victory you just won, “i wanted to send a message to seventeen, but he must have been attacked because he sent me a voice recording shortly after coming into contact with one of the higher-ups. something about accidentally hurting one of them before he got a chance to say something.”

you ask, trying to prompt more out of him, “what were you trying to say to them?” you only ask because you know they’d want you to.

“i do not have the best relationship with their leader. the reason is unrelated to our purposes in our group. i apologize for stressing you, boss.”

you respond with a simple, “i see, thank you, director.”

“of course, miss, should i send you the information right away?” he asks.

“yes, as soon as possible. have a good day, director,” you say and hang up. you look up at them as your phone pings. you show the notification to joshua.

“that’s him,” he says, pulling out a still from his folder, matching them up side-by-side, “this is our guy.”

“i can find him, leave that to me,” you say, “as a favor to seventeen, i’ll take care of him. you will all owe me, though. both for that phone call and for getting my hands dirty.”

“don’t get cocky,” another one says. he’s short, but he’s got this energy that screams ‘fuck with me, i dare you’, “let me know when you get it done.” he hands you a piece of paper with a string of numbers on it. lee jihoon.

you smile, almost like a smirk, “okay.”

and out the room you go.

he’s dead by the morning. you tell jihoon, and get no response, he simply hangs up as soon as he gets the news.

—

the letter is addressed from all of seventeen, but based on the formality of word choice, none of them had a hand in writing it. it was probably written by some subordinate, but it gets a simple message across.

seventeen’s acknowledgement that you were owed a favor. the, in writing, paper that guaranteed you something in return. it felt like solid gold.

you spend some time thinking about what it is exactly that you would like from them. there’s not many limits. if you wanted someone dead, they’d have it done by sunset. if you want illegal weapons for your own plans, they would provide them easily. anything you want, they could do.

that was what was so nice about your relationship with seventeen: you may not get along as people, but you get along as business partners. there is no worry that you will be attacked in their headquarters, and vice versa.

but did you need illegal weapons? not really. your casino heist plans were being made smoothly, and there were not many materials you could have requested to make it any easier. you had access to everything you would need, and then some.

did you need anyone dead? not particularly right now. there’s nothing you need help with right now, aside from maybe needing help with throwing a surprise birthday party for your niece. that, though, was doable on its own.

and then, the idea dawns on you.

—

the letter you return back is, on the contrary, written by you. seungcheol knows it’s you, because he’s seen your handwriting. you state your pleasure with working with them. you thank them for their assistance, especially joshua’s, in finding the first piece of evidence.

the moment you are done with formalities, you don’t hesitate to describe, in extreme, excruciating detail, the favor you would like back from them.

‘a date with the cute one that wears glasses’

you ask for a date. you couldn’t remember his name at the time of writing, so you describe him as the ‘one with the glasses’. you describe exactly what you want: a fancy restaurant dinner, him dressed in a suit with styled hair away from his eyes and maybe some jewelry, definitely wearing his precious specs. you’d pay, he’d walk you to your car, and the second the door shut and you were being driven away, seventeen will have paid their favor back.

your letter even reads:

‘there are no ulterior motives. should the favor be paid back successfully, SEVENTEEN will not be bothered over this matter again. should the favor not be paid back in this way, an alternative favor will not be provided unless sufficient reason is given.”

seungcheol almost laughs when he sees the letter, as he’s the first to read it. he wonders if you’re even being serious. it’s probably the most ridiculous request he’s ever gotten, but he can’t come up with a single reason as to why you’d play a prank like this, so he comes to the conclusion that you’re most likely serious.

a copy of the letter is sent over to wonwoo, the one with the glasses, and he reads it probably fifty times. maybe fifty-one.

nothing has ever made him so embarrassed, that’s the issue. not a single mistake he’s ever made or being chastised for not being good enough at his job has had the same effect. he feels the way mingyu’s eyes bore into him, knowing that wonwoo told him all about how he thought you were pretty, and that if you weren’t 1) a boss and 2) literally terrifying to speak to, he’d be down bad.

he feels awkward and clumsy for sticking out, for being the one pushed into the spotlight. he doesn’t particularly want to be the center of attention, but here he is, in his boss’s office, surrounded by his closest associates. he feels weirdly small as he sinks into the chair.

“i know this is… unconventional, wonwoo,” seungcheol says to him, leaning against his desk, “but you need to do this. it’s only dinner and we can’t owe her for much longer.”

“i know,” he says.

seungcheol continues, “there isn’t much of a choice, as well, you know that right?”

wonwoo recognizes the fading scar on seungcheol’s cheek as seungcheol talks to him. he remembers the moment it happened.

this was more than just giving you what you wanted so you were even as groups, but about genuinely thanking you for such a deed. he remembers watching jeonghan get stabbed in the thigh to protect chan. he remembers all the blood, that horrified look on chan’s face. that guy must have known he was a dead man the second he hurt jeonghan, that could have been why he ran. seungcheol is protective of all of them, but especially him.

“i know, i’ll do it,” he says, “i’ll do whatever is required of me. you know that, boss.”

“i know you will, it’s just that…” seungcheol looks uneasy, shifting his eyes away, “i don’t want this to become a bigger thing. don’t develop feelings, don’t do anything to make her develop feelings. just don’t make this messy. and don’t make it my problem.”

“i won’t,” wonwoo is, even in the best case scenario, slightly overestimating himself. he knows that, yet he still lies (not exactly but that’s what it feels like) through his teeth, “this won't become a problem.”

“it better not, now go,” seungcheol orders, trying to make it sound harsh. it doesn’t, though, not to wonwoo. it sounds more like ‘don’t fuck this up for yourself’.

—

wonwoo reads your letter for the fifty-second time. this time, he’s closely checking your instructions on how you wanted him to dress. it’s a little bit weird, but he supposes you’re going somewhere fancy, and maybe he has to match.

he sighs dramatically, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

why is he dressing up in a suit he never wears to come meet you, a literal mob boss that thought he was cute, at some restaurant he doesn’t even know exists, to have dinner with you and play along to make you happy but not enough for either of you to get too attached?

what does he even think he’s doing?

he has literally killed people before, but that was so much simpler than this. slicing someone’s throat is so much less complicated than picking out a tie to wear to your date. everything down to asking him to wear a little bit of gold jewelry— gold, not silver— was complicated. he doesn’t understand this at all.

he’s somewhat horrified that this will go wrong, but if he thinks about it as only ‘a pretty girl asked him on a date’ and forgets all the context, he can breathe slower.

He leaves the compound with mingyu to act as a body guard, and then to sit at the bar area during your date to be there in case something happened. mingyu had told him he had no plans of interrupting anything in case the date goes a little too well, but he did want to be there in case something worse happened and wonwoo wasn’t able to fight on his own.

mingyu enters before him, actually. wonwoo waits by the entrance, just as your letter requests, and he almost wonders for a second if this was all just an elaborate ploy of yours, something just to waste time as you’re comfortably doing whatever mob boss stuff you normally do.

that is until you’re in front of him, in the most stunning sapphire dress he’s ever seen in his life, and he sees why you requested a navy suit on him. you both match perfectly, and he can help but blush like a freaking anime girl when you walk in together. you’re so breathtaking, the kind that could kill.

you had made reservations apparently, and all he could do is watch and follow along cluelessly as you’re taken to the table, and you both sit down.

you take in a breath, and then really look into his eyes. you don’t say anything for a moment, so he tries to start.

“hey,” he says, a little bit breathless, “you look gorgeous, by the way.”

“oh, you don’t have to flatter me, dear. that’s not required of you,” you laugh, and god, it is so beautiful. he could faint right now.

he forgot, honestly, that he didn’t have to impress you. he berated himself for a second when he realizes that he complimented you of his own volition, because he wanted to. that was bad.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to act so nervous. i don’t have any intentions to hurt you,” you say, reaching out for his hand. his hand tremors really had to come at the worst times. your hand is so warm (and he’s such a cold person, he could get used to warm hands holding his cold ones), “is this where you start wondering why i asked you to come on date with me?”

“i’ve been wondering since i read the letter,” he responds. he’s fidgeting, nervous. you have such an intense stare that’s hard to match.

“i’m sure you have,” you say, “if i’m being honest, it didn’t feel like there was much i wanted to ask for. everything is alright— knock on wood— for the moment with me. and i,” you pause, and it catches his attention even more, “i wanted something like this. something normal.”

“i take it… mafia life isn’t really for you, huh?” he half-asks.

“i suppose it’s not too bad of a fit, actually. i think the heists and gambling and money-laundering isn’t too bad. that kind of stuff has been my whole life, so it’s kinda fun to me,” you say, “but it prevents you from living simply. there is no family, there’s no relationships, no house on the hill. i feel like i’m missing out on that aspect of life.”

“yeah, you’re right. i suppose it is sad,” he says. he’s not sure what else to say.

you just continue, “and i just… i wanted to experience something different tonight. maybe i shouldn’t have involved you in my attempt to feel that, or at least didn’t force you to be here.”

“i’m not forced to be here,” he says, even if it’s honestly not very true, “i think i want to be here, too. i’ll experience it with you.”

you smile, and this time it’s softer than he’s ever seen. he can’t seem to remember why your presence was so intimidating before, because in this moment, you are nothing but warm and inviting, “okay, then. it’s settled. let’s have a beautiful night.”

it was cheesy, sure, but it made his heart flutter all the same.

he sees mingyu out of the corner of his eye. he’s sitting at the bar, making small talk with the bartender. wonwoo and mingyu make eye contact, and it’s almost like a series of questions: ‘how is it going? are you alright? do you need me to step in?’

and wonwoo gives a small smile back at him, as if to say ‘i think i’m okay’.

he looks back at you, as you give your order to the server. he doesn’t see someone evil or done anything that is commonplace for his and your kind of life. he just sees you: someone aching for something different. something soft and sweet and normal.

dinner with him flies by, filled with pretty conversations about each other’s lives. you both skirt around conversations about your groups, instead choosing to focus on yourselves. he learn about your hobbies and passions, you learn about his friends and what he likes to do in his free time.

you tell him about the time you were robbing a bank when you were younger. maybe 17. you tell him about the restaurant that’s a front for high-up associates that you used to go to when you were younger. you tell him about how your dad’s assasination put you in the boss spot when you were 19 and stupid and too young for that kind of power. it went to your head and has barely worn off since.

he tells you about how mingyu and him have saved each other’s asses maybe 500 times each. he tells you about how he likes computer games, that if he was given a second shot at life, he’d be a pro-gamer for sure. he tells you about his cat, ranting about how cute it is (and he looks adorable doing it).

wonwoo realizes what’s happening while it’s happening; he’s not dumb or oblivious. he realizes that with every smile, every laugh, every time you get passionate about what you’re talking about and make these dramatic hand movements, and every time you unconsciously make that cute thinking face, he’s falling for you more and more.

and yet he doesn’t have it in himself to pull back; instead, he chooses to lean in. he smiles when you smile, laughs when you laughs, plays along when you tell him overly dramatic stories. he’s so mesmerized that he doesn’t notice the passage of time, how late it’s getting.

what he does notice is you reaching to grab the bill that was dropped off by the server. he snatches it before you can, and quickly puts the money in, catching the server’s attention and asking them to take it now.

you make a upset face at him, but it doesn’t hurt him in the slightest, “my treat.” he says simply.

“i was supposed to pay! you didn’t have to do that!” you argue, and he looks at you with a kind of vulnerability that is so raw, it’s almost infuriating.

“i wanted to. for you.”

you stand, so he stands too. you turn to walk away, but he grasps your wrist at the last second. he thinks you’re about to storm off, mad or something. why were you mad at him? he was trying to do something nice for you!

it’s until you groan and turn back around, getting so so close to him that the rest of the word fades out of view. for a moment it’s just like that. there’s no one else in the world except for you and him.

you’re looking into his eyes, reaching your hand up to lightly cup his cheek, letting your finger drag against his jaw, “can i?” you ask. you don’t even need to say it.

“yeah,” he breathes, shakily, “do whatever you want.”

you kiss him while his stomach does somersaults. his hands find your waist, letting you lead, and, funnily enough, only once he starts to relax, you’re pulling away.

“we should get out of here,” you say, and his heart rate picks up, which you seem to notice (his own heart betrayed him), “we don’t have to do anything, but it’s so loud and energetic in here. i want some peace and quiet.”

he couldn’t agree more. you both walk outside, and he shoots mingyu one last ‘i’m okay’ look, seeing the smirk on his friend’s face may annoy him, but he’s too happy to care.

once you reach your car, you pull him close. his hands rest on the same spot as before, gently on your waist. you ask him, “can i kiss you again?”

“yes,” he whispers back. something about asking the second time feels sweeter, “kiss me a little harder this time, please.”

you smile at his request, gently pressing your lips to his before you grasp the back of his neck to use as leverage when your kiss becomes more intense, giving him what he wants. he’ll always get what he wants now, you suppose. anything he asks for, you’ll give him.

you don’t pull away as fast this time, instead letting him savor the moment.

but you eventually do, pulling back to look at him. he’s so pretty in the moonlight.

“i don’t want this to end,” he says. you smile almost sadly at him.

“i’m sorry, baby, i wish it didn’t have to end so soon, but our agreement was only dinner,” you say, “and you need to go back. our night together has been fun, but this is it. we were only given tonight.”

“i don’t want to go back yet, i don’t want to leave you,” he whispers painfully. god, it was so easy to get comfortable in his arms.

you see that sadness in his eyes, the kind that kills any chance of ever getting over him, “i know, i know, i’m sorry. i didn’t think we would get so close so fast,” you can feel the shaking of his hands even as they rest steady on your hips, “when i asked for a date, i thought it would be a night that would end with no hard feelings about never seeing each other again.”

“well, look where that got us,” he makes himself chuckle, though it’s not out of actual humor.

there’s a pause where neither of you dare to make the next move. there’s a sinking feeling that one of these next kisses will be the last.

“i’ll tell you what: i’ll kiss you until my lips turn blue, so you can never forget what it feels like. not even if you tried,” you say, moving your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself.

“okay,” he responds, “don’t let me forget. don’t ever let me.”

“you know i won’t,” you say, and your kisses are so passionate that for a second, he forgets that he’s jeon wonwoo, seventeen’s best hacker and technology expert, and only knows that he’s yours.

and for you, he’s so sweet, so kind and giving and reciprocative, kissing you back with just as much energy, it’s just as easy to get lost in him.

you stay there for as long as the night will allow, kissing him with feverish intensity, before you really have to send him on his way.

his eyes have that tragic look to them, like he’s sad in such a complicated way. it was never supposed to end like this, with him walking away from you as you get into your car, but the more he thinks about it, he’s wrong.

it was supposed to end like this. with him and you separated.

when he returns, he knows he probably shouldn’t, that he should lie and say it went well (but not too well) and this will not cause future problems, but he tells seungcheol afterwards that he 100% fucked this up for himself. he’s really, really into you.

his boss isn’t surprised.

—

it’s been two months— not exactly, maybe a month and three weeks or so, but close enough— since that night. not a word from seventeen, nor from wonwoo. it’s hard to not wonder what happened between him and his boss as soon as he returned, if he saw those feelings written out all over his associate’s face, or if it was the lipstick stain on his lips that gave it away.

in your world, nothing had changed (except for maybe everything about your soul). nothing about your mob boss life had been altered. seventeen never spoke a word about the favor, not to you or anyone else. even though word travels fast and very easily, it never got back to you that anyone besides you and seventeen knew about it.

maybe it’s a good thing that you haven’t seen or heard from him, that you probably never will again, but him having that much control over you is dangerous because you’re sure that seungcheol knows. he knows wonwoo likes you, he knows you like wonwoo, and everything in between. he has so much power that it’s incomprehensible what he could manipulate you into doing. he probably knows that. he revels in it.

so you made the point to not reach out, knowing there’d be a trade off next time. you assume that’s why it’s radio silence on his end too.

it only hurts a little bit.

—

the news hits you as you’re sitting in your office, drinking your coffee as an associate is detailing all possible back up plans for the casino heist planned for next week.

“hold on one minute,” you say to them, and they immediately shut up, letting you take a call that had come in as they were talking, “yes, kihyun? why are you calling? i thought i told you not to call my personal phone.”

he seems anxious on the other end, which is not pleasant to hear, “i tried, boss, but you weren’t answering. and i know i wasn’t supposed to, but i assumed you would want to hear the news as soon as possible.”

“what news?”

“jeon wonwoo of seventeen went missing three days ago. not even his own associates know where he is or if he’s even alive,” he says, and his words, especially the last few, hit particularly hard.

he’s not dead, right? he can’t be dead.

“i… see. thank you, kihyun,” you say.

“i’m here if you need anything, boss,” he says, but you don’t respond, only hanging up the phone and closing your eyes.

you remember there’s still someone else in the room, so you shoo them out, “we’ll go over these plans tomorrow,” you say, as if to tell them to go away. they catch on.

and you’re suddenly all alone in your office, with nothing but the thought of wonwoo being dead to occupy your thoughts. seventeen had enemies, of course they did, but why wonwoo of all of them? why was he the target? it was just impossible to rationalize why someone would choose him to be the one to take out. what would even be the motive?

it doesn’t seem real, the idea that he could be dead, even though it’s technically possible.

the idea dawns on you that maybe it was someone in his own group, maybe even the whole fucking mafia collectively decided to take him out.

and maybe it was because of you. the idea makes your stomach sick.

it’s impossible to know for sure, and you can’t spend your day getting lost in maybe or possibly. you assume the worst, that he’s probably dead, and give yourself a moment to grieve.

and then it’s back to work.

—

it’s late, so late it’s almost early again, at your residence. the sound of rain is constant and almost soothing as you drink your tea, giving a sense of peace and calm to your night. looking over documents from the casino, everything seems to be in order. last minute preparations for tomorrow are going smoothly, and all that needs to happen now is sleep before the big day.

there’s a ring at your doorbell. so, there goes a peaceful couple hours of sleep.

no one should know that this place exists or that you live here. this place was secret for your own safety and the fact that someone is here, ringing your doorbell at three in the morning is a terrible sign.

you grab the gun you keep under your coffee table as you approach the door. there’s no way to check who it was without letting them know you were there, you just had to open it.

“i’m so sorry i’m here right now!” you hear, barely able to make out the baritone voice over the heavy rain, “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything after that night, i was ordered to not contact you on my own! i’m sorry i’m here, bothering you at your house, but it was the only place i could go!”

when you open the door, the rain covers his frames, concealing his eyes, but it’s him.

not a single thought of ‘how the fuck did you get my address?’ or ‘why did you disappear?’ is more important than him at that moment. you open the screen door and yank him inside, tossing the gun somewhere onto the floor of your kitchen. you rush to grab him a towel, because he’s shivering and freezing and that’s scaring both of you.

you’re borderline yelling at him as you scold him for showing up, especially at this hour, “what were you even thinking? you could have gotten hypothermia! you could exposed this place to people who want me dead! you could have gotten us both killed!”

and yet all he could do is look at you with those beautiful, lovestruck eyes, “i’m so sorry,” he says with a smile.

you hug him, wet clothes and teary eyes and all, crouching down on the floor to meet where he is, curled up in a ball, covering himself up with that towel. he looks so small like this.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers again.

“don’t be, i’m glad you’re alive,” you whisper back, tightening your grip on him as if he’d whither away and disappear if you didn’t.

“i missed you, every single day i thought about you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“i did too,” you say, “what happened? why did you disappear? when did this become the only place you could go?”

“i-um,” he starts, hesitant and quietly, “i got into a fight with seungcheol. i told him i didn’t want to live like this anymore, and he said he’d… cut off my head if i ever left.”

“but you still left?”

“i had to, i was so unhappy that it was killing me,” he says with more confidence, still holding onto you like you’re his lifeline, “and, god, i’m so into you that it hurt so bad to never talk to you again. how the hell was i supposed to move on?”

“so what happened after you left? where did you go?”

“mingyu told me i could crash on the couch at his place out of town while i tried to find you, but seungcheol beat that information out of him,” he pulls away just a bit to look at you while he speaks, still holding on for what feels like dear life, “i found this place about a week ago, but it wasn’t until i was literally running for my life that i felt there was nowhere else i could go.”

his stomach rumbles, so you ignore his words for the present and ask, “oh my god, when’s the last time you ate? no, don’t even answer me, i’m making you ramen.”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to-”

“don’t say another word, unless it’s to tell me you’re dying. you’re going to go take a nice, warm shower, and then eat some ramen before we even think about what to do about you going forward,” you cut him off, but your scolding tone is so filled with love and care that he doesn’t mind.

he showers, finally feeling the relief of warm water. he always hated being cold in any capacity, much less freezing to death.

he changes into the clothes you give him: an oversized crewneck and some sweatpants. when he walks back into the kitchen, where you are, he pulls the sleeves as far as they’ll go, giving himself cute little sweater paws.

he’s so adorable, so easy to fall for.

you place a bowl of ramen in front of a seat at the kitchen counter, “eat up, baby.”

baby. he could get used to being called something like that. easy. he sits at the counter, eating like a madman once he realizes how hungry he truly is.

you watch him tenderly, all the adrenaline having faded out and now he’s just here. what are you even gonna do with him? you can’t just kick him out, he’ll get found immediately. so long as no one else finds out about this place, you’re both safe.

he can’t return to seventeen, though. maybe that thought has sunken in for him too, because when he looks up at you and smiles when he sees you looking at him, he’s not smiling like how he did last time you saw him. his smile is smaller and more forced.

all his friends he left behind, all his past he left behind, and that comfortable life he left behind, all to be here, with you.

“what now?” you ask, and the depth of the question is not absent in his mind. he knows what you mean.

he frowns, playing with his chopsticks, “i… i don’t know. i can’t go back, but i’m unsure how to move forward.”

“do you want to give up this life completely? just start fresh?”

“i don’t think so. it’s all i know, all i feel competent at, and if i’m being honest, i don’t mind it. i just need something more,” he says with a chuckle, “i don’t think i could live a life of white picket fences and nuclear families.”

“then,” you say, sitting at the spot next to him at the counter, “consider joining me. i can’t give you a top position, but you can continue your work as a hacker under my group. as much as i want to give you choice, i'm gonna be honest with you: that’s your only good option.”

“i know,” he says.

it hurts a little bit, and he knows what you’re gonna say before you say it, “and i'm sorry i have to say it out loud, but… this will provide you protection against seventeen.”

which is the most miserable thing to think about: his own friends coming to kill him. he’s a traitor now, though. he knows he’s dead to seungcheol. it hurts him somewhere deep in his chest every time he thinks about it.

“okay,” he says, somewhat dully, “i guess i don’t have much of a choice.”

“it’s not that you don’t have a choice in the matter, but you only have one good one,” you say, matter-of-factly, “you won’t be safe anywhere else-”

“i’m sorry,” he says suddenly, and it’s heartbreaking how he just can’t stop saying it, “i’m just so sorry. i put you and mingyu in danger just so i could have a chance to escape. he even let me stay on his couch and then got hurt because of my selfishness.”

“it’s not fair to you to judge yourself so harshly like that. mingyu did that because he wanted to, for you. you couldn’t stop whatever hell came after,” you say, comfortingly, “it’s better to be selfish than unhappy. if mingyu knew you were safe with me, he’d see his efforts as worthwhile.”

“and what about you?” he asks.

“what about me?”

“i put you in danger,” he says.

“wonwoo, i’m a mob boss. and a woman one at that. i’m always in danger,” you say, “it’s nothing new.”

“but-”

“stop talking,” you order, and he complies. you sigh, “it’s not worth it to think about all the things you did wrong. where you are now is where you are; there’s no changing that.”

“i’m sorry,” he laughs breathlessly, “can you just kiss me if you need to shut me up?”

you look into his eyes once again, seeing nothing but beauty and honesty in them. your hand reaches to tilt his chin up as you lean in for a kiss, and all the passion of that night comes back in full force, except with so much more vulnerability and tenderness.

but he pulls away this time.

why is he about to cry?

he answers the question for you, “i’m sorry, i uhm- i’m sorry,” he whispers, his apologies stabbing you incessantly, “nothings wrong. i’m just… so happy. i’m so happy we ended up like this. nothing compares to you.”

i’m so happy we got the happy ending (somewhat).

tomorrow (well, more like later today. in a few hours) he’ll be jeon wonwoo, the best hacker in the area, known for being able to hack into power grids and major international banks. maybe he’ll be there with you, keeping track of the operation, taking down security cameras or disrupting communications.

but for tonight, he’s simply wonwoo. he holds you like he doesn’t want anything else from this life.

nothing compares to this.

#seventeen #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #wonwoo angst #wonwoo fluff #seventeen mafia au