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garoujo · 1 year

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✩ ˛˚ . ITOSHI SAE + SHIDOU RYUSEI ; — it’s obvious that shidou wants you but sae’s never been one to share.. until recently.

warnings: f!reader, stepcest, all characters written 22+, pussy + ass eating [at the same time], 3some. note: this drove me insane i’m sorry i’ve been crazy all day since writing. [repost since it got taken out of tags + i was private for a bit]

you always thought your step brother’s sae’s ‘friend’ shidou was a little.. strange, he’d never done anything in particular that made you uncomfy but he was so shameless when it came to his attraction towards you.

sharp eyes locked on your figure from across the room, shamelessly creeping around the swell of your ass or the bounce of your thighs and chest with every step you took. but the tight grit of your brothers jaw made you wonder why he even brought him around at all with how seeming irritated he always seemed to make him.

sae was protective of you, as most big brothers would be but he always seemed a little more territorial whenever shidou seemed to always follow you into every room. always too close or too flirty — behaviour sae had always brought up as soon as he left with a “do you really think he’d make you feel as good as i do, sweetheart?” normally mumbled into the crook of your neck or the where his lips would press against your ankle as your legs rest his chest.

so you don’t know what’s changed by the next time you’re met with them both in the living room, both men’s eyes are on you and it’s hard to miss the sort of glow that blooms as you approach. you suddenly feel too warm under your clothes and the small shorts you’d opted to wear suddenly feel too short with the thick atmosphere that seems to blanket the three of you as you draw closer.

another careful step and you almost jump when you feel shidou’s hand loop around your thighs, squeezing teasingly as he pulls you into him. “oh? all of this for me? you must’ve known i was coming~” he sings and you swallow rough when your eyes lock with your brother sae’s on the other couch.

he’d never let him get this far before, normally he’d have been called off by now — like a dog returning to its owner after being let off its leash. but now— you can feel every press of shidou’s fingers against your skin as they creep closer to the hem of your shorts.

“not yet. hands off you demon.” sae grits eventually, his voice lower than usual as his cheek rests against his fist — head tilting as he notices the laboured rise and fall of your chest. another too close press of his friends fingers along the inside of your thigh, deliberately grazing it along the base of your shorts before it retreats entirely and you feel like you can’t even speak.

“hehehe, alright~” shidou drawls, cheeky smirk in place before he’s resting back against the couch — thighs spread and arms resting along the back like he hasn’t just rendered you into a mess with a single touch. but just as quickly as your attention leaves your brother, for a second, it’s drawn back with the next quick tap of his palm against his lap.

it was unlike sae to be so openly affectionate with you in company, fucking his step sister was a headline he’d hoped to avoid after all, but you’d also never been one to ignore his commands — not when he treated you so well.

so you’re quick to listen, your hips taking a noticeably sinful sway as you approach him and you’re not ignorant to the way you can feel shidou’s sharp gaze drinking you up from behind, giggling as he watches the way you slink your way into your own brothers lap. oh you’re such a twisted little thing— he fucking loves it.

“sae-nii.” you drawl as your hands rest around his shoulders— pressing your chest closer to his as your thighs squeeze around his hips.

“hm?” sae returns as his gaze falls along your features, his palms rest carefully against your hips — teetering carefully along the swell of your ass but he lets the silence hang in the space where you both take a breath before he speaks. he knows you can sense the change, the tension.

“shidou thinks he can treat you better, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we?” it’s blunt and straight to the point, accompanied by the press of his palms as he takes a handful of your ass that has you melting into him. it’s deliberate and calculated, like he’s staking a claim — you’re his sister after all, like he’s proving he can play you like a violin.

“i just accepted his challenge.” sae’s voice is like honey as he palms at your body — gaze locked on yours like he’s giving you a moment to submit or deny. if it wasn’t for the drawled, dreamy giggle that sounds from over your shoulder you’d have forgotten about shidou entirely with the way the man below you has you drunk on him already, nodding softly as your hips press tighter against his.

“oh, i’ll have you fallin’ in love~” it’s cocky, irritatingly so when you almost see it pop a vein on your big brothers temple as his teammate approaches from behind you, letting himself loom over your figure as he presses himself against your back — completely ignoring the fact you’re already in another man’s lap.

“fat chance. she’s still my sister.” sae grits but he doesn’t call off shidou, he can feel the way being pressed between the both of them is making you warmer — needier as you grind yourself deeper into your brothers lap. instead, he lets one of his hands smooth up to hook around your chin, keeping your clouded gaze on his just as the man behind you’s palms reach around to squeeze and grab at your breasts.

“and we both know id rather die than let him have you all to himself.”

your brother was right, he wasn’t about to let shidou have all of the fun — which is why you already feel like putty, twisting and breaking at the seams of your sanity as your fingers twitch into the fabric of the couch. it all seemed to happen so fast, going from pressed between two men to being bent over your own couch with one between your thighs and the others chest pressed against your back.

“oh shit, that’s the stuff.” shidou grunts from where he’s resting on the floor — head pressed back against the edge of the couch as you grind yourself down onto the warm press of his tongue and mouth as you sit on his face. “knew this pussy would be sweet~” everything about how he eats you out is messy and you’re oh so fucking addictive, pressing yourself back deeper into the hug of your brothers chest as his friend takes a long taste of your cunt.

it’s fucking filthy, the way you can feel sae’s cock press against the swell of your ass as he takes control of your hips — easing your movements along the man below you’s mouth as he pumps his own cock, already throbbing at the taste of you on his tongue.

“f-feels s’ good, sae-nii.” you babble as you rock yourself into every eager swipe of shidou’s tongue, trembling when you feel the muscle push it’s way into the squeeze of your walls, slurping and smacking at the slick every press seems to push out of you. his cheeks and chin must be soaked with a mixture of you and his own spit, but it only seems to urge him to go further, wrapping his free arm around your hips as his lips trail higher — closing around your clit as he suckles languidly with the next rough stroke of his own palm along his cock.

it’s fucking shameless the way the striker is moaning against you, low and ragged as he grins against your slick folds — sharp eyes watching the way your lips part to moan as your own brother toys and squeezes at your tits. “fuck sake, you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum.” shidou giggles and sae shoots him a lidded look from over your shoulder before he clicks his tongue, taking a particularly rough handful of your breasts before he sighs.

“don’t blow your load just yet..” your brother breathes against your shoulder before his lips are resting against your neck, his large palms smoothing down your waist gently before they’re suddenly wrapping in shidou’s hair to push him even deeper into you. but it only seems to make the striker feel even better as he moans loudly, messily heading the command with the pleasurable sting in his scalp as his nose knocks against your clit, feeling your warm walls flex around his thick tongue when he dips it past your fluttering hole.

“because you’ve not reached your limit yet, have you, sweetheart?” the way your brother addresses you is sweet, a sharp contrast to the way you know he’s about to break you as he kisses his way along the backs of your shoulders — easing his lips down your spine as he finally lets go off his friends hair in favour of falling to his knees behind you.

“sae-nii.. i cant, can’t take anymore—feels too good, ah!” you’re like fucking putty already as your thighs tremble but you still push back into the spread of sae’s palms as he spreads your cheeks. the movements followed by a particularly soft kiss against the puckered hole that lies beneath — basically begging him for some attention.

“you can take it. unless you want me to leave you with that demon?” his words are sharp despite the way he leans into you anyway, letting his tongue swipe and roll along the tight ring of your ass as your back arches. you feel so overwhelmed with pleasure, having two men working at both of your holes makes you feel on the brink of breaking completely but you can’t stop, grinding back into each wet smack of their tongues as they groan against you.

“n-no! don’t leave, need you.” it’s so fucked up but it’s so good, one of your hands reaching down to tangle into shidou’s hair as the other reaches back to tangle in sae’s — every smack of their lips is wet and it’s dangerous the way you already feel so close. the striker below you giggles as he bites teasingly at your clit, making you twitch just as your brother pushes his tongue past the first right ring of muscle that makes you cry out for him.

“oh shit, that’s the stuff.. didn’t know you were so filthy, itoshi sae.” shidou’s panting like a fucking animal as he pumps at his cock, he could do this all day — having too much fun underneath you while his teammate works at the parts of you he can’t quite reach right now.

“and what about it?” there’s a crack in sae’s usual collected tone of voice, one that’s driven for the need to taste more of you — to prove that he’s the only one that knows how to work his sisters body. you were born for him and he’ll prove it as he pushes himself deeper, driven by the want to have you crying out your brothers name as you cum.

“hehe, nothing~ you itoshi’s are fuuun.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#cw stepcest #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk x you #sae x you #sae x reader #itoshi sae smut #sae smut #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #shidou x reader #shidou smut #shidou x you #shidou ryuusei smut #shidou ryuusei x reader

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after-witch · 2 years

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It Came from Outer Space [Mahito x Reader]

Title: It Came from Outer Space [Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You know it’s wrong. You’re not naive or stupid. You’re fucking a curse. What could be more screwed up than that?

Word count: 2886

notes: Dubcon sex, afab genital noncon body modification, Mahito is his own warning uhh.

It’s wrong. You know that. You’re not stupid. You’re not naive. You know that you’re doing something reprehensible; on a scale of “1 to 10, how wrong is this?” what you’re doing would probably be on the infinity end of the line.

You’re fucking a curse. What could be more screwed up than that?

So it’s wrong, sure, sure, sure. But it feels so goddamn good, too. And if you want to do it, then why shouldn’t you? It helps (or doesn’t help, depending on the perspective you want to take) that Mahito seems to share your views, seems to soothe your worries when you sometimes blurt out your misgivings about all this. You should take what you want, and do what you want. That’s human nature, after all. He, of any one--of any curse--knows about human nature.

So you fuck. Sometimes he shows up and takes you somewhere. You’ve seen the sewer, you’ve seen his experiments. Not your favorite days. Sometimes he comes by your apartment once a week. Sometimes he disappears for a while, and you wonder if he’s been exorcized (but he couldn’t be--could he, a curse like him?).

And sometimes he shows up and stays at your apartment for a few days in a row, and these days you like the best. You fuck, sure. But more than that. You watch movies. You cuddle on the couch. You eat takeout. He orders it extra spicy and then cries with his mouth open, but laughs and says humans are very curious, and stupid, and silly, to want to eat something painful deliberately.

It’s like playing house. Playing house with a curse who has tormented and killed countless people and who could do the same to you in an instant. It’s fun, it’s heartwarming, it’s horrifying. It’s like walking a tightrope, or at the edge of a cliff. But the rope and the cliff are sentient beings who have no regard for human life. Yet you choose to walk it anyway, because it makes you feel good.

It makes you feel special, but that’s something you’ve yet to share. Even with Mahito, who loves to get you talking. He likes to dissect people, he told you once, and he meant it both literally and figuratively, you think. He wants to know your past and your dreams and your fears and every little thing that makes you tick, tick, tock throughout the day. Most of that, you indulge. Usually with your head in his lap, or sometimes with his cock in between your legs. Orgasms make you sing in more ways than one.

But, that one thing? The strange pride you get from being someone he fucks (someone he hangs out with, someone he snuggles) instead of kills or tortures? That’s yours, for now. You keep that to yourself. Safe, hidden.

You’re in the foggy state of post-coital bliss, your head resting on Mahito’s chest, his hair tickling your bare breasts, your legs feeling delightfully weak, breath still coming in slightly shallow. You’re in this state, satisfied and pleasant, when Mahito gets a look on his face. Not just any look. But a look.

One that, in the past, has always led to things that are less than comfortable. Sometimes downright horrific. Like his idea to fuck in front of one of his experiments; it moaned and writhed while you moaned and writhed, and it was the best and worst orgasm of your life.

It’s a look that immediately has you shifting. But he lets you. In fact, he slowly untangles himself from your embrace, and begins to crawl backwards down the bed with the look still on his face

“Want to see what I can do with these?” He says, suddenly, blithely. He’s smiling. He looks so sweet when he smiles like this. Beautiful, even.

He wiggles his fingers at you, and in someone else--anyone else, really--the gesture might be cute. With Mahito, it’s a potential threat that sends icy fear straight down your stomach. It’s the sudden shift, you think, that has alarm bells ringing. He was normally content to simply snuggle with you after sex, watching you, humming, maybe eating something afterwards to see how it felt. That’s what they did in the movies you watched, anyway.

But this playful attitude was terrifying in its unexpectedness.

You lean forward and grip his wrists, and release them the moment he meets your gaze.

“I know what you can do with those,” you say, voice tighter than you meant it to be. You try not to sound scared, but you suppose, he’d know if you were regardless. He can do a lot with those fingers. Good things, amazing things. Horrible things, too. And that’s what has your heart gripped with a sudden fear at his

A bit of cold sweat beads on the back of your neck. Your mind flashes to the “experiments” he’s shown you before. Humans. Or they were. Grotesque and writhing and in such terrible states. And now… it’s your turn, is that it? A thousand questions race through your mind in an instant.. Did you make him mad? Is he bored of you? Is this just in this nature, to decide, on a whim, that he’d rather turn you into one of his monstrosities? Or are you panicking for nothing?

He quirks his head at you as you think, as your breath quickens, as every muscle in your body tightens in rising panic.

And then he pouts. “Not tha~aat,” he sing-songs, half whining. “I’ve been practicing something new. Just for you. It won’t kill you.” He purses his lips, then adds, a chilly afterthought. “… I think.”

“’Hito,” you say, pushing yourself up on your elbows, trying to get up. “’Hito it’s okay, I don’t want you to--”

“Shh, shh, shh.” He clucks and hushes you, ignoring your protests, ignoring the way you try to move away from him. Your hands instinctively try to grab at his again, but he bats them away like they’re nothing, a baby’s hands. And they are, considering his strength. You couldn’t stop him if you tried.

“Wait,” you whimper out, one final plea.

He looks up at you from in between your legs and grins.

And then he grips your thighs and parts your legs. You instinctively fight to keep them closed, but he pouts, and pushes them hard enough that you have to give in. Unless you want to risk a broken thigh bone. Then he’s in between your legs, looking down at your bared pussy. Your breath comes in quicker as his fingers tickle the flesh for a moment, before parting your pussy. You’re still wet, both from your own orgasm and his, and it sticks.

His fingers play around with your folds, and it feels good--sensitive, but not in an overwhelming way--but you can’t focus on that. You just want him to stop touching you, because you don’t know what the hell he’s planning. Even if he’s not going to turn you into one of the freakish experiments he keeps in the sewer, nothing about the way he’s acting has you at ease.

Finally, he takes two fingers and parts the topmost area of your folds, exposing your clit. He purses his lips and blows on it. It twitches, as do your thighs. Then he grins at it, like it’s the most adorable puppy he’s ever seen in a window.

“It’s cute,” he says. When you don’t respond, he looks up at you. “Eh? I said your little clit is cute!” He pouts again, and looks up at you with the slightest of glints in his eyes. A glint that says play with me. It’s not an invitation, but a demand.

“Thank you,” you say, deliberate, slow. “Thanks, ‘Hito.” You swallow. “You know, why don’t we just--”

“Sooo cute,” he repeats, this time bringing a finger to tap on your clit. “It’s like a little button. A pretty little human button.” His finger begins to rub on the sensitive nub, gentle, but persistent. Round and round and round. “Such fun things happen when you push it…”

You’re still staring down at him, elbows propping you up, but you can’t deny the growing sensations between your legs. It’s a little uncomfortable, a little too sensitive--but at least he’s not being too hard with it, like he sometimes does in order to see how much you can take.

You sigh, resolving to relish the pleasure; whatever he’s planned, it can’t be too drastic. He’s just playing with your clit, after all.

At your sigh, at your physical acceptance of his touch, Mahito’s grin widens. He continues circling your clit with his finger, a steady pressure that makes your thighs feel tingly.

“So I’ve been wondering…” He pushes one finger down hard on your clit, sending a delightful buzz straight into your core. You let your head fall back a little, breath hitching. His voice grows low, curious. “What would happen if I make this pretty little button bigger?”

The words don’t register at first. At first. The meaning of them hits you, cold and hard, but it’s too late. Before you can even attempt to scramble away--and what good would that do, really?--two of his fingers pinch your clit.

And then. And light bursts from behind your eyes at the sheer intensity of what’s happening, of your clit being engorged and distended, all under Mahito’s fingers. You throw yourself backward on the bed, somehow trying to get away, but your muscles are all but locked tight.

Everything you are compressed down to that small, terrifically sensitive bundle of nerves. Your body and mind and everything, everything else. You feel Mahito’s fingers on your clit but more than that, you feel him in your soul. Underneath the horrific bursting feeling, there’s this dread-filled sensation of greys and blacks and an endless void. Mahito? Or you? You can’t tell what is which and which is what.

Your clit feels like it’s bursting, an awful feeling--but underneath that awfulness is forced pleasure, tight, like something is raking across every pleasure center in your body at once. Over and over and over. Too much, too much, too much.

The sound you make, the guttural moan, doesn’t sound human. It’s a primal sound, coming from low in your belly and pushing its way out of your throat. Like an animal crying out in the darkest part of the woods, like someone giving birth. Helpless and heated.

When you can breathe again, you begin to whimper, pathetic little sounds. You push yourself up on your shaking elbows. Tears stream down your face. You’re trying to push yourself up enough to see what he’s done, and when you do, the sight of it makes your clit twitch (and you moan, fuck, it’s so much better than before).

It’s big. Like--you don’t think it looks like a cock, exactly, but like your clit has been resized for some giant fairytale creature with your body. Only the rest of you is the same, so it sticks out, protruding vulgarly from in between your pussy lips. It’s big enough that Mahito could wrap his entire hand around it.

“Mahito,” you blubber. It feels good, but it’s scary, and it’s all so overwhelming. “I don’t, I don’t--” You can’t even finish the sentence, because Mahito wiggles his fingers and rests them on your clit. Even this simple contact makes you jump and throw your head back, whining, keening. You force your head to roll back towards him. His face is all you can see in your heart-pounding haze. His soft hair that practically shimmers and the stitches on his skin and his beautiful, terrifying eyes, which stare straight into you--underneath your skin, you think--eager and lovely.

He beams.

“Feels good? Tell me everything.” He grips your clit with his fingers and you gasp insensibly. Then he begins to stroke, like he’s giving your clit a handjob. It sounds wrong, too lewd, but that is the only thing you can think to call it.

Your legs pump instinctively at the overwhelming pleasure that floods not only your enlarged clit, but your entire lower body. You don’t know that you moan such much as you make those animalistic sounds again. Oh, oh, oh.

It feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking awful. It’s too much pleasure, it shouldn’t be possible, your body should not be capable of experiencing this. But the nerves are just as engorged as the clit itself, and with that comes so much electric pleasure that it’s crossing over into agony.

You’re not just moaning, but sobbing now, as he continues. And then he crawls up towards you again, elongating his arm so that he can keep on stroking your over-sensitive clit.

He’s smiling gently, looking down on you like some sort of previous lamb. He leans forward and licks at your tears. The sensation of his tongue dragging up your skin only adds to the sensations between your legs, and you stutter out.

“Does your new clit feel good?” He asks. Not sultry, but plain, and honest and curious.

You don’t answer at first--you’re mad, you’re scared, you’re overwhelming--and he rubs his entire palm on the end of your clitoris. You screech with raked pleasure.

“Yes,” you cry out, almost screaming. “Yes, yes, yes, it feels good, it feels--” You let out a strangled moan as you feel an orgasm begin to build, that familiar coiling in your stomach a thousand times harder and stronger than ever before.

“Does it hurt? Or feel bad at all?” He’s not asking out of pity or sympathy or concern. It’s just as plain, just as matter-of-fact, as wanting to know if it feels good.

When Mahito is curious, he almost looks innocent. Almost looks child-like. Sometimes you wonder if he has a way to take mental notes on all the things he’s curious about. Horrible and good things alike.

You press your head against the pillow underneath you, and realize that it’s soaked with hot sweat. Your sweat. “Yes,” you say, keening. “Yes it’s too much, it’s like--like--when you touch me too soon,” you take a big, gulping breath, your legs shaking like jelly. “And--and it’s oversensitive. But worse. Bigger. Worse. I don’t know.”

“I’ll watch your face while you come this time,” he says, matter-of-factly. “And next time, I’ll watch your clit, and--” He sounds a bit giddy now, excited. “After that, I don’t know!”

“S-Second time? Third time?” You kick your legs, half from the mounting pleasure, half from fear. “No-no-no, after this, I wouldn’t--I couldn’t--it would be too--”

You don’t get a chance to force out the rest of your rushing thoughts, because the coil building in your belly reaches its apex.

The orgasm is like waves of hot, hard rolling pleasure. Your clit pulses and each pulse makes you cry out again. The moans and cries are purely insensible. You’re sure you said his name, somewhere in there, because you register a pleased look on his face at the end. Very much a-cat-who-got-the-canary sort of look.

In the end, as you come down from the agonizing high, you feel slickness between your legs. You must have squirted. Your clit pulses a few more times, dragging out the orgasm to its finality. There’s an acheyness to it all. Your muscles are sore. Your thighs, your legs. It’s like you ran a marathon.

The aftershock is warmer than normal, but you don’t feel the relaxing afterglow of normal sex. Or what amounts to normal sex with Mahito. Because you remember his words, his intention to continue, and you’re afraid.

“Mahito,” you say, sniffling, unable to prop yourself up on your elbows. “I really can’t… I really can’t do that again. Can you make it small again, please?” You widen your eyes and try to look every bit the helpless human that you are. Maybe he’ll give in because you’re so cute. Maybe he’d rather do something else, make you cry instead. Even that would be preferable to the worry of a second orgasm out of your enlarged clit.

He hums.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m doing this for you, y’know? You’re not being very grateful!”

He flicks one of your nipples, petulant and annoyed. And then… he stares at them. At your breasts. Flexes his fingers and holds your breast in his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You see the lights turning on behind his eyes. You see the thoughts forming. Wicked thoughts.

“I wonder… what would happen if I make these bigger?”

“Oh, no,” you say, “Wait, that’s not--”

Mahito claps one hand over your mouth. Your breath comes fast and hard through your nose. But he’s not mad. No, no. He begins to stroke your quivering cheek, even as he keeps his hand firmly pressed on your lips.

You’ve given him ideas. He likes humans who give him ideas.

He outright grins at you.

“You’re so fun, you know that? You’re never boring.”

He wiggles his fingers in front of your face.

Briefly, as your wide eyes watch them gradually come back down onto your breast, the thought comes to you, a quick flash.

You should just be happy that he wants to play with you like this, and not like the people in the sewer.

More than happy. You should be grateful--and you are.

It’s all you have, when it comes to Mahito.

#mahito x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #afterwitch writes

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russovito · 2 years

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Metal rattled around him, bolts and panels singing and shrieking their displeasure as The Castor broke through Leora’s atmosphere. Vito sighed, the noise lost in the cacophony as he pushed his sunglasses up with thumb and forefinger to rub at his eyes. He really shouldn’t have expected much from a flaking escort vessel fifty years past its prime and named the beaver, but this was just pathetic. If this squealing piece of glorified debris was the standard for Collective-class ships in this corner of the galaxy he was well and truly fucked beyond all imagining.

Static feedback from the ship’s overhead speakers was all the warning he got before the Castor lurched, sending his sunglasses and a few of the other passenger’s belongings flying into the metal walls with a series of clangs. Swearing, Vito tugged at the straps digging painfully into his shoulders until they loosened enough for him to breathe again. To his left, a female Venpalan officer in the same blue uniform he sported let out a masterful string of expletives as she did the same to her own restraints. “I’ll personally fillet the mechanic responsible for this ship!”

Barely able to understand the woman’s shout despite being inches away, Vito decided a nod and a volleyed, “Please do,” was a good enough response for the situation. The Venpalan did a double take as she gauged his reaction, her gaze flicking from his left eye to his right before her own eyes narrowed. Sighing inwardly, the Beastkin leaned closer to her, noting with dry amusement how she stiffened but refused to back away. His pupils appeared permanently dilated all the time thanks to his incomplete transformation, and the conclusion he assumed she came to - that he was high - was a bafflingly common one.

With deliberately exaggerated movements, Vito held his regular eyelids open and slowly blinked his nictitating membrane. Clear eyelids meant to be used for swimming underwater, he found he most often had to use them for this: indicating his species. Understanding and a bit of revulsion at the motion flashed in the woman’s eyes as she nodded her acknowledgement. Wishing the pilot’s timing with the landing gear had been better, Vito backed off and sent a dissatisfied glance to where his sunglasses lay on the ribbed metal flooring beside the cargo door. It looked like one of the lenses had cracked which would probably be a pain in the ass to get fixed on this backwater planet, but they were a necessity if he didn’t want to dry out his eyes blinking for every planet-side officer on this far-flung rock.

Touchdown was much gentler than the ride would have suggested possible so Vito chalked the trip’s issues up to poor maintenance rather than pilot inadequacy. Lucky pilot. Static burbled overhead before a strained voice announced their arrival on Sotiris in Common. Out of his seat with a swift button click and a lazy shove at the straps, the Beastkin swept up his sunglasses and, after a perfunctory wipe down, placed them back onto his face. The left lens was cracked just as he’d suspected, but at least none of the pieces had fallen out.

Another sigh clawed at his throat but Russo swallowed it. He had made his dissatisfaction at being sidelined and sent on vacation as excruciatingly clear to his father as possible, and the fact he’d been carted off anyway wouldn’t change with a few more heavy exhalations. Tuning back into the droning voice leaking from the speakers as the other Collective officers onboard grabbed their thrown belongings and lined up beside him, Vito caught the last of what he assumed was the standard speech, “... local time is just after 14:00 on a 24-hour cycle. Gravity 9.8. We are in landing bay four in the Spaceport located on the west side of the island. Welcome to Sotiris.”

The cargo door opened to reveal standard tarmac and a step ladder framed by two saluting cadets. Unable to resist rolling his eyes at how needlessly performative this all was, Vito moved leisurely down the steps and out into the sunshine, ignoring cadets and officers alike as he looked around. The Castor was a piece of ancient cobbled refuse but it was still military specked and thus hadn’t been outfitted with any windows. Soldiers didn’t need to see where they were going, they just needed to try their best not to die when they got there, right?

Regardless, his first look at Sotiris and Leora as a whole was... underwhelming. This could’ve been any spaceport in any city on any planet currently in the Collective. The buildings weren’t standard rectangles, he’d give the Leorans that, but it still wasn’t very impressive.

The sigh he’d suppressed earlier came back up and Russo allowed it to slip out this time. Fuck, he could already tell he was really gonna hate this vacation.

#beneath the mask;#drabble

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inquisitoracorn · 10 months

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Word search tag game

Thank you @fereldan-kestrel for the tag! It reminds me I'm alive and like to do writing sometimes, but oh boy did you give me homework.

Unfortunately I've really only ever written one thing, with some small exceptions so most of this is from my long term fic, Two Songs and Three Serpents (yes, still writing it).

Note - TSTS unpublished chapter

The Cumberland contact knows that all post from Gavario is to be checked, but her heavy purse has prevented that from happening for many years now. There's a note meant for her, bearing Gavario's seal - the real one, she's made sure - informing her that all new orders and payments for raw ore will be made to an address in the Free Marches. The same address on the letter that isn't meant for her. Curiosity gnaws at her, as it often does, but caution wins in the end. She's worried that it might not, one of these days.

Learning - little drabble I wrote two whole years ago set during the Inquisition after Adamant, where Jonathan and Solas talk about the Fear Demon (edited)

The Inquisitor found it odd. He meant what he had said to Solas, that he would refrain from asking in order to respect his privacy. Having your fear mocked out in the open was a very uncomfortable experience for everyone involved. And yet, he had somehow expected Solas to tell him anyway, treat it as a lesson, a learning exercise. Maybe use it as an excuse to comment on how fear demons work - why it spoke Elvish to increase its emotional impact, how it may have latched onto a memory, how it can find fears you were not aware existed... Instead, Solas shut down the conversation with polite acceptance. What must have troubled him so?

Guide - TSTS Chapter 2 - Garnets and Merrymaking, where Jonathan deliberately steps on the toes of a stranger to earn goofy points :)))

Lady Marcelle, to her credit, tried to look lenient. "Of course, it's no matter." She pressed more into the dance, very subtly trying to guide Jonathan's steps, and when he complied and relaxed a bit, she gave a satisfied smile. After a few moments, when their dancing improved, Lady Ehlgar regarded him carefully. Jonathan thought maybe he had earned some sympathy.

Trap - I have SO many traps!! Why do I have so many traps??? - TSTS Chapter 9 - The Jeweller of Nevarra

Jonathan did not hear anything save for the sound of a desert at night – crickets and shifting sand. But they all remained quiet as Ser Magda let out a curious hum, slowly pulling apart the curtain at the back of the caravan. While the group waited with bated breath, the knight looked inside the carriage, then promptly shut it, taking a few quick steps back. "Get back, it's a trap,” she said evenly, “There's a chest in there left as bait." Jonathan frowned. How could she tell so quickly, and what if there was someone still around? "How do you know it’s bait?" Ser Magda sheathed her axe and got back on her horse, "It sings of lyrium, my lord. It's enchanted.” “Lyrium does not sing, Ser!”, Galbert intervened, but his tone made it more of a question than a statement, “But if you say it is a trap, I will trust your instincts.”

Legs - An Artober prompt a whilleeeee back where Jonathan listens to a concert of the Singquisition from the top floor of the Herald's Rest (edited)

Shadows fall and hope has fled Steel your heart, the dawn will come... The Inquisitor stopped breathing for a moment, and his grip on Dorian's hand tightened. He felt the bitter cold of the Frostbacks creep down his spine again. Again, like that night, with frost on his brow as his heavy legs stumbled out of his sickbed and into the camp. Again, as he remembered the weight that lowered itself on his shoulders like a lead blanket, pressing down further with every kneeling pilgrim.

All I'm getting here is - me like many words :)))

As it's already made the rounds and I haven't been involved with the fandom for ages, I'm choosing the coward's way out and... not tag. This time.

I'll return... soon

#dragon age fanfic #tsts #inquisitor trevelyan #writing meme #tag game

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juunshua · 5 years

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I think people underestimate how many idols pass their auditions despite being basically tone-deaf. I think a lot of the early vocal-training just focuses on being on tune except for the main singers. Some people in svts vocal-team obviously aren't pros when it comes to technique. That doesn't mean that they're not great people with lot of potential, or that people aren't allowed to love their voice as it is, so I hope people don't take offense to this. Because technique ≠ objective beauty!!

while i would hesitate to call them ‘tone-deaf,’ i do agree that when auditioning for a company, perhaps if they claimed their forte was ‘dancing’ or ‘rapping’ instead of ‘singing,’ there may have been idols who have struggled with that aspect, the same as when idols who didn’t know much about dancing just clapped their hands to the beat and were often accepted. but companies know this. its their responsibility to ‘groom’ these trainees they accept to become idols and that often entails things like dance practice and vocal lessons. what you’re saying about ‘early vocal-training’ and how it focuses on being on tune, it just confuses me that if a company has a trained professional certified vocal trainer work for them, why such a person would only focus on being on tune because singing is far more complex than just that. learning how to breathe properly is literally the first step of singing, and the way that most idols sing these days, its as if they’ve never even received this simple lesson. and along with that, voice classification is also an important first step for singing so vocalists know and are aware of the limitations of their voice, but why does it seem like so many baritones out there don’t seem to know that they are baritones? and blame themselves for the inability to hit high notes with the same ease as tenors? when its not their fault at all. ive helped one of my old orchestra teachers for many summers teach children how to play string instruments and the first thing we teach them is not how to put fingers down on the violin and play notes, but instead how to hold their instrument properly, how to hold their bow properly, how to sit properly etcetc and we do a lot of exercises with that in mind. im no music major and i have not a degree in teaching music but i know as a violinist what things will benefit my students if they adopt these good habits now rather than trying to fix them later. it should be the same for vocal teachers too i dont think i would understand the reason why actual educated vocal instructors would try to teach their students how to sing without teaching them a lot of important basics. singing in tune is important yes, singing on the beat is also important yes, but along with those first steps in music should also be a basic understanding of the instrument youre working with and how to best take care of it so you dont injure it or yourself, which is something i feel many idols don’t have.i honestly believe that everyone has the potential to be a decent vocalist if they have the proper mentorship and work ethic so yes i agree, even if svts vocal unit, or svt in general, are struggling in the technique department, it doesnt mean that they cant adopt it and learn from it and improve…but thats also partially why its so frustrating ahaha they can improve but they dont and just stick to their confines of societal expectations of a good singer which is one that is again: loud, high and “stable.” the room for improvement with that mentality i think is a bit limited honestly for me, its always the vocalists who have shown that they know what vocal technique is, that i am always the most excited for improvement because i know that they know how to improve. also i agree that you’re allowed to love whatever voice color you want even if theyre not the best vocalist. in terms of color, i really love yooa’s voice from oh my girl even if she doesnt really know how to support ahah her voice in ‘cupid’ was the whole reason i biased her tbqh, and even though kyuhyun is redeemed as a fantastic vocalist, his vibrato bothers me quite a bit and i much prefer ryeowooks vocal color and voice in general over his. same with exo i prefer baekhyun/kyungsoo over chen even though chen is the more technically advanced. enjoying someones voice as it is is fine, everyone has different preferences when it comes to the type of voice they want to hear and thats all fair and good.however, yes while “technique ≠ objective beauty,” as beauty truly isnt ever going to be objective as it is dependent on personal preferences as well as societal expectations, i think a reverse/modified version of that statement should be considered as well: “subjective beauty ≠ technique.” ive seen in many fandoms, carats included, where someone tries to ‘justify’ the reason they like someone’s voice as being because they have ‘great technique’ when thats just…not the case at all. its okay if you like ur favs voice and they don’t have great technique, just try not to attribute something to someone that isnt there and please recognize someones hard work and skill when it is there. in the end my whole stance on vocal technique is that it should be something that more idols should try to adopt because its only better for the health of their vocal cords. many idols want longevity, esp those who focus on singing, it would be a shame if they were to seriously injure their voice especially since its the one instrument that you really cant exactly buy a new one of if it ‘breaks.’ singing with technique in mind also opens up a lot of other doors, such as versatility, dynamics, overall control of your voice, etc. like it just increases the musicality of every vocal performance imo. for instance boo here goes from soft and gentle sounding to more gritty and loud and often goes back and forth between the two sounds and all the intermediates. the changes are very gradual and minute but there if you listen for it and hes able to do this because he knows what he has to do to manipulate his voice to execute the musical interpretation of the song that he chose to sing because he knows what technique is. but it’s not to say that people who sing out there who arent trying to employ technique are invalid as singers and that their voices are not ones that people can enjoy. tl;dr yes enjoy voices and their vocal colors and listen to the voices that make you feel happy and that you like but the importance of vocal technique should not and must not be dismissed.

#anon #replies #i dont want fifty million boos i just want ppl who are more aware of their voice #like for instance wu jiacheng? rn his voice probably peaks at support at around g4 #and i dont think he has resonance either #BUT his voice excites me because he seems to know what hes doing with his voice #every note he sings is deliberate in how he takes in his breath and what he sings #hes the kind of person i would expect to improve if he continued along this path #but ppl who focus on sounding loud and having pretty tone ?#the former means shouting more and the latter is just...subjective lmao like you can only go so far

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otomes-world · 2 years

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22. “I wish I could stay here forever. Just me and you” One of possible mini-endings of this fic.

Sharply opening your eyes, you found yourself at home, in the real house. A sigh of relief escaped from his throat, the whole body finally relaxed from the tension. Until his gaze caught on the phone, on the screen of which a green tide passed. The device turned on by itself, but instead of the menu, there was the main screen of the game. Instead of the usual character, there was he.

The night trip was too grueling. You didn’t want to go absolutely anywhere, the university would be cursed. Deciding that progress is progress, but nerves are more expensive, you pressed the exit button. It was a pity to lose account, but there were a lot of games. In addition, you could always watch the video of the walkthrough. Of course, the sensations were not the same, but there was no choice.

“How do you feel, Name?” As if sensing your intention, the character on the main screen spoke again. “The library scene was probably very stressful.“

As if by magic, your surroundings changed and you found yourself in the forest, which seemed like descended from the pages of a fairy tale. A soft, pleasant to the touch grass carpet that you could feel even through the fabric of your pajamas. Blue sky, birds singing, sunbeams carefully warming your hands, which started to freeze. Despite the deliberate peacefulness of the picture, you could not get rid of the strange feeling. As if, like last time, the earth would suddenly open up and you would fall down.

Taking a convulsive breath - the aroma of herbs and flowers tickled your nose - you covered your face with your hands, like a broken record, repeating just one phrase.

Wake up.

However, with every passing second, another thought, no more frightening, was asserted in your head. What if it was not a dream?.. Which, however, you immediately discarded. You didn't know how you would cope if it turned out to be true. You held on it like a drowning man holding on to the last straw. Intuition suggested that you were engaged in self-persuasion, but you were ready to send it to hell. At the moment, that's all you had.

"Name!"

You flinched at the sound of your name, but didn't rush to remove your hands from your face. You just froze in the hope that someone with the same name was called. Nevertheless, when someone's hand fell on your shoulder, and then some clothes - you assumed a jacket - you had no more doubts anymore.

"Wake up, it's time to wake up," you repeated out loud, surprised at how quiet your voice sounded, how uncertain. "It's all a dream."

You felt the touch on your hands and the way the stranger carefully interlaced your fingers with yours, "That's right, we will forget everything, like a bad dream that ended."

When you finally saw who exactly came for your soul, you began to wish of ignorance. In front of you sat the one whom you basically did not expect to see. The one you had't seen throughout the dream. On the contrary, Neige`s face, who noticed your gaze, lit up with a gentle smile as you tried to put two and two together, but the result of four still didn't work.

"No, that can't be, it's just-..."

You shook your head vigorously, but in the next moment LeBlanche let go of your hands to touch your cheeks and stop you. He looked at you with concern, simultaneously examining the possible wounds.

“Is everything all right, Name? Didn't those villains hurt you?" You tried to take your face away, but the youth in front of you misunderstood your reaction. He just moved even closer, and then you felt how his hands close behind your back. "It's over. I made it on time. I don't want to think about what would have happened if I'd been even a second late." You, even though didn't want to admit it, didn't want to know too. Neige breathed a sigh of relief, burying his nose in your shoulder. "I wish I could stay here forever. Just me and you”

With a glassy gaze, you looked up, noting the unusually bright blue sky, as if in mockery of what a dull color your eyes had become. Closing your eyes, you thought. If they were villains, then was a real a hero hugging you now?

list of prompts

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oneshot #twst fic #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twst neige x reader #yandere neige x reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #yandere neige leblanche #sentient twst au #yandere sentient twst #self aware twst au #twisted wonderland self aware au #self aware au

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elysianslove · 3 years

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secret relationship; tsukishima kei, tanaka ryūnosuke, yamamoto taketora

requested by anon(s); their respective teams finding out about their relationships

pairings; tsukishima kei x reader, tanaka ryūnosuke x fem!reader, yamamoto taketora x fem karasuno manager!reader

genre; fluff

warnings; none! (maybe a few curse words)

note; i’m so sorry tsukki’s so much longer than the other two oh my

tsukishima kei

━━ in your defense, neither of you had heard the blaring alarm, and supposedly, no one else in his home had either. after having unintentionally lost track of time with your boyfriend the night prior that it had gotten a little too late for you to head home safely, you’d agreed to kei’s suggestion to spend the night, and fell asleep in his arms. that wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary. you couldn’t count on ten fingers the nights you’d spent at his home, waking up with your limbs tangled with his, despite the fact that he insisted cuddling was his least favorite thing to do. missing the alarm is what’s unusual. kei’s not the heaviest of sleepers, evident in the way he nearly tramples you every night, suffocating you to him and restricting your movements. the fact that he hadn’t heard it, and had left to ring annoyingly loud until it gave up was confusing enough.

this wouldn’t pose as much of an issue if it weren’t for your situation. on the contrary, really; you loved nothing more than waking up at the hour you desire, kei still sound asleep by you. he always looked a lot calmer, a lot less tense, his mind a little quieter. his arms were caging you in, giving you enough freedom to tilt your head back and admire him, as his chest rose and fell gently, as his eyes fluttered lightly with the remnants of a dream. in the quiet of his room, you wondered what those golden irises could see.

but of course, a sleepy, fuzzy, lovesick brain wasn’t a luxury for long, and the blurriness began to slip away, just as reality began catching up. your mind began to process the time that the clock that hung opposite you read (too late in the afternoon), then the day of the week (sunday, practice day), then, the cherry on top of the cake — the sound of heavy footsteps, too many footsteps, loud, familiar voices. and finally, the fact that you weren’t supposed to be where you were: in kei’s bed.

you’d encountered his — friends on countless occasions, just never as his significant other. at first, it had left you slightly insecure, wondering if kei was somehow ashamed of you, embarrassed to be tied to you. eventually, however, you’d figured that it hadn’t been shame or embarrassment. he’s just a private person, and if anything, it’s possessiveness: the desire to keep you and all that you are to himself. not that he’d ever have to share once you were exclusive to his teammates, but it’s more that he also wants the idea and thought of you secret. he wants to luxury of calling you his to be private, just something he can enjoy. and maybe you liked the thrill of it too, seeing as you’d agreed, for the time being. you liked the rushed kisses in fear of getting caught, and the secret glances he’d offer you during school hours, and the way he held your hand beneath the table for no one but you to know about. you liked it, and you respected his wishes.

when the footsteps drew closer, you realized just how screwed you are, and it would mean a lot worse for you to be caught slipping away through the window than to be caught in bed, so you lean up, hugging yourself tighter to him, and bring your lips by kei’s ear. shaking him slightly, you whisper, “baby, wake up. the boys are here.”

kei rustles around, blinking slightly, before huffing and wrapping his arms tighter around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, mumbling incoherently.

you stifle a laugh at his clingy reaction, wishing that this was somehow being recorded. with laughter behind your tone, you repeat your words, shaking him harsher. “kei,” you drawl, whining. “kei, we’re gonna get caught.”

he only mumbles again, breath hot on your neck.

“tsukki! tsukki!”

shit, nishinoya and tanaka were also here?

“kei, baby, you are going to be mortified when you wake up,” you warn, but nonetheless, you continue to hold him to you, bringing a hand up to his hair and sighing. “don’t kick me for trying to warn you.”

the door bursts open, followed by tanaka’s sing-song voice calling out for your boyfriend. he leads the way into the bedroom, head high and eyes closed, as him and three of kei’s teammates march in. he’s oblivious to your head peeking out beneath the crook of kei’s neck, until his eyes open, his hands faltering on his hips as he finally registers your face.

you grin up at him, fingers waving at him in greeting. “hey,” you call out cheekily.

tanaka freezes, head cocking to the side as he’s pushed away while the other three file in. as soon as nishinoya notices you, he clamps his hand over his mouth, his mouth wide with laughter and eyes lost in shock. yamaguchi’s face is tinted red, glance frozen at you, while sugawara, ever the sadist, laughs freely and loudly.

“so this is why he’s late?” tanaka yells in a hushed tone.

sugawara, still laughing, grabs his phone from his jacket’s pocket, switching to the camera app quickly and lifting it up to snap a photo. you throw up a peace sign.

“tsukki, you ass!” nishinoya shouts, leaping quickly onto the bed, forcing you and kei to shift suddenly. “get up, get up, get the fuck up!”

the boy in your arms groans, his eyes still shut tightly as he finally loosens his hold on you, rolling onto his back. a hand is lifted up to his face as he rubs away the sleep in his eyes, while nishinoya positions himself to stand directly above him, feet on either side of his hips as he leans down, peering straight at his face.

kei’s eyes finally open, hand falling to his side in search of yours as it always does, before he looks up, and spots nishinoya sporting the cheekiest of expressions. he sighs in preparation of the teasing to come, and exhales sharply.

“shit.”

sugawara is yet to stop laughing.

tanaka ryūnosuke

━━ “ryu, you’re late to practice.”

the boy in question shushes you quietly, hugging you tighter to him as he whispers out, “five more minutes,” lips brushing against the nape of your neck, down to your shoulder blades. your back is pressed to his bare chest, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. you rest a hand on that arm, stroking it gently as you try to wake him up.

with how the boys had been progressing with volleyball, practice hours had increased, and therefore quality time with ryu had decreased. there was a little voice in the back of your head egging him on, urging you to cuddle back into him and let him nuzzle into you more, the part of you that missed him, missed all of him. there was a more logical side of you that knew better, that acknowledged all the work and effort he’d put to get where he is today, and that didn’t want him to miss out any opportunity to grow, or to put all that effort to waste. so you sigh, gripping at his forearm tightly as you try to get away.

“come on, babe,” you whine, attempting desperately to try and get away from him.

“woah, ryu, you got a girl with you or something?”

you freeze. ryu freezes. the world stops.

that had definitely been nishinoya’s voice, there was no doubt about that. and it isn’t like the both of you had kept your relationship a secret from your mutual friends deliberately. it had just never came up in conversation. maybe they were just blind, honestly. there had been no hiding it: you held hands, you hugged him tight after every win, he walked you home after evening practice after school, you hung out during school all the time. so really, it isn’t your fault that no one put two and two together.

you’d just hoped it wouldn’t be in such a comprising situation. you don’t even have pants on.

“holy shit, you do— what the fuck!” your boyfriend’s teammates scream is piercing, and eardrum shattering. you wince at the sound, fingers tightening around ryu’s arm. once nishinoya processes what he’s seen, and who he’s seen, he storms outside of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar behind him, allowing you to listen in on his yells.

somehow, ryu’s still sleeping.

“you guys are not going to believe what i just saw,” you hear nishinoya calling out and — holy shit, was the whole team here? was he really that late to practice?

you manage to break free of ryu’s unrelenting grasp just as the footsteps group by your boyfriend’s bedroom door. they all walk in as you try and fix your bed hair, smiling weakly as one by one, they fill up the room. raising a hand, you sheepishly smile and wave, calling out a low, “morning everyone.”

looking to your left, you find ryu still sleeping. with the way hinata’s bouncing over to where the two of you lay, you doubt it’ll be for long. secret was meant to be outed at some point, wasn’t it?

yamamoto taketora

━━ as you and your team finally arrive at your destination, nekoma high, the bus comes to a stop, parking off to the side. immediately, the boys are jumping from their seats, eager to stretch their limbs and greet their long distance friends. you, kiyoko and yachi take your time in comparison to them, gathering all your things, stretching yourselves out. yachi and kiyoko are first to leave between the three of you, working on keeping your teammates in check and making sure none drift off, while you stay behind, checking in on the bus to make sure nobody left anything behind (which you’re glad you always do, because both hinata and kageyama had forgotten their phones). stepping off the bus, you raise your arms up in a stretch, bones cracking satisfyingly. you squint up at the sun as you sigh, hand coming up to shield yourself from it.

“shōyō, kags!” you call out, walking up to the group of boys huddled around each other, both nekoma and karasuno. “forget anything?” you place their phones in either hand, giving them playfully disapproving looks as they shamefully take it from you, red dusting their cheeks and a low sorry spilling from their lips. your expression twists into a cheerful one, and you wave them off.

as the herd of people begins to move, you plan on following, until you hear your name yelled out loudly, in a very distinct, familiar voice. excitement overtaking you, you turn the other way, dropping your bag to the ground and jumping into the awaiting of your arms of your long distance boyfriend.

“tora baby, i missed you!” you squeal, arms wrapping tight around his neck and legs around his waist, ankles hooked as he rocks you from side to side. he hugs you with just as much earnest, burying his face in your neck gratefully.

he hums by your ear, pressing a wet kiss to your neck as he says, “missed you more. more than you could ever imagine.”

you chuckle lightly to yourself, lifting your head up and leaning back to glance at him. “sap,” you tease, tilting your head closer.

“hey, you were the one that jumped into my arms,” he argues.

you quirk an eyebrow. “you were the one that yelled out my name and ran at me,” you retort. “like we’re in some sort of rom-com.” you’re rolling your eyes, but your heart’s beating unsteadily at the way he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. unwilling to continue your banter, having missed him, and missed kissing him too much to do so, you lift a hand to the nape of his neck and push his lips closer to yours, finally kissing him properly.

you’re not able to enjoy it for long, feeling a hand grab at the collar of your jacket on the back of your neck. it pulls at you until you break from the kiss, until you’re forced out of your boyfriend’s arms, and stumbling onto the ground back on your feet.

“have some decorum, manager,” daichi teases, and you roll your eyes, reaching out again for taketora.

he takes you into his arms easily, letting you rest your head on his chest, and wrapping your arms around his waist. “he’s just jealous that we’re in love,” he jokes, and you huff out a laugh, allowing him to steer you away from the small crowd, and towards the gym, leaving your boys and his teammates behind.

“am i the only one that’s like, shocked?” ennoshita breaks the silence.

“really? i’m more heartbroken,” nishinoya joins in, earning a smack from daichi.

tanaka breathes in steadily. “kiyoko-san, please don’t be next,” he pleads.

“tanaka-san, please stop being dramatic.”

#haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tanaka x reader #tanaka ryunosuke x reader #yamamoto x reader #yamamoto taketora x reader

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 3 years

Text

Sandor x Reader - Sellsword

Title: Sellsword

Words: 3208

Warnings: Strong language, allusions to sex, arguing, reader almost sleeps with a (female) prostitute

A/N: I tried writing this as a smut piece, but I couldn’t do it. Maybe in the future if people want it, I’ll make a small part two with smut.

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

When Sandor first saw you, he had to contain his shock. He hadn’t seen a female sellsword in years and you showed up at the Red Keep escorting Tyrion Lannister, a horde of Hill tribesmen behind you. You looked confident, a slight smirk on your face and your hand on the hilt of your sword. Sandor fought not to look at you for too long, but you had no qualms about looking at him.

You knew exactly who he was without hearing his name. When you saw him look at you from the corner of your eye, you winked at him. His eyes widened slightly and you bit back a laugh as he looked away from you.

“I wish I could stay and celebrate with you, but I have work to do,” Tyrion said. You took that as your cue to follow Tyrion and you deliberately brushed up against the Hound as you left. He let out a sharp breath and you sent him another wink as you walked away.

Tyrion led you, Bronn, and the Hill tribes deeper into the Red Keep. He dropped off the tribesmen off in what would be their living quarters for the time being before stopping at the door to the small council.

“You two stay out here. If it goes the way I’m thinking it will, I’ll be out of that room in a few minutes.”

“We’ll be here, my lord,” you said. You leaned against the wall and took out your knife, starting to clean under your nails. Tyrion gave you a look and walked into the room.

“Could you be any more obvious?” Bronn said to you.

“Whatever could you mean?”

Bronn snorted out a laugh and your face split into a grin.

“He doesn’t seem your type,” Bronn said.

“Tall, dark, and silent? No. Definitely not.”

The two of you laughed as silently as you could and you sighed.

“I could use a good fuck, though,” you said.

“I think the king would be more than welcome to the idea of you warming his bed.”

“No thanks,” you said with a shudder. “He’s a boy and I’ve heard he’s a bit of a cunt too.”

“A cunt that’s a king. And a king gets what a king wants.”

---

The next few days were full of some changes. Bronn was appointed as the new Commander of the City Watch, Shae was Sansa Stark’s new handmaiden, and you were Sansa’s own personal guard. One that wasn’t under Cersei’s thumb. You still served Tyrion as he was supplying your paycheck, but it was a welcome change of pace.

Tyrion had decided that you would be Sansa’s protector when you had walked into the throne room and Joffrey was ordering Ser Meryn to beat the girl. It made your blood boil and it took every ounce of your strength to not beat the so called knight’s head in.

That night, Sansa found you outside her bedroom door.

“What are you doing here?” She asked you.

“Lord Tyrion has appointed me as your guard. Go on and go to sleep, my lady.”

You could tell that Sansa was apprehensive about your presence so you gave her a smile.

“I promise no harm will come to you if I can help it, love. Now go to bed,” you said. Sansa nodded and went inside.

---

A few months had passed and it felt like a blur to you. You had learned your way around the Red Keep and King’s Landing pretty quickly, gotten the approval of Sansa, and found yourself getting closer to the Hound. The two of you often sat together to eat and you soon managed to convince him to go out with you for a drink.

After one of those nights was when you slept together for the first time. It happened more and more, but one day, Sandor stopped talking to you altogether.

It was a couple weeks before the Battle of the Blackwater when Sandor disappeared while you were sleeping. When you woke up, you thought nothing of it and assumed that his duties had pulled him away from you. But then he didn’t appear for lunch and when you tried to talk to him, Sandor brushed you off and continued on like you weren’t even there. You couldn’t lie, it hurt to have him treat you like that, but you took it in stride. Two could play at that game.

---

“Good afternoon, your grace,” Sansa said to Joffrey.

“My lady. Walk with me.” Joffrey looked at you, a sneer on his face. “You walk with my Hound.”

“As you wish, your grace.” You gave him a short bow and the four of you started walking.

You and Sandor were walking a few paces behind the two of them and you could feel the tenseness radiating off of Sandor. Your hands were behind your back and you ignored him as he tried to form words.

“[Y/n]—“

“Save it,” you said. “Whatever bullshit is about to come out of your mouth, I don’t want to hear it.”

“What?” You could hear the anger start to creep into Sandor’s voice but you just turned around.

“[Y/n], let us go,” Sansa said.

“Of course, my lady.” Sansa walked past you and you bowed to Joffrey again. “My king.”

Joffrey didn’t say anything back but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away. When you were far enough away from them, you turned to look at Sansa.

“Is everything alright, my lady?” You asked her.

“Everything’s fine.”

The two of you walked into the Red Keep where you stayed by Sansa’s side, keeping a watchful eye on her. It was only when night fell did you leave her in Shae’s care. You went down to the brothels with Bronn and some Lannister soldiers. After about an hour, you had a whore on your lap and ale in your hand. Bronn and the soldiers were singing a Lannister song while you lazily touched the woman before you.

You ignored what Bronn was saying, focusing only on your lover for the night. You only looked up when you heard everyone go silent. Your eyes met Sandor’s and you looked at him as he stared at you. You could see some anger in his eyes but it didn’t faze you. You just kissed the woman and patted her thigh so she’d get up.

“First round’s on me,” Bronn said.

“Don’t spend all of your gold tonight,” you said to him.

“It’s just the one round, love.” Bronn winked at you and tilted his head. “Get a room.”

“Alright, alright.”

The whore tugged your arm and giggled as you pulled her close. The two of you walked into the brothel, the whore leading you to her room.

“I don’t think I ever got your name, sweetheart,” you said to her.

“My name’s Alya, my lady.”

“I’m no lady, love. Just a sellsword.”

“A woman sellsword? How did you manage that?” Alya asked you, eyes wide.

“Well, when you grow up in the slums of Myr, there’s three things you can be. A slave, a Master, or a street rat. I was never a slave and I’ve never been rich,” you said. “So I think you can guess which one I was.”

While you were talking, you were disrobing Alya. The dress she was wearing had just fallen to the floor when the bells started tolling. Groaning, you tilted her head up and landed a kiss on her lips.

“After the battle is over, we will finish what we started here,” you said.

You put some coins down on her dresser and winked at her before walking out of the room. You were making sure your sword was fastened to your hip properly as you walked into the courtyard and you saw Bronn and Sandor facing each other. Both their hands were on their weapons and you rolled your eyes at them.

“Let’s go, girls. We have a battle to win,” you said. Grabbing a tankard full of ale, you downed it in one go and started to leave.

“Get fucked, [y/n],” Bronn said, mirth in his voice.

“If Stannis fucking Baratheon had decided to wait I would’ve been getting fucked right now!” You yelled. Bronn laughed and you flipped him off as you walked away.

“She’s full of fire, isn’t she?” Bronn said to Sandor. Sandor’s eyes hardened and Bronn motioned to some cups full of ale. “One more drink before the war?”

---

The battle was over sooner than you thought it would be. Tywin Lannister had shown up at the last moment and annihilated Stannis’ army. A lot happened in a short period of time after that.

Bronn was demoted from his position on the City Watch, Tyrion was no longer the acting Hand of the King, and you were almost booted from your position as Sansa’s guard. That didn’t happen though. Tywin knew you could fight well and he didn’t really care for Sansa anyways. But the thing that hurt you the most was finding out Sandor had left.

You had gone to your room after the Battle to clean up and fall asleep when you found a note from Sandor. It explained why he had left and to your shock, it said that he thought he loves you. That was why he pulled himself away. Shaking your head, you went to sleep.

---

Even more happened later.

Joffrey died by poisoning, Sansa disappeared, and Tyrion was arrested for killing the king. Some suspicion was put on you for the King’s death, but they were soon washed away because of Tyrion. Then Tyrion’s trial by combat happened.

Oberyn Martell bravely and proudly fought the Mountain in that trial to no avail. He died and Tyrion was proven guilty of killing Joffrey. Lord Varys came to you soon after with a plan to free Tyrion and you quickly agreed to help, but only help. You would not be going with him to Pentos. Varys knew he wouldn’t be able to change your mind so he agreed and the two of you set up a safe place for Tyrion to stay in Essos.

A few days before the ship was set to sail, you left the capital. You were planning on going up North to see if Sansa would take you back as a guard, but that never happened. You had run into a small group of people who were trying to make better lives for themselves and you decided to help protect them.

You had been with them for about a week when some of the men came running up. You heard one of them yelling for the healer and your concern grew. Walking up to the cart your horse was pulling, you stumbled back.

“[Y/n]?” Ray said. “Is everything alright?”

“I know this man,” You said, never taking your eyes off of him.

“Who is it?”

“The Hound.”

---

A few months had passed and Sandor was fully healed. He was very wary around you, never talking to you more than he had to and never being with you alone. It made you a little angry to see him acting like this but you knew from the past that nothing would change.

So once Sandor was able to protect the village, you left. You only told Brother Ray your plans and he understood why even if he didn’t want you to leave. In the middle of the night, you got ready to leave.

“Where are you going?” Sandor said. You stiffened before turning to face him.

“North,” was your reply.

“Why?”

“Because you can protect this village by yourself and I don’t need to be here anymore.” You continued stuffing clothes into your pack before saddling your horse.

“[Y/n]—“

“My mind’s made up,” you said, cutting Sandor off. “I’m leaving, you’re staying. I won’t be in your way anymore.”

Getting up onto your horse, you gave her a pat before glancing at Sandor.

“Goodbye.”

---

It took you a while to get up north and when you did, you were lucky to see Sansa after only a couple of days. She was with Brienne and Podrick and you were happy to see her safe.

“[Y/n]?” She said, voice full of disbelief. You gave her a smile and she tackled you in a hug.

“It’s good to see you, love,” you said, kissing her cheek.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to get here sooner, but things got in the way. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“I survived,” Sansa said with a shake of her head.

“We’re going to the Wall. To get Sansa to her brother Jon,” Brienne said.

“Do you want to come with us?” Sansa sounded hopeful and you nodded.

“Of course I’ll go with you.”

---

A lot happened after that. You went to the Wall and reunited Sansa with her brother. After that, you all came back down to Winterfell and took it back from Ramsay Bolton in the Battle of the Bastards. That battle was a sight to be seen and you were glad that you survived. You had stayed with Sansa while Jon went to meet with Daenerys Targaryen, not wanting to risk leaving Sansa again. You also stayed with Sansa when she sent Brienne down to King’s Landing for the meeting.

Jon Snow came back with the Dragon Queen and others after the meeting was over with Cersei down south. You could see them marching in and when the dragons flew over you ducked out of instinct. They were incredible and you shared a glance with Sansa.

“I know that you’re apprehensive about meeting Daenerys, but the dragons are amazing,” you said.

“So there is something you’ve never seen before,” Sansa teased. You snorted and shook your head.

“There are many things I’ve never seen, Lady Stark. Now, come on. We should get to the courtyard.”

---

When everyone came marching into Winterfell, you were standing slightly behind Sansa and Bran. Jon came up first and you watched as he was reunited with Bran and Sansa. He gave you a nod of respect and you returned it. Jon then introduced Daenerys and you could cut the tension with a knife. It took everything in you to not laugh, your back straightening.

After all of that happened, you joined everyone in the main hall. This was where you learned that Cersei was sending her armies to help fight the dead. You didn’t believe it for a second, knowing that she had to have something up her sleeve. There was a lot of arguing at this meeting between the Lords and you tuned it out. None of that was important to you. All you needed to know was when to fight and when to stop.

When the meeting was over, Sansa relieved you of your duties for the day. You thanked her before going to your room, wanting a hot bath. Ever since you had gotten to the north, you had learned that you were not a fan of the cold. Sansa had teased you for it but always made sure that you were warm enough. You were thankful and knew that there was going to be a bath waiting for you in your room.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was Sandor to come up to you as you were stepping into your room.

“[Y/n],” he said, walking towards you.

“Sandor? What are you doing here?” You asked, confused to see him. He stopped a couple feet away from you, an unrecognizable look on his face.

“I was with the Brotherhood. We went with Jon north of the Wall and down to King’s Landing for the meeting with Cersei.”

“The Brotherhood? What happened with Ray? I thought that you were going to live a life of peace.” Sandor shook his head.

“Something happened a couple months after you left. Some people came by and slaughtered everyone. I was too far away to save them.” You could hear the sadness in his voice mixed with some anger.

“What?” You stood straighter. “They’re all dead? But they did nothing to deserve that!”

“The men were killed, but I wasn’t allowed to butcher them. Beric wouldn’t fucking let me.”

“Good. I’m glad they’re dead.” You were seething, anger coursing through your veins.

“[Y/n], did you get my letter?” Sandor asked you. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and you practically did a double take.

“Wait, this is what you’re focused on?” You laughed before looking at him and seeing he wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“If you must know, I did. But I don’t see why this is relevant right now.” You averted your eyes and shuffled back a bit, a little afraid of here this conversation was ending.

“Fuck’s sake, woman! It’s relevant because I still fucking love you. Seven Hells!”

“Sandor, you left me. More than once, too!” Sandor telling you that he still loved you made you angry. Pointing you finger in his face, you took a step forward. “You don’t do that to the people you love!”

“You left too, or did you forget?” Sandor also took a step forward and you glared up at him.

“I left because having both of us in the village at the same time would only bring bad things.”

“No, I think you left because you couldn’t handle it,” Sandor sneered.

“Handle it? You think I left because I couldn’t fucking handle it? You’re one to fucking talk! You left me alone in our bed because you couldn’t handle it. You left me in King’s Landing with only a note telling me that you fucking loved me, instead of telling it to my face! You’re the one who couldn’t handle it!” You jabbed him in the chest and Sandor swatted your hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Sandor growled. You laughed and did it again.

“What’re you going to do, huh? Run away again?”

You did it one last time and Sandor grabbed your hand, pulling you close. He kissed you fiercely, not giving you time to breathe. You wanted to pull away, you really did, but it felt good being this close to him after all this time. Soon, the kiss softened slightly and the two of you broke apart. Neither of you said anything for a minute, both of you basking in the closeness you felt to the other.

“I do still love you,” Sandor muttered. “And I’m sorry for leaving. It was a cowardly thing for me to do.”

“It was,” you said, looking up at him. You put your hand on his chin and made him look at you. “Do it again and I’ll cut your dick off, yeah?”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Sandor said after he chuckled. You raised an eyebrow and pulled him closer, cupping the tent in his pants.

“I think there’s still one way you can make it up to me,” you said, a smirk on your face.

“I can work with that.”

Sandor picked you up easily, and walked straight into your room, kicking the door shut behind him. You were in for a long night, but you didn’t mind at all.

#Sandor Clegane #sandor clegane x reader #reader insert #game of thrones #sandor clegane fanfiction #sandor x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #got #The Hound #x reader

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superphantom · 3 years

Text

Enthralled with the idea of Danny from Danny legit dies and has a physical corpse but can still kinda be human au and the Winchesters from just regular canon bumping into each other while... hiding bodies.

Three teens carrying a fourth by his arms and legs into the woods. Would they even be able to tell that it’s Danny’s corpse? It’s gotta be pretty much cooked through at that point. Hold on, I’m going to write something rq, apologies for any mistakes/bad writing but the concept is just too fun. If you think so too, go ahead and try your hand at it, this has so many excellent interpretations.

Edit but not really cuz I haven’t actually posted anything yet: I’ve only read back through this once but I’m pretty happy with how it’s turned out, just wanted to add a quick warning for horrific death and descriptions of a corpse and all that.

Digging graves always sucked, naturally. It’s hard to plow through a good six feet of rocks and dirt and bones and whatever other crap might be waiting below the surface (one time, in some backwoods in Ohio they’d hit a bathtub around three feet down. Never got an explanation for that one). But, of course, the muggy pits of July made things much worse.

Sam had shed his top layer in the car, and was now down to a single shirt. He probably would’ve taken that off too, had it not been glued onto his back from sweat. Dean, who’d made a dig at Sam earlier that night for not being able to “take the heat like a man” still wore his flannel over his shirt, though it was beginning to soak through.

Laborious elements aside, what really made grave digging so tedious was the inability to fill it with anything else. It wasn’t like they could play music or anything, when they were in graveyards they had to keep a low profile, and all the other smart places to go hiding a corpse don’t get radio reception. And talking? With the amount of dust and dirt they kicked up, not to mention the work itself, it was more like trying to reason with a bully as they threw sand in your face. Gritty, painful, and overall, not worth it. So the brothers dug side by side with only light from a half-dead camping lantern and the singing of insects to keep them company.

Sam hit a rock with the tip of his shovel to knock it loose from the wall, the scooped it up and heaved it over the side of the grave. It was still only about knee height, meaning they’d have to put in another two hours minimum if they wanted to get the man hidden.

He’d been working with a witch to dodge death as he cheated his way through some shady business dealings. Actually, he’d been fairly easy to subdue- probably why he needed the witch in the first place- but once Dean had yanked the hexbag from where it hung around his stick-figure neck he’d begun to convulse and when he stopped, well, he wasn’t going to start convulsing again. That, however, was a problem for tomorrow.

Sam knocked a few rocks loose this time, letting them pile around his feet then launching them all over his shoulder at once. With the sound of metal clacking against rock gone, he realized Dean had stopped digging and was leaning against the handle of his shovel cautiously looking out into the woods. Sam moved in next to him and tried to figure out where he was looking.

“What are y-“ he asked. Dean shushed him before he could finish, then signaled for him to listen and pointed just past a thick bramble, to a gap between two trees. It would’ve been impossible to spot without years of hunting experience, out about 100 yards away were little moving. They weren’t even shadows, it was simply just movement in the dark. “Dude-“

Dean shushed him again, and shot him a dirty look before pointing more forcefully in the direction of the movement and focusing back in place. He gestured once again for Sam to listen. For a few moments they stood in silence, barely breathing. It was faint, but Sam began to make out what was unmistakably English. a dull beam of light swung around towards them then went back to facing the other direction, effectively re-blacking out the figures. Sam reached back, not taking his eyes off the movement, and now occasional glimpses of light, and snapped off the lantern.

It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they could see each other again, Dean tilted his head to the left, pointed a few times with two fingers in a two directions then held one finger against his mouth. Sam nodded and they both began creeping in opposite directions with the intention of surrounding who or what was having a chat out in the woods at night.

Sam moved as if he were gliding above the forest floor. He could vaguely make out Dean doing the same, though he was now could see Dean about as well as he’d been able to see the... three? He hovered further. Definitely three people (or, by his guess witches), earlier. Now that he was getting closer, though, he began to take note of a few things.

There were three short witches(?) standing fanned out around something slumped on the forest floor, their dying halogen flashlight held limp in one of their hands, flickering sadly. The witch farthest from flashlight-witch and closest to Sam held a shovel, though didn’t make any moves to use it. None of them moved, they all just stood there and stared at whatever was at their feet.

He signaled to Dean that he was going to go in from the front. He was pretty sure he saw the shadows nod to him, so he took that as an okay. Like a mouse on cotton, he positioned himself just far enough into the forest that they couldn’t quite see, Dean doing the same but behind them.

“I- What do we do?” the one holding the flashlight muttered. His nose was awfully clogged, it sounded like he’d been crying.

“I don’t know, Tuck.” The one holding the shovel answered. She also sounded upset, but more like she was doing everything she could to push back tears, a tone that Sam knew very well. “Danny, are you sure you wanna do this?”

The one in the middle, Danny, shook his head. Each of his arms reached across his middle, like he was trying to hug himself, or maybe more like he was trying to make himself look small, trying to hide. “I-“ his voice cracked and he let out a few sobs. The leaves and sticks made a simultaneous crack as he fell down onto his knees, folding over himself and shaking with pure, cutting sorrow.

Flashlight, or Tuck apparently, and Shovel got down beside him, hugging him from either side. They held one another and sobbed, one of them, Shovel, creaking out some pained “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”’s between wordless wails. From the looks of them, they couldn’t be more than 12 years old. Or maybe they could, Sam wasn’t a pediatrician. They were undoubtedly much too young to be in the middle of nowhere, all alone in a fragile mental state doing who-knows-what.

Sam looked to Dean then gestured with his head to let him know he was going to talk to the kids. Dean shook his head and violently gestured with his gun at the kids. Wait. Not /at/ the kids, beyond them. He’d neglected studying the white-wrapped body in front of them. That explained the tears. He couldn’t help but feel for them, even though for all he knew they’d just murdered someone in cold blood. He looked back to Dean and nodded, then signaled again.

Keeping his gun at the ready, but tucking it behind his back he slowly and deliberately stepped out of the trees, intentionally making noise so they’d see him coming. Tuck looked up with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. Danny and Shovel tensed but didn’t further acknowledge him.

“Um, hey,” he said, trying his best for nonthreatening and landing at the border of creepy and awkward. “Are you guys good?”

Tuck’s eyes flooded with tears, but he got up on shaky legs, trying to pull Danny and Shovel up with him. They weakly joined him, leaning against one another for support. Despite the warm night, all three were trembling.

“I’m, uh, I’m not here to hurt you,” Sam started, not really sure where he was going with this, “I’m Sam Winchester, what are your names?”

Tuck gave him the same watery stare he’d had the whole time, like Sam was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. Shovel looked up next, she was more angry. Maybe her smeared and ruined makeup should’ve made her look silly, but all it did was add to the aggression she exuded. He could see her squeezing both her friend’s shoulders and tugging them very slightly to the left, wordlessly signaling- or at least trying to- an escape plan. Sam pretended not to notice.

“I just wanna know what happened here,” he inched his way towards the corpse. As he got closer he could smell burnt hair and flesh, another thing he was all too familiar with. He didn’t break eye contact as he squatted down and gently pulled the sheet back from a tuft of what he assumed was hair.

He bit the inside of his cheek upon seeing the boy. Fried was the only word that could describe him. His mouth hung open, as did his eyes- or at least, what was left of them. Ooze had dribbled from every orifice and re-solidified in horrible mauve blobs. His hair was barely more than a charred mess, his skin was peeling and bubbled in places, and so discolored Sam could barely make out the dusting of freckles across his nose. This was a death in agony if he’d ever seen one.

He folded the cloth back over the boy’s head and straightened up, pulling the gun from where it had waited behind his back.

“Alright,” he said firmly, “I’m gonna need some answers.”

Danny looked up, letting Sam properly see his face for the first time. His red-rimmed eyes widened at the sight of the gun, lips tightening into a thin line. It was a look of fear and resignation. He ran the back of his hand across his nose. Sam noticed a dusting of freckles on it. He looked to the sheet and then back to Danny, then checked once more.

“What the hell is going on here.” Sympathy gone, Sam allowed himself to posture intimidatingly. Whatever freaks these- these- these... freaks! were, they weren’t about to get away with cooking some kid alive. “Talk.”

The “or I’ll shoot” was silent, but understood. Danny cleared his throat, one hand rubbed nervously on the back of his neck.

“It- I-“ he stuttered, then in a barely audible trembling voice he said, “I, uh, I think I’m dead.”

#supernatural #danny phantom #superphantom #superphantom ficlet #i dunno what else to tag this!#I've been thinking about this prompt for ages and finally got it down in a way I'm happy with :D #my writing

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garoujo · 1 year

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・✶ ｡ﾟnagi thinks you look so pretty when you’re crying on the end of his cock.

♱ warnings: f!reader, a little dacryphilia, multiple orgazms, overstimulation, nagi is a needy baby, all characters aged up to 22+ / note: i’ve not written in so long so this probably sucks, but i hav loads coming so bare w me <3 ive missed him !

the first time nagi sees you cry on the end of his cock he feels like he might pass out, the starry-eyed wet look you send him, the way you’re hiccuping through pants of his name as your nails leave raised scratches along the ivory planes of his shoulders.

his skin feels sticky, sweaty as his huge body curls over yours — pressing you deeper into the pillows as his hips rock into you, pushing his heavy cock against the swollen, sweet spots inside of you that make your nerves sing with every grind.

nagi feels like he can barely breathe, think when he looks down at you beneath him — so lost in a haze of pleasure and him as pretty crystalline tears gather along your lashes. it was rare for him to find something that wants him to put in this much effort, to push his body to its limit — to push yours along with it.

“angel..” he mumbles, long and low before hes leaning into kiss you, drinking in the hiccuped little whimpers that pour from your pouty lips as he grinds his cock even deeper. he can taste the salt from your tears as they fall across your cheeks and he can’t help the way he groans, whimpers as he savours it on his tongue before dragging it along your own.

“f-fuck— quit looking so cute, pretty thing.. ‘ts no fair, g’nna make me cum again.” nagi’s words are breathless as he buries them into the kiss, feeling your walls tremble and quiver around him at the praise, like you’re begging him for another release that he’s more than willing to give you.

every slow draw back of his hips is deliberate, making his hips stutter when he feels you squeeze around him even tighter in response — desperate to lure him back into your walls, to dig another load out of him despite the way the sinful hug of your body already has him drowsy, breathing deep and fucked out when the kiss breaks wet and he whimpers.

“can—ah, can gimme more sei. please~” fuck, you know nagi can never say no to you, not when your voice breaks underneath the weight of your arousal, when it takes a pitch higher with your next wet look — he’d even let you overwrite his save data on every game ever if you asked right now, anything to have you squeezing around his cock again.

the pace he sets isn’t fast, but every thrust is driven by the weight of his heavy physique and you feel his hands tremble where they squeeze at your waist, palming at your body as he struggles to keep a grip on his own sanity. he buries his face in the crook of your neck as he fucks into you, every back and forth stutter of his hips making him shudder with the sensitivity he still feels.

“eh, jus’ be patient w’ me, pretty thing — ‘m tired. g’nna give you more jus’ feels too good right now, s-such a pain.” nagi slurs with his words as he smears wet, drooled kisses along the dip of your shoulder. his tone wavers with how drunk he feels on your body, the head of his cock hot and sensitive with how much cum you’ve already milked from him — his body trembling with every wet connection of his hips with yours.

he pulls back when he hears you moan, the sound breaking into a hiccup with a particularly deep kiss of his cock as you send him a pretty, pliant look. tears smear down your already wet cheeks until he’s almost crumbling on top of you, lips tracing the trails the crystalline drops have followed.

“ah—w-what a pain. lemme give you one more first.” nagi’s body claps against yours as he loses himself in the needy push and pull of your cunt, desperate to dig another orgasm out of you as your glassy-eyes close with the sudden bliss.

it’s eager, messy and needy the way he sinks into your plush walls, taking a slow, ragged breath when a new set of tears follow the trail of the last across your skin. your clenching tighter as you try to meet his thrusts, making his pace stutter before the overstimulation has him pressing you deep into the mattress beneath you as his groans take a breathier, whinier pitch.

“please, wanna feel you w’ me, come on.” nagi’s voice wavers with his own plea, feeling your fingers tremble with his words as they drag along his shoulders and you’re already so sensitive that it doesn’t take much. his pelvis grinds against your clit suddenly, making you melt underneath him before your lips part to sob with how good it feels, how good he feels like a sweet little reply as you cum, squeezing unbearably tight around his sensitive cock until he’s following you off the edge.

his body crumbles as his chest falls against yours, his orgasm hitting him so hard and good he can barely hold himself up as his drowsy gaze rolls back, whimpering as you grab and scratch at his skin while he spills into you for the nth time.

nagi’s hips press flush against the own as his body almost quakes, every grind of the blunt head of his cock making you whimper as his head falls back into its place in the crook of your neck. but every still milking compression only makes him press even deeper as he thrusts shallowly, heavy cock twitching and softening as you both breathe deep.

“how many more, pretty thing? changed my mind, not tired yet.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk x you #nagi x reader #nagi smut #nagi x you #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x you

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bubble-tea-bunny · 3 years

Text

what we’re meant for

[apollo x reader]

author’s note: apollo’s ear piercings>>> makes me wanna get more ugh

word count: 9,251

The air feels colder after it rains, but it’s also crisper, fresher, and with a deep inhale you let it fill your lungs, mentally steeling yourself for today’s hunt.

You stand at the edge of the woods, sunlight peeking through the foliage of towering trees and bugs and birds alike flittering between the thick, aged trunks. The grass is damp from a combination of raindrops and morning dew, and you know you’ll need to watch your steps particularly carefully to avoid any muddy spots, lest your feet sink in. A small gust of wind blows, ruffling your hair, braided as it always is to keep it out of your face, and you shiver. Your deep breaths are also made in an effort to acclimate yourself to the lower temperature. You refrained from wearing a cloak despite the chill because you knew it’d only impair your ability to use your bow properly. Though the longer you stand in place, the more you’re beginning to regret that decision. So before you can get the chance to regret it even more, you slide down the small incline and venture into the forest.

Last night the rain had been heavy, and you watch out for fallen leaves and branches, taking care to walk around them. It’s always quiet here, but especially so in the mornings, and any misstep would alert the wildlife to your presence. The birds are singing, a complement to the peace of the early hours, and serve to help you feel less alone as you traipse along. You try to identify the species to whom each unique call belongs, testing what you learned from Alexios during the days you’d agreed to let him accompany you on hunts. Studying birds had become one of his favorite pastimes, and he delighted in sharing with you what he read and applying his knowledge.

There’s a melody, high-pitched and staccato, and you think hard about what Alexios had shared, about the distinct tones. You then hazard a guess, and your attention is pulled to a small bird that perches on a branch of a tree you’re passing. It opens its mouth to sing, and you smile, having found your guess to be correct. It seems you’re getting the hang of this.

Your birdwatching is interrupted by the ruffling of leaves, and you freeze, gaze lowering to scan the surrounding area. You listen closely to determine the direction the noise had come from, and the moment you hear it again, you establish the way you need to go.

You move slowly to remain as quiet as possible, following the sound of pattering on soil and the snapping of twigs. It doesn’t move very far and you’re able to close the distance, ducking behind a bush when you catch a glimpse of fur. Once you’re hidden, you peek around, eyes settling immediately on the sand-colored rabbit sniffing at a plant. As it begins to take a bite of the leaves, you carefully reach for your bow.

The birds chirping help provide some cover, but it’s not perfect because you’re much closer, and any noise you make will stand out. You begin to pull your bow from over your shoulder but pause when the rabbit does, its ears lowering. Had it heard you? It lays flat on the ground then, and you figure it must have; it’s getting ready to flee if it hears anything else.

You hold your breath to keep silent and manage to get your bow and an arrow without the rabbit noticing. As you nock the arrow and take aim, you exhale, then take another deep breath, holding it again to remain steady. You only have one attempt to catch the rabbit here. Otherwise, you’ll have to chase it or search for another animal.

The string of your bow is at maximum tension, pulled back as far as it can go, and your fingers unwrap from around the arrow, letting it fly. You can swear it almost whistles through the air before it hits your target. It’s a clean shot, and now you allow yourself to relax, letting out a sigh and emerging from your hiding place to retrieve your catch.

You pull out the arrow to return to your quiver and tuck the rabbit into your rucksack. You’re not quite done hunting yet, for one rabbit isn’t enough for you and your family. You’ll need to keep searching, but luckily, there’s ample time yet until noon, when you��re expected back to assist your mother around the house.

Slinging your rucksack on, you stand back up straight. The sun is at an angle to shine down through the trees, its rays bright and brilliant. It’s just the warmth you need, and you stay in this spot briefly, basking in it with closed eyes. See, you think to yourself, the cloak would’ve been unnecessary. You’ve got the sun to keep you warm after all.

With your eyes shut, your hearing is extra sharp, and at the sound of more rustling, you’re kicked into action. You’ve pinpointed the direction more quickly this time, and you proceed to track your next target. You try to walk along the ground the sun touches, feeling its heat spread over your back. Please continue to keep me warm, you murmur. It feels nice on cold mornings like these. It’s a playful request because of course the sun can’t hear you, but you like to pretend it can, and that you’re in its good graces, that it should indulge you and kiss your skin so gently.

The silly thought makes you smile, and it rests comfortably on your lips as you navigate your way between the pines.

***

This morning is a morning like any other, nondescript and quiet. The thick blanket of clouds beneath the expanse of Olympus is parting as the rumble of rainstorms fades to welcome a clear sky. Colors always appear more vivid after the rain: a bluer sky, greener trees and grass. Every drop breathes new life into the earth, invigorating then magnifying it. Fewer sights are better than this, and that’s why Apollo finds himself tarrying in the courtyard.

He allows his mind to empty as he absentmindedly gazes down below, watching the world awaken, freshly cleansed and ready for a new day. The air up here is crisper as well and he breathes it in deeply. This would always be one delight he shared with mortals.

After lingering a while longer, he’s poised to take his leave and proceed with his day, but a curt prayer reaches his ears and stops him short. To hear prayers isn’t unusual, and he hears them often, but this particular one grabs his attention for a short list of reasons. One, that it hadn’t been addressed to him explicitly, but to the sun. It’s this that tips him off to the fact it must not be anything serious, no heartfelt plea for blessing but something muttered distractedly to fill the air, but he hears it all the same, and, if anything, is amused by it. Two, and perhaps—no, not perhaps, definitely—the more important point, is that the sound of the voice is distinct, melodious, enough to pull him in, wanting to hear more.

So, rather than leave, he leans against the stone railing and scans the earth far below, listening for that voice again and searching for its owner, whose sweet song has graced his ears so sweetly on a morning that’s quickly taking a turn, no longer a morning just like any other. Where might you be, little bird…

There in the woods, he finds you. Bow in hand and rucksack on your shoulders, clearly in the midst of hunting. It’s simple to surmise that you’re doing your best to walk beneath the sun, and he can’t contain his smile. With each of your deliberate steps he grows more interested in observing you, and if the other gods notice how long he has been here, head leaning on a propped up hand and eyes drawn downwards, they don’t say anything or attempt to interrupt.

The birds that fly above your head are poor competition and while he wishes you would speak more, you don’t, but he understands since your current task requires silence. Though when you shoot down a deer, you let out a quiet exclamation of victory, and you might as well have shot him instead, for his heart seems to beat that much harder in reaction to your voice. Not only is the sky bluer and the foliage greener following the rain, but the cheeks of fair maidens are redder too, as evident by your own. They’re flushed, for you did have to go on a bit of a chase for that deer, but it’s charming in its own right, especially when joined by your satisfied smile. Apollo wonders if, should he lay his hand tenderly on your cheek, the heat of them might rival the sun he governs. He wonders if you’d allow him to sate his curiosity.

Much as he’d like to stay here watching you for the rest of the day, he can’t, and he reluctantly backs away from the railing. His every footstep takes him away from you physically, away from the sight of you, but mentally, you’re in the forefront of his mind in the passing hours. How hadn’t he noticed you sooner? He scolds himself for being careless, that he should miss something so remarkable as you for as long as he had.

Perhaps it might be argued that the gods are kept busy by the whole picture, presiding over the world as a whole, rarely afforded the chance to study the details. But to Apollo it makes little difference because with the discovery of you, with your fanciful wish for the sun to be at your back as you hunt and your voice soft as the plucked strings of a lyre, he is learning that sometimes, the real masterpieces are in the margins of a painting: well hidden but rewarding to find, so that upon picking it out, suddenly life is seen through a fresher pair of eyes, enlightened, and prepared for other secrets behind the canvas or in the painter’s brush.

Morning bleeds into afternoon and afternoon into night, and when the stars are strung across a dark sky, Apollo returns to his spot in the courtyard to search for you. He didn’t want to sleep until he saw you one more time.

You’re at home, your mother preparing for dinner the animals you’d caught earlier. In the mean time, you converse with a young boy. You talk about the birds you heard while hunting, and how you managed to guess their unique calls correctly.

“You’re a wonderful teacher, Alexios,” you compliment, and Apollo thinks about how he wants to hear you say his own name.

Alexios smiles widely. Then, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “I must be. If I could teach you, then I could teach anybody.”

At the playful jab, you lightly shove at his shoulder. “I’m a good student!” you defend yourself. “I just get distracted easily.”

“You’re like the sheep father tends to.”

You laugh, bright and melodic. It’s the only music Apollo needs. He’s of the opinion you’d be better suited in Olympus. Your dulcet tones and the delicate planes of your face are the essence of the divine and otherworldly, but he speculates you’ve been placed on earth to grace your fellow mortals with a piece of the heavens, your existence a reminder of the higher powers that be and the beauty they take care to form.

However, Apollo has no qualms in admitting he’s selfish, because for all of that, he’d still prefer you to be here and to keep you for himself. Thoughts of you lull him to sleep this evening, and, at least in this way, he can feel closer to you.

In the following days, he begins planning how best to approach you. To watch from a distance could only satisfy him for so long; he’s yearning for more. Lately, he’d taken to standing at the edge of the courtyard when he needed to think, since from here, he could also watch you, and during one such instance of this, he’s joined by another.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Apollo blinks and glances to his right. Ares is walking over, in full armor and a helmet tucked beneath his arm. He must’ve just returned from training at the arena.

“Have I?” Apollo asks, but he already knows the answer.

“What’s got you so lost in your head?” Ares reaches out, intent to poke at Apollo’s forehead, but Apollo steps back and swats his hand away.

There would be no point in lying. Ares would see through it. Not that Apollo cares to lie. He has nothing to hide. “There’s a girl.”

Ares hums in understanding. “Ah.”

Apollo turns back to study you. Currently, you’re at the market with Alexios and have stopped at a fruit stand. “I want to meet her soon.”

“Is something stopping you?”

“No, no…” Apollo trails off and stays quiet briefly, already becoming distracted. But Ares detects he’s not finished speaking yet and waits. “I just want to figure out how to go about it is all.”

Ares raises a brow. “You’ve never cared about that before.”

At first, Apollo doesn’t think much of this remark, that it’s not worth noting, but upon further consideration he realizes it is rather unusual for him to take into account the how of a first meeting, and not simply appear before you the moment you’re alone. That’d always been standard procedure for him, and the question this raises in him is surely the same as what’s raised in Ares but that he doesn’t share aloud: why now?

Apollo likes to watch you in your natural environment, likes to watch you be, well, you. After all, it’s what had grabbed his attention to begin with, witnessing you in a scenario you’re comfortable in because of its familiarity, to the point you move through the forest with precision, clearly knowing it as well as the back of your own hand. He wants to interact with that part of you and observe up close the one who offers frivolous prayers to the sun as a mere aside, paying no mind to the gods who might actually be listening. Your desire is for the warmth to wash over you on cold mornings and Apollo would fight to keep the skies cloudless forever so that as long as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, your prayer will always be answered.

If he were to appear to you in his form as it is now, as a god in his full glory, it would ruin everything. You’d be taken off guard, startled, unsure how to act in his presence, and he doesn’t want that. It leaves him with the present dilemma, but he thinks he might have come up with something that will work…

Finally, he sighs, and humors Ares with a response. “You’re right. I guess I haven’t.”

***

For some reason, the animals elude you today. Your ears are sharp and well trained, so you’re certain it can’t be that you’ve missed any telltale cues of one in the area. The woods are quiet, and they feel empty. If you have anything to say about it, it’s a little bit disconcerting.

Eventually you settle against a tree trunk for a short break, laying your bow and empty rucksack next to you. With you sitting, now you don’t even hear the crunching leaves beneath your sandals, and your eyes rove over the immediate surroundings. Nothing rustles, disturbed by creatures who are exceptionally well hidden. Where are they, any of them?

Perhaps you’re just unlucky this time? Returning home empty-handed didn’t matter too much; it was always possible to buy meat at the market. You just preferred to hunt for game yourself because of the thrill it gives and the accomplishment you feel being able to provide for your family in this way. As such, you don’t want to give up yet. After you’re done resting, you’ll continue. Like always, the only rule you have to abide by is to be home by noon.

There’s a stir in the bushes to your left, the leaves jostling, and you sit up quickly. Slowly you grab your bow, fingers wrapped around the grip, and gingerly you pick it up from the dirt and lift yourself to stand. You don’t walk in the direction of the bushes immediately. Your vantage point would be no better since whatever animal is here, it’s well-concealed, and even if you could spot it through the branches, your arrow couldn’t reach. Instead you wait to see if it starts to move out into the open.

Bow in one hand and arrow in the other, you’re prepared to take aim as soon as you spot your target. You just have to hope it doesn’t notice you first and take off into a run. The animal hiding is beginning to move, for the leaves rustle more, and you nock the arrow.

A red fox emerges, golden eyes trained on you as if it had already known you were there. But if that were the case, you’re confused as to why it hasn’t run away. Your arrow’s still knocked, though it’s pointing at the ground, and you stare at each other for one, two, three beats of silence, and this fox’s unwavering gaze leads you to believe thats something is wrong.

No, not wrong, but definitely out of the ordinary. The fox isn’t afraid, and you can’t bring yourself to stare it down from the sight window of your bow, not when it’s unlike any other fox you’ve encountered, so you relax the tension of the string, removing your arrow and returning both hands to your sides.

The fox moves first, walking towards you, and you’re frozen in place. It feels like a dream, being approached like this by a wild animal who means no harm. You wonder if it might speak to you, a conduit for the gods to impart wisdom, but what they could possibly want to say to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. You’re hardly remarkable, not as well-versed in matters of the divine as the priests of the temple. Has this situation come about as a result of opportunity? To be out in the forest by yourself, there’s little chance for interruption. And with the quietness here, so far from the polis, there’s also little chance for misinterpretation, should the gods truly have something important to share.

The fox now stands right in front of you, its bright eyes blinking, vulnerable but comfortable. You decide to follow its lead, crouching down and setting your bow and arrow on the ground. It’s close enough that you can reach out for it, and cautiously you do, extending an arm to gently run your hand along its red fur. It doesn’t shy away, and as the seconds tick away, you find yourself feeling more comfortable as well. You’re still well aware of the peculiarity of the position you’re in, petting a wild animal so casually, and maybe the gods really are poised to talk to you.

However, the fox is silent as you greet it with a murmured greeting, only continuing to stare up at you. You continue talking, no room to feel embarrassed to converse with a wild animal when it’s already strange to be petting it with ease, and you’re only partly pretending that it can understand because with the way it watches you, you can swear it understands your every word.

“Why are you here?” you inquire, voice hushed. “I suppose you saw a friendly face and wanted to say hello.”

You scratch the fox behind the ear and it nudges its head into your hand, enjoying the sensation, and you chuckle. “Well I’m glad you thought me worthy of your time.”

And your time with it, it would seem, is drawing to a close, because the fox backs up, out of your reach. You watch it with a smile pulling at the corner of your lips and you stand. Lifting a hand to give a little wave, you expect it to turn around and proceed with its own day, concealing itself within the bushes again. And while the fox does turn around and walk away, what surprises you is that it pauses and looks back over at you.

You tilt your head. It’s a very deliberate glance, for it stays where it is, still staring. Was it trying to communicate? Had you been correct after all, that this fox could understand you and had something to share? You stand motionless, ruminating on these thoughts, but the fox continues looking at you, no attempts made to leave… at least not alone. And you know that it could no longer be denied. This fox is trying to say something: it wants you to follow.

Grabbing your bow and rucksack and covering the short distance to the fox, who, satisfied that you’re trailing close behind, proceeds with walking ahead, you reason that there are worse things to be following through the woods. You’ve heard the stories of divine beings interacting with mortals, manifesting in some form to offer guidance, but never did you think you’d be one of them. You can’t help trying to guess what guidance this fox has to offer even if the best course of action right now is just to wait. If it’s leading you somewhere, there’s a destination, and whenever you arrive, you’ll have your answer.

Distracted as you are with watching the fox, you don’t notice the tree root sticking out from the earth, and your foot gets caught on it. You yelp, falling forward, and your hands slide against the leaves as you catch yourself. But then there’s another disturbance, the rustling of more leaves which you’re certain isn’t your doing, and you squash the pained groan you almost let out from scraping your knees in order to listen for any more movements.

Has your run of bad luck finally ended? You’d pushed aside your original task of hunting for game when the fox approached, but now that there’s potentially a rabbit or a deer to track, you’re conflicted as to what to do. And as you’re wont to do in situations like these, you imagine what your mother might say. She’d tell you it’s fine not to go after whatever you’ve heard because the gods aren’t to be ignored, and there would always be other animals on other days. Yes, that’s what she would say yet you still struggle decide.

Your eyes slide from staring in the direction you’d heard the disturbance, down to the fox, who’s paused again, waiting patiently. You know that your urge to track whatever animal is out there doesn’t have to do with the sense of duty to bring home food for dinner, for a trip to the market is no issue. It’s your passion for hunting, the calls of the wild which pull at you. Perhaps it may be ridiculous that the urge is so strong as to compete with the chance to commune with the gods in such a tangible way, foolish even, in the eyes of many, but you would never be ashamed of it. Still…

With a huff, you stand up and brush yourself off. If only to sate your curiosity, you reason, taking wide strides to catch up to the fox.

The two of you don’t walk for much longer, but as you do, you hear the jostling again, of a wild animal sniffing at bushes in search of food. And with every step, you realize the sounds are getting louder.

Finally, the fox stops behind the trunk of a large tree, and you come up behind it, crouching down. Why have you brought me here? You think it but don’t ask it out loud, and you don’t have to because you peak around the trunk and find the answer: there’s a deer in the wide clearing, munching on berries it pulls away from a bush. You duck back around and look at the fox in surprise. It had led you to the animal you heard earlier? The fox sits down, looking up at you with its golden eyes, its job done.

You smile. Sometimes what the gods share with mortals is profound, wisdom only coming from the ones who call Olympus home, and other times they simply share a helping hand.

You’re not about to let the opportunity go to waste. Drawing an arrow and nocking it on your bow, you take aim.

***

One meeting is hardly adequate for Apollo. The moment he’d interacted with you, he knew he wanted more.

He thinks about what you’d said, how you thanked him for deciding you to be worthy of his time. And how could you not be? It was a different experience entirely to observe you up close, to see the confusion on your face upon his arrival but then the softening of it as you relaxed and welcomed him, even for how atypical the whole affair was, to get so close to a fox. You understood it to mean something even if you couldn’t say what, and when prompted to follow, you did so.

There had been that momentary struggle when you heard the deer, unsure whether to break away or continue to follow him. He doesn’t fault you for the indecision. If anything, it helped him to better understand the love you harbor for the hunt, and he’s of the opinion that such passion should always be encouraged. He’d been leading you to the deer to begin with, but you didn’t know that, and even so, you pushed aside your desire to track the deer yourself to continue following him, acknowledging that where he might lead you had nothing to do with an animal to catch but being okay with it.

The tone of your voice had been so soft, like petals trailing along skin as one lays in a flower field on a warm day, and your eyes were gentle. He would like you to continue watching him in that way, perhaps on a quiet night, a dark one, when the stars are clear and brilliant so that he can promise you that he would scoop them from the sky and fashion them into a crown for you should you ask. Or if not that, he would gladly rearrange them to form a picture of you, a constellation made of only the brightest, to immortalize you in the heavens.

He sighs with longing he doesn’t bother to hide. His eyes slide closed and all he sees in his mind is you. Always you. He needs to see you again soon, to quell the ache in his chest.

The next time he does meet you, he assumes not the form of a fox, but of a human. He wants the chance to actually speak to you. In the early hours of a clear day, he roams the forest, in the areas you tend to frequent. There’s no worry of running into other people on accident. You tend to only be the one hunting this deeply into the woods.

He hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and he turns just in time to see you walk around a tree and into view. Once you spot him, you stop, surprised to find you’re not alone. You hesitate to say anything at first, confusion apparent in your gaze, but you brush it aside as you offer a polite grin.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here,” you say.

Apollo chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, feigning sheepishness. “I came here to think and got so lost in my thoughts that, well…” He spreads his arms wide, referring to your surroundings. “I wandered further than I realized.”

You grin widens, and you relax a little more now. “I don’t blame you. The forest is a perfect place to find some peace and quiet.”

Apollo smiles too. “Yes, it really is.”

When you ask for his name, he tells you it’s Loukas. You repeat it, to be sure you heard him correctly, and it’s not as satisfying as he knows it would be to hear you say his real name, but it would have to do for now. Then you say Well it’s nice to meet you, Loukas and it’s heartfelt, yours smile amiable and extending a hand of friendship, should he want that. And yes, he does, very much so, and more still—as much as you’re willing to give.

You ask him questions about himself and he makes up information on the spot, but in an effort to avoid having to conjure up too detailed a backstory, and because he doesn’t want the focus to be on him, for you’re who he wants to learn about, he turns the tables on you and asks about you. It’s surface level, things he already knew by observing you from Olympus—your family and what they do, why you’re out in the forest early in the morning.

But what he gleans from conversing with you goes beyond that. You care for your family deeply, wanting to be a good daughter and older sister. You just want them to be happy, and anything you could do to make it possible, you would do. Hunting began as something practical, done to provide, but you’d grown to love it, energized by the cold air filling your lungs and the rush of blood through your veins when you’re set on a chase. Life for you is generally quiet, but in the forest, with your bow and arrow, it can be livelier, if only for a little while.

Apollo listens with rapt attention as your life unfolds before him and your eyes sparkle from the light of the sun overhead, but he’s more inclined to believe instead that they shine from the stars tucked away within you. Your soul is the essence of another universe and he’d like to live there, Olympus a distant memory but it wouldn’t matter to him, so long as you’re together.

He’d quickly been lost in his musings about you, the life he’d like to live with you, but he’s pulled from it at the mention of a fox and your quiet laugh of disbelief as you recount what a unique encounter it had been.

“Sometimes when my father asks for help watching the sheep, I’ll sit in the pastures and talk to them, but with the fox, it was different. I was sure it could understand what I said.” You chuckle again, embarrassed. “I’d been struggling to find any animals that day too, and that fox led me to a deer. It was like the gods were watching out for me.”

You glance at Apollo, nervous for what his response could be, because it does sound a little outlandish, but he simply smiles warmly. “Olympus rests in the heavens, but on occasion, the gods take care to remind us they’re closer than we think.”

“Well said,” you compliment, then continue teasingly, “Did you hear that from one of the priests?”

Apollo laughs and shrugs noncommittally. “They have a way with words.”

Time with you passes much too quickly and he’s saddened as it draws to a close. Your parting words include an apology for disturbing him, since he’d come to the forest to think, and he’s speaking to you as Apollo, not as Loukas, when he promises that you would never be a disturbance. He’d enjoyed your company, hopes that you’d enjoyed his too and that perhaps this wouldn’t be the end. Until the next meeting? It’s asked in a way that leaves it open, for there’s no set date and you’ll leave it to chance that you run into each other on another day.

You nod and your lips, stretching into a grin, look so soft. “If it be the will of the Fates, we’ll see each other again.”

“I’ll have to pray for their favor then.” He lifts a hand in a wave goodbye, and you return it before making your leave, gradually becoming concealed by the foliage.

But Apollo would do no such thing. The hands of the Fates keep the world turning but where it concerns you, he would pull the strings himself. He doesn’t bother to entertain the idea of what your thread might contain, whether there’s a place for him in it or not, because he doesn’t care to find out. He wants to be with you, and it’s a desire so powerful that he would dare to push back against the Moirai in order to fulfill it.

From the moment he’d said goodbye during your first conversation, he already knew you would meet again. He’d be there in the woods to wait for you. It isn’t the will of the Fates that turns this wheel, but Apollo.

Hermes had noted both the change in Apollo’s demeanor, his propensity for bouts of silence as he watches the earth below, in combination with his recent absences to go down there, but for what, Hermes doesn’t know. Apollo is forward with him as to what he’s been up to, like he had been with Ares, but unlike Ares, Hermes is privy to just what Apollo feels regarding the Fates and their plans for you.

“It’s no small matter to reject what they’ve ordained,” Hermes remarks. “The threads they spin, it’s destiny. Even for that girl who’s caught your eye.”

But Apollo isn’t easily swayed. It’s the strong who admit no destiny, and he would shoulder the burden of Atlas and carry the sky on his back. Where it concerns you, the Fates were a mere interference. He’d forge the future on his own.

***

The way your eyes light up when you do see him again makes everything in the world feel right, and upon your playful comment—It seems the Fates have been kind—he brushes aside the idea of destiny and the Moirai easily. In response, he hums, declares They have despite not meaning it since, well, it isn’t true. And he wishes he could tell you it was his doing, that it would always be him pushing you two together because he wants the praise which falls from your lips to be for him and him alone. Though he supposes there would be time yet to reveal such secrets to you, and despite the irritation he feels at needing to wait, he will do so without complaint.

Besides, he’s too preoccupied paying attention to you to bother complaining. You take up all the space in his mind, and there’s room for little else. It’s entirely unusual for the likes of Apollo to be this enamored with anyone, and he studies your form closely as you talk—the curl of your lashes, the sheen of your hair pulled into a braid, the color of your lips—wondering if you found your beginnings as a sculpture, not a human, and it was Athena who breathed life into your form. If such is the case, where was the pedestal off of which you stepped, leaving it behind without looking back in favor of exploring the world around you? Which lands claimed the privilege to have you on display? Those which he posits as possibilities are hardly worthy, but very few, if any, could be.

Had you come from Olympus? It’s the only place Apollo knows contains beauty to the degree you possess. He imagines you there, in the fields or in the courtyard, settled amongst the flowers and staring overhead at a sun unobscured by clouds. He imagines that you look right at home, and it would be ironic that you should be under his nose this whole time, his songbird easily spotted by glancing out the window of his bedroom. Your every word’s a dream and he delights to hear your honeyed tones. He wants you to pray to him with that sweet voice, and he’d honor all your requests so long as you sang for him.

You’ve started teaching him the calls of various birds which flitter overhead, and the ghost of a smile rests on his lips to hear your enthusiasm. There’s an occasional bout of hesitation on your part, unsure if you’ve identified the calls correctly and digging through your memory for everything Alexios had said, and you flash a toothy grin of satisfaction when the bird whose call you’d been attempting to guess makes its appearance, and you learn you’re correct.

Apollo enjoys this activity, but the only bird whose calls he’s interested is you. He trails his gaze along the column of your throat, envisions the vocal chords within them producing the melody and majesty you radiate. His fingers twitch with the urge to follow the path taken by his eyes, to slide along your jaw, down your neck, touch feather-light and and inquiring from you, in hushed whispers, to what artist he owes an expression of gratitude for gracing him with your existence.

As the days turn into weeks spent together, you only grow closer, and it reaches a point that you suggest he join you and your family for dinner. You look hopeful that he’ll agree, but he can’t, given who he is. He needs to keep his distance from everyone other than you. He hates to be the cause of your disappointment, however slight, and that’s why a heaviness settles in his stomach when he declines.

He’s polite, explaining that he doesn’t want to intrude, and the small smile you’d been wearing fades. Already he’s aching to see it again, wants to beg for it to come back and if you truly wanted him to accompany you, he would do it, any consequences be damned.

Was there a chance that you knew he was lying about the reason? Your head is tilted and you delay giving a response, and maybe you don’t know the real reason (he highly doubts you could figure that out) but you detect enough from the tone of his voice that he fed you a lie. If you do realize it, you don’t address it, and instead, like you heard his earlier wish to see your smile again, that charming smile returns. Now there’s a playfulness to it.

“Then I guess you’ll just be my secret,” you tease.

Apollo grins. It would be his pleasure to be your secret, held close to the heart like all secrets are.

He’d like the beat of your own to help him fall asleep at night. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you and whether you’ve also settled in for the evening. If he were to extend arm outward, along the blankets to the empty side, as though reaching for you, he wonders if you’d sense it, the faint touch of his fingertips, a testament to what Apollo feels for you. No distance between you would ever be too great. His dreams are filled with you and perhaps this is a sign that you were thinking of him. He hopes so.

Apollo had been certain of his feelings from the moment he first set his sights on you, but the idea of confessing and revealing his true nature stayed far from his mind. It hadn’t been by any will of his own; he was enamored with you during every meeting, genuinely enjoyed talking, that he hadn’t bothered considering the next step, content in the current moment to just be.

But on a bright afternoon while out in the courtyard, he finally gives it thought, and it’s perfect, really, because sunny days remind him of you, and maybe that’s what prompted the last push. To be around you was to keep a piece of the blessed sun he governs right by his side, your presence warming him even on the stormiest of days, and he desires to know what it would be like to be the recipient of your love as you are of his.

He’s the god of the sun yet he wonders where you have been all these millennia. Maybe your essence had always been there, manifesting in the blooming of flowers one century and then in the powerful flow of a river the next. And on and on your soul drifted through time until it settled within you as you are now, a culmination of the lives you have lived, and maybe Apollo had always known where you were because whenever he looks into your eyes he sees eternity. You’d been with him since the beginning of it all; he was just looking in the wrong places.

There’s a chill in the air on the morning he plans to tell you the truth. You shiver, having come without a cloak, and he offers you his, throwing it around your shoulders before you get the chance to decline. You smile, accepting the help gracefully, and Apollo returns your smile automatically.

Do you remember, he starts, about what I said the day we met? You hum as you attempt to recall what he’s referring to but can’t remember. He doesn’t blame you, since you’d discussed many things then.

“It was about the gods, and how sometimes they’re closer than we think.”

Your eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, yes! But… what about it?”

Apollo doesn’t respond immediately, considering carefully how to phrase his next words. It’s unlike him to be this way, and he is aware, irritatingly so, of the slight hesitation in the back of his brain. It’s not that he’s afraid, because every instance he had imagined this moment, his heartbeat raced not with nerves but with exhilaration. He owes it to the pressure overcoming him to make this flawless, so that you can know the true depth of what he feels toward you. His gaze slides from staring at the horizon down to you, who watches him so attentively, and he realizes the pressure is unfounded. He just needs to be real, and you would understand by the parts he doesn’t say out loud.

So, taking a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, he speaks. “How would you feel to know one had been at your side?”

“You mean that fox?”

“Not just the fox, but every time you ventured into these woods. You hadn’t been alone.”

Your head tilts. “I wasn’t alone all the time: I had you.”

Apollo goes quiet, waiting to see if you connect the dots yourself. He looks at you and envisions the gears in your head spinning as you stare at each other. Saying it out loud, what he’d been implying, would have garnered the same result as staying silent. His lack of words is still a response to your unspoken question, and he notices the unease which settles on your face, expressive as always, unable to hide what you’re thinking and feeling.

“Loukas…?” Your voice is hushed. Maybe you only say the name because you want to ask what he means, wanting to hear it explicitly, or because you’re questioning if that’s even his real name.

Apollo notices that now you look at him as you did during your first interaction, when the first few polite greetings had been exchanged: like a stranger. You’re keeping yourself guarded, and there’s a tightening sensation in his chest and he hates it. He hates how it hurts and hates to see you look at him that way. And he would never fault you for it because he’d kept his identity a secret, but he loves you and the only way to show it to you, to make it real, was if he told you the truth of who he is first.

He shakes his head. “I go by another name.”

He transforms before you, his mortal covering falling away and giving rise to his divine form. The burst of light which issues forth from this process is so bright you need to cover your eyes. You bring your arm up, and he’d like to reach out and take hold of it, to gently lower it to your side so that he might meet your gaze, but he restrains himself and, instead, says your name quietly, a signal that it’s okay to look now.

And you do. Your eyes are wide in astonishment, your mind no doubt scrambling to process the fact a god is standing in front of you. Sure, you might’ve interacted with one before, in the form of that red fox, but this is something else. This isn’t a vague manifestation, like another animal or a dream, the mysterious—and more typical—methods gods tended to utilize for communication with mortals, but a literal god. No veil or disguise. No hiding.

Apollo studies you closely, contemplates the myriad of emotions which are no doubt flittering through your mind like a dozen little hummingbirds. He keeps his tone tender, for you’re already shocked, and he realizes the situation is a delicate one. Suddenly you start to resemble the deer who roam the forest—graceful in posture and magnificent to behold but still tense, prepared to flee the moment you detect there’s anything unusual.

My name is Apollo, he says lowly. And since I first laid my eyes on you, I have been with you here in these woods.

You take in his appearance: the long blond hair, tanned skin, golden eyes which match the sun shining behind his head high in the sky. He’s beautiful, and that should come as no surprise where it concerns an Olympian, but to witness his beauty yourself is an experience unlike any other, leagues above merely hearing from the priests how he might look or observing the sculptures fashioned as praise for him.

His eyes are what draw most of your attention, and they are kind as well as familiar. They mirror the brighten golden gaze of another being you had encountered in the past, and you let out a quiet breath of disbelief. He had been with you even then. Your intuition speculating that the fox had been a god wasn’t unfounded at all. It hadn’t been an aimless musing, a what-if because you’ve heard the stories of gods appearing to mortals. You’d been correct. It had been fact.

“But why…” You trail off, unable to finish the question because truthfully, how could you? The implications of his actions, of spending all this time with you, only to reveal his true self, speaks for a reality you are having trouble coming to terms with. Why you?

Apollo understands what you’re asking without you needing to continue, and in readying himself to explain from the very beginning, the corner of his lips lifts in a tiny smile as he reminisces on the first words he’d heard you say to him, indirect but meant for him all the same.

“The day was cold, fresh off the heels of a rainstorm the night before,” he starts. “You asked the sun to keep you warm and kept your footsteps to the places on the earth where it touched.”

You remember that moment, and it surprises you that it had reached him, because it hadn’t been a prayer, not a genuine one. Simply a playful aside.

Apollo’s smile grows. Sincere prayer or no, I heard it, and when I did, I wanted to know the one who said it. He explains to you it was your gentle tone which pulled him in, voice laced with affection which underlies your every word, and he wanted to hear more of it, to hear you sing and it could be about anything—your hunts, your family, gossip from the markets—and he would hang, and has hung, on it all because everything you say is the sweetest melody. You put the birds to shame.

And this, he hopes, is adequate to answer your query. He’d seen the confusion on your face, wondering why you had stuck out. He wants to help you understand, see things from his point of view, because even if you might not think so yourself, you’re remarkable. At the tail-end of his speech, throughout which a sense of eagerness had been clawing at him from the inside because this was it—the moment he confesses and might finally feel the softness of your skin against his, might finally hear you say his name—he tells you he loves you.

You’re at a loss for words, as his hang in the air between you, and Apollo had been expecting a reaction of this sort. To be loved by a god was no small matter. But what he isn’t expecting is the shake of your head, slowly at first, like you’re uncertain, but then again, more assertive. It’s his turn to be confused and he murmurs your name, a slight upturn at the end as if asking a question.

“You don’t love me,” you state.

Apollo’s brows furrow. “I assure you there’s little else which I have been so confident about before.”

“But a god and a human together…” You shake your head again. “It’s not meant to last.”

His heart wrenches painfully in his chest to hear you say that, though he understands where you come from. Such stories were common, himself being the god in some of them. The relationships are temporary, but this time, with you, he’s serious. His feelings for you are real, transcending the point of mere infatuation. He loves you and the declaration isn’t empty. He’s almost desperate now as he tries to come up with a way to convince you that your own story, between the two of you, would have no tragic end, maybe even no end at all. Because when stories reach the closing, happy or not, there is always inherent in the drawing of the curtains a perceived sadness, a pulling away from the world upon the stage and one is unceremoniously thrust back into reality, which is nowhere near as spectacular. It’s a disappointment he never wants to feel with you, and he would do all he could do keep you together.

“I sometimes wondered if there was anyone for whom I would change the course of the sun,” he tells you, his eyes drifting upward to glance at the sky. “And I could think of no one until I saw you. I told myself that if you so desired, I would keep the sky free of clouds so you might always feel the warmth of the sun.” His eyes slide back down to meet your own. “If you wished with that sweet voice of yours for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, I would do it.”

You’re visibly more relaxed now, your gaze having softened as he spoke. It shines with the temptation to give in, to accept his love and give him yours in return, but a small part of you continues to struggle with the idea of loving a god. Apollo hopes you can see the sincerity on his face, as close to a desperate plea as he can get short of actually begging out loud.

“And if I were to ask for that,” you start, "for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, what of the earth? The crops and the people who rely on its consistent path through the sky?”

Apollo shakes his head. “None of that would matter to me. Don’t you see?” He says your name again, and in a fit of irony the tables have turned because your name upon his lips is a prayer in its own right. “To be with you is to have the world fall away.”

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to set it gently on your cheek. You don’t flinch or back away, and he sighs, one of satisfaction to finally feel your skin, the softness of it to match that of your eyes and your voice and your everything. He declares it to you once more. I love you. And he would keep declaring it until you believed him.

You cover his hand with yours and lean into his hold. There’s still conflict in your gaze, a storm of emotion, and the way you murmur his name sounds like a call for help. You want to be saved. You want to be rid of the discord within you and to accept all he has to give, and you’re closer to the edge, have moved closer with his every word, but the last bit of hesitation keeps you from falling over. Apollo…

The breath leaves his lungs to hear you utter his name, a sound he has longed to hear since the first time he heard you speak. There’s a twisting in his chest but now it’s from that flood of love which he is barely able to contain. He wants to hear you say his name again and again, and he’ll fight against the hesitation you continue to feel, chip away at it until it’s only you and him and he could guide you over the edge and into his embrace.

His thumb strokes your cheek, a comforting back and forth motion. “We’re meant for each other.”

“You speak of destiny, but who other than the Fates can determine what any of us are truly meant for?”

Apollo is reminded of the conversation he had with Hermes what seems like many moons ago. All at once the fires of passion flare with him, magnified by his defiance of the Fates. When he’d declared to Hermes that where it concerned you, the future was his to forge, he’d been serious. He proclaims it now to you, promises that when it comes to the two of you, the Fates are powerless.

“The thread of your life is spun and measured by the Moirai, but I would pluck it from the hand of Atropos and her shears so that you might stay with me forever.”

It’s his final appeal, the ultimate supplication, to dare to go against the hand of fate. You understand the gravity of this assertion, and at hearing it, the last of those defenses in you drops, and there’s a clearing of the storm clouds, which he detects in the clarity of your gaze. As you look up at him, you do so with sureness, with love, and to bear witness to and be the recipient of your radiant affection is to make the task of intertwining your own fates as easy as waking up in the morning. You give him the strength to carry it out and there truly is no one else for whom he would go to such lengths for.

He kisses you and your lips are warm. Maybe you’re a piece of the sun that has fallen to earth, a shooting star which has made its home here until he found you. You’re the part of him that’s been missing, and holding you now, Apollo is aware of how complete he feels.

Upon parting, you remain close and watch one other. The silent look shared is intense, profound; two hearts beating the same lonely tune, fiercely longing for love and not caring what the world—or the heavens—might think.

#apollo x reader #apollo imagine #blood of zeus x reader #blood of zeus imagine #blood of zeus #apollo #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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cleoirvine · 3 years

Text

♡It was his arrogance. The way he spoke with a slight drawl, his words dripping with narcissism. It was how he walked, his back straight from years of holding himself upright, believing he was better than everyone else. Or maybe it was the way his eyes glistened with unbridled determination, the want, no, the need, to be the best. He was selfish, manipulative, and quite frankly, had his head shoved so far up his own ass that you-

“Maybe you should take a picture, it would last longer.”

Atsumu looked at you with a slight smirk, a volleyball tucked beneath his arm, a bag slung across his shoulder.

“Maybe you should try a different hair color, that way people won’t call you piss boy behind your back.” You said with a snort, averting your gaze elsewhere.

He had half a brain to spike that ball right at your face. But he simply rolled his eyes and brushed past you, making his way into the gym where the rest of his teammates sat stretching. Slipped between the clasp of your hands was a clipboard, the stats of each player displayed on clean even lines. Your notes took up the margins of the pages, your job as manager for the boys volleyball team becoming more of a hassle with every snarky comment that left the older twins mouth.

“If you’re going to be manager, then ya should at least pretend to make yourself useful.” Atsumu had said halfway into practice. As you passed around water bottles and reviewed upcoming plays, he had snatched the clipboard from beneath your elbow and dangled it above your head.

“Are you a 12 or something?” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. The blonde had grinned, a devilish smile laced with ill intent rolled over his features.

“Come on, manager. All ya gotta do is reach. Not up for a little fun?”

“Keep it. I have everything on there memorized anyways.”

But Atsumu was never one to give in easily. Golden boy, whether that name was a play on his hair color or not, was a powerhouse of a player; he was loved by many, adored by more, and envied by most. He was capable, and overwhelmingly diligent in his plays and his teasing mannerisms, and so what if his manager of all people didn’t give him the time of day? Why should he care that you were able to shut him down so easily, with the wave of your hand, the roll of your eyes, the quirk of your eyebrow. There were hundreds of other people who would love to be in your position. Thousands of people who would love to be acknowledged by someone like him.

“So ya wouldn’t mind if I ripped it up? Or maybe if I poured water all over it? How about that?”

Your movements were deliberate. The way you stood with one hip jutted out just slightly, the tilt of your head and the crease in your eyes to signify your annoyance. You tapped your foot on the hardwood floor of the gymnasium, the sound echoing off the walls around you. In your head, you weighed your options. 1) You could give in, beg him to hand back the clipboard, and return to your seat like a humiliated dog with its tail between its legs. No, you couldn’t give him the satisfaction. 2) You could get the coach involved. There’s no way Atsumu wouldn’t give it back then. But did you want to risk sounding like a cry baby? Like a snitch, even? 3) You could do the only reasonable thing you could think of- treat him like the child he is.

“I’m going to count to 5, Miya. And by the time I’m done, that clipboard better be back in my hands, or else.” You extended a hand, fingers firmly stuck together, face stoic and void of anything other than impatience. Like a mother with her toddler in a grocery store, you waited for him to stomp his feet and curl his hands into fists as he always did when he was embarrassed.

“Or else what?”

You paused. You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Atsumu sucked in a breath and gripped the notes a little tighter. He knew he had you cornered.

“Or else I’ll quit. And you can find yourself a new manager. How would your team feel, knowing that you’re the reason they no longer have me around?”

“Why should I care? Leave if ya want, no one’s stopping ya. Door’s wide open, sweetheart.”

You felt your heart beat erratically in your chest. Were you really going to quit over something as stupid as a clipboard? But if you stayed, Atsumu would win, would he not? Was winning and losing all that really mattered at the moment? No, your pride was on the line. Your dignity. Maybe, you had just as much of an ego as him. You couldn’t stand to see that smug look on his face for just one more second. You hated the way he laughed, as if he knew how much the bickering truly got to you. As if he could hear you physically swallow each time he called you sweetheart or when your shoulders brushed against each other on the way to practice. You feared the way his eyes watched your every movement, as if predicting and calculating exactly what you were going to do next.

But right now, Atsumu sat still, arm extended above both your heads, contemplating what exactly was going on inside your mind. Would you actually leave right now? Walk out that door, turn in your resignation letter and never return? He tried to picture it without you- the bus rides void of your terrible singing, the benches empty of your presence. You wouldn’t be there to comfort him after a loss, or praise him after a win-them, he thinks. The team, not just him. But god does he want it to be him. So bad. He knew you hated him. He knew you despised him down to the very atom. And maybe this was the only way he could get you to look at him, even if it was for only a second.

“Is that what you want?” You ask, voice uncharacteristically quiet. Your eyes drop from his for just a second, and you feel yourself inching towards the door. Atsumu doesn’t even take a moment to think before replying.

“No. Not at all. I want you to stay right where you are.” His mind is yet to catch up with his mouth, and his hands are moving before he can process it. He tosses you the clipboard, and dips beneath the net to prepare for another practice round. It’s only moments later does his face begin to grow red from embarrassment, with the realization of his actions settling on him fully.

He waits for you outside the gym doors. Kita helps you put away any stray balls and stacks the chairs against the back wall for you, before making his way into the late afternoon. As you find yourself stepping out as well, Atsumu’s hand grips at the junction of your wrist, his touch light, desperate, far from his usual demanding demeanor. He pauses, scratching at the back of his neck and running his hands through his hair as he glances at your shoes merely inches apart.

“I’m sorry-about today. I got a little carried away.” His voice is small, and you can see the apples of his cheeks glow pink in the fading sunlight.

“It would really suck if ya quit on us. Not for me-but for the team, ya know.” The silence between you is deafening, and you feel your heart hammer against your rib cage as you watch him remove his hand from where it was positioned on your arm. The loss of touch has you chasing him back, gripping his hand tightly in your own, before entwining your fingers together.

“I’ll stay for you too- I-I’m staying for you, I mean.” He looks up at you then, eyes wide in shock, before they turn to amusement.

“Oh really? Good to know-” You retract your hand from his, moving to walk ahead of him up the street.

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Noooo where are ya going? We were making progress!” His hands slip around your sides as he twirls you back towards him, his grip on the front of your backpack straps keeping you secured in place.

“Does this mean you like me, manager?” He asks with a playful lilt to his voice.

“I mean I don’t hate you-”

“Aw come on, can’t ya just say it? For me?”

You pretend to act oblivious, struggling against his hold.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about-”

“I like you, ya know.”

You stop then.

“I tease ya because I think your reactions are cute. Especially when you go from slightly annoyed to angry, cause then you look super hot-”

“Miya-!” “Astumu. Please call me Atsumu from now on.”

He releases his hands from around your bag, and turns you back towards the road. In front of you, you watch as it forks down the middle, Atsumu usually taking the right to get home. But as you hurry on, you feel his presence behind you. “Your house is that way.”

“I know, I’m walking ya home.” There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“At least tell me you like me a little bit. Come on, it ain’t fair to leave a guy hanging-”

“And what if you’re lying. What if tomorrow you don’t feel the way you do now?”

Atsumu shook his head with a laugh.

“I liked you yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that. Trust me, I can’t get rid of ya even if I tried. Not that I would want that, though.”

You stop, and in the dimness of a dying sun, you catch his stare, eyes holding yours with careful assurance.

“I like you, Atsumu.”

He moves quickly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest as your voice is muffled in his shirt.

“But I swear to god if you ever try that with me again-”

“We were having such a good moment, why’d ya have to go and say that!” there's a pout on his lips as he pulls away for just a moment.

“But you look really pretty right now, so I’ll forgive you.” You can’t help the smile that spills over your features. You clutch him close to you- the boy who’s overwhelming arrogance caught your attention. The boy who teased you too much, pushed not just the right buttons, but all your buttons, until his presence was nearly impossible to ignore. He was yours, and only yours. His image was shared with hundreds, but you were the only one who could hold him in such a way, the only one to see him crumble beneath your touch. He was yours, and yours only.

#atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu angst #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu scenarios #atsumu hcs #atsumu haikyuu

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explosivenebula · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I love your work!! I was just wondering if I could request some sfw and nsfw headcannons for Kiri with a female s/o who has a smaller chest? I’ve been really conscious about mine lately and I love him sm haha <3 ofc only do this if you’re comfortable!

Thank you so much for requesting this! I’m super happy to help, and do this for you! Don’t worry, everybody is more than gorgeous in their own right, you are beautiful! Hope you enjoy this.

‘More than Beautiful’ Kirishima x Fem! reader HEADCANONS {REQUEST} {SFW/NSFW}

PAIRINGS: Kirishima x reader

WARNINGS: NSFW Headcanons {MINORS DNI}

NOTE: All characters aged up in both SFW and NSFW headcanons

If you’d like to request a similar headcanon or something entirely different with the same or different MHA/BNHA characters, feel free do to so! Note: Most of my work will be a gender-neutral reader/perspective unless you specifically request something different. You may also request a headcanon for any size, ethnicity, religion etc of person, everything here is welcome! (As long as it is not offensive, and follows the guidelines.)

🌸Explosive Nebula 爆発性星雲🌸

- 06.30.2021 -

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU - SFW

◬ Kirishima is extremely caring and kind, so he makes friends with everyone unsurprisingly easily. Because of this, he can read people incredibly well, and he knows when you may be feeling insecure about something. The second he notices it, he’s smothering you with hugs and kisses, distracting you and offering to eat or cuddle with him. He never mentions why he’s being so clingy so suddenly, but you soon pick up on his cues, and you know this is his way of letting you know he knows how you feel, and he’s ding what he can to make you happier.

◬ But if you come at him directly, he’ll take action depending on the severity of the situation. If you find yourself dropping a simple comment about how you may be feeling a little off, or you let him know it’s upsetting you, he’s slowly hugging and kissing you, and giving soft affirmations. If you come to him crying because you’ve been hit with a sudden wave of insecurity or someone has mentioned something, he rakes action immediately. He’ll drag you into your arms and help calm your breathing, keeping your attention on him until he thinks your well enough to begin talking about it.

◬ He thinks you’re perfect either way. Big or small chest, he loves you no matter what. You look absolutely beautiful, and he won’t hesitate to let you know that every single second of the day.

◬ He’s dealt with insecurities a lot himself with multiple different things, so theirs no second guessing why he ma be able to relate to you so much. Not only that, but given the fact he loves you so, so much, he knows everything about you from how to calm you down, to exactly what words to say in order to draw out a certain emotion from you. It’s strange how easily he does it, but it’s comforting either way. His experience and knowledge on you makes him the singe only person you first think to go to about these things. And even if you fee as though you don’t want to bother him, or you’d rather leave it, he has the social cues to pick up on what’s happening the second he lays eyes on you.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU - NSFW

◬ In the bedroom, Kirishima is extremely passionate. He does nothing without reason, and 9/10 times you experience anything with him in this aspect, it’s usually impulsive and full of love. He has a pretty high sex drive, so theirs no boredom or lack of intimacy whenever you’re around him.

◬ When he’s not deliberately engaging with you for these reasons, it’s more than likely to help assure you of any insecurities you have, especially about your chest size. When he’s finished with his more ‘fluffy’ forms of comfort, he’s gently kissing you and, when he has your full consent, pays close attention to your chest the entire time.

◬ It’s his favourite part about you, so he’ll kiss and grope it every chance he gets, it’s where 50% of his focus lays, the other 50% focusing on your emotions and keeping a close eye on your needs and wants in these occasions. When it comes to helping assure you, he doesn’t care about what he may want, he wont rest until you’re feeling your best, and writhing in pleasure from you boyfriend.

◬ It’s these specific occasions when he’s the softest, too. He won’t go as fast or rough as he usually does, and while his passion is there, he won’t directly force much onto you. Instead, he’s constantly whispering praises into your ear, not shying away from bringing your full attention to your chest, and making a show of just how much he loves it. It’s his way of making you feel a lot better.

◬ After is full of a lot of cuddles. He’ll hold you for hours on end after, no letting you go even if you have something important to do. Unless of course it’s extremely important, like a work or family call that can’t wait. But asides from that, he’ll completely pamper you. Cooking you the best meals he’s attempted, taking the warmest baths with you, joking around and giving you his full attention as he scratches your scalp gently and lulls you to sleep in his arms.

🌸Explosive Nebula 爆発性星雲🌸

- 06.30.2021 -

Posted 06.30.2021

Written and Published by: explosivenebula

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

I Cum in Peace

A/N: Here’s the second of 12 filthy imagines to be written for my 500 Followers Kinkfest Celebration!! Based on the below request for cum play with Mr. Ray Smith 🤤 (Note: I feel like the kink level of this is actually similar to my usual fics, so I’ve tagged my general tag list! Hope you’ll enjoy it!)

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, dom!Ray, cum play (filling up reader’s cunt then all over her face) Request: Kinkfest request from anon

Word Count: ~2.7k

So you just saw your man getting mad with a whole crew of troublesome lads. You’re not usually with Ray when he goes about gangster business; he never wants you to have any involvement in it. But today’s little incident... you were quite glad, to have been watching him from the car while he did this. His dominance over those impudent cunts was a wonder to witness. In less than a minute, Ray made them his bitches. Your man went ahead and did that.

“I come in peace,” he’d said, at first. But the idiots wouldn’t abide by his orders. That left Ray with no choice: so he raised his voice, suddenly reaching for one of his biggest toys. Fired his gun in the air till they scurried away like scared, lost little boys.

As he calmly slides into the driver’s seat, leaving the scene at a gentleman’s speed, you look over at him and can feel your cunt throbbing with heat. Get the urge to just bury your head in his lap and start sucking his cock. But he’s not one for road head—Y/N, I will not have that lovely mouth held to account for a damn traffic accident—so you decide against pushing your luck.

Still, you cannot help but gush about how fucking hot that was. “Ray, that was just... oh my Goddd, honestly hot as fuck.”

Raymond pushes his specs up the bridge of his nose, keeps his eyes on the road. “Was just doing my job, love. Just doing my job.”

“But I mean, did you see just how savagely you fucked them up?” you go on, not even close to being done. “Without even touching them once? You just whip out your gun, and they all fucking run. What a sad bunch of cunts.”

“Cunts indeed,” he agrees, car still cruising along at this slow-as-fuck speed, while you squirm in your seat. Pussy aching with need.

“And that whole ta ta ta thing...” you sigh, recalling how your man had dismissed the last lad, with a click of his teeth and a flick of his hand. So damn hot you could die. “Ray, you’re a motherfucking king.”

He’s driving so slowly it feels like you’re crawling. “You quite finished singing my praises now, darling?”

You laugh as he once again pushes his glasses up. “What, so you want me to stop? I’m just proud of how masterfully you do your job.”

“Get a hold of yourself, love.”

“No, I think you should get a hold of me, Mr. I Come in Peace,” you tease, scooting toward him as your juices slick up the seat. “Ray, please—as soon as we get home... fucking need you to cum... inside me and all over me.”

Thankfully, for the sake of your dripping wet pussy... those words finally get Ray to pick up the speed. Steady as he may be, the king also has hungers to feed. You notice as his knuckles whiten, his grip on the steering wheel tightens. He’s biting his lip, burning with the desires he’s fighting. Lust threatens to rustle his calm, bringing sweat to his palms, and he despises being compromised like this when he’s in the driver’s seat.

Now that Raymond is fully aroused, careening at full speed toward his house, your flirtations get braver and bolder. “What’s the matter—distracted now, soldier? You know we can always pull over...” you murmur, caressing his jacket-clad shoulder.

“You keep your mouth shut, you insufferable slut,” Raymond mutters. “Stay quiet the whole fucking ride home. Touch me again while I’m driving, and I’ll spend the rest of the night denying you the right to get fucked and get soaked in my cum.”

Oh, good lord. You’re not even home yet, and already your man is taking on his role as your dom. This is what you live for. You’re so wet...

“Now is that what you want? Are you desperate for that kind of punishment?” Raymond demands, impatient, as you’ve not yet removed your hand. “Show me you understand. Or are you still determined to be a dirty disobedient cunt?”

You immediately move your palm off of him, biting your bottom lip as you settle back into position in your seat and bow your head low in submission. “Understood, sir.”

“There, that’s a good girl.”

Ugh, those words—the way Raymond seamlessly transitions from pure degradation, so savage it hurts, straight to sweet praises coated in sugar... it’s a damn revelation. You’ll never get over your love for this smooth-as-butter motherfucker. You’re so lucky to be his lady, his lover. His good little cocksucker.

The big dick energy radiating from Ray is delicious and vicious and violent, and all the while you sit in silence, the rest of the drive. You eagerly jump from the passenger’s seat the instant you arrive.

“Did I tell you to move, cunt?”

Oh fuck. You stop dead in your tracks at once. Shudder and choke, stutter out a response. “N-no, sir...”

He steps out of the car to come toward you where you’re standing, tall and commanding, controlling you more and more thoroughly as he comes closer. “Well, fortunately for your desperate, slutty little ass... I’m feeling generous enough to let that pass. But the next time you dare make a move without my permission...” Raymond threatens in a ruthless rasp, “... love, I promise it will be the last. And I’ll make certain you remember your position.”

By this point your entire body is quivering so badly that you’re probably in critical condition.

Ray runs his forefinger across your lower lip and snickers as he feels it fucking twitching. You’re so thirsty you can’t even think. “Now run along inside and pour your man a drink, you pretty little thing. By the time I come in, want to see my woman waiting for me naked in the kitchen.”

Ugh, you can’t even?!? Why is every word off of Raymond’s lips literal heaven? In a sex-frazzled flurry, you scurry to follow your master’s directions, though it’s fucking hard when you’re reeling from feeling the full effects of his perfection.

Stripping off all your clothes as you step in and rush to the kitchen, you reach for your man’s favorite bottle of scotch. End up frantically flinging your clothing all over the place, which you know Raymond hates. He hates messiness so fucking much. But you cannot be bothered to worry; you’re in such a hurry. Spurred on by his words, and obeying with haste. Not a moment to waste.

By the time Raymond enters, the drink must be poured, sitting pretty on the kitchen counter, and of course you had better be naked and waiting for him like a good little whore.

You’ve managed to pull that off without so much as a second to spare, when he promptly appears at the door. Owning you with his bright blue bespectacled stare. Clearly proud of how you’ve been so dutiful. God, he looks so fucking beautiful, standing there. You’ve never wanted him more.

At some point in the past twenty seconds, apparently Raymond had changed into your favorite cardigan. When did that happen? He wore this the last time you fucked in the kitchen, and now here he is going at it again. This sumptuous sweater just makes him look so fucking lovely, so cuddly and comfy. He knows you’re obsessed with this color on him, the color of some kind of sweet, spicy, super gourmet honey mustard. Goddamn sexy bastard.

Raymond struts in and helps himself to the fine scotch you had poured. Holds it up to his lips, drains the halfway-full glass in a single long sip. Evidently he’s thirsty, you think. At least his thirst was quenched nice and quick, with one swig of a drink. Unlike yours. As you watch your man swallow his scotch, the heat builds in your crotch, and you’re ready to burst. He gets off on seeing you so desperate and wet, because he is the worst.

“Mmm, now I really needed that,” Ray states as he deliberately sets down his empty glass. “To calm my fucking nerves. To fight the burning urge I had... to spank your naughty ass... turning it red, just the way you deserve, for behaving so bad.”

Oh shit. You don’t want him to fight it—the thought has you so damn excited. Of course, Raymond knows it. He studies the blow of your pupils, your silence so truthful, the hitch of your breath as you hold it.

You can’t bear to breathe in this moment, when his stare is cutting you open.

“I do hope you’ll excuse me for being so rude,” Raymond playfully purrs. “Satisfying my thirst, while denying yours. That scotch was really quite good. You just put me in such a damn mood. Now does my lovely lady want something to drink, too?”

Ugh, he knows it’s true. Your gaze follows his hands, as he reaches to slowly unbutton his pants, where the bulge of his cock is in full fucking view.

“Mmm, of course you do,” Raymond sadistically coos. “Well, that’s too fucking bad for you.”

“Ray...” you can’t help but say, as you instinctively start sinking down to your knees.

But he’s not here to play, or to tease; he is here to use you however he may please. And right now that means bending you over the counter and fucking you numb, and then filling your cunt with his cum, while you beg for the privilege to suck him. To swallow his load, down your thirsty whore throat. Today that’s how Ray wants to perform his role as your malevolent, merciless dom.

So he hoists you back up to your feet, refusing you the right to kneel down before him and devour his cock just the way that you need. Denying you the privilege of tasting his seed.

He bends your body forcefully over the kitchen counter, destroying you with his raw power. You scream his name louder, before quickly shifting to use the correct word—address him as Sir.

“Scream all you want,” he taunts. “Won’t change your punishment. Won’t keep me from driving my cock fucking deep in this dripping wet cunt.”

Good lord. How exactly that counts as a ‘punishment’... you’re not quite sure. It sounds like a blessing, much more than a curse. If your man wants to teach you a lesson, then someone should tell him that’s not how it works...

Reading your mind as ever, Ray now lifts your torso up to press against his sweater, with a feral sneer as he brings his hot mouth toward your ear. You feel his lips curve as he wickedly smirks.

“You know how every time we fuck... I always let you suck my cock, before or afterwards? Or both, as you prefer? Because you’re such a shameless cum-guzzling whore? We both know swallowing my cum is the sole purpose of this dirty little mouth of yours.”

You’re fucking drooling from the sheer force of his words. And then he rubs his massive cock against your pussy lips and starts bucking his hips, plunging inside your soaking wet heat as it throbs and drips, and God it feels so good it fucking hurts...

“You know I almost crashed my fucking car? All thanks to what a filthy fucking slut you are? Well, let me tell you how I’m gonna make you pay, for your fucking disgusting behavior today.”

There’s no way you could have prepared for what Ray is about to say.

“Tonight I am going to fuck you for all that you’re worth... fill you up with my cum till you feel set to burst... then deny you dessert.”

Oh my God. You moan out at the thought, hating him for being such a coldhearted bastard...

“That’s the punishment you deserve,” Ray growls as he begins fucking you harder and faster. Reminding you that he’s your master. That your place is to serve. “Why don’t you go on and tell me just how much you want to taste my cum, you dirty little cunt. I know that’s what you’ll always want. If you beg hard enough, then perhaps by tomorrow you’ll have some. Whereas if you’re a naughty slut and keep pissing me off... then it won’t be till days or weeks after.”

“Please—please, sir...!” you pathetically answer. Your senses are overpowered from the sound of his cruel mocking laughter, the feeling of being so full of his cock and smothered by that damn mustard sweater. There is nothing worse. Nothing better. “Please let me drink your cum, sir—I just want... I fucking need it more than anything, ever...”

You keep on spouting filth as loudly as you can, hoping to satisfy your man’s demands. He pins you down onto the counter with brutal hands, pounding into your soaking wet pussy again and again, getting so fucking heated that he has to strip off that beautiful cardigan. Rips off his tie and shirt, as he rails you harder and harder till you reach a whole other dimension of heaven-sent hurt.

Then the instant his thick creamy cum fucking spurts... you feel your cunt explosively squirt, and you’re pretty sure that you just permanently lost all hope of ever being able to form words.

You have never felt so swollen, so completely and utterly split open, as you feel in this moment. From the vigorous violence of that vicious fuck. When Raymond pulls out of your cunt after so savagely wrecking you with his cock, you can only imagine how ravaged and ruined it looks. Painted white with his cum as it drips, slick and shiny all over your soaking wet pussy lips.

“Good fucking lord,” Raymond groans at the sight of it. Staring between your spread legs. He adores seeing you like this, with his cum leaking out of your slick pussy after hot sex—always did love it, but never more so than in this very minute. “Such a good little whore. Ugh, just... shit. Love, you’ve never looked so wrecked. Just give me a second to memorize this. God, it’s perfect.”

It’s not as if you can resist or protest. Even if you had wanted to, you were just hammered so senseless, there’s honestly nothing you can even do.

Apparently Ray is already experiencing the... effects of this view. “Fuck, Y/N. Seeing you like this got my cock hard as a rock again.”

Um... how long has it been since he flooded your cunt with his cum? Twenty seconds? Well under a minute, you reckon. It shouldn’t be possible that he’s already erect—but Ray is a fucking stallion, a beacon among men, a living breathing god of sex, and he cums by the gallon.

“Get on your knees,” he says, as you obey with desperate haste. Yes, sir. Yes, please... “And keep that filthy mouth shut, you pathetic fucking slut, so that I can cum on your pretty whore face.”

You cannot even process just how hot that sounds, as you excitedly kneel down. Gazing up at his gorgeousness like a goddamn donut waiting to be glazed.

Though you don’t want to miss a thing, as you receive this divine blessing from your king... you end up closing your eyes just in time, before his white hot load sprays all over the place. And the sensation is seriously sublime.

You have never taken him this way, since Ray loves to explode down your throat. To feed you full of his luscious load, let you savor his flavor, the seed you so desperately need. But you had to be punished today—this is how. He commands you to sit and remain fully soaked in his cum as you are now, without taking so much as one precious drop in your mouth. Denying you the cum that you can’t live without.

You feel like such a whore, degraded and destroyed to the core... and the truth is you only want more.

The best part of it is—now that you and Ray know just how much you enjoy being punished like this, that the feeling of his cum all over your face is complete fucking bliss—there is sure to be much more in store.

There’s a whole world of kinks you have yet to explore, and you’ve only just opened the door.

***************

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