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witchofthescions · 2 years

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The sage's main armament were short staves known as nouliths. According to Lalah, they were originally based on objects known as adder stones, which harbored spiritual energy. Some of the more ancient whispers within the soul crystal explained that they would place them around their patients to create a confluence through which to channel magic. It reminded Lenar of the arcane geometries utilized by arcanists, scholars, and summoners. He found himself idly directing the nouliths as Lalah spoke, tracing out the familiar lines and patterns of his scholarly magic and feeling the way the aether flowed through it. Could he, perhaps, use the nouliths as an alternate means of weaving his scholarly magics? It was an intriguing concept to ponder as the duo made their way to Idyllshire.

"You said you hail from Ishgard, correct?" Lalah asked, shaking him out of his thoughts again.

"Hm? Yes, that is correct."

"Are you familiar with the layout of Idyllshire?"

"I am," Lenar said, with a hint of annoyance. Of course he was, he's spent so much time here over the past couple of years he could navigate this place with his ears covered and sleepwalking.

"Well, the tales do not do the place justice. Truly impressive what the goblins and their fellow scavengers have managed to build upon the ruins of our colony!" She cleared her throat. "To the task at hand, though... As I mentioned before, we have reason to believe that the fugitives have recently passed through this town, and may even still be here. For the sake of efficiency, I suggest we split up and search. I will see to the town's south, if you could tend to the north."

"Alright."

Asking around in the northern end of the city didn't turn up many leads, however. Either their fugitives weren't here, or they were more stealthy than Lalah thought. Lenar could hear Lalah's approaching footsteps behind him, but before she had a chance to say anything, a voice cut through the usual bustle.

"Help! Somebody, please—I need help!"

"Did you hear that?" The concern was evident in Lalah's voice. "That man is in trouble!" "Let's go!"

Lenar wasn't sure how many were present on the scene. He knew there were at least two people present—the helpless man and whoever was menacing him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" This voice was different from the first one. Lenar wasn't in the habit of trying to guess gender based on voices. This voice sounded younger, with a dangerous edge to its tone. Whoever this was sounded less than pleased with the poor soul they were attacking.

Lenar heard the telltale whoosh of thaumaturgy. Different position than the one who just spoke—at least two attackers. Great. Perfect! Without even thinking, Lenar rushed towards approximately where the soon to be victim had called out from, reaching for his sleeve and beginning the process of casting Adloquium to place a barrier upon himself.

"Stop this at once!" Lalah called out to the attackers.

A moment too late did Lenar remember he had changed out of his usual attire, meaning his spells were not conveniently weaved into the fabric. He cursed under his breath as he realized he'd just placed himself in the path of an unknown mage's fireball without any sort of protection. Damn it, Erna was the worst influence.

Lenar flinched as he felt the heat of the flames reach him, bracing himself for the inevitable impact... which didn't come. There was an explosion, and he could feel the heat of the flames as if through... a barrier.

"A sage's barrier?" Lalah exclaimed.

"Loifa," murmured an unfamiliar voice. Judging by the position, it must belong to the mage that just attacked him.

"Too many eyes and ears," said another unfamiliar voice, bringing the tally up to three. "We'd best leave."

There was a soft, annoyed huff from the first attacker. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. Do not get in our way again. You've been warned."

He heard the whoosh of a teleport spell being cast, and the telltale sound of it whisking all three attackers away.

"W-Wait!" Lalah called out in vain. She made a frustrated noise beside Lenar. "That was them—our fugitives. But why did their leader protect you?"

That was a good question indeed. The leader was a sage as well, wasn't he? Perhaps...

"Ack, such questions can wait," Lalah continued. "We must render aid to this man."

The two of them helped the man to his feet, Lenar using the most basic of healing spells to patch up whatever injuries the man might have. At least he could channel that without having to worry about tracing the right arcane patterns first.

"Thank you," the man said said. "Had you not intervened when you did, I dread to think what might have become of me. Permit me to introduce myself. Faldrinet of Sharlayan, at your service."

"Truly?" Lalah exclaimed. "I am Sharlayan too—a recent graduate of the Studium, in fact. Would you mind telling us what happened?"

"Oho, that an alumna should come to my rescue! Thaliak watches over His own! As to what happened..." Lenar heard the gentle rustle of the man's clothes as he shrugged. "What is there to say? I was going about my business when they set upon me, without warning or provocation."

"I see," Lalah said, with a hint of disappointment. "What is your business, if you do not mind my asking?"

"Healing," Faldrinet replied without hesitation. "The provision of it, that is. I am a sage, you see, and I travel the realm, providing treatment gratis to those who cannot afford it."

"A sage besides!" Lalah sounded enthused. "Speaking of which, one of your assailants─the Viera man─also wielded sage magic. Was he known to you?"

So that was the one who had spoken. Loifa, a Viera sage. Lenar noted that for future reference.

"No, I had never so much as laid eyes upon him before. I do have an inkling, however, as to why the villains have come here."

"Do tell," Lenar said.

"If they use the sage's art for ill, then their destination is like to be Saint Mocianne's Arboretum."

"The arboretum?" Lalah repeated. "What could they possibly seek in that abandoned place?"

"I'd assume they mean to track down some manner of herb within," Lenar said.

"Undoubtedly."

"I've been through the arboretum before in my travels," Lenar remarked. "Alas, I did not have a chance to examine the plant life particularly closely, as I was more concerned with fending off the less hospitable inhabitants at the time."

"Truly? What were you doing there, if I might ask?" Lalah said.

"Helping some treasure hunters secure a most precious treasure: seeds with which to cultivate new food supplies for Idyllshire."

"There are a wealth of various plants within the arboretum, both beneficial like those cultivars you found, and dangerous. Following the exodus, the cultivation of certain plants became forbidden in Sharlayan. But that which can no longer be found in the motherland still grows freely there."

"So you suspect they are after an ingredient whose cultivation has been outlawed," Lenar concluded.

"I see!" Lalah said. "That does stand to reason, and I daresay it was for your knowledge that the fugitives attacked you."

"Hmmm... You too are a sage," Faldrinet remarked, clearly speaking to Lenar, "yet you do not appear to be Sharlayan. How did you come by your soul crystal?"

"The good people of Physis Technon had entrusted the crystal to me," Lalah explained. "And when it exhibited a strong resonance in Lenar's presence, I in turn entrusted it to him."

"Lenar, you say?" Faldrinet said. There was a moment's hesitation before he followed up with, "You would not happen to be Lenar Nillefrant, would you?"

"Yes, I am."

"The very same Lenar Nillefrant responsible for single-handedly reviving the lost art of Nymian healing magicks?"

"I wouldn't say single-handedly," Lenar said, absentmindedly fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. "I never would have discovered it had Alka Zolka not asked for my assistance in his own scholarly pursuits."

"Wait, that was you?" Lalah exclaimed. "So that's why your name sounded so familiar! ...I'll admit, part of me had wanted to run into you based on everything I'd heard about your skill with healing magicks."

"Then... you were chosen to inherit," Lenar heard Faldrinet mutter under his breath.

"Is aught amiss, Master Faldrinet?" Lalah asked. Whether she heard the muttering as well or simply noticed a change in his demeanor Lenar could not say.

"No, no, 'tis nothing," he responded quickly. "I was but struck by the remarkable providence to cross paths with both a renowned scholar, as well as other sages so far from home. Ours is a reclusive nation, after all; our policy to observe, not intervene. This did not sit well with me, and so I left Sharlayan behind—as the great Master Louisoix once did."

"A sentiment I find myself rather well acquainted with," Lenar said, "though my own nation's isolationism stems from a different source."

"Ah, yes, you are Ishgardian, correct? I've heard about their policies as well. I do not know what might have driven you to leave your own land, but I can speak for my own. Like Master Louisoix, I too believe it my duty to alleviate suffering in the world."

"So that's what brought you to Eorzea," Lalah said. "You are a noble soul, Master Faldrinet, and I commend your resolve."

"Well, I must return to the road. I thank you again for coming to my aid. Till next we meet, let us both endeavor to seek out new knowledge and possibilities—for the betterment of mankind."

"Fare you well, Master Faldrinet," Lenar said.

#the unending journey (drabbles)#Bloody Sunset (Patch 4.1-4.3)

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erwinsvow · 3 years

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𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

for the 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 collab <3

summary: you've always been fond of your step-brother, jean, despite how much he tries to avoid spending time with you. he finally reaches his breaking point when he sees you talking to eren, though.

warnings: step-cest, slight manipulation (reader), possessive behavior, teasing + edging, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, rough sex, creampie, jean is a good boy and reader is a fiend

author's note: i hope everyone likes this!!! i'm thinking about creating a step-cest series, let me know who should be next! tagging the lovely @yeagerslut & sending a big thank you for creating this collab! <3

Jean can never really peel his eyes away from you, no matter how hard he tries. At first it was subtle glances, like staring at the exposed skin of your supple thighs from his place beside his mom, when she was first introducing you and your father to him.

His first thought, besides the fact that it’ll be nice to have a sibling in the house with him every once in a while, is that your dress is incredibly short. So short that he wonders how you’re allowed to leave the house in something like that. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let you, that’s for sure.

He quickly remembers that it’s not up to him, and that it’s not his place to be worrying about the length of your hem. Jean tries to suppress the strange, sudden burning feeling in his chest when he thinks about you wearing something as short as that when he has his friends over. No, that won’t be allowed.

He’ll have to tell someone about it, at some point, because he can’t stand the unusual jealousy he feels stirring at the idea of one of his friends looking at you while you’re wearing that.

His thoughts are cut short when his mother tells you two to get acquainted, while your dad and her head to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Jean almost doesn’t want them to leave, doesn’t want to be left alone with you and those legs and that dress, but he doesn’t have any say in the matter.

Your first words to your new step-brother are carefully calculated. In fact, you've been deciding everything carefully. The way you did your hair, the dress you’ve chosen that’s much too short for a family dinner but it’s not like someone can stop you, even the pink lip gloss you reapplied in the car before entering the house. Everything has its purpose, its place, with one goal in mind: see how long it takes for Jean to crack.

“I’m so excited to finally have a big brother, Jean!” you let out in a cheerful, chirpy voice that doesn’t match your insidious thoughts at all. You close the bridge separating you two with a few steps, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a hug.

It’s so sudden, so unforeseen that he stumbles a little, letting his tall figure be pulled by your efforts and arms wrapping around your waist for support. And before he knows it, the sweet smell of your perfume is invading all his senses and leaving him with nothing to think about except you.

He takes it all in, the lingering scent of shampoo in your hair, something fruity, he thinks off-hand, the feel of your soft skin on the back of his neck, your cheek against his, but especially the way your breasts feel against his chest.

He pulls away before you want him to, and you begrudgingly allow him to, recognizing what a challenge it’ll be. But you’re always up for a challenge.

The first few months pass by in the blink of an eye for you, and dragging on and on for him. Jean tries to avoid interactions with you since that first meeting, but it’s hard to when you’re living in the same house as him. Even harder when your bedroom is right next to his, his mother offering up his assistance to help you move boxes and get settled while she and her new husband go out to dinner.

It’s ridiculous, the way he flushes bright red when he opens boxes and suitcases filled with clothing he doesn’t want to look at, all short skirts and sun-dresses and delicate panties that he tries and fails not to stare at.

You keep your gaze away, knowing exactly which suitcase you had given him to unpack, while you organize books on the shelves of the room and sort knick-knacks.

“Won’t it be nice sharing a wall?” you comment, adjusting a frame on your nightstand and not meeting Jean’s eyes. “I think it’ll be fun to have you so close.”

Jean chokes on the water he was drinking, gasping for air and trying to process your words all at once, when you finally turn around and smile. A smile that he thinks should be illegal, given the way it’s innocence personified when you’re actually a little devil.

He leaves a little bit after that, calling out that he’s not hungry when you knock on his door for dinner, but you don’t miss the way he sounds breathless, or the panties missing from your drawers.

Every challenge gets easier, right?

It doesn’t take long for your behavior to get a little out of hand, especially when the two of you have so much alone time together. Your parents are gone all the time, frequenting dinner parties and double dates, and not coming back until late at night.

Jean tries his best to keep away. While he had once been the friend whose house was always available for sleepovers, movie nights, and the like, he was now keeping everyone away. Every time your parents’ car left the driveway, Jean followed suit, either hopping into Connie’s Jeep or walking the short distance to Sasha’s place and leaving you alone.

He was hoping no one would notice, but of course someone did, and of course that someone was Eren.

“We can’t do my place again,” Sasha says, absentmindedly reaching for the bag of chips which Connie yanks out of her reach. “My dad’s having people over.” A swat to the back of Connie’s head gets her back the snack quickly.

“How come we can’t do Jean’s place like usual?” Eren asks, reclining back in his seat and enjoying the panicked expression on Jean’s face. “There something wrong with that new sister of yours?” Jean chokes back a cough.

“No.”

“Does she always have friends over, or something?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled,” Eren says, bringing his hands together. “Jean’s place it is.” Shit, Jean. Better come up with something quick.

“We- we can’t do my place!” he sputters out much too loudly, meeting the gaze of every person in the room.

“Any reason why, Jean-bo?” Eren asks.

“I- we- what if she’s not okay with having a bunch of loud-mouthed idiots sleeping over?” Shitty, but it’s the best he can think of when he’s so concerned with keeping everyone away from you.

If you behave like that with parents in the house, how are you gonna behave with his friends around? He doesn’t wanna take the chance to find out.

“How about you call and ask, dumb-ass?” Connie suggests, shoving his phone at him and waiting with a confused look. Jean lets out a defeated sigh, knowing how this phone call will go.

Your loud, chirpy “I’m perfectly fine with that, silly! I’ve been waiting to meet your friends..” can be heard through the phone and answers Eren’s question.

Jean searches for a reason, any reason really, to keep this sleepover from happening, but realizes that he’s failed miserably when all his friends appear, clad with pillows and overnight bags, on his front door. “So,” Eren begins, with a wolfish grin on his face that Jean wants to punch right off, “Where’s the sister? It’s only polite to say hi, right?”

As if you’d been waiting for the cue, you poke your head out from the living room, that very same innocent and sweet smile gracing your face.

“Hi,” you, stepping out to greet his friends in the foyer. “It’s so nice to meet you all.”

Jean immediately regrets the fact that he never had that conversation with you about the length of your dresses. It always sat in the back of his head somewhere, though it was incredibly easy to dismiss when you would come sit next to him on the couch, dress riding up frequently and exposing more skin that he somehow always found himself entranced by.

Today the dress of choice is yellow, and though it does, in fact, cover everything it needs to, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination either. Jean almost feels like a schoolboy again, blushing at exposed shoulders and thighs, but he can’t help it when you’re clinging right to his side as you greet his friends.

“I’m Eren-”

“Hi, I’m Connie-”

“Ignore these two, I’m Sasha-” All meet each other at once. You let out a laugh at your step-brother’s funny friends, glancing up to see his expression, but all you see are signs of anger. Your smile dims a little, but picks right back at up when you notice the way Eren looks at you, and the way Jean looks at Eren.

A plan is working itself into creation in your head before you can help it, deviousness taking a hold on you as you smile brightly in favor of Eren over Jean. Your step-brother’s been keeping his distance all this time, but you’re about ready to force his hand.

You don’t miss the way Jean’s jaw tightens, his hand clenching into a fist at his side as he guides the group to the living room. Your original plan changes quickly, following them into the space and taking your usual place on the couch as you scan the various video games laid out.

“Eren, will you sit with me?” you ask in a gentle tone, one that Jean is all too familiar with. “I don’t know this game, can I watch you play first?”

“Don’t you have work to do, or something?” Jean blurts out without thinking, his only thought centered around getting you out of the room and as far away as he can.

“What work? It’s summer,” you reply, watching your step-brother’s cheeks turn red.

You’re not helping matters for Jean, as he watches Eren sit where he usually does, teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurts. He doesn’t think he could get more angry, until he notices Eren’s hand move to your knee, squeezing quickly but lingering entirely too long. There must be steam coming out of Jean’s ears at this point, watching this interaction between you two.

“Yeah, Jean, she can stick around to watch. Anything for your little sister, right?” “I’m not that much younger than you guys, you know,” you reply with a laugh, adjusting your position on the sofa and purposefully lifting the skirt of your dress for a second before letting it settle. If someone were looking, which both Jean and Eren were, they’d catch a glimpse of black panties, and they both did.

Jean is seeing red now, standing up without realizing why, ready to yank Yeager away from you, when the doorbell rings again. It stops Jean in his tracks. “That must be Marco,” Sasha reminds, looking up from the games to glance at Jean with confusion. “Aren’t you gonna go get that?”

“Y-yeah. I’ll be right back.” Jean locks eyes with you as he leaves the room, and you dejectedly sigh, leaning away from Eren. It’s no fun to mess around with another guy if Jean’s not there to see.

He guides Marco into the living room, and you greet him with a quick smile before giving your full attention back to Eren.

The next few hours are fun for you, and unbearable for Jean. Every time he spared a glance to you, you were pouring over Eren, asking questions about the game and insisting on clarification, leaning in much too close and supporting yourself on his shoulder as he explained another trivial rule to you.

Jean didn’t like any of it, not the way you laughed sweetly and played with your hair while talking to Eren, not the way your legs were on display and Eren’s sleazy hands kept finding its way back to them, none of it. What he couldn’t stand, though, was how you didn’t shy away from his touch and found any and every way to keep it going.

He’s at his limit when you go to your bedroom after dinner to change into pajamas, knowing what to expect from your nightwear. If he’s lucky, you’ll pick a big t-shirt and shorts, but he’s seen first-hand the silky slips and cotton sets you prefer to sleep in.

Jean doesn’t think he can handle the look on Eren’s face if you come down the stairs wearing one of those, so he lets his anger do the thinking for a minute when the others are fighting over snacks and who gets the couch versus the floor.

Eren’s waiting near the bottom of the stairs, looking at something on his phone when Jean approaches and glances quickly to make sure you’re still in your room.

“You better knock it off, Yeager, I’m serious,” he says, trying to contain his anger and keep his voice down. His words come out in a low grumble that he barely recognizes, body stiff and trying his best to intimidate Eren. It doesn’t seem to be working. “Knock off what?” Eren questions nonchalantly, amused that his suspicions were proving to be correct. Looks like Jean had a little thing for his step-sister after all.

Jean’s eyes unwittingly flit to the top of the stairs again, before he forces his gaze back to Eren, but the quick gesture isn’t missed by his so-called friend.

“Oh, I see. You want me to stop being so buddy-buddy with your step-sister, huh? You better tell that to her first, you know. She’s been all over me since the minute I met her.”

The sly smirk playing on his lips only makes Jean want to cave his face in all the more.

“You better watch it, you son of a-” Eren clicks his tongue to interrupt Jean.

“Come on now, Jean, you can’t really expect me to stop. I mean, it’s not like she’s my sister, right?” Eren says, with a strange look in his eyes as though he was tempting Jean to blow his cover.

Eren walks away to rejoin everyone in the living room, leaving Jean seething by the stairs and you in your bedroom, pressed against the door and clinging onto every word.

All night you had known Jean was getting agitated by your constant flirting and touchiness with Eren, but he hadn’t been close to cracking, or so it seemed. The fact that he even confronted Eren had your heart pounding in your chest, wondering if tonight might finally be the chance you had been waiting for. You hear Jean’s heavy foot steps walk away, and you decide that it’s all or nothing, now.

You leave your room and close the door gently, dressed in a pink camisole and shorts that were sure to get Eren’s attention for long enough for Jean to finally crack.

Just as you began the descent down the stairs, you heard footsteps coming back and were greeted with Jean at the foot of the stairs.

The look in his eyes was something you hadn’t seen before, something entirely different from the reserved, hesitant Jean you had gotten so used to.

No, this Jean was someone else, a mix of want and desire and shame pooling in his pretty eyes, looking at you as though you were the prey he had finally cornered.

Before you know it, Jean is in your bedroom and your back is pressed against the door roughly as his lips stay on yours and refuse to pull away. His tongue is hot in your mouth, and his hands feel as though they’re burning your skin with the heat they are radiating, groping your ass and the soft skin of your back as he explores your body. All the things he’d wanted to do for these last few months, that he’d forced himself to repress, finally coming out.

You moan into Jean’s mouth at the sudden feel of his hands on your tits, grabbing blindly and pinching your nipple roughly and suddenly, causing the moan to turn into a loud squeal. Jean clasps his free hand over your mouth.

“Shh, now,” he begins, staring into your eyes and making your core heat up uncomfortably as you realize your little challenge was finally over. You feel the wetness between your legs growing, pussy throbbing just at seeing Jean be so dominant for once. “We don't want anyone to hear, do we?”

You shake your head quickly to answer his question, having completely forgotten about the multiple guests just a floor away. You expect Jean to pull away, to tell you that he’ll take care of you after they’re all gone, some other time, but he doesn’t.

He pulls his hand away and leads two fingers to your mouth, guiding them into your willing mouth, latching your lips around them and sucking while swirling your tongue, getting them wet as he wanted.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this? Huh? Since the day I met you, that’s how long. And you’re such a fucking tease all the time, you know how unbearable it's been?” Jean says in a deep voice, his eyes observing your mouth continuing its work. You moan around his fingers, wanting to speak but no words come out.

He pulls his fingers away and leads them straight to your throbbing pussy, running one up and down your slit teasingly as you hold back a loud moan.

“P-please, Jean, please do something, I- oh!” Jean shoves the two digits into your tight hole without any warning at all, causing your whole body to shake at the sudden fullness.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, you dirty slut? You wanted your big brother to get fed up and fuck you senseless, didn’t you? Say it,” he orders, fingers pumping in and out and his hand grazing your clit with every motion, causing you to moan as your body tenses. You can hardly process his words because of the pleasure you’re feeling, but his other hand finding your throat brings you back quickly.

“Say it. I won’t ask again.”

“Y-yes, Jean, I-I wanted big brother to fuck me, oh, yes-” You lose your thoughts again as his pace increases, making you squeal again before you clamp your mouth shut to make sure no one hears you. Your stomach is tensing and you know you’re so, so close, one more touch from Jean would have your orgasm washing over you like lightening spreading through your body, when he suddenly stops.

You gasp loudly at the sudden emptiness, feeling your orgasm dissipate as you buck up and clamp down against nothing at all. Jean’s fingers are in his mouth, tasting your wetness as you try to catch your breath and protest against the way he’s teasing you, but your pleas are met by deaf ears.

“Jean,” you moan desperately, clinging to his shoulders, “please, please, let me cum, please-”

“No. Filthy sluts that mess around with their big brother’s friends don’t get to cum,” he says gruffly, as you whine again and try to release yourself from his tight grip. It’s useless since he has you caged in, firm hands on your waist dragging you to the bed and throwing you on top of the soft covers.

“Please, I promise I’ll be a good girl,” you plead, using your sweetest voice and big. teary eyes to win Jean over, but it’s still useless.

“I said no,” he repeats, hovering over you and his hands finding their way to the bottom of your camisole. He pulls the skimpy top off of you quickly, revealing your tits. Your nipples harden at the sudden cool air, and Jean’s fingers find them once again, pinching and teasing as you moan into your pillow, desperately bucking your hips up for contact between your legs, to no avail. His hot mouth finds your nipple, flicking with his tongue as his hand plays with the other, before he pulls away quickly.

You whine again at the loss of stimulation, before you see Jean pulling down the band of his grey sweatpants and leaning back against the headboard.

“Prove to me that you deserve big brother’s cock,” he says, revealing his hard dick as it snaps against his stomach. “With your mouth. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You reposition yourself, ass in the air and head at Jean’s crotch as you stare at his pretty, pink cock with wide eyes. You’d expected him to be big, but not like this, though you don’t have time to dwell on it as he grips it firmly and taps the angry, pink tip against your lips.

You hang your tongue out, spit collecting and falling all over his length before you finally take as much as you can into your mouth, sucking and swirling as your hands move up and down the rest that you can’t take.

“Just like that-” Jean begins before breaking into a loud moan. You pop him out of your mouth and keep stroking with your hands as you whisper for him to shush.

“What happened to being quiet, and everyone downstairs will hear, and-” You’re interrupted as Jean grips his cock and shoves it back into your mouth, gagging suddenly at the unexpected movement.

Jean stares at your obedient mouth, following his instructions without any sign of the brat he was so used to. As you cup his balls in your hand, he feels them tighten and knows he’s not gonna last much longer like this. He guides your head away from his cock, admiring the drool and spit on your face and the glassy eyes he’s longed to see.

“Jean, I wanna-”

“I don’t care what you want, sweetheart,” he says, a false sweetness in his voice that’s making you feel dizzy. “You’re gonna ride me now, you got that?”

Jean’s hands are firmly set on your hips, positioning you just as he wants as you hover above his leaking cock. You grind down quickly, desperate for friction on your throbbing clit, before Jean stops your motions with the tight grip he has on you. “Are you gonna make me repeat myself?” he questions, in a tone that makes you positive that you don't want to make him angry. You shake your head immediately, taking his dick in your hand and lining it up with your wet hole, before slowly sinking down.

“Oh, god-!” you let out, before clasping a hand over your mouth. You had never felt quite so full before, the stretching burn making heat course through your whole body, as you bottom out and clench hard. “Come on, baby, you know how long you’ve been begging for this? Don’t get shy on me now,” Jean says, and you regain your senses slowly. You start moving, up and down, just like he wants and speeding up as you feel your cunt gush against Jean.

You’re sure to be making a mess, but you can hardly care when your brain feels so cloudy and distracted at how good Jean feels inside you, and you start the grinding movement again. Jean entertains you for a minute, before grabbing your hips even tighter, nearly at a bruising grip now, and snapping his own hips to thrust into you.

You’re blabbering now, utterly senseless as Jean fucks you mercilessly. You know you’re being loud, but you just don’t care, not when Jean is hitting that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars before you know it, your hands on his shoulders and holding on for life.

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum all over your brother’s big cock?” Jean teases, feeling you clench down harder and knowing he won’t be able to hold on much longer either. “Yes, yes, yes! Jean! Oh, Jean-” you finally feel the tight coil in your stomach snap, unaware of your own movements and surroundings as you focus on the pleasure Jean’s giving you. You yell out, cumming so intensely and shaking on top of Jean, twitching once more when you hear Jean groan and feel hot ropes of cum inside you.

Your throat feels dry and scratchy, heart pounding as you come down from your high. You feel Jean’s grip, much softer now, lead you off of his cock and lay you next to him on the bed. It’s a mess, and you don’t know how you’ll clean up with everyone downstairs and surely they’ve noticed you’re both still gone-but you still don’t care.

All you care about is the sound of Jean’s heart beat from your position on his chest, and the way his hands feel on your skin as he holds you close to his warm body.

“So,” he starts off quietly, “was it how you’ve been imagining it all this time?” You’re not looking at him, but you know he’s smiling.

“Mmh,” you hum contentedly, “even better.” You feel his body rumble with a laugh, and his hand reaches to cup your face and lean into you for a kiss. Just as your lips meet, you hear a sharp knock at the door.

“Might wanna hurry up, you two,” Eren calls out from the other side of the door. “The others are getting suspicious.”

#anyways.. step bro jean <3 #jean kirstein #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein imagine #attack on titan #jean kirschtein #jean kirschtein smut #jean kirschtein imagine #tw stepcest #aot imagine #aot x reader #aot smut

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writertitan · 3 years

Text

Sunsets

pairing: levi x f!reader (she/her pronouns used)

word count: 3.3k

themes: a little angsty at first but trust the process, fluffy ending, canonverse, levi is nervous

requested by anon

The first time you felt something was amiss was when you caught Levi scrambling to hide something in his desk drawer as you walked into his office.

“What’s that?” you asked, more out of slight curiosity than anything else, as you closed the door behind you.

“Nothing,” Levi responded curtly, and that was the end of it.

For a moment, you wondered about pressing it, mostly just to tease, but it was forgotten the moment Levi got up and walked towards you to hand you a cup of tea.

You stole a quick peck from him in the process, his sneaky little moment now completely wiped from your head, and you launched into a summary of your day with your squad.

Levi listened as attentively as he always did. As you spoke, the two of you ended up leaving his office to take a stroll outside, sipping your teas as you chatted.

It was no surprise that you ended up where you always did outside. A private spot - the one you’d dubbed your spot with Levi - in a quiet part of base, aware from prying eyes and the constant noise and running around.

You looked towards the sunset that bled across the wall and sighed in content, clutching your teacup close to your chest as you took in the sight. You could feel Levi’s eyes on you but you didn’t turn to him right away, choosing to admire the warm colors before the sky turned inky. Still, that didn’t stop you from being cheeky.

“What are you staring at?” you asked with a small smile tugging at your lips. Finally, your gaze flickered to Levi, catching his silvery eyes.

He grunted a noncommittal response and looked towards the sunset as well, but you saw the faint pink dusting his ears. It made you smile wider, and you hid it behind your teacup before taking one last sip of tea.

“We should go back inside soon, it’s getting chilly,” you said, and Levi nodded once, his eyes on you yet again when he noticed that you were getting closer to him instead of heading back inside.

The evening was settling into a cool spring night, and you couldn’t help your desire to snuggle closer into Levi. There was no one around - you could hear the ruckus of dinnertime in the mess hall - which made it the perfect opportunity to find comfort in his sturdy, warm chest.

Over the years, you’d noticed that your more unexpected advances, like this one, made Levi tense up less and less. The very first time you’d gotten cuddly with him, even in the privacy of his room, he’d frozen up and couldn’t respond. An entirely different Levi from this current one, who easily looped an arm around your middle and nuzzled his nose into your hairline when you rested your head against his shoulder.

“Let’s go back in now,” he murmured against your forehead, and you hummed in both agreement and disagreement.

It was nice to be like this with him. It felt normal, weightless. You wanted to soak up in this moment forever.

When Levi pulled away, you whined a little and leaned towards him again, seeking his warmth, but you stopped when Levi set his cup down gently on the grass to shrug out of his jacket and drape it over your shoulders. His warmth and his scent enveloped your senses and you smiled shyly at him, using your free hand to tug his jacket closer around you.

He took your cup from you and then grabbed his cup from the grass, allowing you a few moments to snuggle up in his jacket and stick your arms through the sleeves. The two of you were settled in a comfortable silence as you walked back inside, straight towards your shared room.

On the way back you passed by Levi’s office, door still ajar, and Levi asked you to stop so he could finish up a few things and lock it up for the night.

“Mind taking these back to the kitchen?” he asked you as he gently handed you the empty teacups.

“Don’t mind at all, I’ll just meet you in our room,” you said, turning back around to leave.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder before closing the door behind you, and stopped when you saw him briefly peek into the same drawer he’d been so sneaky about earlier, the memory popping back up in your brain.

Whatever he was hiding, he didn’t take it out, and you didn’t wait around to see if he would. It was probably nothing.

By the time you got to your shared room, Levi was already there, and the memory was almost to the back of your mind again, to be completely forgotten the moment his lips touched yours. It wasn’t until you were drifting off to sleep, Levi’s hand stroking along your spine, that your mind conjured it up again in a dream.

----

The second time you felt something was up was when Hange and Levi shut up the moment you stepped into the room.

Hushed whispers cut off short the moment you walked in, and it was a little irritating. Whatever urgent matter you’d needed Levi for was wiped from your head for the moment, replaced with unease.

“What?” you pressed, eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Levi said, a little too quickly for your liking, and you gave him a frown.

“Then what were you talking about?”

“Can’t tell you yet,” Hange piped up, which in turn made Levi glare at them.

You pressed your lips together, trying to decide if it was worth asking for more information, but before you could make up your mind, Hange jumped up from their chair and gave you a bright smile, glasses flashing in the afternoon light streaming through the window of their lab.

“Well, I’m off! Got lots of things to tend to this afternoon. See you for supper?” They didn’t want for an answer as they hurried past you, leaving you alone with a very on edge Levi.

You hadn’t seen him this tensed up since you’d first gotten together. It was startling.

It was scary.

“Levi…,” you began, but couldn’t find the words. Finally, you decided on, “Is everything okay?”

He softened at your question, which had come out quiet and clearly laced with worry, and in no time he was in front of you and smoothing some hair from your face.

“Stop worrying so much,” he answered; his eyes were sincere and calming, and your heartbeat slowly went back to normal when he let you lean into his touch.

You didn’t dawdle too much and eventually you pulled away from him, giving him a stern look when you remembered what you’d come to find him for.

“One of the cadets tracked in...horse shit. And he doesn’t know how to clean it up. Honestly, he’s just spreading it around even more. We need you,” you explained, just about gagging even at the very recent memory of the poor boy trying his best to clean before his captain could find out.

Levi’s eyes had widened the moment you’d mentioned anything about horse dung being anywhere other than in the stables, and then darkened as he processed the situation at hand.

“This batch has got to be the worst we’ve ever had,” he muttered, referring to your newest recruits. “I think I’m gonna be fucking sick. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t until you both heard Hange’s bloodcurdling scream that you sprung into action. Because for Hange of all people to get worked up about a mess, it had to be bad. And Levi knew that better than anyone.

He had never left you behind as fast as he did right then.

---

Though the sneakiness persisted over the next couple of weeks, what you couldn’t let go of was the way Levi was slowly tensing up again.

What had you done? Had you done something that had set him off and made him uncomfortable?

Every time you tried to broach the subject with him, Levi was quick to change the subject. Then, for a while, he’d be sort of back to normal with you. He’d sneak a few affectionate touches in private, he’d take an evening stroll outside only for you to end up at your favorite spot, and then you’d feel your worries slip away.

Only for those same worries to come crashing back when he’d tense up again.

The final straw was after training, when you’d walked into his office to give him some paperwork, and had caught him pacing back and forth. He looked stressed out and it made your heart hurt for him.

Apparently, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear you come in. As he turned his head towards the window, back to you, you walked over to place a hand on his shoulder, ready to comfort him.

The way he cringed away made you stumble back as if you’d been slapped. The pain of rejection spread from your heart to your entire body as Levi whipped around to face you, grey eyes filled with surprise when he saw it was you.

And then you just couldn’t help it. The tears that filled your eyes couldn’t be stopped, and Levi looked horrified at the sight.

“I’m sorry-” he started, but you interrupted him with a whispered, “Stop.”

It was then that the most horrible thought came to you, a thought that suddenly made the most sense.

“Do you not want to be with me anymore?” you asked him, voice cracking at the end.

The sneakiness, the tension he radiated, it all pointed to one thing: He was done with you. That had to be it. Just the idea of it made your heart simultaneously sink and beat hard in denial. Your body was just as tense as Levi’s.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, maybe Levi had decided that a relationship really was too hard. Maybe you’d forced him to be too open. Maybe he was uncomfortable with you. It had taken a long time for him to come out of his shell and truly open up to you, but maybe he regretted it.

Levi, for the first time ever since you’d known him, looked dumbfounded.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, but your heart sank at that.

Answering a question with another question. A telltale sign that he was avoiding the answer.

“All of your sneaking around, Levi! You’ve been acting so different lately and I guess I get it now,” you said, voice still wobbly as the tears threatened to fall.

Realization dawned on Levi’s face then, but you didn’t wait around for whatever he was about to say. You’d thought that maybe Levi had just needed some space before. Now it was you who needed space. If he was going to call things off, you needed a bit more time to prepare yourself.

You left despite Levi calling out for you, tears finally trickling down your cheeks as you desperately tried to hurry off and find somewhere to calm down.

You pushed yourself into the first supply closet you could find and locked it after you, settling down in the darkness as you wiped at your continuously falling tears.

Maybe you were jumping to conclusions, but something was just different about Levi lately. And to have him tense up like that, when he hadn’t done so in such a long time...it hurt more than anything else. Even the thought of him not being in your life sent shots of panic through you.

But you couldn’t face him just yet. You’d have to sort it out soon with him, whether you were right or not, but the fear and insecurity ate away at you in that supply closet.

One thing stood out though, as your tears subsided.

Levi would never intentionally hurt you. He wanted you to be safe, to feel safe, like you made him feel safe.

And, the most important thing you had to remember, was that you loved him. And you weren’t willing to throw it all away without doing all you could to repair whatever needed fixing.

You had to be brave. You owed it to Levi to be brave, even if you were about to hear something you didn’t want to hear.

So, after a deep breath, you dusted yourself off and slowly left the closet, quiet and a little anxious as you headed back to his office.

Your footsteps were the only sound as you made your way down the hall. Nobody was around and, as you got closer to Levi’s office, you couldn’t hear him inside.

Peeking your head in, your suspicions were confirmed when you were met with an empty space. You quietly shut the door behind you and looked around, as if Levi would randomly appear.

The silence was uncomfortable. Though much of your time spent alone with Levi was in silence, it was comfortable and perfect, and made you feel as if you could continue on that way forever. But just you here in his office with Levi nowhere in sight, with only silence to accompany you, made you feel cold.

You sat at his desk and sighed, rubbing at your face for a moment before leaning back in his chair and contemplating what to do next. Should you just wait for him here?

But when your eyes flickered to the desk drawer that had started the first bouts of unease in you, your mind blanked.

It was unlike you to invade Levi’s privacy. And truly, whatever he’d pushed into that drawer must have been taken out by now, right?

But you were acting so unlike you today.

Part of you felt bad to be opening up the drawer to peek inside, but the other part of you just needed to know, and needed to find answers.

There were a few documents in there that looked standard, but the folded up piece of parchment at the back caught your attention immediately.

You carefully pulled it out and shut the drawer, heart thumping as you unfolded it to look at the contents.

Ring?

At morning? At night? at sunset, our spot

Write a speech

Memorize the speech?

Or maybe just ask her Too aggressive. Say something romantic first asshole

Ask Hange for help on what to say even if it makes you want to die

Be confident

Would she even want to marry you?

Be confident

Where at first your heart had been pounding, it had suddenly skipped a few beats when you realized what you were reading.

Levi’s normally neat and beautiful handwriting was more erratic here, with ink blotting through and so many things scratched out.

But even so, your eyes fell back to the word you couldn’t believe you were reading.

Marry.

He wanted to marry you?

And he was actually questioning if you’d want to marry him?

All of your previous worries suddenly seemed so stupid. You felt so stupid. You’d jumped to conclusions, and your conclusion had been the complete opposite of what was going on.

And now you had to find Levi.

---

The best part about being with Levi for so long was gradually figuring out his thought process. And you knew, judging from how you’d taken off earlier, that Levi would try to think like you and run off to find you in the places where you’d most likely go to calm down and seek comfort.

Definitely not a supply closet.

Your feet guided you outside and you felt like you were on autopilot as you strolled the grounds, slowly making your way to yours and Levi’s spot.

When the sight of him came into view, him sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall of the building, your heart fluttered and you breathed out in relief.

He whipped his head in your direction once your footsteps could be heard coming towards him, and the conflicted expression on his face melted away at the sight of you. But at the sight of his little secret clutched in one of your hands, his eyes widened and a faint blush spread over his face. He got up quickly, hesitating for a moment before stepping towards you.

“I’m sorry for going through your things-” you started, but were cut off by Levi pulling you into a tight embrace.

“I do want to be with you,” he whispered in your ear, pulling away after a moment to look at your face with the most gentle gaze. He briefly nodded toward the parchment in your hand, looking even a little shy as he met your eyes again. “I want to be with you for as long as I’m allowed to be. But I was so busy being nervous about asking you that I didn’t realize I was acting like an asshole. I’m sorry. You deserve bett-”

Your lips were on his before he could finish.

Levi had the annoying habit of thinking you were too good for him. But now, it looked like you could spend the rest of your life proving to him that he was exactly what you deserved.

When you pulled away, you beamed at him, tears sprouting in your eyes again. This time, of pure happiness.

You turned to look at the slowly disappearing sunset and laughed a little; it was just how Levi had tried to plan it.

Still, he looked flustered as he pulled you closer.

“This wasn’t exactly how I wanted it to go, I don’t even have a ring yet,” he whispered, but you shook your head and cupped his face, pressing your forehead to his.

You just wanted to hear the words.

“This is perfect,” you assured him, and it really was. He could have asked you at any moment, ever, and you would have thought it was perfect. “Just ask me. I just want you to ask me.”

Levi cleared his throat awkwardly, which made you giggle, but it died down when his thumb danced over your jaw sweetly, and you felt his words ghost over your lips when he finally spoke.

“Will you marry me?”

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi fanfiction #levi fluff #levi fic #levi ackerman oneshot #levi one shot #levi ackerman #levi #aot oneshots #aot fanfiction #aot #snk fanfiction #snk

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saintshigaraki · 4 years

Text

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt:

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart.

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that.

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face.

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer.

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose.

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction.

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression.

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library.

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down.

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him.

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day.

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it.

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side.

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.”

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes.

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.”

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously.

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold.

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally.

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold.

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about.

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front.

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place.

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache.

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye.

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank.

He’s so stupidly pretty.

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes.

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life.

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why.

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his.

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours.

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue.

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air.

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him.

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now.

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even.

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss.

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq!!#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #hq #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima imagine #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #tsukishima scenarios #you think thats enough tags lmaoooo #vicwrites #vicwriteshq

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hongism · 4 years

Text

a little jealousy - c. san 18+

day 14 of kinktober: jealous sex - choi san warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, fingering, jealous sex, sir kink, dirty talk, creampie, fwb au, a lil bit of ~possessive san~ aka that fic where 'yeah we aren't anything but i'm still jealous' wc: 1.8k genre: pwp, smut, 18+

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset!” You exclaim as you bring your arms up to your chest. It’s a defensive mechanism, yes, and San can clearly see that because he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. Which isn’t fair, first of all, but it’s also infuriating because the look he gives you through the reflection of the bathroom mirror is a knowing one. You wish you could smack it off his face but you don’t have the willpower to do that.

San doesn’t respond, although it’s not like he could even if he wanted to thanks to the toothbrush hanging between his lips. He simply stares back at you, one hand resting on the edge of the sink with the other moving the toothbrush over his teeth. His expression is eerily calm, as though he wasn’t just snapping at you minutes ago.

To put it in perspective, you and San share a unique relationship. That is, you are friends with benefits, emphasis on the benefits part. You are nothing exclusive and mutually decided that it was best just to call it what it is without having any strings attached in the process, which is why you fail to understand the issue in what he’s upset about.

You just got back from a small dinner date. Nothing important or dramatic – it was a shitty date, to say the least – and yet, San was furious when you stepped through the door. One because you had to ignore his first call thanks to the date, and two because of the date itself.

“We aren’t going on another date anyway. And I’m still coming home to you, so what’s the big deal in all this?” You continue your tirade, eager to get all your frustration off your chest before San can respond. He arches a brow at you through the mirror then leans over the sink to spit the toothpaste out. You’re still seething, and knowing San’s temper, he is as well. He’s merely doing a better job at concealing it than you are.

“Because–” San starts, pausing to rinse his mouth out with water “–you didn’t tell me about said date.” He stands up straight again, and now his eyes are practically blazing as he looks at you through the reflection. “That’s the issue.”

“Why do I have to tell you about it? We aren’t dating, San. All we do is fuck around for stress relief, no?” The words are bitter on your tongue, and if you dared to be honest with yourself, you would admit that it isn’t truly what you want. The choice between dating someone else or San would be easy. You don’t want anyone else other than him, but you aren’t even sure that the feeling is mutual.

“We agreed to at least tell each other about any possible dates though,” San argues. “Did we not?”

You realize too little too late that he is, in fact, correct about that matter. But you can’t lie and say that it slipped your mind entirely because you did think about it when he tried calling you during the date. It sparked something ugly in you too: the desire to push your limits as much as possible and see how much bending San could take before he breaks. In short, you wanted to make him jealous, if only to see whether he would show the emotion.

“I asked you a question, princess,” San hums. You glance up at him with wide eyes, finding him standing directly in front of you now. He brings an index finger to your chin and slowly pushes you until you look him in the eye. “Did we not make said agreement?”

“W-We did but–”

“But? But what, baby girl? Did you not ignore my phone call on purpose?”

“I didn’t!”

“You said you were in the bathroom. Why could you not answer then? You weren’t with your date in the bathroom, were you?”

San is seeing through the guise of your plan with far too much ease.

“I… wasn’t, no.”

“So why didn’t you answer the phone?” San edges closer to your face, hot breath wafting over your cheeks, and you subconsciously move further into the touch. “Because you wanted to make me jealous?”

Bingo.

You inhale sharply and try to keep your expression as level and normal as possible so that he doesn’t see through you. It’s too late at this point, but you’re still clinging to the hope that he doesn’t read you that well. San hums and tilts his head from side to side a few times. Then, his touch leaves your face and he steps around you. You think he’s about to leave you there until you see him standing just past your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. He nudges you forward with one finger, and despite his touch being as light as a feather, you hurry to move the way he wants you to. He doesn’t relent until your abdomen hits the edge of the bathroom counter. Then the finger on your back becomes the palm of his hand, and San bends you over the chilled granite.

“Did you want me to think of someone else bending you over like this?” San slips his hands down to your hips. “Touching you and undressing you with their eyes?”

You bite back a whine, teeth sinking deep into your lower lip to hold the sound back. San lets his touch travel lower and lower, snagging the band of your skirt and tugging it over your ass with little resistance. You shiver as more skin is exposed to the cool air. San hums his approval at your reaction. His movements don’t stop until the skirt is down to your ankles, and you don’t wait for him to tell you to step out of it.

“I bet you wanted to make me think that your date was undressing you like this, making you needy and wanton after only a handful of touches.” San brings two fingers over your folds, letting them dig your underwear further against your skin. There’s already a bit of wetness there, something you’re almost ashamed of because it betrays your plan and feelings without you wanting it to. “Hm, looks like I was right.”

“S-San, please,” you whine without shame this time.

“So you did want me to get jealous then, baby girl? And once I did get jealous, you couldn’t resist the taste. Just wanted more and more of it, so you drove the knife further in?”

“San,” you gasp, hips jerking as his fingers slip past your underwear. He leaves a dragging touch on your wet folds and wastes no time in pushing his index finger into your tight hole. He shifts it in you, letting you buck back onto his hand. It’s a desperate attempt to get off, and it is practically impossible to get any pleasure from the action. “Please, please put another finger in!”

“Is that really what you deserve though, princess?” San chides after clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re lucky that I’m in a giving mood today. All I want is to show you who you belong to.” He catches the band of your underwear and tugs it down to join your skirt on the floor. Then he returns to your fluttering hole and buries two fingers deep inside you. The stretch has you moaning for more, but San doesn’t give you anything more than that yet. He focuses on stretching you open with those two fingers, scissoring them over and over. He effectively avoids your g-spot with each pump of his fingers though. You know why he’s doing it – it’s payback for making him jealous – but that doesn’t keep you from wanting more.

“P-Please fuck me. San, I need you. I need you so badly, please.”

“Well, princess, you’ve got me jealous now. Are you satisfied?”

“San, I need – fuck, I need more,” you beg when he withdraws his finger from your folds.

“Of course you do. You’re such a needy little slut for me, are you not?” San drops a hand to your ass. The sound of skin slapping skin resounds, and you whine at the sensation.

“I-I am, yes.”

“Yes what?” San coos as he leans over your body. You hear the clink of his belt buckle then the sound of his pants falling to the ground.

“Yes, sir!”

“There’s a good baby girl,” San praises. You glance up at him, eyeing the reflection through the mirror. He smirks down at you with a brow arched cockily as he moves closer to your exposed backside. His cock presses between your drenched folds, and he’s quick to find your hole. He eases into you slowly, letting you get used to the larger stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest for you. A moan slips past your lips when he bottoms out, the head of his cock penetrating deep inside you.

“You feel so good, sir,” you whine. San huffs a laugh through his nose then reaches down to keep your cheek pressed hard to the granite counter.

“Did you want me to imagine someone else doing this to you? How far did your little game go?” San’s hips rock against your ass, and you can only manage a desperate moan at the sensation of his cock rolling in and out of you. The angle has you seeing stars in mere seconds; something you love about sex with San is the way he knows how to push all your buttons with such little effort. “I don’t think I could hold back if someone else fucked you like this.”

“God, y-yes, I want – shit!” Your thought is cut short quite quickly when San pistons his cock into your tight heat at a faster pace.

“So good for me, princess,” San coos. “Bet you could cum just like this.”

“I’m – I’m gonna, oh god, I’m gonna cum,” you stammer through gasps. San’s pace is brutal but delicious, hitting your sweet spot over and over without relent. Your mind devolves into a jumbled mess of pleasure. Within seconds, the stars in your eyes turn to a hazy fog, and you orgasm with a start, back arching and walls squeezing tight around San’s member. He fucks you through the orgasm. It doesn’t give you even a second to breathe, and the overstimulation of his tip rubbing over your walls causes your moans to become broken whines.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good and tight for me. Gonna – ha, gonna cum in you.” San throws his head back, and a deep groan leaves his lips before he stills inside you. His dick twitches a handful of times, then warmth spreads through your core. He spills hot cum into your heat, filling you to the brim with his seed. It’s all intentional and purposeful on his part, an effort to push that possessive nature a bit further and show you who you truly belong to. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I need to make you jealous more often,” you exhales once you catch your breath.

“I’m not sure you could handle that, baby girl.”

...

a/n: im sorry this is rushed asfoijogijiodfg also hi @ppersonna please don’t read this iTS SO BAD

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muertawrites · 4 years

Text

The Dark of the Moon (Zuko x Reader)

Summary: Late night insomnia turns into a conversation about love, and Zuko makes an interesting discovery about his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: You can thank Avatar being on Netflix and rekindling my childhood obsession for this one. I wrote this mostly as a dialogue / pacing exercise, but it’s also a bit therapeutic since I can actually relate to Zuko more than I realized or could have ever foreseen watching this show as a ten year old. Enjoy a little emotional romantic fantasy on behalf of a preteen crush and all the toxic friends I’ve ever had. ✌

~ Muerta

Zuko usually slept with you. It started one late night during a mutual bout of insomnia, in which you ran into him as you both wandered the halls of the Western Air Temple. You hardly knew him, but he sat with you and talked about everything that night - anything that wasn’t related to the war or either of your pasts that had been torn apart by it. He surprised you with his dry, even-toned sense of humor, as well as with his intelligence in not only combat but literature and philosophy as well; being a healer and a fortune teller by trade, you found a lot to talk about with him.

As the nights awake became more common, you and Zuko spent more of them together; sometimes you’d wait until you happened upon him in the halls, others one of you would designate a place to meet. Eventually, one of you would go directly to the other’s room and you’d sit, sharing whatever light or heavy thoughts happened to plague your minds. You learned a lot about him in those nights, and grew to feel proud of how far he’d come in such a short time - you often helped others, those much older than yourselves, over months to scale the internal struggles he had, and he’d managed to do so on his own. The more you gave to him, the more he gave back, and it soon became commonplace to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing as he lay in his sleeping bag on the other end of your room.

And that’s exactly what woke you up - the strange, still energy of your bedroom that indicated his resting place was empty. You rolled over, unable to spy his silhouette under the moonlit windowsill, and you rose, your feet carrying you to where you were certain he would be.

It was a gorgeous night, with a gentle breeze ruffling the crisp air. You found Zuko in the courtyard, gazing out over the fog veiled landscape under the swell of the full moon. Without a word, you sat beside him, watching the clouds roll by like ships on a silent ocean. His chest churned in turmoil, so intensely you could feel it in your own.

“Apparently, I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you said. “How selfish of you to have problems that keep you up at night.”

Zuko huffed out a soft chuckle, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. He leaned back onto his palms, craning his neck backward and allowing the wind to tousle his ash-black hair.

“You didn’t need to come out here,” he told you gently. “It’s not your job to help me fix myself.”

“It never has been,” you replied. “I’ve never fixed anyone. All I ever do is listen and recite a few proverbs; everyone comes to their own conclusions in the end.”

“That’s not true,” Zuko retorted. “I’ve seen you heal. You can do things not even Katara can do, just with whatever happens to be growing nearby. It’s incredible.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Physical healing and emotional healing are two super different things,” you told him. “Emotional wounds can only really be healed by the people who have them. I mean, unless you want me to crack open your chest and poke around at your heart for a little while.”

Zuko chuckled again, the tenseness of his muscles easing up just slightly. He opened his palm and spawned a softly glowing flame, both of you watching it flicker in the cool night air.

“I wish I’d been born a water bender,” he mused. “Something that would do good for others. All fire does is destroy.”

You were silent for a moment, watching the thoughts swirl, tormented, behind his eyes. You thought of all the times you’d seen him smile, how his happiness made his handsome features all the more radiant and caused your stomach to bubble with joy. The memory shot a spike through your chest.

“... You know, we only ever see one part of the moon,” you commented, breaking the quiet. “Everything behind that - the dark side - we don’t really consider, even though it’s always there and is as much a part of the moon as the side that’s in front of us.”

Zuko smirked at you, distinguishing the flame in his hand.

“Reciting a proverb at me?” he teased.

You grinned.

“This one’s more like a metaphor,” you admitted cheekily. “That tea I make, the one that tastes awful but makes pain completely disappear?”

Zuko nodded.

“I need fire to make it,” you continued. “I have to roast the ingredients over an open flame before boiling them. Without fire, I couldn’t do most of my healing; it would be too painful without the tea to help.”

Zuko said nothing, but you could sense your words sinking into the cracks in his troubled thinking.

“Fire is heat and light,” you added. “It’s just as important to life as water or earth or air. Every element is capable of destruction or creation - there isn’t a single one that’s inherently good or bad. The person that controls them is the only one who determines that.”

There was another long pause, in which you busied yourself noting the different wild plants growing between the stones that paved the courtyard. You listed the different medicines you could make with each, the process calming you.

“I’ve done some pretty shitty things to people I care about in order to embrace my goodness,” Zuko finally spat. The bitterness in his tone stung you. You turned to him, and for a split second you caught a familiar, rageful glimmer in his eye; the sight made your own temper flare.

“Zuko, don’t do that to yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t just your father who hurt you and you know that.”

“I know,” he snapped, cutting off the end of your words. “I still care about her, though. I don’t even know if she really ever cared about me, but I still… I still miss her.”

Your ribs seemed to cave in, crushing your heart and lungs. He’d told you about Mai many times, and all you ever saw was that the darkness in her drew out the darkness in him; it even hung over you, clouding out the comfort you felt with Zuko and replacing it with unease and doubt. You feared there was no place in his heart for you - not while Mai still remained in it, no matter how badly her memory made him bleed.

“It’s hard,” you choked out. “I still miss some of the people who hurt me, too.”

That was all you could manage to say. You pulled your knees to your chest, half-burying your face in the fabric of your night dress as you forced the tears welling in the corners of your eyes not to flow.

This is what you get, you scolded yourself. This is what you get for feeling things for people you know could never feel the same about you.

A sensation of warmth curling around your shoulders made you jolt. Instinctively, you inched away, glancing in Zuko’s direction as he retracted the arm that had draped around you. You expected him to look away, but he didn’t - his pale amber eyes instead locked with yours.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You hold your head so high… I forget sometimes that you’re trying to heal, too.”

His words caused your tears to spill, though you didn’t cry; your face remained stony, and no sobs shook you. Your tears fell as easily as water from a cliff’s edge, impeded by nothing but the will of gravity.

“... The cards you lent me,” Zuko said after a pause, almost blurting the words. “I’ve been reading them, to help me let go of everything I left behind. I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

A few weeks ago, you’d given him a deck of cards you used for fortune telling. Each card depicted a different object, element, or scene, and were laid out in combinations that gave insight into a person’s spiritual path. You liked them more than other forms of fortune telling, as it encouraged its readers to make their own assumptions and drive their own fates instead of having it simply told to them. You gave your deck to Zuko so he could reflect on something finite, instead of getting consumed by his own thoughts. It was exactly what you used them for, and you knew they would help.

“Why?” you asked softly.

“I drew a card that didn’t make sense,” he told you. “I laid down the Tides, then the Crossed Blades, and then… I pulled the Badger Mole. The other two I understand - one is for movement and change, the other is for strength in allies, but I… can’t figure out what the Badger Mole is supposed to mean.”

“Badger moles are strong, powerful,” you explained, speaking dispassionately from memory, “but they’re gentle. The card represents the duality of both. They mate for life, too, so it also represents love and companionship.”

As you spoke, you felt a meteor crash between you and Zuko. His face fell, dumbfounded, as he looked at you, his eyes darting minutely back and forth as you watched the pieces mend together in his head.

“What do you feel?” you whispered, part of you terrified of his answer.

“... I feel like I’m fighting the tide,” Zuko replied, his tone awestruck. “It’s pushing me to shore, but I keep trying to swim back out to sea.”

The corners of your lips curled upwards slightly, your cheeks still sticky with tears.

“It’s really scary, huh?” you said. “Loving another person.”

“Yeah... especially when you’ve never known what it feels like before,” Zuko added softly.

You reached out, tentatively resting your palm against his cheek. His hand rose to close over yours, the sensation trembling you to your core.

“How many times have you pulled the Badger Mole?” you asked.

“Every time,” Zuko breathed. “I’m so stupid for not realizing. You make me feel wild and calm all at once. I get this crushing feeling in my chest when I see you or even think of you, and I thought it was just fear or sadness. But… you don’t make me want to lash out like I used to, with my father and Azula and Mai… just the thought of you makes me want to be the best person I can be. Even though I know you already accept me for not being that person.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, somewhat defeatedly, your knees falling away from your chest and crossing in front of you. Your body was heavy, but your head felt light.

“I love you, Zuko,” you murmured. “But I’m afraid.”

Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his eyes closing as he steadied his erratic breathing.

“If you’re scared, I’ll protect you,” he said quietly. “That’s what I think lovers are supposed to do.”

The word made every organ in your body jump to your throat. Lovers. Your limbs felt weak, but your heart felt strong with Zuko holding you.

Without thinking, you took his face in your hands and kissed him. It wasn’t hard and passionate like you expected, but firm, gentle, his lips pressing to yours like two palms grasped in an assuring embrace. He lay one of his large, able hands on the back of your neck, his thumb tenderly stroking your skin.

When you finally broke apart, Zuko gazed at you with a soft, forlorn expression. His fingers reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I talk about her so much,” he said. “It must kill you.”

You shook your head, a soft smile forming on your lips, still red from where Zuko had kissed them.

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him. “I know some people from my past you’d happily drive a knife into.”

Zuko chuckled, the light, airy smile you saw when he was truly happy spreading to each of his cheeks. The spike that drove itself through your heart when you thought of it earlier was gone, replaced by the sweet warmth of a low flame on a cold night. With him, you were safe.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Zuko suggested, taking your arm to help you stand.

His hand slipped easily into yours, your fingers twining together. He leaned forward and kissed you again, his lips only grazing yours, causing your skin to buzz with the sensation.

“... Do you think we’ll have to talk to Aang about this?” you asked as you walked back to your room.

Zuko raised an eyebrow at you, confused.

“He is your great-grandfather,” you elaborated with jest. “I should probably do the chivalrous thing and ask for his blessing or something.”

Zuko laughed, nudging you with his shoulder so that you stumbled over your feet. You shoved him back, to which he took you by the waist and wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing your cheek.

“He probably won’t care,” he replied. “But my uncle will love you.”

#muerta's works #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko fanfic #prince zuko fanfic #atla fanfic #avatar fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #lmao when you don't know how to end a fic

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

Text

Title: first meetings [ii. the small pink-haired boy] Genre: just angst, drama, romance, historical fiction Pairing: Sorcerer!Sukuna x gn!sorcerer!reader (heian era; pre-curse sukuna)

Synopsis: in which you befriend the slave boy you’re supposed to spy on.

Warnings: not canon stuff, future dark themes,, smoll manga spoilers, slavery, whipping, mentions of rape, language and violence Notes: im kinda back i guess skksks also these are pretty much random au’s of my own take of sukuna’s back story uwu, theyre arranged in no particular order and you can read them in any order. This started out as a random one shot and i couldnt get it out of my head lol ksksksks, def not canon btw but it is canon that sukuna used to be an all powerful sorcerer before he turned to the dark side or smthng.

lil dictionary: non-person- usually what they called slaves during the heian era.

masterlist [for other parts] ;; taglist

“That’s beautiful.”

Contrasting to your rather clean and prestigious appearance, the young boy was dressed in rags and had dirt painted on his face. You could tell by his uncommon red eyes that he didn’t want you here nor did he even want to be associated with you.

“...the boy is rather prideful.” your otosan recounted a few nights before, you’d usually have conversations like this since you were quite close with him and he did like to confide you with these things,“but he has spirit, he’d be good for a ward.”

“What are you doing here?” He spat, being a part of and the sole heir of your family meant you were also treated with dignity and respect, it seemed like this boy wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, this made you grin wildly much to his disdain, “Oi, stop grinning like that. You’re creeping me the fuck out.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Has anyone told you that you’ve got quite the temper?”

“Well, has anyone told you that you’re being an annoying bitch?” he bit back, five minutes into your first meeting, this strange boy seemed to want to get furthest away from you. He seemed to be rather ignorant to his overflowing cursed energy, your father was right, this boy was definitely no joke.

“That’s sad.” You pouted, “All I wanted to say was how beautiful that Kimono is.”

“I was at a store, looking for some clothes that best suited you when I saw a young boy of your age…” your otosan narrated, “Who had a rather high cursed energy, he seemed unaware with it. He works as an errand boy, I believe, he carries heavy clothes and silk… His looks are hard to miss Y/N, so I’m sure you won’t miss him...try to talk to him…”

The boy looks up to you, completely annoyed, “Well, you said it. Now fuck off, yeah?”

You chose to ignore him and just bend down to his level, you had no training for today so you might as well join the boy for a moment since you had time to kill, “You know, if you keep keeping that attitude up, you might scare the customers away.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah?” he clicked his tongue, “Looks to me that you aren’t even here to buy anything.”

“He seemed rather…” Your otosan described, “perplexed...so you might as well go in my stead…”

“Ah.” your grin doesn’t seem to fade despite his rather rough way of speaking, “You just seemed around my age so I got interested.”

“No shit, now buzz off. I got no time for kids like you.”

He talks as if he was older than you, it’s no surprise. Boys like him tend to think they know quite a lot.

“Do you wish to tell me your name now?”

He was silent for a moment.

That’s when realization dawned upon you, why he seemed perplexed around your otosan, why he thinks you were an annoying buzz, and why he couldn’t reply when you asked for his name. You feel yourself inwardly cringe at your mistake, it seems like the boy your father took interest in is a slave with no name, “Twenty.” he mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly.

“What?”

“They call me twenty.” he recounts, his voice is still rough around the edges, remaining uncensored by his identity.

“Right…” you tilt your head, “Twenty…”

“You’ve got silks to bring to the next town, boy!” a loud voice calls out, cutting you short, making the pink-haired boy put the pretty kimono down and back for display. Without even sparing you a glance or a word, he retreats to the back and you’re left squatting there alone. You watch him from behind, specifically at the bandages that peeked through his wrists.

The boy had piqued your interest to the point that you made it your weekly agenda to visit him and a-some-nights agenda to watch over him. He still ignores you and seems to be annoyed by you every time but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it so you just sit there.

You were also still in awe by how much raw energy he possessed, you’d ask your otosan if he knew any sorcerers with lost children because it surely seemed as if this boy wasn’t ordinary.

“Just keep an eye on him,” was all your father said as you watch the boy close up shop late at night from on top of a roof, “He might make a great sorcerer and shift the tides.”

Your otosan was not one for gambling on people but it seemed like he made a large bet on this boy.

As usual, you’re watching over him close up. It’s late and the owner of the place walks out, a pipe on his lips. Right then and there, he slaps the pink-haired teenager right at the face, “You should’ve joined the customer awhile ago in the dressing room, boy.” he growls, “It would’ve been quick…”

You feel the negative energy emit stronger than ever and your grip on your knife is tight, “Don’t get involved, Y/N.” your otosan’s warning echoes in your head, yes your otosan may have been interested in him but he was never one to dwell in human affairs, saying they were annoying and a mess to clean up.

“...It seems like the lesson a few nights ago wasn’t enough.” you snap back to reality and watch his boss stretch out a whip with its pointy ends and you feel your blood run cold.

‘Don’t get involved-’

You ignore your otosan’s words in your head and throw a stone right at a nearby sign, resulting in a booming clang, making the cat nearby yelp outloud. The pink-haired boy jumps on the spot and so does the older man at the sound.

“Ah fucking-” the older man curses, tucking the whip back in, “No food for you for three days. Know your fucking worth, non-person.”

Your grip on your nodachi lessens as you let out a sigh of relief, whatever legal terms your father must be talking about needs to be done quickly.

On the next day, you’re on your way to visit him again. Carrying the bento box that you know he’ll refuse again because of his ‘pride’ yet you stop dead on your tracks when you find his owner and an older man talking, Sukuna seems to be standing behind them, looking quite uncomfortable.

It didn’t take two and two to guess what was going on, the amount of cursed energy leaking on him was strong so you could only guess this was the man who wanted to get his way on him yesterday. Your nose crinkles in absolute disgust, “Don’t get involved-”

Once again, you ignore your otosan’s words.

“Hey!” You call out, you see his red eyes widen, “What are you doing?”

The older man frowns at your sudden appearance, “None of your business brat. Now go home-”

“I said,” You repeated, your voice dangerously low, “What are you doing to him?”

“He’s a non-person, kid.” his ‘owner’ growls, you notice his hands dangerously close to his whip, “A fucking slave in simpler terms, now get the fuck out before I beat him and you.”

“You don’t scare me.” Your eyes are narrowed, truthfully, no one ever scares you. You were the heir of your clan. It was to be expected and drilled since your curse energy manifested when you were five that fear would come last, “Now unhand the boy.”

“This bitch-”

“Now, now.” The other man smiles, cutting the pink-haired boy’s ‘owner’ off, “Maybe I can take that young child with me too. After all, they seem to be good friends. Two is better than one…”

You watch the other older man snake an arm on the young boy’s shoulder and you could feel the fear leaking out, it was harder to mask and hide now.

“Is it alright to put a little scar on’em? So that they’d know-” He gets ready to take out the whip while your fists are clenched, this would be easy. You could get away with this later, at least you’d take the boy away from this place and help him control his energy after.

Yet before you’re able to land a blow, the pink-haired boy yells at you to move as his ‘owner’ takes out a whip to whip you.

For someone who didn’t seem to like your presence, he was rather quick to defend you, having his face get hit in the process by the sharp whip. Your eyes widen in surprise, “Ah, shit… Y/N, run!” he yells but you’re staring at his very bloody face.

It would obviously leave marks like the wrists and who knows which parts since he was always covered by that very loose raggedy kimono.

You clench your fists tightly and look up from his blood features, the ‘owner’ stops on his tracks when he meets your very cold gaze, “Do you know who you just messed with?” you asked, “You really think I won’t tell my otosan that you planned to make me your prostitute?”

“Y-Y/N, jesus christ just fucking run-” he tried to stutter out, any evidence of the prideful and strong boy who tried to shoo you away was now gone.

Yet like the stubborn child you are, you ignore him and instead take out your family seal and drop it in front of them, ignoring the pink-haired boy’s plea’s and watching the two men in front of you turn white as a ghost as they see the nameplate, “My name is Ryomen Y/N.” You stated, voice loud and clear, “And you better hope that I’ll let you out here dead or me and my otosan will hunt you down for the rest of your life.”

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slippinmickeys · 3 years

Note

Head Canon AU Mulder and Scully as Archeologist and Scientist at a dig in ruins in the Amazon.

Anon! Thank you so much. I saw this this morning and got that rare inspiration wherein I launched myself at this, and kind of love what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it! (It is unbeta-ed)

1. The University was being cheap. That was the first thing. Piggybacking off the hard work he’d put in: years worth of toil to arrange this meticulously set-up dig. If they wanted to send a team to study advanced medical uses of the vast biome of the Amazon rainforest, they’d do far better sending this approaching medical team into the interior. His team -- his dig -- was practically on the outskirts. The forest around them had already been explored and researched, catalogued and referenced. The real biological finds -- the cures for Alzheimer’s, cancer -- would be found in the unknown, in those places even the aboriginal people hadn’t stepped. The University was being cheap, plunking in a science team on a completely separate mission with his own, just to save some cash. That was the bottom line.

If it hadn’t been so oppressively hot so early in the morning, he might not have been quite so irritated. As it was, he stood on the bank of the river and ran an already sweat-soaked handkerchief over the back of his neck, willing the putting little outboard Evinrude to chug a little more quickly upstream. It was hot and stiflingly humid, and he’d wanted to be at the dig two hours ago, before the heat of the day set in. Too late, that.

The incoming medical team -- if you could call it a team -- seemed to consist of only one person. A short-statured wisp of a woman (if the high, top-knotted messy red bun was any indication of sex) who sat low in the backseat of the approaching riverboat, surrounded by expensive-looking boxes filled with technology that probably wouldn’t operate well in the humidity. He blew an irritated raspberry and shuffled his feet in the muddy squelch of the riverbank.

The stout block of the driver hefted a rope at Mulder as they approached, which Mulder caught easily and wrapped around a nearby tree.

“Tudo vai bem?” Mulder inquired as the man cut the engine and grunted an affirmative.

The passenger stood, keeping a hand on the side of the little tin vessel, its stern fishtailing out into the current. Mulder stepped up and held out a hand, which she grasped gratefully. He pulled and she took a confident leap, landing lightly on the ground next to him.

“Dr. Mulder, I presume?” she said on a light breath, looking up at him with a small smile, having to crane her neck to do so. She had astonishingly blue eyes, a color he’d only seen once, in an ice-cave in the far north. He shook his head after a moment and realized that he was still holding her hand. He dropped it, nodding.

“I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you,” she finished, quoting the journals of Henry Morton Stanley.

Mulder outright laughed. He was smitten immediately.

2. “Be careful with that!” she’d barked, as Langly handed out her equipment to a couple of waiting locals that had been working on the project for three years.

Mulder held up a calming hand.

“You’re working with archeologists, Dr. Scully,” he said softly, “my team has the gentlest hands in the Southern Hemisphere.”

She quirked one side of a grin at him even as she threw a worried look over her shoulder at her equipment.

“Come on,” he said, giving her sleeve a gentle tug, “let me show you around.”

He showed her the latrine first, watching her face carefully for a reaction, but she just nodded nonchalantly and kept walking. Then the mess, and the tent where she’d be working when she wasn’t in the field.

“And this,” he said, taking her to an empty patch of jungle, “is where your bunk will be. My apologies that it’s not set up. There’s no female barracks and we were told you wouldn’t be here until next week. The radio communique we got this morning informing us of your arrival came as something of a surprise.”

“I’m eager to get started,” was all she said in response.

Mulder walked on and she followed him.

“I’m afraid the only empty cot is in my tent,” he said sheepishly. “Dr. Byers headed home for a funeral last month and we’re not expecting him back until March. I’ll be sure yours is set up right away, but takes some time as we have to build a platform first. Have you done jungle field work before?”

“I flew here from Borneo,” she said. “It’s not a problem.” With that, she flipped back the tent’s outer curtain and ducked inside like she owned the place.

She never did move out.

3. Scully’s father had been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer and hadn’t lived long enough to see her graduate from medical school. She would not let it happen to anyone else if she could help it, she’d said. She worked like a woman possessed.

Against all advice, she would march into the jungle alone and be gone for days at a time. When her grad students finally arrived, they couldn’t keep up with her, and she’d frequently leave them at base camp to work on the equipment (which, Mulder was not really that pleased to report, did have a tendency to malfunction in the miasmic humidity and heat of the Amazon basin. It wasn’t, he admitted, that easy always being right). Occasionally she could be talked into taking one of the local hires with her, but she felt bad taking workers that Mulder’s project funding paid for, and anyway, they weren’t trained in her science, she would tell him.

“I wish you wouldn’t go out on your own,” he murmured into the cup of her ear one night, a trickle of sweat running from her hairline and onto the tip of his nose.

She turned on the cot, a feat, considering its fairly narrow dimensions, and pressed her forehead against his, the flimsy pillow damp beneath them both.

“I’m careful,” she whispered, and threw a leg over him, her dewy mons pressing into the naked flesh of his thigh.

“It’s not safe-” he began to protest, but she’d captured his lips with her own and he fell headlong into the lush heat of her -- whatever concern that had been on the tip of his tongue lost to her rapacious mouth as it trailed a slick path down his torso and latched, vitae and greedy, around the rigid length of him. It was bliss. She was bliss. If he had ever thought he knew love, he was wrong.

4. The whole camp knew they were together. Her tent had become a kind of catchall storage area, and it’s not like nylon canvas could contain the breathy moans of their pleasure. That and she’d just plunk down and sit on his lap whenever the only camp chair available around the mess tent was the one with the tricky leg.

Anyway, what happened in the field stayed in the field, unless it was up for peer review.

“Are you guys going to get married or something?” Mulder’s newest grad student asked one night when the air had actually cooled enough to take the edge off of everybody’s temper. Beer had arrived with their latest resupply and Frohike had syphoned off some LN2 to cool it and it was frosty and rich and maybe the best thing Mulder had ever tasted aside from Scully’s skin.

Scully, from atop his lap, merely shrugged and took a leisurely sip of brew. Mulder pictured it sliding down her throat, the cold blooming into her belly and he dry swallowed, then leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

“God, don’t be such a newb,” drawled Langly, pressing his glasses into his face compulsively.

Mulder knew what Langly meant. They’d all seen their share of field romances that fizzled the second your boots stepped back onto University soil, though something about Scully felt different; the way their minds worked together, the way she felt in his arms.

“I’m married to the job, bro,” Scully said, but reached back and squeezed the skin just above Mulder’s hip. He kissed her shoulder again.

“D’you tell her about the helo data?” Frohike asked, looking at Mulder from his own camp chair. The little man sat low and back in it with his shoulders hunched up, and Mulder thought he looked a bit like a toad, or an ogre guarding a burial mound.

They’d gotten the funding from a billionaire alumni to fly a helicopter over the whole of the basin in this sector of the Amazon, using light detection radar. Basically, it shot out billions of lasers as it flew overhead that were able to penetrate the rainforest’s canopy and map the landscape below.

“You had a chance to analyze it?” Scully asked, craning her head to look at him squarely.

He nodded, smiling. He’d been saving this to tell her especially.

“And you were able to combine it with the satellite data?” she asked, excited.

He nodded again. “Sóis,” he said, smiling. The settlements they’d found took their name from the Portuguese word for ‘suns.’ They were round villages, all with remarkably similar layouts, with elongated mounds circling a central plaza. When seen from above, they looked like the rays of the sun. “Pre-Columbian.”

She jumped off his lap, spilling half her beer in the process. It dripped down the bare skin of her knee, unnoticed.

“Are you kidding?!” her excitement made him giddy.

“It gets better,” he said, and she cocked her head, waiting for him to elaborate. “They’re laid out like the cosmos,” he said, giving her a full-watt smile as he rose out of the chair to stand in front of her. “We’re already plotted three different villages, all laid out in the exact design of southern constellations.” Her mouth dropped open. “Canis Major, Hydra, and Crux Australis.”

She launched herself into his arms, practically squealing -- something he’d never heard her do -- and he held her, looking around at the smiling faces of the other scientists in the mess. The find would make his career, and her excitement for him touched him profoundly.

5. Martim, one of their local hires, came careening into camp, breathing so hard he had to put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His face was a mask of anxiety and fear. Mulder felt dread bloom in his gut, and he dropped what he was doing -- actually dropped the computer tablet he was holding to the wet forest floor -- and ran over to the man, grasping him firmly by the shoulder.

“Martim?” he said, “O que aconteceu?”

“Dr. Scully,” the man heaved, his accent thick. He could still scarcely breathe.

“Where is she?” Mulder didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to translate from English. “What happened?”

“Hurt,” the man wheezed, “she’s hurt.”

It took nearly thirty minutes to assemble a rescue party, and they had to let Martim rest for a bit and give him food and water before he could take them back out into the jungle where he’d left Scully. Mulder was beside himself by the time they finally started off, impatient as a recalcitrant child, sick to his stomach with worry.

It took three hours to hack into the area where she’d been doing her search, and a further twenty minutes of calling her name before they heard her weak call back.

Mulder raced ahead without thought to obstacle or danger, and skidded to a halt when he was practically on top of her. She was leaning back against the base of a large tree, holding onto her right ankle, which she had elevated on her left knee. There was a length of rope beside her and a climbing harness around her butt and waist.

“Scully,” he panted, falling to his knees beside her.

She smiled at him weakly, her face pale and sweaty.

“I think it’s broken,” she hissed, pointing at her ankle.

“What happened?” Mulder asked, as the rest of the rescue party trundled in behind him, pulling off backpacks and other equipment. Someone handed Scully a bottle of water.

“I saw a fungus I’d never seen before growing on the bark midway up this tree,” she said after guzzling half a bottle of Arrowhead. “The carabiner failed on my descent.”

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder said, reaching out to tuck a damp lock of titian hair behind her ear.

“I got the sample, though,” she said with a tired, but victorious glint in her eye.

They weren’t back into camp until well after nightfall.

Mulder picked her up from the field stretcher and carried her into their tent, depositing her gently onto her cot. Langly came in behind him and handed him two fresh cold packs before ducking back out without a word. Mulder popped them to activate the chemicals and pressed them gingerly on either side of Scully’s ankle.

“I’m going to call for a medical evac,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, grabbing at his hand and squeezing it. “Mulder, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Scully, we’ve got to follow protocol here,” he said, trying not to sound put out.

“Do not take me out of the field, Mulder. Promise me.”

“Scully-”

“Promise me!”

“How will you even work?” he said a little desperately.

“It doesn’t need setting or surgery,” she said, gesturing to her injured limb.

“How do you know that without an X-ray?”

“I’m a medical doctor,” she said, by way of explanation, “I can secure it with supplies we have on hand. I can work from my cot for a few days and make crutches out of tree limbs. Please, Mulder,” she said, and he could feel himself relenting, even if it would get him in trouble. “Please.”

He sighed, and she smiled up at him weakly, though he didn’t say a thing.

“Thank you,” and closed her eyes, relaxing into her pillow, “thank you.”

Six weeks later the canvas of their tent ripped back and the greenish glow of leaf-filtered sunlight shone into the murky, damp depths. Mulder rose from where he was resting on his cot and looked to the entrance. Scully stood there, armpit resting on her improvised crutch, her hair a rich autumn frizz around her head. Her eyes were wide and shining, and there was something incandescent about her in that moment -- an energy pulsing from her that lit his soul from within.

“Scully-” he started, but she held up a hand to silence him. Her hands were shaking.

“I found it,” she said, her voice breathy with the triumph of discovery, “Mulder, I found it.”

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sofwrites · 3 years

Text

Each other's biggest ally

Polin Week Day 1: Favorite Quote

“No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper...

Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He'd have to be really, truly—no, profoundly —upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.” - Romancing Mister Bridgerton, pg. 64

The one where Colin profoundly cared and had no choice but to lose his temper.

Type: One-shot, angst, sentimentalism, protective/mywife!Colin, protectective/myhusband!Penelope

Length: 3.3k

Read on ao3! Or continue under the cut

In the late months of the year 1825, Penelope Featherington Bridgerton published her debut novel titled The Wallflower. And in the early months of the year 1826, she relished in the praise of her work and suffered in the consequences of her now-public identity.

The response to her book was generally positive. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, the members of the ton were eager to uncover the scathing details surrounding Mrs. Bridgerton’s former pen name. They devoured the secrets hidden between the lines of the pages- forming their own conclusions and theories of what was fact and what was fiction.

It seemed that after many years of Penelope appearing to be invisible, the gravity of her voice was finally truly understood.

But as in all life, there were complications as well.

One gentleman in particular was quick to make his discontent known, and it was all due to just one short excerpt.

Although Beatrice did not befriend even half of the ton, she had made the acquaintance of nearly everyone at one point. And though they never realized, she scrutinized them almost as much as they disregarded her.

Even with her close examinations, she generally liked the people she met. There were bores, many in fact, as well as those with whom conversation could rarely be carried, but most were reasonably pleasant. There were exceptions, however, as there always are. One such exception was as follows:

It is an earlier season for Beatrice, one still full of wonder and disillusioned hope. She looks at the dancefloor with wistfulness in her eyes, dreaming, praying that her prince charming will notice her from across the room and ask her to take his arm.

He does not, of course. His mind is still focused fully on the small group that surrounds him, drawn to him like a shining star amongst the thinly veiled candlelight. Although the music is certainly too loud and the conversations too many, our heroine can perfectly hear his laughter through the crowded ballroom. She can hear it because she knows it better than she knows her own.

Later that evening, he’ll ask her to dance. He’ll remember her minuscule presence in his life, likely prodded by a sharp finger to his spine and a voice carrying a gentle reminder. And even though she knows why he will do so, knows that it is due to a kind sense of duty rather than true desire, she will cherish it all the same.

Right now, however, Beatrice remains at the edge of the dancefloor, her silent woes interrupted by the familiar voice of her mother.

“Beatrice, dear, this is Mr. Wetherden. Mr. Wetherden, I present to you my daughter, Beatrice Harpenton.”

Another bachelor, this one ranking second-tier rather than third. Her mother seems to have given her more credit this evening, Beatrice thinks as she looks at the familiar face.

The introduction is an unnecessary formality, of course, as are many of their rules; they were made acquaintances during her first season. Nonetheless, society calls for her to curtsy and give a gracious smile, and she obliges.

At the same time, he assesses her similarly to how he did so a few years before. And she sees it immediately, the dismissal that passes over his eyes even before he fully bends into his low bow.

Her mother leaves them to it- the stifled conversation in an even more stifling ballroom. The unfortunate girl in the canary-colored dress stands on the sidelines, trapped in conversation with yet another uninterested bachelor who is just as much forced upon her as she is on him.

He speaks endlessly, unquestionably more for his benefit than hers. He spends fourteen minutes explaining the difference between rugby and football. She suppresses three yawns and is interrupted twenty-six times throughout the topic, clearly expected to be an audience member rather than a participant.

At this time, she thinks this is Mr. Wetherden’s worst offense. Later on, when she is years older, Beatrice discovers that she was sorely mistaken in her youth. That without the cautionary lights of London (albeit often cloudy and forgiving), he is much worse.

She later on learns about his propensity to unwilling women. To frightened young housemaids who are often not given the options that women of a higher class are granted.

Our heroine also finds out later exactly how commonplace such a tendency is. And with it, her vision of social seasons- the one with balls and picnics and musicales- begins to splinter.

Penelope hadn’t named him, of course. She hadn’t named anyone directly.

She couldn’t publish a memoir, not really. Even though she was related to a fine variation of important characters in society, she couldn’t put such a strain on her family, and particularly not on her husband. Her husband, her lovely, amazing husband who supported her through the entire process even despite the fact that so much of their own private history was laid out in the pages of her novel. Penelope had written the truth, which hadn’t been entirely pretty. But Colin had agreed with her that the truth was more important than sheltering their secrets.

But even though she couldn’t publish a direct recounting of her life and experiences with the ton, she’d been unwilling to just hide behind fabricated stories.

Penelope’s telling of that night at the ball wasn’t completely factual. She did not know how many times Phillip Cavender interrupted her during their conversation, nor whether or not Colin had even been present that evening. But the details of the matter weren’t as important to her as shedding light on the entire situation.

She’d been young and naive during her first few seasons, believing that a few nasty comments and looks were really the worst of what society had to offer. Later on, she’d found out that she had been wrong, and that there was much worse than she’d ever known. And when her sister-in-law, Sophie, had recounted the night she and Benedict had met (well, met again), Penelope knew that she had to shed light on the matter. She had to make it clear what happened outside of the fancy dresses and giggling parties.

But as mentioned, such decisions did not come without their objections.

“Thank God, they’re leaving.”

The words came from just a few feet behind them, full of indignancy and bitterness. The couple had been walking together, arm-in-arm, towards the door, quite eager to return home for the evening.

They’d been attending an intimate house party at the request of the gentleman’s mother. She’d been unable to make her attendance that evening and had asked that her son and his wife go in her stead. They hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect, but they’d agreed for her.

The party itself hadn’t been bad. The food was good, the music was pleasant, and almost everyone in attendance had offered the woman praise for her work. Though they hadn’t exactly been excited to attend, the evening hadn’t been at all poor.

That was, until they’d been nearing the exit and heard the troublesome remark behind them.

Colin glanced down at his wife, who grimaced, her nose scrunching as her eyes closed. They’d been met with a number of sneers and snide comments in the last few weeks, but they never became easier to hear.

With a small sigh, he turned them both around, looking directly at the man holding a glass of port too large and wearing a lip too curled.

Colin gave him a smile, the familiar one he used whenever he was looking at something that both irritated and mildly amused him. “Didn’t see you there, Cavender. So nice of you to offer us a sendoff.”

The opposing man’s mouth turned downwards, a stark contrast to the grin still on Colin’s face. Penelope swallowed, quickly cutting in. “We really must be getting home.”

With a pointed look directed towards her husband, she began pulling him back towards the door. Though Penelope would have loved to see Phillip Cavender get put into his place, she knew far better than to spar with a man holding a petty vendetta.

But before they’d even fully turned around, there was a mocking bark of laughter, followed by a slight slurring of words. “You do everything she tells you then? Follow her around like a lapdog?”

This time, Colin’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the same half-smile still imprinted on his lips. Penelope felt an uncomfortable heat rising up her neck as she reluctantly turned from the door again.

“If it means getting to share my life with this incredible woman,” Colin sent her a small wink before shrugging, “Then, by all means, call me a lapdog.”

There was some tittering around them by the small audience they’d attracted. With a quick glance, Penelope could see the angry lurch in Cavender’s throat, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers as they tightened around his glass.

Please, just let it go. Let us just leave and go home.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“I know what lies she’s spread about me.”

“Oh?” Colin’s face took on a thoughtful expression, one that might have been convincing in any other circumstance. “I don’t recall ever hearing my wife mentioning you.”

Cavender’s glare deepened. “In that bloody book of hers.”

Penelope cringed inwardly as she felt the twitch of Colin’s hand in hers. Her eyes darted around the room as an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed her. The ballroom was small and the guests were bored, and a public row was certainly enough to draw a crowd- one that was full of prying eyes and listening ears.

Colin’s face remained the picture of serenity even though Penelope could sense the angry heat rising from him. It was something she could feel in him that others always missed, a secret fire that he did so well in masking.

Looking at the other man, Colin let out a sigh, one that was forcibly tired, as though he were speaking down to an overly emotional child. “I can assure you that all the characters in my wife’s novel were fabricated. And if you saw yourself in one of the less attractive personages, then I’d venture to say that such is simply a reflection of your own self-image.”

The whispers around them grew, and Cavender sputtered for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the easy taunt. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he hardened once more.

A man with a petty vendetta did not often allow himself to be diverted.

His eyes flickered to Penelope before they returned to Colin and he sneered. “You realize that she’s made you out to be an ass, don’t you? You can act high and mighty, Bridgerton, but the wife you so proudly boast has fashioned you into the biggest fool in all of London.”

It was at this jab that Penelope frowned, feeling her own prickle of anger. And for the first time in the nasty exchange, she turned directly to their shared foe, a hard, determined look set on her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Cavender, but I must ask that you don’t speak to my husband that way.”

She could almost see his eyes flash in fury as they set themselves on her. But before he could give the biting retort that was no doubt resting on his tongue-

“And I’d suggest that you consult a dictionary to properly understand the concept of fiction.” Colin’s tone was relaxed, just a sprinkle of mocking mixed into it. But Penelope could feel the tension in him, the protective edge that mirrored her own.

Cavender’s gaze shifted back to Colin, his rage appearing a bit more controlled as they listened to the snickering that surrounded them. Slowly, his mouth thinned into a tight line, and he took a step closer to the couple. By instinct, Colin angled himself in front of Penelope as her grip on his hand tightened.

He was just a few feet away from them when he finally spoke, a voice so low that it was barely audible over the murmurs. “And I’d recommend that you consider taking yourself and that bitch of a wife,” his eyes darted to Penelope for a moment, “out of town.”

And it was this comment that wiped the smile completely off of Colin’s face, along with any attempt of levity.

It was as if a chill had passed over, one that was both icy and burning at the same time. He stiffened like a board, a wave of unmistakable anger coming over him. And when his words came, they were low and even, colder than anyone had ever thought possible from Colin Bridgerton.

“You would do well to avoid threatening my family, Cavender.”

Though there was a slight tinge of red on his face, Phillip Cavender did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward. “And why is that, Bridgerton?”

Penelope could see the muscles in Colin’s jaw moving from where she was angled, could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. She’d seen him angry before, furious even, but this was different. This was so much more.

She wasn’t frightened, not by Colin nor by the man standing across from them. Fright was not why she wanted this to stop.

She didn’t want her husband’s anger to be made into a form of entertainment at a party. For him to have to serve the role of gallant protector whenever she upset someone. So, she attempted to silently will him to calm down, running a featherlight thumb across the surface of his hand.

But Colin wanted to finish what they’d started and instead let go of her and took his own step forward, almost shielding her completely.

“I think we all know that I have more than enough relatives to run you out of town,” he said, eyes locked on Cavender.

There was a flash of worry that crossed his face, but it was quickly forced away by a snort. “Is that meant to scare me? The threat of a duke and a viscount?”

Colin didn’t falter. Instead, his head tilted as he considered the man, considered the shaking fingers and the smell of alcohol on his breath. He’d never been a violent man by nature, even having grown up with two older brothers. He preferred words when he fought, and they almost always gave him his victories. He wasn’t opposed to physical repercussions, but he knew that a private gathering was not the place or time.

He looked Cavender directly in the eyes, speaking in a low, clear voice. “I will ensure that you are ruined, that is a promise.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, “And if that is not enough, be rest assured that we will do worse. My only qualm in doing it myself is that my brother would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help.”

There was a silence in the room that followed as Cavender glowered at him. His eyes darkened in fury as his face reddened, trying to figure out how far Colin could really go.

But there was something in Colin’s threat that didn’t allow for any consideration that he might have been exaggerating. Perhaps it was the definitive and resolute tone in his voice, or the strength behind his gaze, or the tight set of his jaw.

Or perhaps it was because Colin Bridgerton wasn’t the type to quicken to anger. Wasn’t the type to have a temper or even hint at unpleasantry.

Whatever it was, it made Cavender finally break eye contact and step back. He turned away, taking another large swig of port.

Colin could hear the pounding in his ears as he looked at the pathetic man, anger still coursing through him. But then he felt a warm hand lace through his, and the red glare of the world began melting away. Penelope was whispering something, her voice calm and soothing. He squeezed her hand in understanding but kept his gaze on Cavender.

There was a familiar casualness when Colin spoke this time, but it was threaded with venom. “Do not forget what I’ve said.”

And with that, he turned to his wife and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” Penelope nodded to the remainder of the crowd, who finally had the decency to look away.

A few minutes later, when they were finally in a carriage returning to their home, Penelope sighed. With her eyes glued to her skirts, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Colin.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in a deep inhale of breath.

He’d been scared after the reveal of her identity, terrified even. There were evenings where he’d lie awake in bed and imagine all of the awful things that could happen to the person who was his entire world. And though they never spoke of such worries aloud, he knew that she was just as aware as he was.

Italy had been like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long. There, no one cared or knew, and the only threat they faced was the harsh sun.

And then Penelope was pregnant, and a new light was added to his life, one that shifted his fears elsewhere.

Then they became a family of three, and Colin was thrilled. He still worried, of course, but his joy outweighed everything else.

Old wounds had been reopened in the recent weeks, that was for certain. But it did not mean that he blamed Penelope for them.

So, Colin pulled her into his side and tucked her head under his chin. “You have nothing to apologize for. We both agreed that you did the right thing.”

For a few moments, she said nothing, just listened to the sound of his heartbeat and the wheels on cobblestones. And though he couldn’t see her, Colin could sense in the silence that she was crying. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief.

Penelope dabbed at her eyes a few times before leaning back to look at him. “I didn’t want to force you into this position.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin. “I watch you every day with nothing but awe, Penelope. I love you, I’m proud of you. And I will gladly stand by you through anything.”

Her eyes moved slowly as they crossed his face, searching for any hesitance. There was none, not even a hint of resistance.

Instead, there was so much love that it overwhelmed her, struck her with the same shock that it had years before. It was a love that mirrored her own, a fierce desire to protect and support another with as much reverence as one did for themself. It was one that never faltered even in the most difficult of times.

Her eyes were glossy when her hand reached up to meet his, and the smile on her lips was weak but true. “I love you so much. And I can’t believe that I’ve become so lucky in my life to have you by my side.”

And with that, they settled into their drive home, sharing whispered conversations and watery chuckles.

They still had a long road ahead of them, of that they were sure. But they knew that they would cross it together.

83 notes · View notes

mxdnightlvers · 3 years

Text

Late Nights- A Komahina Smut Oneshot

A/N: I'm not really active here but I thought I should at least post this.

The moon was at its highest, accompanied by a starry night. Hajime was working at his small desk in the corner of his shared room. The sound of paper and typing occasionally filling the silent room. Nagito was asleep but Hajime could not share the same peaceful position as him. He was busy all day and he ended up working late into the night, and even though Nagito protested and tried to get him to rest, Hajime was set on finishing his work tonight. Tiredness pulled at his mind in a battle between work and sleep, sleep becoming victorious as his head rested against the smooth desk surface. He allowed his mind to wander for a few seconds before he realized he was drifting off to sleep. He jolted awake, his hands rubbing his eyes in an attempt to refocus on his screen. The words became an incoherent mess on his screen and he was too tired to continue working.

The blue light was not easy on his eyes and the effects of his cup of coffee had worn off. He wasn't the type to be worn out like this but he wanted to finish any work he had, so he can rest as much as he wanted after. He let out another long sigh and rested his elbows on the desk and buried his eyes into his palms.

"Hinata-Kun?" A soft but recognizable voice called out to him.

Hajime raised his head and turned around, looking into the darkness of their room.

"Ah, did I wake you Nagito?" Hajime replied hoarsely, his exhaustion audible.

"No its fine Hinata-kun."

Nagito replied and the room fell silent. Hajime could barely see in the darkness but he could tell that Nagito was looking at him. His eyes adjusted and he could see Nagito's silhouette. He was sitting up, the blanket still covering his torso. His messy white hair was slightly visible. Hajime wanted to leave all his work behind and crawl into his boyfriend's arms and fall asleep but he was prevented from doing that. Hajime hadn't even realized that he's been staring at Nagito without saying anything.

"Hinata-Kun you've been staring at me for a while, are you okay?" Nagito spoke up, finally breaking the silence.

"Ah...I'm sorry I spaced out for a bit."

Hajime smiled and turned back around and continued to work. Nagito hadn't responded so Hajime thought that everything was fine. In truth, Nagito was simply worried for Hajime. Nagito could hear the exhaustion in his voice. When Hajime faced him, he could see his tired expression illuminated from the computer screen behind. Nagito was frustrated. He had suggested Hajime rest multiple times but he refused every time. Hajime had only gotten Nagito to step down after promising that he would not overdo it and Nagito trusted him. However, after seeing Hajime's state he knew that he had broken their promise. Nagito was trying to prevent this from happening and Hajime refused to listen to him.

"Hinata-Kun," Nagito called out.

"Yes? And we're alone, you can use my first name."

"Hajime...you promised you'd rest," Nagito replied sounding slightly annoyed.

Hajime sighed and turned around, "Look Nagito-," he paused, softening his tone, "I'm almost done, there are only a few more emails to sort out and I'll be free okay?"

Hajime would be lying if he said he sincerely made that promise earlier. He meant his promise and he really was close to finishing, but he mainly said it to make Nagito stop pestering him. Nagito had picked up on his frustrated mood and decided to leave him alone but he couldn't help and be worried for Hajime. After all, how could he not be worried? Hajime had accepted Nagito for all his flaws and imperfections even after everything they've been through. Someone as talented and hopeful as Hajime had chosen trash like him over everyone else. Maybe this was all Nagito's luck but he truly did care for Hajime.

The silence in the room broke with a small robotic noise coming from Nagito's hand and a quiet, "fine" from him. Content with his response, Hajime turned back around and resumed typing. Part of his fatigue faded away knowing that Nagito had let him finish up. With new determination, Hajime's focus on his work increased and he continued to type away. He was so focused, he did not even sense that Nagito had been standing behind him. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him and white fluffy hair tickling his skin as Nagito laid his chin in his neck. Hajime flinched but leaned back into his embrace, eyes still fixated on his screen.

"If I can't get you to rest, can I help you finish up at least?" Nagito whined, his voice sounding slightly needy.

Hajime did not mind at all, instead, he was relieved that he could finally feel the warmth of his lover. The back of his chair prevented them from being closer but it was enough for him to feel satisfied. He wrapped his left hand in Nagito's hair and his right hand took over typing. However, this moment was cut short when Hajime replied to Nagito's question.

"You're not gonna give up are you?" Hajime chuckled, amused but relieved at Nagito's persistence.

Nagito buried his head further into Hajime's neck, trying to hide his embarrassment even though his face wasn't visible to Hajime. He nodded with his eyes squeezed shut and Hajime unwrapped his hand from Nagito's hair.

"Then, can you get me a glass of water please?"

Hajime was quiet but Nagito heard him clearly. He pulled away and Hajime found himself regretting his decision at the loss of his touch. Hajime heard Nagito's footsteps fade out of their room and he resumed typing away. He hit send on the final email and that instantly brought his mood back up. He let out a long sigh, all his hard work finally coming to an end with a wave of relief and accomplishment. He smiled and leaned back into his chair. stretching out his hands. Hajime could only describe this feeling as if all his stress were being drained away, healing his body in the process. Hajime stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before readjusting his position and moving some papers onto his lap. All that was left to do was to sort these final documents into their piles and he'd be finished. The door creaked open and Nagito entered the room with a glass of water in his hand. Hajime spun his chair around, greeting Nagito with a smile, and held out his hand to hold the glass of water.

Only for Nagito to trip and spill the ice-cold water on Hajime's lap. If there were any trace of tiredness left in Hajime, it quickly disappeared as the feeling of cold water leaking through his pants shocked him awake. Hajime squeezed his thighs together and he shook any ice cubes off to ease the uncomfortable feeling. He moved the papers off his lap but that was quickly replaced with Nagito hands frantically trying to fix things.

"Ah, Hinata-Kun I'm so sorry! I'm so clumsy I'll dry you immediately!" Nagito panicked, dropping to his knees and, brushing a nearby napkin over Hajime's sweatpants.

Hajime didn't know which to be more worried about; his boyfriend panicking beneath him or the fact that Nagito hadn't realized where he was touching Hajime. In an attempt to stop Nagito's movements, Hajime placed his hands firmly on Nagito's shoulders. Nagito's hands paused abruptly and his head shot up, everything happening in a blur. Nagito was on his knees directly looking up at Hajime. His expression was taut, eyebrows raised, and his mouth slightly apart. And even though Hajime tried to stop Nagito's hands, his hands were stalled on Hajime's pants. The world seemed to pause for Hajime. With the expression of the boy below him, the placement of his hands, that kneeling position he was in, Hajime couldn't help but think lewd thoughts.

"God, Nagito why'd you have to be so..."

He temporarily broke eye contact to hide his red cheeks. He was supposed to be calming Nagito, and yet, Hajime was the flustered one. He felt a familiar tension in his pants and it became difficult to ignore by the second. Only a few seconds had passed but it felt like he was trying to hide his arousal for minutes. Hajime, suddenly aware of his actions, snapped his head back to stare at Nagito. He refocused his mind to the present, to calm Nagito, and to prevent the tent in his pants from growing. Hajime looked at him with an expression that was stern instead of annoyed, not daring to make his boyfriend feel like he made him mad.

"Hinata-Kun I'm-"

"It's fine Nagito." Hajime quickly cut off Nagito, trying to prevent him from blaming himself.

Hajime smiled softly at him as if he were saying a silent, "don't worry, it's not your fault." Nagito opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth and nodded instead.

"Hey..." Hajime mumbled, placing his hand on top of Nagito's own with new intentions.

"I'm basically finished with work so I'll rest now okay? I just need to change out of these clothes, since...." Hajime remarked, pointing to the stain on his pants.

"Ah," Nagito breathed out in relief, "Of course Hinata-Kun."

Nagito had begun to pull away from Hajime, but he tightened his grip and pulled him back down to his knees. Hajime moved their hands to their previous position as he had hoped that his intentions would catch on.

"H-Hinata-Kun?" Nagito replied, flustered and shocked.

"I didn't say to get up did I?"

"But-" Nagtio was once again cut off when Hajime directly moved his hand on top of his boxers.

Hajime breathed out, as he finally received the touch he so longed for. Nagito just watched in shock and curiosity. He let Hajime guide his hand as Hajime started to rub himself through his pants. It wasn't long before they were both hard, letting themselves go in the moment. Nagito started moving his hands in rhythm with Hajime, edging him to move his hands faster. Nagito was dazed, entranced by the movements of their hands. He couldn't look away, he didn't want to. He didn't want it to stop either. He was always lucky in the moments he could please Hajime. The brunette found amusement in Nagito's expression, gaining a weird sense of euphoria from the way he can please Nagito without doing much.

"Hah...I'm warming right up arent I?" Hajime breathed out as he no longer felt the uncomfortable cold on his thighs.

Nagito hummed beneath him, too dazed to properly reply. Nagito's hands started speeding up, eager to please his boyfriend more. Hajime started to lose control of his actions as his mind began to feel dizzy at the pleasure. The brunette's hands slowed down and the boy between his legs started to feel more confident. Nagito's free hand moved to caress the inside of Hajime's thigh, slowly inching up to his waistband. Hajime let Nagito take over, his hand now lazily resting on Nagito's. Both of the boys quickly became impatient, the need for skin-on-skin contact growing by the second. Nagito gave in and pulled Hajime's waistband down, the other boy wiggling his way out of his pants. They wasted no time and pulled his boxers down allowing Hajime's dick to spring free.

Nagito wrapped his hand around Hajime, slowly stroking him. He let out a low groan as if he was the one being pleasured. He dragged his index finger over the tip of his cock, spreading precum up and down. He leaned closer, flicking his tongue against the tip. Intoxicated by Hajime's taste, he moved his tongue in a circular motion, wanting to taste more. He pulled away, a string of saliva and precum connecting him to Hajime's cock. He took a moment to look up at Hajime, who was completely lost in the pleasure. His head was tilted back, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks tinted such a bright color of red. Hajime's mouth was slightly parted and he was breathing heavily with beads of sweat running down his face. Nagito had seen him in many ways, but the way he looked in this moment was the most amusing. The former Ultimate Hope was above him, but yet Nagito was in control, making him a mess.

"I've barely even touched you Hinata-Kun...and look at you, already a mess for someone like me," Nagito whispered, lazily jerking Hajime off.

"Hah...you're a mess too Nagito." He breathed out, opening his eyes.

"Maybe but," Nagito paused to lick up his cock, "You're more of a mess than me."

Hajime did not even have time to reply when Nagito reached into the empty cup and pulled out an ice cube. He jolted up when he felt the ice against the tip of his cock.

"A-Ah! Nagito what are you doing?"

Nagito only hummed in response, continuing to slowly drag the ice up and down his cock. He ignored Hajime's question as he writhed in pain and pleasure. Hajime was propped up on his hands, looking down at Nagito, not sure if his moans were from the pain or pleasure. Nagito kept slowly dragging the ice up and down with a sly grin, that showed anything but good intentions. Hajime may have seen it as Nagito teasing him but, he was actually testing to see how Hajime would react to the ice. He looked up at Hajime, mischief plastered over his face- the shy, insecure boy he was moments ago, completely disappearing.

"What does it look like I'm doing Hajime?" Nagito finally replied in such a velvety tone, saying Hajime's name in such a lustful manner that he left the ultimate hope speechless.

There was no need to say anything more and Nagito resumed his actions. He dragged the ice over the tip once more before placing it back into the cup. Hajime watched in anticipation as Nagito wrapped his lips around his cock. The warmth of his mouth instantly soothing the painful cold. He traced his tongue up and down the trails of water left by the ice cube. He then took Hajime in his mouth, slowly moving up and down his cock at first. Hajime wrapped his hands in his hair, trying his best not to force Nagito further down. Nagito looked up at him as he went deeper, his cock hitting the back of his throat. Hajime stopped trying to hold his moans back, not caring anymore. Nagito lifted his head and went back down on his cock, or so Hajime had hoped. The other boy pulled away from Hajime and reached into the cup once again. Hajime immediately realized what Nagito was planning to do, but his thoughts cut off when he felt the ice cube against his dick again. The ice burned sweetly against his cock and he was a whimpering mess.

"Hehe, what cute noises you're making Hajime." Nagito teased the submissive Hajime above him.

"Shut up Nagito and just-"

"Hm? Just what Hajime?" Nagito asked before a playful idea popped into his head.

"You have to tell me what you want or else how would I know?"

Nagito was a person you needed to be direct with but this was different. He was purposely avoiding Hajime's needs. Hajime wanted to keep some of his dignity, but Nagito wasn't going to budge if he didn't hear what he wanted to.

"Fuck you Nagito, you never change," Hajime said to himself, before obeying Nagito's order.

"J-Just suck my dick already," Hajime replied in one breath, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wasn't trying to hear himself.

"Ah! The former ultimate hope begging for my filthy tongue around him!" Nagito remarked as if he was the one being touched.

This would be a strange sight for anyone else. Someone like Hajime was melting in his chair. Nagito was holding a melting ice cube on his dick while he somehow praised and degraded himself at the same time. However, Hajime couldn't care less. The ice became painful and his position in his chair was not easy on his back. He was not going to let Nagito get sidetracked after losing his dignity like that.

"Arent you supposed to be doing something?" Hajime looked sternly down on Nagito as he made sure to get his point across.

Nagito paused and smiled at him before placing the ice cube in the cup. He leaned into Hajime's cock once more and pressed his lips against his shaft. He licked up his cock, a trail of saliva and water being left behind. He flicked his tongue against the tip before taking in Hajime's cock once more. He wasted no time and started bobbing his head up and down. His hair fell in front of his face, blocking Hajime from viewing him properly. He tied his hands in his hair, moving his bangs out of his face to see his boyfriend go all the way down on his cock. Nagito looked up at him, eyes watery and clouded with lust. He moved up to swirl his tongue around the tip and moved his hand to stroke his shaft.

However, his hand was still cold from holding the ice. Hajime let out a shocked moan in response as Nagito continued his actions. He dragged his tongue up and down while his hand massaged the places his tongue couldn't reach, all while keeping eye contact. The stimulation of hot and cold was quickly bringing Hajime to his climax. His cold hand running up and down his cock. His warm tongue over his tip and shaft. His needy boyfriend looking up at him so lustfully. Hajime was already close to his orgasm. He was a breathy, moaning mess, both of his hands now forcefully holding Nagito's hair in a ponytail. Nagito was palming himself through his boxers while he worked his tongue and hands faster to bring Hajime to his orgasm. It only took a few more flicks of Nagito's tongue before Hajime was forcing his head further onto his cock as he came. Hajime's hips twitched and jerked as Nagito tried to swallow all of his seed, some spilling anyways. Nagito pulled away from Hajime as soon as his grip loosened on his head. He looked up at Hajime who eyes were shut, still panting from his orgasm. Eventually, he came to his senses and looked down at a messy Nagito. His eyes were heavy with desire, his hair even messier than it normally was, and cum dripped down the corner of his lips. The sight was enough to bring Hajime to a full erection again.

Hajime opened his mouth to say something but he was still trying to steady his breathing. He bent down to place his palm on Nagito's cheek. He wiped the cum off Nagito with his thumb. His thumb lingered on his lips, cleaning feeling like a secondary concern. Nagito turned his head slightly to suck Hajime's thumb in, licking the cum off. The brunette froze for a second which allowed Nagito to push past his hand and sit on his lap.

"Ah- Nagito wait a sec," Hajime stuttered but Nagito didn't listen.

He tried to speak up again but his words turned into a moan when he felt Nagito's teeth against his neck. He felt slender hands grip his hair, pulling his head back to give Nagito better access to his neck. Nagito started rocking his hips back and forth while sloppily marking Hajime. Nagito was dominating Hajime and he was having a hard time protesting. Luckily, as more time passed, Nagito was slowly losing his dominance to pleasure. Instead of hungrily biting at Hajime's neck, he was now quietly whining. Hajime felt Nagito's hand loosen and took that opportunity. He gripped the other boy's hair and forcefully pulled him away from his body. Hajime thought that he was probably a little too rough but Nagito's expression said otherwise.

"H-Hinata-Kun?" Nagito yelped but he quickly realized his intentions, "I'm sorry I-"

"Be quiet."

Nagito froze in place. It was as if those two words sent Nagito into a deep subspace. He looked at Hajime with wide eyes of anticipation and obedience. Hajime smiled at himself, proud that he had control now, and that his shaky attempt worked. He regained his composure as the dominant and sat up straight. He loosened his grip on Nagito's hair, still holding him in place, but enough to make Nagito relax a bit. He pulled Nagito down for a kiss as his other hand slowly started guiding his hips back and forth. He wasted no time in picking up the pace, making Nagito rock back and forth at a comfortable speed.

Nagito ran his hands all over Hajime's chest, just wanting- no, needing to feel more of him. They pulled away for a second to take Hajime's shirt off but were instantly back in their previous position. In Hajime's eyes, Nagito was so adorable. He was grinding helplessly against him, face red and the cutest of whines. Hajime pulled away from the kiss to touch Nagito through his pants. He reached inside his boxers and pulled out his dick that was leaking with precum.

"A-Ah! Hinata-Kun!" Nagito whined as Hajime pressed his finger against the tip of his cock.

"Who's a mess for who now?" Hajime teased, leaning into Nagito.

Nagito just shook his head in response and Hajime shuffled his pants off him. He started jerking him off, somehow making Nagito even more flustered. Nagito fully melted into Hajime's touch and buried his head in his neck. He softly bit onto Hajime's shoulder, careful to not hurt him. Hajime bent his head down slightly to see his hands move swiftly along the other boy's cock. The two boys were quickly growing impatient. Not to mention, Nagito was still slowly grinding against Hajime. As much as Hajime loved to see Nagito like this, he pulled his hand away. Nagito whimpered at the loss of his touch but soon felt hands around his waist, picking him up. Hajime walked towards their bed and placed Nagito down.

Nagito said nothing and let Hajime be in control. Hajime positioned himself on top, brushing some of the hair out of Nagito face. His hand then fell to his shirt, tracing over the buttons before undoing them. He rubbed his hands over Nagito's bare chest before leaning down to place small kisses all over. He marked the delicate boy in every place his lips touched. Nagito's hands moved to play with Hajime's nipples, trying to pleasure him as well. Hajime continued his actions, biting and kissing him. He was taking his sweet time with Nagito, despite being impatient a few moments ago. He was appreciating his boyfriend through his actions- through his kisses. Nagito didn't mind at all. He loved receiving affection like this from Hajime, especially since he needed reassurance like this from time to time. However, this moment didn't last forever, as their dicks were still hard and they were still horny as ever.

"Hinata-Kun..," Nagito whispered and Hajime pulled away.

He looked at Hajime with pleading eyes and a small frown. Hajime had caught on and would've gladly given into his pleas but, he looked like he had more to say.

"What's wrong Nagito?" Hajime asked in an attempt to edge Nagito along.

The other boy paused for a second, before speaking up, "I...need you."

"....Inside me," He whined, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

Hajime paused for a second. Taken aback by Nagito's state.

"Fuck. Okay."

Hajime closed his jaw that had opened unknowingly before he immediately pulled away. As if he was possessed by lust, he reached into the nightstand and was back above Nagito. He had a bottle of lube and applied a generous amount on his hand. He pushed his finger in, feeling Nagito stretch around him. He slipped in another finger with ease, the heat, and moans of Nagito spurring him on to move his fingers faster. As Hajime thought he had prepared Nagito enough and was about to pull away, Nagito impatiently spoke up.

"Hinata-Kun...," Nagito whimpered, almost sounding like a sob, "Please..."

Hajime chuckled and pulled out his fingers, "Desperate arent you?"

"Maybe I should tease you a little more hm?" Hajime taunted despite wanting to slam into Nagito this instant.

Nagito shook his head rapidly as he wanted Hajime inside him right now.

"Haha alright alright," Hajime complied as he spread Nagito legs apart.

He positioned himself, looking down at Nagito who eagerly waited. Hajime started to slowly push himself in only to be met with more pleas from Nagito. He was almost surprised at how impatient he was. Amused, he lifted Nagito's legs and slammed into him, almost as if Hajime was rewarding him. Nagito screamed out, making Hajime worried that he had hurt him. He looked down to make sure he wasn't in any pain only to be met with a Komaeda that was lost in pleasure. He was looking at Hajime through his bangs, cheeks red, and eyes that just begged Hajime to keep going.

Reassured, Hajime started moving in and out, gradually picking up the pace. With the feeling of Nagito's warmth around him, the tightness that sucked his cock in, the lewd noises from both of them, Hajime was already dizzy with pleasure. Nagito hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him down. He kissed Nagito, muffling both of their moans. He slipped his tongue past, sloppily kissing each other. Nagito hands found their way to his hair, keeping Hajime's head in place. He only let Hajime pull away for air, before pulling him back into the kiss. Nagito let one of his hands fall and grabbed Hajime's own. Nagito guided their hands down his body before reaching his cock. Hajime let the needy boy guide his hands, finding him amusing. Nagito started jerking himself off but quickly lost the energy to do so, letting Hajime take over. He let Hajime pull away from the kiss and let him focus on their hands. His hand started moving at the same pace, overstimulating the boy beneath him. Nagito raked his free hand up and down Hajime's back, his name being the only words Nagito knew to say.

"Hah...fuck you're such a mess Nagito," Hajime spoke up, slowing down a little bit.

It was quiet, almost silent, but Nagito chuckled softly through his moans, "Only for you Hinata-Kun."

He pulled Hajime back down for a short kiss. They kept eye contact for a second before Hajime smiled and pulled away, "Guess I'm the lucky one now huh."

"Shut up," Nagito whined and turned away.

Hajime smiled and picked back up his previous pace. He lifted Nagito closer, causing his cock to go deeper. The tip of his cock brushed against Nagito's prostate causing his back to arch off the bed.

"There! Hinata-Kun!" Nagito cried out, begging for Hajime to reach that spot again.

The brunette listened to his pleas and angled himself so that he was now repeatedly thrusting into his prostate. Nagito let out a string of "yes" before his words slurred together, losing himself to Hajime's thrusts. Nagito's nails dug into his shoulder and Hajime was sure that it had left a mark. Hajime's dizzy mind caused him to bury his head in Nagito's neck, biting lightly.

"H-Hinata-Kun...your hand," Nagito managed to stutter out and Hajime pulled away.

Nagito pulled his hand away from his dick and held Hajime's hand. Hajime bent back down, moving their hands above Nagito's head. He started moving again, holding tightly onto Nagito. As much as he hated to admit it, Hajime was close. He wanted to bring Nagito to his high first so he slowed down, edging himself so he doesn't cum yet. Thankfully for him, Nagito was also close. It only took a few more thrusts for Nagito to reach his orgasm, letting out a shriek as his back arched off the bed. His walls clenched around Hajime which was enough for him to also reach his high, thrusting a few more before emptying himself inside Nagito. Regaining his senses, he pulled out of Nagito, a small whine of disapproval escaping from him. Both of them were breathing heavily, still feeling the rush of their orgasm. Hajime looked down at Nagito who was not quite connected with reality yet. They were both a mess, Nagito being worse with cum splattered on his chest, bite marks on his skin, and tears staining his face. They were still holding hands except Nagito's grip had loosened. Nagito was the first to speak up despite still trying to steady his breathing.

"Did I...make you...feel better?" He asked in a tone that was mixed with 'just came' and 'self-loathing'.

It only took Hajime a second to realize that he was referring to his work earlier.

"Hah...yeah you did," he praised and planted a kiss on Nagito's forehead," You did amazing Nagito."

Hajime rested his palm on Nagito's cheek and he nuzzled into his touch. He moved his hand up to brush the hair out of Nagito's face, whose eyes were closed, simply enjoying Hajime's presence. Nagito looked so peaceful. He had a soft smile and he looked genuinely happy at that moment. He was happy to be with Hajime, happy to have someone who cared for him, happy to be loved for once. Hajime poked Nagito's cheek lightly, making him open his eyes.

"Oi don't go falling asleep we have to get you cleaned."

Nagito eyes widened before letting out a disappointing sigh Hajime knew too well, "You never change huh? You're still annoying as ever."

"Haha, that's why you love me though." Hajime jeered causing Nagito to roll his eyes.

Hajime tried to pull away when Nagito hands snaked around his neck and pulled him back down. Hajime's face fell into Nagito's chest, letting out a shocked noise. Nagito rolled them over so that they were now both laying on their sides.

"Nagito?" Hajime asked muffled against his chest.

"Let's stay like this for a while," Nagito replied quietly, almost as if he felt guilty for asking this.

Hajime positioned himself so that Nagito was buried in his chest, "We can stay like this for as long as you want."

Hajime couldn't see, but he knew Nagito had smiled. He pulled him closer, one hand wrapped in Nagito's hair, lightly scratching his scalp. The AC had cooled them off a bit and it left a peaceful atmosphere. Hajime pressed his lips against Nagito's forehead as if trying to convey all the words he left unsaid. They did exactly as Nagito requested, enjoying each other's company before eventually having to clean up the mess they made.

#smut #danganronpa #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #komahina #sdr2 #nagito smut #danganronpa smut #hajime smut

101 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 3 years

Text

Eyes On Me Ch. 2

Masterlist

Modern Armitage Hux x F! Reader Warnings: RC is a sex-worker, discussions of sex, language.

AN: Hello besties! Here's the smutty second part to this thing. As I mentioned before, I've only got a vague idea where this story is going to go, so if there's anything you'd like to see, please let me know! I'm already planning the next chapter (we're gonna meet Brendol 👀) but otherwise my plans are up in the air!

18+ only, minors will be blocked. PIV sex, oral (f and m receiving), clothed sex, lots of feelings, insecurity, we're getting fucked on the blue couch 😏. Let me know what you think!!

It’s a quaint neighborhood.

Sturdy little brownstones, lined up in neat rows, slumber on either side of the street, their large picture windows reflecting soft squares of moonlight over the vacant sidewalk. A warm breeze brushes past, carrying with it the scent of his neighbor’s lilac bushes as it kisses your bare shoulders. The night is silent and still, the world empty of any human influence—except for the soft sound of your breathing, and the jangle of Armitage’s keys as they almost slip again from his hands.

It’s late, and you’re alone; it’s only natural that his nerves would begin to show—a steady crescendo as the night dragged closer to this moment—although he did an excellent job at masking them during dinner. The tips of your fingers tingle, itching to reach out, to calm him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, but you resist. It would probably just make it worse.

The lock gives with a click, and he sighs in relief, gesturing for you to enter. You step over the threshold, letting your eyes adjust from the silver-tinged moonlight, slipping your shoes from your feet as you take in the orderly little entrance.

There are no pictures or paintings on his grey walls, no photographs resting in frames on the dark-wood table by the door. Instead, he has a white ceramic bowl—into which he drops his keys—and a small stack of mail. There’s a soft little cat bed underneath the table, and it’s occupied by the fattest ginger cat you’ve ever seen. It stares up at you with round, sleepy eyes, meowing indignantly, like it’s waiting for you to introduce yourself and completely unnerved that you’d be so rude to keep it waiting.

He gestures towards the furry little creature as she stands from the bed, stretching her spine luxuriously before winding around your legs, examining you with a haughty air, “that’s—”

“Millicent—I remember,” you finish for him before crouching down to pet her. She nudges her tiny head against your hand, sniffing your palm, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. Her judgement must lean in your favor, because she nuzzles in close to you, chirping contentedly when you scratch at the fur around her chin. Armitage watches uneasily, then lets his gaze drift, examining the little room the same way you did, discreetly drying his palms off on the fabric of his pants.

He still hasn’t kissed you. Some men skip past that part, of course, going straight for a handful of your ass, but most stole a kiss after the first meeting—sampling the goods, or whatever.

Armitage hasn’t tried anything yet, and you can’t help but be disappointed. You’ve had little else to think about now that you’ve been freed from the rest of your work obligations, and the anticipation it’s built has made you tense and jittery, like a teenager on a first date. All night you’ve been staring at his mouth, chest full of buzzing nerves, trying to picture how his lips would feel against your skin. You hardly heard a word he said during dinner, had to restrain yourself from jumping him in the back of the cab, watching him gnaw nervously at his plush bottom lip.

The waiting is painful, but the thought of cutting it short is absolutely unbearable. You couldn’t deprive yourself of it, seeing what he would be like the first time he tasted you.

Would he be shy, still? There has to be a commanding aspect somewhere inside him, and the idea is thrilling. What would it take to get that out?

You’re still contemplating the idea when you brush past him, venturing deeper into his home. There might be some future time where he’ll be the one in control, but until then, you’re happy to take the lead.

The living room is equally bare of any personal touch, decorated like a stage setting in a luxury furniture store, with one surprising statement piece. You run your hand over the back of the velvet couch, letting the soft fibers caress your skin. It’s the color of the sky, right before sunrise—a pure, bright blue.

He lurks behind you in the doorway and you turn to him, offering direction.

“Why don’t you get comfortable and pour us something to drink while I take a moment to freshen up?”

He nods, shoulders dropping—probably grateful he still has a few moments to collect himself—and points you in the direction of a quaint little guest bathroom off the entryway.

You move through your checklist methodically, familiar with the process: brushing your teeth, fixing your makeup, fluffing your hair and reapplying perfume. When everything else is satisfactory, you reach into your purse for your secret weapon.

The golden tube catches the light, the lid sliding off smoothly before you set it on the marble counter. The inside holds a perfect teardrop of dark red lipstick, like an animal in a gilded shell. It’s the color of wet cherries, glistening like blood.

It glides smoothly over your lips, tracing down along the edge without feathering, it’s untouched surface contoured perfectly to fit within the lines. You stand straight, admiring the effect in the mirror.

It’s time to go to work.

Armitage almost feels like he’s alone.

With a glass of wine in his hand and Millicent sleeping contentedly nearby, this could be any other evening—if every nerve in his body wasn’t in uproar, agonizing over your presence only a few feet away.

He knew this was coming, obviously; he shouldn’t be so nervous. Isn’t that why he contacted you in the first place? No guesswork, no fretting over ghastly first impressions. He wanted something logical. Transactional. Right now he’s feeling the opposite.

“Do you want me to turn on a light?”

He jumps, practically out of his skin, when he realizes you’re in the room, just barely managing to keep the wine in his glass and off the couch.

“No . . . no.” He should say something else, but he’s lost the capacity for speech.

You sway towards him with a smile on your face, a goddess of the night—like a specter in a story that preys on foolish young men before stealing their souls, or ripping their still-bleeding hearts out of their chests.

It’s an illicit transformation—he no longer feels like it would be safe to take you out into decent society, not just for you, but for him. He observes the minor changes: the slight tousling of your hair, the dark lipstick, the way the strap of your dress falls down over one shoulder. He wonders if it happened naturally or if you placed it there yourself.

Regardless, it has its desired effect.

He skims his palm over his thigh, the muscles beneath his fingers tightening when you fall onto the cushion beside him. You take the other glass of wine from the coffee table without breaking from his gaze.

“Should we make a toast?”

“A toast to what?”

“Hmm—” you smile at him teasingly, “I have one in mind but I don’t think you’ll like it. It’s a bit vulgar.”

“Now I have to know,” he whispers back without thinking about it, parroting your manner. He’d probably follow you into oncoming traffic if you flashed a smile his way and took the first step.

You tip your glass against his with a soft clink, the red liquid inside it swirling around its edges. “To getting fucked.”

He swallows, heart leaping in his chest. “To— to getting fucked.”

You take a sip of the wine, pulling the glass away to admire the neat half-moon of lipstick you’ve left behind on its surface. It looks black in the darkness, an impression of your mouth so perfect he can almost feel it.

He doesn’t think about it first, and that in itself is an achievement. He takes in the passing sensations as he moves in—the smell of your perfume, the heat of your skin, the little gasping noise you make when you realize how close he is—and then he’s kissing you.

It’s so, so soft. Too soft, given the circumstances. There’s no doubt, he is hungry for you, but this is what he’s been deprived of: a kiss—something gentle and good. Something innocent that can’t be taken away or lorded over him, crushed in his father’s grip like the petals of a long-dried flower.

Your fingers cup his jaw, delicately, at first, your grip growing insistent as you pull him closer.

And then the innocence is gone.

Your skirt pulls tighter against your hips when you shift, until he can feel the curve of your breast on his arm, and the weight of your thigh against his. He gasps, razor sharp, placing his hands at your waist. You must feel the way they shake.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” you promise, the words falling against the skin of his neck as you kiss down, down, down, your smeared lipstick leaving a path of sticky bruises, “we can do whatever you like.”

You're gripping at his thigh, fingers digging in against his flesh. God, you’re good at that—driving him wild with the faintest touches. He jumps in his seat, back arching away from the couch when you trace along his jaw with your tongue.

“It’s, god, just been— so long.”

Jesus, as if you didn’t already know that.

Your dress slips higher up your thighs as you shift from the couch, planting your knees in the plush carpet. “Why don’t I help you relax?”

Fucking hell. His jaw pulls sharply towards the ceiling as he leans his head back, fists pressed tight against his legs. You brush his hands out of the way, stroking up and down his thighs—a familiar feeling from his own hands, but not from yours.

Your left hand continues its travels, giving a wide berth to his very apparent hard-on, gripping the tail of his tie in your fist. You give the piece of fabric a slight tug, and he bends, pliant under your scrutiny.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You search his face with solemn eyes, brow furrowed, like you’re solving a puzzle, or deciphering a code. He wonders if he’s left the answers for you written across his skin, if you’ll be able to translate what he’s feeling just by looking at him, like the impression of a pen pressed too hard into the paper.

“I’m afraid.”

What is it about you that makes him tell the truth so easily? You’re the last person he should be honest with.

Well, maybe not the last person.

“Why?”

“I’m—” he pauses, trying to formulate a coherent answer out of the horrified screaming inside him, “I don’t want this to be horrible for you.”

You brush the concern aside with your free hand, offering him the ghost of a smile. “I don’t believe in bad sex. You know, do what you love, and all that.”

And you’ll never work a day in your life. He huffs a laugh against his will, and you smile wider, knowing you’ve caught him off guard.

“This won’t be horrible for me, but if it makes you feel better, I promise to be honest with you. And if somehow you are completely shit at sex—which I absolutely don’t think you will be—we can find a way to fix that.”

Your words are entirely sincere, without malice or judgement. Maybe you should have been a therapist, or a hostage negotiator. There's nobody in the world who would want to hide from you.

He breathes once, twice, and then settles, the nerves draining from him like the helium in a week-old balloon, there and then gone.

You twist your hand, wrapping the fabric of his tie around your palm, pulling him closer, keeping your eyes open. He melts against the press of your lips, lurching forward in his seat in a sloppy attempt to deepen the kiss, but you pull back, slowing the tempo, nipping teasingly at his skin when he lets you take the lead.

Oh. He can do that. It’s nice not to have to take charge, to do something without a pack of inquisitive eyes upon him, ready to work only once he’s given direction.

He waits for your next instructions, shifting in his seat when you stroke your hand up over his thigh again. Hesitation grips his chest, but he pushes it aside, parting his knees around your waist, no longer keeping you away but caging you in.

You undo the buckle of his belt with one hand, fingers skimming over the soft swell of his stomach as you work at the button on his trousers. He could be embarrassed if he wanted to, but there’s so many other things to feel, and so many of them are good. You take him in your hand, freeing him from the too-tight confines of his clothing. The air is cold against his cock, and colder against the tip, bright red and already leaking.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, leaning in closer, running your tongue against the seam of your lips.

His mouth is too wet, but he can’t swallow past the tightness in his throat. “Really?”

“I told you I was going to be honest.”

You moisten your lips once more, and then part them in a soft o, bring them to the head of his dick.

Oh god. There’s heaven in your mouth, in the way your tongue moves against him—warm and wet, and so gentle as it explores the tip of his cock, tasting his skin and his spend. You gag a little—did someone teach you how to do that?—taking him farther down your throat, his cock jumping against your lips when the head nudges against your soft palate.

You hollow out your cheeks, your hand sliding up and down the base, finding a rhythm, your lips dragging deliciously over his skin and it takes everything in him to stay present, to stay conscious.

Does every part of you feel this exquisite?

As soon as he’s thought about it, he has to know. His hands are in your hair, at the back of your neck, his voice hardly a breath when he speaks.

“Stop, please, stop.”

You pull back, your vision a little blurry with unshed tears and mouth slick with spit; he’s bigger than you expected. You know there must be lipstick smeared across your cheeks, but he looks at you so gently, cupping the back of your neck in one hand, begging sweetly.

“I want to be inside of you.”

Your knees ache, but you stand anyway, pulling your dress out of the way as you straddle his lap.

He tastes so good, every part of him, but you can’t get enough of this—of his soft mouth, the clear tang of desire when he presses his tongue against yours.

The men you work with always wanted sex—obviously—but not necessarily with you. They craved release, or some semblance of power, but sex was just the way they accessed whatever it is they truly wanted, and regardless how picky some of them managed to be, in the end it wasn’t about you at all.

It feels different with Armitage, and that alone is frightening. When he puts his hands on you, whatever bubble, whatever shield you kept with the rest of them is gone. When he touches you, you feel it.

You feel it now, his hands at your waist, pulling you close enough that the weight of his cock presses low against your stomach, and you grind down against it, just to be a tease.

He catches you by surprise, shifting your weight off his lap and onto the couch. You land on your back, shoulder blades pressed deep into the cushions, and he keeps your hands trapped, thrown over the armrest, pinning your wrists in his long fingers.

Damn. He’s really good at that.

“Is that alright?” he asks, and you nod, trying to catch your breath.

All of the urgency from before is gone, his movements delicate and unhurried. It’s possible he’s just stalling, trying to regain his control so he doesn’t cum on the first thrust, but the look in his eyes says something different.

His fingers skim against the edge of your thigh, catching the hem of your dress and moving higher, higher, until his palm rests at the curve of your waist.

“Black lace.”

His eyes are on the swell of your hip, lips just slightly parted as he slides his hand back down, pulling the edge of your underwear back and letting it snap lightly against your skin. Your muscles pull tighter in response, thighs pressing together unconsciously until he slips his fingers down the front of your lace covered mound, pulling back the lacy edge and uncovering your slick cunt with one finger.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, shifting forward, storm-colored eyes intense when they meet yours.

“Yes.”

Your eyes are on the ceiling; you count your breaths, paying close attention to the soft crinkle of the condom wrapper in his hand, the soft velvet of the couch beneath your shoulder blades. When did you become the nervous one?

The head of his dick is at your entrance, his hips shifting forward until he’s inside you, leaning over you with one hand braced on the couch cushion, his fingers on the other hand gripping tightly at your hip.

Then he starts to move.

He thrusts into you, slow and steady, but there’s a surprising amount of power behind each movement. The couch shifts against the floor with every snap of his hips, and your eyes roll back the deeper he goes, hitting a spot inside of you that makes your vision go dark at the edges.

You should do something—kiss his neck, or run your hands through his hair—but you can’t move. Your arms stay leaden, draped behind you and buzzing with blood loss, and you can’t think, head cloudy like you’ve had too much wine. There’s no room inside you for pretense, no room for anything but him.

A few pathetic little moans fall from your lips, without the charm or passion of artificial cries. You’re too close, whole body tight like an elastic band, ready to give.

It’s just not close enough.

He finishes with a groan, his breath hot and wet against your neck when his arms give out, chest crushed up against yours as his release courses through him.

He stays that way, lips traveling against your neck, stopping when he feels the thrum of your racing pulse.

He rolls off of you, removing the condom and throwing it into the trash before tucking himself away.

“Did you finish?” he asks between ragged breaths, his head lolling against the back of the couch so he can look at you.

You’re still struggling to catch your own breath. You told him you wouldn’t lie, but he deserves more than just a shake of the head. It’s true that you didn’t finish, but that’s not the whole of it. You can’t remember ever feeling like this before, vibrating on a different frequency just because he put his hands on you. It’s not an orgasm, but you’ve had plenty of those, and you’d have plenty more. This is something rare.

You definitely can’t say that, so you stick to the manageable truth.

“No.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping in a gesture you might mistake for defeat, if he didn’t immediately shift onto his knees, resting both warm palms on the tops of your thighs. He presses his fingers against your skin, urging them apart. You place your hands over his own.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He strokes his thumb in slow circles over your skin. “I know.”

His hands slide underneath your knees, pulling you forward, his trembling fingers cold and slick as he slides the black lace down over your skin, baring you to him.

Soft kisses across your inner thighs, the trace of his tongue and sting of his teeth—this is all new to you. He’s gentle in a way that feels dangerous, too vulnerable, like he could cut you open with the barest touches.

His tongue licks softly at your clit, and he moans, the vibrations traveling through your stomach, and it takes work to breathe. Whatever he lacks in experience he makes up for it in persistence, his nose buried deep in your folds, his mouth hot and wet as he kisses at your core. The look in his eyes is so earnest, like he truly cares about your pleasure.

It’s too close. He’s too close. This won’t end well.

But it’s difficult to be so fatalistic when you’re melting from the inside out, body wracked with molten pleasure. You’ll be better next time, but for now, you’ll allow yourself this: your fingers threading through his hair, your eyes on his as you succumb to the feeling he's giving you.

He sits back down beside you, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, staining it with smears of lipstick and your spend.

“So,” he says and his heavy breathing slows, growing shallow and calm. He probably wonders if you’ll leave now. You don’t want to go.

You straddle him, sliding the zipper of your dress down your back before slipping the straps off of your shoulders.

“We could go again.”

A few hours later, Armitage stands on the small front porch, watching the first inklings of morning spread its fingers through the dark blue night. You’re standing beside him, eyes down the road, gnawing absentmindedly at your bottom lip when the taxi turns down his quiet street.

“I think that’s for me,” you whisper, turning to face him. You’ve wiped the lipstick from off your face, mouth soft and swollen, the last reminder of what happened here tonight.

He nods, and you press a kiss to his cheek, taking his fingers in yours.

“Just let me know when you’d like to see me again; we’ll make plans.”

You take the first step down the stairs, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “You’ll tell me,” he asks, although he’s sure he probably shouldn’t, “when you’re home safe?”

You pause, mouth gaping, and it confirms he was right in thinking that he's crossed a boundary. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do.” There’s more that he wants, but he’ll settle for this. He learned long ago that money can't buy everything.

He watches you climb into the cab before going back inside, and he rests his head against the cool surface of the door.

He is so, incredibly, fucked.

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astro-rain · 4 years

Text

delicate; b.barnes

chapter six - “lake, the sequel”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: reader seeks out bucky after his dramatic exit and they find themselves earnestly conversing... back at the lake

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: this story is available on my wattpad as a bucky x OC fic @ / typicaldaze :)

He didn't like this feeling. No, he didn't like this feeling at all. He hated it, in fact. It was betrayal, bodily betrayal. He just could not sit in that room any longer or he would've peeled his skin off. His lungs felt as if they were bound with barbed wire and the state of his stomach had him worried he was going to throw up. Most of all he felt guilty. How could he have just stormed out of the room like that? She was going to hate him now. How could he let this happen?

He was thinking this over whilst sitting at the lake, hands in the grass, trying to distract the physical body from the mental cacophony he had just endured. He had somehow found his way there after leaving Y/N. These extremely unpleasant sensations were unfamiliar. Was he sick? Could he have been drugged? He was so confused. Bucky realized he seemed to be confused most of the time. Following that realization, he became mildly pissed off.

The super soldier stared out at the lake. It was a calm day, the water tranquil and clear. It was a stark contrast against his stress. He leaned forward and looked into the water at his reflection.

"Damn," he said out loud.

Is that really what I look like now?

His eyes traced over the long shaggy hair, dark under eyes, and the subtle but noticeable worry lines. This sight reminded him of when he broke the mirror at his old place in Bucharest. Now he remembered why. God, he looked as fucked up as he was. He leaned back and tossed a stone at where his reflection had been.

A deep sigh left his lungs, which were now conveniently working properly.

"Fuckers," he muttered, referring to the mercurial organs.

He had spent nearly two years alone in Bucharest, and he had grown accustomed to living in this new body. He was always on edge, that much he could tell. However, he was never too introspective; he never thought about his feelings or his behavior. All he was focused on was surviving. When there is more to life than survival, that's when things get complicated... not that they weren't complicated before. God, he was running in circles inside his own mind. His scarred and ruined and manipulated mind that resided in this body that was used as a tool for destruction and violence and death-

"Hey."

His head whipped around, startled out of his thought frenzy. Always on edge. Mentally, he shook his head in disappointment.

"Oh! (Y/N)!"

He stood up immediately. "Listen, I'm so sorry about before, I don't know what-"

"It's okay," she said quickly, holding up her hands. "Bucky, you do not need to apologize, everything is totally fine."

He was taken aback. Words didn't seem to work.

"I'm not mad if that's what you were thinking," she said.

"You're not?"

"No, of course not. If anything I was worried."

"I- Worried?"

"Yes, you were clearly in distress, and that room was the last place you wanted to be. I'm glad you found your way back here because you look much better now," (Y/N) explained with earnest eyes.

She could tell he was freaked out? She probably thinks he's insane.

"Yeah, I... I think I'm better now."

He was far from okay, but definitely better than before.

The psychologist sat down next to where he was standing. He didn't move, but looked down at her.

"I don't think it'd be wise to leave you alone here considering you're supposed to be in a session with me right now and you can't go anywhere without an escort. It would most likely lead to suspicion and then trouble you don't need. I'm going to stay with you. We can continue the session if you'd like, but if not we can just sit."

She said this all while looking straight forward at the water.

In all honesty he wasn't sure what to say, so he settled with a breathy, "Okay," before sitting down next to her.

"I'm getting the vibe that this is more of a just sit situation..."

"Yeah... I think I'm all therapy-ed out for today," Bucky said in a meek attempt at a joke.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wide smile. He then realized that she didn't know he could see it, and that's why this smile seemed different. Most differents in Bucky's life hadn't been outstandingly pleasant. But this was a welcome different. This was a good different. It was genuine and unbridled. That was the most open he'd ever seen her.

Every now and then he forgot that he was a literal trained super spy. He may not have any PhD's, but he had his own way of reading behavior, cues, and subtleties. Perhaps he'd make an effort to be more observant. Perhaps he wanted to learn a little more about what else was behind this new different.

A few beats of comfortable silence passed before he heard the word again.

"Hey," (Y/N) started softly. "I'm sorry if I went a little too far today. I know I said our first session wouldn't be much, but I realize I was pushing too far."

"Oh, it's okay," Bucky replied, looking down at the grass between his knees. "I think it's more my fault anyway. It's not like the questions were super intense."

He let out a loaded sigh. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Bucky it's really okay. If it's anyone's fault it's mine. This whole process is supposed to be based on your comfort levels and at your own pace. And there's nothing wrong with you. Your reaction was completely normal given the circumstances."

Bucky wasn't terribly familiar with reassurance. He turned his head, looking at her dead on. She was so genuine, like she knew all of what she was saying was the all encompassing truth.

Echoes of different combinations of "there's nothing wrong with you" and "completely normal" and "your own pace" flitted around inside him until they melted into a feeling he hadn't felt in so long: hope. It was horrifying... yet it gave him a kind of relief he didn't know he could feel.

The super soldier then realized that (Y/N) was looking right back at him dead on. He was about to stumble through some sort of apology for staring or thankful expression for her kindness, but he noticed that she didn't look like she was necessarily waiting for a response. She was just... looking.

Bucky tried to say something, anything. But he just couldn't seem to pull his eyes away. In this brief moment, he felt crystallized. His conscious, logical brain was somewhere far away, hypnotized by the stillness of the moment. It was only a few seconds, but somehow felt longer. These very few seconds of mental sedation were soon over.

Speak, idiot.

He snapped back to reality, suddenly finding himself inspecting at the grass below him.

"Thank you."

"Of course," she replied without missing a beat. Her tone of voice was water soft.

"(Y/N), do you... do you know what happened with me earlier?" he asked, cautiously. "Like, what was wrong- I mean, not wrong but why I-"

He sighed frustratingly, cutting himself off.

Her face was patient, but she was waiting for a description of something he didn't know how to describe.

"I know I said we were done for today, but I-I don't know how to explain it, and I want to know what it is," he confessed.

"I think you had an anxiety attack."

Anxiety? That couldn't be right. There's no way that could've been from being nervous.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Anxiety. It seemed as though you were experiencing high amounts of anxiety. Most people get nervous at times, but those tiny amounts are normal. But, some other people are a lot more nervous a lot more of the time. Sometimes, these peoples' anxiety can get particularly high and be so overwhelming that their body kinda takes over, and they can experience really uncomfortable physical symptoms, and this can turn into an anxiety attack."

"I thought I was... sick or... or drugged or something."

"Well, I'm almost certain you weren't drugged, and I'm pretty sure you can't even get sick."

"Oh."

He honestly didn't know what to say.

"Bucky," she looked straight at him again and he almost felt himself slipping. "In terms of psychology, a lot has progressed since the 40's. I'm not sure how anxiety was presented or studied then, but there's really a lot more to it than people think. And honestly, given your situation, it would be strange if you didn't develop an anxiety disorder."

Anxiety disorder?

"Anxiety disorder? I have that?"

"Well, again, I think we have to do more work to confirm, but that's what it seems like."

"I thought you said I had PTSD?"

"I do. I think you have both."

Christ.

"Wow, I'm a whole sack 'a problems, aren't I?" he chuckled, giving up on trying to internally oppose his short comings.

"You're not a problem, Buck. You had to deal with a whole sack of problems, though," she smiled.

The nickname didn't miss his radar. Was that the first time she's called him that? He ignored how he liked it.

"That's for damn sure."

They conversed for a while after that, and didn't seem to notice how late it was until the sun began to set. The ending day's reflection on the water created an aura so relaxing Bucky didn't want to move. But alas, reality calls.

(Y/N) stood up. "If you're not back soon, they'll start looking for you. We should probably get going."

Bucky stood up, too, following her request.

"I'll walk you back to your quarters," she offered.

And so they went, conversation continuing naturally, as if they were old friends. Bucky found it strange that someone he knew so little was so easy to talk to. He brushed it off as some inherent therapist quality.

He still found her hard to read although he knew her more with each passing word between them.

Despite all of this, the walk back, with cool air, a melting sky, and languid steps, was the best thing he had experienced since coming out of cryo. His memory may be spotty, and his mind may be rough, but this, this he was sure of.

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky headcanon #marvel #steve rogers #bucky reader insert #marvel fanfiction #bucky blurb #bucky drabble #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #captain america fanfiction #marvel fanfic rec

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peachysnzs · 3 years

Text

self-indulgent homest/uck snzfic

omg i literally entirely forgot i wrote a snzfic already a bit ago... its so self indulgent and messy writing wise and also homest/uck but uploading just in case

okok short debrief for context, karkat is a troll, dave is a human that can fly long story, matesprit is romantic partner, and trickster mode is a mode where ppl get drunk/high off a specific lolipop and have little to no restraint of themselves + gives them bright colors

// mess, intentional contagion

“h-hehh…eH’tchIUh!!!”

Karkat paused from reading his book. That... was a sound that sounded suspiciously like Dave sneezing. Hesistantly, he pushed himself up, walking out of his room and peering into Dave’s room. After all, he had no idea if the pitiful human was sick or not. What kind of matesprit would he be if he didn’t even check?

Dave’s room was empty. Which was odd. Karkat could’ve sworn he said he was going to be in there for the day, though he didn’t explain why, where the fuck did he head off to? It’s not like their joint house was big or anything. Where the hell was that nookwhi-

Something that sounded… almost like giggling rang through the air.

What the fuck.

It sounded like it came from behind Karkat, and he quickly whirled around, but not fast enough. He saw something that almost looked like a flash, a flash of bright colors and cheery pastels, before it vanished in the blink of the ganderbulbs. Like said before, what the fuck.

A sniffle. Alright, thats too much.

Karkat whirled around, shouting “Dave, what the FUCK is going on??”, not really caring for his dignity much in the moment. It had to be Dave. This was a prank or some bullshit. And then slowly, following the noise, his eyes trailed up. Up….up…up….

Dave Strider was currently floating in the air, dreamily staring down at him and just barely grazing the surface of the ceiling, adorned with mint-green hair, a pastel pink-and-yellow god tier outfit, and red, thick gunk dripping steadily out of his flushed nose as he grinned at him. Holy fucking shit, who the fuck was this and what had they done to Dave?

A vague memory registered in the back of Karkat’s mind, of Dirk mentioning how some candy made everyone insane and go Trickster mode as their outfits and demeanor became more…colorful. How the fuck did Dave go Trickster mode??? How the fuck does that work???

“hey karkles hows it hangin? cmon dudeee lighten up a lil, your expression is s-so… hiH’TCHUh! so shocked right now” Dave drawled. As he sneezed, he lazily spread his hand over his nose, catching half of the snot in it and letting the rest of the bright red concocture mist the floor beneath him, which included Karkat. Karkat could feel the wet moisture on his skin, and he shuddered, stepping back.

“Dave, what the fuck??? Gog, fucking cover your mouth, are you contagious?? Get down, now.” Karkat spat out, exasperated at how nonchalant the imposter was. Dave simply laughed at him. “me? contagious? nah im fineeee”

Dave sniffled again, the sound much more wet than previously, and rubbed his fist against his nose, smearing the red gunk all over his hand. He smirked as he slowly withdrew his hand, spreading his fingers experimentally and watching the red mucus web between his slender fingers, glistening. “totally not contagious at all” he fibbed.

Karkat could only watch in horror as Dave slowly flew down, feet clicking against the tiled floor. “hey karkitty i do-hihh…n’t k-know about you…” His expression screwed up for a second, as he fought to calm his hitching breaths. After a moment, Dave’s grin returned to his face, and with a face smeared with germ-laden gunk, he purred. “but i feel like making out right now.”

Karkat found his voice again, and he stumbled back a few more steps. “Holy shit, no- are you even *hearing* yourself, Dave??? You’re sick, you can’t-you can’t just pretend you’re not, what the fuck??? Dave, I-“

Dave leaned forward and nipped at Karkat’s neck and he whimpered.

He could feel it. The wet mess dripping onto his neck, as Dave gave a shallow sniff and as his breath hitched even more, the vibrations against his skin, Dave’s saliva intermingling with the rest of the shit getting onto his neck as he sucked gently and gave him a hickey. The sensation was so taboo and revolting it was almost…

Dave leaned back, expression contorted. His narrow eyes seemed to almost stare through Karkat, and he paused, before, oh, fuck, it sunk in. “g-ghh- gonna…sn-heHh..eeze!-“ he forced out, and even as he was about to fucking sneeze, he still managed a wavering smirk as he tried to stare down at Karkat. It didn’t even look like he was trying to pull away, if anything, he had leaned forward, leaving only a few inches between them as he used his finger to gently guide Karkat’s chin up.

Speaking of which, Karkat felt himself frozen in place, too shocked by how quickly everything had just happened to dodge the incoming flood. “heh-HE’tchIU! hihh..hih..h’tsHIU!!” The lazy covering that Dave had done before wasn’t even present. Dave sneezed freely and openly on Karkat, and Karkat instinctively shut his eyes, feeling the contagious mist against his skin. Dave wasn’t done yet, though.

Karkat could only open his eyes for a second, seeing a strand of snot dangling from Dave’s nose as he leaned his head back, right before Dave went back to sneezing. “EH’tchu! Hi’hishuu!! Ehtchuu! hih..ih-HISSHU!!” Sneeze after sneeze, rapidfire. Fuck, it was disgusting, but Karkat’s face felt soaked, totally fucking decimated after Dave’s sneezing fit that he didn’t even bother covering. Was this his plan? What the fuck??? Realizing that he hasn’t breathed at all during all that, Karkat let in a shaky breath, and then immediately regretted it as it set in that he probably just breathed in more of the shit.

Shuddering, he quickly wiped off his face, cringing as he saw the red fluid coating his sleeve. Holy shit, how much even was that? “D-Dave, what the fuck-“ Karkat started, but Dave cut him off with a smile. “dont worry im not contagious karkitty. now about the makeouts…” Dave reached up to cup his cheek and run his thumb against Karkat’s lip, and Karkat went pale as he remembered the web of wet gunk between his fingers. Oh goddamnit, he had just wiped his face.

Deep down, he knew wiping his face did nothing.

“We know that’s fucking bullshit. Are you trying to get me sick?!? I-I’m not going to make-out with you, not when- ah-“ Karkat started, and then Dave shut him up by licking a stripe up the hickey he had given him earlier.

Dave let his red eyes fall upon Karkat’s. His red nose dripping, glistening, eyes narrowed, mouth curled up like a cheshire cat, he leaned forward and whispered in Karkat’s ear, the congestion in his voice evident “karkat. lets entertain the thought i am contagious, ok?” Karkat shivered, but this time in an entirely different context.

“its too late for you. from the first sneeze, from the moment i got this cold, you were doomed. even if you tried to leave” He giggled, deliriously. “i already sneezed into your pillows, to let these theoretical germs have home there too. sharing is caring, right? and you’re going to get this cold…hih…” Karkat stared, dumbfounded. Dave leaned back from his ear, and placed a finger gently on Karkat’s nose, tracing the edges. “i-in here.”

a pause, and then a grin.

“so-hiHh- s-so why try to…t-to avoid…ihh…hiH’TSHIUU!! eh’tsHIU!!” Dave’s head snapped forward. His sneezes were getting more wet, and mucus sprayed onto his face, leaving wet stains on his sweatshirt. Karkat couldn’t even process what was going on any more. And then, Dave gently leaned forward, stopping just before his lips. “just enjoy it.” The taboo of it all… the seductive gleam in Dave’s eyes…Dave’s erection pressing against his leg… the most obvious fact that Dave was into this (and that they probably had to had a talk later, jesus, openess about kinks was important)…God, it was too much.

Karkat’s may or may not have leaned forward to meet his lips.

And well, if Karkat let Dave shove his tongue into his mouth, if he let Dave sniffle and sneeze onto him, damning him and most definitely ensuring he’d be just as snotty and disgusting as him later, if he did, well, nobody had to know.

#snzfic #snez #snz #sneeze kink #sickstuck #sneezestuck #peachywrites #god ok rereading this was a trip lemme tell u #mess #contagion

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