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darkfeanix · 3 months ago

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Feanix Reads Dragon Age Comics

#1: The Silent Grove

I'll be posting my thoughts on each series as a whole, rather then individual issues. Below the cut are all the thoughts I had while reading The Silent Grove.

WARNING: It does get a bit Alistair critical, as I feel like this series really brought out the worst in his character, which in turn brought out the worst in me.

Anyway, here they are, my thoughts:

The Silent Grove (I)

So, first thing's first, it's strange seeing young Varric here. It's a bit surprising how quickly I've gotten used to silver fox Varric in The Veilguard promotional materials, with the longer hair and a bit of beard growth. Younger, cleanshaven Varric just looks weird to me now. The art style also doesn't help. I'm pretty sure the art style was one of the things that turned me off the first time I tried to read them when they first came out.

I'll admit, as far as protagonists go, King Alistair wasn't a huge draw for me, and even when the comics were first releasing, I don't think I actually read them until after the final issue of Until We Sleep had been released. I was always more of a Morrigan boy, and even in the first game, there were times when Alistair grated on me. We'll return to that point later.

Now, Isabela on the other hand? Yeah, she's the reason I even started reading these comics. I do love my captain.

I'd forgotten that Zevran is mentioned by name in this story. Apparently he was meant to be in the comic in Varric's place, but was "cut due to concerns about party dynamics", which to me sounds like a skill issue. Zevran has a pre-existing relationship with both Alistair and Isabela, and it's well-established that Varric doesn't like going out (to the point that the entire party will roast him for it in Trespasser no matter who you have with you).

This is baseless speculation on my part, but I feel like they went with Varric because Varric is probably more popular than Zevran.

The Silent Grove (II)

Okay, I'd like to lodge a complaint: Isabela deserved a new outfit. Varric and Alistair both got spiffy new outfits. Isabella doesn't even get pants. And it's meant to be freezing cold. We open with a guard complaining about how cold it is (cold enough that we can see his breath). Then we cut to Isabela climbing out of the sea. Does she not feel the cold?

She obviously feels the cold; later in this very same issue we see Alistair putting his cloak on her. Why didn't Isabela get an outfit upgrade again? (Don't answer that, we all know why.)

I feel like Varric literally questioning what he's doing there proves my point; maybe it's fitting with his luck that he gets dragged into this sort of thing, but his role just as easily could have been filled by Zevran. Of course, that being said, I do enjoy it when he narrates his circumstances out loud. It's a fun character quirk.

I appreciate that we see a Vashoth (or possibly even Tal Vashoth) as a member of the Crows; it emphasises that the Crows really do take anyone into their number. A pity that all the others basically look like human men. Not elf or dwarf in sight, and no women.

I wonder if the intention was for the reader to believe the prisoner was Maric. He says it's too late, and Alistair's narration says that his quest has failed, but I'm trying to imagine reading this for the first time without having spoiled everything for myself. I feel like I would assume that the man Alistair finds is Maric.

The Silent Grove (III)

First shot of Yavana, flashback, from behind. No pants. Pretty sure she is only the second named female character in this series so far, and neither of them have been drawn with pants. I can literally see Yavana's butt cheeks. Ugh.

Lack of pants aside, she does have a really cool design, though.

This part felt like a lot of exposition, some pretty scenery, and Alistair saying that high dragons are worse than darkspawn. Really, Alistair? You fought during the Blight, and you think that high dragons are worse than darkspawn?

"In my life so far, I've taken the sword to three dragons. The big ones, I mean – not the ones that look like scaly, tooth dogs and love horse meat, but the high dragons that make the earth shake. Not even darkspawn are that savage. A dragon feed on anything. A dragon exists only to kill."

This reminds me way too much of Iron Bull's speech about dragons.

"Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But it's all uncontrolled, savage… So they need to be destroyed."

Ugh. At least right after Alistair gives that speech in his narration, the dragon literally chooses not to kill him. He never gives any indication that he learns from his interactions with the dragon, though – at least, not that I remember. Maybe the next two issues will prove me wrong.

Anyway, we will come back to this later as well.

The Silent Grove (IV)

I love Yavana. No surprise, right? She's Morrigan's sister, and she's written almost like a mix of Morrigan and Flemeth. I do wish we could have gotten to know her more.

"In destroying what it does not understand, mankind would destroy itself."

But gosh, I really dislike the way Alistair is written… well, I was going to say here, but the truth is everything about his interactions with the dragon and Yavana makes him come across as narrow-minded and really unlikeable to me.

"Meaning you don't understand either, but it's what your mother told you."

Yeah, we'll come back to that later.

Claudio is… eh. He's a bit player. His connection to Isabela's past makes for some interesting plot developments, and he's obviously tied to the larger story involving Maric – though, as above, I'm not sure if I would have made that assumption if I hadn't been already spoiled the first time I read this. I probably would have assumed he was just planning on ransoming Alistair back to Ferelden or something. Or, heck, putting him in that prison like Maric was.

I appreciate Isabela deciding on the spot that she's not going to abandon Alistair. She's grown a lot from the women she was at the start of Dragon Age II.

The Silent Grove (V)

Isabela marching back into the Silent Grove and yelling Yavana's name is very funny to me.

I'd completely forgotten about Isabela and Varric making a deal with Yavana. That makes me even more annoyed about the ending of this arc. But we'll come back to that later.

"You wanted me alive. Now you have to try to keep me."

Okay, I'll admit, that's a good line. Some of that charming, funny Alistair shining through. A shame there's so little of him in these comics.

I do wish slut shaming Isabela wasn't something that the writer felt the need to carry over from the game. Even with Claudio being a bad guy, it comes across as really distasteful considering they've designed her character to show as much skin as possible.

Badass final page with Yavana standing over Claudio's body and talking about how getting the truth even with him being dead.

The Silent Grove (VI)

"You almost missed the fun. Evidently we're going to ask Claudio how it feels to be stabbed in the chest."

Oh Isabela, how I love thee.

Yavana's idea of a séance involves a lot more pyrotechnics than one might expect, but it is quite exciting. I am curious if she burned his corpse, or if it was some magic of Titus's to try to keep his name out of Claudio's mouth?

Yavana's explanation of the Hall of Sleepers, and what Maric's deal was, really convinces me that Alistair was wrong and that she does understand what she's talking about. In the same way that Morrigan prioritised sparing Urthemiel's soul from death even after Flemeth is killed. I don't think either one of them (certainly not Morrigan) does what they do simply because their mother told them to.

Which brings us to possibly my least favourite part of this entire eighteen issue series.

Fuck you, Chantry Boy.

It's later, so here we are. I hate this moment. It makes me hate Alistair, for doing exactly what Yavana says mankind has always done and killing what he doesn't understand. And yes, he says he does it because he blames her for everything that happened in Ferelden after Maric left, but here's the thing: Yavana didn't make the fucking deal with Maric! Flemeth did!

And the thing is, two issues ago he accused her of simply parroting what Flemeth told her. He accused her of not understanding what she was doing. Which is it, Alistair? Is she another pawn of Flemeth's, or is she the wicked witch who took your daddy away?

Except she didn't take him away, Maric made that choice on his own. He made a deal so that he would be able to save his country, and then he held up his end of the bargain by travelling to Yavana.

Uggghhh!

Issues ends with Alistair bemoaning his own status as a pawn and saying he's going to kill Titus.

And then his final narrative just feels so shoehorned because it's close to the kind of humour we're used to getting from Alistair in the game, but this isn't that Alistair.

"My name is Alistair Theirin, and I'm king of Ferelden. Long live the king, long may he reign! And so forth. Pray to the Maker he doesn't do something stupid…"

You just did! Seriously, fuck you, Chantry Boy.

Final Thoughts

Oof. It had some okay moments, but to be honest, the best part of this comic for me was Yavana and, well… Yeah.

The thing is, I don't feel like I'm familiar enough with Alistair's character to say whether or not he's acting out of character. Is all of this something that a hardened King Alistair would do? Or is it the writing emphasising all the worst parts of him without balancing it with what made Alistair so popular?

Anyway, not a great start to the re-read. I really hope I have more fun with Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep, but I'm done for the night.

#feanix reads dragon age comics #dragon age the silent grove #dragon age comics #dragon age spoilers #i guess?#barely #spoilers for comics from over a decade ago

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strixcattus · 7 months ago

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(Under cut because I end up going into detail about where my memory failed me)

From memory:

Laios is probably going to be the most on-model, unless there's some detail on his armor I'm forgetting. Unsure about the shape of his eyes and the collar of his breastplate.

Something doesn't look right about Senshi, but I'm not sure what. He's the only one for whom I have no clue what he's wearing from the neck down, so I took a wild guess. It feels wrong to have the hole in his helmet showing skin instead of hair. He also looks a little thinner than he should... I think that's an error in my drawing ability, though, not my memory.

I distinctly remember the collar of Marcille's hood being pretty low on her neck. Why this of all things stuck out, I have no clue. I'm pretty confident on the colors of everything, but if I've got a coloring mistake, it'd be on her. I know she has braids, but I don't think they're visible from the front.

If I'm making a mistake on Chilchuck, it's his sleeves.

I'm fairly certain I got everyone's hair and skin colors roughly accurate. Chilchuck's hair and Senshi's skin might be a shade too light, though.

From reference:

(Note: While I included references in the posted art, they were mostly only used for checking colors against—the lineart for Laios, Senshi, and Chilchuck was referenced from the TVTropes character page, and Marcille was referenced directly from the episode, since she wears her hair in a variety of styles throughout the show and this was the one I was aiming for in the original drawing.)

Laios looks a little young in this one. I blame my art style—I don't draw a lot of humans and I'm not used to making characters look older.

Most of the colors were notably oversaturated. That's partially stylistic, but mostly because I list towards saturation when I can't reference a color. The exception is Senshi's beard, skin, and helmet horns, which were undersaturated.

I was right on the money about Chilchuck's hair and Senshi's skin both being a shade too light. In addition, Chilchuck's and Marcille's skin tones were both too orange when drawn from memory. A lot of colors had to be made redder, actually.

Laios's shoulder armor. Of course that would trip me up. And I was right about having an iffy memory of his neck guard and eye shape, too.

Senshi-from-memory is way too skinny, even to the point where I can't say it's a fault of my usual art style. He looks starved. And dehydrated. He looks as though he's been locked up for a week without food. This isn't Senshi, it's his evil twin Ishnes of Adnagzi, who advocates for toxic diet culture and is trying to survive off nothing but air. This is what Senshi would look like if paleontologists tried to reconstruct him from his skeleton alone—no, I think the paleontological reconstruction would still have broader shoulders. This isn't just not Senshi, it probably isn't even a dwarf.

His helmet is also completely the wrong shape in the first drawing. And his horns are on backwards. And his nose is even bigger than I remembered.

And apparently the reason I couldn't remember what he was wearing on his torso is that whatever it is is sleeveless and completely covered by his beard.

I got Marcille's hair wrong. Obviously. Be surprised if many people could draw that hairstyle from memory.

It's also longer than I thought. And her cloak is shorter than I thought. And her eyes are rounder. And I completely forgot about her choker.

...And apparently her eye color.

Aside from color, Chilchuck was actually pretty good. Shame I forgot what color shirt he was wearing, though.

Compared to the shapeshifters in the last episode... Ishnes of Adnagzi wouldn't last half a minute (he's even worse quality than the fake Laioses), and Marcille is pretty obviously not going to pass muster. Laios and Chilchuck would end up getting called out for the minor-yet-obvious details.

Chilchuck would probably have managed to go completely unnoticed if he were wearing the right color of shirt.

Conclusion: I'm Laios

Dungeon Meshi artists hear me out:

Draw each of the main four from memory (bust/portrait is fine) and then draw again with a reference. After, compare to the mimics of each one from the new episode.

#for my first time drawing any of these guys I think it went pretty well regardless #still though... poor Senshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #laios touden #marcille donato #chilchuk tims #senshi of izganda #strix draws things

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crohno · 3 years ago

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HELP. [SHERIFF HASSAN/READER]

Summary: Sheriff Hassan has his quirks - but he’s a benefactor through and through. Warnings: N/A. Prompt: “Can you please just give me a hand?” A/N: Apologies for being slow - life’s been hectic for me lately, but here’s a short fluff-fest to make up for it. I hope you’ve all been well.

Like my work and want to support it? Tip me! Have a tailored fic request you’d like to make? Buy it!

“Hassan.”

A smile slowly stretches across the sheriff’s face, though he makes no effort to reply. Instead, he remains laser-focused on the radio, listening to the peppy weatherman drone on about cloud gatherings and potential rain in the evening.

Life has been a hell of a lot simpler since you settled down in Crockett with him. He used to face the days with a certain amount of resentment, trudging through his life as a second-rate civil servant with bitterness poised on the tip of his tongue. Ever since your untimely– but not unwelcome– arrival, he’s felt a lot more normal, like he gives a shit again.

“Hassan.”

You’re standing in front of him now, hands on your hips, his shirt draped over you like a blanket, and the glow of morning casts a heavenly halo around your frame. You’re about the only thing holy in this horrible town. To this day, Hassan still doesn’t know how he wound up with you on his arm.

His big brown eyes flit up to yours innocently. “Yeah?”

Your lips draw into a tighter scowl, eyes narrowing all the more, and he feels the urge to laugh (even though he knows you’ll grow irritated with him). It rumbles like thunder in his chest instead, his mouth puckering as he swallows it down like medicine.

“Don’t ‘yeah’ me,” you chastise, one eyebrow arching upwards as your boyfriend tries - and fails - to hold back a wide smirk. “You put the chocolate spread on the top shelf again, didn’t you?”

This time, Hassan lets himself laugh. It’s a brief and sober sound, but its warmth is devastating. You hadn’t been mad to begin with, but now you feel the complete opposite. Your cheeks heat up, your lips curving upwards begrudgingly as he gets up from his spot on the couch.

“I did,” he admits, coming to lean against the counter, his arms folding coolly over his chest.

“You know I can’t reach,” you whine. “Why? Why would you do that?”

Hassan’s lips quirk upwards, a charming blend of sincere and devious. It’s no secret that he’s ridiculously tall - and now that you’re up close and personal with him, it’s also no secret that he’s the most gentle man you’ve ever crossed paths with. Despite his quiet, private exterior, his aura is warm, and he has a penchant for jokes.

“Truthfully? I like it when you ask me for things.” He hesitates before finishing. He doesn’t fear your response, but he hates to think that he’s burdening you. This island has done a good job of belittling him; deep down, he knows that he isn’t in the wrong, but he still feels small. Trivial. “... makes me feel useful.”

The answer takes you a little bit by surprise. A mindless tease, you anticipated; a silly little joke, you expected. But a declaration like that ticks off none of the boxes your mind had so generously laid out for you. You open your mouth, then close it again. You hate what this place has done to him. The people of Crockett don’t even realise how rotten they are.

Wordlessly, you make your way over to him, standing in front of him with a disapproving look on your face.

“You don’t need to be useful,” you say, reaching up to stroke his cheek. His beard is scratchy beneath your fingers. “You are. But you don’t need to be.”

He nods, though the understanding doesn’t reach his eyes. Though you want it to, you know that there’s too much going on in his head for it to just fade away like nothing. You’ll defeat those malicious brainwaves together, in time, but you can’t do it all at once. Instead of dwelling on it, he reaches up for the jar, regarding your puppy-eyes with one raised eyebrow.

You sigh, capitulating. “Will you please just give me a hand?”

This time, he gives way, handing you the jar with a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead.

Sheriff Hassan has his quirks - but he’s a benefactor through and through.

#midnight mass #midnight mass x reader #sheriff hassan #sheriff hassan x reader #hassan x reader

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barnesmurdock · 3 years ago

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Paint-stained overalls.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Painter!reader

Summary: After months pining after his oil painting teacher, Steve does something about it.

Word count: 3266

Warnings: NSFW. 18+, MINORS DNI. SMUT, unprotected sex, r has a vagina and breasts but their gender isn't specified, fingering, nipple play, penetration, scratching, pet names (Honey), a hint of praise kink? Maybe?, Steve being a both a bit filthy and cute, Steve's infinity war look (bc that deserves a warning).

A/N: Steve shaving his beard in Endgame was a crime against humanity so I've decided he keeps the beard! This is my first time writing a non-platonic Steve fic so I hope it doesn't suck <3 If you like it, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment. It means a lot to me!

Masterlist

You were behind the counter when he stepped foot on the art studio Natasha kindly helped him find. His therapist suggested him to find a hobby, to put his mind at ease at least for a few hours. He already knew how to draw but, before the war he never had the opportunity to dip his toes into painting, being both colorblind and poor. So painting it was.

Your voice sounded soft and kind over the phone when he booked the first class. But he couldn't help being nervous. He felt he had failed the world and nowadays he wasn't expecting kindness when he went somewhere. It wouldn't be the first time someone on the street or in a store had let him know how useless he and the Avengers were, amongst other not so kind words.

You looked up from your computer with a smile on your face when the bell rang announcing his arrival and your smile didn't falter after recognition washed over your face.

It had taken you a moment to realize that gorgeous massive man, with his long-ish hair combed back and a full beard was Captain America. Apparently, he was looking better than ever these days.

"Hi! Welcome, how can I help you?"

"I'm here for the painting classes?" Steve informed you politely, approaching the counter a bit hesitant. So he was both hot and cute, okay. Alright.

"Oh, you must be the Rogers on my list! I'm Y/n, I'm the teacher." You offered him your hand for him to shake, still smiling. He had booked one session, which was a normal thing people did to see if they liked the way you taught, but you hoped he joined your regular group.

He gladly shook your hand, a small smile forming on his lips as he body started to relax.

He told you his name, even if you already knew who he was. You proceeded to show him around, explaining how things worked around there.

Ever since that day 8 months ago, Steve's Wednesday and Saturday afternoons were spent at the studio. At first, you'd spent most of the time teaching Steve, since the rest of the group was more advanced than him, but you would walk around making suggestions and answering questions the others had.

It turned out Steve was a fast learner.

That or he was pushing himself just to make you proud. Hearing your praises every time he impressed you was what kept him going these days.

He wasn't afraid to admit he'd found you very attractive since the first day, both physically and due to your gentle yet commanding presence. But, by now, he was certain he was absolutely smitten. Feeling his heart beating faster when you looked at his work over his shoulder, so close to his face, or your hand on his shoulder when you passed by his side, or when your fingers brushed when you took the paintbrush from him to show him how to do something and he forgot how to breathe.

Every time he finished a project and you asked what he wanted to do next, he thought about how much he wanted to paint you, with your paint-stained overalls and your bright smile and your hair always perfectly messy. But that wouldn't be appropriate, so he always chose something else.

What Steve didn't notice is that your touch lingered on him on purpose, that you looked his way every chance you got just to see how adorable he looked when he was concentrating or when he tried to push back a strand of hair from his face without staining it with paint. Martha, another student from the group, seemed to catch on your crush on Captain America, giving you knowing looks every time she caught you staring at the man.

And how could you not stare at that man. Steve Rogers. Always so gentle and generous, bringing coffee and being interested in everyone else's projects. So raw with his paintings yet so delicate. And when he seemed so serious, focused on his work but then he'd turn to add something to the general conversation that always made you laugh and your heart flutter.

But sometimes you just stared at him with anticipation, wondering if he would stay late again.

Another class had just finished and everyone had gone already. Everyone except for Steve, who always seemed to take his time packing up his things only to end up offering to help you tidy everything up. The first time he offered, you had opposed, saying it wasn't necessary and that you got paid por doing this. But Steve was nothing but stubborn, so he insisted and then simply started helping even with your initial protests.

It was actually nice being alone with him and you didn't miss your chance to steal a glance or two every time his muscles popped through his shirt. Some days he'd stay a bit more just to continue with your conversation and those were your favorites, when you actually discovered who Steve was and he always left you wanting to know more but you had to cut it before it got too late.

"Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the help and the company but you really don't have anything else to do on a Saturday evening? You don't have to stay after every class." You asked him while placing an unfinished painting on the drying rack before looking back at him. Usually you weren't an insecure person, but after weeks (months) of pining and growing affection you needed to know if he was just there to help or it was something more. But you didn't want to ask directly, in case you were imagining things.

"Believe it or not, I really don't. I like helping out and… If I'm being honest, I enjoy our talks after class." Steve confessed, holding your gaze with a smirk as he scrubbed paint remnants of his hands and forearms.

"I enjoy them too, Steve." You felt your cheeks getting warm as you smiled back at him. "Don't tell the others but... you're my favorite." You winked at him before turning around with another painting in your hands.

"I hope it's not just because I help you clean." He said teasingly as he walked towards you, drying his hands with a clean rag before resting it on his shoulder.

"You know it's not." You let your gaze linger on his for a moment before climbing a couple of steps of the ladder you had to reach the higher levels of the rack.

Steve handed you his unfinished piece, blush creeping on his cheeks as he looked up to you, following your movements as he let the realization sink in.

He's mouth dried momentarily, not knowing how to answer to that. So, it wasn't just him, huh.

"Then why am I your favorite?" He ended up saying, lowering his tone, noticing how the air shifted in the room.

You took a deep breath before you turned around to face him, shaking your head as you bit your lower lip.

"Well… you're a fast learner and you have a lot of potential�� very delicate strokes… and…" You didn't expect to find him staring at you with that intensity and that made you so anervous this time you couldn't hold his gaze. You thought of yourself as a pretty confident person, but having Steve Rogers that close to you, suddenly intimidating yet his blushing cheeks giving you a hint of vulnerability, was messing with your brain a little.

"And?" Steve raised an eyebrow, getting closer to you. He didn't know where the rush of confidence was coming from but he was rolling with it, not letting himself think too much about it.

"And… you bring coffee sometimes?" Your voice fell to almost a whisper when you finally managed to set your eyes on his face.

“Right, the coffee.” He nodded with a small smile, looking down for a second to find the hand that wasn’t gripping the ladder, taking it in his.

“S’good coffee.” You shrugged a bit, nervously biting your lip again.

“C’mere.” Steve tugged gently on your hand, pulling you down so his lips could reach yours, tenderly kissing you.

It took you a second, but you corresponded, letting go of the ladder to snake your hand to the back of his neck.

He then let your other hand go to hold your waist as he felt you deepening the kiss.

You threaded your fingers with his hair, gently scratching his scalp while the tip of your tongue tentatively licked his lower lip, asking for permission.

Steve gladly opened his mouth, his tongue brushing against yours. He hummed into the kiss as his free arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand moving down to the back of your thigh to lift you up from the ladder.

Not breaking the kiss, you helped by wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his narrow waist.

Steve gently pulled away just enough to get some much needed air, resting his forehead with yours with a smile tugging at his lips.

"That's what it was, then." He let out a breathy chuckle, still holding you up with no effort.

"Shut up." You chuckled with him, running your fingers through his hair and kissing him again.

Steve leaned into your touch, his lips both passionate and gentle against yours while he tried not to smile into the kiss.

After messing with his hair, your hands traveled to cup his bearded cheeks, caressing them and softly tugging at his lower lip with your teeth, feeling his hands grip your thighs tighter in response. You both pulled away, staring into each other's darkened eyes searching for silent confirmation. Seeing the corner of Steve's mouth lift, you moved your hands down his neck and grabbed him by his shirt to pull him in, lips crashing against each other with desire.

Steve turned around and started to walk blindly towards the table in the middle of the room, where you had props for the students to paint, and dropped you there, pressing his body against yours as his hands traveled to your ass.

You left his lips to kiss down his neck while you unbuttoned his shirt, kissing the skin as you exposed it. Steve helped you discard the shirt and tossed it somewhere behind him.

His large hands gently grabbed your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss your lips tenderly while his free hand unclasped your overalls. You broke the kiss to take your shirt off and once you did that Steve reached behind you to clear the table, some of the props falling to the ground and making you yelp at the commotion.

You made him chuckle as he moved down your neck, kissing and sucking the skin while his hands moved to take your bra off before carefully laying you back on the table, his mouth trailing down with his calloused hands caressing your body.

When he stopped at your hips, you lifted your pelvis so he could take the overalls off.

After getting rid of your clothes and your shoes, Steve settled back between your legs and you rubbed yourself against the very prominent bulge in his pants for some relief, a small whine coming from your lips as he rolled his hips with you and hovered over you to reach your mouth.

You wrapped your arms around him, your hands stroking his hair and the back of his neck.

Steve's tongue found yours as he used the hand that wasn't propping him up to knead your breast, his thumb rubbing on your pebbled nipple.

He sucked on your lower lip with a small grunt, still grinding against you, before leaving your lips again so his would find your other nipple, lapping at it before swirling his tongue around it.

You arched towards him as you keened, the feeling of nails digging on the nape of his neck making him thrust harder against you.

He would've wanted to take his time with you, but his dick was painfully hard inside his pants and he needed to be inside you soon now that this was finally happening. His hand move down between your bodies and under your underwear, dipping his fingers between your soaking folds.

"Oh, Honey… Can't wait to be inside you…" he mumbled against your flesh as he started to rub gentle circles around your swollen bud.

"Fuck Steve...Then do it." You managed to say, your breath hitching at the direct stimulation, your hips instinctively moving against his touch.

Steve kissed your skin before looking up to find your eyes. "Soon… but I have to get you ready first." He cooed with a smirk as two of his fingers sunk inside your cunt. You were so wet he didn't find any resistance when he started pumping his curled fingers against your sweet spot, his thumb taking over rubbing your clit.

You two were alone in the studio, so you didn't hold back your moans as he opened you up, feeling the waves of pleasure take over your body.

Steve's mouth fell back on your chest, giving some attention to your other breast. You tangled your fingers with his hair, pressing his face against you as you felt the tension building up in your belly.

You felt him smile against your skin, followed by him adding a third finger inside you, picking up the pace.

"That's it, Steve, fuck I'm close." You moaned, digging your nails on his scalp, your body twisting in pleasure as you got close to your release.

Steve's moves didn't falter, he kept going the exact way he had been fucking you with his fingers when you said you were close, feeling your walls start to flutter around his digits.

He pulled his face away from the warmth of your chest to take you in as your orgasm washed over you, admiring how beautiful you looked coming undone under him.

When you came down from your high, Steve pulled his fingers from your core to suck the juice off them, humming at the taste.

You sat up to catch his lips, kissing him and tasting the remnants of yourself in his tongue as your hands grazed down his abdomen to palm his throbbing erection through his pants before unbuckling his belt. You freed his cock from his underwear, wrapping your hand around it and making him moan with your strokes. You placed a kiss on his sternum before looking up, biting your lip as you brushed his tip against your folds.

Steve grunted, his eyes almost black. He pulled your hands away from him and laid you back on the table, his movements firm and gentle at the same time. He lined his cock with your entrance and leaned over you again as he buried himself inside you, resting his weight on his left arm to kiss your lips, swallowing the whine that left your mouth as you felt the borderline painful stretch.

You wrapped yourself around his body, your hands running lovingly down his spine and your legs wrapping around his hips.

"You okay?" Steve asked, brushing his fingers on your cheek, nuzzling at your nose.

"Mhm… Just fuck me, please." You whispered in his mouth, pushing him to move with your heels.

"Okay, okay…" He let out a low chuckle, the hand on your cheek slowly traveling down your body to settle on your waist as he started moving, slowly rolling his hips against yours.

You pressed your body against his, arching your back and allowing his arm to wrap around your waist, increasing his pace as he moved your body with his. Your nails dug on his back at the incredible feeling of his dick constantly rubbing against your spot.

Steve keened, his hips snapping harder into you in response. "You have no idea how many times I've thought about this…" He confessed against the shell of your ear in between his labored breaths, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"I think I do… we should've done this sooner." You said against his neck, peppering it with sloppy kisses. "You feel so good, Steve…"

Steve kissed across your jaw up to your lips, then moved down your throat before standing straight with a smirk, your praise only encouraging him.

Without slowing his pace, he moved your legs up to rest them on his broad shoulders, one of his hands gripping your thigh while the other moved to rub tight circles on your throbbing clit, the new angle making your eyes roll back from the pleasure starting to build up again.

It didn't take long for Steve to get another shattering orgasm out of you and you tried to hold onto something, your legs trembling in his hold as you moaned his name.

"That's it, Honey, I knew you would like that." Steve breathed out with a satisfied smile, his lips placing a kiss on your ankle while his hands tenderly stroked your shaking legs as you rode out your orgasm.

Having to contain himself while he felt you clench around him was almost unbearable as he was so close himself. He pulled out to slide his throbbing sensitive cock against your folds, pressing your thighs together with one of his ridiculously big and strong arms, his other hand still sticky with your fluids kneading your breast.

What was left of your attention was on him as you let him use you however he needed, you were fully spent but you didn't want to miss your lover's peak.

You held the hand he had on your breast as you let out small whimpers every time his tip touched your oversensitive clit.

Steve's gaze was locked on you, even as his eyelids fluttered from being so close, his thrusts erratic and sloppy until he finally spilled his release on your mound, the filthiest moan coming out of his mouth.

He then left your legs free, making them fall down his sides as you sat up on the table to cup his bearded jaw, pulling him in for a kiss.

Steve hugged your waist as you two lazily bushed your lips against each other's between smiles.

"That was… wow." You said out of breath not knowing what to say now, snaking a hand to stroke the nape of his neck.

"Yeah." He smiled down to you, his eyes shining with affection. "I don't know if it's inappropriate but… I'd like to take you out on a date." Steve asked with a hint of shyness in his voice while his thumbs draw soft circles on your skin, his cheeks warming up.

You threw your head back, inevitably laughing. "Steve, you just railed me into the table and you're worried about being inappropriate?" You exclaimed, amused by his comment.

"Yeah, well, when you put it like that…'' He sheepishly nodded, unable to hold back his own giggle.

"I'd like to have that date." You softly said when your laughter died down, pulling him in to kiss him again. "But we'll have to clean the mess you made first."

"Sorry about that." He mumbled against your lips before pulling away to get redressed.

After cleaning you up and helping you find your clothes, Steve started putting everything back in place with your help between giggles and confident glances.

It wasn't the first time Steve has stayed late and you two closed the studio but it was the first time you left together and hopefully it wouldn't be the last.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x gn!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x fem!reader

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sunder-soul · 4 years ago

Text

As requested, a Part II to the prompt from @riddles-wifey about jealous Tom!

PART I HERE! 💖

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Jealousy

Summary: Reader tries to avoid Tom following their strange confrontation, fails miserable, a very different kind of confrontation ensues.

Word count: 1.5k Content warning: making out, nothing too serious.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Something weird happened,” you say bluntly, falling into the seat next to Margot in Transfiguration the next morning.

She immediately looks up from her textbook.

“With Riddle,” you add quietly, glancing around the classroom to check for onlookers and potential eavesdroppers.

Margot’s brows shoot up and a wide grin splits her face. “Are you serious?” she whispers excitedly, leaning in.

“Yeah,” you mutter, pulling out your Transfiguration textbook and some parchment. “I think he thought that me and Varrowe were dating…”

“And?” Margot says immediately, so focused on you that she doesn’t notice Dumbledore stride into the room (which is rather impressive considering he’s dressed in vibrant lime green robes with glittering gold fastenings.)

“He got all mad last night when he saw us together, but then when I told him that I was Varrowe’s tutor, he…” You trail off, twirling your quill in your fingers, very unsure how to even describe what had happened.

“Yes?” Margot prompts, still grinning.

“He got all up close and… intense,” you mumble with a wave of your hand, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

Margot looks delighted. “And?”

“And nothing,” you shrug, dejectedly writing the date at the top of your parchment. “After that he just… left.”

“Sweet Snidgets above,” Margot says, shaking her head with a wry smile on her face. “You snagged Riddle.”

“I haven’t snagged anyone!” you whisper hastily, glancing around again. “And keep your voice down!”

“I’m so proud of you,” she says theatrically, completely ignoring your panic. “Merlin’s beard, wait until poor Olive Hornby finds out, she’s been planning their wedding since first year –”

“She’s not going to find out anything,” you say pointedly, narrowing your eyes, “because there’s nothing to find out!”

“Sure, sure,” Margot winks, “so what are you going to do?”

“Dunno,” you mutter, “I guess just avoid him for the rest of time.”

“Avoid him?” she repeats, looking scandalised. “Are you completely stupid? Why would you –”

“My deepest apologies, Miss Droope,” Dumbledore calls from the front of the room, making the both of you jump and wheel around in your seats as the entire class turns to look at you. “I’m afraid I must interrupt your conversation with the minor inconvenience of today’s lesson,” he continues with a sparkle in his eye. “Perhaps you two might find a time outside of class to continue your discussion.”

“Sorry Professor,” you both mutter, hastily bending over your notes.

Dumbledore resumes the class, but the side-eye grin that Margot shoots you assures you that you are most definitely not off the hook yet.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Your plan to avoid Riddle works right up until the exact moment that it doesn’t.

It’s a rainy Monday night about a week after the strange conversation with Riddle and you’re holed up in the library with the most gruelling History of Magic assignment you’ve ever had – a sixty inch dissertation on the contributing factors of the Giant Wars.

You throw your quill down and sigh, staring up at the droplets trickling down the dark window and listening to the relentless thrum of the rain. Your eyes are aching and your brain feels like fuzz – it’s definitely time for a break.

You get up and wander down the nearby shelves, vaguely searching for a particular text and fully intending on taking as long as possible to find it, when just like that you round the corner and see Riddle standing in the middle of the aisle.

You freeze.

He hasn’t seen you yet, peering attentively at a text open in one hand as the other traces down its table of contents. You take a slow step back, and right as you think you might get away without drawing his attention, his head swivels around and his eyes flash to yours.

There’s a very loaded pause in which you must look a lot like a deer caught in headlights.

“Evening,” Riddle says smoothly, snapping his book shut with one hand and sliding it back onto the shelf.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“I haven’t seen you around very much lately,” Riddle says casually, leaning against the bookshelf beside him.

“I’ve been busy,” you mutter, avoiding his even gaze as you scan the shelves for the book you’re looking for.

“Oh I’m sure,” he says softly.

You grit your teeth and squint at the books in front of you, determined to ignore him.

“What are you looking for?” Riddle asks.

“Modern Gigantomachy,” you say reluctantly.

“Which edition?”

You glance around at him. He’s still leaning against the bookshelf, looking annoyingly attractive, the waves of his black hair contrasting with his skin, the fine angles of his brows above his dark eyes, the knowing curl on his lips as he watches you –

“Fourth,” you say quickly before you can get too distracted.

Riddle pushes off the bookshelf and is suddenly mere inches in front of you. Your heart immediately lurches as you take an instinctive step away and your back hits the shelf behind you. Riddle delicately arches a brow at your reaction, his eyes fixed on yours as he slowly reaches up to a shelf far above you and slides a book off of it. He hands it to you and you take it automatically.

“Thanks,” you breathe, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Of course,” Riddle says softly.

There’s another silence. Neither of you have moved an inch, and you begin to wonder exactly how many times you’re going to end a hair’s breadth away Riddle before one of you finally caves –

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmurs, a smirk building on his lips.

Your heart stops for a second. “You were jealous of Varrowe,” you blurt out.

Riddle’s smirk falls. He lifts a hand to rest on the shelf above your head, leaning over you very unnervingly. “Jealous?” he repeats sharply

“Yeah,” you breathe, slightly horrified that you’d actually said it out loud. “You were.”

Something works in Riddle’s jaw as he glares down at you, and you hug the book he gave you closer to your chest.

“And why would I be jealous of Varrowe?” he whispers.

You blink at him. Riddle is close, too close, his eyes raking across your face as he looms over you, something almost possessive about his hand above your head. There’s no mistaking the sudden shift in the air between you.

You’re leaning up onto the balls of your feet without thinking twice.

Your lips brush against his, so softly that the kiss is barely there, but enough to send your heart hammering as you pull back just far enough to check his reaction. Your cheeks are aflame and your lips are tingling, unable to believe what you’ve just done as the silence stretches on and on, as Riddle stares back at you, frozen in place with something you can’t recognise burning in his dark eyes.

The faintest frown appears between Riddle’s brow, and then slowly, very slowly, he’s leaning down towards you. Your breath hitches. His lips meet yours at the exact same moment that he steps in closer, crowding you back against the shelf, soft and warm, kissing you with a smooth, relentless pressure and you’re leaning up into it without even realising what you’re doing, thoughts swirling, heat on your skin, stomach twisting –

Riddle is pulling the book from your hands and carelessly dropping it to the floor, taking you by the waist and lifting you up as he steps in again, pinning you to against the bookshelf without breaking the kiss. Your hands card into the soft waves of his hair and his grip on your waist tightens as you wrap your legs around him. The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp against his lips, and Riddle’s fingers immediately tangle in your hair to pull you harder against him. Riddle’s mouth is moving against yours, hungry and unyielding, and you’re getting dizzy as heat curls in your stomach –

He pulls away very suddenly. You stare at him in surprise, breathing hard. Riddle’s lips are slick and his eyes have gone black, one of his hands still buried in your hair and the other gripping your hip so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll have bruises in the pattern of his fingers tomorrow.

“We are in the middle of the library,” he murmurs against your lips. It takes a lot to resist shivering at the sound of his voice.

“We… could… go somewhere else…” you manage to say, your heart racing so hard that he can surely hear it.

A small smirk builds on his face. “What about your essay?” he says smoothly, so close that your lips start aching to close the scant distance between you –

“I think technically I just had my textbook confiscated by a prefect,” you whisper with a flicker of a smile, “so there’s my alibi.”

Riddle breathes a laugh, and then his lips are on yours once more.

Thanks for asking for a sequel @bluehydrangea-cherry and @the-almond-dinger 💖

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #jealous tom #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #sequel #minific #harry potter #tom riddle smut #sorta #lil bit #not really but hey #smut #fluff #FIL #jealousy

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spikesbimbo · 4 years ago

Text

Drunk in Love

Summary: Getting drunk and confessing your love for your “boy” friend and fucking him was most definitely not what you expected to go down on the usual night.

Pairing: Issei Matusukawa x Reader

Tags: Timeskip!Tattoed Mattsun, softdom!issei Hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, smut, fluff, virgin!reader, Unptrotected sex, non-penetrative sex, fingering, oral, pussy/thigh job, clit slapping, sweet dirty talk, praise, drunk sex

Word count: 7.2k

A/N: I heard pussy job and I wrote a whole ass novel

18+ Minors DNI

You run your finger over the condensation of your empty drink, drawing shapes (or what you thought to be shapes, you couldn’t tell at this point) waiting for your dear friend, Makki to bring you a refill of your cocktail.

“Here ya go.” Makki said as he returned with your beloved Malibu Sunset. The smooth coconut rum bringing you back to your first and favorite drink that you ever got drunk on in high school. You smiling at the memory

“Thanks.” you say. Your reply being mumbled by the liquid already in your mouth.

This all started with Iwaizumi calling Mattsun up, you and Makki hearing “You wanna get wasted?” on the other side of the phone. And with pleasure, you two were already packing your stuff up, shoving yalls “pregame” bottles back in the bag. The three of you made your happy way there climbing through the fence of the abandoned skate park you were in. Needles to say it was abandoned for a reason, but what’s life without a little danger.

You three and the rest of the third years have been friends since high school, meeting in freshman year, and now including Oikawa’s girlfriend. You actually didn’t like Oikawa at first, his “pretty boy” demeanor making you internally cringe. But his personality grew quickly on you, being the perfect target to tease you and Iwa clowning him over everything.

Now back to you on your nth drink, complaining about your previous job that fired you because u got injured, even though you know you wouldn’t have lasted long there anyways because you weren’t that academically inclined. Bright? Whatever you wanted to call it.

And as-usual it wasn’t long before your crybaby ass immediately called Makki and Issei and “tried” your best to tell them what happed with your dramatic self-induced tears running down you race, while Makki urged to you to try to calm down and Issei straight up laughing at the state your were in, snot running out of your nose. You recoiling at the thought, hoping they forgot. (Spoiler, they didn’t)

But now you nanny for a rich couple and you get payed good to play with cute babies all day, sounds good to you! Luckily, you had the week off due to them going on a vacation, you think it was France, no, the south of France. Must be nice.

Cue to now, Mattsun chuckling and leaning on you and Iwaizumi; both of you, especially Iwa, being visibly done with his shit. Him reminding you about the times you bought him some random shit, which you went out of your way for since he always payed for you, like that chopper keychain because you said it reminder you of him.

He didn’t know what compelled you to say his 6’2, tattooed built self looked like a tiny reindeer but okay. It still meant a lot to him, hooking it onto his motorcycle keys. But you knew he appreciated it, despite his appearance he’s a softie.

“You wanna try this’” He says gaining his composure offering you one of the shots he got.

You took one of the mini glasses, not being the type to back down and promptly swung the drink to the back of your mouth, quickly coughing before it even reached your throat.

“This shit is fucking gross.” You coughed out bringing the glass down from your lips.

“Imagine being sober. Can’t relate.” He said taking another shot.

“I guess I should do that but ive passed the point of giving a fuck” You said sending yall into a giggling fit while somehow Makki was thrown in to support yall from falling over. You two carry on laughing ignoring everyone’s stares at you thinking about how much yall fit perfectly together.

Makki rearranges himself to sit back in his chair, far away, from the both of you, whispering “Damn. I’m really third wheeling.” under his breath. Getting a snicker out of Oikawa sitting next to him.

“When your best friends are ignoring you. Sad times.” He continues bringing his bottle to his mouth getting no response.

Issei chuckles and gets up shoving his hands in his pocket reaching for the cigarettes. Pulling them out while failing to find his lighter

“Fuck.” He muttered

“Any’all got a light?”

No one responds so you sacrifice yourself “Yeah” you say reaching into your pocket grabbing out your prized possession of a hot pink, bedazzled lighter that you did yourself, reaching out to hand it to him.

“Don’t lose it” you stated seriously trying not to break a smile.

“K’ sweet cheeks.” He said smirking into the butt between his lips as he walked away. Your face now burning up, hoping that everyone would think it was because of the alcohol.

You mind wanders, thinking about the “dates” you two go on, from watching shows you “forcing” him to watch some romantic anime, to going to the skatepark, to playing video games with the rest of the 3rd years (which you don’t really like but you’ll play for him) and him surprising you with takeout, you bringing out candles trying your best to make it cute with him telling u everything you everything about his day.

And you always tried to remain calm, even though sometimes he deserved to get his ass beat, like that one time he broke one of your favorite pair of heels. It honestly hurt him even more, he wanted you to get mad at him but no, you just acted like nothing happened. Making the guilt rise in him. Let’s just say didn’t have to lift a finger for the next few weeks.

You basically babied him, taking care of all his “chores”, mainly making him food when you were at his place knowing he hated doing it. Makki teasing you for acting like his housewife, leading to you slapping the shit outta him while trying to cover your now red cheeks.

You’ve never been so grateful for your attire at the moment, blessing yourself for not wearing your usual outfits of short skirts and cute tops, defending yourself saying what housewife dresses in beat up vans and baggy clothes. You definitely not imaging yourself in that position for the rest of the day.

You expressed that you just liked to take care of people, which was true. You always looked out for them, bringing an extra umbrella, to bringing cookies you made at 2 in the morning to school, always carrying band-aids (yes, the paw patrol ones you took from the kids you babysit).

You checked the time on your phone seeing it was late since the sun at last went down, your lock screen being your dogs to their complaint since they have a group photos of you all from high school as theirs. To which you replied “They’re my babies” getting a groan and huff out of them.

Seeing the notifications of your group chat you grinned at the contact name you and Issei gave each other; yall jokingly call each other pet names, his contact being honeybun and yours being pumpkin, even including Makki in your contacts as pudding bc then it wasn’t weird, right? no.

“What’re you smiling at y/n?” Oikawa cheekily asks teasing you. You turn to him giving him a dirty look, not having enough energy to deal him right now.

“Don’t listen to his bullshit.” Oikawa’s girlfriend says. You’re thankful for her. She was always on your side, being the only other girl in your friend group. To be honest you just wanted her and you to hang out most of the time, but of course to your disapproval her boyfriend and his friends had to join in.

“Fuck this. Fuck you. I’m sleeping.” You say getting up to her objection, the only thing on your mind wanting to retire for the night.

“You sure you’ll be fine? Let us at least walk you home.” She said already grabbing her boyfriend’s arm.

“Nah, im good. I live right down the road.” You try to say not slurring. The last thing you want is him teasing you even more, especially in this state, knowing you, you’d probably start crying at the slightest irritation when youre this drunk.

You started to “walk” towards your house resting your hand against the brick walls to not lose your balance, leading you to run into Issei. You stopped to watch him lean against the alley holding a cigarette between his index and middle finger.

“I’m hiding like a bitch” He says noticing you, resting his weight against the wall.

“Wanna be a bitch with me? He grinned blowing out the smoke out with his words.

You didn’t reply, just walking over to him, just being around him made you feel warm.

"Fuck its windy.” He says trying to light a new cig.

“C’you make me a house?” He asks.

You go up and put your hands around his cigarette, this not being your first time. Your hands wrap a little tighter to prevent the wind from burning out his flame. He joins you with his free hand helping, finally getting his cig to light.

“Thanks doll” He smirks.

“No problem princess.” You reply earning a laugh out of him.

He takes his first hit with his and your hands still wrapped around it. He gets an up-close look at your hands, noticing how tiny they were, seeing all the scars that he never noticed, making a mental note to ask you how you got them later.

His head gets close to yours for the first time in a while due to his height. You glance at his face, noticing his features seeing some stubble growing on his face.

“You ain’t shave?” You ask, never seeing it in the past, while he was moving back up, blowing the smoke away from you.

“What, you don’t like my majestic beard? “He jokes. Making you giggle almost losing your balance before catching yourself on the wall.

“s’too much work.” He starts. “You wanna shave it for me?” he says slightly leaning towards you. Handing you back your lighter knowing you didn’t need him to carry it because your pants actually had pockets in them for once.

You let out a soft laugh not responding again. He catches on, you got quiet when you were tired and he made out that you were walking towards your house.

“You going home?” he asks already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” You respond more than happy to have him walk you back, him already moving to walk next to you.

He walks you home, you two talking about random shit, both of you forgetting about your skateboards leaving Makki to deal with them. And even though you’re drunk as fuck you’re still in the right state of mind, carrying a normal conversation with him. But just because you’ve built a tolerance doesn’t mean you can do basic tasks, like walk correctly.

When he reaches your house, he types in the keycode, your first dogs birthday, being glad that you, him and Makki have each other’s memorized.

He leads you into you house setting you on the couch, petting your dogs that ran up to him.

“Mommy’s not feeling too good” He said giving them the affection they deserved.

“Yes I am.” You slurred getting them attention on you now.

He walked over to your counter putting on the playlist that you two made together on shuffle, High fashion being the first to play. You didn’t like when it was quiet because too many thoughts would run though your head. You were in no way sad, singing the lyrics while you were laughing barely being able to hold yourself up as proof.

Remembering you were tired, he takes you off the couch and borderline carries you to your room, , setting you on your plush blankets that you had so many of because it was warm and comfy.

“Easy, there. Try to sit up.”He said, trying to ask you what draws your pj’s were in because he didn’t want to snoop around; neither of you being bothered that you were half naked, what’s the difference between panties and a bikini, he thought remembering the times you’ve been to the beach together.

Well it was maybe the fact that you were clinging onto him because u stumbled into him and he was closest stable thing around and you wouldn’t let go because it was cold and you couldn’t stop shaking.

He ignores his thoughts and grabs the shirt he got out figuring you don’t need to change your bra because you told him and Makki that it was normal to keep it on for a few days after they were in awe as you were explaining how expensive they were. You calling Oikawa’s girlfriend to prove your point as she immediately agreed with you…Sometimes you might have got a little too comfortable with them.

You hear the song in the background change to Love Songs, you humming along, “Hope you smile when you listen.”

You were still holding on to him, your boobs squeezing against him, him only being able to put a t-shirt on you, while you looked up at him with your red glossy eyes making him burn up.

You fidget timidly with your face now in his chest while gripping his sweater. Trying to build up the little courage you had. He tilts your head up making you look at him, wondering what you were thinking about.

You try to express yourself, but you can’t get the words out him having no idea what is going on in your head at the moment.

“It’s okay to be nervous sometimes. Tell me” He gently says reading your body language. He was intuitive, so there was no way you could hide your feelings from him.

But you knew you could trust him, him having full self-control, always staying collected and following through on what he said he’d do. He went out of his way to avoid any friction coming between you two, him never raising his voice or starting an argument.

“We need to talk.” You started. “About something important.”

“Ok…What is it?” He questioned rubbing his hands on your back. You were so nervous, were you really about to say this? Confess your feelings that you’ve pushed to the back of your heart for so long?

“I… I l… I love your face. And the stuff in it. and around it.” You spoke, being surprised you did it stutter.

He stood there, hands stopped moving trying to process what you just said.

“Just you, in general…” You finally confess trying to state three things at once barely getting your words out.

But he understood exactly what you meant, or maybe he was warping what you said to fit what he wanted.

"I don’t even know when I started liking you, but this shit won't go away." You restated

Nope. He clearly just heard you say that.

He doesn’t understand what’s so different about today. Yall have been in this scenario multiple times taking care of each other, sometimes including another into the mix.

You didn’t understand either. You just felt like the time was right, even though you know it wasn’t the best idea to confess while you were drunk off your ass.

But you couldn’t help it, your feelings overflowing, which you never until this day let get the best of you, being vulnerable and trusting is not your usual . Youve never even had a crush on anyone, him being to only in your whole life to make you blush.

Who you been vibin' wit and why I can't make you mine?

You should have seen the signs that you feel for him when he helped that lady that lives down the street from him set up her Christmas lights or when he first met your dog that wasn’t fond of men, but it instantly liked him. And you loved his selflessness it was something you admired and applauded.

“y/n” He tries talking you down, making sure you weren’t just saying this because of alcohol, deep down knowing he felt the same, you always being in the back of his mind.

You were generous with your time too, always being there for him. You knew he was softer than he appeared, he was tender, sensitive and vulnerable. He tried his hardest to not get into situations where anyone would get hurt, like breakups, arguments, and so on.

Which is why he won’t make the first move. He pushes his feelings to the back of his head. He values your friendship more than anything, but he can see what develops. If love is meant to be, it will happen.

I told you I am down for the worse or the better. But I keep sticking to you cause them four stupid letters

“You make me so happy. And I’ll always care about you. Okay? He says breaking the silence, trying to reassure you.

“You mean so much to me—something I can’t even put into words because nothing can compare- I’ve wanted you since that day you tripped and bust your ass in the school hallway I still want you even though you drive me insane.”

“Iss-“ You tried to get out only to have him continue talking over you.

"I love that you can’t leave the house without a jacket. I love the wrinkles that appear on your forehead after you call me crazy. I love that it takes you hours to get ready. I love that you always know how to make me feel better. I love that even when you don’t agree with my decisions you always trust me to make them. I love that when I spend a day with you, I can still smell you on my clothes; and I love that you are the last person I think of before I go to sleep at night."

You stood there awestruck for what feels like eternity until you mustered the bravery to speak “I didn’t expect you to feel the same way-” You said, being dumbfounded because from what you’ve seen treats everyone “nice”, were you really getting special treatment?

He tilts your chin up, locking his dark eyes with yours. “Baby I don’t know if your notice but you and Makki are my only people that aren’t my family that call me my first name.”

He has a point. You think pushing yourself more into him, trying to fuse your bodies together to hide, not relaxing what you were doing to him. He tries to nudge your legs to the side but you won’t let go still clinging onto him.

“fuck” He groans. You pulling back wondering why until you looked down and noticed. A smirk appeared on your face as you reattached your self to him like velcro. You were feeling bold, the liquid courage still in your system driving you to slide your fingers down his chest, looking him in the eyes before stopping at his waistband.

He knows what you’re doing, him being in this position multiple times. Does he really want to ruin your friendship like this? He hasn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend. He tries to push you off him already knowing you were gonna complain. But what he didn’t expect was for you to whimper out his name in that pretty voice of yours.

He tried to keep his calm, blood already rushing down. “You know what you’re doing”

“yeah” You start.

“y’don’t want me?” Giving him your pouty face that you know he’s weak for, hoping that’ll work, insecurity piling up. Was it because your boobs weren’t that big or that fact that you were dressed like man? Was he not attracted to you right now, only liking you when you were dolled up?

“Fuck” You think. You should have worn something cute instead of dressing like a whole ass man even with your makeup fully done. Its not like you were supposed to know you were gonna get fucked today.

His were burning holes into you now, thinking of how to say “No, I would be more that happy to fuck you!” to his best friend, soon regaining his consciousness finally speaking.

“Fuck no doll, ive wanted you for a minute. You know me better than I know myself. How did you not notice my feelings?”

You got me singing love songs, love songs, love songs

“You’re really hard to read” You replied trying to maintain your seductive act, resting your hands back on his chest.

“So are you.” He said lowering his head, you still looking up at him, taking in your gleaming eyes.

Sex ain't the only thing that's on my mind But you get me so excited, whoa

Your heart was beating so wildly that you could only take little sips of breath. His hands running down your waist stopping at your hips.

“Can I kiss you?" He asks "...yeah” you attempted to say as confidently as you could, nodding your head along with it.

His face bent down, hot mouth breathing over you. His lips slowly moved, brushing over yours, the liquor on his lips that you hated; only choosing fruity drinks even though you got relentlessly teased you for it. You pushed further into the kiss desperately wanting more. Your teeth clicking his from being impatient, wanting to suck him in. Your hands sliding under his shirt subconscious desires reaching out.

Irreplaceable Tattoos from your neck that drop down to your ankles

“You’re drunk…” he says snapping you out of your trance.

“So are you.”

He dove in for another kiss much more passionate than the previous one, arguably needy, pusing you on the bed to which you more than happily comply. He tugs back not letting his mind get the best of him, disconnecting your spit trial leaving you panting. “You sure this alright?” He says deep down hoping you still say yes.

You pull him back for your answer, your grabby little hands working their way back up his shirt. He gets the hint and pauses your lips rendezvous, taking off the turtleneck that he looked oh so good in, before seeing his unclothed body. You’re admiring his body in a new way, before just complimenting him whenever he got a new tattoo, now up under him tracing them like a lovestruck teenager.

“When did you get this one?” You quietly ask, his ears closer to you than they’ve ever been.

“I got it that day you faked sick”

“What! You said were gonna take me!” You sulked, turning your head away from his as much as you could, crossing your arms.

He let out a slight laugh before gently taking your face in his hands, guiding you back into the kiss.

This is not really what he imagined for your first time. He’s an old-fashioned romantic who likes to take one step at a time. But then again nothing was ever normal with you. That said, when he falls in love, he falls deep.

“You’ve done this before?” You uttered.

“Hmm?” He mumbles, unmoving his lips from you kissing you, moving towards your neck.

“You still with that other girl?”

“No. I broke it off her, everything that came out of her mouth was bullshit, and no she wasn’t my girlfriend.”

“You didn’t trust her? You added. Trying to distract him until you could think of a way you could say “hey in my 21 years of life I’ve never got passed kissing a guy.”

“Our relationship was purely built on lies, I’d second guess everything she said. He replied, wondering if you were interrogating him.

“Why’d you wanna know?” He asked bringing his face up from your skin.

“…No one’s ever touched me like this, fuck.” You bashfully admitted, thoughts racing through your head that he didn’t want you anymore because you weren’t experienced.

But he knew what was running through that pretty head of yours, his fingers reaching out to with your hair trying to comfort you.

“You’re a virgin?” He curiously asked dragging his hand to your cheek, you leaning into it.

“y-yeah” you muttered trying to move your eyes away from his looking down at his body.

“I thought you had a boyfriend before” he said, softly turning your jaw to make you look at him. Your eyes diverted from his arms back to his eyes.

“We weren’t actually dating” You quickly say trying to clear up the misunderstanding. “He was my friend and seatmate that pretended to be my fake boyfriend to get me out of some trouble” you spewed out “and I guess I forgot to tell everyone that it was fake.”

“Even if we were that doesn’t mean we fucked.” You sheepishly replied.

“So… what trouble did your fake boyfriend get you out of.” He questioned knowing how much trouble it must have been for you, miss independent, to go to such lengths.

“Umm, well…this guy wouldn’t stop flirting with me even after I told him I don’t like him, even following me to my other classes.”

He wasn’t surprised, you were definitely a sight for sore eyes, in fact the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes on, your beaming eyes, your dimple when you smiled, your pretty face, your “ugly” laugh, he could go on for days.

“Why are we talking about this” You whined, reaching your hand back out to him.

He took a hint and continued kissing you, bringing you closer to him while you attempted to take you shirt off. His hands helping you seeing as that you were struggling, being lost in his touch, finishing by moving you up more on you bed, pushing your plushies out of the way, to your protested because “they had feelings too.”

He ignored you, bending down to pull your panties off stopping once he saw the slick coming through them.

“Fuck baby you’re wet” He breathed dragging his fingers across your clothed slit earing a whimper from you, leaving his fingers drenched.

Shawty, you wanna feel good, I wanna feel good too Don't I make you feel good?

“M’always wet.” you responded.

From what? He questions taking off your soaked cotton panties, tossing them to the side.

“From me?” He smirks bringing his hand back towards your heat. You not even comprehending what he just said, just knowing that you’re ashamed of how worked up you were getting.

You were in awe. You’ve always known his hands were big, but in this situation your mind wondered. His fingers were so much bigger than yours knowing you can barely fit two inside your with out it hurting, and not in a good way.

“Do you know how pretty you are? It’s honestly distracting.”. He says kissing down your whole body, stopping at your breasts, licking lazily around and coming back to the nub. The attention on your nipples making you squirm and he finally lets go, you grateful that he stopped or you would have almost cum, how embarrassing.

“I thought you said were gonna get them pierced” He remembered, you going on a whole rant about how cute they were.

“You said u were gnna get em with me” You looked back on, reminding yourself making him promise to get them with you because you were too scared of the pain.

“That was the same day you played sick and I got that tattoo.” He stated lightening the mood, hoping you can calm yourself down before you actually embarrass yourself.

He picks back up and continues kissing all the way down your body, you playing with his hair while biting your lip to muffle your moans and whine until he reaches your entrance.

He parted your legs, your pussy laid out before him, believing you no have reason to be shy about it either. He paused, admiring your swollen cunt and puffy clit, you were beautiful.

The feeling that he didn't want anyone else ever in his position overtook him. He let out a little breath on your clit and you thrashed around. He wasn't going to play. “I’ll take care of you.”

His lips travel over your skin, light and heated before settling himself between your legs, grabbing you by your thighs and dragging you closer. “That tickles.” you giggle, nerves making you kick your legs, almost hitting him in the face before he grabs them. He puts them down locking your legs with his arms, lowering himself until he’s on the ground facing you.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” he teases while your covering your face trying to hide the blush he caused. He puts his mouth on you, quickly gripping your thighs, his hands leaving imprints in your skin dragging you even more into him, deprived kisses taking over your body.

“yer so pretty” You purred seeing the sight of his big build between your legs, your fingers grabbing onto his curly dark locks, tugging them.

Issei moans, his voice radiating through your body, forcing out a cry, blessing him with your pretty voice. “I-Issei!” You cry, never feeling like this before, your vibrator and hands doing it no justice.

“Shh, just look at me, doll.”

You can barely make out what he says, so drunk on pleasure. You try your best, doing anything to see the pretty man beneath you. But you get interrupted by your pleasure, your back arching not being able to control your body, grinding down to meet his lips, heat rising in you.

He kisses through your wetness playing with your bud. You choking on your spit, back arching again your body tensing up. “Issei,” You beg, grabbing him knowing what you want but not being able to express it. Luckily he can read you like an open book, knowing what you want, driving you over the edge as he makes you see stars. “Good girl,” he sighs when he feels you let go of his wrist letting him bring you your first orgasm.

“Look at your thighs shaking so much.” He teasingly cooed, wrapping his hands around them, bringing you out of your daze.

Shawty, your body is so exciting

Arching your back into the blankets, letting out a whine “Want your fingers.”.

He lets out a condescending laugh. “You need to learn to be patient. You just came and you’re already so eager for more?”

But by the time he finished your body went limp, you were totally weak, body loose-limbed and pliant. Your mind clouded by lust and deep in your own world. You gasped out a little sob, unable to comprehend anything beyond the discomfort and the need to have it gone. You can’t think straight all you can do is take action, grabbing his arm him easing his fingers into to you.

It’s not too tight, is it?” you ask clenching around his fingers.

“Just relax… let yourself feel it” He says barely being able to move in you. Fuck so were so tight.

“I love the way you look with my fingers inside you.” He added starting to thrust them inside you, making you let out a string of moans.

“Look how good you take it.”

“Fuck, you’re so messy.” He groaned feeling the slick running down his hands, before taking them out.

“Issei-i,” You cried when he pulled away, pleasure leaving you, tears coming back.

He shushes you easily, his fingers wiping your tears. You were so precious to him, your moans music to his ears. He slows down repositioning his fingers, making you let out a whimper squeezing around them. Your brains so crowded you can’t focus, can’t gather the strength to speak when he thrust them faster inside you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you fell back, fingers curling inside you, chanting his name over and over, incoherent words coming out of your mouth begging for more.

You pussy tightens as you cum, unable to breath, letting out gasps and whines. Him still fucking you, fingers not stopping, pushing them in and out relentlessly feeling both pain and pleasure. You lay there, wet in your own cum not giving yourself a break before you went and got what you really wanted, his cock.

His eyes followed the movement of your hands as they pushed down his boxers, revealing the length of his cock, that jutted proudly from his hips. He was so pretty, so virile and handsome. Wondering how lucky you were to be in such a position with him.

You pushed away those thoughts and focused on him, pulling him forward gently, but he followed his encouragement. One of his hands tilted his cock down toward your lips. “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

You parted them instantly, tongue sliding slightly outward, and then you whimpered as the warm weight of his cock slid into your mouth. You let your eyes flutter closed and swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock not knowing exactly what you were doing, but it was working, tasting the salty tang of the precum that wept from his leaking slit. You moved your tongue as the he put his hand into your hair, gripping the strands and pushing deeper into his mouth.

“You look so good on your knees like that. “He says meeting your eyes once again, almost cumming from the picture below him.

“Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” He says slowing you down by grabbing your hair, making a pace that you follow.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.” Seeing that sinful look in your eyes with your redden swollen lips.

You moan feeling yourself drip down your thighs, getting even wetter giving him head. Trying to ease the discomfort by closing your legs, griding them together, trying to find some friction. Your ears hearing “That’s so fucking hot.” watching the scene unfold beneath him.

Your jaw hurts, trying got make him cum faster using your hands and lips together hollowing your cheeks. “Oh fuck, oh, Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, fucking Christ" he groans out, his voice sounded beautiful to your ears, knowing he was about to cum.

He finally lets go cumming in your mouth, you swallowing it all, trying not to wince at the taste. “Did I do good” You ask waiting for his reply. Your doll eyes, so red and worn out looking up at him for approval. Fuck he was whipped.

“Yeah…fuck baby”

I love when you get on top and you ride it

You get back under him, his cock resting on you, drenched and clenching around nothing, resting in your cum. You working yourself up against him.

“What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” He says to your complaint.

“You’re not ready yet.” he mumbles against your whining. Spreading your legs, slapping your clit a few times before letting his cock rest on your folds. Finally getting “seated” he picks up your legs and puts them both on one of his shoulders your thighs warming his cock, your knees touching his cheek not moving, getting a kick out of how desperate your were for him.

“s-stop being mean” You cried reaching out for him to come closer, needing affection after all you’ve been though.

“Aww, poor baby, you want me to take care of it for you? He says leaning into you, reaching your kiss, tasting the remnants of the cum in your mouth.

He plundered your mouth and slowly teased his cock over your entrance, catching it against your clit and making you whimper into the kiss, clearly wanting to be fucked. Your kiss turned you sucking on Issei’s tongue and lips, biting the swollen pout until his lips were red and puffy. He pulled back and looked down at you, a beautiful mess under him.

His fat cock head pushed between your folds. The moan escaping both of your lips was primal. You were turned on beyond imagination and the way he was thrusting forward, spreading his leaking precum on your wet clit was almost too much. He quickly picked up his pace fucking your folds, his warm head brushing against your clit with every movement, but your greedy self wanted more.

The fact that he made you cum so easily made you proud. Just because you’ve never gone this far with someone else doesn’t mean you’ve never cum, you’ve had a lot of practice over the years, being insatiable, the sheets soaked underneath you from your previous orgasms being proof.

“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.” He moans getting your attention him.

You tried, you really tried, but the way he was stroking you, imagining what it’d be like to actually sit on his cock, the lewd sounds echoing in the background leaving you unable to focus.

He taps on your cheek eventually getting you look at him, keeping your mind on him by placing his fingers in your mouth you letting him, hazily sucking on them, not being able to close your mouth.

“Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere.” He grumbles. Your spit dripping onto his fingers, the friction of your thighs making him feral, moving at an even faster pace. Your body bouncing with every thrust.

“You gonna cum after I cum on your little clit? Come one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you.” You sob feeling the puddle beneath you, time slowing, fire pooling in your tummy. Listening to his words you let yourself go. You come with a silent scream as the pleasure ripped through your body, your nails scratching his soft skin. Your vison fading to black feeling him lose his rhythm and moaning a mixture of curse words along with your name, feeling him cum on your tummy before resting his head in your neck while letting your legs go.

“So good for me, look at how much you came.” He says breaking the static. You whining into his shoulder, emotions high, never doing this before.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.” He says. You two laying in silence for an unclear amount of time, him rubbing your back while you rest in his chest almost dozing off.

“Are we still…friends?” You croak out trying to hold back your sobs already knowing the answer that you two were defiantly not friends now and never would be just friends again.

“Friends don’t do this type of shit” He maintained grabbing your shoulders to sit you and him up. You were worried, did he only do this with you because he was drunk? You were anxious that you scared him away because you just poured your heart out to him and pushed yourself on him. You left your head down, tears already coming out to your dismay. You moved your hand up to wipe them but he beat you to it.

“Look at me… I love you.” He says holding your cheeks in his palm. You in awe, hoping that you weren’t imagining it, that this was real life.

“R-really” You question making him worry too, preferring to forgive and forget rather than letting this a divide between the two of you in case you went back on your feelings. You were so overwhelmed, never feeling love until this moment, so happy that the person you longed for liked you back. Yours tears running once again.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright...Don’t cry.”

You don’t even know why you were crying, the hangover already getting to you making you get a headache. You groaning in his arms complaining that your head and throat hurt.

“Ill be back” he says detaching himself from you, letting you know he was coming right back.

He walks to your fridge opening it to see every drink but water, having too dig through all of them, especially the absurd amount of apple juice guessing it was your “once a year craving for it”. He finally got you some cold water, putting It in a cup and waked back to your room.

“Issei” you whined not picking your head up from the pillow.

“Shh baby im right here.”

He sat down beside you on your bed lifting your head up. “Here drink this” he reassured, to which you ignored not wanting anything to go in your mouth, just wanting the day, or night as it was now, to end.

“It’s just water, honey, look.” You sat yourself up with his help seeing him in just his boxers, you remembering your still naked, not caring enough to cover yourself. He held to glass to your mouth, babying you, tilting it far back enough to where you could drink it. The water hit the back of your mouth feeling like a shot making you cough.

“I know, it hurts. I’m sorry but we have to” He stated. You continued to drink it, feeling the stinging in the back of your throat, him comforting you, calling you “good girl” which was unsurprisingly working.

He put the cup on your dresser when you finished, climbing back into bed with you leaning your body into his. “Have you ever thought about...us? Y’know, as an...item?” he said causing you to look at him with wide eyes.

“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” He insisted making you cheeks flush. You try to think of a way to respond, not wanting to keep him waiting.

“You’re the best thing that has, and ever will, happen to me. Not only am I deeply in love with you, you’re my best friend.” You stammer out, your shaky hands somehow made there way to his neck, letting them fall slowly before he grabs them dragging you in for a kiss before you got to even see his face.

“Everybody has always thought we’re a couple.” He continued taking his time kissing you all over your face. “Then I guess we should be.” You retort, kissing him back before you could see his reaction, not wanted to be embarrassed anymore today. But he caught you, holding you still “Really “y/n? Like deadass?” He asked.

“Yes dummy, I want to be your girlfriend” You say causing him to grin swearing you’ve never seen him smile that big, before he gives you one last kiss.

“I always kiss you on the cheek, why are you blushing now? He teases laying back down, you following along. You just snuggle into him mumbling something along the lines of “m’tired”, he understanding and speaking to you in a soft, gentle voice while helping you to bed, so he doesn’t make it harder for you to sleep by being loud. “I’m here love, I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers into your ear mkanig your heart swoon one last time before you pass out.

“I l-love you issei.” You sleepily mumble.

“Tell me this when you’re sober.” He says stroking your head.

“Just relax, close your eyes...”He murmurs, your heart beating slower every second. Both of you together, lazy, slow presses. Limbs pressed together, chests heaving, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns.

“Oh!…” He remembers. “If you really wanna get them pierced, we could get matching ones.”

#haikyuu x reader #issei x reader #matsukawa x reader #mattsun x reader #matsuwaka issei #haikyuu smut #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #matsukawa issei x reader #tw drunk sex #tw under the influence

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years ago

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 13

Summary: Terrified of losing Y/N, the Darkling lets his defenses fall.

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine // Part ten // Part eleven // Part twelve

=================================

“Stay with me”, the Darkling trembled as he rushed back to the camp. He held her body close to his chest, her head slumped right where his heart beats thunderstorms in her name.

She’s slipping away, he can feel it. The injuries she suffered and the power she used weakened her irreversibly.

He should be angry with her, enraged, but he had no strength to spare for violent emotions. His heart couldn’t bare much more than the pain he found himself drowning in. It wasn’t the pain of his own wounds, rather the pain of her parted lips and ragged breaths that came like final gushes of air her lungs released.

“HEALER!” He shouted, hoping, praying to the Saints he never believed in before.

“HEALER!” There was something in his screams for help, an unimaginable pain behind it.

Y/N’s fingers twitched, her chest rising in a strange manner; what should expand with an inhale suddenly draws in, a paradox he had seen in dying soldiers.

“HEALER!” It was the kind of scream that went straight for the heart.

Everyone tensed, following the Darkling – a man who never showed genuine emotion other than rage. His call for healers felt like a cry from the heart and soul that stretched across the foundations of who he is. The anguish tore through him as he saw a healer run toward him.

Letting out a shuddered breath in relief, he collapsed to his knees. “Not me!” He growled as the healer tried placing her hands on him, “Help her! Save my wife!”

Nodding, the healer looked down at Y/N with wide eyes. Another healer arrived too, then another, and another.

The Darkling refused to let her out of his embrace as two of the healers tried to take her away. “No!”

“We have to take her”, the first healer insisted. “She doesn’t have long and we have to act fast and that’s not going to happen while you’re clinging to her!” Eyes wide, she covers her mouth as it dawns on her who she’s speaking to. “Respectfully, General.”

Staring at her with raw suffering, Aleksander licked his trembling lips. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her temple instead of her forehead – forehead kisses in this moment would feel as if he’s kissing her corpse before her final rest.

He couldn’t stomach that thought.

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you”, he whispers.

This isn’t how it’s meant to be, how it’s supposed to be. He could never believe anyone ever loved anyone the way he loves her.

Nothing ever made him so frightened as the thought of losing her.

“Take her”, Mal tells them. Looking down at Kirigan who seemed incapable of standing back up on his own, he realized he had to take over.. “And send someone for your General. Send everyone for the wounded in the field.”

Aleksander looked up, jaw clenched and eyes swimming in tears he has yet to shed.

“I’m not leaving”, Mal quipped. “She’s my General.”

Y/N wasn’t able to scream, despite the pain darkening her mind. She tried to focus on her breathing, on staying alive. The only awareness she had was of Aleksander’s arms around her – she felt his scent. When he touched her face, when he tried to gain her attention, she couldn’t open her eyes. Her ears kept ringing, mixing with a rumbling inside his chest. She managed to blink her eyes open once, just one more time to see him, but all she managed to get was a glimpse of his chin and beard.

She wondered how he’d look without it, if it would make him seem boyish, softer. Maybe it would have erased the burden on his shoulders - they may be wide, but they shouldn’t have to carry all that weight alone.

Suddenly, his scent was gone. She tried to reach for him, but her arms could not move, hanging freely instead. Cold seeped in, clinging to her insides, wrapping itself around her heart.

Slowly, her agony had faded. The pain gradually lifted, dissipating like fog. For a moment, she wondered if this is what death feels like – no more pain? No more suffering? Being alone and cold?

Despite everything, if she had a choice, she’d embrace the pain. If pain means she would return to him, to his warm arms, she’d gladly suffer.

Dizzy, confused, she felt herself being pulled up into reality. The disjointed haze receded enough for her to make sense of the world around her. Her eyelids feel heavy as she opens her eyes, the edges of her vision flickering. Blinking fast, her eyebrows knitted as her vision blurred.

‘Aleksander’, she wanted to call, but couldn’t say a word.

How odd it is that he’s the last one she thought about when she thought she’d die and he’s still the first one to come to mind when she wakes?

She no longer felt cold. He always had the ability to keep the cold away.

Sniffling, she jerked her hands away as she became aware of another’s touch. Sitting up on a table she was laid upon, she pulled herself aside before looking to the one who touched her earlier.

“It’s just me”, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I needed to see you.” His voice is soft, sweet like honey.

Scoffing, she narrows her eyes at him and the cup of water he held out for her to take. Her mouth is dry, her throat like sandpaper. She may be angry with him, but the water he held out felt more important than their fight.

“Are you in any pain?” He asks, watching her drink all of the water in one go. “I could have them come and take it away.”

Letting out a loud sigh, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Raising an eyebrow, she licked her dry lips.

“Can they take you away?”

Snorting, he suppresses a smile. As long as she’s capable of annoying him, she’s going to be fine.

“What were you thinking?” Threading his fingers through his hair, Aleksander frowned. “You could have died.”

“Would have saved you a lot of trouble in the future”, she quips. Standing, she stumbles.

Feeling his hands on her waist, Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. Even now, when she’d like nothing more than to walk away, her body reacts to him. Looking up at him, she inhales sharply as she sees the tears in his eyes.

“I’m scared”, he admitted and she blinked.

“Of what?” She frowned, “Me?” Does her power frighten him? Because it frightens her.

He shook his head, “Of me”, he looked at her. His hands trembled as they touched her skin, “I’m scared of hurting you.”

“I’m scared of you hurting me, too.”

Dropping his hand, he takes a step back. “I don’t think I’m capable of ever hurting you.”

“Tell that to my neck”, she remarks. Her hand brushes over where his hand had tightened its grip just the night before, fixing his gaze on him. He seemed to regret it.

‘Good’, she thought. ‘I hope it haunts him, because it will haunt me.’

“I apologize”, Aleksander swallows thickly. He can’t remember the last time he apologized to someone. A part of him questioned if he ever apologized for anything he’s done in his unusually long life. “I had no right to act the way I did.”

“You once told me I could choose the way to punish you if you ever hurt me”, she takes his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Aleksander nods, “I’m a man of my word.”

“What’s your name”, she asks. “Real name.”

His eyes locked on hers like magnets of different polarities. Isn’t that exactly what they are? She’s his polar opposite in every way, fated to attract.

“Aleksander Morozova.” He uttered a name long forgotten; a name he wanted to forget.

Aleksander was a weak boy who failed everyone that cared for him. He was soft, young, naïve and a damned fool for ever believing Grisha would ever be free. Even now as he elevated their status, Grisha had to serve a human – the Tsar.

Her eyes held barely contained anger. As her hands clasped, a few stray flickers of light appeared on her fingertips. Unclasping her hands immediately, she raised her chin up. “I want to know everything. Tell me your story.”

“And when will I hear yours?” Darkling demanded, swiping his thumb under his lower lip.

“You seem to mistake this for negotiations”, she maintained eye contact defiantly. “Last night you told me to either go back to the Palace or to cross the fold and return to my father. It’s a choice that would easily mean I can choose to stay with you or leave and never look back.”

Placing a hand on his chest, Y/N smirked. “You can either tell me the whole truth or watch me leave.” She spoke through gritted teeth, “Don’t push me unless you’re willing to lose.”

Cupping his left cheek, she allowed a luminescent glow cast a light on his handsome features. She was angry, so angry and tired and her own power often terrified her. For once, she wanted to use it for her own benefit rather than hide it.

“What good will it do?” Aleksander’s bottom lip quivers as her light illuminates tears collecting in his dark eyes. “You’ll hate me as they all do. Even my mother saw me as a monster.”

“I’ve seen what you really are. And I never turned away…what makes you think I will now?”

She felt his jaw clench under the palm of her hand as he swallowed thickly, “You would if you could see my heart, all of it.”

Exhaling through her nose, she shook her head. Her eyes soften, her lips parting. How could she ever be indifferent to his suffering? She wished she could be colder, to leave him in tears and not look back. Hearing his words, his belief that he’s unlovable tugged at her heartstrings.

"Have you no faith in me?"

In a fight, they’re lethal, but around each other their armor is gone.

“I’ve waited for you for centuries. I dreamed about you for hundreds of years before I ever saw your face. I longed for you, missed you, died and lived for you.” Taking her face in his hands, Aleksander bends. His forehead meets hers as his nose brushes against the tip of hers.

“Ever since I laid eyes on you, my dreams have been clearer, focused on you. And in my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been’”, his eyes overflow with tears as he continues with a fractured smile. “I say, ‘I’ve been lost, but I’m here now’.”

Swallowing thickly, he felt as if his heart was breaking. “You’re the only person who has ever been able to find the real me. You saw me underneath all the darkness.” Reaching for her hand, his fingers tremble. “I was waiting for you without knowing it. I’ll make up for all the mistakes, for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.”

“So why is it so hard for you to be honest with me?” She whispers, her hands trembling as they hold onto his shoulders.

His frown deepens, “Why weren’t you honest with me?”

“You once joked and said I’m no Inferni”, she shrugged. “You were right about that. My mother was. Father never knew about either of us. Your turn.”

“I was honest”, he sighs. Stepping back, he frowns. “I told you my name, I answered your questions about the black heretic.”

Reaching for him, she felt her heartache intensify once his tears began to flow freely across his cheeks.

“Don’t”, he recoiled from her touch. She wrapped her arms around her own waist, hurt by the rejection.

“It’s not easy for me to talk about my past. It’s as if I’m cutting myself open, letting the ugliness spill out. It’s not painless.” Swallowing thickly, Darkling’s eyes widen as he tries to hold back more tears from escaping him. “It would have been simpler to close myself off and find an unremarkable lover who’d never dare defy me, but I keep taking the risk because I want to be with you and I hope that one day you will feel the same way about me.”

“I want”, she stopped, tucking her hair behind her ears.

His voice was quieter, “What do you want? I’ll give you everything.”

“I don’t know”, she replied honestly. “I’m hurt, Aleks. You hurt me after you promised to protect me.”

Running a hand across his face, wiping his tears away. He averts his gaze. Watching her break because of him deepens the cracks in his poorly stapled, bleeding heart.

“What do you want”, she looked to him with a weight in her chest. How can loving someone hurt so badly even when the love is reciprocated?

“Never mind what I want”, he turned away. Facing her now would have chipped away at his fragile sanity, so he did what a coward would – he hid.

“You asked what I want”, she placed her hands on her hips. “I want to know what you want.”

Shaking his head, he let out a breathless chuckle. “You”, he smiled. “I’ll always want you.”

Closing the distance between them, she closed her arms around his neck. Before she could reach for him, he gripped her by her thighs and lifted her effortlessly. Wrapping her legs around his waist on instinct, she got lost in the rush of blood to her head when he pinned her against the table behind her. He paused, searching her eyes.

Whatever he was looking for, she hoped he found it.

“I don’t own you”, his eyes flicker to her lips as she sinks her front teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. “I never did. Human or Grisha, you always owned me. I was just too blind to see it.”

Brushing his lips against hers, Aleksander smiled in resignation. His eyes are so different in moments like these, softer than she ever imagined eyes could be.

“Your silver tongue won’t get you far”, she struggled to keep her eyes open with his lips a whisper away. “But you’re free to try.”

She felt his burning gaze, finding it hard to concentrate on much besides breathing. He observed her, capturing her soft, naturally charming and appealing nature. She’s genuine and sweet, the reason why everyone’s head turns when she walks into the room.

How did he not realize it before?

She’s the sun.

She always was.

He always did squint angrily at her like he does with the fireball in the sky.

Y/N’s hands ran up and down his chest as her lips claimed his - passionately, roughly, determinedly. Without a word, she started to unbutton his kefta, her cold fingertips brushing his warm skin - until she lost patience and ripped the bottom part wide open, pressing her palm against his chest as he broke the kiss.

“Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows in concern.

“I’ll be mad at you tomorrow. Kiss me”, she ordered, drawing a smile on his lips as she pulled him closer, her lips reattaching to his, her teeth sinking into his lower one.

Pushing him onto the floor, she didn’t waste time. Her bottoms were down so quickly he hardly had time to take a proper breath before she unfastened his pants too.

Heaving, Aleksander could hardly get enough of the view on top of him - her beautiful mouth opening in pleasure every time she sunk down on him, her eyes rolling back into her head, her hands placed over his chest to keep herself steady. She speeds up, prompting his loud, uninhibited moans that drew an honest smile upon her lips. He trusted up and into her as his high hit fully, taking her by surprise. She gasped, his thrust giving her an unexpected release as she clenched around him.

Gasping for breath, she laid on top of him. Y/N was very aware of his arm around her as it pulled her close, his hand on her hip, giving it a light squeeze. He leaned into her, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her temple, making her tingle with anticipation of something more - something she shouldn’t think about after their argument.

How can she trust his change of heart has nothing to do with the fact she’s the Sun Summoner? How can she ever trust him at all?

Clearing her throat, she pulled herself off Aleksander. “Put something on, someone might come in”, she told him as she secured her pants back on. She could hardly look at him, afraid he’d weaken her resolve. She couldn’t forgive him so easily, even if her heart ached for him.

“Let me in”, a voice from outside the tent made Y/N look to the entrance with a frown.

She crossed the distance swiftly, her hands ready in case she had to use her sword. She goes to place her hand on the hilt only to find her sword is not on her.

It’s a good thing that’s not her only weapon.

“Hey!” She shouts at the Grisha as they pulled someone away. “Stop!”

“General?!” Mal laughs as he manages to look back at her, fighting against the Grisha.

“Mal?” She chuckles, glad to see he’s still alive.

“Leave him alone!” She orders, feeling a presence behind her. She didn’t need to look to know it’s Aleksander. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t in the mood for anymore talking.

“You’re alive?!” Mal goes in for the hug, but his eyes catch a glimpse of Kirigan’s glare and he slowly backs away. “We need to regroup.”

“How many have we lost?” She frowns.

“You’re Grisha now”, Aleksander speaks up. “You don’t have to fight for the humans.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she scoffs at him. How could he even think she’d give up on her people now?

“That’s not something I’d like. I enjoy my humanity.”

She was the flame who lit his life on fire and while he was burning, he wanted to thank her for it and ask her to stay a while longer. Darkling nearly chuckled at the thought of calling her fire, but she is and he craves the burn.

The Darkling wanted Y/N to be the one addicted to him, in equal measure as he was addicted to her. He wanted to give her a reason to stay with him, if not for love, then for lust. He’d find a way to her heart in the meantime and knowing they’ll have a forever comforts him, but he needed to have her in every other way until then.

He knew he could make her truly happy if she’d let him and he wasn’t about to let her go.

Not without a fight.

Watching her walk away with the soldier, he clicked his tongue. Mal, whoever he is, poses a threat he needs to handle.

Swiftly.

=============================

A/N - I struggled so much writing this chapter, hope you guys like it. I’m probably gonna pass out now, I’m exhausted. xx

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl @yagorlemmalyn @gonehopelessgirl @fefethecoffeeaddict @naughtynecromancer @poison-of-the-ivie @strawb3rrydr3ss @supersouthy @theilliterateironman @evyiione @kimoranelson03 @wizardwheezes @woodsabby6 @liajiah @its-carlerrr

PART 14

#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan x reader #kirigan x reader #general kirigan #shadown and bone

748 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Note

Same universe as the one where LXC kills JGY on a boat to not-Japan. JRS-centric as he grows up in the Nie clan and deals with his reputation as an inbred son of a traitorous bastard.

so I don't think I've ever written a fic in which LXC kills JGY on a boat, and definitely not one where JRS is a character? I mean, I've written a lot of fics, so possibly I did and I forgot, but I'm pretty sure about this one.

That being said, I don't think I've gotten any Jin Rusong prompts before so I'm reinterpreting this to be a prompt for a fic about JRS growing up in the Nie clan. Fic below!

ao3

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Nie Huaisang reminded himself. Risk is proportionate with reward. Your spine should be made of steel, just as your saber is.

He licked his lips, thought of his brother who had loved him, and threw himself forward with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, gongzi!” he blubbered. “Can you help me? I’ve gotten completelylost, I don’t even know where to begin –”

Xue Yang blinked at him, the lids of his eyes moving slowly like a reptile.

“Maybe you know where my san-ge is? Lianfeng-zun?”

The feeling of immediate threat lessened. It seemed he’d gambled right, and the rabid dog that was Xue Yang could still be controlled by reference to Jin Guangyao.

“I’d really appreciate it if you could just give me some guidance on where to find him,” Nie Huaisang said, lowering his voice confidentially. “I’d be sure to pay you back! If there’s anything you want –”

“Do you have any snacks?” Xue Yang asked.

Nie Huaisang, who had come prepared based on the rumors he’d painstakingly collected, produced some dragons’ beard candy.

“Not bad,” Xue Yang said. “Okay, sure.”

Nie Huaisang smiled, and even meant it.

“Hey, good-for-nothing,” Xue Yang said, and Nie Huaisang turned to look at his least favorite but nevertheless highly useful source of information in Lanling Jin. The fact that Xue Yang had no idea that he was functioning as such just made it more satisfactory. “You like kids, right?”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “Yes?” he hazarded, not so much because he actually did – he’d never had strong feelings about children one way or the other, though perhaps he was being presumptuous in thinking that the reference did not involve goats – but because that seemed to be the answer Xue Yang was looking for.

Xue Yang wrinkled his nose in distaste, though not, Nie Huaisang thought, at him.

“Theoretically,” he said, and he wouldn’t know ‘theoretical’ if it hit him in the face, “if there were, I don’t know, a whole bunch of them hanging around somewhere without parents, you’d be able to do something about that, right? Especially if they had a talent for cultivation?”

It took only a moment to piece together what must have happened to lead to such a question, given the ruthlessness of the cultivation world and of Jin Guangyao in particular, and Nie Huaisang marveled briefly at the idea that Xue Yang might draw a moral line in the sand over something. Presumably he felt some kinship to the children, being similarly utterly infantile, amoral, and fond of sweet things.

“Oh sure!” he said, playing up the brainless idiot who didn’t know to ask questions. “My sect is always recruiting, you know. We took some losses in the war and, well, I feel like adult cultivators aren’t really all that interestedin joining ever since I took over…”

“Because you’re a waste of space,” Xue Yang said, and Nie Huaisang pouted at him. “Whatever, the important thing is that you have space for kids. Orphans. Think, like, a whole orphanage getting shut down or whatever – anyway, not important. You’d take them back to Qinghe, right?”

“Oh, that would be so wonderful!” Nie Huaisang clapped. “That would suit everyone, wouldn’t it? They don’t have to worry about the children, and we get new disciples. I should tell san-ge – no, on second thought, he might be too busy –”

“Definitely too busy,” Xue Yang said quickly. “Wouldn’t it be nice to accomplish something yourself? You could casually show him that your numbers went up at the end of the month instead so he gives you the credit, without explaining that it’s kids making up the increase.”

“That’s a great idea! He’ll be much more impressed by that, I should definitely do that. Where is the orphanage?”

“…uh, in the forest. The back forest.”

You couldn’t come up with a better lie?

“You already brought them here?” Nie Huaisang asked, batting his eyelashes. “You’re so nice, Xue-xiong! I’ll go tell my second in command to go deal with it right away!”

It was in the fifth round of kids getting picked up – small cultivation clans being massacred and there was nothing Nie Huaisang could do about it, because there was either no evidence or else Jin Guangyao had come up with some motive to justify his actions and, inevitably, Lan Xichen would be there behind him, soothing over tempers and providing explanations because he believed him, every time – that something unusual happened.

“Sect Leader Nie,” one of his most trusted subordinates murmured into his ear. “There’s a problem.”

Nie Huaisang found a reason to leave the party early, a reason to go to the rendezvous point, and, once there, found the reason for the problem.

“Oh, hey there,” he said with a smile fixed onto his face by sheer force of willpower, crouching down to make himself seem less intimidating. Not that he was ever particularly intimidating, though given the rage coursing through his veins right now, he thought he might be able to pull it off if he tried. “What a lucky chance! It’s so funny, finding you here, Songsong. How are you?”

Jin Rusong wiped his eyes and looked tearily at him, recognized that the person asking was his Little Uncle Nie, and threw himself into Nie Huaisang’s arms with a howl.

This was pretty typical – Jin Rusong wasn’t much of a crier, but when he did he definitely took Nie Huaisang as his model, something all the other adults in the cultivation world had a tendency to give Nie Huaisang dirty looks over.

The only problem here, of course, was that Jin Rusong was dead.

Or, rather…he was supposed to be dead.

And if Jin Rusong was here – here, in the rendezvous point where Xue Yang put those of his prospective victims that happened to be a little too young for even him to stomach killing, at least without the personal grudge that had driven him to slaughter the Chang clan in its entirety – that meant only one thing.

Jin Guangyao had ordered his own son to be murdered.

Through demonic cultivation, no less, which was a pretty nasty way to go. There was a reason everyone implicitly countenanced Jiang Cheng’s vendetta against demonic cultivators no matter where they were, even when he ignored all territory lines and forgot to not ask for permission – the things a demonic cultivator gone bad could do were just so much worse than what anyone else could that they couldn’t risk any delay in dealing with the problem.

Well, shit, Nie Huaisang thought, even as he comforted Jin Rusong, petting the toddler’s back to try to get him to calm down. What do I do now?

“There has to be a reason,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “He’s not rabid. Songsong was his son!”

“Sect Leader Nie, we can’t find anything that might explain it.”

“Look harder. I don’t care how minor it is, I want to know everythingto do with Songsong. Every little detail – every person who saw him – every medical report, every compliment, every good grade –”

“He placed last in one of his classes,” one of his spies volunteered.

“What?”

“He placed last in one of his classes. About two months before his ‘assassination’, and shortly before his father started collecting evidence against the other sects that were in his way, which he later used to ‘prove’ that they had been involved in the alleged murder.”

“He wouldn’t kill his son for failing a class,” one of the others objected. “The kid’s barely more than a baby. What’s he expecting, genius from birth?”

“He’s a genius himself. Why not?”

“If everyone inherited everything directly from their parents, he’d be a whore.”

“He’d be a Jin. They’ve all got that nose, every one of them…”

“I heard he’s having the other Jin bastards killed. All of them, even the women…”

Something snapped in Nie Huaisang’s hands.

They all turned to look at him.

“Investigate Qin Su,” he said, looking down at the mess of wood and paper that had once been a fan. “Come to think of it, she has a Jin nose, too.”

“I don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want you to go, either,” Nie Huaisang said, feeling tired and also much more in sympathy with his poor older brother than he’d ever been while Nie Mingjue had been alive. “But you disobeyed me, and that means we don’t have a choice. You have to go.”

Nie Songsong looked down at the ground, his lip quivering. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You did,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have to own your decisions, Songsong. You can’t take them back once they’re done, no matter what the consequences. Not even if you feel bad, but definitely not because you feel bad for having to pay for what you did.”

“But…”

“No, Songsong. You cannot be in the Unclean Realm when – when he’s here.”

Nie Songsong hung his head.

“He’s not your father anymore,” Nie Huaisang said. “You know that, right?”

Nie Songsong nodded.

Nie Huaisang sighed and held out his hands, and his arms were full of a teary-eyed child a moment later.

“He loved you once,” Nie Huaisang murmured into his child’s hair. “I love you now. I wish I could give you more than that – I wish I could give you an answer, tell you why he didn’t love you enough to keep from doing what he did. But I can’t. All I can do…”

Is what I’m already doing.

“You’re enough, er-ge,” Nie Songsong whispered back. “You’re enough. I promise.”

“When will I get to go night-hunting?”

“You go night-hunting all the time,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “You’re a fraction my age, and already my height, my weight, yet you wield a saber like my brother was around to raise you properly. You’re ruining my reputation, you know; now no one will believe that my incompetence comes from how short I am…”

“Not night-hunting with the rest of the sect, er-ge,” Nie Songsong said, rolling his eyes. “With other juniors!”

“Not long now,” Nie Huaisang said, looking down at the paper beneath his hands. It was all finally coming together. “Not long now. Just give er-ge a little more time to finish taking care of matters for da-ge, and you’ll be able to go night-hunting with anyone you like.”

“Er-ge! Are you all right? You look so pale…”

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang whispered. “Songsong – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry –”

“What happened? Are you injured?” Nie Songsong demanded, already starting to pat him over, looking for wounds. “Er-ge, what’s wrong –”

“Your mother’s dead.”

Nie Songsong’s hands stilled.

“I told her about your heritage,” Nie Huaisang said, his lips numb. He’d never tried to hide it from Nie Songsong, although he’d introduced the subject very gradually and only once he thought that he’d be able to handle the revelation. “About your father – your grandfather. What they did. I wanted her to be angry at him, to turn against him, to distract him…instead, she killed herself.”

“Er-ge…”

“I shouldn’t have told her. If I knew –”

“Er-ge.”

“I should have brought her in earlier – told her about you surviving – I kept her from you for years –”

“Er-ge!”

Nie Huaisang looked at the child he had raised as a little brother the way his older brother had raised him, a father in everything but name, and who he had the constant feeling of having failed.

He wondered, as he always did, whether his brother had felt the same about him.

“Er-ge, it’s all right,” his little brother, his adopted son, said, and took his hands in his. “It’s all right. You tried, remember? Time after time, you tried to talk to her, but every single time you concluded that she would’ve told her husband instead of trusting you. She would’ve ruined everything. If she did that, I’d be dead all over again, and you with me.”

That had been what Nie Huaisang had concluded. That was why he’d never told her.

But…

“She’s your mother.”

“And you’re my er-ge. As long as you don’t die on me, too, it’ll be all right. Okay? It’ll be all right. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head. He’d already done so much, caused so much chaos and strife, and yet this moment – this was the step too far.

This was the first time he realized that he wasn’t sure he believed that it would be worth it anymore.

But by now…what else was left to do? There were no ways out of the plan he’d made himself; he’d designed it that way on purpose, because he’d known that if there was a way out, that snake would find a way to slither through it. He just hadn’t thought that he would be the one looking for it.

It didn’t matter.

He had to keep going.

His older brother deserved it, even if the younger one didn’t.

“I represent the Nie sect,” the young man – just about their age, though shorter than either of them – said with a smile. He seemed kind, gentle and polite, easy-going, but Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui looked at each other, and then at Jin Ling, who just scowled. “Can I come in?”

“Were you even invited?” Jin Ling asked in bitten off words. He was still bitter about some of the things that had happened in the Guayin Temple a month before, and of all them the one he was most bitter about was his second uncle’s retreat into seclusion – they were all upset about that.

“But it’s a discussion conference,” the young man said, blinking in confusion. “We’re a Great Sect. Why wouldn’t we be invited?”

In the face of such profound ignorance, there really wasn’t very much they could say, and eventually Lan Sizhui stepped forward with a smile, welcoming the young man – Nie Songsong, he introduced himself – into the Cloud Recesses.

Everything seemed fine for a little while. Lan Sizhui was able to talk to the people in charge of arranging juniors into finding another place for Nie Songsong to stay, although it would be a little delayed – Nie Songsong assured them that there was no issue – and as recompense they even showed him, at his request, a few of the main landmarks.

And then they turned around and their guest had disappeared.

“I knew he was up to no good!” Jin Ling exclaimed.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Lan Sizhui told him.

“I’m with Jin Ling,” Lan Jingyi said. “He seemed so nice and understated – just like you know –”

“Don’t talk about my little uncle,” Jin Ling hissed at him. “I know it’s true, but just – don’t, okay?”

“We should find where he went,” Lan Sizhui decided.

It took them a while, but in the end they found him in the most unexpected place: in the rooms their sect leader had chosen for his seclusion, sitting on the bed with Lan Xichen’s head on his shoulder, sobbing as if his heart had been broken.

“What are you doing?” Lan Sizhui exclaimed, unnerved even out of his own habitual politeness.

“I came to greet my uncle,” Nie Songsong said, his manner just as gentle and polite as it had been from the beginning, although it was now evident that he was as stubborn as a rock and not easy-going at all.

“Your uncle?” Lan Jingyi gaped. “How can he be your uncle?”

“You’re Sect Leader Nie’s son!” Jin Ling accused.

“I’m Sect Leader Nie’s little brother by adoption,” Nie Songsong corrected. “It’s through my father that he’s my uncle – and you my cousin, I suppose.”

“Your – father?”

“Oh, yes. My birth name, you see,” Nie Songsong said, “was Jin Rusong.”

“Why did you choose to reveal yourself?” Lan Sizhui asked. “Given that everyone knows – well –”

Nie Songsong finished the character he was writing and put down his brush. “Wondering if you should let it be known that you were born with the surname Wen?”

Lan Sizhui jerked in surprise, then flushed. “How did you – that didn’t come out in Guanyin Temple.”

“No, I knew it before,” Nie Songsong said. “My er-ge is very clever, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I do...why do you call him brother? Shouldn’t he be uncle, or – or –”

“Uncle is probably right,” Nie Songsong said. “But he raised me like a son, just as his brother did for him.”

Lan Sizhui looked down at his hands.

“Why did he publicly reveal your background, knowing that you were still around?” he asked again. “Everyone will know. Who your father was, all those terrible things he did, his relationship with your mother –”

“Why shouldn’t he? He did do all those things, and he did have that relationship with my mother.”

“But what about you? What about your reputation –”

“Are you planning on sweeping Wen Ruohan’s grave?”

Lan Sizhui stared at him.

“He’s your grandfather, isn’t he?” Nie Songsong looked calmly back at him. “Who he was, all those terrible things he did –”

“That’s nothing to do with me!”

“And the crimes of my father are nothing to do with me. My er-ge gave me his surname, just as Hanguang-jun gave you his, and for the same reason – to cut us off from the sins of our original family.”

“I suppose that’s true. But – no one knew about you, just as no one knew about me until I told them, and I only told them because they were my friends. Why’d you tell us? Aren’t you worried we’d tell more people?”

“Of course I am,” Nie Songsong said. “I hope you don’t, of course, but you would’ve found out regardless – second uncle wasn’t exactly subtle in his grief. And I had to tell him.”

“Why? To bring him out of seclusion?” Lan Sizhui hesitated. “Do you care so much for him?”

“Of course not. The last time I met him, I was a small child, and my father was just about to order me murdered; that’s not much of a basis to build a relationship. But having him lock himself away like that, as if he were in mourning…it hurt er-ge. And I won’t let anything hurt my er-ge. Anything, or anyone.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I understand,” Lan Sizhui said.

“I’m glad you do,” Nie Songsong said, and then smiled. “I would’ve had to escalate to threats next, and I’m given to understand that I’m too short to really pull them off properly.”

Lan Sizhui snorted. “I think we’ve all learned that that’snot true.”

“Should we talk about this?” Jin Ling asked, arms crossed over his chest and glaring.

“What do you want to talk about?” Nie Songsong replied.

“How about the fact that your father tried to kill me?”

“Sure. Can we talk about the fact that you got all of his affection for years and years after he tried to kill me?”

Jin Ling blanched.

“I wonder if he would’ve gotten me a dog, too,” Nie Songsong mused. “I was too young for that when he ordered his demonic cultivator to feed me to fierce corpses and have my body ravaged until it was barely recognizable…but sure, let’s talk about how he tried to kill you.”

“I was talking about Sect Leader Nie!”

“Well, then, you should have been more specific. Sect Leader Nie’s my brother, not my father.”

“He’s a whole generation older than you!”

“My little uncle, then.”

Jin Ling flinched. “That’s worse. Go back to calling him your brother.”

Nie Songsong shrugged. “Would it help if we fought?”

“…what?”

“It makes me feel better, sometimes. Besides, I may be short, but I’m pretty good with the saber. I bet I could match your sword…maybe not your arrows. But I’ve always wanted to try.”

Jin Ling looked at him suspiciously for a long moment.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Sure. Why not?”

“I really hate that you’re kind of cool,” Lan Jingyi told him.

“I am so cool,” Nie Songsong said, and passed him another jar of wine. “Want to see my spring book collection?”

“…yes please.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Lan Xichen said to Nie Huaisang, who shrugged. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t trust me to help.”

“It’s only what I should have done,” Nie Huaisang said, not for the first time. He’d said it so often these past few days that it felt like a new refrain, an alternative to the old I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. He preferred the original. “I was his little uncle, remember? I held him on his first month party. How could I do any less?”

He did not say that Lan Xichen, who could be classified as Jin Rusong’s older uncle, had done much less, but from Lan Xichen’s expression, he’d taken it that way anyway.

“You never…” Lan Xichen hesitated. “Did you ever have any – concerns?”

“That he’d turn out an idiot? No. I figured he’d be in good company, with me.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, you meant whether I was worried that he’d grow up longing for his blood family over his adopted family and turn against me in favor of his real father?” Nie Huaisang asked mildly. “No, not really. The memory of your father ordering you to be mauled by fierce corpses and to make sure your face is destroyed so that there’s a reason to refuse to let your mother see the body, as it would only upset her, is a fairly effective panacea against things like that.”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, though he looked sick all over again at the reminder of how considerate Jin Guangyao could be when it came to those he thought of as people, and how monstrous he was towards those he didn’t. “No, just – your brother always took such a hard line against the Wen sect…”

“Because they were raised with the philosophy that they were superior to the rest of us and my brother purposefully made himself into the symbol of their fallibility, thereby making himself and all the rest of us the primary target for their traumatic realization that they’re just as weak and vulnerable as everyone else,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “Our Nie sect cultivators were always especially targeted whenever we were captured – our survival rate as prisoners of war was less than half all the other sects, and it wasn’t just because we were usually more injured when we got caught. Even the civilians surnamed Wen would pull out knives and try to stab us in the back if they had half a chance! We were in a blood feud with them, er-ge. You don’t put down blood feuds just like that, not even if you want to. That’s not how it works.”

Lan Xichen nodded slowly, thoughtful.

“Anyway, Songsong is mine now,” Nie Huaisang said. “Just as Lan Sizhui is your brother’s, and Jin Ling Jiang Cheng’s. Can’t we all just agree to not care about the rest?”

“I suppose we have to,” Lan Xichen said, bowing his head. “Huaisang…did you ever think about what happens now? I mean – what should we do next?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled humorlessly when Lan Xichen looked at him. “I’m not joking. I didn’t know what to do when I got Songsong for the first time, er-ge, and I don’t know what to do now, either. I just wanted to see justice done for my da-ge, and I did, and for the rest – I don’t know.”

“That’s fine,” Lan Xichen said. “I don’t know, either.”

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Nie Huaisang thought. Spine as steel as your saber.

“Would you like to come visit the Unclean Realm sometime?” he asked, pretending to be casual. “Perhaps we can figure out what we don’t know together. If you like.”

“…perhaps I will,” Lan Xichen said.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #xue yang #lan xichen #jin rusong #jin ling #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #my fic #my fics #nothing ventured nothing gained

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mindninjax · 4 years ago

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It’ll Take Some Convincing

Pairing: Zeke x Reader, Levi x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) IF YOU'RE A MINOR CLICK THE FUCK OFF RIGHT NOW.

Warnings: Orgasm denial, Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Cucking, Voyeurism, Teasing, Zeke, Levi being scrumptious

Word Count: 3.3K

a/n: THERE ARE MANGA SPOILERS IN THIS! IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED DO NOT READ THIS YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Ok now for the actual note, guess who's back and sharing Zeke content. Me. It's me. What better way to come back to this hell app than with the trash man himself. ANYWHOO I don't wanna toot my own horn with this one but uhhh @ever-enthralled beta read this for me and it got her to thirst for Levi so like... you know it's gonna be good folks.

Clear blue eyes follow you around the camp, watching your every movement, cultivating your attention as you gather more wood for the fire. Zeke’s slimy tongue slithers over his cracked lips, trying and failing to moisturize them as he thinks of how soft your lips would be against his.

The sway of your hips, the flex of your muscles, the way your ass jiggles when you crouch down to readjust the log for the fire is agonizing. Not because you’re painfully beautiful, which is indeed a fact, but that Zeke can’t get to you, can’t have his hands all over you, that is the tragedy.

The captain watches him squirm with an ever watchful eye. He can’t remember the last time he blinked, but he’ll be damned if he does and this monkey bastard transforms into a Titan and tries to get away. He glares at Zeke, watching the way his feet dig into the dirt, and his wrists and ankles pull against the tight binds, tied by the captain himself to ensure no means of escape. The deep seated hate festers, Erwin’s last command ever present in Levi’s mind, he grinds his teeth as he follows Zeke's gaze to you.

Zeke’s eyes are running over your body, following every curve, watching every bounce; he’s inhaling the faint floral scent that’s always been wrapped around you like a disgusting bloodhound who's found its favorite smell. You’re his prey, but Levi will be damned if he ever lets you get close to him.

When it’s time to serve Zeke water, Levi watches you play rock paper scissors with the other soldiers in the circle and lose before glancing dejectedly over to the disgustingly alluring captive. The other luckier soldiers gather their belongings and head to their tents for the night.

You pick up the water canteen and make your way slowly over to him. Levi watches intently, hand on his swords, ready to strike if need be. He knows he doesn’t need to come to your rescue, you're a capable soldier, one of the strongest ones here in fact.

“Ah, so I’ve been lucky enough to have you bless me with your presence,” Zeke says, smiling as you approach him. You roll your eyes, becoming used to the compliments he showers you with in a pathetic attempt to court you.

“Water,” you reply, bending down next to him.

“So it is. Tell me, do you enjoy the taste of wine?” he inquires, peaking an eyebrow.

“I like to keep my mind and skills sharp in case you try anything funny so no,” you snap.

“Hmm...Perfect,” he replies with a smile.

You roll your eyes again when he looks at you with big wide pleading eyes and puckers his lips toward you. You place the spout of the canteen to his lips and tilt it so he can drink. The water slides down his gullet as he drinks noisily. When you move the spout away from his lips and screw the cap back on, he licks his lips seductively and says, “I always imagine it’s your lips , when it’s time for my water breaks.”

You glare at him, try to stifle your anger at his words, but the slick comment slips from your lips before you’re able to stop it. “I wouldn’t kiss you if my life depended on it,” you spit back to him. “That’s what they all say doll, but I’m sure the devils here on Paradis don’t know anything about eating pussy. I’m sure I could change your mind from that alone,” he says grinning at you and raising his eyebrows. You’re shocked at the lewdness of his words, but it doesn’t deter you enough from snapping back with a more biting comment. “I wouldn’t let you near my pussy if humanity depended on it. Nice try though,” you say, standing and walking away from him. You’re so infuriated you don’t realize you’re about to run into the captain himself. When you look into his eyes, your cheeks grow hot and you think he’s staring at you disapprovingly. “I’m sorry Captain, I know you ordered us not to speak to him unless needed...” “What did he say to you?” The captain asks in a stern voice. You look away embarrassed, not wanting to repeat his disgusting words. “Nothing you’d be interested in hearing sir,” you mutter. “I asked you what he said,” he replies shortly. When you stutter out Zeke’s filthy phrase, Levi turns back to him and glares. Zeke chuckles, drawing conclusions about your conversation.

He raises his voice, “I’m only telling the truth, Ackerman. You may be skilled in combat, but pleasuring a woman, that's where I have you beat,” he says laughing to himself.

You shrink away from the conversation, the crush you’ve always had on the captain vibrating in your heart. A quick fantasy of his gorgeous eyes looking up at you while between your legs makes you clench your thighs together.

Levi ponders Zeke’s words, replaying them over and over as he remembers the way Zeke leaned toward you when you crouched next to him. He remembers the way Zeke licked his lips and watched your every movement, the lust drowning in his expression. He’d even caught a glimpse of Zeke’s dick twitching in his pants as you spit your insult back at him and suddenly Levi has an idea.

“Y/n, I want you to do something for me. You don’t have to agree, but I have a proposition for you,” Levi says. Your eyes light up at the chance to be able to fulfill a request for him. He speaks low, out of earshot of Zeke, and explains his plan. When he’s done and you nod in agreement, you depart back to your tent as Levi comes to stand in front of Zeke.

“Don’t ever look in her direction again, monkey or I’ll carve your eyes out,” he says before activating his ODM gear and ascending up into a tree to keep a lookout.

Zeke watches you enter your tent and start to remove your uniform. He can see you slowly unbutton your shirt through the little sliver left in the opening and he’s eternally grateful. He sees you look over your shoulder as you shed the fabric and catch his eye, before you wink and close the opening of the tent, shielding yourself from view.

The moon is overhead and Zeke has dozed off. He’s shivering and his head lulls to the side as he breathes softly as puffs of vapor fall from his lips. It’s chilly and he’s only wearing slacks thanks to Levi stripping him of all layers due to suspicion. His eyes shoot open when he hears soft footsteps approaching him in the darkness. He panics slightly, looking up at the dark canopy to see if Levi has finally come to end him.

He’s shocked when he sees it’s you, strutting toward him on your tiptoes in the darkness. You're holding a blanket, and smiling at him.

“Here, it’s a lot colder tonight than it has been,” you say draping the blanket around his shoulders and bending down next to him. He’s shocked at how tender you are with him, a significant shift from your behavior earlier and he’s immediately suspicious. When you reach out to rub your hand through his thick hair, he flinches away from you.

You pull your hand back and give him a pathetic apologetic look. “I’m sorry I have to act that way in front of the captain. But you’ve seen him, he’s terrifying. I wouldn’t dare not follow his orders,” you say poking your bottom lip out and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Zeke watches as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and reach out to him again. This time he leans into your touch, aching to feel your warm hand against his cold forehead and brush through his locks. When your skin touches his, he sighs and relaxes. His eyes close as you scratch his scalp and smile lovingly at him. The ache he felt in his crotch previously makes its way back and he curses under his breath at not being able to take you right here.

He opens his eyes again when you stop scratching his scalp and his eyes bug out when he sees you pull your sleeping shirt over your head and you’re bare in front of him. Your pert nipples harden as the cold air licks at them and Zeke’s mouth waters. When you step over his legs and sit down to straddle him, he groans. You grind against his throbbing cock, tightening and restrained in his pants and move closer to him. He can feel your warmth even through the thick sleeping garb you're still wearing on your legs.

“I’ve wanted to do this since we arrived in the forest, but I never had the chance too,” you say looking into his eyes. You bite your lip again, blink slowly as your hands run down his hairy chest. You pinch one of his nipples and he grunts and thrust up into you.

“You little minx,” he says through his teeth. You place a slender finger to his lips and shush him, before slipping it into his mouth. You move closer to him, pressing your bare chest to his and he shivers from your burning touch. He struggles against the ropes, wanting to roam his hands all over you but he settles for the saltiness of your finger.

His tongue swirls around and he sucks it, trying to show you how skilled he is, how he hopes to suck on your clit tonight. As if you’re reading his mind you purr in his ear, “I’ve been thinking about your tongue all night.”

You feel his cock twitch against your ass again and you wind your hips in a small circle, pressing down on the tent in his pants. He leans away from your finger to kiss between your breast and nibble on your nipples. The hair from his beard scratches you but you sigh and moan when he bites down and licks your nipple.

“Fuck sweetheart untie my hands. I need to feel you,” he moans, moving to try and give you a quick kiss on the lips. You dodge him, smiling playfully before plopping a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Silly Mr. Jaeger. If I untie your arms, the Captain will come for sure. He’s got great instincts you know. I’m sure the only reason he hasn’t come is because you’re doing so well at being quiet,” you say with salacious innocence.

You’re lovely, for an island devil, and Zeke is pretty sure he could save you. The others have to die, but you, surely you could be swayed into knowing that you couldn’t be allowed to make more little beasts. You’ve shown that you can be obedient, that you sympathize with him, and even if you don’t, he’s very confident he can fuck the right idea into your mind. The way you’re hanging on to him now, the way you’re grinding against him, panting like a bitch in heat, he knows you want him.

Your hands snake down his broad chest, running your nails over the tight pecs and abs and stopping at the buckle of his pants. Your lidded eyes gaze into his, blinking slowly again and holding his attention. He bites his lip as your sweet voice rings in his ears.

“Do you want me to touch it, Mr. Jaeger? I really want to touch it.”

“Go ahead doll. You can touch it,” he says sucking in the cool breath between the two of you. Your expert fingers undo the buckle of his belt, plunge down his pants, and release his weeping length. When your fingers wrap around him, firmly grasp the base and squeeze, he throws his head back and groans.

His moan is proud, entitled, loud and you have to slap your hand over his mouth to make sure you don’t get caught. You shush him again, putting a finger to your pretty lips and raising one eyebrow to chastise him. He kisses and licks the hand over his mouth and you move it to run it through his hair again as you spit into your other palm and stroke his cock. It’s long, pretty and surrounded by coarse blonde hair. He sucks in a breath as you tighten your grip and slip your hand up and down his shaft. You mix his precum with the spit in your hand, teasing his tip when your hand reaches the top.

He bites his lip, whimpers and kisses up your chest. He lifts his hips, matches your pace and fucks your hand, craving your warm wet cunt. When he tries to kiss your lips again, you stop pumping him and grab his cheeks, a new expression on your pretty face, scolding, disappointed, mocking .

“I don’t know that you deserve to kiss me, Mr. Jaeger. You’re so loud when you know we should be quiet,” your voice is still quiet, twinkling with that salacious innocence you’ve expressed but there’s a hint of power behind your words now and you sound dangerous.

Zeke is flustered, his cheeks are dusted red and he’s panting and groaning and pleading for you to move your hand again. He promises to be quieter, to not tell anyone about your encounter, “I promise baby, please .”

“You’ll be quiet?” You say licking at his earlobe and resuming your motion. He groans again, quieter this time but more desperate. He squeezes his eyes shut, and lifts his hips up into your tight fist. When he’s on the brink of orgasm, you stop again and giggle at his anguished cry.

“You didn’t answer me, Mr. Jaeger.”

Zeke knows you’ll be a good asset to his cause now. You’re ruthless, strong, you take what you want and it only makes him want to fuck you into submission, to punish you for teasing him this way, put you in your place and have you next to him when he achieves his goal. When he thinks about how much he can fill you and make you his without the added fear of producing another monster like the rest of the Eldians here, he trembles in horrific pleasure.

“I’ll be quiet, just fucking let me come,” he hisses through his teeth.

You increase your pace, getting Zeke right to the cusp of his orgasm again as he grunts and fucks himself on your hand. He’s breathing hard with wide eyes and biting his lip to hold the loud groan he wants to let out as he rides out his would be orgasm. You run your hand toward the back of his coarse tresses and yank his head up to look you in the eyes as he is about to combust.

He stares into your eyes and what he sees there frightens him. Tears from the constant edging and fear spill from his eyes. He can see the reflection of the moon in your eyes, and very quickly the streak of a small lithe man zipping from a tree overhead.

When Levi approaches and observes the scene, you don’t look worried as you portrayed. You look at him as if you’re searching for approval and Zeke realizes, this is what Levi whispered to you. You stand and walk toward the Captain, bare and proud in front of him. He gives you a small nod, his eyes lingering on your body hungrily.

“Good work, y/n,” he praises and you smile at him. When he turns his attention to Zeke, you pull your shirt over your head but he stops you and pulls you close, eyes never leaving Zeke’s.

“What was that about pleasuring a woman better than me, ape?” he says as he wraps an arm around your waist. The shock on your face lets Zeke know what happens next is not part of the plan.

Levi crashes his lips to yours, holding the back of your head with his long skilled fingers and gripping the base of your hair. The kiss is passionate, cocky but not devoid of attraction. The Captain wants to be kissing you, he wants your body close to his, and he wants to fuck you in front of this monkey bastard, to make him see what he will never have.

When the two of you break the kiss, you both are breathing hard with lust and he gives you a look that asks if this is what you want. You pull your shirt over your head to answer his silent question and he quickly unbuckles his equipment and straps.

Zeke watches in wordless disbelief as you pull your pants down and expose what he’s been fantasizing about all night. His mouth waters and he growls in frustration as you approach Levi and help him remove his clothes. Zeke yells in anger when the captain’s hands roam over your body, squeezing and rubbing over your soft supple thighs.

When you both are completely naked and marveling at how amazing you both look to each other, Zeke takes in how perfect both of your bodies are. He’s always admired Levi’s strength but to find out he’s well endowed too, admiration quickly replaces his envy.

You kiss Levi again, softly as if it’s a dream come true. He places a hand on your cheek, pushes your hair from your face and says in your ear, “Turn around,” before he pulls you flush to his body and his fingers snake down to your clit. Your ass rubs against his already hard dick and you gasp at his touch. He pushes down on the small of your back, bending you over against a nearby tree and surveying how wet you already are from his touch.

“Captain, please fuck me,” you whisper desperately in a voice Zeke wishes you used for him .

Zeke pulls desperately at the rope at his hands so hard it makes red marks on his wrists and Levi’s eyes move quickly to him. Levi picks up his sword and points it toward Zeke’s face, one hand still digging into the meat of your ass.

“Do any titan shifting and I’ll carve you up without ever slipping out of her,” he threatens in a deep husky voice. You moan at the same time Zeke whimpers in fear of Levi’s very possible threat. Levi positions his cock at your entrance and says before he enters you slowly,

“You’re going to watch me do the one thing you’ve been wanting to do since you got to this forest, you furry bastard. You’ll hear her say my name, and you’ll know I fucked her better than you ever could, as if I would ever give you the chance to touch her.”

Zeke watches as Levi’s hips snap into yours and you call out his name as he predicted. Your legs quiver from only a few thrusts and Zeke momentarily wonders what Levi’s technique is. Levi curses under his breath, praises you, compliments how well you take his cock and Zeke knows it’s all things he would be saying to you. Things that he will say to you, one day.

If Levi thought he would give up that easy, he was wrong. He’s always been a stubborn bastard, a stubborn patient bastard. He’ll have his chance with you. When both you and Levi cry out in ecstasy and he releases hot sticky cum onto your back, Zeke has calmed down. He watches the captain bring your face up to his to kiss you again before he sits back quietly, planning his and your escape.

Thanks for reading!

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #marquie writes

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silkenstarlight · 4 years ago

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a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself.

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories.

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat.

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do.

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them.

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed.

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp.

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that.

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly.

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.”

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more.

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky. Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge.

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing.

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that’s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices.

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?”

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back.

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes self insert #bucky barnes fluff #fluff #bucky barnes one shot #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier

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polikszena · 3 years ago

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Okay, this is something random that came to my mind on my way back from the theatre:

A Ted Lasso “The Full Monty” AU

“All in all, we’re gonna need something bigger for this charity event,” Ted Lasso said, looking around the rest of the Diamond Dogs. Even though Trent Crimm wasn’t one of them (at least not yet), the coach didn’t have a single doubt in summoning him from the dark and dusty archive room. He felt a little out of space in the coaches’ office, not really understanding why he was needed to discuss a charity event, but still, he was all ears, as usual.

“Something that draws the attention like a tractor beam attracts the Millenium Falcon,” Ted continued.

“Do you have anything in mind?” Higgins wondered.

“Oh yes,” the coach nodded. “Look no further, Donna Summer ‘cause this is the hot stuff you’ve been waiting for!” he announced, turning his MacBook towards the others showing them a scanned poster of a charity event with a drawing of a man throwing his shirt away.

“The Half Monty?” Higgins read the enormous orange letters as they all were observing the poster. All, except Coach Beard, who was just watching the others, smiling.

“Yeah, it was an extremely religious community,” Ted said.

“Kansas…” Trent mumbled with his eyes on the screen, then he suddenly looked up at Ted. “You did this, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Pays a lot better than washing cars,” Beard said, making everyone looking at him.

“Fuck,” Roy said, as he tried not to imagine Ted and Beard doing a striptease for charity. He failed. So did everyone else.

“Though we’ll need more than just the half monty here,” the moustached coach added, looking around the others. “What do you think?”

“FUCK, NO!” Roy burst out, then left the office immediately, perhaps to get rid of the mental picture of his colleagues tearing off their clothes to ‘80s disco songs.

“I have to agree with him,” Trent said. “Never in a million years.” He just couldn’t see himself taking off his clothes to ‘80s disco songs… or wait, Hot Stuff might still be the ‘70s, he thought, but then he shook it out of his head as it wasn’t the point. The point was that he couldn’t see himself taking off his clothes to music with people watching him. He couldn’t see himself doing that while being alone either. Not that it would make much sense, but he still couldn’t imagine it.

“I’m in, but only if we leave out the Macarena,” Beard told him.

“Then it’s gonna be ‘Nay Macarena,’” Ted said then turned to Higgins. “How ‘bout you, Higgy Pop?”

“Well, I may already have a playlist for it,” he admitted, holding up his phone to show the songs to the others.

“Have you just made it right now?” Trent wondered.

“Oh, no, it’s there for a couple of years now,” he told them, and the ex-journalist had to fight himself not to ask the reason why as he didn’t want to be rude.

“Didn’t know you were into such thing,” Ted said.

“My wife likes watching me dance,” Higgins added.

“Can’t blame her,” the coach nodded.

At the moment the door opened, and Jamie Tartt entered the office.

“I’ve just heard that you want to do some striptease,” he said. “Can I join?”

#sorry this is quite random #ted lasso #trent crimm #coach beard #leslie higgins #roy kent #jamie tartt #the full monty #my fics #it's a bag of weird in here #the half monty

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cinebration · 4 years ago

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Waiting (Captain Syverson x Reader) [Request]

Hooray for open asks! Okay, drabble this - we all know Sy loves his Aika dog. What if she gets injured? And the pretty lady veterinarian at Warhorse (who Sy happens to be having a secret relationship with) helps take care of her. Sy would be so grateful. And spend lots of time in the vet's quarters keeping an eye on his beloved girl(s) 😉 — Requested by @tuckersgirl

A/N: Reader changed to medic instead of veterinarian. The mention of medics trained on animals is a reference to The Punisher.

Tagged: @bichibibi

Warnings: injured animal

Gif Source: henry-cavlll

The commotion outside made you fear the worst. You hurried out of the medical tent, prepared for whatever gruesome horror the war was placing at your feet.

You hadn’t expected it to be Aika.

As the men loaded the German Shepherd into the tent, Syverson grasped your arm, his grip tight out of panic and desperation. You stared up into his fearful face made stony by his helplessness. He wasn’t one to show weakness, as he saw it, but you felt his palpable anxiety.

“Save her,” he pleaded.

“I’m a medic, not a vet.”

“You told me about all those dogs they had you work on for practice. You can save her.”

Remembering the dogs made you sick to your stomach. Inside the tent, a high-pitched whine rose above the clamor. Syverson’s grip tightened on your arm, the pain in his face visible.

“I’ll do what I can,” you assured him.

You strode back into the tent. “Everybody out!”

The soldiers hurried out, leaving all but you and Syverson. He stood by Aika’s head, rubbing his hands over her ears. Her eyes rolled in their sockets.

You surveyed the damage. Two bullets had torn through the dog, one seemingly lodged in the bone of her thigh.

I can do this, you told yourself. Risking a glance at Syverson, you added, I have to do this.

The captain’s grief would be too much to bear if you failed.

Gathering up your tools, you rolled over a light and shined it down into the wounds. Syverson hovered nearby.

“I need you to let me work.”

Syverson glanced at Aika, his heart rending as he glimpsed her panicked and pain-clouded eyes. “I stay.”

“You’re no use to me in here,” you said, stepping firmly in his eye line. “I’ll do what I can. Just go.”

He stared back, his jaw clenching.

“Go.”

Grinding so loudly you could hear it, Syverson backed out of the tent, his last look directed at Aika. You immediately turned your attention to the dog, free of distraction, and got to work.

When you emerged from the tent, Syverson, seated just outside, leapt to his feet, face taut with worry. You waved him inside.

Aika lay on the table, breathing shallowly but evenly. Her belly and leg were wrapped in bandages already turning red.

“It’s up to her now,” you said.

Syverson walked over to her, placed his hand on her head. The dog, not yet awake, didn’t stir beneath his touch.

“What happened?”

“She got shot.”

You tugged on his arm, forcing him to look at you. “Sy.”

Passing a hand over his face and beard, he answered, “I’m not sure. It came from over the wall.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shaking his head, Syverson returned his attention to his dog. You gently squeezed his hand, trying to lend him as much strength and assurance as you could. He squeezed back, clenching too tightly. Pain lanced up your arm, but you fought against it.

He needed you.

For the next twenty-four hours, he stayed in the tent. Robinson, his second, took over Syverson’s duties in the interim, giving his captain the time and space he needed to worry over Aika.

It was all you could do to encourage Syverson to eat meager meals and sleep a few hours over the same period.

“She’s doing well,” you assured him.

Aika had woken earlier in the day, managed to respond to Syverson’s voice. But when she had slipped back into sleep, Syverson’s agitation had returned.

It was infecting you, filling the tent with its terrible energy.

“Babe,” you murmured, drawing his attention. “Waiting around isn’t going to help.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“Sy.”

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

Raking a hand through your hair, you resigned yourself to weathering the storm of his apprehension. There wasn’t much you could do but monitor the dog’s vitals and pray she would recover.

The next day, Aika woke more aware. She tried to get up from the cot you had placed her on. Leaping to his feet, Syverson helped her upright, keeping his hands on her to steady her. She nosed his face and whined before resting her chin on his shoulder.

It was all Syverson could do not to cry.

“Does this mean…?” he asked, his voice thick.

“Looks like she’ll make it.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his head against Aika’s. You retreated behind the partition, giving them space.

A half hour later, Syverson emerged, approached you. You smiled up at him, though it was thin with weariness.

Clearing his throat, he mumbled, “I’m sorry for, you know.”

You leaned back in your chair, rubbed your eyes.

“It’s alright, babe.”

“No, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s alright. But do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Get out of here. You can see her later, but you have Warhouse to run.”

Nodding, Syverson turned to go, turned back. Sneaking a glance over his shoulder at the front of the tent, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. It said the words he struggled to speak aloud: Thank you.

#Captain Syverson x Reader #Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Sad Castle (2017)#Netflix Sand Castle #requests

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barnesandco · 3 years ago

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Little Hands (IV)

Series Masterlist

Communication is key.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 2248. Square filled: “Sung to Sleep”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Hydra Evilness, More Sad Child, Parental Anxieties. Brief mentions of war, sickness, death, grief.

A/N: I know 2.2k words isn’t objectively a lot but boy did this feel like it. I hope every word is worth it and that you enjoy! Lmk what you think!!! Also I won’t even lie, the idea of Steve’s kids is 100% from one of my favorite comfort fics, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten, by the genius, the wonderful cosmicocean. IT’S SO SOFT. Pls read it.

You’re stunned when Bucky tells you what’s going on. The idea that his daughter (?) was made in a lab like some kind of experiment, and that the man who led said experiment now wants her back like she is his property, his weapon, is too horrid to consider for very long. Weaponizing an innocent child. Hydra.

Bucky gave you the broad strokes of the investigation – currently running on little more than educated guesses based on the meagre intel they have – and has let you know that he has had to recuse himself from the case, due to his… personal connection. That leaves him somewhere he finds awkward, to say the least.

It's evident in the way the corners of his lips turn down, how he is constantly rubbing the pads of his fingers against the coarse scratch of denim, while he watches Ana watch Zoya, Steve’s 17-year-old daughter, working on a tablet. Zoya tucks a strand of hair behind her hijab, then continues to draw up a storyboard, narrating the events to the younger girl. Steve had apparently forgotten the lunch his kids had made him at home, so Zoya had brought it in, and decided to stay the day.

Ana’s quiet, attentive for the most part, listening with her full capabilities, but her eyes flit away from the screen every now and then to look at you and Bucky, as if to reassure herself that you’re still there.

Besides that, there aren’t all that many distractions present for an already precocious child. Most of the team has dispersed for the investigation, with the exception of Peter, who is sat at a table in the corner making intentionally fruitless efforts at teaching Morgan chess, while she giggles and tries to stack the pieces like Jenga blocks instead.

However, Bucky’s restlessness is infectious, and you think he needs to get it under check before it grows any further. That’s why you stand, saying, “Could we go for a little walk, Bucky?”

He nods, man of few words that he is, and leads the way. You’re sure he knows that you formulated it like a request for his benefit, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s just as well – that he knows you like that, and knows when to accept the proverbial hand being offered.

Bucky takes you to a corner of the roof that you’d mistake for a community garden if you didn’t know any better. The Avengers seem to have green thumbs, or at least, a significant portion of them do. They’re good with plants, and possessive about them, too. Autumn ferns grow outside the circle they seem to have been planted in – with a sign shouting Wanda! – to invade the territory of a vegetable garden labelled Bruce (accompanied by a Hulkish, green thumbs up presumably not drawn by the man himself).

Meticulously maintained daylilies and columbines, in vivid reds and vibrant purples, litter the edges of the path that has been carved through this little paradise, and the birdhouses between them stake the claim of the owner more effectively than a neon sign screaming Sam Wilson. Bucky’s told you about his abilities, how they veer into the decidedly supernatural but Sam insists are only the residue of a childhood with homing pigeons.

Nothing here looks like Bucky’s, though. He seems to be taking it in, perhaps thinking about his own little paradise back in the city, and how he’s chosen to keep it distant from that of his teammates. That worries you. He worries you.

And this, the situation with Anastasia, becoming a father, it’s terrifying. Hell, if it scares you this much, how is he feeling? You ask him as much.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He laughs, softly, disbelievingly, no malice in his scoff, only fear. Only the sound of a voice saturated with consternation and total, complete anxiety. “Would you be?” He asks back.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Bucky evades the questions, turning first one way on the path, and then the other, approaching the edge clear of shrubbery and blooms alike, resting his palms on the top of the wall.

“I can’t be a father.”

The solemnity in his tone allows no room for negotiations, but then, neither do the facts. “You are,” you reply, somewhat hesitantly, because the technicalities of how Ana came to be are still a little blurry to you. She’s far from a normal child, and not quite a clone, either. She is of Bucky, though. His, in any way that counts.

“That little girl was created in a Hydra lab as a super soldier to serve the cause,” he says, shaking his head vigorously as the cause repulses him even more than it does you. “And who knows what else she was put through before SHIELD fell and Orlov got her out, and it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for it to happen but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t happened. They used me to make a super soldier from scratch, and now I’m supposed to raise her? It’s not that simple. I’m not Steve. I can’t…”

Being honest, you feel you’re pretty far out of your depth here. But you’ve promised him your help, and you’ll do your best.

“You don’t have to. There are other options.” You’re sure you’re overstepping. Perhaps this gentle companionship has not yet reached the point where you can give advice on parenting. But if you don’t, who will? Steve, whose answers don’t enter the gray territory Bucky’s mind is residing in right now, who parents like he was born for it?

Steve chose fatherhood. Bucky has been nailed to it like it’s a new cross to bear, heavier than all the previous ones put together.

His gaze roams the grounds that stretch as far as you can see. You’re both far away from home right now, far outside your comfort zones.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess, sweetheart. It’s not right. You have things to do, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Bucky, I’ve been staring at the same four sentences of dialogue for the past month. I literally could not have been happier to get out of the house. Even if I do wish it was under better circumstances,” you say fervently. You’re here because he needs you. Because Ana needs you. It’s nice to be needed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he smiles, and you’re glad to see it.

“Not to mention, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except whoever your team is looking for,” you insist. “And Ana’s a sweet girl. A little quiet, but Baba says I was, too.”

This, Bucky thinks about. You wonder if he was a quiet child, too. “What’s he like?”

“Hmm?” The reverie snaps like a rubber band.

“Your father?” Bucky asks, shyly, his eyes meeting yours, letting you know exactly why he’s asking.

You look up at the clouds, think back to Boston, to time shared between the library and the park. A childhood with books, lunch breaks under a desk in an office at MIT, stealing his glasses and running away with them, rubbing at his stubbly beard like he was a housecat. Inside jokes with your father and rolled eyes with your mother. Laughter and tears, laughter with tears.

After a long while, trying and failing to summarize your father, you say, “A jokester. The most sarcastic person I know. But still kind of neurotic, to be honest. The kind of parent that makes you show up at the airport a full four hours before your flight.” It’s grossly insufficient. For a writer, you’re not very good with words. You suppose it’s not the words that are the problem; it’s the lifetime they have to encompass. “What about yours?”

Bucky sighs. “Soldier. He’s one thing I don’t feel bad for not remembering because it wasn’t Hydra that wiped those memories. He just died when I was really small. Survived the Great War only to be killed by TB a few years later at home.”

“I’m sorry.” You avert your eyes. Grief feels private, even decades later, even in the smallest doses.

He shakes his head, smiles fondly, up at the sky, too, like you did. Only, he’s smiling at it, like he’s thinking of someone beyond the clouds. “Don’t be. Was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t allowed to hurt anymore.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“I sound like my therapist.”

At this, the two of you look at each other and burst into laughter. It feels forbidden, as though the severity of the situation condemns joy. That isn’t fair, you think. The situation is that of a child, and nobody needs laughter more than kids do. Food for the soul.

When the echo of your exhilarations falls, Bucky grows serious once more. “They have them for kids, now, too, right?” He asks, referring to therapists. “Do you think Anastasia should see one? She’s not exactly… normal, you know?”

“Maybe.” It’s a difficult question, but a good indicator of how Bucky is growing to feel about Ana. “You’d make a good dad, if you wanted to be one, Bucky,” you say, and mean it. It’s plain as day that he cares about her.

“I can’t even remember my own.”

“Parental instincts are intuitive, not genetic,” you tell him.

“You been reading handbooks?” He teases.

“You’d be surprised by how much you learn from the rabbit holes you fall down while researching books,” you deadpan.

“Can any of that research get the nightmares out of my head? I think it might scare a kid.”

The self-deprecation hurts, but your response is honest, heartfelt. “She likes you already.”

“She won’t if she thinks I’ve run away,” he answers, straightening up. He might be trying to evade the conversation, but you’ll let him, for now. He’s gotten some fresh air, had some time to clear his thoughts, or sort them, at least. And so you return, to the little girl who has a tighter grip on both of you than you even realize.

------

Ana grows unsettled as night darkens the sky. It could be the ruckus she isn’t quite used to. It could be the toy fire truck Tony has been altering with his utensils to increase its noise output, much to Morgan’s amusement. It could be the actual parrot perched on Sam’s shoulder.

Whatever the cause, she hasn’t succumbed to it enough to make a seat out of the fridge again. She’s sitting in her seat, between Bucky and yourself, eating the hummus Bruce and Wanda have made. Nat discusses sniper scopes with Clint, Peter tries to get away with eating the side of vegetables on Jordan’s plate without Steve noticing, and Bucky eats silently, eyes almost constantly on Anastasia, who takes it all in while her knee bounces up and down with an ever-increasing speed, much like her father’s.

You excuse yourselves soon after dessert, after Morgan has fallen asleep against Jordan’s arm on the couch, and Steve and Tony’s friendly debate is starting to develop the edge it tends to when they’ve been bantering for too long.

Bucky sets up on the sectional in his room, and leaves the ridiculously large double bed to you and Anastasia. It’s been a strange, strange day, and one can only hope that tomorrow brings some ease, a balm for the prickly, fiery ache that has settled over the man you care so much about.

------

When you wake, it’s because of singing. For half a moment, you think you’re in a dream, but as your eyes adjust to the blanket of dark, you see the shadow on the sofa nearby. Only, it’s bigger than just Bucky. Anastasia is sitting on his lap, her head cushioned against his chest. Scrambling for your glasses, and turning on the lamp on the bedside table, you notice that there are trails of drying tears on her little cheeks, and she’s still shaking with the aftershocks of whatever scare she must’ve had during the night.

Not for the first time, you curse your deep sleep that meant you didn’t wake with Ana, but watch in wonder as Bucky sings.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing Papa's going to buy you a diamond ring

Ana’s eyes begin to close, but she fights the sleep. Bucky doesn’t let her. He lies down, easing her down beside himself, singing all the while.

And if that diamond ring turns brass Papa's going to buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke Papa's going to buy you a billy goat

His voice fills the room, low though it may be, and he curls himself around Ana.

And if that billy goat won't pull Papa's going to buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over Papa's going to buy you a dog named Rover

She succumbs to the lull of his tone, his song, his promises, sighs a little sigh, lets the last, little hiccup leave her body.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's going to buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

Bucky lifts his hand from where it was stroking the hair at her temple, and lays his arm over his daughter. They’re safe, for now. Together.

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