1. Rough Day || 2. Heaven in Hyperspace || 3. Negotiation Skills || 4. Rest || 5. Of Metal and Men || 6. A Show of Good Faith || 7. Rushed || 8. The Floor is Better || 9. Brown Eyes || 10. Just the Translator || 11. Promise Me (It’s Yours) || 12. Beginner’s Luck || 13. Kar’taylir || 14. Whenever You Want || 15. Out of a Trillion || 16. Ask Me Again Tomorrow || 17. Whispers of You || 18. Home
Related Works:
I. Untitled Rough Day Backstory Drabble || II. The Mandalorian NSFW Alphabet
***
The Locked Door Series (Complete):
1. Why is the Girl Here? || 2. Dove
***
The Bet Series (Complete):
1. Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space || 2. Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place
summary; reader is the new hire at the prison where simon is kept, and is tasked with bringing him his meals.
next
a/n; wow what a movie. thank god i'm a fanfic writer with free will.
cw; poor writing lmao, solitary confinement, shitty workplaces, i dont know much of the lore so if it's inaccurate please forgive me 😅
i do not give permission for any of my works to be reuploaded/reposted, copied, fed into AI, etc. minors dni, age in bio or blocked.
18+! minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!! i do check every blog that interacts with my fics!
the clinking of chains and the quiet thud of footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hallway. you passed rows and rows of cells, most of the inmates still sleeping or at least pretending to.
you kept your head up, shoulders back, trying to appear confident. you doubt it was working. you were new, all the inmates knew that. maybe a little young in comparison to your co-workers, but it was either contribute to society or be cut off from the resources. the only available jobs were in the prison, so you took what you could.
you were fresh meat. bottom of the food chain, as your supervisor described it. stuck with the lowest pay and the worst job, here you were at 5:30 am sharp to deliver breakfast to the convict in solitary.
"if anything goes wrong, we're not losing anyone valuable." your supervisor told you as he walked you through your duties. if you weren't desperate for food and shelter, you would've tucked your tail and ran.
you swallowed hard as you scanned your badge on the card reader, balancing the tray on one hand. the panel beeped, the light changing from red to green before the door began to slide open. it creaked and groaned, the metal grinding making your teeth hurt. it slid into place with a jarring clunk! and you made your way through and into the dark hallway.
there was a cell on the very other end of the long hall. it was entirely metal, the door was a giant vault with a medium sized window and small food port you could open to slide items through with minimal contact below it.
you knew who was in there. had heard the stories of what he had done. an involuntary shiver ran down your spine at the thought of him being only a few inches of steel away.
your footsteps slowed to a stop in front of the door. you set the tray on the ledge, slid the food port open and carefully pushed the tray of food through. it was pitch black inside the cell when you peered in. for a moment, you weren't even sure he was in there. maybe this was some kind of hazing ritual new hires had to go through to earn their place or something equally ridiculous.
"christ, this is stupid." you muttered to yourself, shaking your head a little. "you're not even there, are you? they're just... pranking the new hire."
you stood on your toes, peering in through the window and trying to squint through the dark. you couldn't make out a single shape or outline of anything. no bed, no desk, no toilet, nothing like the other cells.
you took a step back, tapping the toe of your shoes together a few times while you waited. you nearly jumped out of your skin as the tray was slowly pulled into the cell, blood roaring in your ears. you only caught a glimpse of his hand from the dim hallway light. you quickly reached forward and slammed the food port back into place, locking it with shaky hands before turning and running back where you came.
the rest of the day went surprisingly fast. you were walked through the rest of your duties, mostly custodial. cleaning bathrooms, floors, the few offices that were scattered around, even dish duty after meals. you couldn’t seem to come down from the scare as you followed your trainer around, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you listened to him explain where supplies were and your expectations.
it didn’t take you long to get used to it, the mundane routine. clocking in, cleaning, delivering food, clocking out. you never saw much of the convict, only the occasional glimpse of his hand as he took his tray and returned the old one. by the end of your first month, you were relying on autopilot to get through the routines.
you jumped as your supervisor banged on the kitchen door.
“lunch for the convict is ready.” he shouted through the steel before his footsteps faded away quickly.
you huffed, washing and drying your hands before navigating through the kitchen to grab the tray off of the warming table. you pushed open the swinging door with your shoulder, took the elevator down to the basement and made the trek down the eerie hallway for the second time that day.
you scanned your badge, entered the next hall, and soon you found yourself standing in front of the convict’s solitary cell again. you paused, listening for any sign of life.
stepping forward, you set the tray down on the ledge and unlatched the food port door, slowly dragging it open. you pushed the tray through, taking a step back and waiting. several long moments passed, your heart racing, palms sweating.
“...hello?” you called quietly, your voice echoing in the small space. “sir?”
chains clinking made you flinch, and soon the tray was being pulled inside. after a few beats of silence, the tray from breakfast was put in its place. you waited until it sounded like he had retreated far enough to take the empty tray, sliding the food port back into place.
“um… thank you.” you said quietly, before turning on your heel and scurrying out.
lunch was the same. dropping off one tray, picking up another. dinner was different.
you don’t know why you felt like it. maybe the silence was becoming too loud in your ears. you set the tray down, opened the food port, and took a step back.
“um… hi.” you said quietly, hesitantly. your voice shook a little.
he didn’t respond.
you gave him your name.
“i’m… sorry you’re stuck in there.” you continued, “it must be hard.”
you paused for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine. it must be hard? really?
you looked around for a moment, before focusing back on the cell in front of you. “um… do you like chocolate? i saw some in the kitchen and it’s not being used for anything. maybe i can sneak you some?”
the echo of your voice faded away, and soon the buzzing silence filled the air again. it made your ears hurt.
the chains began to clink again, and you listened as he stood up, making his way to the door. he took the tray, replaced it with the one from lunch, before retreating back to his corner. you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.
taking the tray, you closed up the food port and made your way back to the kitchen for the end of your shift.
the next morning, you clocked in and made your way to the kitchen for the convict’s breakfast. you took the tray, navigating through the maze of counters and snatched the first chocolate bar you found, shoving it in your pocket inconspicuously.
making the long trek to his cell, you opened the food port, pushing his tray inside.
“good morning.” you murmured, pulling the chocolate out of your pocket. “i brought you something.”
you set the bar beside his tray, taking a step back. he reached out and pulled the tray into his cell, replacing it with yesterday’s. you held your breath, waiting to see if he would bite. your felt your heart flutter in excitement as he eventually reached back, taking the offered treat.
you couldn’t help but grin, grabbing the dinner tray. “i hope you enjoy it.” you said sincerely, closing up the food port and retreating back to the kitchen
the treats kept coming, once a day. chocolate, warm bread, sometimes a peppermint or fresh fruit. anything to add to the slop and gruel they were feeding him. you usually saved them for dinner, hoping a treat to end the day would make night more bearable.
he never said a word, just took the food, returned the previous tray, and retreated back to eat. you never pressured him to talk, but you always talked to him. it felt strange at first, like talking to the air, like no one was listening, but eventually that became the appeal.
you told him about your day, about your co-workers, all the gossip and rumors about them. you updated him on the news, what was going on at other space stations. you hoped maybe the short-winded human interactions was helping him stay sane. if it was making it worse, you assumed he would say something. lash out, yell, yank on the door, something. maybe he just had more patience than you thought.
“lunch time.” you announced as you set down the tray, pulling a few small candy wrappers out of your pocket and plopping it onto the tray. “i found some sour candy, but i don’t really like sour all that much.”
you stepped back, and he took the tray. you didn’t hear chains clinking all that much these days, and part of you hoped it meant he wasn’t hiding in the back. he sounded closer.
“i think it’s grape flavored because the wrapper is green, but you’ll have to try it to find out.” you hummed, collecting the tray from breakfast and closing up the food port. “might be green apple, though.”
you turned and began to make your way down the hall. “i’ll see you at dinner. enjoy.”
you managed to get a decent amount of work done. there were scabs on your knees from kneeling to scrub the greasy kitchen floor, but you paid it no mind as you washed your hands to deliver the next meal. tray in hand, you made your way through the familiar halls and scanned your way into solitary.
you opened up the foot slot and slid the tray through. “dinners here,” you hummed. “i heated it up a little. it might not taste the best, but i thought maybe warmth would be good.”
the tray scraped against the ledge as he pulled it inside. you took the lunch tray as he set it down.
“maybe tomorrow i can bring you some bread. they made a fresh batch this morning, but i couldn't sneak some in time, the cook was there all day and i didn't want to get caught.” you shrugged. “i did hear that maybe we’re getting some strawberries soon. i’ll grab you the biggest one i can get my hands on.”
you closed up the food slot, taking a few steps back. “i’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”
with that, you turned and began the trek back down the hall. you only made it a few steps before the sound of the prisoner talking stopped you in your tracks.
“...watermelon.”
at first you thought you imagined it. you turned, looking back at the steel vault door. you took a few steps closer.
“what?” you breathed out, heart racing.
“the candy... it was watermelon.”
his voice was rough. scratchy from probably months of disuse. you blinked a few times, fingertips numb with shock.
“oh.” you whispered, “watermelon.”
silence settled over the air again and you felt a jolt of panic that he wasn’t responding. you had a taste of him and now you wanted to be greedy.
“um- do you- you, uh, do you like… sour candy?” you asked stupidly, taking another few steps closer. “i can try and get you more.”
a few beats passed.
“...yes.”
you let out a breathy laugh, nodding as you grinned. “great. yeah, i can- i can try and find more. i’ll bring you some, i promise.”
you waited for another response, deflating a little as none came. you tried not to be disappointed considering the fact that he had finally spoken to you after months.
“okay, yeah… yeah, um… i’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.” you told him, gripping the lunch tray a little harder as you turned to make your way back to the kitchen.
a/n; thank you for reading! let me know if anyone is interested in a part two. reblogs and comments are welcomed and encouraged!
Yeah, I'm making a masterlist for this series, because that's what it's turning into. I'm going to put any pieces in here in order of when they were written, which means later on stories might not necessarily be in 'chronological order', but we'll see. Later on I might switch them around to be in chronological order if that is the case. Stories that aren't necessarily 'canon' to the series as well as any posts about world-building will also be included in this list eventually in their own little categories.
Content Warning/Tags (individual pieces have their own tags) for the series as a whole so far:
Gender neutral reader, spoilers for Iron Lung including Convict's name (but you knew that), fluff, hurt and comfort, bonding, cosmic/eldritch entity Reader, slow burn, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of lasting affects of said injuries, whump, hurt minimal comfort, angst, near-death experience, aftermath of a fight, Convict POV, Reader POV, more to come...
Main Storyline
Convict meets Cosmic Entity Reader
Cosmic Entity Reader gives Convict a home
Convict teaches Cosmic Entity Reader about cooking
Convict gives Cosmic Entity Reader a name
Cosmic Entity Reader learns about art
Convict and Cosmic Entity Reader Touch Starvation
An Unwanted Guest visits the realm
Convict tends to Cosmic Entity Reader's injuries
Cosmic Entity Reader brings home a new friend
General/Misc Headcannons
What sounds does Cosmic Entity Reader make?
Does Convict age in the Realm? 1 2
Vague NSFT thoughts
Convict and Cosmic Entity Reader with a baby
About Reader's Size
Stockholm Syndrome
Reader and Sensory Overstimulation
Yandere Convict Thoughts
Convict x Cosmic Entity and non-sexual nudity
Role-Swap AU
Fanart/Fanfics
because you are all so sweet and I want to show off your work too
My Interpretation of Cosmic Reader
Cosmic Entity Reader and Convict by violetpaws
Convict and Cosmic Entity Reader angst by violetpaws
Playlists!
Little Cosmic Entity Reader by Curs3caracal
More Cosmic Entity Reader and Convict by violetpaws
Cosmic Entity Reader by d-rook
Creature Only by a-leg-without-fear
Forever's Not Enough by axs00s
Cosmic Entity Reader by 3-inch-sam
Cosmic Reader and Laika by violetpaws
Cosmic Reader by axs00s
Cosmic Reader by kelpies-inthe-marsh
Cosmic Reader and Convict by tensaiproductionz
Cosmic Reader by mysticalite-reblogs
Convict and Cosmic Reader being cozy by violetpaws
summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.
WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, sa (mentioned), brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.
Summary: Taken by the Yautja at twenty years old, you have spent years working quietly as a maid within the household of an honoured hunter. Your days are spent caring for the home and its younglings. Life is controlled but predictable. That changes the moment Vorkath’ren, the clan’s feared Enforcer, returns from a hunt.
You woke before the suns rose, as you always did.
The house was still and cool, the walls humming with the noise of Yautja technology that you had learned to live beside.
You gathered water, prepared food for the younglings, and tidied the common room before the first of them padded sleepily into the halls.
The children of the clan always found you amusing. You were small to them, soft, and fragile.
They adored you for it.
One clung to your leg as you tried to sweep the floor. Another demanded to be carried.
You obliged, lifting the smallest and settling him on your hip. His low purr vibrated against your shoulder.
This was your place. This was your life. It was not easy, but it was safe enough.
Until today.
The rumble of returning hunters echoed through the compound long before the door slid open.
The heads of the younglings snapped up. Their eyes widened with excitement.
“They are back,” one chirped, hopping from foot to foot.
The returning party always presented themselves to the tribe's Elder, and you were expected to greet them as part of your duties. You steadied your breathing and stepped into the main hall.
The air grew heavier as the hunters entered. The first few were familiar to you, masked warriors you had tended to after training sessions.
They smelled of iron and smoke, their hides marked with fresh paint and newly earned scars.
Then he stepped through the doorway.
Vorkath’ren.
You knew his title long before you ever saw his face.
The Enforcer.
The executioner of the Elder.
The one even seasoned hunters whispered about in low tones. His armour was plated in obsidian metal and decorated with bones from creatures you could not name.
His dreadlocks were bound with trophies, each one telling a story of violence and dominance. His presence filled the hall like a storm rolling in from distant mountains.
He carried the skull of a slain bad blood in one massive hand and dropped it into the centre of the room as proof that his task had been completed.
The warriors roared their approval.
You should have been able to stay invisible. You never made noise, never drew attention.
Yet as the Elder stepped forward to praise the returning party, Vorkath’ren’s gaze moved.
It landed on you.
For a moment, your body forgot how to move.
His mask turned fully in your direction, the glow of his eyes sharp and focused.
He had been looking at the Elder a moment before. Now, every line of his towering form faced you, as if pulled by an instinct he did not understand.
You lowered your eyes.
It was improper to hold a hunter’s stare for too long, especially one like him.
It was considered rude and a challenge between Yautja.
The weight of his attention. The force of it.
Your pulse quickened at the way he stood utterly still, observing you as though you were the only living thing in the hall.
Another hunter approached him, speaking of the fallen bad bloods. Vorkath’ren did not respond.
His focus rarely lingered.
The Elder noticed and followed the line of his sight, landing on you. His expression tightened with curiosity.
“You.” The Elder called out.
Your steps were quiet as you approached. You kept your hands folded, your head bowed.
“Offer greetings to the hunters,” the Elder instructed.
You did, voice steady despite the tremor beneath your ribs.
“Welcome home. May your hunts continue to honour the clan.”
A respectful sentence. One you had spoken many times.
Vorkath’ren tilted his head as though memorising the sound of your voice. His mask retracted with a sharp click.
You had never seen him unmasked.
His mandibles framed a mouth full of sharp, gleaming teeth.
Scars crossed his lower jaw. His eyes were a molten shade of amber, intense and almost strange in their depth.
He looked at you. He really looked.
Your breath caught.
Something flickered in those eyes.
He inhaled, sampling your scent.
You were not supposed to react, yet your heart thudded so loudly that you feared every hunter in the hall could hear it.
The Elder spoke again, addressing Vorkath’ren.
“Your hunt was successful, Enforcer. The clan is safer with the bad bloods destroyed.”
Vorkath’ren did not answer.
His gaze remained locked with yours.
The Elder’s eyes narrowed with thought.
“Does something interest you?”
A low, rumbling sound left Vorkath’ren’s chest. Not a threat. Not entirely. It was something far more complicated.
You took a small step back.
That was when he moved.
Only an inch forward, barely noticeable to anyone who did not know Yautja body language. But you knew enough. He was closing distance.
The Elder lifted a hand, halting whatever shift had started in the air.
“Return to your quarters, Enforcer. We will discuss the hunt later.”
Vorkath’ren hesitated.
A feared executioner. A brutal enforcer whose word was law to the lower ranks.
He hesitated.
But eventually he obeyed, turning away.
As he passed you, he looked down at you one last time, pupils wide, breath warm and heavy.
You felt it like a touch. A warning. A promise.
Something you did not yet have a name for.
You were supposed to return to your duties. You were supposed to forget this moment.
But long after he left the hall, you could still feel the burn of his eyes on your skin.
And deep in your chest, something answered.
You tried to tell yourself that nothing had changed.
You tried to believe it.
But from the moment Vorkath’ren returned from the hunt, the walls of the house felt different, as though something had awakened in the shadows and refused to rest again.
He watched you.
You first noticed it the very next morning.
You were carrying herbal infusions to the balcony to dry in the weak sunlight when you sensed it.
A shift in the air. A weight. The unmistakable feeling of being watched.
You lifted your head.
Vorkath’ren stood on the far side of the balcony, silent as a carved idol. His arms were folded behind him, skull trophies hanging across his broad chest. His eyes were fixed on you with that same intensity from the hall.
You almost dropped the tray.
He did not move. He did not speak. He watched.
You gave a small bow, unsure what else to do, and hurried away.
The moment you stepped inside, your skin prickled again. You looked over your shoulder.
He followed you.
Not close. Not enough to appear threatening. But he stood at the next doorway, gaze anchored to your retreating form.
You felt heat rise in your face.
He continued like this for days.
Everywhere you went, he was there.
In the training yard, standing against a pillar as you passed by with supplies.
By the nursery, observing quietly as you soothed a crying youngling.
In the market corridor, his towering form blocked a group of rowdy hunters from brushing too close to you.
The first time he did that, the younger hunter attempted to challenge him, puffing his chest and hissing a complaint.
Vorkath’ren turned his head slowly.
The young hunter froze. Whatever he saw in those amber eyes made him drop his gaze and step back at once.
No one bothered you after that.
You should have been relieved, but your heart raced whenever Vorkath’ren was near. Sometimes you caught him scenting the air when you walked past, a low inhale that made something stir deep in your stomach.
You had never been so intensely noticed in your life.
One afternoon, while trying to stack storage crates, you lost your footing. You braced for the impact, but it never came. A huge hand caught your arm, lifting you upright as though you weighed nothing.
Vorkath’ren.
He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, checking for injury.
“I am fine. Thank you.”
He did not release your arm immediately. His grasp was warm, steady, careful.
When he finally let go, his fingers traced lightly across your wrist as though reluctant to break contact.
He rumbled something in his own language. A sound low and soft. You had heard Yautja hunters speak many times, but none of them ever used a tone like that.
Then he rose to his full height and walked away, leaving you breathless.
Later that night, when you returned to your quarters, something waited on your sleeping furs.
A charm.
Bone carved into the shape of a curved talon, polished to a soft shine. A traditional token used by Yautja males when they wished to express interest.
Your breath stopped in your throat.
You lifted it with shaking fingers.
The air carried a faint scent that did not belong to you.
Him.
Footsteps echoed down the hall outside your door. Heavy. Controlled. You knew the sound now.
He paused outside your quarters.
Waiting.
Listening.
You clutched the charm to your chest, unsure whether to hide it or cherish it.
The footsteps moved on.
You sank onto your bed, the charm still resting in your palm, glowing faintly in the dim light.
You should fear this. You should return the token immediately.
Yet warmth bloomed in your chest. A slow, hesitant flutter that made you press your other hand to your heart as if you could calm it.
The Enforcer watched you. Protected you. Desired you.
And no matter how much you tried to ignore it, a part of you felt strangely safe when his shadow fell over yours.
A part of you wondered what it meant to receive a token from a male like him.
A part of you wanted to know what he would do if you kept it.
The gift weighed on your mind for days.
Every time you tucked the carved talon beneath your tunic, every time your fingers brushed its polished surface, you felt the same gentle ache in your chest. You should have returned it. You told yourself that many times. Yet each morning you found it still resting above your heart.
You noticed changes in Vorkath’ren too.
He no longer lurked in distant doorways. He approached you with deliberate steps, closing the distance inch by inch until there was no ignoring his presence.
He found you by the feeding hall one morning, sorting through herbs for the younglings. His shadow covered the table before you realised he was there.
“Enforcer,” you greeted softly, bowing your head.
His mask was clipped to his hip today. His face was bare. His eyes studied you with the precision of a hunter tracking something precious.
“Vorkath’ren,” he corrected, voice deep and gravelled.
You startled. He had never spoken his name to you before.
“I mean no disrespect,” you murmured.
He lowered himself until he was crouched at your level, movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching something fragile.
“You do not disrespect,” he said. The words were heavily accented, but the meaning was clear. “You speak. I listen.”
Your stomach fluttered. You had spoken to many hunters before, but Vorkath’ren was different.
His attention felt heavy, purposeful. His gaze tracked your eyes, your hands, the subtle rise and fall of your chest when you breathed.
You cleared your throat. “I should return to work.”
He tilted his head, mandibles flexing faintly in what you were beginning to recognise as curiosity.
“If I am too near, you speak. I move.”
The offer stunned you. Yautja were not known for yielding to humans. Yet here he was, offering you the ability to push him away.
You hesitated.
“I will tell you if I need space.”
He nodded once. A promise.
True to his word, he respected every boundary you set. When he stepped too close, you gently lifted your hand. He backed away immediately. When his looming presence became too much, you told him, voice shaking.
He bowed his head and stepped aside.
Each time he listened, something inside you softened.
But even with distance, he watched.
He watched you braid a youngling’s hair.
He watched you carry a basket of fruits across the courtyard.
He watched you walk home at twilight, standing sentry on the rooftop above as if guarding your path.
You should have been frightened. Yet somehow, every time your eyes found his towering silhouette, your heart steadied instead of racing away.
The change came on the night of the storm.
The world outside the house raged with thunder. The walls shuddered with each strike of lightning, the sound echoing in your chest.
You hated storms here.
The atmosphere felt different, heavier, more violent than storms on Earth.
You sat curled on your sleeping furs, arms wrapped around your knees, fighting the urge to hide beneath the blankets like a child.
A crash shook the compound so violently that you flinched and covered your ears.
Something moved outside your door.
Footsteps. Heavy, steady, unmistakable.
Your breath hitched.
The door opened with a quiet hiss.
Vorkath’ren stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by flashes of white lightning.
He looked at you, then at the trembling doorframe, then back to you. A low hum vibrated in his chest, something warm and unthreatening.
“Fear. Your scent.”
You swallowed hard.
“The storm is loud. That is all.”
He stepped forward slowly, giving you time to refuse. You did not.
He lowered himself to sit beside your bed, his back against the wall, arms resting on his bent knees.
“I remain here. If you wish.”
Your heart fluttered.
“You are not needed.”
“No. But I remain.”
Another crash shook the house. You jerked, breath quickening. Vorkath’ren glanced at the ceiling, then back at you.
“You rest, I watch.”
There was no demand in his tone. Only quiet certainty, as though protecting you had ceased being a choice.
You lay back on your furs, though sleep did not come easily. The storm raged. Thunder cracked.
Lightning flashed.
But beside your bed sat the Enforcer of the clan.
Silent. Still. Watching the entrance with unwavering focus.
Your eyes traced the outline of his form.
The breadth of his shoulders. The slow rise and fall of his breath.
His profile was illuminated by every lightning flash.
You loosened your grip on your blankets.
He felt your stare and turned his head, eyes meeting yours through the dim light.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
Something in his tone unravelled the knot inside your chest.
For the first time since childhood, you fell asleep during a storm.
And when you woke, he was exactly where he had been, guarding your dreams with the patience of a creature who had claimed a place he would never relinquish.
The days after the storm settled into a strange rhythm. Vorkath’ren appeared everywhere you went, but no longer hid behind distance.
If you walked through the courtyard, he followed at a respectful pace. If you tended the younglings, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, protective eyes tracking every movement around you.
The clan noticed.
How could they not?
Whispers echoed through the corridors, hunters murmuring to one another in disbelief.
The Enforcer watches the human.
Why her?
Does she have a hold on him?
Some were curious. Some were unsettled. A few were openly displeased.
One of them was Jatruk.
He was younger than Vorkath’ren, ambitious, arrogant, a hunter who thought status made him untouchable.
You had always avoided him. His gaze was too bold. His voice is too sharp. He disliked humans and made no attempt to hide it.
You should have been more cautious when you passed through the storage hall alone.
You were gathering medicinal moss for the elder’s mate, head bent, arms full of herbs. No one else stayed in the long corridor. It should have been a simple task.
“I have been watching you. The Enforcer gives you his time. His attention. His silence. You must know what that means.”
Your pulse sped. You stepped back, but he followed.
“I have wondered what you did to earn it. Did you beg him? Offer him something? Humans use tricks. It is known.”
“That is not true. Please let me through.”
He smiled, mandibles flaring faintly.
“Perhaps I should inspect you myself. See what he finds so interesting.”
You moved back again.
He trapped you between a support beam and his towering frame. Panic rose in you.
You clutched the herbs against your chest.
“Move,” you said, voice shaking.
“No,” he answered, leaning closer.
A low sound rumbled from your throat.
Not a cry. Not a scream. A sound of fear so raw it echoed through the corridor.
Jatruk’s hand reached for your arm.
He never touched you.
A shadow dropped behind him with the weight of a falling mountain.
Vorkath’ren.
His roar shattered the silence.
Jatruk spun, but it was already too late.
Vorkath’ren struck him hard enough to send him skidding across the floor. Skulls rattled on the Enforcer’s armour, teeth bared, mandibles wide with fury. Rage radiated from him in waves.
The entire compound seemed to freeze.
Jatruk scrambled to his feet, sputtering.
“She is a servant. A human. She has no claim.”
Vorkath’ren advanced one step. The floor trembled beneath his weight.
“You will not approach her. You will not speak to her. You will not breathe near her.”
Jatruk bared his teeth, refusing to yield.
“You break our customs for her. You shame the clan. Has she enthralled you? Has she made you weak?”
Vorkath’ren’s eyes darkened.
“No. She makes me choose.”
Jatruk lunged.
It was foolish.
It was the end of him.
Vorkath’ren moved with a speed you had never seen.
The collision sent Jatruk crashing into a stone pillar, air leaving his lungs in a single pained gasp. Vorkath’ren pinned him with one massive hand, claws pressed lightly against his throat in warning.
He did not kill him.
But the message was unmistakable.
The Enforcer chose restraint only for you.
Hunters gathered at the edges of the corridor, drawn by the noise, silent witnesses to what came next.
Vorkath’ren released Jatruk, who collapsed to the floor, panting and humiliated.
Without looking at him again, Vorkath’ren turned to you.
His voice softened in a way that stunned everyone present.
“Did he touch you?” he asked.
“No,” you whispered.
He stepped closer, towering above you, but his posture was low, submissive in a way Yautja rarely displayed.
He reached out, paused, and waited for your permission. You gave a small nod.
His hand came to rest lightly against your arm, warm and steady.
“Good,” he said, voice thick with relief.
The gathered hunters exchanged shocked looks.
A murmur rippled through them.
The Enforcer protects the human.
The Enforcer claims her.
The Enforcer chooses.
You swallowed hard, the realisation sinking in.
“What you did, you declared something.”
His eyes met yours, dark and burning.
“I declare truth. You are under my protection. My watch. My choice.”
The words were not casual. Not symbolic.
Among Yautja, such a declaration was the first step toward a mate bond.
“Vorkath’ren, you cannot simply claim me.”
He lowered himself until his face was inches from yours. His mandibles brushed your cheek in the faintest touch, the contact so gentle it barely existed.
“I do not claim your body, I claim your safety.”
His hand lifted to your chest. Not touching.
“As for more, you decide. Not I.”
Your heart ached at the tenderness hidden beneath so much power.
Hunters still watched, stunned, uncertain, afraid to speak.
But Vorkath’ren did not care for their eyes.
He stepped to your side, standing as your shield. He looked at the hall, at Jatruk, at the hunters gathered, and his voice thundered through the corridor.
“She belongs to my guard. My watch. My protection. Any who threaten her are my enemy.”
Silence fell like a closing door.
Your life changed with those words. Yet, you still choose to act as if nothing happened.
Even if you were no longer just a maid. You were the Enforcer’s chosen.
And nothing in the clan would ever be the same again.
Later that night
You help put the younglings down for sleep, soft humming drifting through the stone hall, blankets pulled up, little claws clutching at your sleeves as they nestle in.
Once the final one is tucked in, you step outside for a moment of quiet, breathing in the night air.
The village glows with dim bioluminescent lanterns.
The jungle sings in its endless voice of insects and distant beasts. Cool wind wraps around you.
You close your eyes.
A branch cracks.
Your heart jumps.
Then you feel it, the shift in the air, heavy and unmistakable.
You turn.
Vorkath’ren stands in the shadows between the huts, half-lit by the soft glow. His mask is removed now, hanging at his hip.
His bare mandibles flare slightly, breath deep and steady, eyes burning like molten amber.
He does not speak.
He simply watches.
You know in your bones he does not stumble upon you by chance.
He came for you.
Slowly, he steps into the lantern light. His trophies clink softly with each movement.
His muscles ripple with controlled violence under the dim glow, but his eyes… his eyes soften when they land on you.
A shock hits your chest.
This creature, who executes traitors without hesitation is looking at you like you are something delicate.
Something important.
You take a step back.
He takes a step forward.
“Why… why are you here?” you whisper.
He gives a low chirr.
So soft it sends heat down your spine.
Then he does something you have never seen him do with anyone.
He kneels.
One knee to the ground. Head bowed. Eyes locked on yours.
A gesture of intent.
A vow.
Your breath catches.
You don’t understand it.
You’re not ready to understand it.
He rises slowly, towering once more.
His claws lift, hovering near your face again, but he stops himself, pulling back with a frustrated growl.
Restraint.
You realise with a shiver:
He wants you.
Deeply.
And he is trying very, very hard not to take what he wants.
He steps back into the shadows.
Watching.
Guarding.
Obsessed.
You shiver.
Not from fear.
But from the dangerous flutter low in your stomach that whispers you might want him too.
For almost a full week, Vorkath’ren becomes a shadow stitched to the edges of your world. He doesn’t approach you directly.
He doesn’t speak.
He simply appears.
Everywhere.
When you fetch water, you sense him crouched on the rooftops, silent as a panther.
When you walk the younglings to their lessons, he lingers at the far edge of the training grounds, trophy bones clinking in the breeze.
When you sweep the family hearthstones, you catch glimpses of him through gaps in the walls, mask glinting as he watches.
He never moves toward you unless you look away first.
He never touches you again.
And somehow that makes it worse.
That makes the air between you tighter.
Sharper.
Hungrier.
The matron of the house notices the way you startle at every heavy footstep, every distant growl.
She tuts, as if amused.
“The enforcer’s interest is unusual. He shows no tenderness. No fondness. Not to anyone.”
Her mandibles twitch in what you’ve learned is a smile.
“My dear, that hunter is watching you as if you were a wounded animal he wishes to guard, and a mate he wishes to claim.”
Your cheeks burn.
She continues, voice softening.
“Be careful. His kind love fiercely… but when they choose, it is with absolute possession.”
The bowl in your hands suddenly feels too heavy.
You wake to the sound of metal striking stone.
Clang.
Scrape.
Clang.
You sit up in your small sleeping corner, heart thumping. The household sleeps deeply, but something outside calls to you.
You push aside the cloth covering the doorway and step into the cool night.
The moonlight spills silver across the training yard.
And there he is.
Vorkath’ren
Mask off. Standing before a tall stone pillar engraved with ancient glyphs. His dreadlocks hang in wild black ropes, some tied with the skulls of creatures you’ve only seen in nightmares.
In his hand, he holds a blade nearly as long as your torso.
Clang.
Scrape.
He drags the tip along the stone in slow, deliberate strokes.
Marking something.
A symbol.
A vertical slash followed by three cross-strokes.
Your breath catches.
You’ve seen that symbol before.
On armour.
On huts.
On weapons.
It is the sigil of a Yautja’s chosen mate.
You freeze.
He pauses, sensing you, head lifting slightly.
Very slowly, he turns.
His eyes glow gold in the moonlight, burning like twin suns. His chest rises with a deep, deliberate inhale, as if tasting the air you displace.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t have to.
You can feel the weight of the gesture.
He has carved the sigil, knowing you would see it.
Knowing you would understand.
You step back, breath shaking.
“Vorkath’ren… I… I don’t…”
You don’t know what.
What to feel.
What to say.
What to do with the wildfire building between you.
He takes one heavy step toward you.
Then another.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just steady.
Sure.
Like gravity itself has chosen you and refuses to let go.
Instinct takes over, and you brace to run.
He stops instantly.
His head tilts, mandibles tucking tight with frustration, almost fear. As if even the idea of frightening you rattles him more than any hunt.
He lifts one clawed hand.
Very slow.
Palm open.
Showing he means no harm.
The gesture steals your breath.
You’ve seen him lift that same hand to crush skulls.
To cut down traitors.
To silence those who disobey the Elder.
But to you…
He shows his empty palm.
His voice rumbles out, low and rough, shaping your name with surprising clarity.
It sounds different in his mouth.
Possessive.
You step forward before you even realise you’ve moved.
He inhales sharply.
Your closeness affects him, visibly, intensely. His pupils blow wide, his mandibles twitch with restrained hunger, and his claws flex as if begging to touch but refusing.
Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee again.
The enforcer.
The executioner.
The tribe’s monster.
Kneeling. For you.
Your throat tightens.
“Vorkath’ren… why are you doing this?”
He rumbles deep in his chest, a sound you feel in your spine.
Then he lifts one claw and taps the newly carved sigil on the stone.
Your breath stutters.
“You cannot, I’m human. I’m not… I can’t be that to you.”
He tilts his head again, amber eyes narrowing with a certainty that chills you.
He isn’t asking. He’s telling you.
Claiming you in the only way he knows.
He stands slowly, towering over you, body radiating heat, breath heavy with want he can barely contain.
His claws gently brush the air near your shoulder.
Not touching.
As if he’s waiting for you to choose first.
Waiting for permission.
You take the tiniest step closer.
He shudders.
Then he exhales a low, trembling sound you’ve only ever heard from wounded Yautja.
Vulnerability.
Need.
He backs away into the shadows before he loses control.
But you know now what he wants.
And what you are becoming to him.
Not prey.
Not property.
Not duty.
Something far more dangerous.
Something he would kill for.
Something he would die for.
Something he has already begun to claim.
---
The threats that once stalked your nights, bad blood hunters, political tension within the tribe, challenges to Var’kah’s authority, fade, conquered one by one beneath his claws.
His savage reputation remains, but there is a softness now that only you ever see.
And it starts every morning.
You wake to the warmth of his chest pressed behind your back, his arm coiled around your waist like an unmovable band of iron and affection. His mandibles rest lightly against your shoulder, a habit he formed the first time you shared a sleeping mat. The rumble he makes when he feels you stir vibrates through your ribs, low and content.
You turn to face him.
His eyes open.
He has never slept deeply unless you are beside him.
“Good morning,” you whisper, brushing a hand over the scars on his jawline.
He answers in a gentle click, then lowers his forehead to yours.
A gesture you once feared, now one that unties your heart a little more each day.
He lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a slow kiss to your palm. His tusks scrape softly, deliberately careful.
Once, he was the tribe’s executioner.
Now, he is the male who warms your feet at night, who wakes before dawn to hunt your favourite fruit, who growls possessively when anyone looks at you too long.
And no one challenges it.
Not anymore.
The tribe accepts you.
Respects you.
Some even adore you.
The younglings, greet you each day with chirrs and small carvings they insist on giving you.
When the matron grew too old to keep the nursery, you took her place without question.
Vorkath’ren rebuilt the sleeping hall himself, larger and sturdier, so you would be safe, though everyone knows he meant “protected by walls built with my own hands.”
He watches over you even now, but the obsession that once frightened you has softened into something deeply loyal. Intensely warm.
Still possessive, always, but no longer tangled in pain.
One evening, you sit together at the edge of the jungle, watching the twin moons rise. Var’kah crouches beside you, his size dwarfing your own, his arm brushing yours as if he cannot bear even an inch of distance.
He holds something in his hand.
A bone carving.
Small, elegant, shaped into a sigil you know very well: his.
You lift it with gentle fingers.
“For me?”
He nods, mandibles lifting in a subtle smile.
“Mine,” he rumbles softly.
Not a claim.
A promise.
You lean into him, resting your head against his arm. He shifts so you can settle more comfortably, pulling you against his chest with a tenderness that would shock anyone who once feared him.
“Yours,” you reply quietly.
His entire body warms at the word.
He wraps both arms around you, holding you as if you are the axis of his world, the thing he orbits. You feel the soft vibration of his contentment, a sound that settles into your bones like sunlight.
The moons climb higher.
The night grows still.
And for the first time in your life, the future feels simple.
Safe.
You reach up and brush his cheek.
“Are you happy?” you ask, though you already know the answer.
He presses his forehead to yours, eyes burning softly, voice low and sincere.
“With you, always.”
You smile, closing your eyes as he pulls you into the circle of his arms, the hunter’s moon glowing white above you both.
Here, in this life you built together, there is no fear.
Sick fics!! I’ve had an idea recently about the hosts crashing Reader’s home like they do with Haruhi, except the issue is that Reader is sick and bedridden.
Maybe she barely is able to answer the door, or they get in some other way, and the hosts are sort of causing chaos trying to put together “commoner” meals to make her feel better. Kyoya is quiet and slips away to sit beside Reader, checking her temp and speaking to her softly💗
I also love the character trait that Patience Reader has, being scared of doctors. I think it would be cute for Kyoya to sigh in faux annoyance and reassure her he won’t bring any doctors around.
Just - quiet, touching moments when Reader feels really vulnerable, and Kyoya is (a bit surprisingly) soft and grounding.
Omg love this, kinda role reversal of S2:02, lets do it.
Luxury of care
➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader
➼ summary: the reader is sick and afaid of doctors, kyoya
➼ warnings: none?
Can act as a patience bonus chapter
You knew you were sick the moment you stepped out of bed that morning. Kyoya also knew, and in turn breakfast quickly became a silent battle of wits.
him glaring 'you're sick' while you were stirring your coffee
You shrug as if to say 'it's not that bad' as you move over to the kitchen island.
his chin tilts down to stare at you over his glasses, screaming 'i'll call the doctor' almost as a threat.
You try and send him an innocent stare as you take a sip 'please don't'
The host club members didn't knock today, choosing to wander in after frequenting the apartment a number of times. saving you quickly and hoping that kyoya forgets about the idea of calling the family doctor.
to your slight surprise however when you turn to look at him is that instead of annoyance at the intrusion or indifference there is a look of panic on his face.
You suppose that the rest of the host club does have a track record of choosing the worst days for a surprise visit, but this was a confusing reaction even to you. "Y/n!" Tamaki flutters over to you, sticking a series of moodboards in your face. "Take a look at these for the next few events we have planned"
You try to pay attention, you really do lest the person at the other end of the kitchen counter betrays you to the health clinic, however with how pale your face is and glazed over eyes even tamaki notices your state. "Oh no! You're sick! oh why didn't you say y/n!"
you raise an eyebrow at the fact he hadn't let you get a word in anyway, "Nevermind, this is easily solved" Tamaki flicks open his phone "The joys of the rich, we have the best doctors" Terror shoots through your spine
"My familys doctor has already been tamaki, no need" Kyoya snatches the phone off of him as he walks by. Tamaki's face pales dramatically "And he's already left? no no...that must mean he can't do anything more! please, y/n, don't leave us...tell me, how long does she have?"
you shoot him an unimpressed look "Its about to be a lot more years than you that's for sure"
"She's not dying tamaki" Haruhi chimes in, resulting in a sigh of relief from the blonde man. "You know what tamaki, the doctor said the only thing that will help is a particular soup" kyoya walks over to a cupboard where he pulls out a cookbook, handing it to haruhi
"Haruhi I trust that you can supervise these children while I make sure Y/n rests" He doesn't let her reply or back out, not saying anything else other than guiding you back to bed. "Don't worry y/n! We'll save you!" ringing out down the hall after you.
"That should keep them busy for a bit" He whispers to you as he helps you down against the bed." They mean well but they would have just made things worse"
"Please tell me you aren't going to actually call a doctor"
"I wouldn't have stopped Tamaki if I was just going to do so anyway" He places the back of his hand on his forehead, checking his watch "If you get any worse however I will be and I want no arguments on that"
"You did hear what Haruhi just said about me not dying right?"
He chuckles, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves "I did, but that doesn't mean you don't need a doctor" he sits on a chair nearby. "Like Tamaki said, we have the luxury of not having to be in pain if we don't need to be"
"I'd take this over that right now" Kyoya huffs of false annoyance at your refusal. "Will you at least accept some pain killers and a glass of water?" You nod, as he stands to return to the chaos of the kitchen you catch his wrist "kyoya?"
he turns back in surprise, humming for you to continue "Thank you" and you could have sworn there was a hint of a smile.
Rain hammered against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that mirrored the frantic beating of your heart. You were sprawled out on your bed, a book open on your chest, but you hadn't turned a page in what felt like hours. Your mind kept replaying the scene from earlier today.
Kasanoda Ritsu, your best friend and the scariest-looking boy in school, had actually smiled at you. It wasn't his usual awkward grimace or the terrifying glare he used to unintentionally scare off everyone else. It was a real, genuine smile that had crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your stomach do a series of complicated flips.
You’d been friends since you were little, back when your biggest worry was who got to be the red Power Ranger. Ritsu, with his perpetually furrowed brows even as a child, had been your silent protector. He'd chase away the mean kids who tried to take your toys and always let you have the first turn on the swing set. The other kids had always been a little afraid of him, but you saw past the tough exterior to the sweet, slightly clumsy boy underneath. He was the one who would get you a Band-Aid after you scraped your knee, even if it meant risking a stern talking-to from his father for getting his school uniform dirty.
As you both got older, not much changed. He still walked you home from school, his large frame a comforting presence beside you. He still had a terrible time expressing himself, often just grunting or nodding in response to your ramblings. But you understood his language, the one that existed in quiet gestures and the subtle way he'd always make sure you were okay.
Today had been different. You’d been talking about a movie you wanted to see, a cheesy romance with a ridiculously handsome lead. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it until he’d stopped walking. You'd turned to see him watching you, a soft look in his dark eyes. Then, the smile. It had been brief, but it was there, and it had completely unraveled you.
A knock on your bedroom door pulled you from your thoughts. Your mom called out that you had a visitor. A moment later, Ritsu shuffled into your room, dripping wet and holding a paper bag. He looked even more intimidating than usual, his dark trench coat soaked through and his hair plastered to his forehead.
"Hey," you said, your voice a little shaky. "What are you doing here? You're soaked!"
He held out the bag, his gaze fixed on the floor. "The movie you were talking about... it's still playing. I... I got the tickets."
You stared at the bag, then at him. He was a mess; his shoulders slumped as if bracing for rejection. You took the bag, your fingers brushing against his. He flinched slightly but didn't pull away. Inside, you found two tickets to the movie and a box of your favorite chocolate.
"Ritsu," you said softly, your voice full of emotion. "You didn't have to."
He finally looked at you, his intimidating features softening into an expression of pure sincerity. "I wanted to," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You looked... happy when you were talking about it."
You felt your cheeks flush. This was the boy who had once given you a single, perfect wildflower he’d picked from the side of the road. This was the boy who still, to this day, secretly checked to make sure you had your umbrella when it rained. And now, this was the boy who had braved a downpour to get you tickets to a movie he probably wouldn't even like.
A small smile touched your lips. "Well," you said, reaching out to gently wipe a stray raindrop from his cheek. "You're not going to be much use at the movies if you get sick. Let's get you a towel and some dry clothes."
He just stood there, a look of stunned surprise on his face. He watched you walk over to your closet to grab a towel. As you turned back, you saw the ghost of that genuine smile again, and this time, you returned it without a second thought. The rain outside could keep falling, but in your room, a different kind of warmth had just started to grow.
*Credits of Ouran Koukou Host Club (Ouran High School Host Club) and Kyoya Ootori to original owner(s)
I think this is pretty much an "opposites attract", is it not? idk
Quick! Someone play "holding out for a hero" ! ! !
Tamaki Suoh
The moment you two started dating you understood how important the Host Club was for him, how much work has he put into making this posible and how happy it truly made him, how he really wanted to create a little paradise for his friends and was willing to even protect it, you understood and with that in mind you accepted him with all that, and for the best of it you really tried to keep your relasionship in low profile as much as posible so it wouldn't give him problems on the Host Club
However, it seems that even if you understand Tamaki doesn't, of course he was grateful that you accepted him despite being pretty much flirting with all the girls all the time in the Host Club, but he loves you, he loves you so much that he can't keep it as a secret, he goes around shamesless flirting with you and proclaiming an undying love for you
What was the problem between you wanting to keep your relasionship in low profile so it wouldn't interfiere with his job as Host and his undying and undeniable love for you was that it quickly became reason for big gossips and rumors across the school, specially between the girls attending the Host Club
Things scalated slowly and dangerously dramatic, it started by Tamaki being all flirty and romantic with you around the school, nothing too new honeslty, and your negative answers towards his avances, it didn't meant much at the start since most people just thought you may not be interested or even a bit grumpy, nothing too important
But since Tamaki never stopped trying and was visibly sad when he didn't get the reactions he wished for (pretty much forcing you to reasure him that you still love him while being in private, wich only gave him the energy and confidence to try again) people started to belive that you were just being mean towards Tamaki, like if you had some kind of grudge towards him and you were just taking it out while he was "trying to be kind", wich only leaded his costumers to try to cheer him up and put distance between you two so he wouldn't have to deal with someone so mean (wich, of course, not only did not help but also make him feel really sad)
You tried to be patient and simply spend time alone with him when it was posible, besides he was the one who was suffering the most because of this, after all he is incredibly clingy and affectionate, he needs his daily time alone with you or else he feels like he can work properly! Maybe an exaggeration but true, and those feelings where slowly being expressed more and more to the point that it became evident how much he missed you, what only opened the door for a new kind of rumors
After some time and because of the reactions of both of you the costumers of the Host Club reached the conclusion that this was way more complicated than how they initially thought, this had to be either a forbidden love or unrequited feelings! And with that in mind everyone started cheering for Tamaki to don't give up with his love! If it was true love then he should fight for it! (something that got over his head and made him belive that he had to fight for this love, despite you two already been together)
At the end your relasionship didn't brought problems to the Host Club, if something Kyouya found the way to profit from this big drama and you were started to be invited over to the club more often (something rather suspicious but, of course no one, from the club explained anything, not even Haruhi who apperently thinks is a waste of time trying to understand what they are thinking on)
Tamaki kept having costumers, the princesses never stopped enjoying time with him even when some of the started to go to him more like in an attempt to cheer for him and his forbidden/unrequited love, but it also became a bit more common to have you around the Host Club while working hours and sometimes even making you spend time with Tamaki (thanks to the rest of the club mischievous, of course) and in those moment almost no one dared to interrupt you two, or at least not the costumers who even if didn't interrupted they didn't teared their eyes apart of you two, hoping your love story reaches a happy ending
Ritsu Kasanoda
Ritsu's reputation has always been bad and it isn't even that he tries to make it that way! its just that his instictively agressive answers for whenever he is embarrased or shy (wich happen pretty often) and his intimidating apparience makes everyone fear him, and when people finally realiced that he actually has a partner no one couldn't stop themselfs from feeling bad for this poor unfortunate soul his partner. Of course, rumors spread quickly and by the first time people have actually seen you two together they couldn't help but assume the worst
In reality you and Ritsu has known each other for a while (and thanks to the people who works for him it was that, in an attempt to be supportive, ended up telling you pretty much everything about him, how he is actually really kind and just doesn't know how to properly express himself) is that why, for the longest time you have not being affected by his intimidating apparience or answers, besides the close relasionship you have let you know how kind and caring he actually is, you can see how much efforts he puts on trying to show you how much he cares, directly or indirectly, even when he end up accidentally yelling or answersing bad for how flustered he is (of course, each time he apologizes profusely)
But people doesn't know the truth, they just see you standing there, paralized with fear (according to the rumors) while he looks at you mad and sometimes even yells, of course, ignoring completely the fact that you actually are just being patient with him, letting him have the space and time to gather his thoughts to express himself throught the shyness
And since the rumors do nothing but grow as time passed the worry and even pity started to grow too, it spread like wild fire and at some point some people "tried to help you" asking for your help and even keeping you busy so you wouldn’t have to interact with Ritsu as much as posible so he wouldn't be "a bully" with you. In the other hand, rumors also reached Ritsu and he could help but feel devastated, he doesn't want people to think that he is being abusive with you, he loves you and a lot, but he doesn't know what to do so he will end up being sulking about this whole situation all by himself, not wanting to bother anyone with this (wich only end up worrying his men)
At the end it is after managing to put some distance between Ritsu and you when people actually start to ask about it, still thinking that you may be a victim in the relasionship, even asking how do you feel and if you need help with anything else, of course the shock in everyone when you explain that you are not only a victim but also that Ritsu always tries his best to be a good boyfriend, a really kind and loving one, it is undeniable, most even has troubles grapping their minds around it but as you start to explain more about your relasionship (either to clean your boyfriend's reputation or to indulge their curiousity) everything changes from one moment to another
Of course, your perspective as partner, as someone who loves Ritsu and is loved by Ritsu, helps a lot and not to bright up his reputation but also to win the respect of a lot of people, after all he is caring, loving, he always try to overcome his shyness so you can be sure that he loves you and to be there when you need him, he is mature enough to know when he have done wrong and apologize, even to apologize when he have done something bad in accident and try to make it up for you! You two even started to be recognized as one of the cutests couples in school for those who knows the details!
But, at the end, Ritsu is just happy that people have stopped trying to take you away and that those rumors are not true (although, the rumors affected him so much that he did asked you if you truly felt like he was being an abusive boyfriend)
➼ kyoya ootori x fem!reader
➼ last updated: 4.12.25
➼ genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut maybe
Season one!
Prologue
Part one: Starting today you are a host!
Part two: The job of a highschool host
Part three: Beware the physical exam!
Part four: Attack of the lady manager!
Part five: The twins fight!
Part six: The Gradeschool host is the naughty type!
Part seven: Jungle pool SOS!
Part eight: The sun, the Sea, and the Host club!
*Bonus chapter*: Last night at the beach house
Part nine: A Challenge from Lobelia Girl's Academy!
Part ten: A day in the life of the L/N family!
Part eleven: Big brother is a prince!
Part twelve: Honey's three bitter days!
Part Thirteen: Y/n in wonderland!
Part Fourteen: Covering the famous host club!
Part Fifteen: The refreshing battle in Karuizawa!
Part Sixteen: Operation double date!
*Bonus Chapter*: Degrees of separation
Part Seventeen: Kyoya's reluctant day out!
Part Eighteen: Chika's 'down with Honey' declaration!
Part Nineteen: Lobelia girl's academy strikes back!
Part Twenty: Until the day it becomes a pumpkin!
Part Twenty one: Mori-Senpai has an apprentice candidate!
Part Twenty two: Tamaki's unwitting depression!
Part Twenty three: And so Kyoya met her!
Part Twenty four: The host club declares dissolution!
Part Twenty five: This is our ouran fair!
Season Two
Part One: The Ouran host club is back in business!
Part Two: How to melt a frozen heart!
Part Three: Kyoya's rival conundrum part 1!
Part Four: Kyoya's rival conundrum part 2!
Part Five: The Lobelia Girls academy meets their match!
Part six: Join the black magic club!
Part seven: Operation: Misuzu's reconciliation!
Part Eight: the twins take the runway!
Part Nine: Strike three for Tamaki and Kyoya!
Part ten: Kyoya's big choice!
Part eleven: The cold war of the host club!
*Bonus chapter*: Tranquility
Part Twelve: Hikaru and Kaoru the great detectives!
Part Thirteen: Hikaru's mega conundrum!
Part Fourteen: The responsibility of a host club heir!
*Christmas special*: How Kyoya stole christmas part 1!
How Kyoya stole christmas part 2! (Coming soon)
Paring: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader (Alpha/Omega/Soulmates AU)
Word Count (WIP): 102,618
Rating: NC-17/Explicit/18+
Everyone loves the Alpha and Omega Fated Mates for Life troupe so, what if The Mandalorians were a society of Alphas, a dying race because your sisterhood of Omegas are becoming more and more rare by the day? You and Din were mated before you were born, your futures written in the stars–and that pissed you off, both of you. At least in the beginning. (Canon Compliant)
(This is my spite fic to prove ABO can be non-toxic–it updates on Sundays! **means smut)
Chapter 1: Kismet
Chapter 2: Fire Meet Gasoline
Chapter 3: Desolate
Chapter 4: The Cloak
Chapter 5: Not a Signet But a Scar
Chapter 6: Arvala-7
Chapter 7: A Tiny Green Bounty
Chapter 8: One Thing at a Time
Chapter 9: A Rational Place to Start
Chapter 10: Secretly Charming**
Chapter 11: A Prize to Be Won**
Chapter 12: This is the Way
Chapter 13: Doing What’s Right
Chapter 14: Center of Attention**
Chapter 15: Round One
Chapter 16: Basic Humanity
Chapter 17: Familiar**
Chapter 18: The Fox**
Chapter 19: Unstoppable Meet Immovable**
Chapter 20: Not Like This**
Chapter 21: Fire of Devotion
Chapter 22: Dangerous and Stupid
Chapter 23: Execution
Chapter 24: Bruises and Broken Things**
So yeah I totally killed the reader off in this one... Wanted this one to be angsty. Enjoy.
----------------------------
• Obi-wan Kenobi •
• Obi-wan knew he shouldn't have let you join him on this particular mission.
• He knew something was off about this mission, he had sensed it in the Force.
• But he'd let you join regardless, and now you lay at his feet, bleeding out.
• He quickly dispatched of the enemy, and pulled you into his arms.
• "My love stay with me, you're going to be okay."
• He cradled your head in his free hand, trying desperately to assure you that everything will be okay.
• While also trying to fool himself into thinking you'll be able to pull through.
• As your breathing turned shallow, he kissed your forehead, smiling through the pain.
• He needed to be strong for you.
• And as your eyes fluttered closed, and your chest stilled, Obi-wan felt as if a part of himself had died with you.
• Only then did he allow himself to cry, and Obi-wan Kenobi was never the same.
• Becoming a shell of the man he once was, he eventually leaves the Jedi and roams the galaxy, feeling utterly lost without you by his side.
• Anikin Skywalker •
• Anikin thought he could protect you from anything.
• His one truest love, the one person he would have done anything for.
• This is the most dramatic turn of events for Anikin, the moment when he gave into the dark side.
• Cradling your lifeless body in his arms, Anikin screamed and cried.
• "You can't leave me (Y/n), you can't!"
• And with the aggressive flick of his wrist, he killed those that had taken you from him.
• He was merciless, unforgiving, and beyond angry.
• Anikin felt as if he'd died alongside you, and in many ways he did.
• Alone he laid you to rest.
• His once beautiful blue eyes turned to yellow as he watched you disappear from his life.
• Anikin felt as if your blood was on his hands, as if he failed to protect you.
• He also felt as if he failed you, because if you hadn't loved him as deeply as you did, maybe then you wouldn't have given your life for his.
• The day you died, was the very same day Darth Vader was born.
• Qui-Gon Jinn •
• Qui-Gon knew he shouldn't have grown attached to you, he knew it wouldn't end well.
• The rules about attachments, about love, were in place for this very reason.
• Quickly he took care of the man that had fatally wounded you, and held you close.
• Try as he might with the help of the force he attempted to heal your wounds, unable to do so he tried his best to be strong for you.
• He pecked your lips, and brushed back your hair.
• "You're going to be alright darling, just breath. That's it, just keep breathing."
• His hands shook as he placed his free hand over your wound, trying weakly to stop the bleeding.
• Again he tried using the Force to at least try to ease your pain, to make this easier for you.
• "Just relax my darling, we'll see eachother again."
• Qui-Gon promised you with a weak smile, his heart breaking at the sight of your own equally weak smile.
• His heart breaking further as he felt your breathing slow down considerably, the light in your eyes fading with every shallow breath.
• If there was anything Qui-Gon was grateful for, it was getting to hold you in his arms one last time.
• Darth Maul •
• Maul was foolish enough to think you were untouchable, that you were both untouchable.
• And his world crashed around him as you collapsed to the ground.
• Maul thought he knew pain, but all that he's been through, all that he's done. It was nothing compared to losing you.
• "You'll pay for this!"
• Maul growled at the man that was daring enough to hurt you.
• Ruthlessly he slashed at the man, cutting him limb from limb, and keeping him alive until he was satisfied.
• His rage blinded him, and only subsidied when he heard you wheezing in pain.
• "(Y/n) my star."
• Without another thought he dropped his saber, and rushed to your side, cradling you against his chest.
• He was unfazed by your blood seeping into his robes, firmly placing his hand against your wound, desperately trying to at least slow the bleeding.
• "I'll find you again my star, nothing can keep me from you, nothing."
• Maul promised as he rest his forehead against your own, the connection between you both through the Force, assuring him that he could keep that promise.
• He also swore to take down anyone and everyone that was involved in your demise, whoever that man worked for was as good as dead, and anyone else Maul deemed guilty.
• Maul will destroy worlds to avenge you if he must.
• He kept his eyes locked with yours as you slowly slipped away, his hearts thundering with heartache.
• "We will be together again."
• Maul promised before you gave your final breath, a rage filled scream escaping him as you died.
• And all who knew of Darth Maul, learned that after your demise, the Sith could be far crueler, far darker than he had been when you were still alive.
• Maul eventually turns to the traditions of the Zabrak, and finds a way to reunite with you through the magick of his people.
• It isn't enough, and it'll never be enough, because it is simply a ghost of you.
• But until his demise it is all he can manage, and he will accept that while he cannot hold you anymore, he can at least still see you and speak with you.
• Feral Opress •
• Feral is heartbroken beyond belief.
• You were the only truly good thing in his life, you were his and he was yours.
• Savage had witnessed the whole thing unfold, and for the sake of his brother, he struck down the man that dared to harm you.
• Feral wasn't sure what to do, so he acted on instinct, and laid beside you, pulling you into his arms.
• You had once said laying in his embrace was your favorite thing, the thing that brought you the most comfort.
• And he knew that's all he could do for you, comfort you as you slowly succumbed to your wounds.
• "Sh sh my sweet, just relax, I'm here, I've got you."
• He brushed your hair back in a soothing way, ignoring how much it hurt him to feel your blood painting his skin.
• He peppered kisses across your paling face, his hearts breaking with every kiss.
• You giggled in a pitiful way, coughing a moment later, blood oozed from your mouth.
• And Feral, delicately, lovingly wiped it away.
• "It's okay my sweet, look at me."
• His lip quivered a little as your glossy eyes peered into his own.
• "I love you, don't you ever forget that."
• He pecked your lips, tears escaping him when your final breath wheezed out from your lungs.
• Savage Opress •
• Savage instantly saw red, his hearts filled with rage, and regret.
• He ripped the man who hurt you limb from limb with his bare hands. The man's blood only cooling his temper a little.
• Dropping the carcass carelessly to the ground, he rushed back to your side, and as gently as he could he picked you up and cradled you against his chest.
• With you in his arms, Savage walked carefully across the tundra of the desolate planet you were on, unable, unwilling to just leave you on this wasteland of a planet.
• "Oh little one, my sweet stupid girl. You should have just let me handle him."
• He meant well, he really did. But he was hurt that you would do something so reckless, so selfless.
• You had once promised him forever.
• You giggled weakly, reaching up to caress his handsome face. And Savage melted into your touch.
• His hearts broke, knowing he couldn't save you, not this time.
• His blazing eyes locked onto your pale face, he wanted to commit your face to memory, despite the fact that he already has every part of you committed to memory.
• "I'll see you again little one, through the magick, the Force, I will see you again."
• He promised as he cradled you close, the chill of your skin finally breaking his resolve.
• Savage cried as he held you close, falling to his knees as you struggled to breathe.
• He grew darker that day, much darker. Swearing to fight to the bitter end, until he could be reunited with you once more.
• Kylo Ren •
• The moment you collapsed before his eyes, Kylo felt as if he would die alongside you.
• With a rage filled cry, Kylo cut down the man that hurt you, and threw the rest over a nearby cliff with the Force.
• He fell to his knees beside you, watching helplessly as your blood stained the snow around you.
• "Starlight what have you done?"
• He breathed out as he pulled you into his arms, tears of heartache and rage streaming down his face, his helmet long since abandoned.
• "I couldn't- couldn't let you get hurt."
• You had wheezed out, desperately clutching the deep gash at your side. Kylo's hand rest over yours, desperately hoping to stop the bleeding.
• "I can't live without you."
• Kylo whispered in a broken voice, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
• He squeezed you tighter, as you grew colder and colder in his arms.
• "Don't leave me, please, I can't go on without you."
• Kylo shook in his sorrow and rage, as your breathing became shallow.
• Despite the fact that you were literally dying, you still tried to comfort him, brushing his hair back weakly, your blood staining his pale skin.
• This only served to break his heart further, how can he possibly go on without you?
• Kylo is the most likely to rage an all out war, in hopes of getting himself killed so he could be reunited with you.
• But that's not to say he won't fight to the bitter end.
• Armitage Hux •
• It took everything in Armitage to stay standing, to not collapse and cradle you in his arms.
• If he had done so, he knew your sacrifice would have been in vain.
• But the moment the man is killed by his troopers, he's falling to his knees and pulling you into his arms.
• "GET A MEDICAL DROID NOW!"
• He barks at his men, who rush to follow out his order.
• But it's too late, your once bright eyes are dull and lifeless, having died on impact.
• That doesn't stop Armitage from deluding himself into thinking you'll be okay.
• He's crying, and begging you to wake up, but you don't respond to any of his attempts to stir you.
• "Please angel, wake up, come on."
• He's shaking you, kissing you, and eventually in his desperation he's beating on your chest in an attempt to get your heart pumping again.
• By the time a medical droid comes, he refuses to let you go. His troopers eventually have to tear him away from your body.
• He's kicking and screaming, red in the face as he fights them. But it's no good, they are to strong.
• Armitage has to control himself during your funeral, every instinct in him screaming to not let you go, to fight to bring you back.
• He is much harsher after this, starting arguments more and more with Kylo, and taking every ounce of pain when Kylo throws him across the room with the Force, as if he deserves to be punished.
• He's even trying to goad Kylo into killing him, but the man has a little more restraint than the General had thought.
• Armitage is the most likely to give into his dark depressive thoughts, and take his own life.
• His final thoughts are of you and you alone.
• General Grievous •
• You were his most prized "possession" so to speak, nothing in all of the galaxy meant as much to Grievous as you did.
• "My treasure, no you can't do this, you can't leave me I forbid it!"
• He's killed the man before you even hit the ground, where you lay for mere moments before he's cradling you in his arms.
• He's gentle with you, as he quite literally sprints you to the nearest medical bay.
• "Get out all of you!"
• He barks at the droids, not trusting them to fix what cannot be undone. Certain that he'll be able to save you.
• He's frantic in his attempts to patch you up, almost unaware of the way you gently touch his arm.
• Grievous froze in an instant when you weakly called out his name, his attention now solely on your face, cupping your hand in two of his.
• "What do you need treasure?"
• He asked in a soft voice, ignoring how his voice shook with emotion.
• You simply smiled at him, as if taking in the sight of him was all you cared about in that moment.
• "I-I lo-ve-"
• You tried croaking out, only for your breath to be stolen as you slipped away, dying before his very eyes, trying to declare your love one last time.
• The very ground shook with his scream of despair and heart retching agony.
• From that moment on he took out every ounce of pain and anger at losing you on anyone he deemed a threat.
• Sometimes even on innocent people, who would unknowingly remind him of you.
• He fought dirty and ruthlessly, uncaring if he would get himself killed, or if he would even succeed.
• Grievous also travelled far and wide across the galaxy in an attempt to find some way to bring you back to life.
• He cared not for whatever it might cost, or what he might have to do, who he would have to kill.
• If there is a way he can bring you back, he'll find a way, not matter how long it takes.
Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (Part 1)
The plane was late. The girls weren’t here and Bobby was freaking out. The crowd gathered outside the arena was rising into a crescendo, in raw anticipation. The tension was palpable, it was as if the energy was fizzling from the fans into the very ground of the stadium.
‘Everyone ready? Lets look alive!’ The man with medium length hair spun around, pointing at everyone, checking on progress. Bobby, the manager of Huntr/x frantically flitted around, looking absolutely frazzled.
‘Okay, ready? Yeah, we’re ready. But where are the girls?’ He frowned, turning around to Y/N. The girl in return, shrugged, her eyes glued into her notebook. She was writing a new song. One just in case Huntr/x decided to do another comeback early. The girl group was known for being random with their timings. This meant it make Y/N's job that much harder.
‘Check their location.' She sighed before looking up.
'Although, it isn't exactly unlike them to be late.’ Y/N shrugged, flicking back through her little black notebook. She wrinkled her nose, slightly concerned for the group's well being.
Y/N knew their little secret, for she was their trump card. You see, Y/N was the ghost writer. The one who made sure all the songs went viral, ensuring that the honmoon remained steadfast in its hold. It wasn't an easy job seeing as the songs had to chart well and actually be enjoyable. However, the girls did have great voices so that made it slightly easier.
‘It shows their plane veering off course?’ Bobby flipped his phone around, shoving it above Y/N’s notebook.
The girl looked up and gave a sly grin.
‘Start the music, they’ll arrive.’
Like comets raining down, the three managed to make it onto stage, half way through the song. Y/N looked out into the cheering crowd from behind the curtains, narrowing her eyes at the thin lines rippling with light. Tonight’s concert would be enough. Just enough to keep the shield up. It would hold until their next comeback after this concert. Right?
--
‘Did we just see gold?’
‘Ah! I can’t believe we’re doing it!’
‘It’s so exciting!’
The three cheered, shaking each other in sheer joy.
‘This means we can release our song soon and turn the honmoon gold!’ Rumi cheered.
Y/N gritted her teeth, slightly resentful. It was her song. She was the one who wrote it, slaved over it for weeks to make sure it sounded perfect for the girls.
‘It’s finally time!’ Mira exclaimed
‘Wooo!’ Rumi cheered until her voice suddenly cracked, her cheer suddenly muted. ‘Whoa that was weird.’
‘Do you need some water?’ Y/N mumbled, as the elevator doors opened.
‘Did someone say water?’ Bobby grinned, before gesturing frantically and calling out. ‘Water. Now!’
Y/N sighed, walking out from behind the group, watching how they all were showered in praise. Praise that never seemed to be shared with Y/N. It wasn't as if she was asking for all the credit, however it would be nice to hear a thank you once in a while.
‘What a way to end the world tour! And that guy in the finale who exploded confetti?’
‘Amazing special effects.’ Y/N cut in briskly, side eyeing Mira who returned her glance with a slightly panicked one.
‘Yeah it was super chill. Amazing song writing by the way Y/N.’ He added almost as a sidenote.
Y/N sighed and began to zone out. She didn’t need to be there anymore. It was time to go home whilst the girls decided what to do. Y/N had finished writing Golden two weeks before and Huntr/x had already recorded the song, meaning Y/N could rest. It would be a long time since Y/N was able to go home and get a full nights rest instead of being in the studio, mixing and mastering a new song for Huntr/x.
She trudged her way onto the dark streets where her own penthouse apartment resided. It was one of the perks for owning royalty on all the songs of Huntr/x. At least Y/N had been smart enough to invest in the shares of the company with her money. At this rate? She wouldn’t have to work for the next fifty years if she wanted to. Her retirement was set.
The streetlamps left much to the imagination, however, Y/N was too tired to be wary. The streets here were safe. It was a rich neighbourhood anyways.
Y/N’s phone pinged.
Golden was being released in an hour.
Well that wasn't the plan. But then, did the girls ever tell her of any plans they had? She gritted her teeth, looking at the notification on her phone.
Was it wrong for her to feel slightly resentful? She could see the lines. She could see what the other girls could see, but she couldn’t harness the spiritual power to create a weapon. Y/N was an anomaly. A failure of a hunter.
She scrolled the comments, phone tightening in her hand as she read through each one. The praise was lavished onto the girls. Mira, Zoey and Rumi. Nothing mentioned her, the song writer, the producer. The reason Huntr/x even had songs to sing.
‘You’re looking awfully tense.’ A smooth, plush, voice noted.
Y/N whipped around, brandishing her phone into the shadows.
‘Who’s there?’ She snarled, eyes darting between the flickering streetlights.
‘Don’t be afraid. This won’t hurt one bit.’ Another voice snickered.
…
A pause.
Then another.
Then ten seconds had passed.
‘Um, what?’ The first voice sounded confused.
‘What am I supposed to be waiting for?’ Y/N shifted her posture, now feeling more confident.
‘Your soul. We were meant to take your soul.’ A deep voice muttered, as five boys stalked out of the shadows separately.
‘What the f-’
‘Who are you?’ The one with black hair, took point, walking towards her with a hungry glint.
‘My mother taught me not to tell my name to strangers.’ She snipped back, studying the new figures walking towards her. They were otherworldly in beauty. Jaws chiselled, faces unblemished and fair.
A flash of purple, jagged lines across skin.
‘You’re demons.’ Y/N deadpanned, facepalming. ‘No wonder you’re all so damn pretty.’
The one with pink long hair and heart shaped bangs snickered, sidling up to her. ‘You think we’re pretty?’ He gave a sickly sweet grin, reaching toward her chin.
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself asshat.’ Y/N slapped away his hand. ‘I’m actually not into pretty boys so don’t even try.’ Her body was tight, poised to jump at any time. Even if she couldn't harness the spirit power, she could fight just as well as the rest of the hunters.
‘Maybe she's more into guys like me.’ The one on her left spoke up, shifting into her line of sight.
Y/N’s eyes traced over the muscled man, her eyes lingering on his revealed abdomen as he stretched.
‘Huh, gym rats. Also not my type.’ She shook her head, turning to leave. ‘I’m not into conventionally attractive men. I don’t share.’
‘Who says you have to share?’
Y/N jumped slightly, surprised by the man with black hair standing now in front of her.
‘We know you write all of Huntr/x’s songs. It’s how they're so popular.’ The one with purple hair, wrapped an arm around Y/N's shoulder.
‘Don’t touch me.’ She brushed him off, backing away into a wall.
‘Yeah?’ The wall replied.
‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, only to be met by a wall of solid muscle. ‘OKAY STOP.’ She whisper-yelled. ‘What do you guys want from me? I don’t carry cash.’
'What? We don' want your money.' The one with blue hair chuckled, leaning on a lamp post.
'We want something more valuable.' The tallest said, flicking away his pink bangs.
'And that is?' Y/N narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the group of strange yet alluring men.
‘Write for us. We need a debut single in three days.’ The one who looked like the leader gave a wicked smile.
‘What makes you think I would do that?’ Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head in a question.
‘Because we can give you what you want. Fame, recognition, power.’
'Who says-' Y/N began before falling to her knees, clutching her head.
Unbeknownst to her, the boys hurriedly gathered around her as she fell, the closest catching her before she collapsed on her side.
The outside world was suddenly cut off from Y/N's mind. It was silent.
And then it began.
Pain.
Throbbing pain as visions filled her head. It was searing, as if a hot knife were being twisted. Visions, sounds, memories. This wasn’t her world. This was the world of…
