#Code Mantra | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

j-psilas · 1 year ago

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Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

#code geass #anime #lelouch vi britannia #rolo lamperouge #nina einstein #kallen kozuki #lelouch lamperouge #clamp manga #lloyd asplund

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love-me-satoru · 7 months ago

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You're Mean.

pairings: brat!fem reader x Dom!Male

- can be any dom but it’s Sukuna & Sugu coded 🤭

being bratty doesn’t end up being fun for you.

"You fucking brat."As you ran away from him truly trying to get out your punishment. After egging him on all day pulling insult after insult out in public mostly embarrassing him than yourself, he said he'd fix your attitude when you both got home, and he was determined, and you weren't going down without a fight. You ran up to your shared bedroom thinking of somewhere to hide when he slowly closes the door and you feel his rough calloused hand around your neck pulling a small shriek from you. "Where do you think you”re going baby?" Trying to get out of his grip he pulls you flushed against his chest. Youre still trying to wiggle away from him when his grip got tighter. Not enough to actually hurt you but enough to know youre in trouble."So princess.. Why did you think it would be a good idea to run away from me?" You stayed silent. He didnt want your silence. He wanted an answer. He loosened his grip around your neck and grabs your arm so you didn’t try and run away again. dragging you to the foot of the bed and sits pulling you over his lap.“You gonna talk baby or..” he starts slowly rubbing your ass. “Am I going to have to spank you.” You didn’t care at this point. It was the principal. “Your bed baby.” He pulls your panties off in one full swoop flipping your skirt over your ass and swats your ass twice. Soft moans came from your mouth and it made him chuckle.“Oh you like this baby?” You stare back at him. Not saying a word when he smacks you two more times on the same cheek. more moans fell from your mouth. His hand ran down to cup your soaking cunt with his hand which causes you to yelp out. Trying to push his hand away when he grabs both of your hands holding them behind your back. “What are you doing.” “Nothing!” “Now she speaks.” “You’re mean!” “I may be mean. But you were the one who was being a brat.” “Stop it!!” “It’s crazy how you think you have any say right now baby” You pout up at him when he shoves two fingers inside of your soaking cunt. Pumping his fingers in and out of you pulling moan after moan when he felt you tighten up against him he completely pulled out slapping your ass. “What the fuck!” He just laughs. Slapping your ass again. “Still think you’re in charge sweetheart?” “Yes! Get off of me!” As you’re trying to squirm off of him his grip gets tighter holding your hips with his free hand.“You know baby you’re so fucking cute when you think you’re in charge. But we both know who realy owns this pussy” As his hand releases yours he shoves his fingers deep back inside you. Pumping at a ridiculously speed. “Who’s cunt is this baby?” “S’Yours daddy!” “That’s what I thought. Now cum for me brat” You’re squirming against him again feeling that tingling feeling in your lower half moaning his name like a mantra.“I’m cumming!” Squirting all over his lap with him whispering praises into your ear.“Good girl. One more time baby who owns this cunt” as he slowly pulls his fingers out cupping your cunt “You.. daddy. You own my cunt” “Good girl.”

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 5 months ago

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give me your heart, make it real

pairing: javier peña x reader

tags/cw: smut, f! receiving oral, p in v, undercover as lovers, big dick javi, no use of y/n, no reader physical description, gentle lover javi

summary: javi needs a 'date' to a party (where escobar and crew will be idk), and asks reader to help him by dressing up in a 'slutty' outfit (not his words)

a/n: okay, yes, the title is from smooth by santana ft. rob thomas (on my javi-coded spotify playlist even tho it came out post-narcos). i've only made it to s2 ep4 and slept thru s1 ep8-10, so i've been committing the crime of not knowing the lore (i am so down bad for javi it's insane)

wc: 3.8k

"I have a lead, and you're coming with me," Javi says, already ushering you out of the room.

"You can't just whisk me away - I have to ask Messina."

"Messina gave me the go-ahead."

"I still need to-" You try to walk away from him but his hand loosely holds your arm, and before you break free, Messina says, approaching from behind, "Go with Agent Peña."

It must be a good lead if she's so quick to send you off with Peña. He looks you over, and says, "You can't wear that. How quickly can you change?"

"Into my tactical gear?"

"No, into a dress."

"Whose quinceañera are we attending?"

"Funny. I have intel about a party happening this evening. You're going to be my date. I need you in a dress - the shorter the better - and makeup, lots of it."

"You want me to look like a hooker?"

"Something like that."

You expect Javi to drop you off at your apartment, but he follows you in – he tries to follow you all the way to your bedroom, but you stop him. Maybe he’s just running on instinct, not used to having a woman invite him into her home without the intention of sex.

"Go sit in the living room," you scoff, pushing him away. "Make yourself at home." You keep your tone sarcastic to avoid letting any nervousness creep into your voice.

You're not supposed to look pretty, per se. He's expecting slutty, and yet, you still worry about looking too slutty in front of Javi. You've made a conscious effort to keep every interaction between the two of you professional, and you are determined to keep it that way. While you cake your face in cosmetics, you remind yourself that you would not go to such lengths for Javi. This is not for Javi, this is for a nobler cause than landing in his good graces. You’re fulfilling your duties as an agent on a mission to stop a narcoterrorist, and that paycheck better arrive at the end of month or you’ll be forced to get on your knees for your landlord who is not quite as handsome as Javi.

Yes, that’s right, Javi is handsome, disgustingly so. You loathe him, not for his sex appeal itself but for his awareness of such, not for the fact that he could leverage it against you, but for the fact that he thinks he can. He can.

Javier Peña sees all women the same way - not quite as objects, but conquests. Even if you're someone, rather than something, you're still someone he could have. But you don't bend to his will, at least you haven't yet, and that's the one thing you hold over him.

Your brain is logical, and holds you to a higher standard. This has nothing to do with desire, but simple facts put into an equation that gives you a clear output. Every time the illogical part of you that lives between your thighs begs for attention, your mind reminds you of your current mantra: Javi is a walking, talking, fucking bad idea.

The red lipstick and minidress are going to get you one step closer to catching Escobar, and if it means you have to be Javi's date for a night, then it's a challenge you're willing to take.

Maybe pretending to like him will be easier than pretending not to like him, which is something you've struggled to do every day for months.

It will not be, you realize, when he whistles at you from the couch when you step out of your bedroom, all dolled up.

"I'm carrying my gun in my purse," you say - an empty threat.

"Good girl."

"Say it one more time, Peña," you warn him, pulling your lethal weapon from a tacky, dated clutch. Your grip on it is weak and the safety is on. He mirrors your gesture, lazily pointing his own gun at you.

But he keeps his mouth shut.

Between the two of you, who's the better shot? You hope you'll never have to find out.

Javi shamelessly flirts his way around the office, but his arm around your waist is purely professional as he guides you from the car, parked a safe distance away, to your destination.

"You don't speak Spanish, you respond to 'chica', and you definitely do not have a gun on you. Got it?"

"What do you want me to call you?"

"As long as it's not my name, whatever you want, chica."

"Asshole."

Playing dumb is more fun than you thought it'd be. The wandering eyes of drug lords make you feel icky, but you don't have to respond when they speak to you. You don’t have to prove your intelligence to every man you encounter, every man who will make you take on any task they can’t handle, don’t have time for, or simply can’t be bothered to do. You don't have to do shit for once.

You keep a drink in your hand as a part of the act. Party girls like you drink, right? Honestly, you’re dead set on keeping your hands full in the hopes that you won’t be given the opportunity to do a line, inevitably refuse such an opportunity, and risk being outed as someone on the other side of this war. Javi doesn't need to tell you to pour your own drink - it's a lesson all girls are taught from a young age. Training as a federal agent may have taught you sharpshooting, but your mother told you how to avoid getting roofied.

You have a tolerance built up thanks to picking alcohol as one of your favorite vices back in college, but you know how to act drunk. While you sway a little, Javi tightens his grip on your waist to keep you grounded. You pretend not to understand when he mentions to a small group of men that you might be down for more than one man tonight, he just needs to get you warmed up first. He sounds a little too comfortable saying those words, and you doubt it's just good acting. Regardless, they seem more than happy to hear about the possibility of getting in bed with you.

"What's everyone talking about?" You slur your words and smile stupidly.

"Don't worry about it, chica," Javi says with a sly look to a man you hope you won't actually have to sleep with.

You swear you see a twinkle of something in Javi's brown eyes as they meet yours.

You realize what that something is when he surprises you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, daring to slip his tongue in your mouth. His hand sliding downwards says, 'just go with it'. You kiss him back, pulling his hair as he grabs your ass. You know he's putting on a show, but his touch makes you feel something all too real.

You swear you hear a whistle, it's likely directed at the two of you but the hustle and bustle of chatter covers up what the onlookers are saying. Javi hears enough to know that his plan is working.

'Get a room,' they say.

'Do you have a spare?' he asks.

Too drunk for their own good and too horny at the sight in front of them, the leader offers one up.

Your embarrassment is real – you're not hiding a winning smile underneath like Javi is. You're directed to a bedroom, and resisting the urge to scope the room immediately, Javi lays you flat on the bed and climbs on top of you, pinning your arms above your head - and, making you wetter than you'd ever tell him. He's keeping you from pushing him away until the door shuts and he tones things down.

He whispers into your ear when he's sure the man who led you here is far enough away that he can drop the act for a moment, "You're going to do what I say. No questions asked. Are we clear?"

You nod, terrified and knowing he's the only one you can trust in this place. With less shame than one might expect, he shows you what to do, getting you to mimic him. He sucks on his own fingers and you follow blindly, he pulls up the bottom of his shirt and slaps his skin while bouncing on the bed just enough that it creaks, rhythmically, like you're – oh, you understand.

Then, he whispers in your ear, "moan for me," and you do. "Perfect, just like that," he says, and you're no longer praying that you don't get caught by the cartel, but that you don't get caught by Javi. "That's good, keep going," he says, and god, you couldn't stop it if you wanted to.

You've forgotten everything else he's said, so he takes your hand and slides it up your dress, slapping the skin of your thighs and then grabs your hips to bounce them up and down. You whimper at the loss of his touch - all thoughts other than 'Javi' have left your head. He starts searching the room for evidence of anything case-related, and you continue to suck, moan, bounce, slap your skin, pretend to fuck the man in front of you because he wants you to, because he told you to keep going.

You watch Javi's back - as you should. You watch his arms, the way his jeans fit perfectly, the shape of his nose as he turns to his side and you can see his profile, his focused eyes.

You imagine his eyes looking over your body, his nose tickling your skin, those jeans coming off, his arms caging you in while he's on top of you. You hope the bed's not slick with arousal.

Don't touch yourself. But, he's not looking. Maybe you can pass it off as dedication to the cause. Don't. Don't. Don't.

When he finds what he needs, he takes what he can, receipts and encoded notes, and he shoves them down his pants. You watch him readjust. He sees, and gives you a look of 'what?'. He ruffles his hair, unbuttons his top two buttons, making himself look disheveled. Then, he licks thumb and runs in under your eyes, smudging your eyeliner and with the other, your lipstick. As if he's practiced, he wipes the excess red on his lips.

You look stunned, he looks satisfied. Everyone stares when you leave but for all the wrong reasons. They have no idea what went on in that room. Javi has no idea either. It's your own little secret.

When you make it to the safety of Javi’s car, you sigh, relaxing into the passenger seat, and he says, "Thank you. You did really well back there. I could just kiss you right now - for real."

You know what he means. It's another thank you, maybe even I'm proud of you. But he’s still giving you an opportunity. It has to be intentional.

"Then, do it. I dare you."

He could make a joke but he doesn't, he smiles and does as he said. He kisses you, and his lips parting slightly is the offer. When your tongue meets his, he knows, he must know.

"We should celebrate," he says. "Wanna come back to my place?"

You agree, even though you should know by now that going home with Javi is risky business at best.

Javi is enough of a gentleman to offer you a drink before suggesting you move things to the bedroom. All he has is whiskey, and while it's not your favorite, you decide the liquid courage is worth the taste.

"To us," Javi says, raising his glass before tapping it against yours. Sure, you're supposed to look into each other's eyes when you tap your glass against his, but the look you share says something beyond the toast. He might as well have winked at you. The tension is palpable, and you become increasingly aware of Javi's experience in this field - he may hold superiority to you in the DEA due to his extra years working for the agency, but what intimidates you is not that, but his body count, which is surely dozens above yours.

But then again, how much of the sex he has is with prostitutes? Is he even a good fuck? Maybe that's why he pays for sex. No, you've heard rumors being passed around throughout the DEA, and unless Javi pays for reviews too, he's good, great even.

"Are you in there, querida?" His head is cocked to the side in a way that lets you know he's been trying to get your attention for awhile.

"Oh yeah, I was just thinking."

"Anything interesting? I thought I was going to have to shake you."

"No, my mind's just…"

"Elsewhere?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Mine too." He places his glass on the table. "You did very well today. Have you ever acted before?"

"No, not really."

"You're a natural, then, because it was pretty convincing."

You think you've gotten away with it until you see the glint in his eye.

"It helps when you're… inspired," you say with a coy grin.

"Inspired? Is that what they're calling it now?"

"I don't wanna say it. It's embarrassing."

"You don't have to, it was pretty obvious how you felt."

It's good that you've had a drink or two because you'd be running out of the room in embarrassment if you hadn't. You're not as practiced as some of the girls he's been with, and it's probably obvious, but you're not a virgin either. You're also not an idiot. This is going in the direction you've always wanted it to - towards his bedroom.

Javi leans in, and whispers into the shell of your ear, "I didn't give you the tour of my apartment, did I?"

His hot breath on your skin sends chills down your spine, but you pretend to be barely-fazed. "Mm-mm, you haven't."

"Do you wanna see my bedroom?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

He takes your hand and helps you up, and though you’ve felt his hands before, you notice the way one of his can envelop yours. He kisses you, soft and sweet, he kisses you, passionate and feverish, he kisses you with purpose, walking you backwards in the direction of his bedroom. He can tell you're nervous about the possibility of knocking into things so he assures you, "Don't worry. I know my way around. I won't let you get hurt."

"You come here often?"

You get a laugh out of him, light and genuine, but most of all rare. "Not as often as I should."

You find that his grip on you is looser than it was in public. There's nothing to protect you from here. It's just Peña, your colleague. It's just Javi, the man you've seen in the risque dreams you have too frequently to write them off as a misfire in your subconscious.

If someone had asked you with a gun to your head if you thought Javier Peña would be a gentle lover, you'd be dead. And if you are, then you made it to heaven.

He slides your zipper down carefully and lets you slip out of your dress, insisting on abiding by the rule of 'ladies first' when you try to unbutton his shirt. Your fingers shake as you restrain yourself against the urge to rip the fabric, so he replaces your hands with his own. His belt is gone too by the time he sits down on the edge of the bed, hands holding yours while he gazes at you in your bra and panties.

"Do you dress like this under your work clothes every day or was this for your 'costume?'"

"I wanted to do a good job playing my part. I didn't know if I'd need to take off my dress."

"But you were willing to if I'd asked you?"

"You told me to do whatever you said."

"But you could've told me to 'fuck off'. Did you want me to see you like this? Is it possible that you wanted to look pretty for me?"

"You're very good at interrogations, Peña. You would make a good cop."

He keeps his laughter contained, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips when he says, "You're going to call me, 'Javi' when you're in my bed. Are we clear?"

You salute him just to push his buttons, and it works, he pulls you into his lap and holds you there. You love his tight jeans for the way they allow you to feel how hard he is right now.

"So fucking gorgeous," he mutters as his kisses trail down your neck. He undoes your bra with one hand and you brace yourself for impact, dying to feel his mouth on your newly-exposed skin.

You would never have expected his skin to be so soft. His hands are calloused and he has wrinkles between his eyebrows, but his broad shoulders are perfectly smooth. You feel like apologizing preemptively for the marks you might leave.

But Javi flips you onto your back and you see a flash of hunger in his eyes. He's wanted this for a long time too.

"When you were moaning for me earlier, I couldn't stop wondering if that's what you'd sound like if I touched you like this."

'Like this' means one hand slipping into your panties and playing with your clit while the other thumb runs over your nipple. You take a sharp inhale of breath and try not to moan loudly but end up letting out a whimper that must sound awfully pathetic.

"Even prettier," he says, as his voice gets further away and you realize he's getting on his knees.

You must be dead. You must've died at that party because this is too perfect to be true.

He places gentle kisses on the inside of each of your thighs before slipping off your panties.

"Javi." Breathy and urgent, it’s an admission of your arousal.

"Querida?"

Your voice trembles as you tell him the secret you've been keeping. "When I was 'acting', I had to stop myself from saying your name."

"You were such a good girl."

His lips ghost over your clit before he presses a light kiss to your skin. You're so desperate you could cry. You let his name slip out now that you're alone.

"You're still a good girl."

One finger slips inside you like a reward and his tongue circles your clit. You swear he can hear your thoughts - "I'm sorry I pulled a gun on you earlier when you called me that. You make me feel flustered all the time, so much that you piss me off". He groans into your core as if to say, "It's okay. I already knew that".

But then your brain turns to mush and all that's left is, "Javi, Javi, Javi." And his response is to put your legs over his shoulders and slip another finger inside you. He can tell you're struggling against the pleasure, gripping his bedsheets in a desperate attempt to avoid tugging his hair. His unoccupied hand finds one of yours, coaxing you into holding it. The tenderness only heightens the pleasure.

"I know, cariño, just let go for me. I've got you."

The safest you've ever been is with Javi next to you. Safe enough to keep you alive, safe enough for you to cry out his name without fear. You come down from the most intense orgasm of your life, panting with Javi's hands stroking your sides before lifting your legs so he can climb into bed beside you.

Without a thought left in your head, your eager hands reach for the button of his jeans, but he stops you. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course. I'm in your bed, aren't I?"

"But your legs are shaking, querida. You need a minute to relax."

"I want you."

"I'll still be here in five minutes."

He comes back with water and a condom and you understand why women sleep with him.

He bargains with you - you drink some water and he takes his pants off. He doesn't intend to make a show of it, but you marvel at his body, now fully on display in front of you. The dryness in your mouth reminds you of the cold glass in your hand, which you down, equal parts nervous and aroused at the sight of his cock.

Javi notices the genuine concern in your eyes – surely women have looked at him with the same hesitant desire. In response to the unspoken, he strokes your cheek with a sweetness that makes you blush. "We'll go slow."

He sinks into you slowly, incrementally. His length strokes a particularly sensitive spot inside you that makes your walls tighten around him, and you can feel his hips jerk in response, self-restraint wavering as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly.

Once he bottoms out, he stops and lets you savor the feeling of being full. His lips still red and puffy from their time spent between your thighs, find yours and he kisses you with a fervor that cannot be sustained when you're both breathing so heavily.

"Javi, I need you," you whine.

"You have me."

"I need you to f–" he starts thrusting in and out of you while you speak, forcing you to cut yourself off with a moan.

The way he groans is gorgeous. He sets a steady pace and gets lost in the feeling. The urge to be closer to you takes over and he has you sitting in his lap within seconds. His hands cup your ass and allow him to move you as he pleases.

Your words in his ear are less than coherent when you bury your face in his neck. His teeth graze the skin on your shoulders and in the back of your mind you know you should worry about the marks he might leave, but the desire to be his, to remember that you had something even for a moment overtakes you. So, you throw your head back and give him access to a greater expanse of your skin.

Arousal fills you with a jolt of energy, giving you a boost in stamina, and you leverage yourself on Javi's shoulders and take over the work of sliding his cock between your wet folds, hips erratic and faltering.

You don’t need to tell him how close you are, he can tell. He’s seen you cum before, he’s tasted it.

"Me too," he says. It's more intense than the first one - you keep your eyes open with sheer willpower because you need to know what he looks like when he cums. There's a fair chance you won't see him like this again and you need to keep his beautiful 'o' face in your spank bank.

But what slips from his lips is not a string of curses or a wordless groan, but your name. It sounds even better when you hear it again during round two, and even better when it follows ‘good morning’.

#javier peña #javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos

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aetiologies · 3 months ago

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could you be tender? / zayne

summary. he desires so violently and yet he waits.

tags. a heartbreaking amount of pining like give this man a break, he is a YEARNER, he is quite literally obsessed with the mc but not in a weird way, kind of angsty but it does get better i swear, suggestive comments, making-out, implied smut at the very end.

note. pulled out the high school level biology knowledge for this one. inspired by this quote from anaïs nin and the black pumas on repeat.

wc. 2k words

Zayne had no intention in changing who he came to be. They say patience is a virtue only few are fortunate enough to possess, and though this may run true, he believes it to be otherwise.

It was neither a blessing nor a curse as it simply just… existed, living within him like a permanent encryption of genetic code, for better or for worse. The gods made him like this–so be it. Neither a genetic defect nor a simple computational error placed down by his own DNA polymerase could change the fact that patience was a slow digging knife into his gut. It inched deeper and deeper, slicing through layers of skin and connective tissue until it punctured through vital organs and dug into the very marrow of his bones.

Through the layers of ice so thoroughly fogged to the point of inconceivability, to you it may have looked miles deep, but in reality it was nothing but a fragile wall of glass. The simple blessing of your touch, no matter how delicate and gentle it may be, it was more than enough to splinter a crack in his countenance.

He wondered if you could see it. The look in his eyes, the desire of which was so inherently violent, the curiosity of you seeing such a thing after years of being by your side was only a delusion—a mere semblance of his pitiful hope.

You slept so soundly upon his bed, shoulders finally relaxed for once. You had been so awfully tense since your grandmother’s passing and the receival of her letters that even successfully inviting you over for dinner and a movie was a miracle. Though, you fell into slumber long before the ending credits of the film even arrived.

Zayne wondered if this was the same worry that often plagued you when you saw the fatigue tainting his under eyes after long surgery-filled shifts.

You cared about him. He cared about you too, perhaps a little too much. He became a doctor for you after all, but that was a detail you didn’t have to know—shouldn’t know, rather. Zayne was a long time family friend of yours, but he was your primary care physician first and you were his patient.

It could never be anything more than that.

That became his mantra since the start of his rather laborious career, and an even more extensive job of hiding his feelings from you.

It was kind of stupid, really. A grown man closer to the age of thirty than twenty, have fought a handful of wanderers, and one of the best cardio-thoracic surgeons in Linkon, was afraid.

Zayne laughed at himself, a short palpable huff for the ridiculousness of it all, but it was enough to cause you to stir in your sleep.

A groan escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered open, turning over your shoulder to see Zayne perched at the end of the bed with his back towards you. Confusion washed over your face then when you noticed your surroundings. Your cheeks flushed crimson then, bright even in the dim lighting. This was not the living room you recalled yourself to be in.

“Zayne—”

“Had to move you before you got a stiff neck again,” he muttered the words over his shoulder.

Now that you were awake and talking, all of a sudden his own whirlwind of thoughts were lost into the backwards oblivion of his mind again. As if the past ten minutes of him building assurance was just another thought in the wind.

He sighed, finally tossing you a look when a small grin tugged at the corners of your lips. His heavy beating heart quickens.

This is where he praised his patience rather than curse it. It was moments like this where his heart swelled just by the mere look of you, how even in dim lighting the minute details in your expression was as clear as day. It did not matter whether you had just woken up from a slumber with marks and lines of his bedsheets imprinted on your cheek as a sign of well rest or if you had dirt and blood splattered across your face from intense battle. You always had been beautiful to him and this time was no different.

If Zayne hadn’t known any better, he would have already made his way over to you and held you within his arms until you inevitably fell back asleep.

But alas… he did know better after all.

“You should’ve picked the movie,” he conceded, a look of defeat painted in his expression.

“It wasn’t that boring,” you reasoned, though unsuccessfully, the smallest hint of a smile appeared on Zayne’s peach-tinted lips. “Then again, you should’ve seen it coming when you decided to put on a black-and-white silent film, but I digress.”

Zayne clicked his tongue, head shaking in a playful disapproval. “And to think you’d appreciate such fine cinema,” He readjusted himself on the bed as he said so. He was completely facing you now and just an arm’s reach away.

You ignored the darker thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind if someone were to walk in and see the position the two of you were in then.

“Just because a movie is old, doesn’t automatically mean it’s good, you know.”

“And just because you didn’t understand the movie, doesn’t mean it was bad, either.”

A rising smirk melted upon your lips, eyes glued upon the man in front of you still in his work clothes of a starched white button-down and his black trousers. Not even a single hair was out of place and you often wondered whether or not you could make a mess out of this man.

“Why did you stay, Zayne?” you asked, breaking the silence that fell for a few odd beats.

He did not answer right away. It was as you expected as you watched his own thoughts scramble to piece together a coherent string of words behind those icy dark eyes of his.

His gaze flickers away, “just wanted to make sure you were okay while you slept.”

An easy answer, to be fair, but the most obvious one he could justify. It was neither a lie nor was it the full truth, just simply an embellished rebuttal to hopefully satiate your ever rising noisiness.

“I can take care of myself, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“I wasn’t expecting to stay until you woke up.” The words fell from his tongue before he could stop himself. You could see the grimace in his furrowed brow.

Zayne often prided himself in only speaking when he needed to. And within those very few words far and between, he always knew what to say and what to keep to himself no matter who he was speaking to. So, of course out of all people, you were the only one capable of watching him stumble over his words.

You cocked your head, “how come?”

“Got stuck in my own thoughts, that’s all.” He hummed.

“Do you do that often?” You damn well knew the answer to that question and Zayne only flickered you a look knowing the same. It seemed as if you wanted to rile him up today.

No matter, as patience was his virtue for today. And perhaps for the rest of his life.

“Only on special occasions,” he joked as his eyes met yours again.

“Our movie nights are a special occasion to you?” You mused as a chuckle leaves you. “I’m honored.”

“Is it not for you?” Zayne shot back. “Anything that has to do with you is a special occasion in my book.”

Pink dusted the apples of your cheeks, but you looked away and hopefully fast enough for Zayne to miss. And maybe he did, but one thing is for sure is that he most definitely did not miss the clear view of your red-tipped ears when you turned.

Zayne feigned a laugh and tried his awful best to suppress the smile that threatened to plaster his face.

Clearing your throat, you look back towards him, sitting up a bit higher now that you pulled yourself together.

“Tell me then,” you continued, “tell me what you were thinking about.”

His brows furrowed, “I believe thoughts are meant to be private.”

“Not all the time,” you argued with a look on your visage he could not quite pinpoint. “If anything, I share my thoughts with you all the time.”

Zayne leaned back as curiosity laced his words. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, then.”

You smiled, basically a reflex in your nature as your pulse quickened. You leaned closer, the gap between you deteriorated by the inch. You paused and your gaze fell upon his lips for the umpteenth time tonight. Reflex, again. Hesitance gripped at your neck but the words were not lost to you, “I dreamt of you…” you swallowed, though Zayne’s expression was as still as ice.

Perhaps you had finally rendered the man speechless as to you, it would have been a flawless and ever-sought-after victory, but rather you could see his calculated thoughts in his irises—dark and dilated. You would have been sucked into the black hole of him if you weren’t careful.

You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. A swallow, a nervous habit, a sign of weakness, a clearing in the woods.

“Was I in a panda suit again?” he replied in a hushed voice.

You shook your head.

“Then what?”

“I can’t spare any more details, unfortunately.” You leaned back, regaining that space but Zayne only follows suit and shrinks that gap once more.

“Why?”

“It’s your turn now,” you pointed out. “It’s only fair.”

Zayne pursed his lips together, and yet he does not pull away, he does not cower. Instead, he stayed, hand pressing into the mattress right by your leg as if to test the waters. You had every opportunity to move away, to stop what this was from happening and yet the chance was never taken.

To have presented him with such a favorable circumstance made him wonder if his wishes were finally granted. That someone watching above decided that this was the moment for him to stop waiting and to want more.

His eyes dart to your mouth, a perfectly innocuous and coincidental look. But the corner of your lips twitch and Zayne finds himself reaching for you.

At first it was a light touch, barely grazing you with his cold fingertips as they brushed against your chin, then up your jaw, until he found purchase with your cheek in the palm of his hand. You leaned into his touch, a habit you never knew you had as he pulled you in closer.

Zayne’s thumb lined the perimeter of your plump lips, brushing over the corner as it twitched again.

“I think you know,” he sighed.

And just like his fingers, Zayne’s lips just barely brush against yours. A tease if anything, and you wanted nothing more than to curse this man and his goddamn patience. His habit was anything but a blessing as you ignored all the restraint you had built up over the years and kissed him.

Properly this time.

His hands are on your face as if they were made to be there, perfect puzzle pieces nuzzled together as he kisses you back, deeper and deeper. You moan into his mouth, muffled between your lips as he hungrily devoured your lips.

Your fingers found themselves coursing through his dark locks, messing his neatly parted hair but Zayne concluded he had not a single care in the world now that he finally had you in his arms.

Your exploring fingers eventually made their way towards his neck, earning a sharp exhale from him before they wrapped around his tie.

You bring him forward, falling back onto the mattress with him on top of you. Zayne pulls away for a brief moment, devouring the sight of you and your hair splayed all over his pillows. It was just as he imagined again and again, alone in his bed with a never ending ache he could not satiate unless he succumbed to the tug and pull of his hand.

“I thought of us,” He says once his lips find yours again. His words were a mere whisper now, “and being tender like this.”

He desired so violently for you, but now his patience is nowhere to be seen.

He tugged at his tie.

Zayne could no longer wait.

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