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poptartzz2 · 1 year ago

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⋱⟡ Hot Cocoa ✩ Miguel O'hara ⟡⋰

❀ Read this before you begin! ❀

For those of you who enjoy reading on Ao3, it’s posted here

✩⟡∵⋰ Synopsis: Getting snowed in with your friend is one thing, but getting snowed in with a gorgeous and horny man like Miguel O’hara is an entirely different ball game. It’s one you’ll have to navigate after grabbing a lovely sip of Hot Cocoa.

✩⟡∵⋰ Pairing: Miguel O’hara x fem!reader

✩⟡∵⋰ Warnings: 18+/ MDNI; little bit of flowery language

✩⟡∵⋰ Contains: Friends to lovers, slight fluff and angst, NSFW, mentions of cheek clapping and other sexual references , homie cops some feels lol

✩ Miguel’s thoughts are in purple

✩ Your thoughts are in pink

✩⟡∵⋰ A/N: I’m so nervous to post this, I hope ya likey (٥⁀▽⁀ )

Coffee. Java. Frappuccino. Dolce. Mocha. Ristretto. These are just a few of the names that belong to the different brews you prepare each and every day.

Tall. Muscular. Quiet. Intense. Amusing. These are just a few of the qualities that belong to a peculiar customer you get the chance to interact with daily.

Miguel is his name. Miguel O’hara.

That’s the name of the man who enters your safe haven each and every morning, with a quiet and intoxicating energy, ten am on the dot, every single time.

He orders the same simple beverage every visit, sitting in the same peaceful spot resting beside the shop’s window, and he remains quiet every month. Untouched. Unbothered.

Well, scratch that. Something about this man feels familiar to you. When you get the pleasure of taking his order and having pleasant conversations with him, you find a sorrowful look in his eyes. It’s the kind of haunted look you’ve seen staring back at you in your own mirror each day, each month, every year.

His eyes. They’re red in hue, beautifully rich in emotion, hungry, and longing for something. These are the pair of eyes you get to look into everyday, and today was no different.

Or so you thought.

After a series of startling and bone chilling events, you’d find this gorgeous man’s gaze, your friend’s gaze, transform into something you’ve never seen before.

One that’s hungry for something he didn’t think he’d be able to have again. That something is you.

A beautiful woman who he has grown to enjoy and who he loves spending time with. Yours. His. All for the taking, after grabbing a comforting sip of hot cocoa.

↞✯ 。 .・☼・. 。✯↠

Today has been awfully chilly, however, that’s always good news for you.

Despite having to deal w/ freezing temperatures in your room, that peacefully rests above the shop, snowy days typically mean you get a day off.

Don’t get me wrong, you love the art of coffee making, but a day with less work is always nice. A win is a win, especially when you're the only one on shift today.

This means you’ll have less picky customers to deal with, and you’ll have the chance to enjoy one particular customer more easily.

In fact, when you happen to look up from making some dope latte art, you easily spot him strutting into the shop, making a beeline towards you.

Keep your cool, girly. Keep it chill. All puns intended.

“Hey Miggy, how are you today? Up for something new?” you brightly question, as the handsome man greets you.

This is the first time you’ve called him Miggy. You’d like to think that the two of you have grown to be friends (at the very least), but perhaps calling him this would make him uncomfortable, especially since you typically call him Miguelito.

However, as he stares back at you, you find his brows slightly jumping, and eyes widening but only for a moment, just to be replaced by a soft, sweet, and rare smile, that gently tugs on the corners of his mouth.

A mouth, you had never watched before, with a set of teeth you had never seen before. Sharp in shape, white as snow, warring for the attention that the beautiful snowflakes dancing outside, easily bring.

“Hi sweetheart, now that you mention it, I think I’d like to try something new today. Do you have any recommendations?” Miguel softly asks, as his eyes shyly avoid your own, while he moves to rifle through his wallet.

A wallet filled with memories baked in from the life he once had. The life he misses dearly, and the life he believed he’d never taste again.

As he listens to you speak now, his heart is in search of something tasty, flavorfully reminding him of his daughter Gabriela, and the fun and playful drinks she loved to get.

Thankfully, you give him a place of solace, and a peace of mind with one drink he can’t pass on trying.

“The final item I’d recommend is our “White Strawberry Coco-Moco”. I know it sounds interesting to say the least, but I think it’d be wonderful for today, especially since it’s been snowing for hours now. It’s the perfect thing to keep you warm.”

I can think of a few other things that would easily keep me warm involving you…

Oh no, it’s happening. Just shut up please, not right now.

“I know it’s been ordered quite a bit and if I’m being honest, it’s some of the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted. I-“

Before you can even finish describing the drink, Miguel happily goes with what you’ve offered.

He knows if Gabi were here, she’d be so excited to try it. So he has to get it, in memory of her, and because you recommended it.

“I’m sold. As you know I drink the same damn thing everyday, so why not change things up a bit? And like you said, it’s quite chilly today with the snow, so I’ll go for it. I know anything you make will keep me warm.” he says, as he fishes out his debit card.

The next thing he says, comes more quietly and is nearly undetected.

��You’re so talented with this coffee thing sweetheart, everything you make tastes absolutely beautiful… just like you. You’re so beautiful.” Miguel softly cloaks under his breath, as he finally meets your eyes.

Looking at him once more, you find yourself melting, just for a moment under his fiery gaze.

Did he really just say that? Looking like that? Oh my…

As you once this man over, your eyes begin drinking in every ounce of his presence and style.

You find it all too easy to gawk at his long and slimming black trench coat, that’s accompanying a dark & tightly fit cable knit sweater, who’s turtle neck collar accentuates his gorgeous facial structure, and accents a lot of muscles you’ve never noticed before.

Or at least that’s what you like to tell yourself, when that’s far from the truth. Here’s the reality:

Anytime Miguel walks into a room, it’s as if everything is drawn to attention; charmed and demanded to look at him.

This means you’ve had zero issues with taking account of this man’s muscles, piercings, his height, amongst many, many other things. Very interesting things.

Things are clearly no different now.

Lowering your head in an attempt to mask your nerves in front of your lovely friend, you don’t hesitate to have a little fun with him in hopes of recovering.

Surely he didn’t think he could just say those things under his breath without any repercussions right?

“Excuse me Miggy? I didn’t quite catch that. What was that last bit you just said? Something about beauty?” you playfully ask.

“Huh? What? Oh nothing. Just that hot cocoa will definitely keep me warm because it’s so… beautiful..like you said.” Miguel painfully murmurs, as he struggles to confidently meet your gaze.

What the hell was that ? No puedo…

Nodding your head with a soft smile, you easily shake off your nerves as they’re replaced by sweet laughter, and you begin making his drink.

Little did you know, Miguel wasn’t planning on going out today. Considering the weather, he thought it’d be best to stay at home. However, at the sight of your face flashing across his vision, he easily changed his mind.

And how dare he try to ruin the tradition? The lovely tradition he’s kept up for over a year might I add. Where he comes in every single day, relaxes, gets some work done, people watches, and gets to spend time with you.

Sometimes when you’re on your break, he’ll buy you lunch and the two of you will enjoy the afternoon together. It’s something the both of you so desperately need.

Miguel also enjoys tipping you, whether you’re the one ringing him up or making his drink. No matter what you’re doing, he will tip you. He appreciates your sweet conversations, and you’re the only person who can make his drink just the way he likes.

When someone else makes his stuff, he pays you extra, as if he’s begging you to make it instead next time.

While Miguel waits for this new and exciting drink to be prepared, he notices something odd, but sensible. Considering he enjoys people watching, it’s no surprise he’s caught the lack of customers in the shop today.

In fact, as minutes and minutes begin to pass, he not only finds the shop emptying itself, but he also catches the shift in weather and temperature.

Watching as the beautiful and gentle snowflakes outside swiftly begin to turn into a heavy torrent of wind and ice, Miguel feels a sudden urgency to get back home. Especially when he remembers he forgot to do something important.

As in life threatening important.

I wanted to sit and chat with YN today, but I don’t want to get caught in this storm. Wait. You've gotta be kidding me.

I forgot to take it this morning. I really can't stay now.

I need it. If I don’t have anything in my system, I’m afraid of what I’ll do or who I’ll become. Getting stuck in here means I’d have to go without the serum, and that’s not good for anyone, especially YN.

But I can’t leave her here alone, not in this weather. Damn it…

While you finish preparing his drink, and one for yourself too since you’ll be going on break, you just so happen to catch a glimpse of what Miguel is staring at so intently, and you instantly pause.

In the time it took for you to make two simple drinks, the whole world outside your little comfy home, turned white. Completely white.

As you further look around the shop, you realize no one else is here besides yourself and Miguel. Everyone is gone.

Happily lost in thought over your friend, and your enjoyment of making this chocolate delicacy, you easily missed the snapping change in weather.

While you move to place Miguel’s drink in an interestingly cute coffee mug, and finish garnishing it with sweet toppings, the lights above you begin to flicker, the wind suddenly begins to violently howl, appliances clatter, and the warmth in the room instantly vanishes.

POP. POP.

Immediately jumping at the loud noise of electric friction, you quickly sigh when the lights dramatically go out, and as the room grows stark in silence. Just like that, everything is out. Everything has left you.

Warmth. Joy. Electricity. Customers, and so much more. Gone, in the blink of an eye.

Funny enough, people and things swiftly leaving you behind isn’t something new or foreign in your life, or in Miguel’s.

Just as Miguel has lost people in his life, you too have lost people that you’ve held close to your heart. Some of them are gone because of you, and that’s a guilt you’ll never be able to shake.

That’s one of the reasons why Miguel and yourself have become friends, despite his initial rough and bold disposition.

Underneath that rocky exterior, that’s battering with the world beating up against him and a boatload of grief, there’s a man with a soft interior. A man with a shattered heart that's slowly being put together again, by you of course.

With the popping of the light fixtures, and the whirring and buzzing of the coffee machines coming to a halt, heavy clicks of suede booted footsteps come walking towards you.

As a large arm suddenly leans against the order pick up counter, you breathe a sigh of relief. Having Miguel here right now couldn’t be more perfect.

The last thing you would need or want, is to be left in this shop, cold and all alone.

࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾

“Nice weather we’re having hm?” Miguel asks, as his playful question shockingly warms the air. Instantly smiling, you eagerly respond.

“Oh it’s absolutely gorgeous. Who doesn’t love a freezing winter day with nothing to keep you warm?” you brightly say, as you come from behind your workspace, and peel off your apron.

Or at least you’re trying to.

Before he even has the words to respond to, Miguel slowly begins to walk towards you, as his eyes never leave your frame.

All this time, he’d been watching you, intently listening to words drip off your tongue, attentively watching your smile, and closely looking in places he shouldn’t be.

Considering this, he found it all too easy to see you struggling with the apron tightly wrapped around your waist. A waist Miguel often thinks about squeezing, holding, roughly gripping, etcetera, etcetera.

Abruptly feeling a large presence hover behind you now, your body grows stiff and your mind begins to scatter.

Your friend doesn’t help you to feel any differently, especially as his breath slowly dances across your ear, humming a melody you’d never thought you’d hear, which easily sends a tingling sensation down your spine.

“Let me help you with that sweetheart…” Miguel breathily smiles into you, as he gently steadies one of his hands against your waist, before moving to loosen the bow tightly woven behind you.

As he masterfully removes your apron for you, your thoughts are frozen on what just happened. Even after a year of spending time with Miguel, not once had you ever experienced this.

A moment where the line between friend and “I wanna fuck you” grows awfully thin. A moment, where you could visibly and audibly encounter Miguel purposefully leaving you breathless.

One moment he’s quietly complimenting you under his breath, and the next he’s doing this. What in tarnation is going on…

Completely acting as if nothing happened, this man finally responds to what you said, as he remains closely behind you.

“Woah, who said you didn’t have anything to keep you warm? Are you cold right now? I can certainly help with that.” Miguel smiles deviously, as he lowers himself to gently and ever so slowly, wrap those large and calloused hands of his around your waist.

Badump. Badump.

Your heart beats faster.

Badump. Badump.

His strong arms pull you closer.

As you now lie against Miguel, his head moves to rest against your shoulder and into the warmth of your neck, while you both sweetly sit in a peaceful silence, and comforting embrace.

Until you fully come to recognize what’s happening right now.

As soon as you realize it all, in panic mode, you swiftly remove yourself from his touch, and nervously turn around to meet his gaze.

There’s absolutely no way this man is acting like this. He’s never been so..what can you call it? Amorous. He’s never once touched or held you like this before, especially with such longing and affection.

Simply because you’ve been friends.

Friends.

What a beautifully painful word, imprinted and engraved on your relationship with Miguel. A word you desperately wish could be washed away and replaced by something else. By something more.

Frantically trying to process this all, you need a way to escape, just for a moment.

Easily thinking of something on the fly, you thank the brutal blizzard for its handiwork, leaving you in need of warmth and light.

“Ah- thank you for that Miggy. Um- I actually have a few candles and blankets upstairs, do you mind if I go grab them for us really fast?” you nervously say, vaguely avoiding his maroon dressed gaze.

“Candles? Blankets? What are you up to sweetheart, trying to wine and dine me?” Miguel softly smiles, as his lids grow heavy and his voice silky smooth, thick and heavy, weighted with a lust for more of you.

Hearing him now, you’re completely baffled. Don’t get it twisted, wining and dining is the least of what you’d like to do with Miguel, but who is he right now? The Rizzler?

Once again trying to hide your startledness, your playful side comes to aid you in your mission.

“You wish that were the case, don’t you Miggy? Or surely you’d like to be more than wined and dined? Besides, it's not even evening yet, so don’t be ridiculous. But seriously though, I want you to be okay; it’s freezing in here. Do you mind if I go and grab them from my room?” you ask.

Miguel slightly pauses at your statement of 'you wish'. Somewhere deep inside, your kindness has warmed his frosted heart, and much like the storm outside, he was heading down a dark path before he met you.

You are his candle that helps him to see when things get dark. You’re his blanket that keeps him warm on nights when the cold wind of grief and anger seizes his breath and thoughts.

Sometimes there are nights when Miguel lies restless in his bed, with no one to comfort him, with nothing to woo him back to sleep.

Those are the moments when his phone lights up with a call from you, his solecito, his lovely little sun.

With seemingly perfect timing, whether it’s late at night, or early in the morning, whenever he’s in need of comfort, you’re right there with him. Calming him down, encouraging him, and reminding him that everything will be okay. Of course, he doesn't hesitate to do the same thing for you.

Talking for hours on end, smiling, laughing and getting to know one another better, you often communicate like this. Whether it’s over the phone or standing face to face, like you are now.

Even if Miguel said yes to your inquiry, he wouldn’t need any of those items. He has you and that’s all he needs. You’re all he’ll ever need.

Yes you may be friends, but at times when he finds himself thinking about you and wishing he were with you, wishing he were inside of you, those are the moments when he dreams of being more.

More than just a man from the coffee shop. More than just a friend you can spend time with. He wants to be called yours, which is something he’d never thought he’d be able to experience again, but he’s not surprised you’re the reason why he feels this way.

“Hello? Miguel, are you there?” you ask out of curiosity, as the man gets lost in thought.

“Ah yeah, lo siento. Feel free to, and actually let me help you with that.” he softly says, with the rubbing of his neck.

“Oh okay, thank you.” You say, trying to mask your worry. You needed to get away, and now you’ve single handedly invited this man to come following after you, up to your room. A room you don’t want him to ever see.

Ignoring this though, you just suck it up and let Miguel help you.

What could possibly go wrong?

࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾

“Alright, let’s go then. I know I told you I lived upstairs, but I realized I haven’t given you a grand tour yet. Don’t worry though, there isn’t much to see…anything that’s good anyway” the last bit you whisper under your breath, with vague enthusiasm, which Miguel easily hears.

Unbeknownst to you, he can detect lots of sounds with his extra enhanced senses, due to his genetic makeup. Nothing will easily slip past him, and sometimes this comes with a cost.

There are too many situations to recall, where Miguel often finds his mind drifting into forbidden spaces when he’s around you. Especially when he can hear your heart racing like crazy in his presence.

It leads him to think about certain activities that might leave you a little winded and thoughtless….

Activities he has to keep himself from imagining, for both your sakes, simply because there’s that beautiful line of friendship he can’t cross, even though he so desperately wants to.

He’d love nothing more than to keep that pretty heart of yours beating just for him, in ways you’ve never imagined.

࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾

As you two head upstairs, Miguel instantly sees what you’re talking about.

Considering he’s such a large man, walking and moving in this cramped space is quite difficult and it causes him to direct his attention towards you. You’re so sweet. So compassionate. Very Grateful.

With the limited area and items you have in your living space, “your room” is more like a glorified closet, and yet he’s never heard you complain about it, not once.

He knows he would, if he were you.

Fascinated that you never grope or say anything negative about your circumstances, he finds it’s because you’re too busy caring for others and trying to be a goofball. He loves that about you.

“Ack I apologize you have to see this. I'm not typically messy but things can get a little disorganized to say the least.” you nervously chuckle, as you painfully allow him to see where you live.

With things scattered across your floor, and sprawled across your bed, you feel terribly embarrassed. On the one day you decide to let your room be a little messy, a friend you find extremely hot, walks in and gets to see everything in all its glory.

Wonderful. Absolutely Wonderful.

Praying and hoping that things will be okay, Miguel thankfully reassures you while you go fishing out your candles, candlesticks, lighter, and blankets.

“Don’t worry about that mi solecito, you’re just fine. So fucking fine…” Miguel softly says, with a hidden smile as he now leans against your doorframe and watches you from behind.

࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾

While you are moving around your room, in search of everything you need, you easily miss Miguel glancing around as well, while he patiently waits for you.

In his waiting, he just so happens to spot a poorly hidden, and very large object.

It’s bright in color, long, thick, round in shape, and laying right next to your bed… the bed you've laid in, spending nights and nights thinking about Miguel.

Curious about it, but not that curious, he quickly tries to avert his attention from the doodad, but it’s too late as he comes to fully recognize what it is. Although it's wrapped in a silk cloth and barely tucked away in your nightstand drawer, there's no denying what it is.

There's no denying what it's been used for. There's no denying who uses it, and why they choose to. There’s no denying how it makes you feel.

There's also no denying how it makes Miguel feel about you at the sight of it.

That look that he always has in his eyes? The hunger and longing? It's growing now. His eyes are no longer that deep shade of maroon they once were.

At the sight of this object, his eyes discard the once dark hue, and truly begin flashing a dangerous tone of scarlet instead.

Fuck. Me. Why did I have to see this? Now of all times? Today of all days? When I didn’t take it?

When I can’t hold on much longer to this friendship we have? Why now?

Miguel’s recognition and confirmation of what the item is only grows, once he sees your face.

After catching him looking in the direction of where you keep a very personal and pleasurable object, unable to hide it or hide your own self, the only thing you can do is emptily look towards the floor.

With your eyes wide, and lashes slowly fluttering, you can’t breathe. You can’t move. There’s no way this man just saw it. Once again, of all the people that could’ve seen this, it just had to be Miguel of course.

As heat quickly jets across your face, you quickly turn back towards your belongings and focus on grabbing everything you’ll need.

While you do this, Miguel is focusing on your heartbeat.

Here it is again, beating fast in the heat of a moment. A moment where he has caught you being someone he never thought you’d be, doing things he never thought you’d do.

However, it does leave him pleased.

Suddenly feeling a familiar urge creep up within himself, Miguel tries to take deep breaths, as images begin to soar across his mind at the thought of you using your lovely object, and who you thought of while you using it.

Feeling his canines ache, feeling his body grow warm despite the temperature, and feeling his vision begin to shift, he knows he needs to calm himself down but it’s difficult. It’s hard. He’s hard, and there’s only a matter of time before you notice it.

Seeing your “little”…friend, has this man falling apart, especially with the lack of serum in his system, called “Delight”.

Delight isn’t Rapture, but it’s similar enough and he takes it daily. He absolutely needs it, and he can’t go without it.

Delight keeps him from ravaging someone, and not in a gory way, but a sensual one.

It works as a calming agent, taming the hunger that stems from his genetic makeup as Spiderman, along with cooling the symptoms that come with it. However, it isn’t an antidote.

The antidote will give him complete relief, and prevent the hunger from consuming and controlling him. He often needs Delight and the antidote together to be in a good place.

Hunger Symptoms

Increased sexual desire

Increase in sensitivity

Shift in personality/ Bro gets devious

Lack of self control

Aching canines

Increased body heat

Being hard for long periods of time→ not fun at all

The antidote to completely calm his symptoms and satisfy his hunger for the day, is the act of indulging in anything that brings him sexual relief.

Miguel has always had to relieve himself from the symptoms and hunger, simply because it can get difficult to do anything with and without Delight.

Sometimes this means jerking off, or in the past, it meant inviting a lovely woman, or not so lovely (he didn’t care, his body didn’t care. He just needed relief) over to his place.

When he has Delight in his system, no matter the amount, all he needs is something small, simple, and quick. Something as light as foreplay can do the trick to help him feel better.

However, when he doesn’t have anything in his system at all, that’s when things get dangerous. This is when his symptoms and hunger go on x games mode.

When Delight is completely absent from his body, Miguel needs everything, and he needs to feel it all, or else the hunger will consume him.

Foreplay won’t cut it. The only thing that can satisfy and satiate him is intense and powerful movement. Penetration. He needs to feel it. He has to be inside. He needs skin to slap and pound against, a neck to bite, hair to pull, and places to suck, lick and fuck.

He needs his leading lady to climax and release, or the hunger will consume him.

This means that it’s not over until you cum, and not just by any means. You have to cum with his cock alone, and nothing else. No fingers used, no toys allowed. Just him and him alone.

As you have already witnessed, on top of being mega horny, Miguel will begin to transform into someone else when Delight isn’t present in his system.

While he tends to be more thoughtful, reserved, and well composed, he will grow to be more cocky, more bold, and more seductive.

As previously stated, bro gets devious. Not giving a rat’s ass about what flows out of his mouth, he says whatever comes to mind.

If his words leave you a flustered mess, then so be it.

↞✯ 。 .・☼・. 。✯↠

As you awkwardly grab everything you need, it seems too easy to pretend like nothing happened, and so you do.

Skipper from Madagascar said it best, “You didn’t see anything”, and you proudly embrace this phrase in order to keep yourself together. Miguel didn’t see it, and neither did you.

“Here we are! I've got a few vanilla scented candles I bought, which smell absolutely delicious, and these warm and fuzzy blankets I love!”you say brightly in hopes of masking your embarrassment.

“Do you mind-“ Before the question can even fall out of your mouth, Miguel begins to take everything you grabbed into his arms and heads back downstairs. He doesn’t leave you to carry one item.

He also doesn’t speak or give you eye contact.

While you believe it’s because of what he noticed in your room, it’s actually because of what he noticed going on in you and in himself.

Trying to avoid your scent, your smile, your bright eyes, your laugh, it’s all impossible because he’s stuck here in his favorite shop, snowed in with you. No way of escape. Zero traces of Delight in his system. Time is running down.

He has no idea what he’s going to do, and neither do you.

As you stand in shock for just a moment's notice, you quickly think about the interactions that just took place and you wonder where Miggy’s head is at.

Considering the both of you have hot Cocoa waiting for you, and nothing to do, it would be a perfect time to figure that out.

࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾

When you go back downstairs, you find Miguel with his jacket off, all the candles lit, and find him waiting for you with blankets and hot Cocoa filled mugs in hand.

He oddly did that extremely fast, but you put it behind you.

Awkwardly creeping into his space, you're wondering what's going on right now.

With the air feeling thick and cold, tense and awkward, your words are easily getting caught in your throat and your mind is easily getting caught in the trap of replaying what happened in your room.

However, that's not the only thing your brain is rehearsing.

Miguel seeing your dildo wasn't an issue just because of his relationship with you. It was also an issue because of what you've done with the object.

After seeing Miguel and watching him painfully tear his gaze away from the toy, you were reminded of every guilty thought, noise, and touch that came along with the dildo's usage.

Everytime you used it, everytime you got yourself ready, you only had one person on your mind.

One person on your mind, who your mind and body ached for, who's voice and touch your core dripped for. Miguel. That’s who.

Remembering all the times you allowed your imagination to take flight, all the positions you used, and all the noises that were made, you can't help but feel embarrassed, flustered, hot, and incredibly horny, especially because the person you constantly fantasize about is right here in front of you.

Just a step away. Just one belt unbuckling away. Just one kiss away. Just one fuck away. That alone is too much. Too nerve wracking.

You can’t run from him now, and you can’t hide. There’s no escape.

You have to face all of your fantasies and come to terms with what he just saw. You have to face it all…but you cast it aside and try to forget everything.

What a terrible idea.

As the room grows awfully quiet, reality truly sets in.

You're snowed in and alone with the man who always leaves your heart racing and mind pacing. You’re snowed in with the friend you’d like to fuck, but can’t do anything with.

Whatever shall you do?

↞✯ 。 .・☼・. 。✯↠

As you and Miguel move to sit down, you awkwardly head towards the sectional couch resting by the shop’s largest window.

While he gets comfortable and seated in one area, you make sure to remain in another, far away from him.

Fortunately for you, you’ll find out this is yet another terrible idea.

As you begin to cuddle up with your favorite blanket and begin sipping on your hot chocolate, you suddenly feel Miguel’s gaze burning into you.

With heat lovingly caressing your body at the sight of his eyes trained onto you, you really wish he’d look somewhere else, at anything else.

If you keep it up, I might pounce on you, and I can’t do that.

So please spare me, and take your fine ass somewhere else. Look anywhere else but at me. I beg you.

As if hearing your inner monologue, you find Miguel chuckling, and suddenly pausing for a brief moment. His chest stops moving, his fingers stop tapping, and a muffled sound erupts from deep within himself.

Looking over at him out of curiosity, you find he’s got his face buried in his hand now, as he leans against the edge of the couch.

“Fuck.” you hear him curse under his breath, as you watch his free hand begin to violently grip the couch.

“Hey…are you okay Miguel?” You cautiously inquire, as you walk over and softly place your drink down on the coffee table nearby.

With one hand still buried in his face, and the other clawing up the furniture, he says absolutely nothing. The only thing you can hear are ragged and desperate breaths that are now overwhelming his body.

Heavily concerned at this point, you move to step closer to him. You’ve never seen him act like this, and you want to make sure he’s okay.

As you do, he puts his hand out to stop you.

“Don’t. Don’t- I’m fine solecito. Thank you-but I’m okay” Miguel murmurs, with frequent pauses and furrowed brows.

Slowly nodding your head in response, you head back towards your spot.

“Okay..” you silently say. However, as you give Miguel one look over before you go, your eyes land on this odd strain in his trousers.

Watching in amazement as it grows tighter and larger by every passing moment, you don’t know what to do, especially since this bulge is absolutely massive.

You know what this is. You know what’s happening, but you don’t know how to handle it. What the hell is going on with him today? Clearly Miguel is not okay….

Deciding to once again ignore it all, you finally grab your cocoa once more and sit back down, getting extra comfy with your blanket, as you tightly grip its fabric.

You need help or you’re gonna lose it.

As you take another swig of your drink as a scapegoat from this very awkward moment, you'll find there is no escape.

Things just keep getting more and more interesting to say the least, and that line we talked about earlier? The cute little friendship line? Yeah, that's getting thinner now.

࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾

“I know you saw it YN, you don’t have to pretend.” Miguel bluntly says, as his breathing steadies and his muscles relax.

Startled, you easily find yourself choking on your drink now.

Leaving you no time to recover, as you get up to put your mug down once again, in your coughing fit, you suddenly feel something slap against your back.

Before you know it, you’re flying backwards into the couch, and right into Miguel’s lap.

Trying to process what the hell is happening, your lovely friend easily brings your focus elsewhere and onto more important matters. Matters that are growing larger, more painful, and more urgent as time passes.

Bringing your focus onto matters that you’ve both dreamt about. Fantasized about.

As you now rest in Miguel’s lap, a place you’ve never been in before, your body easily begins to speak before your mouth can.

Feeling his thighs underneath your own, feeling your back pressed into his, and feeling his arms wrap around your waist, you naturally get comfortable and sink into his touch.

As he now begins to gently caress your sides, you suddenly feel his breath cascade across your neck, and feel his silky voice reach your ears once again.

“You honestly didn’t think I’d let you sit that far away from me did you? When you look this beautiful? How cute...” he grins into you.

“I know you feel it now too YN. Don’t you want the real thing sweetheart? I promise it’s better than your cute little toy.” Miguel breathily whispers, as you abruptly feel his teeth begin to nibble, and his lips begin to gently kiss on your ear.

With hearing “cute little toy”, along with feeling Miguel do all of these things to you, things he’s never done before, your mind is in shock.

Little? LITTLE?! No…no way it’s far from little. Does that mean you’re bigger than-

Unable to compute all of the things happening right now, Miguel doesn’t help with that.

He just keeps on getting lost and lost in you, and how much he wants you. How much he wants to be inside of you. How much he wants to be with you.

Without Delight in his system, he’s beginning to crack and things are only just starting to heat up. Of course he doesn’t refrain from letting you know this, by showing you of course.

Actions are far better than words aren’t they?

Continuing to whisper in your ear, Miguel sends you further and further into the struggle zone, as your heart begins to flutter, and as your core grows warm.

You’ve wanted this man for so long, but you’ve kept those feelings on a tight leash outside of some interesting activities of course. Now that this is happening though, you’re unsure of what to do.

Is this real? Is the sweet and reserved man you’ve known this entire year still here? Or has this been him all along, just buried and hidden away from you?

As you sit in his lap a little while longer, Miguel easily gives you the answers you’ve been looking for.

“All those pretty little things you’ve dreamed of at night YN? All the thoughts and ideas you’ve fucked yourself to? They can become your reality sweetheart. Right here, and right now.”

“I know you think of me when you have your little fun, don’t you YN? Tell me what you think about when you ride it, when you bounce up and down on it, when you pound and sink into it. Tell me…” Miguel smiles into you, as he continues rubbing your sides.

Completely baffled now, your mind grows fuzzy at the remembrance of everything you just tried to forget.

Whispering “Miguel” is the only thing you can manage to do before he easily picks you up, turns you around, and presses you down into his lap, as your legs straddle his own.

Looking into his eyes now, you find they’re a brilliant red you’ve never seen before, a red that could rival even the brightest star in the sky.

As the both of you remain close to one another, with shared breath and mouths only centimeters apart, you suddenly wrap your arms around your friend’s neck.

You then ask him a question. Before anything happens, you need some answers, simply because you have no idea what’s going on right now.

“Miguel…are you okay? I’ve never seen you like this before, where you’re-“

“Where I’m what? Fucking hard for you? Where I’m clawing at this damn couch, trying my best not to kiss you, not to sink my cock into you, not to love you?”

“Well if that’s the case, then you better get used to this. I can’t hold it back anymore. I don’t want to be your friend anymore, I wanna be yours. I simply want you. Every inch, every curve. I want to touch all of you, to taste all of you, but I can’t unless you want this too. Unless you want me too.” Miguel achingly and breathily whispers into you.

Completely baffled, your heart begins to race even more than it already has, and your face instantly grows more warm.

You can't believe it. You truly can’t believe what you’re hearing, even if you’ve been dying to receive these words from Miguel fucking O’hara all this time.

Responding back to the best of your abilities, you let him know where you’re at.

“Oh trust me, I’ve wanted this for so long. I just didn't know if it was okay. If having feelings like this for you was ever okay.”

“I mean who could resist somebody like you…with those gorgeous eyes, and these lovely muscles? I just didn't want to ruin our friendship.” you nervously mumble.

As Miguel deeply gazes into your eyes for a few moments, he looks and feels you over all at once.

Finally, he has the woman he deeply cares about and wants so badly, right here in his arms. She’s underneath his touch, telling him exactly what his body has been yearning to hear. Exactly what his heart has been yearning to hear.

It only makes him more hungry and more eager to be with you.

Look at you all hot and bothered, feeling warmer than the sun.

My poor solecito, I’ll have to fix that for you. Although, I don’t think what I have in store for you will cool you down one bit…

Now easing your mind, and completely erasing that line of friendship that’s laid in the sand for far too long, Miguel dips his toes into the ocean of intimacy, and intertwines his fingers with yours, so that you can both step into the deep.

Even though he wants to be rough with you, he craves being gentle and slow with your body and mind even more, so that he can savor every touch, every breath, every noise, every scratch, and plenty more.

“Well now you know. It’s more than okay to feel this way sweetheart. Can I kiss those pretty lips of yours now? You can choose which ones you’d like for me to taste…” Miguel smiles as you both woozily look into one another’s eyes.

Smiling right back at him, your noses begin to softly intertwine as you say one last thing.

“You can taste both, Miguelito.” you softly grin.

As your mouths move to meet now, a loud crash is heard from upstairs and your lips never touch.

Startled by the sound of glass shattering and the loud howl of rushing wind, Miguel immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling your body underneath his chin.

As snow begins to flow throughout the shop, the flames of your candles easily blow out, leaving the only warmth in the room resting between you and Miguel.

He doesn’t know what’s happening right now, but his primal instinct is built on protecting you and keeping you safe, especially as he hears footsteps dash across the creaky floor upstairs.

With his senses on high alert now, especially with the absence of Delight in his system, Miguel’s heart is beating faster, his hearing is growing more crisp, and his mind is feeling sharper, as he awaits the moment he can go and check things out.

Abruptly smelling a scent he hasn’t encountered before, Miguel takes that as his sign to move.

Leaving a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead, he tenderly places you out of his lap and onto the couch.

“I’ll be back sweetheart, stay here.” Miguel softly says, as he looks back at you before he swiftly leaps up too many stairs at once.

Baffled at the sight of his movements, similar situations come flooding back into your mind, ones that just haven’t added up about Miguel over this past year. Ones that you had cast aside.

Now, you have to address them.

Everything from that leap up the stairs, to you flying backwards into his lap, and from the sight of his sharp teeth alone. It’s clear something about him isn’t completely human.

He’s almost spider-like.

This whole time you’ve known Miguel, you’ve felt like he was holding something back from you, something he felt you’d never be able to understand. Or perhaps it was something he wanted to protect you from.

Now you know what it is.

Not only did you manage to befriend Miguel O’hara, but you also managed to befriend Spiderman.

The Spiderman who has saved yourself and others countless times.

That is the man who you’re snowed in with. It all makes sense now. The tall, muscular, quiet, intense and amusing qualities…. they all belong to him.

Spiderman 2099.

And you just kissed him…. or you almost did.

❀ I hope this was enjoyable ma lovelies & I apologize for any errors made since this was quickly edited!

Sending you lots of huggies & smiles- POPTART 🍓

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara fic #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut #x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #fanfic #reader insert

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qpr-widowsalliance · 2 months ago

Text

Mcyt Aro week !!!!!! (a day late shhh) @mcyt-aro-week

October 8: ??? to Friends / Pets

If Scott had to describe himself in one word, he would probably say loyal.

And then maybe confident, handsome, and intelligent. And after many other words he might say a flirt, with a wink and a grin. He just enjoyed seeing people get flustered and red over him, it was, a pretty good feeling.

Scott didn't get flustered. He was always cool and ready with a quick retort, delivered with a smirk. It was all a game to him, and Scott was, not to brag, pretty good at games.

It wasn't until limited life that Scott realized not everyone sees this type of thing as a game to be won.

Martyn had always been very fun to mess with. The two of them could go back and forth for hours, suggestive comment after suggestive joke, quickly annoying anyone who had the misfortune to be around them. It was why Scott liked Martyn so much, the man was smart, and not bad on the eyes either. However living on a small island with beds a mere block apart brought up unwelcome conversations Scott thought he left in 3rd life.

“Scott what are we?”

Scott mulls it over, turning to face Martyn from where he had been idly organizing a chest. Making a big show of tapping his finger against his chin he says simply, “Allies.”

“Scott,” Martyn groaned, as Scott grinned. Becoming more serious though, Martyn asks again, “But like, are we...”

Scott watches as the man moves his hands around in embarrassment, and takes a second longer to respond, “Well when you put it like that, what would you like to be?”

Martyn runs his hands down his face clearly regretting bringing this up, which had been Scott's goal. Conversations like this never led to good places, in his experience, and he liked what he and Martyn had going on. Deciding to spare Martyn any more talking around it, Scott walks over to the blond, and runs a finger along the others face, causing the other to raise an eyebrow.

Closing the little gap left between them, Scott stepped on his toes to whisper directly in Martyn's ear, “I'm not in love with you,”

Stepping back slowly, Scott stared at Martyn's face trying ot figure out how that made the other feel. For a moment there was shock, concern, and then relief.

“Oh, I don't love you either, that's a relief,” Martyn sighed exaggeratedly, wiping his forehead. Then grinning easily, “I thought you had fallen for my good looks and charm.”

Scott rolled his eyes and playfully shoved the other’s chest, “As if. You'd be lucky to fall in love with me,” Scott grins baring his sharp teeth. Turning back to his chest, Scott exhaled in relief quietly. He mulls the question over again, this time giving it some serious thought. Maybe they were just allies, or maybe friends.

Or maybe they were just Scott and Martyn, and maybe Scott was a bit of a flirt.

#and the stars speak #qpr mean gills is very important to me #Aro Scott is very important to me #mcyt aro week #mean gills #Starry sentences #<-- writing tag

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ticklish-n-stuff · 1 year ago

Note

Number 19 with Alhaitham as the lee please! Which ler, I’ll leave it up to you!

Tickletober day #19: Arms up!

Oh you know who the ler is 😏

BECAUSE THE WORLD (I) NEED MORE LER KAVEH MWAHAHAHAHA

Villain laugh aside, hope you enjoy :3

___________________________________________

Alhaitham x Kaveh (interpret as you wish)

Lee: Alhaitham

Ler: Kaveh

Warnings: Tickles!

___________________________________________

No matter how stoic or stuck in the mud someone may be, they will always have some sort of weakness, right? Well currently, Alhaitham was cursing up a storm, at least mentally. Kaveh got the grand idea to play a silly game with Alhaitham. Considering the architect would just annoy him further, the scribe went along with his scheme, but now he was really regretting that decision…

“Can’t you get this over with already?...” Alhaitham grumbled out through gritted teeth, his usual grumpy stare burning a hole trough Kaveh’s skull as the latter straddled his waist, while the scribe had been left with the simple instruction to keep his arms up.

“Hush, dear Alhaitham. You musn’t rush perfection~” the blonde responded with a teasing grin, his wiggling fingers hovering right over his roomate’s exposed armpits.

No matter how calm and cool Alhaitham tried to appear, Kaveh had learned to pick up on these small signs that he was getting under his skin. The way his jaw clenches, the small dropplet of sweat along his brow, those unpassionate eyes not daring to break eye contact, it was quite the image.

Why didn’t Alhaitham just lower his arm? It’s not like something is binding him down, but only Alhaitham himself could answer that question, although Kaveh probably has an idea why.

The scribe was as tense as a rock, not daring to even twitch a muscle. Afraid- no definitely not afraid, of what would Kaveh do. More specifically, when he’ll strike. How much longer can he just sit there taunting him like that with that stupid smile of his?!

Alhaitham’s thoughts were interrupted by a chuckle from the other. “Pfft! Alhaitham, your face is all red! I haven’t even done anything, not yet atleast~” he teased with a wink.

It was true, the younger male could feel the warmth radiating from his face. Curse those damn emotions for being so emotional, but can you blame him? Just the thought of those nails scribbling over his vulnerable spots… Gah! Stop it, Alhaitham! This inner monologue of yours is just making this situation even worse.

“Okay, I’m done waiting. I wanna hear you laugh now~” the blonde’s grin switched to a more evil one as his fingers finally dug into the sensitive skin under Alhaitham’s arms.

“AH!—“ the scribe let out a sharp gasp, his arms instantly shooting down as he did everything in his power to hold back the urge to laugh, but tensing so much only made his face redder. The poor guy even squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the ticklish feeling magically disappear.

“Oh no! Looks like you dropped your arms” the architect spoke in mock disappointment. “I guess you leave me no choice…~” with that, he pinned Alhaitham’s arms above his head with one hand, while the other dug back into the exposed spot once more.

That’s when all hell went loose and the first cackle was heard. “HNGH! AHAHAHAHA! KAVEH Y-YOU‐ PFFTAHAHAHAHA!” he couldn’t curse at his roomate even if he wanted to, all Alhaitham could do was accept his ticklish fate. Not that it was a bad one, mind you…~

___________________________________________

#augtickletober2023 #tickletober2023 #genshin impact #genshin tickle #genshin tickle fic #tickle fic #alhaitham #kaveh #lee!alhaitham #ler!kaveh #genshin impact tickling

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bumblepony · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a kiss prompt for Alexei & Amos from As Nandorluna’s Go Your Own Way & As Long as You Follow. I liked your one short fic of them.

The prompt would be "kiss with trembling lips"

Thank you

This was not as sexy as I first thought I was going to go, but I still liked making it sooo, here we go. I hope you like it, Nonnie.

I am also linking this to my good friend @chronicallyonlinewriter because these are her original characters, and I want to make sure she is happy with this little slice of story I slipped into her universe.

If anyone is interested in reading her work I highly recommend it, it's one of my favorite series in TLOU fanfic fandom here is the link People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse

Story under the cut!

“Alexei?” Amos’s voice called sleep-rough from down the hall, a familiar sound that always managed to stir something soft in Alexei. Normally, after hearing it, he would drag whatever book he was reading back to the bedroom and cuddle up under the covers with Amos’s pleasant warmth pressed along his side. But today, Alexei didn’t have time. He’d already spent too many days away from the hospital, and he needed to get back. He shoved another book into his bag.

“In here.” He called, then mumbled quietly to himself as he looked around him, making sure he’d grabbed everything.

“What are you doing?” Amos asked, his confusion clear in his tone. Alexei looked up at his husband, tall and mussed, standing in the doorway. His T-shirt wrinkled, one leg of his sweatpants hiked up just below his knee, and the wild red curls of his hair half falling out of the low ponytail he usually put it in for bed. His shockingly blue eyes were tired but sharp as he took in Alexei’s actions.

“I have to get back to the hospital. I’m already so behind… on everything.” He sighed, his mind already cataloging all the different experiments that were waiting for his hand, each at a different stage of completion that only he could correctly handle.

His mind was so taken by his musings that he didn’t realize Amos had moved until his hand was over the top of his own. Strong fingers stopped his relentless packing and repacking of his bag. Placing his thumb and pointer finger under Alexei’s chin, Amos turned his face to his.

“Alexei, stop. What are you doing?” Amos asked again, his voice low, desperate. Alexei’s eyes skate over his worried face, his bushy brows pulled down over his dark circled eyes, mouth creased into a thin line between his scruffy beard. “You nearly died less than a week ago, I thought… Jesus, when I got the call, I thought that was it. I rushed to the hospital, sure I’d be too late, sure all I’d be able to do was hold your already cooling hand as they told me you were gone. But by some fucking miracle, you were still alive. My beautiful, reckless, stubborn husband was still alive.” Amos’s hand came up and brushed away a lock of silver hair from his forehead before he leaned in and placed a trembling kiss on his lips. Alexei could feel Amos’s hand also shake, where it rested on his face, and guilt sprang up hot and acidic from his gut.

“Alexei, you look like shit. You’ve been burning yourself at both ends since we got here. And I understand, I really do, I know how important this is for you, for us, for everyone.” Amos took a deep breath and placed his forehead against Alexei’s, “But, Alexei, I need you. Do you understand? If-if you do find a way to make a cure, but I end up losing you in the process because you’ve run yourself down to the bone, then none of it will have been worth it for me.” Amos pressed his lips to Alexei’s once more, so fiercely that their teeth clacked against one another. He held himself there, his breaths harsh and sharp against Alexei’s lips before pulling away and piercing him with his gaze. “Do you understand Alexei? None of this is worth it without you.”

Alexei knew the heart attack had scared Amos. It had scared him, too. But hearing that fear in Amos’s voice, feeling it in his touch, finally forced him to see that his life meant something beyond his ability to make a cure. His wellbeing mattered to Amos, and he had not been taking care of himself.

“Amos, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Alexei stammered and lifted his hands to rest on Amos’s shoulders, needing to feel his solid frame under his palms.

“Well, you do now, so I need you to take care of yourself. This was a wake-up call, and I need you to listen to it, please,” Amos said and pulled away to take Alexei’s bag and shove it under the desk. One last clear message that Amos did not plan on letting Alexei go anywhere today.

“Okay, Amos. Okay, I will.” Alexei laughed weakly. His earlier need to be back at work spilled out of him in a rush and left him feeling raw and exhausted.

“Good then. Good.” Amos ran a shaking hand through his already chaotic curls, his tone surprised as if he had expected more of a fight and then reached down to take Alexi’s hand. “Come back to bed. I know you’ll have to go back eventually, but can we work all that out tomorrow?”

Alexei laced his fingers with Amos’s and reached out his other hand to gently smooth down Amos' jaw, the rough scrape of his scruff a calming sensation against his palm. “Of course, sweetheart. It can wait.”

“C’mon,” Amos tugged him from the little office and back to their warm, comfortable bed.

#tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #ao3 #Alexei #Amos #Go your Own way

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justsomeclintasha · 2 years ago

Text

(Early Shield Days)

She stumbles, clutching at the arrow in her shoulder. The wound isn’t deep. Gritting her teeth, she yanks it out and tosses it on the rooftop. A split second too late, she realizes her mistake. Tiny barbs rip at her skin, and she hisses in pain. Blood gushes over the front of her suit.

“Not a good idea, Red,” he chides.

“Fuck off,” she spits back. It’s nothing she can’t handle. Fire burns in her eyes as she spins to face the archer, reaching for a knife strapped to her thigh. The handle is slippery in her fingers. She lunges at him, and the ground suddenly lurches beneath her feet. He disarms her, pushing her aside. She falls to her knees.

“Take it easy. It’s almost over.”

“What’s almost.. almost.. shit.” She squeezes her eyes shut. Her blood is hot and the sky is spinning. “No.”

“Poison. Even I don’t know what’s in it.” His footsteps grow louder as he walks to her side. She slumps back against the brick, tucking her knees to her chest.

“You want to watch.. to watch me die.”

“No.”

“It hurts.” The words are out before she can stop them. A shiver racks her body, and she curls her hands into fists to stop the shaking. He squats down in front of her.

“I know.” She forces a deep breath. The muscles in her chest burn from the effort. Dying has always been the end game, an inevitable fate she’s pictured a thousand times, but the twist of fear is unexpected, and she’s not ready for it to end. Not like this. Not yet.

“I didn’t want to. I never wanted.. you have to tell them.” He watches her quietly. “Is she gunna be there?”

“Who?”

“My mom.” Her voice cracks, and he cocks his head in question. “Is my mom gunna be there?” She looks at him, scared, and tears fall slowly down her cheeks. He doesn’t answer. But something shifts in his eyes, in his gut, and he knows in an instant that he can’t do this because she’s so painfully human. There’s something in there worth fighting for.

“Shit.” He stands, running a hand through his hair, then over his face before digging in his vest for a vial and a syringe. The antidote. “Shit,” he repeats. Bloody fingers close over his wrist, weakly trying to push him back as he injects her, and everything fades to black.

XXXXX

“You’re okay.” Cool air hits her skin, and she shifts, groaning softly in pain. A strand of sweaty hair is pushed from her forehead. “I know. Breathe through it.” She’s trying.

XXXXX

She’s wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, heavy and soft, smelling of cedar and bow oil, and something familiar. The effort to roll over is stopped by a sharp pain in her shoulder. Fresh bandages cover the wound.

The room slowly comes into focus. A pair of steel grey eyes look down at her, and she’s almost too tired to put it together.

“You didn’t kill me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Did you deserve it?”

“You know I did. A thousand times over.” She winces as she sits up, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“I’m not so sure that’s true.” He sighs, passing her a bottle of water. “Listen. I’m going to make you an offer. They’ll kill you if you go back, right?”

“Reprogramming.” She breaks his gaze, twisting the bottle cap between her fingers. “It’s worse, it’s like..” A shaky breath leaves her lips, and she chases away the thought. “It’s worse.”

“I want you to come work for Shield with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like to not have a choice. To do bad things. To feel like there’s no other way out.” She’s quiet for a long time, watching the rain patter softly against the window. The bottle cap doesn’t leave her grip.

“I can’t go back. Ever. I can’t,” she emphasizes.

“I know. You’ll never have to.”

“I’ll die first.”

“I know.” It’s clear she’s fighting the choice in her head, and he throws out the one tidbit of information he’s not supposed to share. “We’ve been following General Dreykov. With your help, I think we can take him down. It can be your defection, proof to Shield where your loyalties lie.”

At this she turns to meet his eyes, fingers tightening over the small piece of plastic in her hand. For the first time in a long time, she feels it. Hope.

“Natasha,” she decides, the American version of her name different on her tongue. “Natalia is.. gone.” He nods in understanding, and when he smiles, it’s easy and friendly.

“Nice to meet you, Natasha. I’m Clint.”

#clintasha #clint barton x natasha romanoff #clintasha fanfic

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dickgraysongirlie · 2 years ago

Text

A Little Tiff W Dick Grayson

TW: fighting, but they make up

“Why can’t you just see things my way?” Cece snapped, finally breaking her cool.

Dick snarled, his famous temper peaking out, “It’s always your way. I have to do this, you know that, so why do you always have to get so pissy?”

If looks could kill, he’d be burning in hell. With a dramatic twirl, she showed him her empty back. “My way? Are you kidding me? I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to send a fucking warning when you’re gone FOR THREE DAYS!”

Dick zipped up the emerald green slip dress that, he couldn’t help but notice, looked sewn on. If he wasn’t so frustrated, he’d kiss her. Bruce’s event be damned. Instead, his hand rested for a moment on her hips, squeezing to let her know he was done. “I told you, it was sudden—“

She spun back around and Dick dutifully lowered down so she could tie his tie for him, “I don’t care how sudden it was! I thought you were dead!”

Dick rolled his eyes as he straightened back up, snarking, “You know how the game is. It’s not all about me! I Had to help. Do you want Nightwing to retire? Is that what you want?!”

The amount of vitriol in his voice would’ve thrown her for a loop but they’d been at the argument for nearly an hour, and she was ready to fight back. So she snarled, anger taut in each of her muscles, “I never said that! You’re being purposefully obtuse, and I have nothing more to say to you. Let’s just go.”

He glared back, “Fine.”

Without a word, she snatched her bag and stormed down the hallway, heels clicking loudly.

Dick tried to take a breath but was still far too heated and followed after her. Their apartment door slammed and the noise echoed long after they’d left.

The car ride to Bruce’s gala was silent, both too stubborn and heated to speak. Especially given the faux smiles they were about to put on.

Cameras flashed as they pulled up, and, ever the gentleman, Dick ran over to her side to help her out of the car before passing the keys off to the valet. The two radiated love as they smiled, ignored questions, and stayed oh so romantically intertwined. Dick even went so far as to drop a kiss on Cece’s cheek that both had her blushing and the paparrizzi screaming. Though, if anyone asked, she was red with anger.

However, as soon as they entered, they dropped some of their act. Not much, the eyes of the elite was always picking over them, but they put some distance between them. So much so that those that knew the two would’ve spotted it.

“Drink, Cece?” Dick asked, a bit sharp for public.

“Please,” she snapped back, “and feel free to keep them coming.”

He handed her a glass of champagne with no fanfare, which she quickly threw back before grabbing the one that he’d meant to keep from himself.

His smile tightened around the edges but Dick kept his mouth shut, teeth maybe grinding.

While the tension maintained between the two of them all night, they did eventually part ways. Cece, in her anger, kept her steady stream of champagne coming — not that she was drunk but more so tipsy (and fuming) . She’d sat at a table with Barbara, lightly trading conversation. Blessedly, Barbara didn’t comment on the clear dissent between the couple or the champagne flute that didn’t leave Cece’s hand. However, the hours and anger were getting to her and exhaustion was setting in. Eyelids were definitely dropping.

Dick, meanwhile, was chatting to another donor; he couldn’t even tell you how much schmoozing had passed. But, the rich kept coming up, and Dick would smile until his cheeks came off. Anything to help Gotham. And, it helped that it gave him some space from Cece.

Yet, his anger kept rising, even with her across the room. I mean, how can she not get that sometimes Nightwing has to make sacrifices for the greater good? That three days don’t compare to the lives of all that he saved?

“Hey, hey!” a hushed voice jostled Cece. “Cece!”

The woman in question jolted up, “Huh, what?”

Barbara rolled her eyes, “This is like the third time I woke you up, go get Dick to take you home or I’ll do it for you.”

Cece winced at that. She really didn’t feel like asking her longtime boyfriend for that. In fact, she didn’t feel like asking him for anything. “No, no, I’m f—“

“If you say your fine, I’ll call him over myself,” Babs threatened.

The last thing Cece wanted was a scene, so she got up, kissed her friend on her cheek and walked oh so slowly to Dick, not looking forward to this. But, even Cece couldn’t deny how tired she was. She hadn’t slept in days. Dick had been missing for three days and then they fought and now they were here. It was hell. And her heart hurt, and she was just so tired.

But, Cece was a stubborn soul, and she hated admitting defeat just as much as her love only feet away. But, when she stumbled on her walk, she sucked it up. Some things, like a bed and sleep, were even better than pride.

Dick was on that night. His hands were moving, he was smiling that charming smile that made her swoon, and his charismatic energy that she’d love to her dying day.

Cece gathered her courage and quietly joined by his side. Others wouldn’t notice it but although he, of course, felt her before she even arrived, Dick didn’t touch her. She felt it in her heart.

Ever so gently and subtly. Cece grabbed the edge of his coat and gave the smallest tug.

Immediately, Dick turned to her, face worried. Not that Cece knew, her eyes stayed pointedly on the ground.

“What’s wrong?”

His breath tickled her face and sue her if her heart stuttered. “Can we go home?”

At first, his anger almost won and he was about to snap, “Can’t you see I’m talking?” but once glance at her closed off face, eyes downcast, and slumped posture, Dick didn’t waste a second. “Of course, baby, let’s go.”

Nodding his goodbyes, Dick wrapped his arms around her and guided her out, getting the car as quickly as he could.

However, there’s only so much a sad look can do. Dick felt all of their fight breathing down his neck as he drove. Afterall, the Grayson was well known for his festering temper. Finally, it boiled over. “Cece, why can’t you understand, I just—“

It was then he heard an almost imperceptible snore. So low only a bat or meta would clock it. Dick turned his head to see Cece asleep, head leaning heavily on her seat belt. With her eyes closed and mouth slightly open, Dick felt all the fight leave him. How could something so angelic, so beautiful be bad? And, she chose him, faults and all. She even came to this stupid party.

The rest of the drive, Dick couldn’t stop glancing at her. How her nose wrinkled when he turned, how she curled up even more on herself. And how she was slightly turned away, knees facing her door, body closed off. Which, with every look, sent a pang to his chest. So, he drove as carefully as could, parking as gently as possible in front of their apartment. And, he did it all for this moment.

Quiet as a mouse, Dick climbed out of the car, and swooped to her side. With hands as light as feathers, he unbuckled her before swooping his girl up into his arms.

It couldn’t be helped, the movement woke her up a bit, “Wh-whatsss happening?” Cece slurred, barely opening her eyes.

“Sh, baby, it’s okay, I got you.”

“I know,” she said, head falling back against his chest as she passed back out.

And, any and all fight Dick had left dissipated from his body. The trust, the love, it warmed him.

So, he brought her to their home, to their room, used the softest hand to take off her shoes, and quickly dressed himself down. Then, he laid on bed, pulling her close to him, and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

When Cece woke up the next morning bathed in the warmth of Dick’s arm, she snuggled even deeper into his chest. For now, she couldn’t even remember why she was so mad. She didn’t even notice that she was still in her expensive gala dress.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson #dc fanfiction

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ducknotinarow · 2 years ago

Note

2k3 Rasey 😖

| Send a 😖 for your muse to catch my muse having a panic attack

The air was cool, no snow, but the chill of winter clung to the dark city sky. Dark and deep yet some stars managed to break past a smog city skyline only outdone by the blinding bright lights of the city. Didn't matter how bright those lights dazzled and illuminated the area. Crime still found a way to keep to the shadows. To much if the bad luck of the guy being tailed by a certain red banded turtle now. They were well aware something was after them as if he was being hunted. The only sound was of them running, bumping into trash cans as they were looking up and over their shoulders. Raph could have taken them down sooner but sometimes the chase was far more fun. There was always a strangler that managed to break by Raph jump down and caught them off, smiling when they stumbled back at the sight of a giant turtle.

"aw ain't got any more run in ya? an' jus' when I thought you might get away." Patronizing them a little.

Raph liked to play around with his victims just made it more of a game to him. Look sometimes the street thugs were nothing but a joke so beating them up? was just kind of sad and not to mention make for short fights. So make them squirm maybe let them get to chase them even it was pretty much a cat and mouse game from that point. Taking a step forward Raphael watched them step back till they hit the brick wall behind them, they drew out a pathetic pocket knife. And Raphael just chuckled. Even letting his stance fall as he bent over to laugh at them. Man sometimes you had to wonder what pathetic pack of losers got roped into this life. Some yeah clearly had been harden by this life, not this guy was like hunting a rabbit.

" 'his is gettin' sad guess I shouldn' drag it out anymor' than I have." Owning up to the poor guy he was getting screwed with this whole time. Beside Casey will be catching up with him eventually and he's got a score to top. Can't let them try taking them out and remove a tally from Raph. So to add to their own, one way to keep these nights a bit fun turn into a game, and well Raph didn't like to lose. A tilt of his neck and crack it before closing in on them. Was odd though he could feel a slight tingle around his wrists, suddenly. Raph knew that feeling he has gotten it a few times almost like a chill. He assumed his quick heart rate was just do to the adrenaline rush. But when he started to feel dizzy? hmm he ignored it. Yet when he ran out towards his thug throwing the first punch he missed. He missed by a lot too hitting the wall, knuckles hitting brick. Raph gave a shake of his head. Confused. This was like before, when Don found him in the alleyway.

"fuck not again."

Breathing heavily, he hadn't even worked up a sweat though? Things where spinning. Fuck not again not now. That's when he felt something, sharp against his arm. Familiar, pain as he turned to eye the guy he been chasing down till now. Watching as they tried backing away seeming to try their luck and take their shot just then, he let his eyes fall down to look at his arm lower it a bit where he could see the thin cut, not too deep but enough to cause some blood to to stream from it. Why was he freezing up? It's like he couldn't move his own arm? Gritting his teeth as he could hear the sound of feet echoing out through the alleyway, he focused on the pain on his arm but it wasn't enough. Eyeing the guy who suddenly weighed his options and turned around quickly to dart out of the alley he been trapped in.

"Stupid punk." Raph growled under his breath breaking away from the wall. It took no time at all for him to catch back up, grabbing at their wrists and pulling them back towards himself, their knife easily sliced against his cheek. Just like when he did it himself it was helping. Well some stupid part of his brain made it out like that was clearly the case. Just the sting of any. A hit, a cut anything and whatever. If it hurt it seemed to keep whatever this was away. "who said this dance was over uh?"

----

A few more cuts now adored Raph's form, the guy he trailed after was clearly knock out long enough for the cops or whatever to find but Raph was still hanging around them. They didn't stand much chance even with Raph letting them get some hits in. Least If Don asked it wouldn't be a lie when he told them he just got into a scuffle with a guy and their knife. Standing over them as his body heaved. There was a lot wrong with this scene, these guys were barely a warm up yet how could they have got that many nicks on to Raph. As the turtle stood over them as if waiting for any sign of them moving. The second they showed some sign on consciousness Raph would likely go again, he was near challenging them to get up again. Raph was clearly not in his right mind.

He knew it, it why he was trying to force it away. That's when he heard foot steps he was on guard looking for more fight but it was just Casey. You think he drop the stance when seeing them but he didn't as if for a moment he considered fighting with Casey. It took the turtle a moment to realize it was Casey in truth lowering his shoulders.

Get your shit together Raph.

Stepping away finally it was clear the guy was out and done, as he walked over to Casey now. "Looks 'ike I'm in the lead now." He tries to act as if he don't look like a butches knife right now. "don' worry I didn't notice the knife is all." Yeah the turtle with ninja training couldn't handle a simple pocket knife? Looking at Casey he simply folded his arms over his plastron and lowered his head to look away from them, shoulders hunching up a bit that old distance instinct to hide in his shell was working. And in a way it was sometimes it felt like Casey could read him like a book. Which was ticking him off "What need a picture? I know ya got it bad for me Jones but don' need ta stare." Despite the try for humor it was clearly he was snapping at them right now. Yeah part of Raph knew Casey was just worried but if Casey looked to close? he might manage to piece together Raph did this to himself.

Raph rolled his eyes, dropping his arms "What! I'm fine fuck ya think these little cuts are gonna do anything to me?" Likely not what they are thinking. "im fine so stop with that stupid look!" he wasn't fine, he was breathing hard again, his shoulders were clearly shaking. Letting a fist fly and hit the hockey stick between them. It may come out as an attack on Casey to get off his shell, but seeing how the wood splintered Raph dug his knuckles in against it. He needed to keep whatever was wrong with him away.

His knees felt weak, though as he breathed heavily. Why was the air so thin? A step forward and Raphael let his forhead rest to Casey's shoulder a moment. Stick held between them but Raph didn't notice it at the time. He didn't chance a look at them right right now he wasn't brave enough to face them. Before it could amout to a bad mood this time? Fuck. He was leaning against them Casey wasn't that dumb to not think something was wrong at least. He let's fingers curl and grip on to Casey's shirt a moment. That all he needed just a moment he'd be fine. Eyes squeezed shut as he counted to himself softy. Shove it down get up this ain't anything. He repeats a few more times before finally getting it in him to move back.

"I think imma hit the lair maybe he had somethin' traced on that knife."

#muse| hamato rapheal #madamkezzie #aflockofffeathers #[ if you jump off a bridge its only cause i did first aflockoffeathers]#send a emoji prompts #panic attack meme #ic reply #tw: panic attack #(( did I lowkey rewrite a scene from an old reply and plot? yes uwu I just love that image ;3;))#((donnie aware of raph hurtting himself and now casey kind sort of aware he lets himself get hurt even uwu raph is fine don't worry))#tw: knife #tw: self harm

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wkemeup · 4 years ago

Text

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes fluff

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iiraven · 3 years ago

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Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god.

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began.

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even.

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear.

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close.

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine.

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you.

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies.

438 notes · View notes

macnevercries · 4 years ago

Text

Hurt me? You could never (Kirishima x Plus F!reader)

Warnings- face riding, oral(receiving), plus sized reader, female pronouns/body, alcohol use, (slight dub con?)

Word Count- 2k

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The sway of the music was heavy as you moved with it, lost in a mob of people. Your hips circled drunkenly, dancing the night away in a pit of sweaty people enjoying themselves as much as you. As the room rolled and jolted you started feeling hot, the sudden flashes of temperature overwhelming you. You started to tug at your top, trying to get it off to relieve yourself of the burning sensation in your body. The fabric clung to your skin and you started getting angry. Just as the shirt started to give way it was tugged back down by a pair of large hands. You almost screamed in annoyance, turning around to see your boyfriend standing behind you, holding your drinks and trying to have you keep your dignity. Your annoyance turned to a soft smile, then a giddy laugh when you spotted the alcohol. Swiping towards the drink in his hand, you almost feel over with the motion. Kirishima dragged the cup away from you, steadying you on his muscular arm.

“I think that’s enough for tonight sweetheart” Kirishima consoled you, smiling at your cute pout.

“Kiri it’s sooooo hot in here, help me cool down” you mumbled, slumping into his chest. A deep chuckle erupted from him, your childish antics humourous.

“Were gonna go home now, okay babes? He asked, pulling you up into his arms, discarding the drinks in the nearest trash can. You mumbled an okay as he pulled you towards the exit, the blaring sounds of yelling and bass fading the further you got from the crowd. Kirishima nodded at the bouncer as you exited the club, pushing the heavy door open and out into the dark rainy parking lot. Clubbing was fun for you two but somehow it always ended in him taking care of you. Your weight had fluctuated over the years but you were always a little fuller than the other girls you knew. Despite your weight, you could not hold your alcohol. Kirishima had seen your drunken state many times and while it could be a hassle, he loved the way your soft body clung to him, you were a needy drunk.

The rain soaked through your white top, exposing the pink Lacey bra you were wearing. Kirishima felt his pants tighten a little, looking at you in the rain, smiling brightly and lighting up his world. You had always shined so bright to him, even on your worst days. Kirishima ushered you into the car, leaning over your full breasts to buckle you in. He held in a breath at the touch, he could sense you sobering up and he was definitely in the mood. He got in the drivers seat and started the car, handing you some water to sip on for the drive home. For 15 minutes Kirishima was silent, only occasionally looking over at you to check and make sure you were fine. Every time he peeked at you and you had your lips wrapped around the straw of the water bottle he gulped, speeding up slightly, his anticipation building from within.

When you guys pull up to your shared home the red haired man practically runs around the car to open your door. He offers to help you walk but you’re almost sober now from all of the water you drink. Kirishima walks behind you up the driveway and steps to the door, watching the way your hips sway in your skin-tight clothes. Kirishima’s love had boosted your confidence a lot since you guys started dating and he was glad because tight clothes were definitely a blessing to his eyes. He had always had a thing for bigger girls, your soft figure brought him comfort when his own body and quirk wouldn’t allow it. Taking off your shoes at the entryway and locking the door, you headed to the bathroom to use it before slumping on the couch. The clock on the wall read 2am, it was too late to be awake. You leaned your head down on the pillows, resting your eyes momentarily. The catnap did not last long because after around two minutes you felt heavy gaze scanning your body.

Sure enough when you opened your eyes, Kirishima was in front of you, gazing at you lovingly with half lidded eyes. Your top clung to your chest in all the right ways and the way you were laying accentuated your curves, to Kirishima you look delicious. Kirishima started towards you, crawling onto the couch beside you and snuggling himself between your thick legs, having his head rest on your plush chest. The slow up and down of your breathing both calmed him down and spurred him on more. You look at his flustered face, amused at how heated he was. Had you done something while you were drunk? Pushing that thought aside you accepted Kirishima, softly petting his head and running your fingers through his hair, making him sigh. His barely audible mumbles of praise and ‘I love you’ made you smile. He buried his face into your chest as you rubbed away his tension.

Slowly he tugged at the neck of your shirt, pulling it down slightly so he could kiss up your collarbone. His kisses made you shiver, you could feel the lust and need oozing out of him. He rotated so that you were on top on him, pressed against him in the most tantalizing way. His lips traveled up your neck and your jaw until they reached your lips. He met you with a passionate kiss, hungry and desperate. He hiked your thighs around his waist, standing up and walking towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. No matter how heavy you were, Kirishima was stronger. He never had an issue lifting you and the way he did it made it seem so easy.

He set you down on the bed and then crawled around you so that he was laying down behind you. You glanced back at him questioningly but the look on his face frightened you. He had a lazy grin and a mischievous glint in his eye, something enjoyable on his mind.

“What is it Kiri?” you asked hesitantly, afraid of what you were about to find out. At your question he grinned wider, his sharp teeth sparkling in the dimly lit room. He pulled you close to him and leaned into your ear

“I want you to ride my face” he purred, happy with his idea. At his words you turned beet red, shaking your head aggressively and backing up slightly. This was definitely not what you expected. He pouted at your discontent with his idea.

“Baby please, you would look so good on top of me and you taste so good. God I want you in my mouth” He assured you, tugging you closer to him again.

“What if I hurt you? Eiji you know I’m too big for this.” you sighed, disappointed too. Maybe in a different scenario but this could never happen.

“Hurt me?” he laughed. Your eyes popped open, shocked by his change in demeanor.

“Do you know what I would give to suffocate in these thighs?” he asked, squeezing your leg with love, but his grip was a little hard.

“Just get on top of my face, if it doesn't work then we’ll stop, I promise” he reassured, stroking your back and coaxing you on top on him. Your will broke at his words, after all his idea was appetizing to you too. You took your pants off, tossing them in a far corner before situating yourself on the red head’s shoulders. He grabbed the back of your thighs, drawing you closer to his face. You couldn't help but turn away, despite the number of times you guys have had sex, Kiri’s pure love and devotion to you made you squirm.

He licked a wet stripe up your panties suddenly, causing you to gasp. On instinct, your hips rutted back into his face and he chuckled, you muttered apologies, embarrassed by your lack of composure, You went to climb off of him, ready to go hide away but not before Kirishima could grab your hips with a bruising grip. Your head snapped back in his direction.

“You're not going anywhere kitten, we haven't even started.” He pulled your panties to the side and the cold air against your exposed core made you shiver. At the sight of your glistening cunt he licked his lips and got to work.

His tongue pressed flat against your cunt, licking heated and hungry stripes up you. He’d go down to tease your entrance and then up to circle your clit, sucking lightly and grazing it with his teeth. The pattern he created left you on a rollercoaster of feelings, moaning, mewling and dragging yourself against his face. Every time your hips stuttered and you got close he’d pull away to focus somewhere else. You whined, aggravated by his teasing. Some time passed and he kept his rhythm, never letting you finish. By now you were fuming, boiling over with rage.

“Eiji what the fuck” you spat when he changed stopped again for the umpth time. He looked up at you with the most innocent eyes, trying to convey his confusion with his mouth still buried in you.

“Why won’t you let me finish? I want to cum, please Eiji, make me cum” You purred. If he was gonna be like this then you would play his game. At your words something sparked in his eyes. His hips rutted up from the bed, your affect washing over his entire body. He curled one of his hands away from your thigh and prodded your entrance with his thick fingers. Slipping two in easily he watched in awe as emotions flashed past your eyes and you ground yourself down onto them.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my fingers, just like that baby” He murmured, causing you to go faster. He attached his lips to your clit, sucking with all of his might. His tongue flicked over your sensitive bud, teeth grazing it. His name flowed from your mouth as you humped down onto him, trying to snap the tightly wound coil that has been building up since you guys began. He pushed his fingers in a little deeper, twisting them and curling them right where you wanted him. This sent you flying over the edge, cussing and moaning as your orgasm hit you like a bus. He coaxed you through it, slowing his attack and letting you come down gently.

You slide off of his face, laying down in the bed beside him, still panting. Rolling over on your side, you nuzzle in his neck, placing your hand on his broad chest and basking in your post-orgasm glow. A nice familiar haze settled over you, happiness and lust blurring together.

“Thank you Eiji, that was amazing.” you breathed. He laughed lightly when he turned to you, a pleased expression on your face.

“Of course, I don’t know who enjoyed it more, me or you.” He smiled, fond thoughts of you racing his mind. You kiss his neck, flitting around and placing butterfly pecks all over him. He giggles at your antics, rubbing your back encouragingly.

“I love you, you know that right?” he asked, kissing your forehead and tilting your chin up so you would meet his eyes. You beamed up at him.

“I love you too”

#bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha smut #kirishima eijirou #kirishima #plus size #chubby reader

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

Note

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣#but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

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littleredwing89 · 3 years ago

Text

CLUB TROPICANA

CEO!Roman Sionis x Reader

Summary: You soaked up the rays, feeling the stress dissipate out of your pores. You had been right about a vacation. This was just what you both needed. Sun, sea and tranquillity.

Warnings – Language. NSFW Smut. Fluff. Mild jealousy.

Word Count: 4,563

A/N: This is a one shot following the series ‘The Intern’. Pretty much picks up where they left off. I just couldn’t resist revisiting them. I hope you all enjoy. I am working to finish FAMOUS completely before posting. Apologies for the delay my loves xoxo

----

The sound of the waves lapping against the shore, carrying the salty smell of the sea in the breeze made you relax instantly as you rested against the balcony railing. You pushed your oversized sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose and smiled, soaking in the early morning sun rays.

You looked out across the horizon, watching the glowing orange sun rising from the crystal blue waters. The light sparkled over the waves, making it look like tiny sapphires blinking at you. It was serene. Like nothing you’d ever seen before.

The coconut scent of your sun lotion lingered in the air and you arched your back, stretching out. You adjusted the strap of your halter neck bikini, untwisting it so it sat comfortably against your sun kissed skin.

A wolf whistle startled you, “Well, what a view”, a deep, gravelly voice rasped behind you, as the glass door slid open.

You turned to see Roman smirking cheekily at you. He clearly wasn’t talking about the gorgeous sunrise as he eyed the white bikini bottoms you were wearing. The material clinging to your curves perfectly.

“You picked a beautiful location”, you smiled, letting your eyes trail down his bare chest, a line of dark hair trailed down from his naval, disappearing into his shorts. He was bronzing nicely in the Mexican sun.

“Only the best for you darling”.

“Smooth”, you giggled and turned your head back out to the sunrise. The sky looked like an artist's palette, colours streaking across majestically.

Moving close behind you, Roman slid his hands up the backs of your thighs before running his finger under the edge of your bikini bottoms.

“You look absolutely stunning”, he whispered into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing against it. You shivered and pushed back against him, feeling his hard cock through his beach shorts.

He growled and snapped the material against your ass. Sliding his fingers around your front, he brushed over your clit. Teasing slowly. You whined loudly before biting down on the inside of your cheek. Suppressing any more noises. You were out on the balcony, anyone could hear you both. And see you.

“Rom…”, you murmured, resting your head back against his shoulder.

“Shh”, he nipped along the side of your neck, letting his tongue soothe over your skin, “You don’t want to attract any unwanted attention, do you darling?”.

His fingers slipped your bikini pants to one side, dipping them through your silky wet folds. Roman cursed under his breath and muttered, “Always so ready for me”.

“Rom…please don’t tease”, you purred and circled your hips, catching his thick cock with each movement.

“You want me to take you out here for anyone to see?”, he teased, nibbling your shoulder, thrusting his clothed cock against your ass, “Is that what you want darling?”.

“Yes”, you moaned, frustration seeping into your tone as Roman languidly rubbed over your clit, making the coil in your stomach twist slowly.

“Please Roman…don’t make me beg”.

You heard him shuffling behind you, shoving his shorts down enough to free his throbbing cock. He teased it through your sopping folds from behind and grunted, “Fuck, you’re so wet”.

“I always am for you”, you whispered airily, wanting to play him at his own game. If he was going to tease you, you’d do it back.

“Darling…”, he warned and gripped your hips, the metal loops on your bikini bottoms pressing against his calloused skin.

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as Roman eased his length into you inch by inch. The delicious sting of him stretching you sent waves of desire up your spine.

“Oh!”, the soft moan left your lips without thinking and Roman clasped his hand over your mouth.

“We’ve got to be quiet”, he growled and drove into your pussy hard, enjoying the way your wet walls fluttered around his cock.

You licked the flesh of his palm and let him stifle your sobs of pleasure as Roman fucked you from behind, pressed up against the balcony railings.

“Fuck”, he pressed his face into your hair and inhaled deeply. The subtle smell of coconuts and pineapple filled his senses. He groaned against you, angling his hips so the head of his cock would hit your g spot.

You cried his name into his hand and wrapped your hands behind you, fisting your fingers into the back of his hair. You tugged as you felt your orgasm beginning to burst.

“Go on”, the deep timber of his voice rattled in your ear, “Cum for me darling”.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his thick cock continued to drive into your wet heat. The orgasm ripped through you in a short, sharp burst making you sting buzz with desire.

His hand captured all of the sweet sounds he drew from you. The sounds he normally drank in. Your skin rippled with goosebumps, soaking in the early morning heat from both the sun and Roman.

Feeling the way you contracted around him, Roman groaned loudly into the skin of your neck and released his hot seed, deep into your pussy. His breath fanned down your flesh, scorching as it went. He hummed in delight and moved his hand from your lips. Roman let his palm travel down your chest, over the curve of your breasts before settling on your toned stomach.

“Nice way to start the morning”, his voice was more gravelly now. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair.

“Mmmhmm”, your mind still reeling from your climax, you couldn’t form your words properly. You pressed backwards into his solid chest and sighed happily.

----

The midday sun was blazing, surrounded by a clear, dazzling blue sky. You soaked up the rays, feeling the stress dissipate out of your pores. You had been right about a vacation. This was just what you both needed. Sun, sea and tranquillity. You sighed happily, sinking further into the double sunbed. Roman’s hand rested on your knee, drawing patterns into your flesh.

“Do you want another drink?”, you twisted your body to his, letting your knee press against his thigh.

“I’m good darling”, his gravelly voice rasped as he stretched his arms above his head, yawning softly.

“I’ll be back in a minute”, you leaned across, kissing his cheek.

“Mmhmm”, he hummed.

Leaving Roman lounging back against the soft, plush white sunbed, you strolled across the pool side towards the tiki hut style bar, thankful for the brief shade and fan above your head.

“What can I get you miss?”, the bartender gave you a warm smile, hands resting on the wooden worktop.

“Aperol Spritz please”, you swept a lock of hair behind your ear before sitting at one of the stools. The bartender turned quickly and began preparing your drink.

You tipped your head back gently, looking across the pool towards Roman. He was still sprawled out across the sun bed, his arm bent above his head. The sun oil you’d helped him apply earlier made his body glisten in the rays, his muscles even more defined. You bit your bottom lip, tugging it between your pearly teeth, sinful images flicking through your mind.

“Well, I’ll be damned…”, you heard a deep voice behind you, startling you from your train of thought, “Of all the hotels you had to walk into, you had to walk into mine”.

Well fuck.

Oliver fucking Queen.

You turned your head towards the voice, your eyes meeting him. He stood leisurely against the bar, a bright grin plastered across his face. You could hardly believe it. Seriously. Of all the people, in all the places. It had to be him. You glanced over his figure briefly, noting the pair of forest green swim shorts he was wearing. They complimented the tanned glow of his skin. His dark blond hair was messy, dropping down into his reflective, aviator shades, hiding his usual sparkling eyes. You remembered, momentarily, why you’d agreed to go on a date with him.

Until he bailed at the last minute.

“Someone’s seen Casablanca one too many times”, you rolled your eyes playfully, a smirk tugging the corner of your full lips.

Oliver moved closer slightly, the scent of his aftershave was strong as it surrounded you, along with the mix of sun cream, “Gotta make sure I'm suave for the ladies”.

You laughed, “Very suave of you to stand up dates”.

Above the top of his shades, you saw a slight crease in his eyebrows, “Are you still mad about that princess?”.

“Considering, I dodged a bullet? Not really”, you looked down at your freshly manicured nails, the deep red really was an excellent choice on the technicians behalf.

He sucked in a gulp of air loudly, putting his hand over his heart dramatically, “Ouch! You wound me”.

You poked the tip of your nail against his chest, before imitating a shooting gun with your thumb, “I only do what you deserve”.

Oliver captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips before kissing it playfully, “You know I was sorry about the whole thing princess…”.

“Oh I'm sure you were”.

“I just wish you’d given me a second chance”.

You were grateful for the heat which already had your skin flushed, hiding the blush rising to your cheeks. You tugged your hand back before occupying it with your drink the bartender had left for you.

Even though he was wearing shades, you could feel his eyes burning into you. Drinking in every inch of your bikini clad body. You suddenly felt incredibly naked under his gaze, shuffling slightly on the stool.

“Eyes up here champ”, you pointed to your face, trying to cool down the situation.

“Can you really blame me when you’re wearing that?”, he retorted, hand waving over your body as he whistled appreciatively.

You were about to reply before you noticed his entire body stiffen. The easy going manner radiating off him was replaced with something more business-like. Oliver straightened up, taking a step back from you.

You looked over your shoulder and spotted Roman striding across the pool side, his face knitted with an irritated scowl. Sunglasses propped up on the top of his head. Even in a pair of board shorts, Roman still managed to look intimidating. The second he reached you both, he immediately wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you away from Oliver.

“Is everything ok?”, you pressed your palm to his chest softly, looking up at him as he towered next to you.

“Everything's fine”, he dismissed before turning to Oliver, “Never expected to see you here, Queen”.

Oliver’s demeanour had changed drastically, he shrugged and looked around the resort, “It is one of my hotels, gotta make sure they’re running it smoothly from time to time”.

Roman’s fingers gripped into your hip, “You better get to it then, huh? Don’t want your business failing, do you?”.

Oliver looked directly at Roman before glancing down at you, huffing under his breath, “Enjoy your stay princess, if you need anything, give me a call…you still have my number”.

Surprising you and infuriating Roman more, he leaned down and kissed your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your lips. He gave you a sly smirk before heading out of the bar towards the hotel lobby.

Roman was rigid next to you, so you snuggled closer into his side, fingertips tracing the vein on his forearm. As his posture softened slowly, he turned and pressed a rough kiss to your cheek, his stubble grazing your skin.

You giggled quietly, “You don’t need to be jealous”.

“I’m not jealous”, he growled.

“My hip's gonna bruise if you keep holding it like that”, you murmured.

He retracted his grip instantly, “Sorry darling”, his thumbs rubbed circles over the marks as he pressed his nose into your hair, the tropical scents soothing him.

“It’s ok, you can turn caveman mode off”.

Roman moved his hand to your ass, cupping the swell of it before squeezing it.

You laughed under your breath, “You know you have nothing to worry about”.

“Can't I just feel you up in public? Is that a crime now?”, he pressed a kiss to your temple, hand still resting on the curve of your ass, fingers occasionally dipping under the fabric of your bottoms.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, “You know Ollie isn’t watching us anymore, don’t you?”.

He huffed bringing you in front of him and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your warm body into his. He never got tired of the way your frame fitted against his. How you sank into him naturally, like you’d always meant to be his.

You slipped your arms around his neck and toyed with the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes closed as he soaked in the bliss taking over his circuitry.

“How about…”, you whispered, “We spend the afternoon back in our private villa and I’ll make us some cocktails?”.

He ghosted his lips over yours, the faint outline of a smile playing on his mouth, “That darling, sounds like a very good idea”.

Your hands travelled down the front of his body slowly, before entwining in his, pulling him back towards your villa, “Let’s go handsome”.

----

You dropped your beach bag by the side of the villa door as you both made your way into the house, before stepping across towards the mini bar.

“Sloe sazerac?”, you looked over your shoulder at him, quirking an eyebrow up.

“Perfect”, he rumbled, leaving his phone on the kitchen worktop, watching as you sashayed away.

The ice cubes clinked as they hit the bottom of the glass, the sound oddly satisfying. You hummed under your breath, grabbing the bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous helping into both chasers. You could feel his stare boring into you, scorching your insides. His presence looming as you dropped the curled lemon into the alcohol.

“You’re hovering, why don’t you go make yourself comfortable?”.

Within seconds, you felt his hands gliding over your thighs, up and down, inching higher with each stroke, “I think the drinks can wait darling…”.

“But I’m making your favourite”, you protested.

Roman stayed silent, waiting for you to finish the cocktail, running his palms over every inch of skin he could reach. You shivered at the feel of his rough hands, sucking in steadying breaths whilst you finished your drinks.

You left his drink on the bar whilst you sipped at yours, watching him intently, eyes burning with want.

“Aren't you going to drink yours?”.

His gaze, practically black, flickered before Roman grabbed the drink, pouring the deep orange liquid over your chest. You gasped at the icy cool sensation of the alcohol dripping over your body.

“What are you - oh!”.

Dipping his head down to your chest, Roman dragged his tongue over your flesh, groaning at the distinct taste of whiskey mixed with you. He discarded the glass carelessly to the side, focusing his attention only on you. His thumbs catching in the metal loops of your bikini bottoms.

You gasped and grabbed his hair as he slid down your body, his lips mapping you, the bitter lemon infused with the burn of the liquor. He settled on his knees, looking up at you with lustful eyes. Roman pushed your bikini bottoms down your long legs before tracing his tongue to your core. He blew over your clit, enjoying the way your body reacted. Goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin.

You fisted your hands in his hair, moaning quietly. Roman smirked, lifting you up onto the mini bar, pushing your thighs further apart. His growl was primal when he saw the slick glistening between your folds.

Letting your head fall back, you closed your eyes, whining his name softly, “Rom…”.

“I know darling, I’ve got you”, he nipped your inner thigh, soothing his hot tongue over the light sting from his bite.

“Rom…please…”.

Hearing you say his name, in that breathy little voice, made the front of his shorts tighter and his ego soar.

“That's right”, he laid a soft kiss to your clit, “You’re mine”.

“A-Always”, you stuttered out, feeling the desperation bubble in the pit of your stomach. You needed him. Craved him.

Roman growled against your core before delving into you, his tongue licking long stripes through your folds. You whined, drowning in the overwhelming desire flooding your veins. Pleasure wracked your body in sharp pulses with every flick of Roman’s skilful tongue. You sobbed his name and tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him pressed into your pussy.

He smirked against your core, groaning deeply when your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging sharply when he hit all your sensitive spots.

Whining his name, you rolled your hips, eager to have him impossibly closer. You cried out when Roman slipped two fingers into your pussy. He thrust them in easily, enjoying the slick noises from your core.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Please!”, you begged, eyes clamped shut tightly.

His lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over it. He free hand bracketed your hip, holding you in place.

“Oh god!”, you screamed, fisting your hands tightly in his hair as you hit your peak. Roman growled against your pussy, lapping up your slick. His fingers slowed as he pulled back from your folds, looking up at you darkly. He loved the way you looked after you’d just orgasmed.

“Rom…”, you murmured, trailing your hands down his cheek.

He gave you a smile before kissing back up your inner thighs. Hands caressing up the outside of your thighs.

“What - oh!”, you gasped loudly and tipped your head back as Roman’s lips connected with your clit briefly.

“I think you’ve got another one for me darling”, the deep timber of his voice rattled up your spine.

Still shaking from your last orgasm, your body broke out in violent tremors as Roman focused on your clit. Both of his hands wrapped around your hips, gripping hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises.

“Fuck! Fuck! Roman!!”, you sobbed.

It was too much but not enough at the same time. You wanted to push him away but pull him closer. The intensity of it firing deep in the pit of your stomach. You shattered, his name a mangled prayer from your plush lips. You felt your body buzz from the euphoria. Panting, you heaved oxygen into your lungs, chest rising and falling heavily.

Briefly, you were unaware of your surroundings until you felt Roman standing between your spread thighs, littering kisses across your bare shoulder.

Shakily, you wrapped your arms around his neck, nails dragging up it, teasing the bottom of his hairline.

“I’m not done with you yet”, he murmured into the junction of your neck, grinding his hard, clothed cock into your pussy.

Tightening your legs around his waist, you hauled yourself up against his heated body, pressing into it, hands gripping his back, “What are you waiting for then?”.

Roman could feel the cocktail still staining your skin, giving it a slightly sticky quality along with the gleam of sweat from the humidity and your orgasm.

He gave you a wink before wrapping an arm around your lower back, lifting you off the bar completely. He grabbed your chaser glass then headed you both into the master bedroom, nibbling your lips along the way before dropping you down onto the thin cotton sheets.

You watched him place the practically empty glass on the bedside table, you frowned a little unsure what he was up to. Your thoughts halted as he knelt on the bed, his bulky form towering over you. Roman encased your body with his, his large frame covering you easily. He kissed you with a fiery passion, tongue dancing along yours.

You whimpered into his mouth, letting him swallow the sounds. His hands traced up the sides of your body, stopping when they found their prize. He grinned against your swollen lips as he tugged the bikini tie free, ripping the offending material off your body. Your breasts bounced free and Roman grunted feeling your hardening nipples scratch across his bare chest.

Tearing himself from your sinful lips, he reached up past your head and you heard the familiar clink of ice cubes. You felt the coil in your stomach twist with anticipation and desire. When Roman settled back down between your spread legs, you noticed a rapidly melting ice cube pinched between his long fingers.

“Close your eyes”, his voice was thick with lust as he openly admired your naked body.

“Yes Sir”, you whispered, letting your eyelids flutter shut.

The first touch was hot. Roman’s heated mouth peppered your collarbone with searing kisses. You moaned, letting your hands explore the muscles of his back.

He pulled back and you instantly missed the feel of his kisses. You huffed in protest and he chuckled.

The next touch had you arching off the back of the bed, gasping loudly. Bitter coolness dragged down the top of your breast, following the curve of it before circling over your nipple. Your skin erupted in shivers and you could stop the purr from your throat.

Your nipple pebbled, the ice cube numbing your skin.

“Roman!”, you mewled and writhed on the bed as he replaced the ice cube with his scorching mouth.

His teeth tugged your nipple, releasing it after a moment before flicking his tongue over it. Roman repeated the action on your other nipple, growling against your skin at your intense reactions.

You shuddered, goosebumps spreading over your preening flesh. The dire contrast between the blazing heat and the bitter ice was euphoric. Your mind felt fuzzy from the overload of stimulation. You could feel the slick dripping from your core, aching to feel his cock driving into you.

“Roman…Ah! Please!!”, you pleaded as you felt the ice trail down the valley between your breasts, along your stomach and over the dip of your naval.

Roman followed the watery path with his tongue, stopping every so often to press kisses to your body.

“Please Rom…”, you begged, your voice husky with need.

“Please what?”, his voice was smug, enjoying how he’d made you a whimpering mess with a tiny ice cube.

Frustration seeped into your bones and you opened your eyes to look at Roman.

He had to admit, the fire burning behind your eyes made his stomach twist. The debauched look curling the beautiful features on your face. You tried to glare at him as much as you could, but the overload of pleasure made it difficult.

“Tell me what you want darling”.

The ice cube had melted into the last remnant of water, letting Roman’s calloused hand caress your bare skin.

You whined, “Rom…please, I need you, I need you now”.

“Need what?”, he cooed playfully, nipping the flesh below your navel.

You moaned loudly and shivered. You hated but loved the way he teased you. Drawing out the deepest of desires from within you.

“Fuck me Roman, I need you to fuck me”.

Sliding back up your body slowly, he shuffled effortlessly out of his swim shorts, his thick cock springing free. There was a soft pap as it bounced against his abs. He fisted his shaft several times before teasing the head through your sopping folds, causing you to moan unabashedly, throwing your head back against the soft pillows.

He thrust into you easily, bottoming out instantly. He grunted into your ear, his hot breath fanning down your neck, “You feel so fuckin’ good darling”.

You purred his name and wrapped your legs around his waist tightly, locking him in place before coiling your arms around his neck.

“You always take my cock so well”, Roman growled, biting your earlobe. His hot lips travelled to the sensitive spot behind your ear, kissing and sucking to leave his marking.

You didn’t reply, words lost in your mind. If you’d tried to speak, it’d have been incoherent murmuring. Something which would’ve further fuelled his already inflated ego. All you could focus on was the feel of his pulsating cock stretching your pussy.

He continued to drive into you, harder with every thrust, groaning your name against your neck. You mewled in response, legs gripping him tighter as he angled himself deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Rom! Oh! Oh fuck!”, you sobbed, nails digging into his shoulder blades, dragging down his back.

He smirked and picked up his pace, hammering into you wildly. Roman knew he’d have your scratch marks streaking down his back but he didn’t care one little bit. He’d happily wear them with pride for the rest of the vacation.

“Are you going to cum for me darling?”, he teased, his hand snaking between your glistening bodies to rub over your throbbing clit.

You whimpered, your velvet walls fluttering around his thick shaft. You could feel the brim of your orgasm ready to shatter.

“You want me to fill that pretty little pussy?”, Roman ground out, fucking you with a brutal pace, growling when he saw your eyes behind to roll into the back of your head.

“P-Please”, you managed to force out of your lips before you felt the euphoria bursting through your body. Your vision blurred as your climax hit you with a delirious intensity, shudders took over your body.

The way your body reacted to him pushed Roman over the edge into his own powerful end and he released his hot seed, deep into your core. He cursed loudly and grunted your name before stilling, resting the weight of his body on his elbows.

----

Soaking in the afterglow, you threaded your fingers through his sweat matted locks. A content rumble vibrated from his chest before he planted delicate kisses along your collarbone. You purred happily and leaned into his touch instinctively, enjoying the way he made you feel.

After a few more moments, he dropped onto the bed, tugging you onto his chest, pressing you tightly into him.

“We should come on vacation more often”, he rasped, curling a strand of your hair around his finger carefully.

Your hand stroked over his chest, and down his stomach tracing the dark line of hair, “I told you, you’d enjoy it - you should know by now my ideas are always right”.

“I suppose”, he teased, kissing your forehead softly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but Roman caught the smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I think next time, we should go to Switzerland”.

“Not a chance”.

“Why not?!”, you looked up at him with a scandalous look. Only seconds ago he’d agreed that this was a great idea!

“Because”, he rolled you over, trapping you underneath him, “I can’t fuck you outside there”.

----

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises @internalsealpanic @batarella - thank you both for proof reading you beautiful hoes xoxo

Tag List: @offendedfishnoises @internalsealpanic @batarella @batarella-mini @lucy-roo @illzarr @pricetagofficial @jadedhillon @vvipgot7be @clementinesandstars @thedeadlythoughts @fantasticwizardnerd @power-of-words23 @vintagexparker @l-inkage @fourteengemstones @ficrecsideblog @insane-without-delirium @so-now-what-huh @imjeralee @geekonaleash @dairydragon84 @dragonchildyuki @ediwdac @fxrchxldws @hyperfixationsandhecticness @chelinn @maniacproffesor @8ether @the-abyss-of-fandoms @babymango-writes @indigowcrds @catxsnow @lostoctaviaaugusta @empower-bi-women @jd-loves-everyone @xatanna-troy @blondekel77 @awsomebatlover @mora-miserium @badbiddie055 @more-cardigan-than-woman @jasonsthots @phoenixhalliwell - Drop me a message if you want to be added to my tag list. Please let me know if the tag list didn’t work again, lots of love xoxo

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#ceo!roman sionis x you #roman sionis smut #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis x you #black mask x reader #black mask smut #black mask x you #black mask imagine

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haik-choo · 4 years ago

Text

haikyuu boys through lovers’ eyes

atlernate title: how you see the haikyuu boys.

-tsukishima, oikawa, kageyama, yamaguchi, sugawara, iwaizumi, kenma, bokuto, akaashi, hinata

tsukishima’s hair is the color of ready-to-harvest wheat; it’s the color of a farmer’s pride after a season’s worth of maintenance and hard work. his eyes are similar, but they shine with a golden glint. they’re riddled with the fear of passion, the fear of giving your all and still falling, but they’re hopeful. long blonde eyelashes adorn his citrine eyes like a thick blanket -- thick enough to make you jealous. his teasing smirk when he pokes fun at your envy is filled with love; his words are harsh and unrelenting but they have a caring undertone that warms your heart. his skin is as smooth as marble and when you run your fingers across it you almost can’t stop. when your touch lingers for too long tsukishima’s face flushes peach, his eyebrows creasing in embarrassment. his slender fingers gently grab your hand and interlaces your fingers together, his hypnotizing gaze anywhere but you. just gazing at him fills your heart with a want, no -- a need for him. the more you look at your lover, the longer you love tsukishima, the more you want to prove to him that the passion he pours into you will never go to waste.

true beauty comes from the inside, oikawa proves. his flirty smile that he throws to others, his piercing gaze, his whole outside demeanor takes a backseat to the true oikawa. the sweat that drips off him after he hits his twenty-fifth jump serve in a row is beautiful. his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, pink from constant biting, is breathtaking. his honest hands that tell the truth no matter what (like when he yelled at you to leave, but was still gripping the sleeve of your shirt with shaky fingers or the time when he said he was mad at you but was still caressing your cheek), are graceful. oikawa’s umber hair that whisped upwards with the gentle pass of wind and deep dirt-colored eyes were undeniably attractive. his lips that curled with mischief were pretty, and his tall figure that protected you was, too. but the faint warm smell of a flower meadow after a sun shower that he emitted coupled with the loving words he whispered to you at night as he twirled your hair around his finger meant so much more. oikawa was beautiful, yes, but for all the reasons that others who weren’t you didn’t know, and never will. his true beauty is meant just for you.

akaashi’s steel-blue eyes are underlined by heavy purple eyebags, but they’re a testament to his hard-working and reliable nature, so you think they’re beautiful. his cool midnight hair curls randomly, messily framing his concentrated face. sharp inexpressive eyebrows sit atop his eyes, giving off indifference, but his mind wanders aimlessly most the time. he dresses quick-and-comfortably in hopes of high function, not hopes of looking good, yet he still manages to steal the show. he tucks his neck and chin in the warmth of his large white ribbed turtle-neck, only allowing his sharp eyes to be seen. they’re almost always looking at you. his soft, uncalloused hands drift over to your leg, and his thumb rubs your knee lovingly. despite being good with words, he rarely found the courage to say them aloud, but he always thought them. actions were his preferred way of proving his love: making coffee in the morning for you as soon as you woke up, stopping work at eleven pm no matter what to focus on you (it was still late but it’s the thought that counts), and kissing you every morning and every night. his rosy lips tell you the truth much more honestly than any group of words he could ever string together.

one-track-mindedness is a virtue in kageyama. there’s something so compelling about his utter confidence in himself and his talents. his confidence comes from the way the ball slides against his calloused hands, its the way his eyes find the best spot on the court to hit the ball, its how he constantly improves. sure, his hair was a cool midnight black (that was cut a little weirdly) and his denim eyes captured your attention with ease, not to mention that his rare once-in-a-lifetime smile caused butterflies to flutter their translucent wings in your stomach -- but he paid no mind to his physical features (seriously, have you seen his hair?). the physical things he took pride in were the bruises littering his legs, the olympic gold medals that hung on his wall, the way his lips molded with yours like plaster. he loves his muscles and how they shift around underneath his skin, pulling together and pushing apart as he reaches for something in the upper kitchen cabinet because they allow him to play volleyball to the best of his ability. he loves the sport, it’s his dream. he loves his body, because it supports his dream. and most of all, he loves you, because even as his body ages and his fingers tremble and struggle to pick up the ball with both hands when he once could pick it up with just one, loving you will never get harder.

never did you think yamaguchi’s forest green hair would cause your ears to burn and heart to beat faster than usual. but now, you wonder how you ever lived without him. though, it wasn’t just his soft hair; it was his timid but loyal demeanor, it was his loving eyes and how they took in every detail of you and valued you for everything you were, it was how his arms made you feel as they wrapped around your waist: safe, warm, secure. just as a forest with lush green leaves thrived, yamaguchi’s dark green irises were bursting with life. his smile was a little brighter than you remembered when he was younger, he was more sure of himself. his eyes didn’t waver when you met them or move away when you stared too long. his hands gestured in the air wildly when he was excited, no shame in his child-like passion. yamaguchi was no timid highschool boy who lived with regrets anymore. he lives everyday with new hope in his eyes, proud of himself now and who he was in the past. he even learns to love the freckles that splattered like stars against his softly tanned skin. he hated them at one time, but after you told him that he gets a new one every time you two kiss, he learns to love them.

the sun burns bright against a cool blue sky, but hinata’s smile manages to burn brighter, hotter than the faraway star (and so does his hair). he belongs in the sky, what with his dazzling smile that blinds unsuspecting patrons and his glass-like orbs of honeydew that hold giant hydrogen-burning supernovas within them. maybe that was a little much, describing him that way. but he seemed otherworldly, like someone you’ve met in a past life, a past universe. his white smile stretches across his face, his eyes narrowing into excited slits, cheeks red, giggle coming from his throat. there’s never been anything more perfect; a look of pure joy and ambition. even when he’s five sets into a game, sweat dripping down his golden skin like rain in spring, chest heaving up and down, begging for air; he’s so alive. there’s a fire in his eyes, lava in his veins. hinata burns so bright, feels so hot against your skin, that you can feel yourself melt when you touch him. he scalds anyone that steps foot into his life, leaving them with a scar, evidence of his passion. no one is the same after that. you’re not the same now, not with his head on your chest and his hand in yours -- but you don’t need to be. you don’t want to be. because then, you were a cold, lifeless planet, surface barren and plain. but his arrival, his scalding arrival, brought warmth, attracted water-filled asteroids -- gave you life. hinata was your sun, and you’d spend an eternity revolving around him.

sugawara has hazel-brown eyes that somehow captivate you. somehow, simple brown eyes surrounded by light gray eyelashes captivate you. you can see the world in their reflection, and it shocks you how beautiful his honey eyes make the world seem. his hair is the shade of a rainy cloud, yet it still somehow brings smiles. people surround him naturally, his demeanor accepting and friendly, and every person around him always has joy evident on their face. his extrovert-tendencies reduce down to nothing only when in your presence alone, though. at home he plops down next to you, the smooth skin of his face resting on your clothed shoulder, a heavy sigh leaving his peach lips as he mutters about just wanting to hold you. then the same captivating eyes flick upwards to you, and it happens again, time stops. you look so beautiful reflected in his eyes -- is this how he sees you? his hands cup your face to bring you down to his level, and his lips cover yours lovingly. sugawara is an enigma, and maybe you’ll never figure him out or know exactly what he’s thinking, but you think that maybe, just maybe, if he continues to look at you like you’re his whole world in his russet eyes, you don’t mind staying by his side forever.

despite the uneven blend of the blonde and black of kenma’s hair, there’s something about it that makes you want to run your fingers through the locks. the reason may lie in his golden eyes and how they compel you to do things you never thought you’d do. things like make your heart pound fast, things like spontaneously kissing the cat-like boy next to you in a fit of loving emotions. kenma’s hands are not like other setters; they’re soft and constantly cold, begging for your warmth. the pads of his fingers and his knuckles are a light pink, much like the apples of his cheeks when he’s near you. his hands aren’t very big, but when they envelop yours they somehow still make you feel safe. his face has never been very emotive, but his mouth gives you hints on his inner thoughts, the smallest quirk of his small lips giving leeway to whats on his mind. in a way, it makes him easy to read. but you’ve never needed those small hints for kenma puts his emotions on full display just for you. only for you. he really is like a cat; it takes time to warm up to you, but when he does, he willingly reveals the soft plush of his stomach to you; he willingly lets you through the closed doors of his guarded heart.

iwaizumi’s muscles shift beautifully underneath his tan skin as he stretches, his arms raising upwards, reaching for the sun. they relax as he settles down next to you on the couch and loosely throws an arm over your shoulder. as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone, you take the time to admire him in all his california-glory. he’s darker than in high school, the beaches in california gently toasting him to the perfect shade of golden brown. his skin brings out the green in his olive-green eyes, and silently you thank whatever gods exist for taking their time on him. his hair is slightly longer than before, though still cut unevenly, yet you want to curl your finger around his short strands of chocolate brown hair. looking closer to his face, you notice that even his face is less tense than when you were younger; he’s mellowed out. not that he’s any less competitive (ask oikawa), but he’s more gentle. small details pop out to you the more you stare, like the small barely-there freckles that litter his nose, or the sun-dyed lighter brown tips of his hair, or the slight sunburn that rests atop his nose from his recent trip out in the sun (you’ll remind him to wear more sunscreen later). But what you notice most of all is the soft smile on his dusty-rose lips. briefly, you wonder what’s got him smiling, but then you see his eyes are focused on your mouth, and the gentle angle in which he’s leaning, and you know exactly what he’s so happy about. you close your eyes, and meet him in the middle.

there’s a shocking softness to bokuto’s demeanor; despite his hard plays and hard muscular body, his face and personality radiate warmth. it must be the way his large, round ashen-brown eyes look at a person with excitement dancing in them. or maybe it’s the surprisingly tender way he reaches a large hand out to touch your shoulder, completely opposite to his enthused mood. but, honestly, you know why he seems to soft. it’s because his heart beats for you. it’s because when he sees you, he wants nothing more than to embrace you and let the air become serene, his scent filling your nose as yours fills his. as he pulls you into a kind hug, you can feel yourself melt into him, his chest like a bed of pillows, soft yet firm, his body giving off the perfect amount of heat, his hands rubbing your back soothingly. you can feel him grin against your scalp as he kisses your hair softly. when he pulls back to look at you deeply, his expressive grey eyebrows seem to lessen in their harsh angle, and they lay nearly flat. bokuto’s multi-colored hair almost curls with love, a deviation from it’s pin-straight nature. a few more seconds pass and he pulls you back into his chest: you stay still, inhaling his comforting scent, heart full from the love he’s feeding you.

a/n: oikawa’s ‘honest hands’ come from @cranbearly‘s iwaoi art !

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