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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year

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War of the Heart - Chapter Six | Luke Alvez x Fem! Reader

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - after an awkward morning spent with Luke, you are forced to make a decision about your future.

Category - heavy angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings - drunk reader, arguments, some violence, mentions of depression and antidepressants, swearing, tears, mutual masturbation.

WC - 4.6k

Chapter Six

2010 - Diyala, Northeast Baghdad

The army had a strict policy on drinking, known as the 0-1-2-3 rule. Zero alcohol if driving. No more than one drink per hour. No more than two drinks a day over seven days. No more than three drinks at a given time. Excessive drinking could result in immediate discharge, thus ending one’s military career.

However it wasn’t a secret that alcoholism in soldiers was exceptionally high. Being in the middle of combat, the stress, loneliness and boredom often racked up and many soldiers turned to the bottle.

Luke Alvez wouldn’t say you had an alcohol problem, quite the opposite in fact. In the five months he’d known you he’d rarely see you drink at all. Which was why it was even more of a surprise to find you this way.

It was clear to him instantly that you were intoxicated. He’d spotted you loitering a few hundred metres from the housing units, stumbling around in the sand. It was dark, but he'd recognise your form anywhere, he’d seen it naked enough times. If the captain was to find you like this you’d be out on your ass. So he knew he had to tackle this and quietly.

You were tossing stones at the sand when he reached you, swerving around like you could barely hold yourself up right. He approached with caution, hoping to god you at least didn’t have your service weapon on you.

“Private?” He called out when he got close. “Are you armed?”

You spun around, almost tripping over your own feet as you did so. You wore nothing but your cargo pants and your oversized Ranger’s t-shirt. Despite the desert heat during the day, as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon the temperatures plummeted. Even in his jacket he felt the chill.

“No.” You shook your head. “But I am loaded.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” He came closer to you. “You must be freezing.”

“Nah.” You shrugged, but the goosebumps on your flesh gave you away.

Luke sighed and slipped off his jacket, carefully draping it around your shoulders.

“Let me help you back to your room.” He tried to place his hand on your back but you moved out of his reach.

“Don’t need help, Sarg.” You shook your head.

“Y/N, come on, if anyone sees you like this you’ll be gone.”

“That’s my problem, not yours.” You kicked the dirt, sending particles of sand flying around you both.

“Let me help you.” He repeated softly.

“I don’t need your help.” You spat. “You think you're some kind of martyr? Oh and what does that make me, a pathetic little damsel in distress?”

“I didn’t say that.” He tried to remain calm, knowing better than to rise to it.

“Sergeant Alvez here to save the day.” You scoffed.

He may never have seen you drunk before, but he’d seen you angry. It took a lot to push you over the edge, not like him, but when you did get like this it usually ended badly for Luke.

One time you’d given him a black eye when you threw his Polaroid camera at him. Another time you broke his stereo in a rage. He imagined you weren’t like this in the real world, army life caused these kinds of personality imbalances. Sometimes being on active duty sent people over the edge.

“Please let me help you back to camp. You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Leave me alone.” You turned away from him. “I don’t need saving, Sarg.”

“It happens to the best of us.” He spoke again, not one to be easily perturbed. “You can’t let it win, or there’s no coming back.”

As well as being susceptible to alcoholism, depression was much higher in military personnel, it was quite often what led to the drinking in the first place. The suicide rate among military veterans was fifty percent higher than the civilian population for a reason.

“What would you know?” You spat, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Luke heaved a sigh and dared to step closer to you. He didn’t relish having to have this conversation, but if helped you it would be worth it.

“Because I’ve been there.” He sidled up next to you. “I’ve served for more years than I can count and I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve spiralled into that darkness Y/N. I’ve been on antidepressants for like, four years. Active duty is a bitch, it doesn’t make you weak for admitting you need help.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Sarg.” You shrugged your shoulders until his jacket fell to the ground behind you. “Now respectfully, please fuck off.”

“Not gonna happen.” He picked up the jacket and put it back on before taking hold of your arms and turning you to face him.

The moon above cast its light on your face and the tears that were slowly rolling down your cheeks. Your bottom lip was cracked and split probably from profuse chewing. He’d never seen anyone look so scared and vulnerable before.

“Sarg,” you clenched your jaw, trying to fight against the tears. “If you don’t let go of me, I will not be held accountable for my actions.”

He didn’t let go of you. If anything, Luke tightened his grip on you. You clenched your jaw again, the alcohol pulsing through your veins and causing you to act without considering the repercussions. You lifted your right leg, only able to do so without falling due to Luke’s hold on you. And then you kneed him square in the crotch.

He instantly stumbled backwards, hands falling from your arms to where you’d just kneed him. He doubled over, spluttering a little and gasping for the air the blow had knocked from his lungs.

“Fucking hell, Y/N!” He spat. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“I could write you up for that. Technically that’s assaulting a superior officer.” He groaned, still doubled over.

“Try it and I’ll show them these.” You pointed to your arms, rolling up the oversized sleeves of your t-shirt.

Luke tried to straighten up, still holding his throbbing crotch. Both of your biceps were purple with bruises, distinctly finger shaped bruises. It had been four days since you’d been together last but the bruises from him pinning you to your cot were still visible.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.” He scoffed. “As a matter of fact, I seem to remember you enjoying it.”

“Captain doesn’t need to know that though, does he?” Despite your tears, you smirked at him as you brushed past him. But once again, Luke was quick to grab you and spin you back to face him.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He growled at you, his jaw set.

“Get your hands off of me, Sergeant.”

“I’m not letting you ruin my career.” He shook his head, keeping a tight grip on your arm. “And I’m not letting you ruin your own.”

“Get your hands off of me.” You repeated.

“Not until you calm down.”

You didn’t calm down, in fact you did the opposite. You started fighting against him, trying to shake him off but of course he was stronger than you. He held onto you tightly, no doubt causing more bruises over the ones that already existed. More tears started falling from your eyes as you tried to fight him.

“Get off of me! Get off! Leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you!” You started sobbing, your legs trembling to the point Luke was the only thing holding you upright.

“You don’t hate me.” he sighed. “You love me.”

“No, I hate you. Get off of me, please get off of me!” You fell against his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his jacket.

Luke let go of your arms and wrapped his around you, keeping you on your feet with his firm hold. You cried loudly, nuzzling against him while weakly smacking your fists against his chest.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You wailed, still frailly trying to fight him.

“You’re depressed, cariño. You need to speak to someone.” He whispered, trying to hold you close but you shoved him away in a surge of strength.

“Fuck you, I am not.” You shoved him again so he wasn’t touching you anymore and suddenly raised your fist in the air and punched him hard on the nose.

Luke yelped, surprised by the force in which you’d hit him. His hands came to cradle his nose and he felt the blood dripping into his hand.

“Fuck, Y/N!” he whined. “That hurt like a puta! You could have broken my nose.”

“Maybe that will teach you that when someone says they want to be left alone, they mean it.” You spat, no hint of remorse in your voice.

“Everybody feels this way from time to time, it's normal under the circumstances.” He tried to reason with you, still attempting to catch the blood from his nose.

“It's not the war.” You rolled your eyes.

“What is it then? Maybe I can help you.”

“You just don’t get it do you?” You shook your head. “You can’t help me, because you are the problem.”

Luke frowned at you, assuming it was just the alcohol talking. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, wiping the blood from the other on his cargos.

“Don’t say that, you don’t mean that.”

“What if I do?” You looked and sounded suddenly sober. “You want to know why I drank so much tonight?”

“Why?” He sighed, trying to humour you.

“Because you were late.” You spat harsher than he’d ever heard you. “You were meant to be back at camp hours ago and then I heard reports over the comms about an explosion just a few miles from where you were. I thought you were dead, Sarg. So I drank. I drank even though it could have been the end of my career to do so, because I thought you were dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. I could have jeopardised everything I’ve worked for tonight because of you.”

Luke’s heart throbbed in his chest, replacing the pain in his nose. He stepped towards you, tears feeling like they were stinging his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked. “But I’m ok.”

“You still don’t get it.” You backed away. “I was a strong, fearless soldier before I met you. You’ve turned me into something I don’t recognise. You have made me soft, loving you has made me weak. I won’t do it anymore, Sarg. The army is the only thing I have, the only thing I can depend on. I won’t let you stand in the way of that. I can’t…we can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” The bleeding had stopped even though his nose still throbbed and he let his arms fall to his side. “Last time I checked there were two of us in this relationship. You don’t get to just say it’s over without consulting me.”

“Relationship?” You laughed in exasperation. “What relationship? It was supposed to just be sex, Sarg!”

“It’s more than that, it always has been. And you know it.” He shook his head.

“What do you really think is going to happen here? Are you so fucking naive that you think we have a future together? You think we’ll leave the army and settle down and have a family or some shit?”

“Why not?” The hurt spread across his face.

“Because that’s so unrealistic! This isn’t real life, Sarg. The second this is all over you and I are nothing to each other.”

“No, no, don’t say that.”

“It's the truth.”

“No it’s not. It can’t be.” He shook his head frantically.

“Well I’m afraid it is. I’m sorry if you thought it was more than that, but it’s not.” You folded your arms over your chest.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, holding it in his open palm. The light from the moon reflected off of the shiny silver item of jewellery in his hand and caused your breath to catch in your throat when you realised what it was. You stumbled backwards a little but it had nothing to do with the alcohol this time.

“Luke?” You swallowed, looking from the ring in his outstretched hand back to his eyes.

“If it were true, if we really didn’t have a fucking future,” He spat, his tears breaking free suddenly. “Then why the hell did I buy this?”

***

Present - Quantico, Virginia

The bodies on the jet had doubled since your journey over to Mexico, not only were IRT members Matt and Clara now accompanying you, but so was Spencer.

It was bittersweet. He was only in attendance because he was being extradited back to the US after the discovery that Nadie Ramos had dual citizenship, but you all had a hell of a fight left if you wanted to prove he didn’t kill her. Spencer wouldn’t talk to you, let alone look at you. And to make things even more uncomfortable, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Luke.

You’d both fallen asleep fairly fast last night, obviously something about being back in each other's arms had comforted you. It wasn’t until this morning that things had turned much more awkward.

You were still laying in arms, your back pressed against him and he had one arm lazily draped over your waist. It reminded you of that morning in Brooklyn after Reynolds funeral. He was hard as expected, and didn’t try to hide it, in fact he even shuffled closer to you just in case you didn’t know.

And then he’d started kissing your neck.

“Alvez,” you whined at the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin. “Alvez, stop it.”

“Do you really want me to stop?” He grinded against you from behind.

“No.” You confessed, him stopping was the last thing you really wanted.

He continued to kiss your neck, sucking marks into your flesh that you hoped you’d be able to hide later. It was when his hand wandered from your stomach down towards your underwear that you started to pull away.

“Alvez,” you scalded him. “No, no we can’t do this.”

“Fuck, I know we can’t.” He groaned deeply, tearing himself away from you and rolling onto his back.

You rolled over so you could look at him, knowing your cheeks were stained pink with your arousal. He lolled his head to the side and met your gaze.

“It’s like having a giant jar of candy in front of me and being on a diet.” He tried to joke.

“You have a girlfriend.” You shrugged.

“She’s not my girlfriend. It’s not…we’re just dating.”

“Still,” you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. “You’re not single.”

“You have no idea how much I wish I was right now.”

A movement caught your eye and you looked down to notice something moving beneath the sheets. You quickly looked back up at Luke, wide eyed.

“What are you doing?” A deep heat spread between your legs.

“Not what you think.” He shrugged. “Not exactly anyway. I’m just trying to relieve a little tension.”

As if to prove his point he moved the bedsheet aside, exposing his golden, toned chest and tight black boxers for which his hand was not inside like you’d expected. He was pressing the palm of his hand against the base of his hard length through his underwear, like he’d said, to relieve some tension.

“Jesus, Alvez.” You sucked in a breath, it was almost as hot as seeing him touch himself. “Fucking Christ.”

“I’m sorry.” He replied, not sounding sorry at all. “I can’t help it.”

He noticed the way you squeezed your thighs together, clearly trying a little tension relief yourself. His toes curled and his stomach clenched. It was literally killing him not to touch you.

“You should go.” You tried to look away from him but couldn’t.

“Like this?” I can’t go anywhere right now.” He sounded exasperated.

“Well what is it going to take for you to leave?”

He pulled a face, he’d thought that was quite obvious.

“I can’t see this going anywhere unless I come.” He admitted, moaning a little at the thought and pressing harder against his shaft.

“Just think of something horrible. Dead bodies or something, that’ll make it go away.” You forced your eyes onto the ceiling now, thinking you may explode if you kept looking at him.

“I’m laying next to my stupidly attractive, half naked ex-girlfriend who I know for is fact is fucking incredible in bed. Dead bodies aren’t gonna cut it.”

You looked back at him, the tension between you was so thick it was stifling. A battle waged in your mind, trying to think of the outcome with the least amount of casualties. The most obvious option was to jump his bones, fuck him and deal with the consequences later. But that was such a terrible, terrible idea.

Before you could sort through the rapid fire thoughts entering your brain, Luke moved closer to you and turned you back onto your side where you’d been when you woke up. His lips quickly fixed back onto your neck and you were powerless to stop him.

You felt his hand move down between your bodies and you knew what was happening. The jerking motions that followed confirmed that.

“Alvez,” you whimpered pathetically.

“Call me Sarg, please, please god.” He panted into your neck as he stroked himself rapidly, needing to find his release.

You moaned despite the fact he wasn’t touching you and somehow your own hand started to wander and found its way into your panties. Luke must have been able to see well enough to know as you heard him hiss when your fingers disappeared between your legs.

“Sarg, fuck, this is such a bad idea.” You whined, using your own hand to get you off while he did the same behind you.

“I’m not touching you. You aren’t touching me. It’s probably not as bad as it seems.” He panted heavily, moaning slightly. “God I wish it was your hand.”

You moaned loudly into the pillow, Luke’s body heat causing you to sweat. He propped himself up on his free arm so he could get a better view of you. You were still wearing your underwear so he couldn’t see exactly what you were doing but the way your hand moved inside of the fabric was enough.

He picked up his pace, the bed rocking beneath the two of you with your combined movements. Luke was already close and he could tell you were too by the way your thighs squeezed around your hand.

“You gonna come, cariño? Let me hear you come.” He brought his lips back to neck, then to your ear where he nibbled on the lobe.

“I’m close, Sarg, real close.” You mumbled.

“Me too.” He agreed.

It was you who came first, clamping your thighs around your hand as you did but screaming the word Sarg. Luke was close behind, hearing you moan his nickname was what pushed him over the edge. He came between your bodies, on the back of your t-shirt and on his own stomach.

The room was filled with a crescendo of heavy breathing while you both came down from your highs. You removed your hand from your panties but refused to turn and look at him, the guilt of what you’d done setting in.

After a few minutes Luke rolled over, wiping himself on the bed sheets as he did so.

“Now I should probably go.” He swung his legs out of the bed.

“Yeah.” You agreed but continued to face the wall.

It would have almost been less awkward if the two of you had actually had sex. Somehow what you’d done seemed even worse in a weird way. It had felt sordid, wrong on so many levels. Luke was dating someone and Spencer was in prison and the two of you had been masturbating together. What the fuck was wrong with you?

The flight home felt so much longer than the way there, the jet filled to the rafters with tension from both Spencer and Luke. And suddenly it hit you with startling clarity what you needed to do.

While the team was busy fussing over Spencer before he was taken to the county jail, you followed Emily to her office, closing the door behind you. You were sure she knew by the look on your face what you were going to say before you said it.

“I know this is the worst possible time for this.” You inhaled deeply, desperate to stave off the tears. “I want to help find Scratch and prove Spencer’s innocence but I can’t do that whilst being a part of this team anymore.”

Emily let out a long breath, her mouth hanging open a little as she looked at you across her desk.

“You want to quit?” Her eyebrows knitted together.

“I need to quit.” You sniffed. “I got pretty bad depression when I was serving in Iraq. Weirdly enough though once I was transferred to Afghanistan I was fine. And I never really experienced PTSD, not the way I’ve heard other soldiers suffering from it anyway. Recently I’ve found it manifesting again, and I’ve realised that there is a common denominator in both my service in Iraq and now.”

Emily's frown deepened and you could see the cogs turning in her head as she pieced together what you weren’t saying. You noticed the moment she figured it out, the way a lightbulb seemed to go off in her mind.

“Alvez?”

“Yeah.” A tear escaped your eye. “I am madly in love with him but our relationship was poison to my mental health. He’s like a drug I can’t quit. I know it’s bad for me but I just can’t stop, you know? And being around him again is bringing up all those old feelings, the good and the bad. So for my own sanity, I have to leave.”

“I don’t want to lose you from the team. But I understand, your well being comes first.” She looked sadly at you. The last thing she needed was to lose another member of the team but she could see in your eyes how much Luke’s presence had broken you.

You withdrew your firearm from you holster and placed it alongside your FBI credentials on her desk.

“Thank you, Emily. If there’s any way I can still consult on Scratch, I’d really like to be able to help clear Spencer’s name and put Peter Lewis behind bars where he belongs.” You took a few steps back towards the door.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You nodded and Emily simply watched you go. You slowly made your way across the bullpen which was thankfully still empty as everyone was still by the elevators with Spencer.

You bypassed one desk in particular, slipping the post-it note you’d written on the plane out of your pocket and sliding under his keyboard. Then you tore yourself away and forced yourself to not to look as downtrodden as you felt as you headed towards the elevators.

You tried to keep your head down and get out without having to look at any of them, but of course it was never going to be that easy.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Spencer’s voice croaked and when you looked up at him, he had a hint of a smile on his lips.

You smiled back sadly, stepping closer to him and practically throwing yourself at him. He couldn’t hug you back due to the handcuffs that were covered by Luke’s FBI jacket. You wrapped your arms around his neck and snuggled as close to him as possible.

“I won’t rest until we bring you home, ok?” You whispered in his ear.

“I know.” He simply replied.

You placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before tearing yourself away. You averted your eyes again as you headed to the elevator. The doors opened and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. As the doors started to close you couldn’t help but glance up, right into the eyes of Luke.

His eyebrows were knitted together, something wasn’t right and he could tell. But seconds later the doors were closing and you vanished behind them.

Your tears started falling immediately after the elevator doors closed. You gave a brief thought to Luke finding the note and hoping he’d understand. You hoped he would see how much this was destroying you and take the hint and just let you go.

Not for the first time Luke Alvez had been your downfall. It was like it was thirteen years ago all over again, making that decision to walk away before you self-destructed. Once again, you’d let Luke push you to extremes you’d never thought you could be pushed to. Why should this have been any different from leaving Iraq?

Back on the sixth floor, Luke excused himself and rushed into the bullpen, intent on finding Emily and asking her what was going on. But as he passed by his desk a little sliver of pink caught his eye, poking out from under his keyboard. He detoured over to it and quickly slid the post-it note out. He recognised your handwriting immediately, and his heart constricted in his chest as he read over the simple words inscribed on the note.

Loving you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. There have been too many casualties in this war raging in my heart. If you love me, you have to set me free.

Goodbye Sarg.

***

2010 - Diyala, Northeast Baghdad

You sat fiddling with your thumbs in your lap, the captain's gaze heavy upon you. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but it was one you had to stick by for your own well being. This place was killing you slowly, day by day taking tiny pieces of your soul and eventually there would be nothing left of you.

Your head wasn’t in it anymore, you weren’t the soldier you once were and you knew as long as you stayed here, as long as he was here, you’d never would be.

The captain leant forward on his desk, scrutinising you in such an intimidating way you felt like a small child about to be reprimanded by their father. The stare off seemed to last hours before he finally spoke.

“Let me make sure I’m getting this,” he sat back, a stern frown on his ageing face. “You’re asking to be reassigned?”

“Yes sir.” You swallowed thickly. “I know there are jobs out in Afghanistan and I know they’re in need of good soldiers out there more than here at present. In truth, I don’t feel I am able to flourish here anymore. I feel I will be of more use somewhere else.”

It was a long shot at best and you knew it. It wasn’t entirely rare for soldiers to be transferred or reassigned but it wasn’t usually requested by the soldier. In the military, you went where you were told, where you were needed. You hoped the need in Afghanistan was your way in.

He continued to scrutinise you, clearly not used to such an ask. It was a long shot. You kept telling yourself that, but you kept a small window of hope that the outcome would be positive.

You couldn’t stay here any more, it wasn’t the same as it once had been. Iraq was no longer where you belonged. To save yourself, you needed to leave. Because falling in love with Sergeant Luke Alvez, you had no doubt, would be your undoing.

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Taglist

@carolinesbookworld @wooya1224 @littlebeanwrites @randomrambling @telepathay @lukealvezswifey

#luke alvez #luke alvez fanfiction #luke alvez fanfic #luke alvez smut #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x fem! reader #luke alvez x you #luke alvez x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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pressdelt · 7 months

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Waking Up The Yiling Patriarch

In the Cloud Recesses

"Wei Ying, it's time to wake up." Lan Wangji said as he shook his husband's body gently. Instead of opening his eyes, Wei Wuxian turned his back to Lan Wangji.

"Aiya, it's so early. Let me sleep in a little bit." He grumbled while covering his yawn with his hand. Lan Wangji sighed, what shall he do with his lazy husband…

"Rule number 16, do not rise after 5AM."

Wei Wuxian turned around and hit his husband's chest. "Hangguang Jun is such a meanie… Give me one moment to wake up."

Lan Wangji stared blankly at his lover, knowing surely that he wasn't gonna wake up anytime soon. He watched as Wei Wuxian started to snore softly, yep definitely not getting up.

"Come, I'll prepare your bath water." Hangguang Jun tugged at his headband that was tied around his husband's wrist from the previous night's activity, then carried him to the bathroom.

Just a normal morning for both of them.

In Lotus Pier

Jiang Cheng slammed his brother's door open. "Wei Wuxian! I swear if you're still asleep-"

Disappointment washed over his face, soon replaced by anger. "It's seven in the morning, wake the hell up!" He yelled as he forcefully yanked Wei Wuxian's blanket off of him. "What would your husband think if he sees you lazing around like this?!"

"NO! No no no no!! I don't want to get up yet!!" The half-asleep Yiling Patriarch fought back by pulling his blanket away from Jiang Cheng, resulting in a blanket tug of war. "Besides, Lan Zhan already knows I like sleeping in!"

"AND YOU'RE PROUD OF THAT?!"

After a minute of hearing his brother whine, Jiang Cheng let the blanket go. "You whiny little-- Okay, that's it!" Jiang Cheng tossed the fabric to Wei Wuxian's face. "I give up. Do whatever you like!" He left the room with the stomps of his feet.

Without a care in the world, Wei Wuxian continued to snuggle back into his pillow as he heard Jiang Cheng screaming outside his room. Just as soon as he started to drift off to sleep, someone peeked into his room.

"Xianxian, it's nearing breakfast time."

Upon hearing his big sister's gentle voice, Wei Wuxian cracked open his eyelids slightly. "Ah shijie, can't I sleep in for a couple more hours?" He fake-yawned to emphasize his sleepiness.

"I'll eat all your portion of the food!" Jiang Cheng yelled from a distance. Hearing this, Wei Wuxian jolted up awake.

"No! No don't you dare!!" He yelled as he pounced at Jiang Cheng to stop him from getting his hands on his meal. The younger screamed at the action, resulting in them trying to pull each other's hair off.

Jiang Yanli hid her laughter with her sleeves. "Alright, settle down. You know naughty boys wouldn't get breakfast~~"

This sentence immediately got her brothers sat nicely in their chairs, waiting for their share of the meal.

"You're already adults, aren't you two ashamed of bickering every day?"

"He started it first shijie!" Both of the brothers said in unison while pointing at each other.

Thus, the breakfast was filled with laughter and constant arguments from the brothers.

#the way i kept going while writing the yunmeng siblings...#jiang yanli youre still alive in my heart #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #cql #mxtx #wangxian #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #lan wangji #pressdelt mxtx

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malachitebeck · 5 months

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SPOILERS FOR DOCTOR WHO: THE GIGGLE (Also, Spoilers, I get a little serious and introspective under here. Shit's a bit of an essay.)

I will be the first to admit I have not engaged with Doctor Who as a franchise in a good few years. I stopped watching the series regularly around the end of Matt Smith's run, and while I tried to engage with Jodie Whittaker's season, the confusing release schedule meant that I lost that motivation and quickly let go.

But when I saw the initial trailers for these three anniversary specials, I will admit they likely had the exact effect on me they were probably meant to; drawing me, a wandering former fan, like a moth back towards the flame of the series as it was entering a new era of streaming partnerships and a boosted budget.

And while I enjoyed the first two specials and actually found them to be rather nostalgic in their own way, the ending of the third special has left an admittedly poor taste in my mouth that I can't sit with quietly. I usually don't make posts like this, but there's a first time for everything right?

I will admit, first and foremost, that The Giggle was not the story I had expected going in. I didn't know a lot about the Classic Episodes (or, well, episode) the Toymaker was coming from, and as a result was swept up in an intriguing fan fervor that posited the episode was going to take on a kind of meta-textual horror; addressing the fires that destroyed the film reels of the majority of the episodes in an in-universe fashion, depicting the Toymaker as this haunting entity the Doctor was struggling to remember.

Suffice to say the episode was not that. But I am not sitting down to write all of this simply because the episode took on a more... stale commentative approach to the internet and social media that didn't live up to the version I had constructed in my head. The creative team was never under any obligation to do so, obviously.

I'm writing this because of Ncuti Gatwa.

For a brief moment, when the characters were out on the helipad(?) of the UNIT building, I had what I thought was an epiphany. "This has been about Ncuti all along," I thought, "this approach to talking about internet discourse is a bit stale, sure, but allegorically it's trying to critically talk about the response to Ncuti's casting. Surely that's why they took this angle, it just didn't stick the landing."

I thought this because the regeneration was happening right at the climax of the Toymaker's speech about why he loved humanity and our worst "21st century" aspects, and because Mel, in the moment the Doctor was regenerating, took the time to hold his hand, smile, and remark that "all of your faces are fantastic."

In that moment, I tried to give the series the benefit of the doubt. I tried to believe that, while clumsy, they were teeing up the start of Gatwa's era by holding up a mirror to their own fanbase, trying to coax them into reflecting on the vitriol that they put him through, especially in the British Press and on social media.

But then the Doctor didn't regenerate. He Bi-Generated.

Immediately the common trope of the regeneration is tossed on its head. Gatwa and Tennant were on screen, together- defeating the Toymaker as a triumphant pair. Rather than going through the motions I was accustomed to in every regeneration I had seen previously, where the new Doctor is alone, adjusting sharply to their circumstances and needing to struggle for a moment to get their feet back under them before ultimately still winning the day and establishing themselves as as capable as they ever were; Gatwa was not only not alone, but was immediately being depicted as if he had simply always been there, not questioning the position he was in, not needing time to recover, just. Moving. Going.

But I thought perhaps this was just going to be fleeting. The concept of Bi-Generation being a myth of the Gallifreyan people and thus fair game to be invoked by the energy the Toymaker exuded was hastily explained, and since it had apparently never happened I thought there would be drawbacks, side effects. I was quickly constructing a reasonable way the show could still give Gatwa his space, his moment.

Then the fight ended. Tennant was still standing, triumphant and fine, and looked to be utterly unchanged. Still the Doctor in every physical aspect. He's being comforted, even, by Gatwa- the newly formed Doctor, usually the one reeling, is painted as being so utterly fine that he's able to be the shoulder 14 can use to lean on.

I continue to try to make excuses. As the scene in the TARDIS begins, sure I find it jarring that the 15th Doctor is comforting the 14th on mental health struggles he should reasonably also have, but they are trying to construct an out for Tennant. They've never done this before, but it's clearly setting up a kind of retirement- they want to give Tennant a unique sendoff, want to give the character a permanent resting place in the form of one final "adventure", the adventure of a normal human life with Donna.

But then Ncuti grabbed the fucking hammer. And it all started to sink in for me.

Not only was the 14th Doctor not gone, but he was still in a relatively vague position in the story. The final scene of him in the garden is nice, in theory, but the TARDIS, his own copy of the TARDIS that he magically had made for him, is quite literally looming in the background- reminding the audience that this is all potentially fleeting. Rose and Mel joke about 14 breaking his promises to slow down by sneaking away to take them on small adventures, and it just utterly hit me in that moment, that someone at the BBC, someone responsible for writing or maintaining Doctor Who as a titan of British Popular Culture, did not trust Ncuti Gatwa.

Because even if the fan response to this decision that I have seen thus far online has been positive, it's positive for a reason, and I am being kind when I say this, that I find disheartening. There are excited thoughts about what Tennant might get to do in the near future; thoughts of a potential UNIT series where he gets to star, appearances in the main series, his own spin-off as The Doctor.

But that's just it, isn't it? He's still the Doctor. In every way he is still there, in the universe. For now we are shown the character is at rest, has found peace, but even he admits that he doesn't think it will last, and neither does Donna, the other person supposedly trying to convince him to slow down and heal.

In the long tradition of the role of the Doctor, a tradition being commemorated through this very string of episodes, the role has been treated in a way like principal characters in a Broadway show. Each actor gets a special night to enter into the spotlight, the chance to make it their own for as long as they wish, and a fond sendoff the moment they decide they're ready for something else. The actors are not crossing paths, not really- not unless it is in a format meant to highlight their times in the role, something predicated on the idea that each of them, as independent beings who occupied it for a certain unique amount of time, are worthy of their proverbial flowers in their own right. They each make up the long canon of the role, but were each, individually, allowed to play it all on their own.

In this metaphor, Ncuti Gatwa has been double billed. In a history of this role being occupied by one actor, one at a time, he is the only one who is entering it with the previous actor still lingering- waiting in the wings, ready to be summoned on stage at any moment should the producers decide it would make things more interesting. He is not being trusted to carry the role on his own merits, intentionally or not. He, the first black man to ever occupy this role, is having the rules changed on him- and is acting out a story wherein his character is happy to accept that fact, is the one to grab the cartoon mallet from the floorboards and break the TARDIS in two, literally severing every iconic aspect of the character he should be allowed to embody all on his own into another person, who is literally handed a tool by the narrative to crop back up whenever he'd like.

In the scene on the helipad of the UNIT building, I thought I had had an epiphany. I thought what I was watching was an allegorical condemnation of an aspect of the fanbase that had refused to accept any actor who wasn't white occupying such a famous role in British Television history. I thought what I was watching was setting up something for Gatwa, was rolling out this metaphorical carpet for him to enter his first season on, bolstered by the fact he was being allegorically supported by former companions and a Doctor so adored they brought him back twice.

But what I was actually seeing, whether or not Davies or anyone else thought this aspect of it through, was that very thought process, that very hatred, being softly placated. That those vocal members of the British public and the audience at large were being told, "Not to worry! He's not the only Doctor," Wittingly or unwittingly utterly undermining Gatwa's run from the very start.

Simply put, the Doctor is a communal role, but not a role that has ever been shared. And this Special choosing now as a time to start? Left a deeply sour taste in my mouth. For now I will attempt to be hopeful, will tune in for Gatwa's Christmas Special and hope to all hopes he is given the moment in the spotlight he deserves... but if they lead Tennant out of the wings to thunderous applause? I only hope that my thoughts on the matter will make you all second guess clapping along.

#This was so fucking long #But I had a lot of thoughts #doctor who #doctor who special #doctor who 60th anniversary #doctor who spoilers #doctor who special spoilers #doctor who: the giggle #ncuti gatwa #david tennant #russel t davies #14th doctor #15th doctor

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plaindangan · 1 year

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Miu! The always forgotten best girl! How about making a machine that lets you know how much pervy a person is in %… and exposing the fact you’re the biggest perv in school! Except you’re not.

Disclaimer: Below is content that's more on the racy side! If not for you, you probably shouldn't read!

"Not a bad idea!! Those other sluts think they're so sneaky and clever by hiding their dirty sides! I'm gonna show everyone just how much hypocritical they really are!!!" she declared and spent the next few nights building her latest contraption. When she finished it, she proudly began showing it off in Hope's Peak.

"Gyahaha! Witness whores and horndogs!! To the one and only Lewd Rate-inator! Just one click with this baby and it'll instantly analyze just how much of a freak you guys are!! Now, whose up fi-!!" Unfortunately, when Miu tried to walk closer to her peers, she had tripped over her feet a bit. Thus, resulting in a situation where she frantically began trying to catch her new invention. And while she succeeded...

"PERVCENTAGE...68%!" It also rated her first, causing snickers to come from out in the crowd and Miu blushing in full embarrassment.

"H-h-heeeeey!! What gives!? Not even a 69%!?" Turning to the crowd she, pointed the rater and locked on target to the likes of Kirumi. "Alright, let's see how you like being laughed at now!!"

Kirumi sighed and tried to gesture for Miu to put that rater down. She can see nothing good coming from this. "Miu, this is completely immature. There are other ways to spend you ti-" "PERVCENTAGE....71%!!"

"..." Almost instantly did Kirumi's face go from annoyed to full on cold rage as she glared at Miu. When this is over, perhaps another 'punishment' under Kirumi's ass would do her some good. But Miu was too preoccupied at the moment for another thing...

"What the actual Hell!? That's bullshit, how did you out lewd me!? This can't be right." Looking about the crowd she suddenly spotted Chihiro. "R-right! No one way a shrimp like you could-!" "PERVCENTAGE...84%!!" Quickly going red in the face, overwhelmed by the newfound public pressure, Chihiro ran off (with those like Mondo or Taka soon after to comfort the poor guy).

"Fuckin' how!? This can't be a constant thing!!" In utter frustration, Miu turned her rater at the remaining students, pressing the trigger again and again in hopes of finding someone there that she beat out in terms of perversions...buuuut!~

Angie! 96%! ("Nyahahaha!~ Quite the accurate thing!~")

Byakuya Togami! 88% ("You'll be hearing from my lawyers...")

Chisa Yukizome! 90% ("...Detention...detention for a full month!")

Hiroko Hagakure! 94% ("...Hm? I'm heading to a PTA meeting, but cool I guess..."")

Yasuke Matsuda! 69%! ("There is no neurologist in the world that can help that shitty mind of yours.")

Kyoko Kirigiri: 92% ("...Once this is over, I'll be doing a thorough search of your lab to confiscate everything that allowed this machine to be built)

Maki Harukawa! 78% ("...You're going to die.") Sakura Oogami! 95% ("...")

Mikan Tsumiki!.....Er....ERROR! ERROR! ERROR! ERR-!!!!

CRUNCH!!

With good grip and a strong toss into the wall, Sakura had utterly destroyed the machine, much to everyone's relief and Miu's initial complaints. But she immediately shut her trap after she began to, finally, notice the entire student body glaring at her. Looking down at the lewd inventor, Sakura gave a stern look...which in her case is equivalent of seeing Death for anyone else. "You'll comply with what happens next, correct?"

Whimpering, all the inventor could do was nod submissively. From there, an entire raid of Miu's lab occurred. Blueprints and prototypes related to her pervy rate were ultimately destroyed and Miu herself received quite the scolding and ban from her workshop for her stunt...

Well, that and some 'extra punishment' from the few who wanted Miu to really see why they were pervier than her. Especially the likes of a certain artist or nurse...but that's something for another time!~

#DRiruma-R18 #coweade asks

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keanecox · 1 year

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New ‘Right Stuff’ Dating App for Conservatives Gets Romance All Wrong

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fanficsfromyesteryear · 2 years

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PROMISE

A DEADLY CLASS PROMPT IMAGINE

— PAIRING: Marcus Lopez Arguello x Reader — WORD COUNT: 1,032 — WARNINGS: Cursing, mentions of violence — REQUESTED BY: @purexdreamer

hey hey, can you do #19 from the sound prompts with marcus from deadly class??

— A/N: I think this is the softest thing I’ve written for Marcus thus far?? He’s usually so angsty and mysterious, but I thought this would be a cute change of pace. Marcus being nurturing?? Absolutely. We love to see it. Hope you like it!!

More than anything, Marcus wishes he’d been there when it happened, that he’d been there to complete the assignment so that you wouldn’t have that on your conscience. Instead, you showed up at the door to his dorm room after the deed had been done with burning eyes threatening to spill another round of tears on your already stained cheeks and blood coating your unsteady hands, and he’s been trying to help you pick up the pieces ever since.

Marcus remembers his first kill like it was only yesterday. While most of the students at Kings Dominion see it as nothing more than another item on their homework checklist, he, like you, had something of a conscience left despite everything life had thrown at him. For weeks after Rory’s death, Marcus saw him everywhere—lurking in the dark corners of the Graveyard, mocking him on the sidewalk, waiting to catch him alone after class. Marcus knew what that resulting mental spiral felt like, and while he could do his best to keep your mind off of things during the day, he had no way of protecting you from what came to haunt you in your dreams.

The night terrors had been plaguing you for months. To start with, they were a real problem—you’d meander the halls in a dazed state, crying and muttering incoherently as your feet subconsciously carried you to Marcus’s dorm, where he would console you until you woke up, unsure of how you’d come to be there. After Marcus began staying over with you, the sleepwalking stopped, but the restless nights persisted.

Tonight was the same story, just a different page.

The tossing and turning woke Marcus first—an elbow to the rib, an accidental kick in the shin—and when he opened his eyes, he saw the furrow in your brow and the beads of sweat on your forehead, signs that he’d grown all too familiar with. Whimpers escaped through your parted, frowning lips as you again rolled over, turning away from Marcus.

Marcus sat up, his hand immediately finding your back. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice raspy in his tired state as he rubbed comforting circles against the fabric of your t-shirt. He never knew how long these episodes were going to last, but the least he could do was try to offer you solace—you may have been unaware of it in that moment, but it helped Marcus to feel as though he was doing something productive. He couldn’t stand the thought of sitting by idly and watching you suffer, even if the situation was completely out of his control.

You came to gasping for air, flipping to face Marcus as your clammy hands grasped for his.

Shushing you, Marcus gently stroked your hair with his free hand. “I’m here,” he assured you. “You’re okay.”

The quick pace of your heartbeat hammered in your ears, nearly drowning out Marcus’s voice. You felt so disoriented, and despite the regular occurrence of your night terrors, you were sure you’d never get acquainted with the odd sensation that came with waking up afterward. There was a sense of urgency—the irrational fear that you were in imminent danger, that there was someone or something out to get you, but you could never remember what it was exactly. It was cruelly ironic to be on the other side of that feeling after what you had done.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position so that you were leaning against the headboard beside Marcus. “No,” you said, shaking your head as you dragged your hands across your face. “I’m not okay. What I did was fucked up, and now I am too. Maybe this is what I get. Maybe—”

Marcus was silent beside you, his eyes trained steadily on the side of your face as he listened to your defeated words. “Everyone’s a little fucked up, Y/N, especially in a place like this. Just because you did something bad doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You don’t deserve any of this, and I wish I could do something to make it all better. If I could trade places with you, I would.”

And you knew that. Marcus had a reckless way of showing it sometimes, but he really did care for the people closest to him—you falling on the top of that list. After the harsh hand of cards life had dealt him, he’d become numb to the pain, numb to the point that he wasn’t afraid of getting hurt—even killed—especially if it meant he could help someone he loved in the process. And you hated it.

“Don’t say that,” you said. “You’ve already been through so much—”

“So, what’s a little more?”

His words carried a weight to them, but when you looked at Marcus, he still had that glimmer in his dark eyes that you’d grown to love and a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Yet there was a sort of sadness to him that not even his boyish charm could hide, and you knew it had nothing to do with his own problems. Amidst the anxiety already bubbling in your stomach was a sudden pang of guilt. On top of everything Marcus already had to deal with, all of the countless enemies he’d already made in his short time at Kings, he now had to babysit you—the person who was supposed to be looking after him to ensure he didn’t get himself into trouble and to patch him up when he did—to make sure you weren’t roaming the halls, crying and making yourself into the perfect, defenseless target to anyone who’d finally had enough. That was the thing, though—Marcus didn’t have to do anything, but he was all too willing to do whatever it took to keep you safe.

“Thank you,” you said, scooting closer to Marcus so that you could rest your head on his shoulder.

“For what?” Marcus asked, and you could practically hear the confused eyebrow raise in his voice.

You tilted your face up to look at him. “For being here.”

At that, Marcus smiled, bending down to kiss your forehead. “Always,” he promised.

And damn, did that boy intend to keep his word.

#marcus lopez arguello x reader #marcus lopez arguello one shot #marcus lopez arguello #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez one shot #marcus lopez #deadly class x reader #deadly class one shot #deadly class

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todoscript · 3 years

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sweetest delight

SYNOPSIS: While Shouto’s out hunting down villains on Valentine’s Day, you try your hand at making some sweets to celebrate the occasion, and in doing so, find your efforts rewarded in more ways than one.

pairing: pro hero!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: smut. fluff. pro hero au.

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. apron kink. praising. oral (both receiving). face-sitting. 69. cum-eating.

author’s note: god, this is long overdue, but i finally got this thing out after all this time. and of course, it ended up getting out of hand again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

A range of curses spewed from your mouth as the unpleasant smell of your burnt confections permeated the space of your kitchen, threatening to notify the fire alarm overhead of your latest baking mishap. Luckily, you entered the kitchen just in time to dissipate the smoke before it can do so, fanning your towel while navigating to the oven to find your crisp, blackened sweets already ruined inside. The corners of your lips slipped into a scowl at another failed batch of mini chocolate cupcakes at your hand. You slid on a pair of oven mitts to transfer the set off the rack and onto the kitchen counter.

A flicker of optimism in your head presented the thought that they didn’t seem that bad at first glance, going so far as to believe they might’ve tasted relatively fine and that the burnt parts simply added a bitter flavor that would balance the overall sweetness of the decadent chocolate cupcakes. But upon closer inspection, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Flipping the miniature cakes out of the molds, you discovered the sweets were encased in a dreary black outer shell, a sight which made you grimace, wondering how you screwed up so badly to have concocted such a dismal image. You definitely had no right feeding these to Shouto, let alone offer them to him as a Valentine’s Day gift.

As everyone knew, the fourteenth day of February marked Valentine’s Day, the day where couples expressed their love to one another by giving gifts, spending quality time through dates, and displaying many other forms of affection. This year, however, Shouto was called in at his agency to investigate a case of villains whose plan was to wreak havoc on this special occasion.

Now, any person would find it normal to be peeved over these circumstances—having their lover’s free time eaten up by work when they could be celebrating together with a nicely lit dinner or a casual, romantic night at home, and perhaps cap off a wonderful evening with a smooth transition into the bedroom. Much better than spending a day at home alone, pitifully watching couples intertwine their hands together in envy as they walked along the sidewalk beneath your apartment complex, right?

Well, you, on the other hand, were a different case. Rather than sulk around as you waited for Shouto to arrive home later, you decided this would be the perfect chance to whisk up some sweets to surprise him. After all, what’s Valentine’s Day without some chocolate delights on the side, made with vanilla, sugar, cocoa butter, and lots of love and effort. A perfect way to welcome Shouto home from his mission while honoring the festivities, you’d say.

Besides, you understood the situation well enough to recognize that the citizens’ well-being came first before any date of yours. Your boyfriend was a hero, after all, and a Pro at that. It’s not as if you and Shouto hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day together before. So long as he came home—intact—prior to the clock ticking to midnight, one day didn’t bother you.

Though… after witnessing the aftermath of several failed attempts at baking thus far, you started to wonder if it would’ve done you better not to get so involved, only to waste resources and pervade your kitchen with an acrid smell.

Still, despite the trials and tribulations, you were determined to come out on top. You tapped your index finger repeatedly against the surface of the marbled counter. “Did I mix up the baking times? Maybe I undermined the portion sizes so the cupcakes started cooking faster?” you speculated out loud, wondering how to troubleshoot the minor errors to come out successful in your next attempt.

After some thought, you decided not to dawdle on your overthinking for too long and shrugged off the idea of redoing another batch of cupcakes. “It’s fine, I’ll just move onto the chocolates then. They’re the star of Valentine’s Day so better to focus on those,” you told yourself. A grin found its way on your face as you rolled the sleeves of your blouse up your forearms. “Alright, let’s get to it then!”

You retrieved a recipe sheet from across the counter, scanning through the contents while overlooking the ingredients lying in front of you. Compared to baking cupcakes, chocolates should be easier to tackle since you weren’t entirely making them from scratch. All you had to do is temper the chocolate melts in a bowl over a heat source, pour them into silicone molds, and refrigerate until hardened and shaped to the perfect, bite-sized delight. Seemed simple enough.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as simple as you thought.

Or rather, you chose to make the whole process more complicated than it needed to be, not realizing the ambitious turn your take on these chocolates was moving toward until you drove yourself into another mess.

Your first trial of bonbons was sprawled out over parchment paper, waiting for your verdict. Eyes roaming the array of sweets tentatively, you absorbed the mixture of pink and white hues with an unsure look on your face. Somehow during the process, you opted to forgo the customary milk chocolates for white and strawberry, which was the closest you could get to matching Shouto’s signature hair colors.

You’d thought it’d be cute for the treats to have a slight resemblance to him as a simple yet sweet reminder that he was on your mind throughout your progress. But staring down at the final product, you wished you guessed ahead of time that the vision you sparked in your head was not going to be as bright and pretty in comparison to what came out.

You frowned at the batch with narrowed brows before begrudgingly scooping a piece and tossing it into your mouth. The sweetness of the strawberry and white chocolates coexisted together to form a smooth texture that left behind a creamy, floral undertone on your tongue. What was incredibly lacking, however, laid in the looks department. The visuals left… more to be desired, to say the least.

With the idea of wanting to use two different flavors of chocolate, you also played on the notion of incorporating a theme. That theme being half-and-half. And half-and-half being splitting the colors on the chocolates right down the middle.

Though not a complicated plan for an adept baker, it was the exact opposite for a newbie like you who had came up with the idea on the spot. With your chocolates appearing in odd shapes and sizes, not one seemed to resemble another, which was the result of both your lack of patience and miscalculations. You had to allow one of the flavors to harden in the mold before adding the other to not prematurely mix the colors, but judging by the swirls of pink and white surrounding the chocolates, that didn’t seem to go so well. Add on to the fact you had some trouble inverting them out of the silicon molds—the edges of the chocolates ending up smooshed or torn off entirely—and you were left with another failed attempt at a Valentine’s present.

“Guess making sweets isn’t really my thing, huh?” You sighed, body slumping forward against the kitchen counter in defeat. Your eyes wandered from your sad chocolates to the hefty amount of dirty dishes piled in the sink. All this, and you weren’t able to make anything worth giving to Shouto. What exactly were you going to tell him when he came home, bearing witness to this entire mess? No, Shouto was probably under enough stress and fatigue as it was after working all day. Plus, his anticipation for a gift would only be amplified if he saw the number of baking supplies you’ve wasted today. At this point, you had to turn in the towel.

“Oh well… I better clean everything up before Sho comes home and start on din–”

Your words were interrupted by the sharp sound of the front door opening.

“I’m home!” an all too familiar voice announced, one that you were more than aware belonged to a particular fire and ice hero.

Surprised, you glanced over at the clock to check the time, which read a bold 6:00 PM—sooner than you expected your boyfriend to arrive home from his duties that day. So soon, in fact, that you weren’t able to even begin erasing any of the evidence littered around the kitchen.

“Y/n?” you heard him call. Freezing in place, you picked up Shouto breathing in a quick whiff. “What’s that smell?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response, traveling through the enormous apartment to find that answer for himself. Hearing his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, you moved quickly.

“The kitchen smells sweet but also... bitter.”

Sweet and bitter..? you repeated but soon realized what he meant—those damn burnt chocolate cupcakes you left out. While in your rush with making the chocolates, you had forgotten to dispose of them beforehand. Though the bitter smell was not as prominent as when the cupcakes first came out of the oven, it still didn’t evade Shouto’s keen senses.

After shoving the burnt mini cupcakes in a trash bin, you scrambled to the entrance to the kitchen, thankfully cutting Shouto’s path off just in time as you met him there. “Oh hey, Sho, why didn't expect you to come home so early!” you greeted, a cheerful lilt in your tone as you leaned an arm on the side of the doorway, hoping to come off ordinarily chill to avoid any questioning looks. It seemed you achieved that much at least by how Shouto smiled warmly at your appearance.

“You should’ve shot me a quick text or something.”

“Sorry, we managed to track down the group of villains right away and finished the mission smoothly without any casualties,” he explained. “I guess I was in such a hurry to come home and celebrate Valentine’s Day with you that I must’ve forgotten.” The soft look on Shouto’s handsome features had you in a daze for a second; you nearly missed him descending his head to your level so his lips could find yours. Eventually, you broke from your stupor and swiftly turned your head so he planted a peck on your cheek instead.

You were never one to purposely avoid a kiss on the lips like that from him—far from it actually—but you didn’t want him to find any residual sweetness on your lips from the confections you taste-tested that day and have him bring up if you made anything for him. One thing you surely couldn’t avoid, however, was his puzzled face at your uncharacteristic actions. Still, Shouto wasn’t one to overthink the details. Instead, he decided to look at the bigger picture, such as the dirty yet cute, pink and brown frilly apron tied around your body.

“Your apron’s a mess,” he chuckled lightly. The comment caught you off-guard, eyes slowly traveling down to the flour and chocolate stains on your Valentine’s-themed apron. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. You fumbled with your answer.

“O-Oh yeah..! In fact, I’m… still cooking, actually!” you quickly added, making up for your lack of words. “C’mon, it’s probably been a long day for you. You should go freshen up in the shower while I get everything done and cleaned!” You tried shoo-ing Shouto from the kitchen’s vicinity, but he didn’t budge.

“I can help out if you like. I wouldn’t want you to fix everything up by yourself, especially since we’re supposed to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day together,” he said, and as much as you liked to take him up on his kind and thoughtful offer, you had to object.

Firmly shaking your head, you continued your attempts at pushing Shouto to retreat to the shower and scrub off the troubles of his day. “No, you’ve probably done enough work today as it is! Just let me handle the rest, ‘kay?” you insisted, straining a smile. However, your hurried shoving felt almost too persistent than what Shouto found normal.

“Well, what are you making then–” As he tilted his head up to sneak a peek, you followed his movements, elevating yourself onto your tiptoes to block his vision in time.

“S-Soba noodles..! Cold! Just how you like them,” you answered after partially interrupting him. Quirking a brow at your fidgety gestures, Shouto stared at the smile etched on your lips which screamed of suspicion. Now he was sure something was up.

“Love,” he said, his voice a tone lower than usual that made goosebumps appear on your skin, staring at his turquoise and gray eyes warily, “are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Psh, no,” you feigned innocence, shrugging, “Why would you think that?”

Shouto gave you a look, silently telling you that you should more than know the reason why, but you chose to remain ignorant. No point in questioning it any further then. He would have to pry the answer out himself.

Aware that you had no intention of letting him pass voluntarily, Shouto began putting his hero training to use. He side-stepped in a single motion, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to slip through your defenses. You didn’t have time to ask yourself what happened before you turned around to watch his reaction to what you left for him on the kitchen counter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes were immediately drawn to the marbled white-and-pink sweets sprawled across the parchment paper. His interest piqued, he walked straight to the chocolates with you trailing behind. You could feel the heat in your cheeks slowly rise from the embarrassment at seeing Shouto inspect your sorry excuse of chocolates.

“Hm, no soba noodles, but I may have found something even better,” he said, and you wondered if you heard correctly or that maybe he saw something you didn’t. You rapidly blinked about four times, letting your vision adjust, and yet your chocolates remained.

“You’re kidding… right?”

Shouto lifted a brow at your hesitance. “No, why would I be kidding?” he replied thoughtfully. He took one of the chocolates off the parchment paper, raising it in the air between his thumb and index finger. “You made these for me, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be a Valentine’s Day gift, but…”

“But..?” A frown settled on his lips, watching you nervously twiddle your thumbs while you held your hands against your apron. “Y/n, you can tell me.” Not liking how you weren’t meeting his eyes, his finger drew your chin up so he could get a better glimpse of your face.

“But they don’t look the part. They’re hideous,” you quietly admitted, your words mellowing into a whisper the more they departed your lips. The way he treated your creations as if they belonged on a pedestal didn’t sit right in your eyes. “So I... didn’t want you to see them, or any of this actually. I thought if you saw what I was doing, you’d get your hopes up for something special, only to be disappointed.” You tried avoiding his gaze again, but Shouto wouldn’t allow it, following your eyes as his hand pried yours apart to take one in his own.

His focus shifted from the pink and white chocolate held in front of him to the uncertainty clouding your expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. They look fine to me.”

“Sho, you don’t have to lie to me just so you don’t end up hurting my feelings. Anyone can see how uneven they look,” you said, pointing at the rest of the batch still sitting on the counter behind him. There was a low chuckle coming from the male’s lips, one that you guessed was out of amusement, but you were too caught in your troubled feelings to be sure.

“Well, I have to admit, they don’t exactly resemble the perfect, visual representation of the chocolates you’d find at the store or anything,” he acknowledged with you mumbling an ‘I told you so’ in response before he continued, “but that’s the reason why I like them. That means you made them for me and there isn’t any chocolate like it. They’re one of a kind.”

His genuine words took you aback, eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed. You were too wrapped up in your need for perfection that you didn’t realize you could consider your efforts that way.

“Besides,” he threw the little bonbon in his mouth, “they taste great,” he said as the strawberry and white cream melted on his tongue with its rich sweetness.

Despite his praise, you thought he had only said that because you knew for a fact that the chocolates did at least pass in the taste department. “But what if they had tasted bad too? What would you have said then?” You were bold enough to question, though half-worried about his answer in the back of your head—worried that he would have to take back those sweet words of his.

“I still would have eaten them, regardless. I’d never waste anything you’ve made for me, you should know that. To me, these chocolates are the sweetest delight not because they’re the best looking or tasting, but because they came from you,” he answered earnestly, bending down to tuck a hair away from your stunned yet grateful appearance which looked as if you were nearly about to sigh out loud in relief. You brought your body into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you, lips pressed against your hair.

Shouto didn’t grant you much time to bask in your solace however, before beckoning you over to the kitchen counter. He wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

“Normally couples give each other milk chocolates on Valentine’s day. Any reason you decided on white and strawberry then?” Shouto noted, a grin on his lips as you seemed reluctant to reveal your reasoning—lips pursed and fingers playing with the hem of your apron.

“Well, they’re supposed to be your…” You finished by motioning at the crown of your head before pointing to his red and white locks.

Heh... Cute. The grin that was persistent on his features widened, and your response earned you a kiss on the cheek. “Thinking about me, huh?” he teased. You were more than aware of your intentions throughout your chocolate-making process, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less embarrassing when your motives came to light out of Shouto’s own mouth.

You pouted profusely, turning your face in the other direction as you nudged his arm. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest then?” you asked despite your demure demeanor. You couldn’t see it, but you were positive he was aiming that amused expression in your direction, leaning his head on his palm while his elbow was leveled on the counter.

“You made a lot of chocolates today, love. You don’t expect me to finish them all by myself, do you?” You heard the rustle of the parchment liner unsticking to something behind you. Then a finger poked your cheek, and out of curiosity, you followed where the disturbance came from, only to have a swirl of pink and white pushed past your lips.

“Mm..” you hummed surprisingly in delight at the harmonious strawberry and cream flavors coating your tastebuds.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got to taste them before you arrived home.” You rubbed the back of your head. “And um, I didn’t exactly make these from scratch...” You went about divulging your methods to him, explaining your usage of chocolate melts, which all in all saved you a lot of time, considering your earlier mishaps with the brownies—a misfortune you also confessed to as you side-eyed the trash bin.

The dual-haired male laughed with mirth at the disasters you tangled yourself into today. “Seemed like you had an eventful Valentine’s Day at home without me.”

He scanned over your outfit, consisting of a simple buttoned blouse and a pair of jeans. What caught his eye the most was the frilly, laced brown and pink apron tied around your body. You must have bought this specifically to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day because this was the first he’s seen you in this. Normally you’d wear those plain cotton aprons while you were cooking. Not something so charming and—dare he say—refreshing.

As you were continuing the conversation—going on about how vanquishing criminal organizations was more productive than whatever you were concocting at home—your words faded into the background. Shouto found it hard to focus on what you were saying, while your animated gestures seemed to enhance the shape of the apron against your body, emphasizing your physique.

Recalling the story you just mentioned, he imagined what the scene of you frantically dashing around the kitchen would look like as you wore this cute thing. Was it weird of him to hold fantasies of arriving home, being greeted by your endearing self donning this garment, dolled in its intricacies with a smile gracing the lips he oh so wanted to kiss every day?

Shouto would think so. He’s never heard of any anecdotes of this kind of behavior before. Perhaps it was how dainty and frilly the material appeared against your figure that stemmed such a risqué thought from him. If that was the case, then this apron was no different than lingerie. Or more specifically, those delicate lace babydolls you’d wear for him on those special occasions, in which you displayed the zenith of lust and vulnerability that rendered him a man ensnared by his need to utterly ravage you–

Fuck. Letting those imaginations cross his mind was a dangerous move. He felt himself getting hard, body exercising the willpower not to pounce and concede to his fantasies. Then again, no one could really blame him for thinking of his girlfriend this way on Valentine’s Day. Especially when you looked so damn cute right now that he could just eat you up.

“Shouto?” Your voice diverted his attention from the growing problem in his pants, though only for a moment. When his focus returned to you, all those lascivious thoughts buried in the back of his head made their way to the forefront again. Damn, did he have it bad.

“Is something wrong? You were zoning out for a bit.”

He shook his head, dispelling your concern. However, it was going to take more than that to sweep away the lust consuming his mind. “It’s nothing. More importantly, why don’t we continue tasting these chocolates?” Pulling up a stool, he took a seat next to the kitchen counter.

Just as you were going to mention that you needed to start on dinner soon, Shouto suddenly drew your body in between his parted legs. Thrown slightly off-balance, you instinctively held onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

You couldn’t help but notice the hand traveling up your legs as it situated itself on the back of your thigh, but the detail was abandoned as soon as it was manifested. The proximity between you two was too much not to overlook now. Shouto peered up at you with what you made out to be smoldering intensity, and the sight reduced you to shying away from his eyes again.

Of course, Shouto didn’t take a liking to that. With you so close, he didn’t want anything hindering his front seat viewing of your candid reactions. “Baby, look here,” he called to you. You followed his command, turning back to face the grin reaching his lips. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply but found another ball of marbled chocolate placed where words should’ve been.

Soft lips wrapped around him, Shouto had to fight back the urge to groan, feeling your tongue graze the pad of his thumb as he fed you the candy. His other hand, formerly occupied with rubbing subtle circles on your clothed flesh, wandered to the satin ribbon of your apron fashioned behind you.

It wasn’t long until you discerned the game he was playing through the fiery looks and frisky touching.

Well, enter player two.

You brought a hand to his wrist, keeping him there as your tongue made work at licking away the residual chocolate melted on his finger. You moved from his thumb to his index finger, noting not to miss anything with every flick as you confidently returned the heady expression with batted eyelashes.

Shouto breathed in silently through his nose, gritting his teeth, your sultry actions having an innate effect on him, to which you smirked at. There was a slight tug on the ribbon wrapped behind you. It wasn’t firm enough to where the knot came undone, but enough that you noticed his fixation on the material. If he was making an effort to exert some self-control, it was futile at this point. No doubt, he was going to take you before Valentine’s Day was over.

“Hmm, you’re right, these chocolates are pretty tasty. But it’s probably because you’re the one feeding them to me that they taste just soooo good,” you mused, adding a sensual tonality to your voice as you concluded your words with one last kitten lick.

The man before you bit the inside of his cheek, your voice alone making blood rush south. You little minx. He was going to make doubly sure you understood just what you were doing to him.

Finally releasing his hand, you reached over beside you to grab a chocolate off the parchment paper. “For you~” You giggled as you led the confection to Shouto’s mouth. He readily accepted your gift, lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers as the mellow flavors soothed his taste buds. He made a point of re-enacting your little show, tongue languidly lapping your fingers while he maintained steady eye contact. You shuddered at the wet warmth abiding your skin, the suffocating sexual tension in the air causing you to press your thighs together. The action was not overlooked by Shouto, who smiled amidst cleaning your fingers with every brush of his tongue.

“What’s wrong, love? You were so bold and talkative earlier. Cat got your tongue or something?” he teased. A smirk ran across the curl of his lips as his licks turned to kisses he planted on the back of your hand.

After finishing his task of lapping up every essence of sweetness off your skin, he lifted himself from the stool. Doing so made him stand tall over you, and he easily cornered you to where your back met the edge of the counter. Your wrist captured in one of his hands, he wove an arm around you, pulling your body into him.

“You know, there’s something I want to eat right now other than chocolates,” he confessed, forehead pressed to yours and glinted heterochromatic eyes latent with an insatiable hunger. The baritone of his voice sent shivers through your body and a throb aching in your core.

You innocently tilted your head at him. “Oh, is that so? And what would that be?”

He chuckled darkly at your redundant question.

“Why you of course, my love.”

The moment the words reached your ears, he lunged forward to seize your lips. You quickly followed in the sensual movements of his soft lips against yours like it was a practiced routine, not resisting his tongue prying its way into your mouth and submitting to the dance that made pleasure course through your veins.

A single tap on your thigh was your cue to hop into Shouto’s waiting grasp and wrap your arms around his neck. You pulled your bodies closer to where the few layers of clothing you both possessed did nothing to hide your enthusiasm for each other. You could feel your nipples under your bra stiffen at your arousal, growing more sensitive as you pressed your chest to him. Meanwhile, his hard erection shamelessly poked the inside of your thigh to which his grip was poised on remaining firm, grinding your lower half against him.

You expected this was where he intended to have you—right then and there in the middle of the kitchen—but to your surprise, Shouto had other plans. He navigated you two to the dining table as you continued feverishly making out with your legs wrapped around his waist. Never breaking the hot mingle of your lips, he carefully placed you on the edge. His hands were free to roam the expanse of your body, palming at places that elicited airy moans from you as he inscribed the niceties of your bonny apron into his memory. Though he cursed the unnecessary layers that obscured your beautiful flesh from him.

Finding the clothes still on you equally unbearable in the heat of your movements, you were on the same wavelength as him. You sought out the satin ribbon tied behind your back that kept the apron on your form, but before your fingertips could even reach the material to tug the knot loose, Shouto seized your wrists and led your hands away. Your face was scrunched with bewilderment by how sudden his actions were.

Shouto didn’t think he could have a fetish over something as ordinary and domestic as a decorative garment tied around your waist, but this Valentine’s Day was proving him otherwise. He was not about to pass an opportunity to absolutely ruin you in this pretty thing.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice deep and commanding.

“H-Huh? What about my clothes?” you stuttered, confused at first. You wanted to ask what spurred him to give such a demand, but you were too caught in the moment to think of objecting to his request (not that you had much choice anyway).

“Let me.” That was all he said before his hands sought after the waistband of your jeans and the buttons of your top. He pulled and undid the apparel until you were left in only your panties and that lovely apron. Your bra was quickly disposed of to the pile next to his feet thanks to the clip being located at the front this time, and he was eternally grateful for the convenience. You didn’t even have to mention anything for his own clothes to float above yours on the floor, sitting back on the table to admire his toned physique, now free for you to ogle in just his briefs.

His hooded, icy eyes concentrated on every aspect of your appearance. He didn’t dare miss a single detail in front of him—from your bare, flushed skin glowing beneath the light fixture to your aroused nipples shaped through the thin fabric. You were a sight Shouto would gladly worship for the rest of his life.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love, and I’m going to enjoy ravaging you until all you know is my name.”

His words alone were enough to send a tingle of anticipation to your cunt. You did not shrink at his assertiveness, instead embracing both yours and Shouto’s desires with open arms.

“You have me, Sho. I’m all yours.”

The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before inhaling and diving in. Your lips reencountered each other, continuing from where you left off with his tongue chasing after you. You laced your fingers in his soft hair to press him deeper to you as Shouto navigated down your neck. He sucked and licked at your skin; every tug he felt on his scalp compelled him to lay marks as he inched closer and closer to your breasts.

“Ahh.. Sho…” you mewled, feeling his hands grope one of your mounds and tease your slit through your panties. With no intention of letting this apron off your body, Shouto pushed the fabric concealing your chest inward to reveal a perky nipple, seeming excited to be covered by his mouth. Well, who was he to deny such exuberance, especially when he himself was hungry to taste?

Lips enclosing the stiffened nub, Shouto sucked and prodded with fervor. As you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your fingers pulled harder at his strands which he hummed in content at. The tip of his tongue circled your areola, making the slick clinging to your panties damper at the stimulation. The hand occupied between your thighs stroked you against the fabric before pulling it to the side to touch you directly.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed at the contact as Shouto did not hesitate to start pumping a finger into your pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet down here. Did my kisses and teasing do all this?”

You were too distracted by the precise movements of his fingers working through you to answer, words superseded by your wanton moans. “Keep making those pretty sounds, love. I want you to cry out as I’m ruining you.”

Your noises hit a crescendo when his fingers began curling inside you, stretching into places that lit stars behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit to intensify the fire building in your abdomen. Your back arched on the table as you grabbed onto Shouto’s free hand for dear life, already feeling that flame ready to ignite.

“Sho– Wait, I’m gonna–”

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. Coat my fingers with your cum,” he told you, increasing the speed of his thumb against your bundle of nerves as he continually hit that euphoric soft spot.

At his words, your pussy clenched hard around him, practically sucking him in. You threw your head back against the table, releasing a loud cry of his name as your orgasm engulfed your whole body with electrifying pleasure. Chest heaving up and down, your breaths sounded ragged as your vision went white before slowly adjusting to the light.

Shouto slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking at the layer of gloss. He observed your fucked-out state from above and admired his handiwork—your lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweaty skin adorned with his marks.

“You taste absolutely delicious, you know,” he said almost too sweetly, like he had immediately gotten drunk off drinking the remnants of your orgasm. And, of course, he had to let you know how delectable you were. Shouto provided you a sample by pressing his fingers to your lips. You obediently parted them, welcoming your essence on your tongue.

“Don’t you think so?”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. Shouto grinned, bending down to mix your flavor in each other’s mouths. He finally removed your ruined panties and slid them down your legs. But to no one’s surprise, the apron stayed on your person.

When you parted, Shouto gestured for you to get up from the table. In doing so, you had anticipated this would be the time to head straight to the bedroom, but the night continued to prove you wrong. Shouto was still famished.

“Stand up for a second, baby. I want to lay down as I have my meal.” You didn’t need to guess to know just what he wanted to satiate his appetite tonight.

Shouto laid himself flat across the table, the majority of his legs dangling off the edge. You, on the other hand, were apprehensive at his approach, cautiously wondering if your modest dining table could handle the rampant motions of two adult bodies on top of it at once. Should the legs give way and the table collapses, the gravity of your descent would put all your weight onto him. What if you hurt him as a result?

“Love, what’s the holdup?” your boyfriend called, breaking your train of thought, “Come, your throne awaits.” He patted his chest—a rather peculiar place to sit but your cunt pulsed at the image of you riding that gorgeous face of his.

“O-Okay, I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all,” you said, pulling at the hem of your apron for security.

He raised his upper body halfway to see the hesitance painted on your features. “Y/n, there’s no need to worry, I wouldn’t have thought of doing this if I couldn’t handle it,” he assured, his hand reaching out for you. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You stared at the hand hovering in front of you and then at Shouto’s eyes glimmering with faith, and you knew you could trust his word. So you take his hand, climbing onto the table and over his body where you straddled his chest.

“Dining tables are meant to be eaten on, right? Well, I intend to devour you until your legs are shaking beside me, sweetheart,” he promised. He stroked up and down your thighs tauntingly. Your breaths hitched as he maneuvered you above his face, moving the flap of your apron so you could feel his cold breath against your lower lips.

“As much as I appreciate all those confections you made for me, they all pale in comparison to the sweetest delight here–” He uttered praises to your core while rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. “This pretty, soft, and dripping pussy.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his lewd words and how close in proximity he was to your twitching center. The one thing you detested about this apron at this moment was the fact it blocked you from what Shouto was doing, the bottom half lying right above his face. To him, however, it made everything all the more entertaining.

Despite being the one trapped under you, it must have felt like you were more in the dark than he was. After all, he was the one asserting dominance in this situation, and with a layer of fabric hiding his face, you had no idea how or when he was going to eat you out. His deafening silence was not offering you one bit of reassurance either. If he truly intended to devour you atop this table, he should just do it already.

“...Sho? Are you—Ah!” Upon questioning him, your words were choked by your surprised squeal, feeling him delicately kiss your folds with chilly lips attached to your warm pussy. You opened your mouth to speak again, yet you struggled to search for words as Shouto’s tongue flattened against you, licking a long strip before latching onto your sensitive pearl. The more he relentlessly sucked and teased, the more you sang out with waves of pleasure quivering through your body.

Hearing your beautiful noises, he chuckled, tongue vibrating on your clit. Every sound you produced made his cock stutter, still leaking and begging for attention beneath his briefs.

Not liking how inactive you were—simply sitting on his face and waiting for yourself to come undone on his tongue—you reached behind yourself to trail your hand down his abdomen. His body tensed, abs immediately flexing at your soft touch. You noticed his ministrations falter in their rhythm.

“B-Baby, what are you doing?” he questioned, pulling himself off of you to concentrate on your hand running along the waistband of his briefs. His fingers dug into your flesh as you found his length, tentatively giving it a pump that gave birth to a strained noise below the flap of your apron.

“You’ve been doing all the work so far, Sho. I just want you to enjoy yourself,” you said. His eyebrows were scrunched, hissing through his teeth at your thumb grazing his slit, mixing his precum around the tip.

“I am enjoying myself—this is all I could ever ask for,” he replied honestly. He lifted the frilly material off his face so you could discover your slick running down his lips and neck, the blush spread across his fair cheeks an more than sufficient indication that he derived nothing but delight from being in this position. He looked like an absolute mess, yet the debauched sight made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“But if you want to join in, I won’t stop you.”

At that, Shouto detached himself from your sweetness for just a second to quickly reposition you above him. You were adjusted to where you were practically on all fours on the table now, facing the prominent bulge raised on his briefs while your fluttering cunt was somehow even more obscenely split in front of him. You were thankful the piece of furniture stayed intact throughout the motions, pleasantly astounded by its strength. However, you couldn’t pause to be impressed by this detail for long. Not when Shouto’s aching erection pleaded for you to continue touching it.

Your hand returned to its original place—wrapped around his heavy length that wept with precum coating the surface of its mushroom top. As you stroked it up and down in a consistent rhythm, you altered your grip to tighten more around him.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that… Ahhhh, fuckkkk—” You were rewarded by his praises and groans at the splendid pressure surrounding his dick. It encouraged you to keep up your pace and add another hand to the fray to increase the tension.

“You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good, love. Can you add your mouth for me now?” he requested, and you happily complied. Your tongue flattened against his cock, noting every vein and twitch running across your wet muscle that reduced Shouto to muttering obscenities behind you. Reaching the top, you swirled your tongue along the tip before taking the entire head into your warm cavern. Shouto’s thighs flexed, body almost trembling at how heavenly you made him feel. He couldn’t be outdone.

You let out a whine on his cock, feeling his mouth working against you again. This time you felt the effects stronger than before as Shouto spread your pussy lips to grant him better access to tongue fuck you. He stimulated every sensitive area with practiced ease, making sure to flick your clit with extra vigor to achieve the best results. You delivered in your reactions—legs shaking and knees slowly and deliberately being reduced to jelly.

Even ensnared in ecstasy, you did your best to adapt to his intensity, engulfing him more into your mouth. Your hands worked together to maximize the most pleasure you could give him, fondling his balls and gripping the base of his cock.

The lewdest of sounds filled the room in an unrelenting symphony. From your muffled whimpers to your pussy squelching in the presence of Shouto’s mouth purring against you, there was no shortage of bliss evident in the atmosphere. Hearing yourselves in the throes of rapture as you devoured each other’s whole beings like starved animals, you two were simultaneously climbing toward your highs.

“Shit, keep doing just that baby, and I’m going to paint that pretty mouth of yours white,” he warned half-heartedly. You purred, the enthusiasm laced your tone informing Shouto you wanted him to do just that. He was pleased by your response.

“You want it, don’t you, you slutty girl? Well, I expect you to drown me in your honey while I cover your throat with my cum then.” Those were the last words he spared you before proceeding to manifest them into reality. His hands dug themselves in the flesh below your ass cheeks, exposing your pussy to his appendage that swiped away at your clit until shockwaves made you tremble above him.

You were the first to come undone, juices running down your thighs and boyfriend’s chin. Your cries were muffled amidst Shouto’s dick caught down your throat, tightening around his length, which surged with spurts of white all over your mouth. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, wiping at the excess on your lips as you released the hero’s cock with a loud pop.

After taking a moment to catch your breaths, you carefully moved off of each other. Shouto steadied you on his lap, letting you straddle him as he sat on the edge of the table. He intertwined your fingers through his and brought them to his lips to place a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Shouto. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #mha smut #bnha fic #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki imagine #mha x reader

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merakiui · 3 years

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Tell me why I woke up with a fever and the first thing that I want rn is yan!Scara to take care of me

Imagine you’re yan!Scaramouche’s darling who’s being kept within his estate in Inazuma. While he’s off traveling for the Fatui, you’re stuck in a place that’s filled with the same boring things: same servants, same scenery, same everything. You don’t really do much while he’s gone, merely following a simple routine of wake up, eat, wash up, and then sleep. You’re just existing within this large house, patiently awaiting the day when he’ll return.

On one specific evening, when the servants have all retired for the night, you decide to wander the halls in search of an exit. The idea of an escape never occurs to you in your pursuit for some fresh air, but once you’re outside, standing under an awning to avoid the rainfall, you realize this could be your chance. You can finally escape the cruelty of a man you hold no love for. There’s nothing stopping you from running far away from him, possibly to another nation entirely. The prospect of a new life fuels your legs with energy and it moves you forward into the rain.

Of course, you don’t get as far as you would’ve hoped. Your poor sense of direction causes you to become lost quickly and your thin night clothes are soaked from the rain. In no time, you’re shivering from the chill that settles into your bones. Sadly, you’re kicking yourself for giving up so easily, enticed by the idea of a warm bath, and so you head back in the direction of Scaramouche’s estate. You surmise a successful escape attempt should be made when the weather’s nicer and you’re in proper clothes.

As luck would have it, you wake up with a cold and Scaramouche arrives that next morning with the intention of spending every second with his precious darling. He’s a little confused when he realizes you’ve fallen ill and when he demands an explanation from the servants they all shrug, offering the thought that it might just be a result of the changing weather. He’s a little aggravated that you’re sick and now he can’t do everything he wanted to do with you, unless he wants to risk getting sick as well, so he wants you to recover soon. Preferably before the week ends.

The servants offer to take care of you while he’s here so that you can recover as quickly as possible. To your surprise, Scaramouche just shakes his head and mutters something about how he’ll do it because everyone else is insufficient. For the next few days you’re confined to your bed and the only person you see is him. In the beginning he nagged you about getting sick, saying every complaint that crossed his mind. But eventually he stops complaining altogether and he seems a little softer than normal.

He brings you your meals (which he cooked himself but you don’t know that) and he sits and watches as you eat. Scaramouche is going to make sure you get well, so if you feel too sick to eat that’s a you problem. He doesn’t want you to skip any meals, nor does he want you to become dehydrated. It’s awkward when he tends to you, displaying a side you’ve never witnessed before.

And as you start to recover from your cold, relieved that you’re no longer coughing or tossing and turning in bed because you’re wrought with a fever, he slowly returns to his normal self. Nurse Scaramouche was nice was it lasted. Secretly, you wish you could see this side of him for a little longer. It was pleasant to wake up in the late hours of the night to find him napping in a chair at your bedside, as he has stubbornly refused to leave the room until you fell asleep.

Scaramouche is glad to see you back on your feet a few days later. Although it does bother him that he lost time because of your sudden sickness, he figures the time he has left is good enough. And when you’re eating breakfast together, he tells you all about his most recent travels and how you’d love the scenery if you saw it. You’re just nodding along with what he says, exhausted from entertaining him the night prior. Perhaps he senses your unfocused nature or he simply wants to mess with you. Whatever the case may be, he smoothly switches the direction of the conversation and that’s when your peaceful morning becomes filled with anxiety.

Your attention snaps back to him when he asks if you tried to escape that night—he’s certain you got lost in the rain and thus the coldness brought on your illness—and you’re calmly denying such an accusation, hoping he won’t see through your façade. Scaramouche gives you a sharp smile, idly poking at what remains of his breakfast with his utensil.

So you didn’t escape after all? Well, that’s a relief. Then it was a greedy maid who tried to paint you in a bad light. Surely you won’t mind if she loses her tongue for daring to utter such blatant lies. He knows you wouldn’t make the same mistake and spread a falsified version of the truth. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come clean without a second thought.

And if you continue to lie he’ll give you something to be truly sick about. So be wise when you make your decisions. There are eyes and ears everywhere, you know.

#chit chat #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

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CAN I JUST SAY THAT YOUR WRITING IS AMAZING????? Its so detailed with a great flow and filled with so much emotion I LOVE ITTTT!! You got me lying in bed tossing and turning with “in pursuit of knowledge” 🥰🥰 that’s my favourite one I really hope you continue it!

Can I request one of the upcoming chapter to explore more on how Zhongli and reader first meet and what are the other things they did that made him fall for them more and more each day? Zhongli doesn’t seem to be the kind that falls in love at first sight so I’m interested to see how the reader seems to have slowly crawled her way into his stone heart UGHHH ❤️❤️😩😩 It can be filled with fluff or with smut, up to you! Thank you so much ❤️

Thank you! You can keep on tossing and turning then with this! I also head canon that when it comes to love, Zhongli wouldn't fall in love at first sight but instead he'd be like a snail. The entire time I'm writing this I thought long and hard on how to proceed because I couldn't decide on a satisfactory way Zhongli would meet reader. I already knew that it would be a speed run of Enemies to Friends, and slow burn Friends to Lovers. So I wanted their first meeting to be seemingly unremarkable to Zhongli.

In Pursuit of Duty

Summary: The simplest of things can lead to the greatest moments of our life. Meeting you was Zhongli's greatest fortune.

There were a few mortals in Zhongli’s life, both as an Archon and on the few occasions he mingled with humans, that were able to capture his attention or even his praise. And in all of his life, mortal and divine, no one was able to capture his enmity in the way you did.

“Would it really matter what Rex Lapis thinks if we entered and fucked around the domain in Guyun stone forest?”

Zhongli blinked, aghast at your tone as Childe covered his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“What?” You asked the two of them as if you had not merely suggested tampering with the seals of Guyun Stone Forest.

“The entire place is home to the fallen gods” Zhongli reminded you “a graveyard for those who died in the Archon War”

“It’s been decades, they should be already on the reincarnation wheel at this point” You waved his worries off, sending Childe to another fit of laughter while Zhongli felt indignant “‘sides Rex Lapis is busy doing fuck knows what he probably wouldn’t even notice if one of the seals got messed with unless one of the dead Gods decide to fuck shit up”

Zhongli, who was very much Rex Lapis in disguise, very much noticed it and though he was the one who orchestrated this whole scenario, felt no less than pleased with the attitude you were having.

“The dead still deserve to be respected!” Zhongli insisted as he blocked your hand from reaching towards one of the seals.

“You stick in the mud! You make it sound like I’m defiling their graves or something!” You whined “Besides the Heavens must be willing if they had a stray seal plaster itself on my face!”

“It was a ruined seal. The divine powers had long since dwindled from it. Thus, the Heavens had no hand on it” Zhongli stubbornly insisted as he moved to block your path.

On the side, Childe was still laughing loudly.

“That’s it! Fight me you bastard!” You shouted as you took a few steps back and summoned the elements to form your weapon, a spear.

And really, it was almost funny in hindsight, how you would choose his weapon of all things. The one weapon he was best at among others but right now, in this moment, Zhongli had felt more than annoyed.

“Very well” His spear, dragon’s bane, at his side “I accept your challenge.”

There were a few opponents in his life that gave Zhongli a thrill of the battle. Ever fewer were able to make the gears in his head turn as quickly as it did when facing you, each strike of your spear was clearly aiming for his life, and yet the look in your eyes didn’t carry a single thought of murder.

It was frustrating. It was Confusing. It was, most of all, fascinating.

Fighting you brought him back to the days before the Archon Wars, where the Gods of Liyue were at a semblance of peace. It made him remember the joy of fighting someone your equal, it made his blood rush in a way that it had almost forgotten. And Zhongli was starting to see that beyond your heretical ways, behind your annoying mask of affability, was someone who can walk in the path of the divine.

‘No, you would walk in it for the sake of your knowledge’ Zhongli thought as he blocked your attack and moved his feet to kick you in your stomach.

“This ends here” Zhongli declared as he summoned a steele behind your back.

The sound of your back hitting it rang loudly in the air but the look on your face was something he would never forget in a long while.

You spat out blood, shakily standing up from your position, “You win this round! But I swear on Rex Lapis’ six pack abs I’ll find a way to replicate that fucking seal!”

And then you were gone in a spark of electro.

The peaceful sound of waves remained in the air that somehow hung heavy. Childe had stopped laughing and was looking confused as he mused, “That’s the first time in a long while I’ve seen them look like that.”

Zhongli paid no attention to his words and instead picked up the abandoned seal and returned it to its proper position.

“Interesting” Childe muttered, softly and slightly ominous to Zhongli’s ears.

What he found interesting was something Zhongli wisely decided to not entertain. He really hoped that today would be the last time he’d ever have to be in the presence of Childe’s...friend.

For his part, Childe had no regrets in introducing Zhongli to you, or rather having Zhongli experience the misfortune of knowing you. From the moment Childe had met you again, he knew that his life would be thrown out of whatever carefully calculated plan Pulcinella had made. And it was one he was happy with, if the rumors in Snezhnaya had him part of the chaos then you were chaos incarnate.

It was precisely the reason why Childe had brought Zhongli with him when meeting you in the Guyun Stone Forest.

“A friend of mine, an expert in the ways of the divine and assorted knowledge, would lend us their skills in challenging the...impossible, shall we say” Childe said on the way “Most of their thoughts are heretical, almost, but well no one has ever said it wasn’t effective in reaching the desired result.”

“Ah, a researcher from Sumeru then?” Zhongli had asked, the light in eyes glinting in interest.

“Of sorts” Childe answered because as much as you stayed in Sumeru, most of your knowledge had come from your own experiments and cases from clients seeking answers the divine could not give.

This was why you were almost heretical.

“I must warn you that for them the sacred can be profaned and the profane can be sacred” Childe added as they reached the shores of Guyun Stone Forest, and found you basking under the gentle rays of sunlight in front of the Domain.

Zhongli stared at you, the sight of you head looking up with your eyes closed as it felt the warmth of the sunlight. Geo crystalflies surrounding you as a light breeze had the ends of your hair fluttering in the wind.

“Who is that?” Zhongli asked.

“My friend, the infamous Xiézhihuā Mìngfù of Liyue” Childe answered.

In that exact moment, you slowly opened your eyes, lashes fluttering softly as you blinked. The wind blew and a rain of leaves fell on you, gentle and calm as you stared at them.

Like an ill-fated omen, Zhongli began to notice you on the streets of Liyue Harbor. Rumors and words of your deeds would reach his ears, on occasion some of your cases would be told in the tea houses.

“Miracle” a few bystanders would say.

“Heretical” the few devout traditionalists would mutter in hushed tones.

But all agreed that you were a genius. An innovator that brought changes like a storm. You gathered envy and admiration in your wake, foreign nobles and dignitaries seeking you out for consultations or to ask for your help. And yet, for all of your infamy and prestige, Zhongli often found you amidst the crowd of orphans or Liyue’s slum dwellers.

Sometimes, Childe was with you, other times it was Director Hu and her friends, the second young master of the Feiyun Guild and the exorcist. In one memorable moment, Yanfei. But more often than not you were by yourself, answering questions from children with a pleasant smile and mischievous glint in your eyes.

It was such a huge contrast from the one he first met that it made Zhongli pause and observe you from afar. Enough times that those around him would say, “No need for alarm, Mr. Zhongli. Xiézhihuā Mìngfù is honorable.”

It was those words that made him ponder. For all of your borderline heretical actions, miracle works that trespass on the Divine, the entirety of Liyue agreed that you were honorable.

It wasn’t until Childe had asked for his help did he cross paths with you again. Weeks of avoiding you to maintain peace were all for naught when he found himself in your presence once more. A jar of osmanthus wine on your hand and an ingratiating smile on your face, you offered it to him and said, “Osmanthus wine, I’ll give this to you so don’t be a stick in the mud!”

In his youth, he would have immediately brawled with you. But now, Zhongli settled for drinking a cup of tea with contempt as much as the act could convey. Your laughter, melodious, rang in the private room of Liuli Pavillion.

“Aiyo! What a tough crowd!” You said as you sat opposite him and placed the bottle in the center of the table, “Then shall we begin anew? My birth name is a secret, my courtesy name is a secret, my title is Xiézhihuā Mìngfù! Xié for Heretic, zhi for knowledge, and huā for flower!”

“What kind of introduction is that?” Childe teased as he began his battle with chopsticks.

“An unforgettable one!” You replied, sending a wink to Zhongli who merely pursed his lips.

“I am Zhongli, a consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.”

You smiled and decided to leave the matter at that, somethings could not be forced. So you retreated and decided to just straightforwardly tell him your intentions.

“I’ve heard that Mr. Zhongli is knowledgeable in Liyue’s history.”

Zhongli could sense your sincerity, it placated him a bit, made the dismal first meeting a little bit better. So he tries because he is magnanimous and there was no reason to burn a bridge, “I am merely remembering what others have forgotten.”

He looked at you in the eyes, drawn to the way your eyes burn bright with curiosity. It reminded him of Guizhong so he shakes the thought away because the dead and the living must not be compared. But as the conversation grows long, the topics eventually shift from the job to everything else, Zhongli can’t help but notice your innate desire to help those who are unfortunate.

Somehow it made him understand why you were seen as honorable. It wasn’t until all of you were facing unknown danger did he realize what it truly meant when used on you.

The case you were asking was slightly connected with Childe’s job for you. The case was about the sudden deaths of several brides that were kidnapped and found dead at an abandoned temple. No one had reported it to the Qixing until one of the victims involved was a distant relative of a Qixing who was to be wedded to one of the Szehnayan Merchants.

Childe had taken the chance to offer aide, calling for your help as one of the known detectives of Fontaine. It had surprised Zhongli, and made him respect you but all of it was quickly thrown away when you had given him a cheeky wink and said, “I can even tell how big a man’s dick is.”

“Shameless” He had admonished and yet he was unaware of the small smile he wore on his face.

The investigation led the three of you to a small village in the mountain, with a local shrine that was dedicated to an old god that even Zhongli had never heard of. The three of you had pored over legends passed down by mouth, discussing and comparing with the records found in Liyue’s public library and scholars. Childe, through his seemingly endless funds, had paid for information on every victim so far that wasn’t in the packet given by the millelith. Zhongli, with his seemingly endless connections, had talked to everyone and anyone that had studied Liyue’s countless lores and legends. And you had talked with the family of the victims, investigating the crime scene and connecting everything that could lead to an answer.

That was how Zhongli found you, messed up clothes and tired eyes poring over documents in the middle of discarded papers that laid on the dark wood floor of your secluded residence in Minlin.

“Have you not slept?” Zhongli asked, frowning as he made his way towards you.

“Not yet” You answered as you got up and discarded the paper you were reading to go to your wide cork board that held all the relevant information you had, “I’m close to figuring out what sort of deity or demon we’re going to fight.”

“What about the reason?”

“Solved it ages ago” You answered carelessly, pointing at the left corner of the board.

Zhongli went over and flitted through the papers on that side until he found what he was looking for.

“A vengeful bride?”

“Mn” You replied as you removed a pin and replaced the paper with an old newspaper clipping “There was a record of a previous incident however the Ghost of that time was listed as defeated. The stories all claim that the ghost was of savage rank, and disappeared after letting go of their obsession.”

“Then it returned?” Zhongli turned to you, alarmed and visibly frowning.

“No.”

You sighed and rubbed your aching forehead, “This was a man made disaster that went out of hand, I’m sure that whoever started this is probably dead. Chances are the first death awakened a sealed something” You looked at him, eyes serious “I’m figuring out just how old this thing is and what exactly are we going to face.”

“...The older it is…”

“The harder it would be to defeat it. Liyue’s lands are drenched in blood. Old grudges mixed with new ones from the Archon Wars. With cultivation clans dying out and having a single yaksha around, the karmic cycle of Liyue is already out of balance” You revealed and Zhongli was amazed with your discovery.

“Is there anything Rex Lapis could do?”

“...Fixing the karmic cycle? None. Solving this? His dragon qi would only end up being corrupted or he’d be punished by the Heavenly Dao. Time has changed a lot of things, but the rule that the Gods may not interfere with the mortal realm remains true.”

Both of you remained silent, You stared blankly at your board while Zhongli watched you. The heavy air from your words made your heart heavy, and Zhongli could see it. The fear that lingered in your eyes, the firm determination to save lives.

It left a ripple in the calm waters of his heart. A small unnoticeable ripple.

“Is it worth it?” Zhongli asked “Is it worth betting on your life to save the common people?”

You smiled at him, almost pitying, “To an adeptus like you, the amount of times mortals would bet on their lives to save others must be few, but Zhongli...I am the sort to always think that the common people are worthy.”

At that moment, Guizhong’s words echoed in his mind.

“Let me help you.”

A red sedan trudges up the mountain path, intending to pass through the temple. Behind the bridal sedan was a short entourage carrying three chests of dowry. In front of the sedan, were two people beating drums to celebrate the auspicious day.

Zhongli, Baizhu, and the Fatui disguised as locals were on alert as it watched the ominous trees of the mountain road. You sat inside the sedan, meditating in lotus position. Chongyun and Xingqiu were waiting in the temple where the zombified bodies of the previous brides were found. You had advised Ajax to not participate in the inevitable battle. Ensuring the possibility that his abyssal powers would react badly with ancient powers. With all of the preparations, you hoped that the odds would be in your favor.

You sighed softly, eyes opening as you felt the air change. You readied your weapon as soon as you heard the sounds of fighting.

The door opens and you throw out a talisman. In a quick move you stepped out, geo shield forming around you as you began plucking the strings of the Guqin. You looked at your enemy and found your heart easing up.

What stood before you was neither an ancient deity or demon, but rather a ghost on the verge of breaking through the Malice Rank.

“Don’t fear! We can subdue this one!” You informed your party, as you played the Sound of Vanquish.

Vines subdued the ghost, wearing the red robes of a groom. The Fatui began surrounding the ghost. Nine stone pillars acted as the foundation of the seal, pulsing with geo energy.

You felt rather than saw Chongyun come close, allowing you to draw upon his yang energy to balance out the pure yin energy of the ghost. Xingqiu stood on standby ready to recite the incantation for parting in case the seal fails.

The final notes of the song lingered in the air as Zhongli walked towards you, eyes never leaving the ghost, “I thought it was a bride.”

“A minor mistake” You replied as you played Inquiry.

‘Who are you’

The ghost didn’t answer.

‘Who are you’ you repeated the question.

‘Kill me’ it answered.

Your hands stilled in the air. You sighed and looked up from the strings and found yourself staring straight at the eyes of the ghost. Stunned at the mixture of emotions in its eyes.

“...There is no need to surrender to despair, your soul can still be saved.”

The ghost gave a mocking smile, “So what? My Chang’er is gone. We can never meet again in this life or the next.”

Zhongli’s eyes widened at the implication, just as Chongyun let out a small gasp. You felt your heart turn heavy even so you soldiered on, there was a need to find out the cause of this tragedy.

“Then tell me, why did you kill those women?”

“They deserved it!” The ghost screamed in anger, “They killed her! They killed her like she was nothing! Chang’er was innocent! They knew she was innocent and still-”

“You could have reported to the Millelith!” Chongyun said.

Cold mocking laughter rang loudly in the air, in it you could hear the bitterness of defeat and anger.

“Would it have done anything when the person behind this is an official? You’re too naive, boy!”

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and decided to shield Chongyun from one of the dark sides of Liyue.

“Are you really forsaking salvation?”

“Yes.”

Zhongli watched as you walked towards the ghost and asked its name. He watched as the ghost whispered its name and you nodded before raising your hands, your index and middle finger pointing towards the sky, while the rest were closed.

Light gathered on your finger tips, the air charged with spiritual energy that was not of Celestial origin. It was an ancient divine power that Zhongli used to feel before he ascended to the peak of cultivation as a dragon.

With one downward stroke, the light slashed through the ghost. The light was so blinding that Zhongli had to shield his eyes as he watched the ghost turn into dust, its soul scattering to the wind. Your back stood straight, your hair gently fluttering.

Even though you were expressionless, Zhongli felt the heaviness of your heart. Despite that your eyes remained strong, unyielding as righteousness burned in your eyes. He watched as you strode in Ningguang’s jade chamber, as you reported your findings.

He accompanied you in going back to the village where it all began as you read the Liyue Qixing’s edict. He watched as you went beyond what Childe asked and went to the unmarked grave of Chang’er, offering incense on the blood stained stones of the temple.

He went with you as you sat on the highest mountain peak in Bishui, looking at the horizon with a blank look in your eyes. He didn’t speak and instead poured you a cup of osmanthus wine and silently waited.

“...Sometimes, I wonder if I can remain in the path of righteousness” You spoke, “I can never understand the hearts of humans, how could they easily ruin someone’s reputation, ruin someone’s life because of greed? I can’t understand why there was a need to go as far as scattering the soul?”

You cried without any tears, and Zhongli remained silent, unable to answer something he had always witnessed in his long life.

“Have you changed your answer?” He asked as he stared at his cup of wine.

“No” You replied and Zhongli could hear the self-mockery in your tone, “Even if one day I find myself in unbearable pain, I’ll never stop believing that the common people are worthy of saving.”

You looked at Zhongli, solemn in your bearing as the sun disappeared in the sky “Zhongli, no one has the right to decide on the outcome of human lives. Be it human or adepti.”

Zhongli thought back to the case, the sad story of two lovers who parted eternally because of jealousy and greed. The greediness of an official’s son for a woman who had no affection for him, the jealousy of the ladies over the popular young scholar. The selfish righteousness of the village folk that stoned an innocent woman to death over ruined reputation.

Zhongli thought of his contract. He wondered for a moment what you would say to him if knew that he dared to bet on the safety of Liyue and its people.

He closed his eyes and drank the wine that still tasted as he remembered.

“I pray that your heart remains in paradise.”

You toasted him and smiled softly. Zhongli vowed to never forget how beautiful you looked in that moment, with the slight smile gracing your lips as you drank the osmanthus wine.

The moon was beautiful that night.

Zhongli watched from afar as Osial rose. His thoughts echoing to the oath you swore that day in Guyun. A part of his heart felt sad and yet in awe of what you had accomplished.

He watched as the Millelith, Adepti and Fatui worked together to evacuate the civilians. He watched as humans and adepti fought together to bring down Osial once more. He felt proud and relieved at the result, glad at the knowledge that Liyue had no need of him anymore and yet a part of him felt trepidation.

The knowledge that the Age of Archons was drawing to a close. He thought of you, a beloved child of the Heavens, who could boldly declare that the Gods can be wrong. He thought of the words you spoke that night.

He thought of the days he spent with you, the rare times he went along with your tricks and harmless schemes. The easy way the two of you became friends. You were the first person he had easily became friends with, he mused at how quickly his dislike of you melted into fondness.

The way his heart had pinched when you said he wasn’t fun. The elation from being one of the few people you found interesting. He thought all of this as he handed his gnosis, as he kept his reason a secret. He thought of this as he looked around Liyue that had no need of him anymore, he thought of you as his feet automatically walked to where you were.

He stood away from you, watching as you cared for the wounded and then silently left. He spent the aftermath ruminating on his decision, on his actions while silently watching your actions with Childe during the last week of his stay in Liyue.

He waited for you to come to him, and ask him the question he could not answer. He steeled his heart and yet when you came to him, you didn’t ask and instead began talking about your recent adventures, asking him of his days and Zhongli didn’t know what to feel.

He knew that you knew nothing then. That you remained unaware of the truth but he let himself believe that you didn’t mind. So he spent his days with you, silently caring for you, protecting you in his own way.

He let himself bask in your vibrant presence, allowed himself to savor the feeling of watching you walk the path of righteousness. He unknowingly and willingly let you walk inside his heart, step by step, with each moment you spent helping others.

The days spent by your side, knowing the parts of yourself that no one else knew was the closest he felt in being mortal. It was so easy to forget that you remained ignorant when he spent his time worrying about your ability to be where chaos was, when his heart was easily influenced by you.

But now, in the privacy of the Dwelling in the Clouds, Zhongli watched as you grew disappointed. Your soft laughter filled with heartbreak and weariness broke his heart for reasons he couldn’t understand.

He regretted not telling you the truth when he had the chance.

He hated how he had no right to wipe away your tears even though he had spent countless nights and days warming your bed.

“Zhongli, I hate how I can understand why you did it” Your voice was so soft “Really, as an Archon you are undeniably good, you are peerless in that regard.”

He closed his eyes and readied himself for your next words.

“But I can’t call you a good person. Human lives aren’t something you should bet on so easily, no matter how careful you are” Your disappointment, your grief, and your weariness were all visible in your tone and body language.

He remained where he stood, watching as you descended. Each step breaking his heart as he slowly understood what you meant to him. He cried silently as you disappeared below the clouds and slowly sank on the ground.

For the first time in his life, Zhongli didn’t know what to do. There was no one he could turn to. He dreaded going back to a cold empty house devoid of you. He feared going back to the days that were dull, to a time where you did not exist in his life.

Where the sound of your voice was not commonplace, or the comforting scent of your magic that lingered in the space you occupied.

Zhongli laughed, loud and unrestrained, mocking himself for his stupidity. He hated how he didn’t realize it sooner, if he did then perhaps things would not turn out this way. He cried with all of his broken heart as he remembered the loneliness in your eyes.

He drank his sorrows away and as daylight broke through the clouds, he stumbled his way home. To the place that was devoid of you who he loved.

He fell on his bed that still smelled like you and silently cried himself to sleep.

He was already missing you dearly.

You stared at Zhongli, eyes distant as he stood in front of your door. A distant part of you wondered if things could be fixed, if the two of you could move forward from this pain.

But the rest of you were waiting for further disappointment, you knew the bone-deep pride of Gods. You understood that there was a bigger chance that Zhongli would cease contact with you, no one can easily put down years of habit and thought as a god so easily.

And yet as Zhongli stood beneath you, looking up to you. You couldn’t help but hope.

“...I can’t apologize for what I did” Zhongli began, “I don’t regret doing it the way I planned but I regret that I didn’t think of another way to test my people.”

You remained silent.

“I asked you once if the common people are worthy, the truth is I don’t know whether I find them worthy or not...but with you…” Zhongli trailed off, he felt that his next words were heavy.

He was afraid of laying his heart bare to you. The deepest parts of him that he didn’t fully understand, “I know that your life alone is worthy. I am a being born from rock, gaining humanity through cultivation. My heart is made of stone, softened by the dust. I don’t know if I would ever understand what being human means and everything it entails…”

You stared at him, unmoving, silently and patiently hearing him out.

“But I know that the only way I can keep on being with you is by changing this stone heart. So please, let me walk by your side, protecting you and your belief.”

Zhongli bent his waist, solemnly asking for your forgiveness and acceptance. He heard your footsteps coming closer and swore to himself to accept whatever the outcome would be.

“Stand straight.”

He stood and then he found himself in your embrace, your familiar scent filled his nose and Zhongli gently and firmly hugged you back. He held you fearing that all of it was an illusion.

“Let me learn how to be good while staying by your side” He whispered.

“I was afraid” You replied “of how easily you can decide on the outcome of your people’s life and death.”

You hugged him tighter, “I know that you still have secrets that you can’t tell. That even as you live as a mortal, the consequences of your actions as an Archon is something you would live with for the rest of your life. So I won’t judge you for that but Zhongli, I can’t be with someone who can easily bet on other’s life.”

“I understand.”

He thought of your words in Qingyun Peak, your confession that night in Minlin. He thought of the day he met you. He thought of the words he said in that temple ruin.

Zhongli understood what it meant to walk by your side, to take the same path as you did. He knew that from this moment onwards he would never be able to untangle himself from you.There was no room for anything else in his heart that was filled with you. It would always remain with you even if one day his entire being ends up in the abyss.

‘As long as your heart remains in paradise, I don’t mind letting myself fall into the abyss.

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact zhongli x reader

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

I request fluffy fluffity fluff with feverish, injured villain, hero caretaker, painkillers and a kitten. Please.

This is so cute ヾ(•ω•`)o I don’t write a lot of fluff, but this is some cute cute sick fic. Hero caretaker? Check. Painkillers? Check. A kitten? You know it! Thanks so much for the ask!!

CW//Fevers, injury mention, intoxicated/feverish character, painkillers

The text had been unexpected, to say the least.

That wasn’t to say that Hero wasn’t unused to receiving messages, especially strange messages. Half of the time, a buzz on their phone indicated that they were about to have the record for ‘weirdest thing they’ve ever seen’ broken.

Yet, this text said nothing of giant lizards attacking downtown, or a mad scientist’s experiment gone wrong. So, perhaps, to a normal civilian, it would have been quite a normal message to receive.

“Hey, Hero? I have a really big favor to ask.”

From another hero, it would have been quite the daunting request. But, it was not from another hero. At least, not in the traditional sense.

Hero had known Doctor for quite some time-- hell, every powered person in the city knew Doctor. In some ways, they were more of a hero than the rest of them, put together. While most hospitals flinched and scurried away from the world of villains and vigilantes, Doctor embraced them wholeheartedly.

A particularly egregious wound, carved in the heat of battle? A power malfunction? Any one of these things could result in the doctor being awoken in the middle of the night, an exhausted, limping hero upon their doorstep.

Or, a villain. Doctor insisted upon making their policy for such things very, very clear. Adamantly, they refused to involve themself in the matters of heroes and villains. Their battles, their allegiances, to the doctor were all naught. As they explained it, no matter one’s actions, no matter their beliefs, no one deserved to have their wounds go untreated.

Thus, their home had quickly become a neutral ground. Lifelong sworn nemeses could have their injuries wrapped mere feet from one another, and not one glare would be shot. In Doctor’s presence, there were no heroes or villains. Only patients. Only those who needed aid.

But, it was the first time that Hero had been on the receiving end of such a request. Of course, they were not about to refuse the doctor. With how much help they had given them, it would only be right to return the favor.

“What is it?” Hero tapped in reply.

Given the length of the doctor’s response, the three dancing progress buttons hung on Hero’s screen for far too long.

“Do you know Villain?”

It wasn’t a name they’d ever expect to hear in a conversation so casual. Villain. Though Hero did not consider themself to truly have a nemesis, if they had to define one, it was Villain who would be on the very tippy top of their list.

That was, especially after their battle the day prior. Their wounds still screamed at them, no matter how they tried to quiet them with painkillers and icepacks.

“I know Villain.” Hero replied simply.

“Okay. Do you think you could take care of them for a few hours?”

Instantly, the conversation shot up to the top of their list of ‘strangest possible talks to have over the phone.’

Take care of them? Take care of Villain? What cold they have possibly gotten themself into that required Hero, of all people, to aid them?

Then again, they had looked quite rough after their battle...

They had no need to question, as Doctor continued on their own:

“They’re sick. I need to go to work, but they shouldn’t be left alone, right now. I know it’s a big favor, but they need this, Hero.”

They bit their lip.

As a protector of the city, they had a very, very long list of priorities, and upon that list, helping Villain in any way, shape, or form was at the very bottom. Helping Doctor, on the other hand...

“Okay.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was only upon arriving to front door of Doctor’s home that Hero had a rather odd realization: Never before had they been to that place in a completely stable state of mind.

If they had made the decision to bother the doctor, it meant that, whatever injuries or illness had befallen them, they could not manage it on their own. Thus, far more often than not, when they stood in front of this home’s door, they did so with a head full of cotton and legs formed of gelatin.

Now, however, their mind was not clouded by any malease. Instead, it was clouded by the stark realization that they had, perhaps, just made a terrible decision.

By the time they had arrived at the house, however, it was already far too late. When Doctor opened their front door, Hero knew full well that there was no turning back.

The doctor looked terribly bedraggled, and they could not help but wonder if it was wise for them to even go to work in such a condition. Yet, every powered person in the city knew far better than to distrust Doctor’s judgement.

“Thank you.” The medic began, a warm smile creeping onto their cracked lips. “I know this was awfully short notice, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who would know Villain as well as you.”

Well, Hero certainly knew what Villain’s fist felt like, crashing into their face, though that was about it.

“Okay, come on, come on.” The doctor rushed. “I need to be heading out soon.”

The hero nodded, hurrying after them into the building. It wasn’t exactly a sprawling thing-- certainly not large enough to house all the equipment that it did-- but, nonetheless, it functioned, through some miracle.

Against their prediction, Doctor did not lead them to the home’s makeshift infirmary. Instead, they moved to the cramped dining room, which, truly, consisted of little more than a table with just enough chairs to seat a guest or two. The house itself was not impressive, its owner only made it so.

But, Hero had seen that dining room, barren table and all, more times than they could count. There was nothing unusual to be seen about it. No. The strangeness of the hour came in the form of who, exactly, was seated there.

Villain.

Oddly enough, either they had forgotten to take off their ostentatious garb, or they had simply not had the time. The villain’s cape draped over their shoulders as they hunched over, forehead pressed to the table’s surface. A full glass of water and a small pile of crackers sat near them, untouched.

Hero bit their lip. Seeing their nemesis was never a good thing, of course, but something about this simply made their heart stutter.

“What’s wrong with them?” They began, before their voice took on a more panicked pitch. “They’re okay, right? They’re gonna make it?”

Doctor snorted.

“Hero, they’re fine. They say they had a fight, overexerted themself a bit.”

A fight? Oh, god, was this all their fault?

“But... They look terrible.”

“They just have a fever.” Doctor reassured. “Power exertion is nothing to scoff at, but I promise, they’re not in any serious danger.”

Hero hummed. “Then, why did you bring me here?”

“Because we need to make sure they stay out of serious danger. They can hear you, by the way, so don’t be an ass, please. But, yes, I’m confident this fever will break, so long as it stays down.”

“You’re putting them in my hands?”

“Yes. I trust you. Seriously, Hero, you look like a deer in the headlights. I’m not asking you to perform open heart surgery, here.” They smiled playfully. “All you need to do is keep them cool and keep them comfortable.”

“What does that entail?” Nervously, they chewed the inside of their cheek.

“Not a lot. Keep a wet washcloth on their head, make sure they drink water.” As the doctor glanced to the nearest clock, they began to hurry their words. “There’s a thermometer on the counter. If their fever goes over 103, call an ambulance. But, as long as its below that, you’re safe.”

“And... keeping them comfortable?”

“Just... try to get them to sleep. It won’t be easy for them, in this state. But if you can manage it, it’ll be a lot better. Oh, and, there’s Advil in the drawer. Give them some if they’re uncomfortable, okay? Okay, I really need to go, so, you got all that?”

“Uh- I think so?”

“Good. Okay, bye! Remember, above 103, call an ambulance. What temperature is dangerous?”

“103.”

“Great. Thank you so, so much! I’ll get you like, some chocolates or something. Bye!”

By the end of their speech, Doctor’s words had sped to the point of blending into one long stream of syllables. They tossed a coat over their shoulders, shoving their feet into their already-tied shoes.

“Oh, and try not to kill each other, okay?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hero was alone.

They supposed that wasn’t entirely true. In fact, it was quite far from the truth. The house was anything but empty-- their nervous glances to the dinner table’s current guest ensured them of that. But, that did not help the chord of nerves that wrapped itself about their stomach.

Power exertion was nothing to be scoffed at.

Though they weren’t alone, they were the only one in the situation who could be described as responsible. It was they who had to keep their nemesis alive. And, worse... comfortable.

How were they supposed to rock their sworn enemy to sleep? Maybe, a good place to start would be stopping staring at them like some kind of creep.

Yeah. They should probably do that.

The hero inhaled through their nose, letting out a long exhale from their mouth, before approaching the table. Throughout the whole conversation, the villain had not so much as raised their head-- their movements coming only in the slightest of twitches.

Standing at the stalled villain’s side, Hero could not help but feel to have walked into the den of a lion. Yet, not the slightest movement was made. In an attempt to gently draw their attention, they ghosted their hand over their nemesis’s shoulder.

“Hey, Villain?”

There was a twitch, and a groan, but nothing that could be described as words.

“Um, Doctor is gonna have me take care of you now, okay? Can you look at me? I think I’m supposed to take your temperature.”

If the villain had been listening before that point, there was little indication. Had they already been asleep? Had Hero already ruined everything? Either way, blearily, Villain lifted their head, unfocused eyes fixing on the wall before their face.

Placing their hand to their forehead, Hero nearly jerked their palm away. Their skin felt like the burner of a hot stove. But, if Doctor said they were okay...

“How are you feeling?” As they spoke, they felt the slightest bit of the doctor’s voice slip into theirs. That soft, coaxing tone that all medical providers seemed to be able to imitate. “You haven’t touched your water.”

“Mmm...” The fevered villain murmured. “Can’t...Swallow.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Mmm.” They were unsure if that was an affirmation or not.

“Okay. Um, well, the doctor says you need water. Let’s get you some water, then... What do you need, Villain?”

The villain blinked, seeming, by all accounts to be on another planet.

“I’m cold...” At last, they muttered a pair of coherent words. “And hot...” Well, maybe not so much on the coherent part.

What was it that Doctor had said? Something about keeping their head cool. That was it, right?

“Okay, um. I’ll cool you down, and warm you up, okay?”

“Hero!” It was an excited cry, even with the way the syllables all blurred into one another. “Hero...”

“Yeah, Villain?”

“Hero, I looooove you.”

Oh.

No, they were just feverish. Delusional, they probably didn’t even know where they were. They had no clue what they were saying, just making sounds.

“I’m gonna go get you a blanket.” Hero spoke hurriedly, rushing off to do just that. For a few moment, they dashed about the house, gathering supplies and, hopefully, not rummaging too much through Doctor’s things. When, at last, they returned to the kitchen, it was with a dripping-wet washcloth and a bottle of tylonel.

Villain, so it seemed, had fallen back into their half-restful state, head on the table. With a gentle hand, Hero tipped their chin up, brushing the washcloth over their forehead.

“You want something to help with the pain, bud?”

“Head hurty.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They placed down the washcloth, and, in an exercise in tedium, coaxed a pair of white pills down the villain’s throat, alongside a wash of water. Hopefully, it would be enough, as a snowball would make it too the depths of hell before any more water went down.

“I have everything set up on the couch. Can you walk?”

“Mmm... Carry me... I love you!”

“Y- Yeah, alright.”

Despite the feverish villain’s words filling Hero’s chest with an odd sensation, they obliged, plucking them from the chair and draping the washcloth over their forehead, taking care to ensure that no water would drip its way to their eyes.

The couch, as opposed to most of the furniture in the house, had seen some serious use. With only one bed in the building, when a hero was wounded with such severity that an overnight visit was necessitated, it was upon the couch that they slept. Though, luckily, use had not worn away any of the seat’s comfort.

A large, white, puffy comforter had been draped over the seats, and, upon laying Villain down, Hero secured the blanket around their body, tucking it in in the corners and ensuring that no draft would disturb them.

It was all medically necessary, of course.

Though, they couldn’t help but giggle at just how ridiculous their nemesis appeared, dwarfed by the fluffy comforter, face half covered by a rag.

“Alright.” Hero smoothed a hand over Villain’s hair-- to make sure they weren’t sweating excessively, of course. “Are you alright? Comfortable?”

“I love you! Love you...”

“Okay. Well, do you need anything?”

“Sleep...”

“You’re tired?”

“Sleepytime.”

“Alright, bud. Sleepytime.”

They couldn’t help but smile.

With a few more strokes through their hair, the fevered person soon let their muscles go limp, sacrificing themself to the whims of the blanket they were half-submerged in. The sight alone was enough to make Hero’s own eyelids droop.

It wasn’t like they could disturb the villain while they slept-- no, they needed their rest far too much for that-- and, there wasn’t anything else threatening the city...

What would a nap hurt?

Though there was no certainly no room on the seat for another full-grown human, that was a problem easily solved. In a blink of white light, Hero’s bleary form was replaced by that of a feline, with a countenance just as exhausted.

The felidae-turned hero leapt onto the couch, settling themself near the edge, before shifting themself against Villain’s feet.

To know if they woke up.

After all, it was very medically necessary.

#villain whumpee #villain whump #sickfic #fluff #fluff fic #hero caretaker #whumpblr #whump community #ask

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definitelynotsuzumi · 3 years

Text

Zapped to Another World

Genshin Impact x Fem!Reader

I wrote this in my spare time when I was working back in November and thought that I should share this ^-^

Depending on the comments/notes and if I have spare time, I may be updating this.

[Masterlist]

The rain poured down your umbrella. The clouds coloured the sky a dark grey as you ran for the bus. You sighed as you reached the traffic light. Yup, you were definitely not going to be able to catch it now.

School had ended for the year, which meant more free time for you and the new game you had recently gotten into. Genshin Impact.

You could not help but smile at the thought of it. With school out of the picture, you could finally focus on the game completely. There was so many things to do. Farming for artifacts, completing your daily commissions…

You sloshed your way over as the lights turned green. While you love that school is out, you honestly hated the wet weather that came with the winter break and the feeling of wet socks on your feet. After safely crossing the road, you winced as a white truck rushed by, soaking your clothes through as the giant puddle you have been trying to avoid poured onto your skirt and legs.

You let out a sigh as you quickly took shelter under a tree nearby to try and wring out the remaining water when it happened.

“Just my luck…”You muttered as you clumsily balanced your umbrella, “Can it get any worse?”

Just as those words left your lips, it happened. A white flash lit the sky for a brief second. But it was too late. Thousands of volts came cascading upon your body and everything turned white.

“This is your fault.” You heard a voice. It sounded like a young, sulky boy.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one who lashed out when I put down that +4 card down.”

“THAT AIN’T FAIR STILL! I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING AND YOU BLEW IT!”

“Uh…What’s going on?” You blinked as your vision settled. You sat in what looked like a library of sorts, with several shelves lining the walls and a long white and gold marble table in the centre of it all. A girl with long, platinum hair glared down at her male counterpart, who huffed in annoyance.

“How about you explain it to her, Artem.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak to cheaters.”

“Oh for gods sake- fine. We apologize for uhm…Killing you. Truly, a thousand apologies. If only someone can control their temper for once in their life-“ The girl shot a dirty look at Artem.

“LIKE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK! SOLARIA, YOU SINGED MY EYEBROWS OVER KILLING YOU IN AMONG US!”

“Well excuse you! My anger was perfectly justified! You voted me out even when I told you the truth and that I was innocent!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EMBROIDER AND GROOM THEM BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Could you guys please stop fighting for 10 seconds?” You yelled over the noise. The girl and boy finally stopped, leaving you to rub at your ringing ears.

You sighed. Kids were always a handful back in your home. You had to take care of your cousins whenever your aunt was over, and it often resulted with your ears ringing and your head pounding.

“What’s done is done. I’m…well, dead and I seriously have no idea where I am.” You said, trying to stay composed.

“Well…In your human terms, this is kind of like the After Life.” The boy, Artem explained, sighing as he put down his Uno cards.

“Or well, it shouldn’t since…You were supposed to live for like, another 50 to 60 years. But someone messed it up.” The girl, Solaria, summoned a book from a shelf. You blinked as a weathered leather book with gilded, golden pages floated down onto the table.

“Shut up. I said that I was sorry, didn’t I?” Artem groaned.

“Sir Artem, are you losing your braincells? I was the one who apologized. You still owe the human an apology.” Solaria bit back icily.

With a wave of her hand, the pages of the book flipped and she studied it carefully for a minute before looking back up.

“Well, as a soul now, you have an option. You can go into Elysium or be reincarnated.” Solaria sighed as Artem huffed again.

“Huh. What do you know? Elysium sounds real good right about now-“You thought out loud as Artem’s eyes turned wide with fear.

“Please don’t go into Elysium!” Artem yelled. The books shook in the shelves as his voice echoed.

“Ow, inside voice please? Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” You winced in pain. It seems that immortals had a throat of steel, judging from the way they could shout infinitely.

“I’m really sorry, but if Dad finds out I brought in another human because I accidentally killed them…He’s going to banish me…To Earth…” Artem looked down onto the table.

He was unable to meet your eyes as you stared at him with bemusement.

“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, please…Reconsider on our offer to reincarnate. He is on thin ice with Father and if he is banished, I’d have to take on his duties as well. I’m pretty exhausted with the workload as it is.” Solaria sighed.

“As long as it’s not Earth, I’m cool with it.” You looked up at the ceiling, which took your breath away. The entire solar system was on it. With it, was the familiar sphere of white, green and blue.

“Hm, that is easy enough. I could reincarnate you into my world.” Artem brightened up.

Solaria sighed with relief.

“And to make up for it, I could buff you up with a couple of blessings here and there-“

“Within reason.” Solaria cut in, with a sharp look at Artem.

“Psssh, as if it’s hard to make a Gnosis.” Artem had considerably relaxed after hearing your statement.

“Are you serious? Don’t you even know the situation down at Teyvat?!” Your eyes widened. Were they talking about what you were thinking of?

Artem rose to his feet, the ivory wings on his lower back flaring. His eyes gleamed gold as he stared down his sister.

“It’s my world. I do what I like with it. If you don’t like it, get a world of your own.”

“You only got your world because Mother took pity on you. Don’t act all big when you have killed so many humans.” Solaria hummed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll only grant this human the bare minimum. Anything more, and I’ll let Father know of your deeds thus far, even if it means more work for me.” Solaria glared back. Her eyes gleamed silver as she did so. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“That’s all that I’ll need then. Work on your blessings and gifts. I’ll work on mine.” Artem turned away from his sister. The siblings set to work, the atmosphere of ice cold professionalism now in the air.

Solaria rose from her place on the table. With a flick of a finger, the Uno cards vanished with a burst of gold sparkles. The leather book floated beside her as she constantly referred to its pages while flying around the room.

“Hmm…Not much of a combatant, I see. Polearms and swords will probably be hard for you. Perhaps…A catalyst?” She pulled out a bright blue book adorned in gold, with feathers sticking out.

Blowing off any dust from the beautiful book, she casually tossed it over her shoulder and onto you. You instinctively brought your arms up to protect your face but as the book hit your arms, it disappeared into a burst of gold.

“Huh?” You blinked as you saw the book reappear beside you, its pages flipping.

Solaria returned with a satchel and a bag of gold coins. Looking satisfied as she noticed the book beside you, she inserted the bag of coins into the satchel before sliding it over your shoulder. Solaria hummed to herself before smiling again.

Reaching behind her neck, Solaria detached a shimmering teardrop necklace before slipping it around yours.

“There’s nothing special about it, apart from it glowing. I thought it would be a nice touch.” Solaria winked at you.

Tilting your chin up, you froze with shock as she pressed her lips against yours.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, please. Don’t be flustered. That was merely a blessing of mine. It will help you when you need to speak with the natives of the land.” Solaria coolly said as she wiped her mouth.

You were still reeling in shock. Your throat seemed to tighten as you coughed.

“..Thank you, for agreeing with us on our selfish request. To be forcibly stripped of our powers can be the worst pain and humiliation a god or goddess can bear.” Solaria murmured to you as she hurried to the end of the room, where she knelt and seemed to draw symbols in gold.

You held back your tongue. ‘What about me? I got zapped to death here.’ You thought to yourself.

“It is done. Please step into that summoning circle there.” Artem held a floating, golden cylinder in his hands. Solaria rose from her place on the floor, gesturing for you to come over.

It was a Gnosis! You were quick to obey as you hurried to Solaria’s side.

Stepping into the centre, you turned to face Artem and Solaria, who stood side by side. They flared their wings as you sensed an energy swirl around you.

“I, Artem, God of the Moon, grant you passage and dominion over my world, Teyvat. Do you accept, (Y/N) (L/N)?” Artem’s voice echoed in your ears.

“I accept.” As the words left your lips, the Gnosis within his hands flew into your chest. You gasped as it did so, a heat spreading rapidly across your chest.

“Be safe on your travels, (Y/N) (L/N).” Solaria flashed a warm smile as you coughed.

“Resigno!”

The gold summoning circle glowed bright blue and you found yourself falling through the blue skies.

You screeched ungracefully as you fell from the sky headfirst. The green grass was coming up way too fast.

‘Am I going to die again?’ You thought as you held out your arms to break your fall, only for a huge gust of wind to cushion your fall.

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise as a person clad in green floated beside you.

It was a young boy with 2 braids, which gleamed blue in the light. His eyes were a beautiful mix of green and blue.

‘Venti?’ You gaped as he grabbed your hands and guided you back onto the ground.

“Never thought I’d have an audience during my practice session. Are you okay?” Venti grinned at you.

“Never...Never better. Thank you...”You gave a thumbs up as you got air back into your lungs again.

His deft fingers plucked at his harp as he sat down on the soft grass.

“It’s no problem. But what brings you here anyways? Not many people know of this spot.” Venti tilted his head. It seemed as though you uncovered his secret place.

“I- uh well...Accidents happen. I’m not a mad fan or a stalker, I swear. Well, maybe I am a fan but still.” You rambled but you forced yourself to stop talking and to breath. Venti is real and he is in front of me. Venti is real and he is in front of me.

Your heart was beating fast.

‘I should say something smart, introduce myself or something.’ You thought to yourself as you composed yourself.

You wanted to at least tell him your name but the words are out faster than you can stop them.

“Wanna grab a drink?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #readerinsert #fanfiction #childe x reader #genshin x reader

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harbouredsoulss · 3 years

Text

LURK

Author's note: You have no idea how happy I am to post again! 💞

I've been working on this for a while and am so excited to finally share this with you all. This is set to be a series, with the current number of parts unknown (though I'm currently working on that).

I also appreciate every single person who helped me when I was trying to work out how long my posts should be! You were all super helpful 🥰

warning(s): violence. mention of stalking. blood. a hint of smut. friends x lovers! panic.

pairing(s): ez reyes x [OC] ivána

word count: 2.3 k

summary: Ivána has a secret. She is in danger, and has kept this from everyone including her best friend Ez. What happens when this danger finally comes for her?

Nights alone were truly unbearable, though Ivána knew she was never truly alone.

There was always that heavy feeling -an inexplicable feeling that haunted her, to the point where she knew that he had to be out there watching her each and every move. The feeling clung to her, never abating.

Her home was locked down with the doors bolted shut, and windows sealed and secured. She had made it into a fortress since the first time he had made his intentions clear. She knew his kind; had seen it before. They liked to toy with their prey, and strike fear into their hearts, not long before they consumed them, body and soul.

Ivána knew she was just biding her time before the games would truly begin. The intimidation thus far had been nothing but mere warning of what was to come.

She lay in bed, tossing and turning, thoughts all consuming. She knew what she could do to make the problem go away. The police would be the best place to start and a smart move at that. Though that wasn’t who she was really considering turning to.

There were people she knew and trusted enough to protect her from harm. She had connections with people from all walks of life, some of which she grew up with, some of them considered family.

Her best friend, the one she had been secretly in love with for the majority of her life, Ezekiel Reyes, would do anything for her and she knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to drag him into her mess. He had already gone through enough; he doesn’t need her problems added to his list.

At some point in the night, she did fall asleep. She fell to the faint pitter patter of the rain, which was rare for Santo Padre. It soothed her restless thoughts, and nudged her slowly to an unbroken sleep.

For once her dreams were not filled with terror, though there was still a flicker of anxiety as her thoughts shaped and manifested to their final form. In her dreams she spoke to EZ, hands caressing his face softly, lips barely a breath a part, whispering to him, telling him the truth, and allowing all her fears to be released. She allowed him to protect her. He encased her in his arms creating a barrier that separated her physical form from all the uncertainties her life was set to face -that plagued her mind incessantly.

Her mind gave in to her desires, ones she not would let happen in the real world. It allowed her a glimpse at what safety and love would truly feel like.

Unlucky for her, the dreams did not last, it was the arrogant sound of her alarm which happened to choose that precise moment, when her thoughts morphed into something more illicit, to interfere with her reverie. The idea of snoozing the alarm was tempting, as was remaining in bed hidden within the confines of her room. Though she knew she would be missed, and staying here, locking herself inside forever, would arouse suspicion.

The hospital would be nothing more than a brief reprieve from the game she had been made part of.

At least that’s what she told herself.

It wouldn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder as she made rounds, checking each bathroom stall, and cataloguing each individual in a waiting room. She was in a minefield and was sure to explode if she made the wrong move.

He had been doing this for quite some time now, though usually he left her alone at work. He left toying with her for when she was alone with no one to reach out to for help. He knew her hours, when she would begin her shift and when it would end. She figured he had someone hack into the hospital’s servers and access her roster. She also knew that if he was not going to be physically present, there would always be someone else from within his inner circle there to stalk her.

She stood in her bathroom, scrubs gripped tightly in her hands, eyes glaring at the fabric as she debated her choices. Her skin was like ice, with goosebumps coating her flesh as she stood there naked in the room, allowing her mind to tick over like a clock. She didn’t want to leave, and it took every ounce of strength she had to force her body to cooperate.

Her mind was at war with itself. Different parts of it were broken up over what she should do. Parts of her wanted to run and hide, whilst the other parts wanted her to stay, too scared to step a toe out of line and be killed.

Her eyes remained locked on her reflection, fingers tracing the length of her skin, up and down, from the curve of her breasts to soft bump of her waist. Her eyes fluttered closed as the soft movement of her fingers pulled her into trance.

It was kaleidoscope of colour that flickered beneath her eyelids as her body began to relax. Soon the mirage of colour transformed in to one whole image of Ez and herself.

Their limbs were intertwined, sliding against one another intimately. His breathing hot against the crook of her neck, fingers torturing her in the most delicious way possible. Sliding down the slope of her body, caressing her breasts, kneading her tender flesh as they ventured lower. They slipped between her thighs, and began rubbing her gently and softly. Edging her, at a leisurely pace, to her release.

It was a sound reminiscent to that of a gunshot that shook Ivána from her fantasy and filled her to the brim with terror.

She moved as fast her body would allow, though it resulted in her tangling herself in her scrubs, tripping over her own feet as tried to dress herself. She could hear the thrum of her heart pounding in her ears as she made her body move towards the living room, grasping onto the baseball bat she kept hidden behind her couch.

It was at that point she came to the realisation that it was not a gunshot she had heard, only what sounded like one. What she had heard was actually the sound of someone banging themselves against her front door.

She had every intention of calling out and demanding the name of whoever it was that was trying to take down her door, but it was the fear that froze her where she stood. She knew with every fibre of her being that the person on the other side of the door was not a friend.

It was only when she took a few hesitant steps away from the couch towards the entryway that the wood began splintering and a large crack struck through the length of the wooden panelled door.

Particles of dust and wood chips scattered across the floor as the banging continued. Her knuckles turned white; her circulation sure to cut off as she continued to grip the handle of the baseball bat, tighter and tighter.

She could hear whoever it was grunting as they continued to throw their body against the door.

It went on for a limited time, mere minutes, before she saw her front door fly off its hinges, bang against her hallway table, and land right before her feet.

A jolt of surprise and dread iced her veins as she took in the scene before her. It was only one man.

It took only one man to break into my home.

Recognition sparked as the cog wheels in her mind began to turn.

His face was red, with beads of sweat clinging to his flesh, soaking his brown hair, and plastering it against his face.

Ivána had seen this man before.

He smiled at her faintly, chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath. He held up his hand, his index finger pointed upwards.

“One…. Moment…” he rasped out; face still flushed as he struggled to catch his breath.

Her eyes were fixed on him, as he stood there both hands pressed on either side of the door frame, his head hanging low. It was a surprising sight for her. One that took an edge off the fear that was gripping her.

There was no awareness of time as she stood there like a deer caught in headlights. All the awareness was honed in on the man before her and his breathing, and how much easier it was starting to become. She knew she was running out of time, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.

It didn’t take too long for his demeanour to change. No longer was his mouth agape with salvia bubbling at his lips, slipping down his chin as he tried to capture his breath. He brought his hand to his mouth and begun wiping it slowly, removing any hint of weakness as he did so.

Finally, he took a step towards her, entering her home, stepping on the broken door.

“Let me guess,” she started, taking a step back, “you’re one of David’s men?”

Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of the bat, using all the strength within her, to hold herself up right. The target she’s had on her back, the dread, anticipation, never quite knowing when he would strike. It was always clear that he was waiting for the right moment, which had now come.

The intruder nodded in return, making sure to smile at her wickedly.

“Matteo.” He answered, though she had no care for his name. Being one of David’s lackies was all she needed to know.

Ivána ignored him and instead widened her stance, preparing her body for the inevitable swing that she would take.

Matteo took another step towards her, chest heaving. The knock down of the door had clearly taken a lot out of him, although he tried to show her otherwise.

He didn’t appear to be too old, though she could tell he was not in his prime.

“You know why I’ve come; I assume?”

“To finally take me?” She guessed with a slight shrug to her shoulders, stance still wide, arms ready to swing, “though after that little performance, you shouldn’t feel too confident on your mission being a success.”

He wasn’t fazed by the scorn notable in her voice. He just stood there with his hands on his hips; a smirk plastered on his face, pure excitement gleaming in his eyes.

His gaze remained locked on hers, never wavering, though that was not before he allowed it to lingered down her body slowly, zeroing in on the weapon in her hand. It transformed his smirk into something more wicked; sickening.

“Oh, baby girl,” he said, voice thick and husky, almost as if the mere sight of her holding a weapon turned him on. He licked his lips, clucking his tongue as he did so, with an evil gleam now luminous in his eyes, “surely you must know that it’s a massive turn on when you think you can fight back.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spat; voice laced with venom, “you and your entire crew are nothing but pigs. If your boss wants me, he can come and get me himself.”

He laughed, a hearty kind of laugh. One full of promise.

He began his attack.

_____________________

Blood trickled down the sharp edges of the blade at an unhurried pace. Each drop leaving a faint echo throughout the room one might miss if they weren’t listening out carefully.

Ivána stood there frozen, arms rigid, and glued to her side, clutching the kitchen knife. Her breathing ragged, chest heaving with every painful intake of breath. Her body was battered with cuts, and bruises which, unbeknownst to her, had already begun developing across her flesh. There was no mistaking the red, angry, marks on her skin that were sure to ache, leaving a clear reminder as to what had happened. Perhaps the physical marring of flesh would clear, in time. Though that moment, standing frozen over her assailant’s body, knife caked in blood, would never fade.

Her body convulsed, though she was unaware, as the shock washed over her like a tidal wave. The knife slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as she fell to her knees. Her body was wracked with loud uncontrollable sobs as the image of the attack flashed through her mind at a hastened pace. Her hands crimson, caked in his blood. Her breathing grew erratic and the panic began to set in, eyesight blurred with tears.

“Yo! Hermana.”

Confusion triggered an innate reaction within her at the sound of Angel’s voice, one that she was not ready for. She jerked forward and frantically began trying to clean the mess around her. Hoping to hide the mess - afraid of anyone else seeing it.

Had she been in a rational state of mind, she would have stopped herself. The attempt she was making was needless given the fact that all she was doing was using her hands to rub the blood around her.

“Ivána…” Voice trailing off, Angel stood within the threshold of the doorway, gaze locked on Ivána as she continued to frantically clean her kitchen floor.

Crouching down he reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, his voice softly urging her to stop. As he touched her, she let out a shrill scream, and lashed out at Angel. Her body and mind were still locked in the fight of her life.

She mistook Angel for another one of David’s men, come to finish what Matteo had started.

“Please,” she begged, voice cracking as her sobs turned heavier, shaking her body further, “Please.”

“I’m here,” Angel murmured softly, attempting to soothe her, “it’s me… Angel.”

“I’ve got you.” He murmured again as he reached towards her, both arms open in attempt to pull her body towards his in an embrace.

She allowed him to take her, his heart shattering when her body went limp in his arms.

If you have stuck through with this part thank you so much! I am really excited to make this a series and worrying about it being a flop! Especially given this part doesn’t really have EZ it, merely mentions of him. I have honestly read and reread over this so many times it’s gotten to the point where I hate it lol. Please leave feedback (if you wish 😂) and pleeeease let me know if you are actually excited to see where this goes. Any guesses? Again, thank you so much if you have actually read all of this and didn’t give up! I appreciate you so much! 💞 I am truly sorry if this was boring!! It’s just the set up so pleeease stick around

TAGLIST (OPEN): @appropriate-writers-name @thesandbeneathmytoes @abby-splace @tartanbumsters @noz4a2 @sesamepancakes @montanaraed

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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

Text

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part. I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

Tag List:

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

Irreplaceable Things: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: You’ve both failed to take simple precautions; now you’re the one paying the price.

words: 1930

tw: unplanned pregnancy, thoughts of abortion.

The stick clatters to the tile floor. Your shaking hands reach down to pick it up again, and you’re hoping that the results might change in the time you lift it from the cold, unforgiving ground and up to your eyes. But they’re the same as before, plain as day.

“Oh, god…” You whisper, feeling the strength leave your bones. It was only a matter of time before things began to unravel, and the endless options to solve the problem you faced were in front of you. But before you can even consider the tamest of options, you hear the door to the bathroom open, and you tuck the stick into an empty pocket of your backpack. For now, you would go out and train as if you didn’t find out the most important information of your life thus far. No one would suspect your circumstances had changed - things had changed drastically - and somehow you would convince them that the only thing they had to worry about were where their next recommendations were coming from. Once you exit the stall, you check your appearance as you wash your hands, then leave without acknowledging the other woman standing at the sink.

The nausea, the moodiness, hell, the tender breasts were all signs that pointed toward the suspicion that you were in trouble. After briefly mentioning the issue to Shoko, she tossed the pregnancy test at you, along with three condoms.

“I’m surprised either of you went without protection considering --” Shoko cut herself off, turning to rummage around in her dresser drawer and handing you a drawstring bag. “Just don’t let anyone see you with those.”

You had been irresponsible. Paying the price was all you could do now, whether it meant you would carry the child to term and be kicked out of Jujutsu Tech, or you would--

“You took forever in the bathroom,” Satoru whined, dropping his shoulders. “I almost left for lunch without you.” You know that the threat was half-assed. If Satoru showed up to lunch without you in tow, Suguru would throw a fit. And even the blue-eyed man walking ahead of you wasn’t in the mood to fight with him. Yet.

Thoughts of a child swirl around your mind as you follow Gojo to the restaurant. You can’t focus on anything else, and you wonder if you should tell Suguru, or if you should keep it to yourself like you want to.

“I’m not going to ask why you’re so quiet,” Gojo tosses over his shoulder casually. “But if it has anything to do with the way my ass looks in these pants, I want you to keep it to yourself.” You choke out a laugh, momentarily forgetting your troubles, but you don’t catch Satoru’s relieved smile as you wipe away tears from your eyes.

Before long, the restaurant appears and the both of you go inside, instantly greeted by the warm welcome of the staff members. When you spot the familiar half bun in the crowd of people, you point it out to Gojo, then make your way over to them.

The closer you get, the more your feet drag against the cheap red carpet. A strong urge to tuck your tail and run washes over you, but you know that wouldn’t make anything easier. Suguru stands to greet you with a tender kiss, pressing his hand against your lower back before pulling out your seat beside him.

“We thought you’d never show,” Shoko sighed, shuffling her menu on the table.

“Y/n took ages in the bathroom. I was sure she flushed herself down the toilet,” Gojo gripes and Geto snorts in response. You catch the knowing glance from Shoko over your menu, but you don’t acknowledge it. You just look back to the words on the menu, the words blurring and losing shape the longer you stare.

When the waitress comes around, you still don't know what to eat, and in your moment of indecision, Geto orders for you.

“We’ll split it,” he murmurs, placing a hand on your thigh. “Gojo, you said something about losing your dorm room key today?”

As the two banter back and forth about the case of the missing key, your thoughts overwhelm you again. You stare off into space and consider your options: for one, you could go to your town and to the clinic should you need this taken care of. Or you could tough it out. Adoption was an option, but that meant you would have to carry it to term, but it would be the safest thing to do… No child would be safe having two sorcerer parents who were always getting into trouble.

The food arrives without fanfare or flourish, and while Suguru divides the lobster and rice into halves, your stomach lurches. You place a hand on his arm, and he looks up, pausing mid-cut.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

The admission makes Suguru frown. He presses his lips together and places the utensils back on the table.

“Do you want to go back to campus?”

“I don’t want you to have to wait to eat,” you reason, standing up from the table quickly. “I think I’m going to go lay down for a little bit. Feeling kind of woozy.” Before Suguru can argue with you, you grab your bag and leave, rushing out into the stale fall air. You try to walk as fast as you can back to campus, avoiding your rushing thoughts like the cars passing by, but to no avail. When you get back to your dorm, you throw open the door and toss your backpack onto your bed, fishing out the stick once more, hands trembling in fear.

“Please be a joke, please be a joke…” you mutter, flipping the damned plastic thing over.

The two lines had faded a bit, but it was still painfully obvious that the verdict was in. After dropping the stick on your desk, you go into the bathroom and pull up your uniform shirt, feeling the fabric crumple under your fingers. Sticking a hand down your skirt and to your abdomen, you seek the evidence of anything with your fingers, but find nothing except tender skin. It would take some time, but if the test was right, you’d feel signs of growth within a few months. You don’t have time like that.

It’s either being a jujutsu sorcerer or being a mother.

There’s no compromise. No ‘and’s. The next thought dawns on you as if someone opened a window and let fresh air in.

You could move out.

You could leave Jujutsu Tech without a word, without any fuss, and go back home. With some convincing, your family would understand. They wouldn’t be upset. You don’t think about Suguru as you pack your clothes in a hurry, tossing them onto your desk and then stuffing them into a large suitcase that brought your things here in the first place. You can only make one trip, you reason, so you have to leave the non-essential things behind. Only take what’s irreplaceable.

It’s only when you’re rummaging through your tshirts that you happen across three of Suguru’s shirts, neatly stacked and waiting for someone to wear them. You consider leaving them behind as a final goodbye instead of a note or a text. But another part of you wants to take them, wants to feel the cloth that touched his skin resting against yours and engulfing your frame. You want something to remember him by; something that you can look at and remember all of the good memories at Jujutsu Tech…

You press a shirt to your face and inhale the freshwater scent of Suguru’s cologne. It was just as fresh as the first day you two had met. Without warning, you feel tears slip out of your eyes and run down your cheeks in rapid succession. You couldn’t tell Su goodbye. Not when he would beg you to stay and make it work and push you to stay by his side. You couldn’t cripple him like that and make an even bigger target for his enemies to aim at.

Conversation outside of your door reminds you that time is running out and fast. No doubt Suguru was on his way to confront you about your sudden exit, and you would need to be gone before his bulky frame walked through the door. There were no other options.

With a grunt, you wipe your tears away and press his shirts into your overflowing suitcase. The flap won’t even close correctly as you try to press on it and zip it, but you fail miserably. Tears of frustration leak out of your eyes this time, and you jerk the zipper back and forth, trying to dislodge the item of clothing that caught the contraption.

Heavy footsteps are making their way toward you and you know time is up. You’re caught before anyone even opens the door, but you still try to get the suitcase closed. As the door unlocks, the zipper breaks, and you’re left with an overfilled suitcase and three very confused sorcerers standing in the doorway.

“Y/n? What are you doing?” You turn to see Geto, Shoko, and Gojo all standing in the doorway, Suguru’s right hand holding the leftovers from the restaurant.

“I…” The words won’t come out.

“Gojo, let’s let them talk.” Shoko pushes the sullen white-haired man off to his dorm, realizing what the fuss is about before anyone can utter another word.

Suguru still stands in the doorway, brows furrowing. “You’re packing.” The statement is met with more tears and he looks down the hallway before entering and shutting the door, placing the food on the counter. Without words, he examines the mess around the room, noticing the haphazardness of the scene. He picks up a few items of clothing from the floor and walks around with his hands behind his back before stopping in front of you and cupping your face between his palms. “Tell me.”

“I can’t,” you croak, wetting his fingers with your tears.

“Don’t start keeping secrets from me now, kitten. What’s got you so worked up?” The tenderness of his voice breaks your resolve, and you slide your eyes over to the desk where a pile of clothes sit on top of your shame. Suguru notices and removes his hands from your face. As he removes your clothes and puts them on the chair, the stick slides off of the desk and hits the floor again.

I could run for it right now, you think. But your limbs don’t move an inch, and Geto doesn’t need to bend over to take a closer look at the stick. He already knows what’s taken place by the fact that it resides within the four walls of your room.

“Is it mine?” he whispers, staring at the white thing blankly.

“Of course,” you reply, hands creeping toward your abdomen. “There’s been no one but you for the past year.” He pauses, wringing his hands carefully.

“And we’re keeping it,” he states, but it felt more like a question to you.

“If that’s what you want.” Before you can blink, he advances toward you and presses his lips against yours, holding you close. When you break the kiss, Suguru nudges your nose with his, running a hand up and down your back. “But how--”

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” You relax into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I’ll protect you like I’ve always done. And I’ll protect our child.”

#geto x reader #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjk headcanons #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou suguru #getou x reader #jjk shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri

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therealjammy · 3 years

Text

The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3.

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One”

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!)

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

“What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

“Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

“The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

“You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

“Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

“In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

“The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

“Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

“Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

“Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

“Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

“You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

“Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

“And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”

“Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

“You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

“No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

“You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

“Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

“Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

“Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

“Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

“Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

“No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

#resident evil #resident evil village #fanfic #mother miranda #mother miranda x oc #mother miranda x reader

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