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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 3 days ago

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Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 2/End)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Switch!Jayce, Rough Sex, Biting, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Female receiving), Eating Out, Angst, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Size Kink, Jayce Has A Big Dick, Self-Hate, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Crying

Notes: A LITTLE LATE BUT AS PROMISED, I’m publishing the ending to this fic before the end of January (and the beginning of my surprise Valentine’s Day event 👀). This one is gonna be quite the emotional ride, so better strap in, fellas (PS: I SWEAR I love Jayce with all my heart I just love toying with his heart because I’m a monster)

(Chapter 1)

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed.”

‘Fuck you’, you wish you could spit back at Jayce. ‘What would you even know about what anyone wants in bed, you pathetic two-pump loser?’

It's extremely tempting, if only to see his face go crimson in frustration and embarrassment again, but you know his fragile little ego might not survive it. And no matter how much you'd like to deny it, he's right: you do want to know about what Viktor likes.

You want to know every single thing about Viktor so badly, it hurts.

You've fallen for him in the same way a forest fire burns: slowly, and then all at once, overwhelming, relentless, all-consuming. It's gotten almost painful to be near him in the last few months, your stomach contorting angrily whenever he gives you a witty smile or laughs at your idiotic banter. The desire for him to look at you, and only you, is searing your skin a little more each passing day; so much so that you wonder if there will be anything left of you but ashes by the time you muster the courage to confess.

And God, do you want to: the need to tell him how you feel has become a constant itch that's as painful as it’s unending. All it would take to quench these all-consuming flames are three little words, three measly syllables, a laughable eight letters.

Yet you just can’t say them.

Because underneath all the bravado you're always putting on, you're nothing more than a hypocrite, who is absolutely terrified of hearing his answer. Of seeing nothing but compassionate pity in those soothing golden eyes of his, a gentle ‘I'm sorry’ forming on his lips, and burning you alive once and for all.

So, you wait for a sign from Viktor: a word, a touch, anything that would make the risk of confessing more bearable. As a born engineer, you've always been pragmatic and logical to a fault; you simply won’t jeopardize your relationship with him based on insignificant data and hopeful speculations. Maybe it's nothing more than a spineless justification to let yourself wither away, but it's the best you, and your burning little heart, can do.

After all, something is comforting about staying in the unknown— in that state of limbo where there's no real acknowledgment of the nature of your feelings, or his. But the fire that is Viktor is relentless, ever burning, and it consumes you inch by inch, growing every minute you spend with him working side by side at the Academy.

It worsens more each time he remembers insignificant details about you: how you like a touch of extra cinnamon in your morning latte, how much you hate seeing your middle name used in the lab's paperwork, how you always fidget with your jewelry when you're stressed— little habits and quirks he somehow never misses or fails to offer a helping hand with.

You've been in love before, but never like this; and you doubt you ever will again. Viktor is the type of person you can only meet once in your life, a shooting star that graces the human eye every thousand years, just to disappear the second you look away, before you ever get the chance to tell it it's beautiful.

And then, there's Jayce.

Jayce, who looks nothing like Viktor, with his muscular frame, perfectly symmetrical smile, and sun-kissed skin.

Jayce, who is nothing like Viktor, with his annoyingly booming voice, total lack of social awareness, and oversized ego. Whose very presence signifies, at best, an incoming headache, and at worst, endless screaming matches and arguments over the most minor details.

Things hadn't always been that way with him. There had been admiration, at first, back when you had been accepted as dean Cecil B. Heimmerdinger’s newest pupil, and the fourth member of his elite team of post-graduates. He had more than his fair share of accolades for a man in his mid-twenties: many of his papers were cited in the highest calibre of academic journals, and he had a list of awards and scholarships almost as long as your arm. You had truly believed you would learn a lot from him.

It barely took a week with him for all your naive and bright-eyed delusions to come crashing down. Behind the pretty face and the accomplishments was nothing but arrogance and disregard for all the discipline you valued. It all came so maddeningly easy to him— school, work, looks—like effort was beneath him, or even worse, completely foreign to him.

He hadn’t been shy with his interest in you for a second, either. Between the corny pickup lines and the obvious stares at the meat of your thighs, Jayce hadn’t been quite subtle; but you had no endearment for men like him. A pretty boy whose grandiose romantic gestures were clearly an attempt to quickly get into your pants, only to leave you behind the moment your novelty had worn off. The type to take everything for granted, including women’s affection, and to never have heard a single ‘no’ in their life.

There was no way you were going to fall for it.

Yet the more drily you rejected his advances, the more Jayce seemed interested in you. It had to simply be the novelty of someone finally rejecting him and seeing his true nature that fascinated him. But it wasn’t love that he felt for you; it couldn't be.

People like him could love no one but themselves.

He would glance at you with desperate puppy eyes whenever he thought you weren’t looking, a shiny toy out of his reach. Every now and then, on one of his trashed design drafts, you’d find tiny pencilled sketches of your face with a surprising level of accuracy. He clearly took some pleasure in arguing with you over everything and nothing, and you'd lie if you said that you never got some enjoyment out of that dynamic.

You had let his resolve weaken you once, and only once, early into your arrival at the lab, and long before you had developed any feelings for the then much more reserved Viktor.

And it had been a mistake.

—

Those first few months had been gruelling for you: as the newest recruit, you did much more dull and tedious paperwork than any practical or creative assignments in the lab. It was hard, and the long hours of staring at nothing but the bright blue light of your computer screen made you dizzy; but you wouldn't have exchanged it for the world.

You had earned your place here by never being complacent, by refusing to see any task as below you or too difficult to accomplish. You had been a diligent student under the harshest of conditions throughout your life, and you would continue reaching higher and higher by working hard, and always proving your worth.

One day soon, you’d be standing at the very top of it all, with your wildest dreams accomplished; and it would be with the knowledge that you had made it there entirely of your own merit.

You had been surprised and apprehensive to see an email from Professor Heimerdinger that morning, requesting that you pass by his office. Heimerdinger was very much not the type to plan out discussions, preferring to randomly pop in and out of the lab to hold impromptu, casual meetings, so the atypically formal message had made you feel uneasy.

You were under the impression you had integrated into the program quite well, and that you had begun nicely bonding with your two lab partners. Although you had had strong reservations about Jayce and his attitude, and were still extremely on the fence about your opinion of him, his puppy-like charm had started to wear you out, and you had agreed to go get coffee with him during that weekend.

You had made it very clear it wasn't a romantic encounter, but a team-bonding exercise: an occasion for him to prove some of your unfavourable impressions of him wrong. Then, maybe, and only maybe, you'd consider the idea of a date with him; but he didn't need to know that yet, lest he’d let it go to his head.

For now, your focus was only on your appointment with Heimerdinger, and the anxious knot in the pit of your stomach.

You knocked on his door gently before coming in, finding the short, older man perched on top of a small ladder, nose-deep in one of the many books that lined every inch of the walls. The countless volumes adorned his office like multicoloured bricks, giving a cozy, yet slightly claustrophobic feel to the small room.

“You asked to see me, professor ?” you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice to appear more composed.

Heimerdinger raised his head in surprise, likely so entranced in the huge textbook that dwarfed his small frame that he hadn’t heard you come into his literary fortress—or even remembered he had scheduled a meeting with you.

“Ah, yes, dear girl, come on in and take a seat!” he exclaimed, closing the book with a loud ‘thwack’. He struggled a bit to place it back on one of the shelves as you sat to face his desk, eyeing his precarious position wearily. He, thankfully, managed to make his way down the creaking ladder without incident, landing on his feet with a slight wobble.

“The great, dangerous heights one has to reach to gain knowledge,” he mumbled pensively, a chubby hand running through his wild tuft of dusty blonde hair. “One would think that with twenty years of service here, the finance department could afford to invest in a less perilous stepping stool.”

He made his way to the other side of the desk, settling comfortably in his pillowy chair. He adjusted his thick, round glasses, his expression indecipherable behind the imposing white mustache that covered most of his lower face.

You immediately let yourself fear the worst, your firm conviction that you had been doing well since your arrival crumbling like a house of cards.

“Have I been performing… below your expectations, sir?” you asked abruptly, the anxious ball in your stomach tightening on itself.

Heimerdinger cocked his head to the side in confusion, frowning, his thick eyebrows shifting down like two fuzzy caterpillars.

“Now why would you say such a silly thing? You’ve been going above and beyond, from everything I’ve seen and heard,” he complimented with a reassuring smile. He gave you a sly wink, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension leaving your body like a puff of smoke. “I have an eye for exceptionally talented people. I wouldn't have recruited you if I hadn’t been wholeheartedly convinced of your capacities.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhaled, releasing a sharp breath you hadn't realized you were holding. So it was all a misunderstanding then. Everything was alright. “May I ask why you’ve requested to see me this morning, then?”

Heimerdinger only hummed as an answer, opening one of his desk's drawers and digging through a visibly messy pile of documents. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling out a single sheet of paper with a flourish, and handing it to you with no further explanation.

You grabbed it carefully, quickly looking it over with growing confusion: the bold title only stated your name, next to the words PROJECT TRANSFER.

“Here you go, all signed and completed,” Heimerdinger added with a casual wave of the hand. “I would have simply sent it to you by email, but protocol requires you to sign it in front of me. You know how bureaucrats get,” he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

The more snippets you caught of the document, the less you understood. ‘Personal request made by the student to be discharged from desk work duty for the Wyatt Project — Approved by team supervisor — Reason for request: Lack of affinity with the project and given tasks — Signatures of department head, team supervisor, and concerned student below’.

“I’m sorry, what… is this?” you asked slowly in hesitation.

The Wyatt project had been the most tiresome and dull assignment you had been given as of yet at the Academy, and although you often complained about it in your off time, you had never made any sort of official demand to be transferred from it.

“The discharge paper for the Wyatt project,” the older man explained, seemingly surprised by your lack of enthusiasm or recognition. “I was told you didn’t enjoy the busy work much and would prefer a change of pace. I’ll be putting you on the assignment corrections for the undergrads, which should be much simpler and less time-consuming.”

Your mind began racing chaotically, attempting to puzzle how a few unserious, nitpicky rants could have possibly made their way as an official demand to the dean himself. You barely registered the empathic nod he gave you as he cleared his voice, a sparkle of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

“Perhaps I was requesting a lot of you for your very first semester here, with an assignment as advanced as this. My apologies, dear girl. But do know this transfer is a rare exception, and I will require more receptiveness from you for future tasks.”

The slight pitying look he gave you made you feel like throwing up.

You'd disappointed him.

You had failed the expectations of the man who took a chance on you as his youngest pupil, and you weren't even aware of how you had done it.

“I—I mean yes, the Wyatt project is a lot of busy work, but I never—who told you I asked to be taken out?” you managed to stutter.

Who? Who could have possibly gone so out of their way to ruin the reliable and efficient reputation you were working so hard to build here? Your mind came up blank, reviewing the few people you might have said anything to, and not finding a single one who would so blatantly jeopardize your fragile new position.

“Why, Jayce,” Heimerdinger said as if it was entirely obvious. “As your team leader, he gives me monthly reports of the status of each project you're involved with. He was quite adamant about putting you off the Wyatt and onto an easier project.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face at the sight of your decomposing expression.

“Has… Jayce not discussed this with you?”

No. No, he hadn’t.

You barely remembered the walk out of Heimerdinger's office after that, fuelled only by a mixture of incomprehension and betrayal. With each step, it shifted into something much stronger, a fury burning from your core directed not only at him, but at yourself.

You slammed the door of the lab open, the plexiglass banging against the frame with a dull thud:

“How fucking dare you?!”

Jayce was thankfully alone in the lab, but even if Viktor had been here, you weren't sure you would have managed to control the outpour of anger. The man looked up from his notes in surprise:

“Woah—wait—excuse me?” Jayce stammered, visibly more confused than insulted.

“Who do you think you are to decide what I can do or not?!” you seethed, barreling rapidly towards him. “How dare you go around asking things in my name to our supervisor?”

He got up from his chair hurridly, eyes wide, raising his hands in a placating gesture as if you were a wild animal ready to attack.

"Relax, I really have no idea—" he started hastily, only to stop mid-sentence as realization dawned on him. His brows knit together in confusion. "Wait... is this about the Wyatt project?”

"What else could it possibly be about?!" you yelled, your voice slicing through the silence of the empty lab. Under different circumstances—if this wasn't about your entire career here—you might have remembered that your outburst could easily carry into the corridor, reaching the ears of other students, and even possibly teachers. But blind frustration consumed you, eclipsed only by the raw, aching sense of betrayal you felt towards him.

“But you’ve been telling me and Viktor for weeks how much you hate it,” Jayce argued, frowning, his lips reducing into a thin line. He was genuinely perplexed, like the very concept that he hadn’t done you a service wasn't registering in his mind. “You’re the one who said you wished you could do more work in the lab with us!”

“So you went over my head and told the fucking head of the department I was too lazy to complete the work he gave me?” you retorted without missing a beat. You hadn't realized how close you had gotten to him, your balled fists barely a foot away from his increasingly punchable face. You could smell the artificial scent of body spray off him, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Do you have any idea how unreliable and ungrateful that makes me look as the new girl?! I haven’t even had this position for six months!”

Understanding slowly dawned across his face, and his expression softened, regret pooling in his chartreuse eyes.

"I was just trying to help, I didn't—" he began, his voice gentle and remorseful, but you weren't even close to being done with him.

“Help?” you spat, the word dripping with venom. “Help how? By making me look like I don’t want to work hard? Like I'm a spoiled brat who goes on dates with her team supervisor to get easy jobs? What, do you think I slept my way up here?”

“I’d never—I thought you felt too shy to talk to Heimerdinger, I just wanted to give you a hand as my junior! How is that a bad thing?!” he protested, frustration creeping into his voice.

“It's a bad thing because it means you don't fucking believe in me!” you shot back.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, willing them gone and clinging to what little pride you had left.

“It means you think I'm too weak or too stupid to do the same work you and Viktor did when you started. That I'm not even enough of an adult to handle my own shit—that I need some random guy at work to baby me!”

He flinched at the harshness of your words, the hurt on his face unmistakable. His mouth opened as if to speak up again, eyes carrying the wounded look of a kicked puppy, but you didn’t let him, refusing to let his charm ever fool you again.

“I don't care if it's because I'm younger than you, or because I'm a woman, or because you think I'm attractive,” you snapped. “I'm staying on the Wyatt project until it's completed, like I signed up to. I won't let you mess up everything I've worked so hard for.”

You took a step back, your feelings too overwhelming to stand staring at him a minute longer. Your instinct about Jayce—that he was as spoiled as he was self-righteous— had been correct from the start, yet you felt no pride in that knowledge; there was only the bitter taste of disappointment.

Your voice was sharp and unforgiving when you spoke up again:

“Do me a favour. Next time you want to help, don’t.

—

And yet, here you are now, in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere, butt naked in a cramped shower with him, the feeling of his tepid cum still lingering on your thigh.

Jayce Talis wants to help again, and you’d be an absolute fool to accept, or to give him more ground than you already have.

But things are different, this time.

You want his help. You need his help.

You know better now than to believe he feels anything resembling real affection for you. His obsession isn’t love: it’s a fixation born from entitlement, from the relentless need to possess what he’s been denied. You’re nothing more than a challenge, the one girl who refuses to fall for the Academy’s golden boy, and that only makes him want you more. But once he’s had his victory, once this game is over, the thrill will fade, and he’ll lose all interest in pretending he ever cared.

So what’s the harm in saying yes, then? It’s not like either of you will come out of this with any hurt feelings. It’s the same as back then, with him taking you for the easy fool he can be a knight in shining armour for, solving your issues like the great man he is. But at least, this time, he’s had the decency to ask you, first.

"Fine, whatever," you finally grumble, your gaze snapping back to his. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his expression, but you ignore it. It doesn't matter to you, just as you won’t matter to him. "What’s next, Talis?”

—

The issue is that Jayce really hasn't thought that far ahead.

His first and main goal was to distract you from how he had been so stupidly eager, he came without your hands ever even touching his cock. But now, he needs to come up with a next step—fast—before you see right through his bluff and realize he knows far less about Viktor’s sex life than he has so confidently let on.

To his credit, Viktor has always been intensely private about his personal life, even with his closest friends. In all their years of partnership, he had never once introduced Jayce to a girlfriend or boyfriend; never even hinted at a crush, or a stranger who might be something more. No matter how many times Jayce had prodded and teased him in their younger years, Viktor had never let anything slip.

But there is one thing, a small, passing remark, that Jayce does remember.

Back in their very first year together at the Academy, unravelling the enigma that was Viktor had been one of Jayce’s greatest challenges. The man revealed very little about himself and it seemed like science and logic were the sole foundations of his world, an unwavering structure built on nothing but reason and precision.

But every now and then, Viktor would do or say something so entirely unexpected, it shattered any understanding Jayce thought he had of him.

One of those moments had been Viktor’s quiet but undeniable fascination with the arts.

Jayce remembers a particular night, one that has somehow stayed in the back of his mind since. Sitting beside Viktor in the dim glow of the Academy’s theater, watching a play neither of them had particularly planned to see, he had expected boredom, maybe even a few sarcastic quips. Instead, Viktor had been captivated. His sharp eyes, usually so calculating while they worked in the lab, were alight with something softer, something close to wonder, as if he were seeing an entirely new world unfold before him.

"Do you not think it's nice? The music of someone's voice," Viktor had hummed afterward, his tone distant, contemplative, like he was still half-lost in the echoes of the performance.

Jayce had shrugged, stretching his legs out lazily in the cramped theatre seat. Art had never really been his thing—too abstract, too confusing. "I don’t know," he replied casually, "AI is getting pretty good at mimicking it."

Viktor had turned his head slightly, casting Jayce a look that was equal parts amused and disappointed, as if he couldn’t decide whether the comment was genuinely naive or just tragically shortsighted.

Viktor had merely tutted in disapproval, shaking his head. "The human soul, Jayce. The emotions, the passion, the sorrow—that is what a voice carries. We may build a thousand algorithms that reproduce it, down to the subtlest change in tone or pitch… but it will always be missing that.”

Jayce had gone quiet after that, letting the conversation die in the soft hum of the crowd leaving the theater. He didn’t get it then; maybe he does now.

“Voices,” Jayce blurts out, the thought snapping into place like a last-minute save. “Viktor likes hearing people’s voices. I think it’s because of how personal they are to everyone? Something about that just… makes him happy.”

He’s grasping at straws now, but it’s something, and that’s already better than staying silent with his mouth agape like an idiot.

“Maybe, um—maybe you could practice what you’d say to him? The kind of sounds you’d make?” His pulse stutters, but before he can stop himself. “I-I think he’d probably want to eat you out.”

It’s a blatant, bold-faced lie. A shot in the dark dressed up as certainty.

Because that’s not what Viktor said. That’s not even remotely what Viktor said.

It’s what Jayce wants to do.

But he’s already in too deep, tangled in his own bullshit with no way to back out. If he’s going to lie, he might as well be a little selfish about it.

You glare at him with that sharp, dissecting stare, the kind that strips away pretense and weighs his words like they’re under the lens of a microscope. Even though you’re shorter than him, there’s no mistaking who’s in control here; the balance of power tilts undeniably in your favour, and you have him fully, wholly under your thumb.

And he knows it, knows it from the tension in his own shoulders, from the way his lips uncontrollably twitch, from the slight tremor in his voice. He would do anything for this, for you, and he’s not foolish enough to think it doesn’t show. But this moment isn’t about him—not about how much he wants you, or how much he’d give to close the remaining space between your bodies.

It’s about you, and how much you want Viktor.

Jayce already knows your answer before it even leaves your lips.

“Alright. Just…”

You hesitate for just a second, as if there's something else you want to say; a glimpse of uncharacteristic doubt flashes across your face. But it vanishes just as quickly as it came, swallowed by that effortless, burning confidence. Whatever words you might have had for him go up in smoke.

"Forget it. Get on your knees."

Jayce certainly doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast he drops, the wet tile beneath him offering no grace. He nearly slips twice as he contorts his broad frame awkwardly, trying to find a stable position. The cramped width of the glass panels press against his shoulders, making his movements all the more difficult.

You tsk at him, unimpressed and visibly growing impatient. The glare you send down his way is all the incentive he needs to stop fumbling and settle as best he can, even as the mosaic tiles dig uncomfortably into his knees.

One of your hands settles on his head, slightly brushing the damp strands of dark hair, and he leans into the touch; it's probably the closest thing to praise he's ever gotten from you.

"Don’t make me regret this," you warn him.

He grins, throwing you a wink with far more cockiness than he actually feels. "Regret is my middle name, baby."

Before you can shoot back a biting remark, his hands are on your hips, firm and certain, pulling you flush against his face. The heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

If this had been different, if it had been real, he would have taken his time. He would have traced every detail of your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, committing every inch to memory like something sacred. He would have worshipped you slowly, methodically, with the kind of reverence you deserve.

But that's not the case.

Instead, he opts for savagely peppering your inner thighs with warm, rough kisses, just barely letting his teeth graze your skin. You hum in approval, the hand on his scalp petting him like a puppy. The rush of confidence that goes through his body is indescribable, and he makes the bites more insistent, leaving burn-like marks on your skin.

You tug at his hair, just enough to be insistent, but not enough to hurt. For once, he understands you immediately, without you uttering a single word. It’s a little strange —almost ironic— that conversations with you always spiral into arguments, yet here, without speaking at all, you're both in perfect sync.

He obeys the silent command and moves his mouth where you’re guiding him, never pausing the messy, open-mouth kisses against your lower body. It's no surprise that your pussy is as pretty and warm as the rest of you. The hair has been recently trimmed but has grown just enough to tickle against his face as he buries his face comfortably between your legs.

You twitch in his grip the second his tongue touches your folds, but you don't let out a sound. He’s not about to be beaten so easily, though: he gives a strong, assured lick against your clit, and this time you can't suppress a small moan:

“Ah…”

Oh, and God, it's an addictive sound, one that he yearns to hear again, immediately. He copies his movement once, twice, thrice, dizzy off the little vulnerable pants you make under your breath. He's like a starved man, lapping at the fresh water from the shower on your skin just to catch a hint of your juices.

“Hngh-” you inhale sharply when his tongue probes your hole. Your grip on his hair tightens, fingers tangling deeper as you pull him closer. It’s probably just instinct, a mechanical reaction to the rush of pleasure sparking through you; but for a split second, the pressure of your touch feels intentional. Like you want him. And that foolish, aching thought makes his poor little heart clench when you speak again:

“V-Viktor!”

A single word from you, just one name, and reality crashes back down on him like a tidal wave.

He freezes, his tongue flat against your clit, and the warmth of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by something sharp and unforgiving. The water hitting his exposed skin from the showerhead suddenly feels ice-cold, seeping into his bones.

This isn’t right. He knows it. And he’s certain you do, too.

But you’ve both chosen this.

You’re as guilty as he is, using him just as much as he’s using you. It’s a pathetic, hollow imitation of the intimacy he truly craves, the kind where your fingers intertwine with his without hesitation, where your voice murmurs words of love meant only for him, where your eyes remain wide open and locked into his.

But there’s no coming back from having tasted you. A single bite of the forbidden fruit, and he’s undone: his sense of judgment shattered, his pride discarded, his dignity crumbling beneath your touch. If this is all you’re willing to give him, if he’s nothing more than a placeholder for someone else—so be it.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll offer, no matter how empty. No matter who it’s really meant for.

You let out another wonton moan when he shifts again, his teeth lightly scrapping your clit, and he lets himself wonder what you're imagining behind those closed eyes.

Granted, the who isn’t much of a mystery; that part is painfully obvious. But how?

How does it play out in your head? Is it tender and slow, filled with whispered confessions and gentle touches? Or is it something desperate, something raw, something that strips you down to nothing but need? Against his better judgment and all common sense, he can’t help speculating.

Viktor would probably not enjoy staying on his knees for very long; maybe you're picturing yourself laying in bed with him, his face nestled snuggly between the meat of your thighs. You’d have a smile on your lips, your sparkling eyes wide open, eager to take in every second of the moment. Viktor would probably chuckle at your eagerness, amused by the contrast of how firm and unyielding you are with everyone else, yet how effortlessly you melt in his presence.

“Viktor, please… please…!” you almost beg as he fucks you on his tongue, your hips rhythmically moving along to his pace, moans raw and unfiltered, forgetting about the thin walls and your likely disgruntled neighbours with how lost you are in your fantasy.

Jealousy begins to rear its ugly head in the pit of his stomach, a dangerous thing to start feeling during something that’s supposed to be pure make-believe. But no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down, it lingers, festering beneath the surface.

He can’t help it, spoiled brat that he is. He always wants more. Nothing is ever enough.

His childish ego whispers that he’s the one making you squirm under his touch, that for all your longing, for all the thoughts clouding your mind, he’s the one here. He’s the one touching you, drawing those needy sounds from your lips.

It's his name you should be saying.

He's gotten hard again, the touch of your skin blending with the smell of your body, the sharp taste of your wetness making his head spin. He's humping the air like a dog in heat, aching for any sort of relief. He wants to stay between your legs for as long as humanly possible, let you use him, but he's not sure how much longer he can handle hearing someone else’s name over, and over again.

He manages to pull away from the vice-like grip of your thighs, mouth coated with your juices. He looks up at you, standing above him like a goddess, surrounded by a halo of water from the showerhead.

"I really, really need you right now, baby," he breathes out, voice raw with desperation. He knows he should have some dignity left, some shred of self-respect; but it's all long gone. At this point, he doesn't care what you think of him anymore, not when he’s fallen this low. “Can I please fuck you right here?”

Your eyes flutter open, slow and reluctant, like it physically pains you to be pulled from whatever reverie you were lost in. For a moment, you just look at him, considering his expression, the firm grip on his head easing slightly.

“I…” you start hesitantly. There it is again, just like earlier: something uncertain in your gaze, lost, vulnerable. It’s jarring, unsettling in a way he can’t quite name. It doesn’t belong there, not in your eyes—eyes that are usually so bright, so sure and unwavering.

"Bed. Viktor wouldn't be comfortable here," you mumble under your breath, refusing to meet his eyes. "And don’t call me baby."

Jayce exhales a shaky sigh of relief. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t tease—just moves.

He scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips again, catching himself just in time. With a sharp nudge of his elbow, he shuts off the faucet before effortlessly scooping you up from the wet tiles. You yelp in protest, but he ignores it, already carrying you out of the bathroom, his grip firm yet careful.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s gone, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes to his backpack; balance has never been his forte, but you’ve rendered him so unsteady his legs feel like jello. His hands fumble through the numerous pockets, almost frantic.

Socks, phone, extra boxers, sunglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste—

There!

He raises the lone condom triumphantly into the air, presenting it like a grand prize, his grin wide with victory.

You don’t look half as impressed.

"Do you seriously bring that with you everywhere you go?" you remark drily, one brow arching in clear contempt.

Ah, right. For a moment, in the heat of it all, he had almost forgotten that you really hate him.

“Can we keep the insults for after I'm done fucking you?” he groans, his arm falling in defeat. Yet, despite the frustration laced in his voice, there’s something oddly familiar about this, something comforting. The push and pull, the sharp edges of your words clashing against his: it’s a unique rhythm, a dynamic that belongs to the two of you alone; one that Viktor will never experience.

The idea makes him happier than it should.

You let out a dramatic sigh in response, waving a dismissive hand as if to say ‘whatever’.

He climbs over you, his body still sopping wet, water trailing down his skin and seeping into the sheets beneath you both. Droplets fall from his hair onto yours, cool against the lingering heat of your skin. The bed is going to be disgustingly damp later, and you will certainly complain and blame him for it, but he can’t bring himself to care about it right now.

The sight of his fully hard cock resting on your inner thigh makes his throat dry almost instantly. Jayce is more than aware he’s well endowed, and he hasn’t shied away from using it as a selling argument for flirting before; but this is so very different. His size dwarfs your cunt, like a little toy underneath him; the realization that he's going to get so deep inside of you that you'll never be able to fully get rid of him is enough to break whatever hesitation he might have still had.

He glances up at you with a cocky grin, expecting you to eye his arguably imposing member with some anticipation, only to find that you're looking away, gaze lost somewhere in the printed forest of the peeling wallpaper.

He clears his throat, and you turn back towards him, expression distant, maybe even cold.

“Want me to, um… prep you a bit?” he asks. He knows you’re soaking wet, he's made quite sure of that, but the thickness of his cock has usually required him to use a few fingers with his previous partners.

You seem disinterested, barely sparing him a look:

“I don't care. Just do it, Talis.”

The absurdity of the fact that you’re still using his last name after he’s eaten you out—and right before he screws you—would be comical if it wasn’t so deeply sad. He tears the plastic wrapper open, rolling the condom on himself without another word. He aligns his member with your entrance, just barely spreading your folds with his dick, before you interrupt him with a firm hand on his bicep.

The look you give him is full of something unspoken, heavy with meaning he can’t quite grasp—or maybe just refuses to.

"Just… be gentle,” you ask stiffly, like you doubt he’s even capable of it. “Like Viktor would."

That last part splinters something inside him, shatters a piece of his heart he thought had accepted he would never be the one you’d want.

For a second, everything blurs. The floodgate cracks open, and with it, the jealousy he thought he had under control surges forward, unrestrained and bitter.

Because Viktor. Always Viktor.

And never him.

He pushes in without replying, groaning at the resistance his tip is already facing. It takes a bit more force, but the head of his cock finally passes through the ring of muscle, and he's able to slowly and fully sheathe himself in, your wetness making the slide easier.

“Fuck- fuck, you're tight,” he sputters, the words falling out of him without his control. “You're so fucking tight, princess.”

Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t gotten laid in too long, but he doesn’t think he's ever been inside someone who feels this snug around him, like you were made for him. You’re walls are fluttering around him, squeezing him so firmly it’s as if your pussy is forbidding him from leaving. It's heavenly, and he stays still for a moment, just to carve in his memory the exact way you’re clenching around his cock.

A quick glance at your face tells him everything he needs to know: your eyes are squeezed shut, your brows furrowed deeply, likely lost in a world where he isn’t the one above you. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re picturing him instead, rewriting reality with Viktor’s touch, Viktor’s voice, Viktor’s presence.

That’s fine. Perfectly fine.

Because by the time he’s done, by the time he gives it to you just right—hard enough, deep enough, good enough—he’ll make sure the only name you’re screaming is Jayce.

He starts pulling out before sharply shoving himself back in, and you let out an absolutely broken cry. There. As a sound that's for no one else but him.

He repeats the motion, again and again, the sharp feeling of your nails digging into his back making all thought incoherent. Your cries are driving him insane, raw and oversensitive, and he pounds into you harder with the knowledge Jayce Talis is the one tearing them out from your throat.

He looks down where your bodies meet, drunk off the idea of seeing his fat cock plunging into you, but he freezes.

There's blood.

It's not much, just a little red that has tinted some of your combined juices, but it's there, a stark contrast against your skin.

He opens and closes his mouth in incomprehension; he had been harsh, and hungry, yes, but you should have been wet enough to take him with only a slight burn, a nice feeling of fullness. How?

He looks at you in panic: your eyes are still sealed shut, but unshed tears have pooled in their corners, your lips stuck in a thin line.

You’re crying.

It’s so silent, so light, that he hadn't even heard it despite your proximity, despite him being quite literally inside of you. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded—the tightness, the blood, the tears—as the math begins to add up very unpleasantly in his head.

"Wait, are you—" he starts, voice laced with panicked disbelief.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you turn your face away, hiding it behind the crook of your arm, ever the prideful one. But he sees it anyway, the telltale tremble of your bottom lip.

And just like that, every ounce of his frustration, every drop of jealousy, vanishes in an instant. What’s left is something colder, heavier—realization.

You're a virgin.

His stomach twists. "I'm sorry, I—I had no idea—" he stammers, his mind racing to catch up. "Did I hurt you? Oh my god, yeah, I did. Do you want to stop? I’m so sorry—"

The words tumble out in a frantic rush, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where they should be—whether to comfort, to retreat, or to hold you close.

He moves to pull out, but you make a pained hissing sound, grabbing his arm to keep him in place.

You stay silent, breathing haggard, clinging to him like a buoy in a storm. Your fingers dig into his skin painfully, but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

Jayce swallows thickly, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Carefully, he slides a hand beneath your head, lifting it just enough to keep you from sinking further into yourself. With the other, he brushes away a few damp strands of hair stuck to your clammy forehead. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

There’s nothing he can say right now that wouldn’t feel meaningless.

Your eyes eventually open, and the few tears you had been holding back finally spill down your cheeks. He catches them with the pad of his finger, wiping them away as gently as he can.

You’re so still in his arms it scares him. Fragile in a way he’s never seen before. Like a doll he’s played too rough with, beautiful, limp, and oh so breakable. Not meant for the big, clumsy, uncalculated hands of someone like him, but rather, for a gentle and precise touch.

Meant for hands like Viktor’s.

The thought cuts deep, a jagged wound of self-loathing splitting open inside him. Jayce has never hated himself more than in this moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur at last, your voice steadier than he expected. "It’s not like I haven’t done anything before, I'm not a prude, just… not this."

You pause, exhaling slowly before finally admitting the words you’ve been trying to say all along. "I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to look like a clueless idiot if Viktor ever… wants me."

Jayce’s chest aches at how small your voice sounds, at the quiet vulnerability you’re letting slip through the cracks after being so closed off to him for almost three years.

Why do you always say you’re fine when you aren’t? Why won’t you ever let me help? Why can’t you admit you’re scared?

"Viktor would never think you're an idiot," he breathes. "He’d think you’re the smartest girl in the entire world."

You hesitate: “…Yeah?”

"Yeah," he confirms without missing a beat. Then, with a faint smile, he can’t help but add, teasing, "Maybe just a little too thick-headed for your own good."

A weak but genuine laugh escapes your lips, lightening the weight between you, the tension slowly washing away, the tide receding just enough to let you both breathe.

"Big words from someone who compliments himself in the mirror, Jayce," you shoot back with a smirk, eyes glinting with a flicker of mischief. “And it’s not like you’re that big, anyway.”

He huffs out a laugh in disbelief: “Are you seriously pulling that card right now?”

You snort in reply, unable to hold your smile back.

It’s all so absurd, so fucked, tangled in emotions he doesn’t fully understand. But here you are, smiling at him—teasing, but genuine. A fragile thread of connection woven between sarcasm and chaos.

And then it hits him.

You’ve finally said his name.

Not in anger. Not in passing. Not as part of some joke.

Just his name, wrapped in laughter, soft around the edges.

It’s not exactly in the way he’s craved, not in the way that would make this his; but still, his name has left your lips with a real smile, with your eyes looking at nothing but him. Despite everything, it settles something deep inside him, filling the hollow space that’s been eating him alive.

It makes him feel whole.

"I’ll be fine," you tell him again, voice back to the one he knows and adores. "Just… a little slower, alright?"

Jayce exhales, nodding, his grip on you instinctively firming— not possessive, not demanding. Just there. An anchor for you, as much as it is for himself. He’s going to make sure you’re actually fine for once.

“Yeah. Of course,” he promises, but more than that, it carries the weight of a vow, something unspoken yet deeply solemn, something true.

If he’s water, then you are fire, never defeated, blazing brightly with something that could consume him whole. Maybe that’s why he lets himself drown in you—because it’s the only way he can hold onto something that he was never meant to touch.

You will always burn him, and he will always yield to the sound of his name on your lips.

🌸 Taglist Darlings 🌸: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway , @just1cefor4ll , @apexie100

Tip a Coffee ☕: ko-fi.com/lefruitdelapassion

#jayce x reader #jayce x reader smut #jayce talis #arcane #arcane x reader smut #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane smut #jayce fanfic #jayce x you #my writing #my fics #fruitforthoughts 💭

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rita-repulsa-ke · 2 days ago

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The Four Stages of Grief

She’s holding a body, a familiar body, still warm but not breathing, which is fine, because Rio often forgets to breathe. The problem is in every other detail, the way it doesn't move, the slackness of the skin, the way she—it—is dead weight in Agatha's arm

She's holding something impossible, something that cannot exist.

She's holding Rio's corpse.

This one is @dandelions4us' fault

Barring infancy, Agatha Harkness can remember almost every time she’s cried.

Not when they chained her to the stake.

Not when she killed them.

Not when Wanda made her forget who she was.

When her boy died. A few times after sex, which doesn’t count. Maybe once or twice when she was younger and more naive about how the world worked. Multiple times as a way to garner sympathy prior to committing murder, which also doesn't count.

In the time between Nicky's death and this present moment, she can’t remember the last time her eyes have so much as grown damp.

Even knowing it must be a dream, she’s crying now.

She's holding something impossible, something that cannot exist.

She's holding Rio's corpse.

"You can't do this to me," she snarls into that blank face, her voice scratching the air like fingernails on dead skin. "You can't die!" She gives the body a few rough shakes, which is a terrible idea, the way the body ragdolls uselessly in her arms will stay with her forever. "It's one of your best features!"

This is a dream, she reminds herself. A stupid, ridiculous dream where Rio dies in her arms like some kind of tragic cliche, the kind of trope that makes her feel nauseous—or maybe that, too, is the crying, she hasn't done it in so long she's forgotten how physically unpleasant it is, how her head pounds and her cheeks ache and her stomach feels like someone's taken it for a boat ride on choppy water.

She just has to find out how to wake up.

She tries pinching herself, or rather, she tries pinching herself again, because her arm is a mess of inflamed red marks. This latest one she gets vicious, digs her nails in like she's got a grudge against her own body and maybe she can write these tears off to pain.

"Come on, come on," she says, but nothing's happening, she's still sitting on the floor of her living room in Westview holding the corpse of a woman she's sure can't die, except that Agatha saw her do it, a knock on her door and she'd opened it only to have Rio stumble into her arms, collapse like a scene from a movie she wouldn't have watched and mumble, "I love you, Ags," right before she did the one thing she absolutely, 100% could not do.

"Doesn't make any sense," Agatha murmurs to herself, and if she had any magic, any magic at all, she would be trying every spell in the book, but it's all gone, stolen by the Scarlet Witch. Still, there's always things she could try, manual spells that rely on ritual and components instead of innate magic, except that to do any of those, she'd have to let go of Rio's body and she can't actually seem to make herself do that. She's got it in her lap, the arm she's been pinching held under it, posed almost the same way Rio had fallen, keeping her propped up and hoping any minute she might jump up and yell 'Surprise!'.

Any minute now.

Minutes tick by and nothing happens, except Agatha's arm grows tired and her cheeks cold. She expects the crying to stop, but it doesn't, only turns pitiful and sniffly, the kind of sound she would have done a very funny mockery of, if it had come from anyone else.

"This is ridiculous," she scolds the corpse, trying not to look directly at it, not to see how empty it is, how its mouth won't curve to smile at her and its eyes won't light in her presence, how there's no semblance of her lover in the dead thing in her arms. "You're Death! You're immortal, you're a fundamental part of the balance, how can you possibly die?"

Agatha is intimately familiar with the stages of grief, she's cycled through them on repeat for centuries. This one's anger. The next—

"…Hey, Rio, look, I know we've…I know we've had our differences. You hunted me for centuries and I…I probably wasn't always that nice to you. Also hid from you with the Darkhold, which I do know you hated." Her free hand moves at an awkward angle, tries to pat down her former lover's hair in a way that only makes it worse. "I'm not sorry about most of that, honestly. But you know, you were right. I...ugh, I really did always still love you, all right?! I tried to stop, but I could never figure out how." And here it is, her desperate attempt at bargaining, at making a kind of peace between them she'd scorned when Rio was alive. "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? Isn't it?! So stop this! Wake up already. ...Just come back to me."

The corpse stares, sightless, up at her ceiling and she knows this next stage too, she's wallowed in it for years and years. She clutches Rio's corpse tighter to her body, rocks with it, back and forth and depression is too weak of a word for the swamp of emotion she's sinking into, muck rising above her head and taking the last of the light with it.

These are the stages of grief Agatha Harkness knows.

There's another one she's heard about, but never reached.

Other people might simply accept things. Their fate, the deaths of others, the universe acting on them instead of them acting upon the universe.

Those people were weak.

"No," she starts the cycle from the top, right back to denial. "This can't be real. It can't, it's impossible, she can't die." She finally lowers the corpse to the ground, onto an ugly throw rug Agnes must have chose, then reaches down to pluck a hair from Rio's head, oddly stiff in her fingers. She has bleach and cinnamon, there's a half-remembered bit of ritual she can try—

"Stop," someone says and Agatha's heart almost obeys, because that's a familiar voice, the familiar voice, the voice of a woman she knew couldn't be dead.

"I thought this is what you wanted," And there's a second speaker, unfortunate in its familiarity. Wanda, she thinks, Wanda and Rio together, and her thoughts are going in frantic circles that might be confusion or might be a literal loop, placed there by the most powerful witch in the world.

"It was. I don't want it anymore. Make it stop. Now," Rio says from somewhere, somewhere where she is alive and not the dead, empty thing on Agatha's floor.

"So long as you remember what you promised me," Wanda says, and then the world snaps in half like a—

Like a broom, like the one that's lying on her floor, a proper wooden kind with twisted bristles, the one she'd thrown in the back of a closet ages ago in case she needed a quick escape, the one made from a branch Rio had grown specifically for her—

The agonized, furious sound that escapes Agatha's torn up throat is enough to make even Death and the Scarlet Witch take a step away from her.

Death.

Despite a fury that will burn the world down to avenge the last hour of her life, she can't help but stare at Rio, at how her eyes have moved to avoid Agatha's, how her jaw is held tight and her forehead wrinkled with discomfort, how alive she is regardless of whether or not she's remembered to breathe.

Agatha steps up to her, almost chest to chest.

"Agatha, I'm…" Rio starts, and then the rest of a sentence that would only make her angrier is lost, because Agatha Harkness is kissing Death.

It's a good kiss, too, even if there's salt from her tears in it, a proper kiss like they haven't managed in centuries, a brand of ownership, a claim, a reminder of who Rio belongs to, but most importantly, a way to make absolutely certain that she is not dead weight in Agatha's arms, not slack skin and unblinking eyes, but as alive as Agatha has ever needed her to be.

When she steps back, Rio is reeling, shaking, clutching at her with hands Agatha shoves away.

"Don't," she snarls. "Get. Go. I can't stand to look at you."

"Beloved…" Rio says, caught between her eternal fury at rejection and something that might have been guilt.

"Rio," Agatha says, and the tone in her voice freezes the protests in Death's mouth. "I know what you're thinking. I said something you've always wanted to hear, didn't I, while I was being unknowingly manipulated." Rio's eyes gleam brighter, and Agatha is never going to hear the end of this, so many more centuries of 'I always knew you loved me' to look forward to.

And maybe she won't even hate that, if it means she gets to see Rio smiling and blinking and pursuing her across continents instead of limp and lifeless in her arms. But she isn't going to put up with it today, not after what's been done to her. She means it when she says, "If you want even a chance that what I said will remain true, get out of my sight right now."

Like a candle blown out or a life ended, Rio Vidal is gone.

Slightly reluctantly, Agatha makes herself turn to look at the other participant, the person responsible for making her put on a one-woman show.

"…So," she asks the Scarlet Witch. "Any other ways you'd like to torture me?"

Wanda looks back at her, something unnervingly hollow behind her eyes. "She made me a deal," she says, almost emotionless. "About my boys. This isn't personal, Agatha." That might even be true, but the way the other woman is looking at her now—maybe she should have kept Rio around for defense, except she really couldn't have stood it for a moment longer, her former lover looking at her with an ugly mix of pity, guilt and adoration.

Still, Agatha recognizes the way Wanda is looking at her, like Agatha were something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe. Like she might do something nasty just because she can. Agatha has looked at lots of other people like that before.

"I'll go away," she promises. "Somewhere you never have to see me again."

"I doubt that," Wanda says, and Agatha has the passing suspicion that the Scarlet Witch has been sticking her nose into a book, the book, her beloved Darkhold. Wanda's sanity was questionable when she was running a prison disguised as a sitcom, but the dark circles under her eyes and the way she doesn't seem to have expressions anymore is concerning. "…Letting you go was part of her bargain, though. I wonder if she'll regret that. I could have made you anything she wanted you to be."

Concerning, but so not her problem. Let the so-called superheroes deal with whatever Wanda was turning into. "Right," Agatha says, edging toward the door, her hand on the knob. "Well. Always lovely to see you, Wanda. Let's never, ever do this again."

Now she has to open the door.

All she has to do is open the door and walk out to freedom. Or at least anywhere but this suffocating house she wants to see burnt to the ground, the one with a nightmare currently standing inside it, watching her with all the expression of a corpse.

Her hand is wrapped firmly around the knob and she can't turn it, because if she does, Rio will stumble through the door, Agatha will catch her and then Death will die in her arms all over aga—

The door blasts itself to pieces around her, the larger chunks of wood somehow flying harmlessly by, though she's covered in a thin layer of wood dust.

Both she and Wanda blink, then Agatha Harkness turns, swishes her coat around herself and strides out as though this is exactly what she intended all along. She keeps her head held high and her shoulders back, ignores how raw her throat is or the redness on her cheeks, a lingering trace of scrubbed away tears. She can't even remember the last time she cried. She certainly hadn't sobbed hysterically while clutching a broom pretending to be the body of the woman she loved as her ex and her greatest enemy looked on

But if that had happened, someone would have to pay.

#agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario #Great premise thanks #I think this is good but I'll read it again tomorrow and find out #Love giving characters a little trauma #as a treat

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happilivedelicativecollective86 · 15 hours ago

Text

Before I answer you I'm just going define some things.

An insurrection is a violent uprising against an authority, in legal contexts, often the authority is specifically a government.

A coup is an illegal seizure of power from a government.

January 6th was by definition an insurrection, as it was a violent uprising against the US federal government.

January 6th was NOT a coup, as power was not successfully illegally seized from the government, making it an attempted/failed coup instead.

"how does a person standing on a sidewalk outside the Capitol Campus, who never went onto the Campus at all, no violence, was just there and left count as a coup?"

Some of the people arrested for January 6th being almost entirely innocent does not clear the rest of them of their actual misdeeds.

"How does that person deserve to be jailed without trial or bail for more than 4 years?"

Again, some of the people arrested for January 6th being almost entirely innocent AND being mistreated the justice system does not clear the rest of them of their actual misdeeds.

"Why did the January 6th Committee destroy thousands of hours of recordings if there was a coup?"

There's no evidence that the January 6th committee deliberately or accidentally destroyed thousands of hours of recordings.

"If it was a coup why were they unarmed?"

First off, some were armed, second off, one does not need to be armed to preform an insurrection or instigate a failed coup, as being armed is not a requirement for either of them.

"If it was a coup why did the Capitol Police open the barricades and wave people in?"

Rioters had already broken in and opened several doors, and in RESPONSE the capitol police opened doors/barricades to prevent stampedes, as since there was nothing they could due to eject all the rioters at that point, increasing throughput to prevent a stampede was the next best thing.

"Do you think that they were in on it?"

No.

"If the Capitol Campus was already evacuated on Nancy Pelosi's orders because of the fear of pipe bombs how could anyone be charged with "disrupting a Legislative session" when they had already suspended the session and evacuated?"

First off only certain buildings in the capitol complex were evacuated because of fears of pipe bombs, second off disrupting a legislative session absolutely applies here, as Congress was in session with Pence attempting to certify the election, and was forced to go into recess after the capitol was confirmed to have been breached.

I highly encourage you to read the entirety of the "Timeline of the January 6 United States Capitol attack" article on Wikipedia, as it's the most complete public record of the event available and really helps put into perspective how chaotic the entire thing was.

"When 6 states violated their own laws and federal laws by changing how voting is done and violated their own and federal laws by counting ballots without observers present how is it a coup to ask for an audit of those states?"

Requesting audits into election results is not illegal, rioting and storming the capitol in an attempt to prevent the vice president from certifying an election is, and if everyone has just preformed the former then no one ould have gone to jail, plus much of what you just said is either partially or completely false, as verifiable evidence proving third parties were not present during the counting of ballots is basically non-existent.

It's an open notes test and some dense motherfuckers still can't figure out the answers.

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scribere-flores · 2 days ago

Text

Sabo x Reader

~Just as a hypothetical question~

Part 6. Other Parts Word count: 6,1k words (Dear God) Short summary: There's drama, there's chaos, things get a little bit serious at one point, and then, a little bit of smut sprinkled on top. Basically: Reader+Sabo+Miscommunication= solved... kinda. AN: I've risen from hell, aka first semester of law & political science courses. In all seriousness, I'm so so grateful for the wonderful support all of you have given my cheesy little fic. I really appreciate the nice and understanding comments while I've been away. I had so much fun writing this last chapter whenever I had time. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did <3 (Not proof read, will fix any spelling errors after I get some sleep)

MDNI 18+

___

Shit.

Y/N was practically sprinting through the hallways as soon as she had left the library. She must have looked insane to anyone that saw her.

She messed up, she messed up big time!

Not only did Y/N snap at the man who potentially wanted to torture her, possibly even kill her.

No, she also left the book on the table. The book that had “Outdoor Survival” spelled with bold, bright orange letters on the front!

And Sabo wasn’t stupid, she knew that. By this point he must already have figured out what she was planning, and was probably plotting some kind of sick, twisted way of making sure she couldn’t leave.

What if he locks her in a cell and throws away the key? Deprived her of ever seeing the sunlight again?

No, Sabo wouldn’t really do that. Right?

Y/N let out a nervous laughter as she felt a shiver run down her spine. This wasn’t the time for guessing, she couldn’t risk staying a day longer at this godawful base. She just needed to gather a few more things, and then she was ready to start her new life.

Preferably far far away from the sadistic blond devil that took pleasure in stalking and tormenting her.

As she pushed the front door to the base open, unwelcome thoughts sneaked into her mind.

A gorgeous, handsome, honey-voiced devil, with strong arms that could easily pin her down so he-

“NO NO NO! Stop fantasizing about him, you stupid,stupid girl! That’s insane behavior, you know it is never-” Y/N choked on her words “never going to happen...”

A loud sigh escaped her lips as her shoulders dropped forward, forehead leaning against the wall outside the building. Was this really a good idea? In truth, she felt completely unprepared to live out the rest of her days in the wilderness.

Maybe life as the Chief of Staff’s captive wouldn’t be so bad?

“Ha-ha, I must be losing my mind.” Y/N laughed nervously as she pushed herself up from her leaning position.

Staying wasn’t an option. But neither was going out into the forest unprepared. She looked around the busy town square.

“Now, where do I find something sharp…”

___

“What are those two doing today?” Koala pondered as she looked out over the town.

She was resting her head against her hand, arm leaning over the windowsill, as her eyes closely followed Jane Doe. The girl had been running around the town for the past hour, gathering one strange thing after the other.

Just as the girl slipped into another alleyway, Koala’s attention was caught by Sabo jumping out from a window, quickly moving over the rooftops with his steel pipe on his back. And she knew that could only spell trouble. Which meant, more paperwork for her.

Her so-called partner had taken his newfound hobby, stalking, to a whole other level these past few days. In a way it was kinda endearing seeing Sabo run around like a lovesick puppy. Some of the Revs had even started a pool, placing bets on how long it would take before those two finally got together… or until Jane Doe flat out rejected Sabo once and for all.

Koala found that highly unlikely though. The girl was obviously crushing hard, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Koala even suspected that the poor girl was so nervous that she was planning on running away, which would achieve absolutely nothing since Sabo would find her straight away.

“But what do I know? Maybe this is just what happens when you have that kind of upbringing.…” Koala sighed “Still, Nobles are fucking weird.”

___

“Oh Dear God, that was a close call.” Y/N sighed as she turned the key to her bedroom door.

She had just managed to avoid Koala’s attempt to “have a talk”. Something she desperately wanted to avoid, because in her mind, “having a talk” could only mean one thing…

“I really hope Koala hasn’t found out too.” She said under her breath as she entered her bedroom.

"Find out about what?"

An audible ‘eep’ escaped Y/N mouth as she heard the familiar voice, before she quickly put her hands over her mouth and took a step back from shock, her back hitting the now closed door.

"How d-did you get in here… t-the door was locked." She said with a shaky voice as she eyed the blond man sitting on her bed.

"Window." Sabo shrugged. As if what he said wasn’t insane, or not even acknowledging that he had broken into her room!

"We're on the third floor.” Y/N stuttered, still not completely comprehending her current situation.

Why? Why was this happening now? Why was he here? She was just coming back to gather her things, and then she was supposed to leave.

She felt her heart beating faster as she glared at Sabo.

"Breathe Angel, I was just returning what I took this morning…” He chuckled as he walked over to her dresser and put her neatly folded underwear on it.

‘Okay, great! Now, please leave, please.’ she prayed quietly in her head.

“And I have a question for you, so I waited until you got back." Sabo said with a bright smile, but she saw something flicker in his eye, and that couldn’t be good.

"Q-question?" She stuttered as he started to walk towards her " Wait, don't-"

"Are you planning to run away, Y/N?" He was standing right in front of her, keeping her trapped between him and the door.

‘Wait, no-’ She felt her mind spiraling out of control. That name. Her name… No, no no no no.

"How do you-" A finger was placed over her mouth.

“Aa-aa, my question first, Y/N.”

“I don’t- that’s not-”

“It’s okay, I promise I’m not mad. But you don’t need to lie anymore Y/N.” Sabo gave her a kind, deceiving smile.

“Stop saying it!” She bursted out, trying to push him back. But he wasn’t bugging, instead he only moved closer to her.

“Oh, but it’s such a pretty name. Much better than Jane Doe. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…” He chuckled with a dreamy expression, twirling her hair between two fingers.

Y/N could only stare at Sabo with horror as she took in the almost obsessive look in his eyes and the faint smile over his lips. He knew he had won their “game”, and now he was acting like a cat, playing with his prey.

She could feel her breath quicken, how the panic spread through her mind… And honestly, though embarrassing to admit, she felt a little bit aroused. Which was a whole other issue in itself that she really needed to deal with if she somehow got out of this situation alive.

Because, she really shouldn’t be turned on by this!

Sabo let go of her hair and grazed his gloved hand against her cheek, making her flinch. To her surprise her reaction made him take a step back, giving her much needed space to breathe. He sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, almost making it look like he was concerned.

“Please don’t worry, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide anymore. I personally made sure those people won’t come looking for you.” Sabo smiled, sounding kinda proud?

“People? Wait- What did you do?” Y/N was feeling a little confused. Had he really… He couldn’t have, right?

"It was quite easy actually, don’t know why I didn’t do this from the start. It would have saved me so. much. pent. up. frustration." His voice came out strained, almost like a moan.

"I just made a few visits to some very disgusting bugs, before the information I gathered pointed me in the right direction."

‘Disgusting bugs’ Nobles? Right direction? No-

She closely studied Sabo as he mindlessly wandered around the room, continuing his explanation.

"Your dad is a fucking coward, by the way. I barely stepped foot inside the castle before he surrendered both the country and more importantly, your name, in exchange for his own life.

You should have seen the look on his face when I introduced myself as his future son-in-law, it was fucking priceless." He laughed, wiping a tear from his eye.

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. This man. Correction, this insane man had by himself broken into the castle of an enemy country and threatened the king of said country, just so he could learn what her name was?

For what reason? So he could torture and then execute her with good conscious that he had done a thorough investigation beforehand? And what did he mean by ‘future son-in-law’?

She let out a nervous laughter, catching Sabo’s attention and making him walk towards her again.

"Oh Angel, please don't be scared. We aren't going to meet the fuckers who put you through all of that anymore, I'll make sure of it. It will just be the two of us from now on." Sabo said with a calm tone as he tried pulling her into a hug, which she quickly dodged, so she was now standing in the middle of the room.

Holy fuck-

His statement made her realize what Sabo had been trying to do from the start. He was planning on keeping her alive. To be played with as his personal toy for the rest of her life.

And what must be a very deranged part of herself actually felt relieved over that fact. She would at least get to see his gorgeous face every day. Even if it was when he was taking pleasure in torturing her, or something…

Dear God, that was so freaking messed up!

Sabo brought his hand to her cheek, giving her that kind, deceiving smile. She flinched away when she felt the cool touch of leather on her skin. His smile dropped, a confused wrinkle appearing between his brows.

"Y/N, it isn’t me you're scared of, right?" He asked, giving her a serious look.

"No- I'm-" She took a step back, but Sabo quickly grabbed a hold of her wrist, pulling her towards him.

"Yes you are. Why?" He asked again, the grip around her wrist becoming firmer.

Y/N looked around the room in a panic, her eyes landing on the doorknob. Why the fuck didn’t she just open the door and run away when she had the chance? Why didn’t she think about that before, you know… she was trapped and unable to escape.

She needed to use what little brain capacity she had left and figure something out. Think think think!

‘If a man ever bothers you, just pretend to faint. That’s what all the other ladies your age do.’

Her mother’s words swirled through her mind. Could that really work? Y/N pondered on the crazy idea only for a second before she decided that it was probably the best she could come up with in this situation.

She saw how Sabo quirk his eyebrow and loosened his grip a little just as she closed her eyes, put her hand against her forehead, let out an audible gasp and let her body fall limp to the floor.

___

For a moment, Sabo could only stare flabbergasted at the “fainted” Angel on the floor. He certainly hadn’t expected her to do…whatever it was that she was trying to do.

But he liked that she kept surprising him with her silly little acts, even if they still really needed to have a serious conversation about her running away… and you, allegedly being scared of him? What reason could she have to be scared? Had he been a little too blunt with his explanation about how he found out what her name was?

No, he couldn’t have. He even purposely left out the bloody part, she didn’t need to know about that. And to be fair, he barely touched those disgusting bugs that had described “the princess” as some kind of mindless trophy. Sabo had just made it very clear that he couldn’t stand that kind of misogynistic thinking… with his fists.

He pondered Y/N’s reason for being scared for a few more moments, before he glanced down at her and saw how she was peeking at him through her half squinted eyes. And how she abruptly closed them when she was caught.

"She so fucking adorable" he whispers to himself.

Talking was important, but it could wait for a little bit. How could he not play along when she was acting so incredibly cute.

"Oh no, she fainted. I better put her on the bed." Sabo said in a sarcastic tone as he lifted her off the floor.

He noticed how Y/N shifted in his arms, still trying her best to keep her act up. He carefully placed her on the bed and just looked at her for a moment.

Cute.

"Hmm, what’s that thing they do in fairytales?” Sabo sighed, before he leaned down close to her ear and whispered “Right…maybe she will wake up if I kiss her?"

Within a second Y/N opened her eyes and shoved him away. A bright red blush had spread over her face, and he couldn’t help but to chuckle at her adorable reaction.

"Oh look, I didn’t even have to kiss her for it to work. Just. Like. A. Princess."

"PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!" She exclaimed as she sat straight up on the bed, putting her arms in front of her.

‘Ehm- what?’ Sabo was suddenly very confused about what was happening.

"Hurt you? Why the fuck would I do that?" He asked.

"Because you are a Revolutionary, you disdain Nobles. You enjoy torturing them for fun, before you drag them to the guillotine. And you make them read your manifesto over and over, and over. And I'm a freaking Princess, daughter of a cruel, greedy tyrant! Of course you’re going to fucking hurt me!"

Sabo stared at her with a blank face for a second, before he started to laugh hysterically, bending over with his hands on his stomach.

"Pfft, hahaha—oh my god, this is too good to be true, hahaha," he laughed, tears lining his eyes. "Fuck- I can't breathe."

It must have been a minute or two, but he finally calmed himself down after hearing her insane reasoning. God, everything made so much sense now.

"Is this why you spent the last two weeks pretending to have amnesia? You actually believe in those crazy rumors?" Sabo chuckled as he wiped a tear from his eye "Oh, but the thing about the manifesto is true though. We use it to re-educate all kinds of people that have a messed up world view."

"But mother told me-"

"Well, your mom isn’t exactly the brightest. She thought I was a noble coming over for tea when I jumped over the castle gates. That’s how I got in."

"You do kinda look like a noble." Y/N said, still visibly taken aback by his reaction.

"Yeah... But I also had a fucking metal pipe stuck to my back, which should have set some alarm bells ringing in her head. But she greeted me at the front door herself, happy to have a guest."

"Mother, dear God." she sighed "Wait- why did you have a mental pipe?"

"Uhmm... no reason. Don't worry about it." Sabo gave her a closed eyed smile.

The room fell silent.

He felt an anxious feeling growing in his chest. Whatever her reasoning was, this poor girl had still been afraid that he was going to hurt her.

God, he was such an idiot. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she never wanted to see him again, considering how he had acted these last weeks. The thought of that scared him.

No, either way he needed to apologize. Maybe there was a chance that she would forgive him. And even if she didn’t, he would accept that.

Sabo carefully walked over to the bed, and when he saw that Y/N didn’t move away, he sat down next to her.

"I’m sorry Y/N. I never want to harm you in any way. Fuck, I feel horrible for putting you through that. You must have been so anxious the entire time. And I just thought we were playing a silly game. I promise, I never wanted you to feel that." He said, clenching his fist together.

All he could do was stare down on his knees. Sabo had never felt more ashamed than how he felt right this moment.

Then, he felt a soft hand touch his forearm.

“I believe you.” Y/N’s sweet voice stated, making him look straight at her in shock.

“Why?” He stuttered, still not believing she was actually forgiving him.

“Hmmm… Because I want to.” She said, giving him a bright smile.

Sabo felt how his chest grew warm, like it did every time he saw that smile.

Did she not understand the severity of this situation? It would make sense considering how she had been treated all her life. He needed her to understand that it was okay for her to be angry. That it was okay if she never wanted to see him again. That she was free to feel whatever she wanted to feel.

“But I stalked you for two weeks. I trapped you in a supply closet. I pressured you about your name over and over. I even stole your underwear. It’s only logical if you hate me, and-”

“But I don’t hate you. And I do believe you don’t want to hurt me.” Y/N sighed, before a serious expression fell over her face. “Look, have there been times I’ve been scared that something bad was going to happen to me if any of you found out who I am? Yes. But it’s a normal feeling to have when all your life you've been told that the Revolutionary Army tortures Nobles, right?”

Sabo gave her a small nod, but stayed quiet and waited for her to continue talking.

“But for some reason, even though you have taken pleasure in tormenting me, and don’t try to deny it, there was still a part of me that believed that you never actually wanted to do me any harm. That none of the people in this base wanted to hurt me. And I was driving myself crazy trying to explain that feeling away, Stockholm Syndrome and stuff like that… But I do believe you.”

“But-” Sabo started to say, but was caught off by a finger flicking his forehead.

"Ughh, no more but! It's okay, I actually wasn’t that scared until you told me you were the Second in Command. And even after that, a part of me still didn’t believe you wanted to kill me." Y/N laughed, which was a reaction not quite fitting her statement

"You thought I wanted to kill you?!" Sabo exclaimed, feeling even more embarrassed over how delusional he had been.

She nodded in response, letting out a small giggle.

"And I followed you around like a fucking stalker. Shit, do you know how close I was to breaking into your room last night?" He asked, feeling a warm flush spread over his face.

"You were close to doing what?"

"Uh-"

“Pfft- hahaha. It’s kinda fun seeing you embarrassed for once.” Y/N snickered, making Sabo feel relieved.

This was good. By some godsent miracle, she had actually forgiven him and was somehow dealing with the whole situation surprisingly well. He had been given a second chance, and he wasn’t going to screw this up.

All he needed to do now was figure out if she had the same feelings as he did. And this time he was going with brutal honesty.

___

It felt weird. That the small hope that had been inside her during this entire time was actually true. That Sabo never wanted to hurt her. She knew that the moment she heard his sincere words. Pure relife.

And thank god for that, otherwise she would have looked pretty stupid for sticking around this place so long. Haha, wouldn’t that have been a fun ending to her story. “The naive princess who was tricked and fell in love with the cruel enemy.”

No, she liked this ending much better. The ending where she was just a person, not chained to a title, who was free to love whoever she wanted to.

Even if the love in question was directed towards an undeniably handsome man, but with a sadistic streak. Because there was no denying that fact, Y/N knew that he genuinely took pleasure in tormenting her and seeing her embarrassed. And she was slowly starting to accept that she actually enjoyed it too. Not that Sabo needed to know that.

But she wanted to tell him about the feelings she’s been keeping locked away for these past few weeks. What was she supposed to do? There’s rules and etiquette to follow when it comes to these things. She couldn’t just flat out tell him-

“I love you.” Sabo’s statement cut through her train of thoughts.

“Wha-” Y/N was taken aback. Did he just-

“No scratch that.” He said as he moved closer to her, taking hold of her hand. “What I’m feeling for you is probably closer to an obsession at this point, and I know that sounds like a bad thing, but I promise it’s not. I feel a constant urge to be near you and keep you safe and make you feel loved and cared for and-”

Sabo paused, and she believed she had never seen him look this serious. How could he just say all those things so bluntly? She felt her heart beating faster, and how a warm flush spread over her cheeks.

“And I need to know if I’m just delusional, or if you like me too. Because I was certain you did, up until the moment I realized I’ve been a complete idiot during the entire time I’ve known you. And if you don’t, then that’s okay. I promise I will stop tormenting you... But if there’s even the smallest chance that I can be with you, I need to know.” He said, almost sounding desperate.

Their faces were so close, Y/N could feel Sabo’s breath on her lips. His hand had left hers and traveled to her waist, carefully keeping it there and moving her slightly closer to him.

She put her hand against his chest, surprised to feel that his heart was beating as fast as hers. Her body felt hot and she was trying her hardest to formulate a response, and before she knew it a single word slipped past her lips.

“Yes.” She said with a shaky voice, and felt how Sabo’s grip grew firmer on her waist.

“Yes what?” He asked, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“...I love you.” Y/N whispered, barely audible for anyone but Sabo to hear.

“Thank God, you don’t know how much I’ve carved to hear you say those words.” He said with a relieved smile, making her heart flutter.

She hardly had time to catch her breath before she felt Sabo’s hand snake to the back of her hair, pulling her into a kiss. It caught her a little off guard, but Y/N felt safe as he took the lead, guiding her down on her back.

As the hand on her waist started to rub small circles through the fabric of her shirt, the kiss grew more intense, and she felt how the now familiar knot in her stomach started to form. She wanted more, to feel more, be closer to him. Her body was moving on its own, her hand grazing over his chest, up to his jaw and gently stroking her thumb over his cheek.

Suddenly Sabo pulled away, breaking the kiss. She could see a soft pink tint over his face as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Fuck… Okay, you need to tell me now if you want to stop. Because we can, if you want to. But I’m barely keeping it together right now. So, do you want me to continue?” He asked with a heavy breath.

Y/N could only nod, making Sabo chuckle a little.

“Angel, I need to hear you say it.” He said, giving her a reassuring smile.

“...yes.” She answered quietly, growing more and more flustered.

“Hm? Yes, what?” A mischievous smile spread over Sabo’s lips as he cupped her chin and tilted her face up towards his.

“I- I want to continue.” Y/N managed to say. She didn’t want this to end now, before it even started.

“Good, that was all I needed to hear. I promise I will take really good care of you.” Sabo stated as he let go of her chin and leaned back so he was sitting on his knees in front of her.

How did he look so calm and in control? While she was barely keeping it together. Wasn’t they supposed to continue? Why did he move away?

“God, your thoughts are written all over your face. So eager, Angel.” He chuckled, as her face turned red.

She watched as Sabo took his jacket off and loosened the carvant around his neck. She could see how his eyes roamed over her body, something flickering in his gaze as they met hers. She couldn’t figure out what he wanted her to do.

“I don’t know what-” She started to say, but Sabo cut her off.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. I was just a little caught up in thoughts about how cute you look when you're flustered. Don’t worry, you don’t need to think right now, I’ll help you.” He stated. “Now, come here and help me take my gloves off.”

“Okay?” Y/N answered, a little confused about his request, but she moved closer to him and started to pull one of his gloves off, but Sabo moved his hand away.

“No, no Angel. Use your mouth.” He said with a grin over his lips.

“W-what?”

“Well, I can keep them on if you want to… But I promise it's going to feel much better without the gloves. You want it to feel nice, don’t you?” Sabo asked, and she nodded in response “Okay, so take them off, just like I told you to do it.”

Dear God, I’m about to do the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in my life.

This devilish man must have some secret power over her, because why else would she be doing this. She cautiously eyed the gloved hands as she swallowed what was left of her pride, and slowly started to tug the glove off with her teeth. The taste of leather felt bitter on her lips as she somehow managed to work the first glove of his hand.

Without giving her a second to breath, a finger pushed against her mouth, waiting for her to start. Y/N glared at Sabo, but he only gave her a smirk in response. The other glove didn’t come off as easily, and truth be told, she suspected that he was making it harder for her on purpose.

“There. Happy?” She asked in a snarky tone as she tugged the glove of his hand.

“Very.” He snickered back.

“I don’t understand why you enjoy making me feel embarrassed so much.” Y/N said with a small pout.

“Because it’s fun seeing your cute reactions... And because I know you like feeling that way.” Sabo said as he leaned a little bit closer to her.

“I- I do not!” She exclaimed, moving back further up on the bed.

“No, you do.” he said in a calm tone as he started to unbutton his shirt. “I know because you always rub your thighs together when I make you flustered. And that’s usually a good sign”

Y/N tried to move further away, but suddenly felt a tug around her ankle making her fall flat on her back. She felt how Sabo’s hand started to travel up her leg, as he moved over her, one knee placed between her legs, pressing against her.

And dear god, just that little amount of much needed pressure against the right spot felt so good. An airy moan escaped her lips as the small knot in her abdomen grew.

“Fuck… you make the most angelic sounds when you’re needy.” Something dark flickered in Sabo’s eyes. “God, I’m going to have so. much. fun. with. you.”

___

If heaven made a sound, he was pretty sure that this is what it would sound like.

Sabo’s mind was clouded by his Angel’s sweet sobs as he continued to flick his tongue over her clit, moving his fingers inside of her in a steady rhythm.

He had lost count of how many times he had made her cum by this point, but seeing the effects it had on her made every orgasm worth it. Legs twitching, hair clinging to her forehead, tears lining her eyes.

It was like he was looking at a piece of art.

Sabo knew he was being cruel. But the sound of her choked out voice in between airy moans and heavy breaths were fucking intoxicating. He could probably do this for hours, if he wasn’t burning up with his own greedy need.

The need to pin her under him. The need to finally feel her clench around him. The need to put marks all over her body. Proof of how much he loved and adored her. Proof that she was his.

And although he knew that he shouldn’t be thinking it, he felt an overwhelming need to turn her into a completely broken mess.

But he also knew that it was probably time to give her a break, let her catch her breath and rest against his chest-

“Sabo- please~” Y/N whimpered, clenching around his fingers.

Fuck-

How was he supposed to ignore that? In the past hour, making her cum had become like an addiction to him. He craved to hear her cry out in pleasure as he helped her reach that high over and over again.

Just one more.

“Oh, I know it’s a lot, sweetheart. You’re being so good for me. Just one more and then we’re done, I promise.” He heard how Y/N’s voice hitched as he quickened the pace of his fingers.

Wet sounds and loud moans filled his head, melting inside every time his name slipped past her lips in small cries of pleasure. She was squirming, basically grinding against his face.

And Sabo loved every second of it. He loved that he could make her this way. That he could completely shut her brain off and make her lose herself in the pleasure he was giving her.

And as he felt his Angel’s body tense up once more, Sabo couldn’t resist the urge to gently bite her inner thigh.

He carefully pulled his fingers out and leaned back to look at the beautiful picture in front of him. A red flush over her cheeks. Puffy lips, probably from her biting down on them. Chest slowly rising and falling with every breath.

“Fucking angelic.” Sabo moaned, taking one more good look before he laid down next to her.

He gently pulled her towards him, letting her head rest on his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair, carefully untangling the mess he had created.

“How are you feeling Angel? It wasn’t too much, was it?” He asked, placing his other hand on her thigh, rubbing soft circles on her skin.

“Nice, so nice~ “ Y/N answered in a soft voice, lightly grazing over his chest with her hand.

“Nice? Maybe we should keep going then-” he felt a slap against his chest “I was just joking, sweetheart. It’s late, and I plan on keeping you trapped with me in this room for at least a few days, so you’re going to need the rest.”

“What?” she asked, already half asleep.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it, I’ll show you tomorrow.”

___

This must be the most wonderful-

Wait, no. We’re not doing that again. Last time ended in disaster.

Y/N stretched her legs out as she opened her eyes. God, she felt sore.

She mindlessly put her arms over her head to relieve the ache, but felt how her hand hit something. She looked up, horrified to see her fist pushed in right under Sabo's jaw, quickly moving it away.

“Well, good morning to you too.” Sabo said as he stroked the place she had hit. “Was I really that mean last night that I deserved being woken up by a punch?”

“I’M SO SORRY, I DIDN’T-” Y/N stopped herself a thought back on the previous night, and on how much her body ached this very moment. “You know what? You do deserve that.”

“Ouch! My poor heart.” He answered in a dramatic voice, placing his hands over his chest.

All of this was so absurd, she couldn’t help but to laugh.

Yesterday when she woke up, she had been fully prepared to run away. Almost convinced that the man now laying in her bed wanted to drag her to the guillotine. Afraid that she was going to spend the rest of her life camping out in the middle of the woods. But nothing of that had happened.

Funny how things turn out sometimes. Still, there were some things that needed to be cleared up.

“So, what happens now? I mean, didn’t you say that my so-called father basically surrendered yesterday? Doesn’t that mean that the revolution is over?” Y/N asked.

“Hmm, yeah, kinda… Now it’s just the boring administrative work left. You know, sentencing the bad guys to prison, relocating funds, drafting a new constitution, and whatnot.” Sabo said with a shrug “Oh, but don’t worry. Koala can probably handle that alone for the first few days. We’re not leaving this room unless we really, really need to.”

“You’re not keeping me trapped in here. I need food, and a bath.” She scoffed.

“But I thought you loved me?” He answered with a hurt expression. “Now that I think about it, maybe it’s better if we moved to my room instead. I have snacks we can eat, and a shower.”

“That’s not- nevermind.” Y/N sighed. “We’re getting sidetracked… I mean, what happens after all the administrative stuff is done?”

“Oh, we're going back to Baltigo. The island itself might not be so fun, but don’t worry, everyone at the main base will welcome you with open arms. And you can meet Hack, and Dragon, and all the other members. And you can of course move in with me if you want to, but we can also get you your own room if you would prefer that-”

“Wait, wait, wait. You understand that I’m staying here, right?” She stated.

“What?” Sabo asked with a dumbfounded look.

___

Koala was standing on the stern, looking back at the Island they had lived on for the past month. She thought fondly of the people they had helped liberate from the tyrannical ruler of the country. It always felt good leaving after a successful mission.

“We need to turn around.” Sabo said, suddenly standing next to her.

“FUCK- where did you come from.” She exclaimed.

“Koala, tell them to turn the ship around.” He said in a deadly serious tone.

“Why?” She asked, already knowing what this was about.

“I forgot something…”

“Mhmm, and what would that something be?” Koala said as she rolled her eyes.

“A stubborn brat who doesn’t know what’s best for her.” Sabo answered through gritted teeth.

“Ah-ah, careful there Mr. Chief of Staff for the Revolutionary Army. Kinda sounds like you want to take away someone’s free will.” She teased, earring a scoff in response. “You want Y/N to live free, right? To make her own choices?”

“...yes.”

“Exactly. So stop pouting like some spoiled rich kid. Besides, Dragon already agreed that it was safe for you to go visit her between missions. You’ll see her again in two months.”

“But what if she misses me and I’m not there?” Sabo asked in a panicked voice.

“She’ll write you a letter!”

“What if she burns the house down?”

“Dear God, have mercy and give me strength… Oh wait, strength.” Koala chuckled as she slammed her fist down at the top of Sabo’s head. “Stop being an idiot”

She glared at Sabo as he rubbed the spot on his head, before she saw him looking back towards the Island.

“Two months…Just two months.” he sighed, with a faint smile spreading over his lips.

___

Tag list: @nymeriiiia @kitsunechan707 @treelogirl @sukunas-play-thing @coffiviv @inoe-kun-blog @asura0nepiece

#one piece fanfiction #revolutionary sabo #sabo x reader #x reader #one piece

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cheshireliam · 3 days ago

Text

"My Ideal Life of A Doting Love" Story Event: Chapter 2

Azel Radwan

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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With his hand against the wall, trapping me in place, Azel's brows were in a deep frown.

Azel: It's just—…

Azel: This kind of thing— right?

Emma: … I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that.

Azel: That's why…

Azel: —… it was in the book.

(Even though we're this close, I still can't hear him.)

He was definitely mumbling about something, but his voice was so soft it was nearly impossible to hear what he was saying.

Azel: Basically, there's nothing you need to worry about.

Emma: Saying that while your face is so red only makes me mor— mmph!

Before I could finish, he resorted to the drastic method of physically silencing me with his lips.

It was apparent that Azel had no intention of backing down until I gave up on pursuing the subject. Each time I tried to speak, his kiss would grow more aggressive.

(This is so unfair…)

His tongue intertwined with mine, gradually increasing the pleasure in my body. My heart was racing, and I was losing strength to keep upright.

I was about to go limp, but Azel caught me just in time, wrapping an arm around my waist to support me.

Emma: … You went too far.

Azel: It's your fault.

(Not an ounce of guilt in him.)

I shot him a piercing glare to express my embarrassment, but he simply turned away.

Azel: Fine, fine. It's my fault.

Azel: Umm… well…

Azel: … Want to go for a stroll?

Emma: A… a stroll?

…

In what seemed to be an attempt at making up for his actions, Azel led me out of the temple to an oasis deep in the desert.

(I never knew such a place existed nearby.)

Since few people would go near the sacred grounds of the primordial temple, there were no signs of human activity.

If Azel was the only one who knew of this place, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it "God's Garden".

Emma: This lake is beautiful… it feels good to be here.

As I crouched down and scooped the clear water with my hands, Azel placed a hand on my head with his usual grumpy face.

Azel: Not there.

Gripping my head lightly, he turned it to face a different direction.

Further back, beyond the oasis, near the water's edge— the scenery was absolutely breathtaking.

Emma: No way… is that a flower field!?

Flowers of vibrant colours were in bloom around the lakeside, bringing life to the dry desert sand.

I hurried over and looked at the flowers from up close.

(These are… "Al Flowers".)

The flowers, named after Azel, the Living God, were a special variety genetically modified to bloom even in the desert.

Emma: I never thought they'd grow naturally.

Azel: … They rarely do, so don't tell anyone.

Azel caught up to me and awkwardly averted his gaze.

Azel: This place might be ruined if people found out about its existence.

Emma: I'll keep it a secret.

(… What's this uneasy feeling I'm getting?)

I was curious to know, but I couldn't resist the temptation from the flower field and crouched down to gently touch a flower petal.

Azel: Do you like flowers that much?

Emma: I do. They're soothing to look at.

Azel: … I see.

Azel: I don't care much for flowers, but if you like them, you can come see them again.

Emma: Please come with me when I do.

Azel: …

Emma: Thank you.

Azel: I didn't say anything.

Emma: Your answer is written on your face.

Emma: Eeek…! What the—!?

Although he was firmly pinching my cheek, Azel didn't look entirely displeased.

Azel: I'm charging you an escort fee.

Emma: Shouldn't it be called a date fee?

Azel: … This isn't a date.

Emma: It is to me.

Azel: No, it's not. There's no way I'd do something so frivolous.

Emma: Azel… did you know that flower field dates are a thing?

Azel: …

Emma: That means it's too late now!

I stood up and clung to Azel's arm, with him looking like he was about to flee at any moment.

Emma: Next time, let's bring a tent and lunchboxes so we can have a picnic.

Azel: … Do as you please.

Despite the long and deep sigh he let out, Azel's had a tender look in his eyes.

…

That night,—

(I knew it. He's reading a book again.)

I secretly watched Azel from the bed as he sat by the window, unaware of my staring.

Tonight, I wasn't awake by chance. I was only pretending to be asleep, waiting for the right moment.

(He managed to dodge my questions during the day, but this time…)

Emma: AZEL!

Azel: WHAT!?

I raised my voice on purpose, causing Azel to turn toward in me in shock, nearly jumping out of his skin.

Emma: I heard a noise coming from outside…

Azel: … Huh?

The kind-hearted god didn't doubt my words. He immediately walked to the door to check on the "noise".

(I feel guilt… I'm sorry for deceiving you.)

Making a promise in my mind to prepare a luxurious meal for him tomorrow as an apology, I slipped out of bed and reached for the book "containing national secrets" Azel had left on the floor.

Azel: It was just your imagination. There's nothing outsid—

Azel: …

Emma: …

Azel: … You tricked me.

Emma: I'm so sorry. But…

Emma: … I love you.

#ikemen prince #ikemen series #ikepri translations #azel radwan #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikepri story event

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lossie92 · 24 hours ago

Text

I went back to working on a short story for @iamdusttoo. They have sent me a prompt forever ago and I wanted to write something special for it. I feel like I've finally figured out the plot I want to go with and hopefully I can finish this soon.

The below is a snippet from that story. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

Warnings: none

Though he was somewhat confused by his husband's unyielding determination to woo him – and it was indeed wooing, no doubt about it – he felt warmed by it as well.

Nobody else has ever put so much effort into getting to know the real him. Similarly, there had been very few instances of others calling him beautiful and he had yet to hear anyone apart from Madara referring to his mind as an absolute wonder. His husband had even prepared a dedicated space for him so he could continue working on seals and jutsu if he so pleased! There was never a time when Madara had refused to listen to him talk about those subjects and he often contributed to the conversation, which resulted in the two of them having heated debates about subjects such as chakra theory or the creation of jutsu.

There were many, many other things Madara had done that had endeared him to Tobirama, of course. Simple, but nevertheless meaningful things such as always having a pot of his favourite tea ready, adjusting traditional Uchiha recipes to suit his palate, making sure to bring a shawl or a jacket when they went out for a stroll so he wouldn't never be cold, bringing home knick-knacks he would like, gifting him flowers just because, respecting his boundaries and not trying to push past them…

What would he do with himself, he wondered, if he was robbed of it all? How could he possibly endure if he could no longer see the glint in Madara's eyes as they discussed chakra theorems or played shogi, or the soft smile on his face when he told him “you are beautiful” as if it was the most fundamental truth in this world?

Would he survive never seeing Madara again? Never holding him again? Never talking to him again?

He didn't think he would.

Madara stood up and turned before reaching for the light armour made of leather that hung neatly on the gusoku lake. He had seen Madara prepare it the night before after dinner so he knew what it looked like already, but it was different to see it now in the grey, dim light of early morning.

Hesitating only for a second, he crossed the distance between Madara and himself, one of his hands coming to rest against Madara's hand that was already holding onto the armour's breastplate.

“Let me,” he said quietly.

Madara looked at him for a moment before he let go and stepped back.

“Of course, wife,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

Tobirama said nothing in response as he picked up the breastplate and helped Madara put it on, and fastened it in place. He remained equally silent while tying the kawan kote around his husband's forearms, the haidate to his thighs, and the suneate to his calves.

He thought briefly that kneeling before Madara didn't feel degrading or humiliating. It was an act of reverence; a way to show his husband he hadn't wanted, but cared for now that he wanted him to be safe.

#mdtb #madatobi #tobimada #uchiha madara #senju tobirama #madara #tobirama #wip #fanfic #writing prompt #prompt fic #lossie writes #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto founders

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just-some-random-blogger · 3 days ago

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First of all, I would like you to delete the part of your a/n that says this is horrible and don't you EVER say it again 🗡️🔪

The weather in Dorne was always exceptionally hot, so you wore a sheer gown. One thing about the Dornish was that you were not ashamed of anything, especially not what the gods had given you.

CITY GWORL THATS ON PERIOD

Once you saw the prince arrive, you stood up straighter, clearing your throat silently, allowing a faked smug expression to fall upon your face.

Fake???? KSJSJJSJ SHES PLAYING MIND GAMES ALREADY HAHAHAH AND I RESPECT HER FOR JT

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, to what is the pleasure of your presence owed?”

Lmaooooo be so fr why you acting like ubdont knkw

[...] but tell me what's it like being queen so young?”

Its nothing you'll be able to relate to or understand at all babes xxx

after a few seconds you speak up “No, i indeed am not. And i do not expect anyone else to either, if i step on anyone’s toes with my words, they are not company i should keep.”

“So you speak plainly?”

❓❓❓❓ earth to jacaerys?? She just said so MANNNNS GEEKING HES SO ENAMOURED

Jacaerys took a long look at your body, his eyes slowly glancing at the details of your dress. The way the skirt of the dress swayed with your movements and how the gown itself left little to the imagination. The way your curly locks dangled and moved. The way your skin shone with the sun's blessing...

NOTHING BUT A MAN

“If I may ask, are you married or betrothed by any chance?”

Absolutely rizzless

The corner of Jacaerys' mouth curled into a small, cocky smile. "Oh, is that so?"

RIZZLESS YUCCKKK

He took another step closer, until he was at an arm's distance. The young prince could smell the scent of the air in Dorne, the sun-kissed skin, and the expensive perfumes of a queen. "Tell me, how might a man catch the interest of the queen of Dorne?"

Ok actually wait a bit of rizz

"And I would gain..." He leaned closer, his breath against your skin, "A gorgeous Dornish queen as a wife..."

NVM THAT WAS ACTUALLY RIZZY SLAYYYYED

This was fr short and sweet. You ate with that. Have more confidence in your work 💕💕💕💕

BED CHEM

Jacaerys Velaryon x Dornish!reader

Summary: The Prince gets send to gain a powerful alliance that the house targaryen has wanted for a long period of time, and he stumbles upon you. A gorgeous dornish queen.

Includes/warnings: dornish!reader this is probably horribly written so thats a warning in itself, not proof read but i believe Y/N has been used on multiple occasions. Did not give reader a description other than female & dark black curls. There is an age gap in this (reader is 16, jacaerys is 19, but it is never actually mentioned) like i said, not proof read, if you see any spelling errors feel free to point them out!

🪐notes: idk much abt the dornish, especially not in this timeline/au so please ignore any mistakes. Jace is not engaged to baela in this. :)

from my short & sweet collection

You were standing in the hall of your castle in SunSpear. Waiting for the arrival of the prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the iron throne and prince of DragonStone. Or he would be, had King Aegon Targaryen not usurped the iron throne.

The weather in Dorne was always exceptionally hot, so you wore a sheer gown. One thing about the Dornish was that you were not ashamed of anything, especially not what the gods had given you. The dress was a dark blue, with red and gold detailing, your long black curls hanging loosely over your shoulders.

Once you saw the prince arrive, you stood up straighter, clearing your throat silently, allowing a faked smug expression to fall upon your face.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, to what is the pleasure of your presence owed?”

It was all a different environment to what he was used to at DragonStone. The strong breeze of hot air, the lack of thick winter-like clothing, the more exposed body, the tanned skin... it was all such a strange sight to a prince accustomed to the cold. He bowed gently towards the young Queen of Dorne, and looked at her dress. He admired the work that her seamstresses had to do to look so good on her.

“A pleasure indeed, my lady. May we chat inside? It is quite hot here, I confess.”

you nod curtly. “Of course. i am afraid i am in a bit of a hurry though, many important matters to attend.” You point out a hand, allowing him to walk beside you as you walk up the steps into the castle.

Jacaerys follows you, watching the way you walk and the environment surrounding the palace. The hot air, the sun, the tanned skin.

He looks over at you, trying to figure out more about the queen of Dorne. “You are quite young, my lady. Not that I'm much older, but tell me what's it like being queen so young?”

“I am quite used to it. I have been Dorne’s ruler since i was 6 summers old. The Dornish are respectable people, and very direct. It hasn’t always been easy, but it felt natural.” You spoke.

Jacaerys nodded as you walked, thinking it was somewhat impressive someone that young could ever rule. He smiled slightly at your comment.

“I can see the directness in you already, if you'll forgive my boldness. You don't seem like you're the type of woman to beat around the bush, are you?”

Jacaerys was trying to figure you out, as any man with an interest in women would do. He walked beside you as you both spoke, trying to gauge his chances.

after a few seconds you speak up “No, i indeed am not. And i do not expect anyone else to either, if i step on anyone’s toes with my words, they are not company i should keep.”

That comment made Jacaerys smile, appreciating your honest nature. He couldn't deny how attractive blunt honesty was, especially in a place where everyone was so used to keeping secrets and making alliances all the time. “So you speak plainly?”

He knew women with bluntness often became some of the most interesting ones. And a queen, with an attitude like that, made a very intriguing proposition. As curious as your boldness made him, he couldn't deny his physical interests.

That dress... Gods...

You bring him out of his thoughts with your reply. “Yes i speak plainly, and so should you, Prince Jacaerys.” You spoke softly, almost gentle-like. It was very refreshing.

His gaze finally returned to your face, the soft features combined with the dark eyes and long wavy hair. He couldn't deny what was crossing his mind right now. Your blunt nature, combined with the way you looked, was certainly making him wish for things.

He couldn't help himself, as he took another look at you, before finally speaking. “That must come in handy for a queen like you, my lady. You're much less... complicated than one would expect from a ruler.”

Jacaerys approached one step closer, his eyes still locked on yours.

“If I may ask, are you married or betrothed by any chance?”

Your blunt words, your direct manner, and your pretty face only encouraged his desires. And it seemed the prince was rather blunt with his intentions as well.

Your eyes locked with his, as he asked the question you were certain was coming.

Of course, he must be interested in some deal. Just like any man, the prince wouldn't be able to simply let a beautiful young queen pass by.

You took a moment to think, wondering what to share.. or perhaps hide. "No, my prince. I am unmarried."

The corner of Jacaerys' mouth curled into a small, cocky smile. "Oh, is that so?"

A hint of teasing was clear in his voice, his eyes still looking for something in yours.

"Well, I suppose that does have some upsides."

The prince's voice had the tone of teasing, making your eyebrow raise slightly. His sudden proximity also caught you slightly off guard, his physical interests becoming very clear to you.

You couldn't deny how handsome he was. And you guessed perhaps you could use a bit of fun, considering you were unmarried and in your youthful prime.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, his eyes burning a hole through your face. "Hm... What are you offering? Your family is at war, are they not? your visit is political.”

The prince let out a quiet chuckle, letting his eyes wander over your body for a moment.

The dress was certainly eye-catching, the way it hugged your curves, allowing his imagination to let loose...

The words you spoke only made his eyes find their way back to your own, and the smirk he had on his face only grew.

"Is the possibility of a political alliance enough to catch your interest, my lady?"

You watched the prince's eyes as they caressed your body, the boldness in his gaze, and the clear interest that you knew was there. You knew how to take advantage of an opportunity..

"Depends on what kind of a deal you're suggesting, my prince." There was an undeniable flirtation in your voice, your own subtle way of teasing him.

The prince didn't hide the smirk that spread across his face after that statement. His hand slowly reached over to your waist, his touch feeling the silky fabric of your dress.

"Would a marriage perhaps suffice?"

Your dress, as thin as it already was, provided no barrier against his touch. You could feel each stroke of his fingers, his thumb moving in circular motions against the thin fabric.

The marriage proposal was expected, but it seemed the prince had a more hands-on approach in mind.

You kept a straight face, not to give away how your mind was beginning to wander with the possibility of a marriage. "What would I gain? And what would you expect in return?"

He didn't let your serious expression stop his hands from wandering over the silk of your gown, his hand moving across your waist and down your side. "You would gain protection, support, and a powerful alliance."

"And I would gain..." He leaned closer, his breath against your skin, "A gorgeous Dornish queen as a wife..."

Your heart began to race as his words and his hand continued it's exploration of your side, the anticipation of where those hands might end up was growing.

The prince's proximity and the way he slowly looked at you, expecting some kind of reaction. You stayed firm, holding back the subtle reaction you felt with his words.

"Hm... We might have a deal, my prince."

And with that, his lips ended on yours.

Requested by: @avatar4life

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