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mrs-gucci · 3 years

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Gucci’s Girl [REPOST] {Maurizio Gucci x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! I originally wrote this story as an ‘x OC’ because that’s what I was writing at the time, but I decided to change it into an ‘x Reader’ story since that’s what more people like to read!

**I used a translation application for the Italian in this story. Apologies if there are any typos and/or incorrect sentences/grammar. Italian sentences/words are in italics throughout the story with translations after the sentences in parenthesis.

**This is MY OWN INTERPRETATION of Maurizio Gucci’s character, as portrayed by Adam Driver in the upcoming film, House Of Gucci.

warnings: smut. fluff. grinding. multiple orgasms. pretty vanilla sex.

(possible) tw’s: infidelity (he’s engaged, not married).

SMUT under the CUT!

“Tesoro” means “Treasure” in Italian (an affectionate nickname).

“Y/N, will you stay after for a bit?”

Mr. Gucci walks over to your desk.

“I need to ask you something.”

You nod, smiling up at your boss.

“Of course, Mr. Gucci.”

Inside, you were panicking.

He’s never asked you to stay after work before, except on your first day, which made sense. But this doesn’t make sense…

He returns the smile.

“Excellent. Just come to my office.”

You continue to work, faxing and typing away until the clock read five.

Everyone else begins to pack up and bids you farewell as you make your way up to Mr. Gucci’s office.

The wooden door has never looked more intimidating than it does in this moment, as you raise your knuckles and knock.

“Entra in.” (Come in.)

You take a deep breath before you turn the handle, forcing a smile on your face.

He looks so scary and intimidating when he sits at his desk, a fact that, when you told him, made him laugh.

“Ah, yes, Y/N. Come in, sit down.”

The chairs in his office are top-of-the-line, a refreshing change from the less-than luxurious chairs out on the floor.

Mr. Gucci lights a cigarette and takes a drag before standing up and walking around to take a seat in the chair next to you.

When he sees your confused expression, he laughs softly, taking another drag.

“I know you think I look scary sitting back there, and I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Your eyes go wide.

“O-Oh, that’s not what I meant—“

“I know, tesoro.”

He chuckles, eyes flickering over your face before he speaks again.

“So, the annual House of Gucci Ball is coming up, as you know.”

You nod.

“And, I was wondering...would you want to...come with me?”

Your stomach drops.

“W-What?”

The CEO looks incredibly flustered and anxious, a new look for him.

“My fiancée isn’t feeling well and as the head of the House, I really don’t want to go alone…”

In a bold move, you reach out and gently place your hand over his. He looks up at you, and you smile.

“I’d, uhh, I’d love to go, sir. It would be my pleasure.”

“Great.”

The corners of his lips tug up into a genuine smile and his eyes dart away from yours as he takes another drag.

“I’ll have the company tailor come in tomorrow and take your measurements for a gown. And you’ll come here three hours beforehand in order to have hair and makeup done.”

You’re still partially in shock as he discusses dresses and makeup and hair.

It’s become clear to you over the past few weeks that he has feelings for you, and you think they’re the same feelings that you have for him.

But obviously, neither of you can act on them, no matter how badly you wish you could. He’s set to be married in a few months, and there’s a very strict company policy that forbids relationships between workers and their supervisors.

So, it left this unresolved tension between the two of you, and you literally just agreed to spend an entire night at an event with him.

The reality hits and you feel lightheaded.

Oh my god, I’m going to the company ball with Maurizio Gucci.

Four Weeks Later

The elevator dings and you step out into the now-vacant office. You see several people standing around a portable salon setup, and they all turn to look at you.

“Miss Y/N?”

One of them asks.

You nod.

“Si.” (Yes.)

They quickly sit you down in the chair and begin applying makeup and doing your hair.

You’re tearing up a little bit as you look at yourself in the mirror. Clad in a long, form-fitting gown and in full hair and makeup, you look and feel like a princess.

The stylist hands you a small accent clutch and almost immediately after, the elevator dings, and Mr. Gucci steps out, clad in a snappy black suit, not unlike what he wears at work everyday.

That man is never not in a suit, you’ve learned.

His eyes go wide as you step down from the small platform. Your cheeks warm under his intense gaze.

The stylist looks nervous as his eyes roam your figure.

She speaks up a moment later, voice meek.

“Il vestito e il trucco soddisfano i suoi standard, signore?” (Does the dress and makeup meet your standards, sir?)

He tears his eyes away from you, and nods at the stylist.

“Ha superato le mie aspettative.” (It’s exceeded my expectations.)

You’re blushing madly now, unable to meet his eyes as you feel him looking at you again.

Soon, the stylist packs up and leaves just you and Mr. Gucci alone.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“You look...beautiful, absolutely beautiful, tesoro.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, absolutely starstruck by his handsomeness. He somehow manages to look better and more attractive every time you see him.

“You’re too sweet, sir.”

He takes your hand, kissing your knuckles.

“Please, I’m Maurizio tonight.”

You nod, trying his name on your tongue.

“Maurizio.”

Mr. Gucci smiles as he releases your hand. “We have a few minutes before the car gets here...would you like some water? Espresso?”

“I’m alright, but thank you.” You say.

A few moments of sexually-charged silence lingers between you two.

“Thank you for agreeing to join me tonight.”

He says suddenly.

“I always enjoy our time together, Y/N.”

You smile.

“Me too.”

“Really? You do?”

Maurizio blushes slightly.

“It’s just...I’m an old man, you’re a young woman...”

You chuckle as you reach out to hold his hand.

“You’re not old, sir—Maurizio. And yes, really, I do enjoy our time together.”

“I’m glad.”

He says, eyes flicking down to your lips as he leans in a little bit.

Wait...what? Is he gonna… Fuck, oh god, this can’t happen...

Honk!

He flinches at the sound, standing up straight and clearing his throat.

“I guess the car is here.”

You chuckle nervously as he holds out his hand, and you take it, walking alongside him to the elevator.

It’s a short drive to the hotel and when you two arrive, there are swarms of paparazzi, all crowding around the car when the driver pulls to the curb.

Maurizio clearly sees your overwhelmed expression and tension, reaching over to squeeze your hand.

“Don’t worry, tesoro. Just stay by my side and don’t answer any of their questions, yes?”

You nod and he gets out, walking around to open your door and help you out of the car. Immediately, when the press sees that you’re not his fiancée, the cameras flash even more rapidly and voices overlap one another.

“Sei la nuova fidanzata di Maurizio?” (Are you Maurizio’s new girlfriend?)

“Maurizio, dov’e la tua fidanzata?” (Maurizio, where’s your fiancée?)

“Strumento a mano.” (Gold digger.)

“Puttana americana.” (American whore.)

They were all basically on top of you, asking so many questions and saying so many things about you, it was incredibly overwhelming.

Suddenly, Maurizio’s voice boomed through the crowd, and everyone fell silent.

“Lasciala in pace!” (Leave her alone!)

His arm wraps tighter around your waist, pressing you even further into his side as he walks you both into the building. The cameras and crowds were almost completely silent, still, and you were just trying to process it all as the two of you walked into the event, you still tucked into his side.

He stopped just inside the door and let you go, taking your hands instead, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Are you okay, tesoro? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

You shake your head, still trembling a little bit.

“N-No, I’m okay, just a little shaken up.”

“They’re vicious and relentless...mi dispiace. I should’ve warned you about them beforehand, but I’m relieved that you’re okay.” (I’m sorry)

“It’s okay, Maurizio, really.”

You smile sadly.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He wraps an arm around you again, gently squeezing your hip before rubbing it lightly.

“Of course, anything for mi tesoro. I’m indebted to you for joining me tonight.”

You’re blushing, eyes darting away from his.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. It’s an honor to accompany you, and I’m sorry that my presence caused so much trouble for you, with the press.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He smiles, eyes lingering on you for a moment before guiding you into the massive ballroom.

You’re absolutely stunned by the beauty of it, the chandeliers glittering on the ceiling as they illuminate the entire room.

Maurizio seems to notice your staring, and pauses as well, chuckling softly.

“It’s very pretty, isn’t it?”

You turn to him and nod, smiling.

“It’s beautiful.”

Once you get inside and take your seats, Maurizio is immediately flocked with people wanting to speak with him. Some of them give you a judgemental glance or gaze, and you just look away, taking another sip of your wine.

This is gonna be a long night.

Naturally, Maurizio has been talking to people nonstop all night, which was expected of course, but for some reason, you’d sort of hoped he’d make some time for just the two of you. You genuinely enjoy his company, he’s actually really kind and funny when he’s not in ‘work mode’.

Why would he do that for you? You’re just his replacement date, Y/N, nothing more.

So, you sit back in your chair and casually nibble at the new dinner course that was put on your plates a few minutes ago.

A dance song begins to play and suddenly, Maurizio stands up and holds his hand out for you.

“Would you like to dance, mi tesoro?”

“Absolutely.”

You blush, biting your lip as you stand up.

He places his hand on the small of your back as you two walk onto the floor. You wrap your arms around his neck while he places his hands on your waist, holding you close as the two of you begin gently swaying to the slow tune.

“It’s nice to step away from the table for a bit.”

He says, chuckling.

“I only see these people once a year, so they always want to talk the night away.”

You laugh.

“I understand, and I’m happy that I could provide an excuse for you to get away, even if only for a few minutes.”

“You’re anything but an excuse, Y/N.”

Maurizio says, blushing a bit.

“I’ve been wanting to make some time to spend with you, but I haven’t gotten the opportunity. I’m sorry for that, this must be tedious for you.”

You shake your head.

“No, it’s alright, although I do respect your fiancée much more now that I understand what happens at events like this.”

You jest, and he laughs.

“But, in all seriousness, I’m fine. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to keep me entertained, I understand my role for tonight.”

His face sinks ever so slightly, but he still smiles nonetheless.

“I did hope to spend some time with you, though. Like I said, I enjoy spending time with you.”

The song suddenly ends and a much more upbeat one takes its place.

Maurizio’s face seems to light up, and he smiles widely.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

You’re suddenly lifted up and spun around. You laugh the entire time and he continues spinning you.

The whole world seems to fade and suddenly, it’s just you two on the dancefloor.

Your eyes are glued on one another as he sets you back down, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so genuinely. You briefly wonder how many of these moments he gets to have with his job.

You’re still laughing as he takes your hand and tries to twirl you around. He’s laughing along with you as you start to twirl, but you forgot how long your dress is, and you start to fall backwards.

A strong arm reaches down and scoops you up before you can hit the floor, and suddenly, you’re centimeters away from his face, his breath tickling your skin.

He’s still smiling as he slowly stands back up with you in his arms.

“Be careful, tesoro. We’re not taking any trips to the emergency room tonight, okay?”

You smile, unable to bring yourself to take your eyes off of him as you’re placed back onto your feet, his arm still around you, holding you close.

You allow yourself, for the first time since your internship began, to take in all of his features. You let your eyes drink in his beauty and it feels like time has stopped. He’s even more handsome up-close, his pale skin a stark contrast to his dark eyes and the freckles sprinkled across his features.

Before you know it, he leans forward and rests his forehead on yours, his lips so close now.

“Voglio davvero baciarti, tesoro.” (I really want to kiss you right now, treasure.)

He whispers.

His voice is so deep, yet soft and full of yearning. It sends a chill down your spine.

“Non ti fermero, bello.” (I’m not going to stop you, handsome.)

“Bene.” (Good.)

He leans forward the rest of the way and your lips connect in a tender embrace.

You close your eyes and let your hand reach up to cradle the side of his face.

He soon pulls away, a face-splitting grin on his face.

You’re wearing a similar expression.

“Mi chiedevo quando l’avresti finalmente fatto.” (I was wondering when you were finally going to do that.)

You giggle, nuzzling your nose against his slightly.

Maurizio laughs softly.

“Mi chiedevo quando avrei dovuto farlo anch’io.” (I was wondering when I was going to do it, as well.)

The moment is quickly ruined when you realize exactly where you are, and you’re afraid to know how many people saw that. You quickly stand up straight and so does he, both of you taking a small step away from each other as you straighten yourselves out.

When you turn back towards the table, all of the people stare right at you, and you feel your face get hot. You look up at Maurizio when he comes up beside you.

“I think I’ll just catch a cab back to the house…”

You say, looking down.

He looks over at the table, seeing his work colleagues giving you judgemental glares. His finger gently lifts your chin until you’re looking up at him again.

“Let me take you back, tesoro. It’s the least I can do, and we can talk about...everything.”

You nod.

“I’m really sorry about this…”

Maurizio shakes his head.

“No, tesoro, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done that in such a public space.”

Your cheeks get warmer.

“Are you saying that you still would’ve done it?”

His cheeks go pink as he looks away.

“Yes, I still would’ve kissed you, Y/N.”

Is this real?

He clears his throat, placing a hand on the small of your back.

“Why don’t you go up to the front while I retrieve our stuff from the table? I’ll make sure that no one says anything or thinks poorly of you.”

“Thank you.”

You say, smiling.

“I’ll get them to call us a cab.”

He’s at the table for about five minutes while you wait by the door, anxious for what’s to come.

“Sorry, mi tesoro, they tried to tell me that I shouldn’t leave early. But, I insisted on seeing you safely back to your house.”

“If you need to stay…”

You begin, but are quickly stopped.

“No, I’m going with you.”

You’re so flattered that he would leave the biggest company party of the year just for you. You.

The cab arrives shortly after and you two walk out into the warm Italian night air, hopping into the car. His hand rests gently on your thigh as the car pulls away from the curb.

He sighs.

“I’m sorry that I got you involved in this. My life is...complicated, especially as someone constantly under the public eye.”

You don’t even want to ask this next question, but you have to.

“Maurizio, are you still engaged?”

His head turns away to look out the window.

“I’m not sure.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, you aren’t sure? It’s a yes or no question.”

“Patrizia left me last night and she hasn’t come back.”

He says, choking up a bit.

You gently put your hand over his and he looks over at you.

“I’m really sorry, that’s...terrible. Did she say why?”

“I told her that I was taking you tonight, and she got upset.”

He sighed.

“She asked me if I had feelings for you, since I talk to her about you almost every day…”

“You talk about me?”

Maurizio smiles softly, nodding. “Of course I do. Ever since you’ve been here, the office has been...happier. I’ve been happier.”

You take a deep breath, trying not to freak out over what you’re hearing.

“S-So, when she asked you if you had feelings for me...what did you tell her?”

He turns fully to the side, bringing a hand up to cup your face.

“Le ho detto la verita, che mi sono sentito per te sin dal primo giorno in cui sei entrato in ufficio.” (I told her the truth, that I’ve felt for you since the first day you walked into the office.)

You can’t help but smile as your face warms again, eyes darting away from his as he continues.

“Sono un uomo migliore con te nella mia vita, tesoro.” (I’m a better man with you in my life, treasure.)

“Maurizio, I…”

You begin, trying to find the right words.

“Lo so che non dovrei, ma mi sento anche per te.” (I know I shouldn’t, but I feel for you, too.)

He smiles, leaning in closer.

“Qual e la ragione dell-amore senza rischi?” (What is the point of love without risk?)

This time, you close the gap between your lips. His other hand comes to hold your face as you kiss, so much passion and want in every movement of your lips together.

You move closer, legs draping over his lap.

Just as you make a move to sit on his lap, the cab pulls up to your house, forcing you apart.

Both of you are panting softly, eyes staring deep into each other’s.

“Tesoro, ti prego, faccio l’amore stasera.” (Treasure, please, let me make love to you tonight.)

He leans in and crashes your lips together again, this kiss filled with urgency, with lust, with need.

You nod, biting your lip.

“Ti voglio. Ho bisogno di te, per favore.” (I want you. I need you, please.)

Maurizio smiles, paying the driver before quickly hopping out of the car, rushing around to let you out. As soon as you step out, you’re swept up off your feet and carried bridal-style to the front door. You unlock the door and he quickly closes it with his foot.

You reach up and begin planting kisses on his neck, enjoying the way he sighs softly.

“Which one is yours?”

He asks, breathily.

“Upstairs, the loft.”

He makes his way up the small flight of stairs.

“Is anyone else here?”

You nod. “They’re all on the first floor.”

Maurizio hums, gently placing you down on the bed before shedding his suit coat, hanging it on your desk chair, followed by his tie. He takes off his loafers and socks, placing them beneath his other clothes.

You’d barely gotten your heels off at the point. He laughs when he turns around and sees you struggling to get the shoes off. He quickly pulls it off and tosses it on the floor, holding your foot while he kisses your ankle and calf.

He takes a moment to look at you laid back on the bed, once neatly done hair loosened, makeup a bit smudged. His lips pulled up into a smile, teeth playfully scraping at your ankle bone.

“You have too much on, mi tesoro.”

You smile, standing up and turning away from him, silently asking him to unbutton and unzip your dress. He steps up behind you, breaths hot on your neck as his fingers work the buttons.

His lips begin planting kisses on your shoulders, soon undoing the zipper, freeing you from the dress. You step out and stand before him in just your underwear, looking away as his eyes rake over your figure.

Your cheeks grow hotter when you look down to see the tent growing in his dress pants.

“Etereale.” (Ethereal.)

He mutters, fingers working the buttons of his shirt, gently tossing it with his other clothes before working at the buckle on his belt.

“Formidabile.” (Gorgeous.)

The leather belt was soon tossed onto the growing pile of clothing. He unbuttons his pants before stepping forward again, now almost right up against you.

His hand wraps around your wrist and brings your palm to the tent in his pants, growling softly when it touches. He leaned forward, lips at your ear.

“For you, tesoro. All for you.”

You shudder as his lips plant kisses all over your neck while his hands roam your bare body, fingers teasing your breasts.

“You’re so sensitive.”

He breathes, hands squeezing your breasts gently.

“When was the last time someone touched you like this, hm?”

“It’s been a w-while.”

You say, gasping when his thumb rolls over your pebbled nipple.

“O-Oh…”

Maurizio grins, placing one more kiss on your neck before standing up straight, tugging his pants and boxers down. You watch in amazement when his length bobs as it’s exposed, mouth watering at the sight.

He smirks. “Do you see something you like?”

“Absolutely.”

You reply, biting your lip.

He laughs softly.

“Well...would you like to touch it?”

His cheeks flush pink.

You nod, reaching to wrap your hand around the base. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, and he sucks in a breath when you begin stroking.

“Mmmmm, davvero buono.” (so good.)

His head falls back when you increase your pace, hips gently rutting forward. His eyebrows knit in the center of his forehead, small moans escaping his lips.

Suddenly, he pulls away, letting out a shaky breath as his length stirs at the loss of contact.

“You are too good at that, mi tesoro.”

He bites his lip, fingertips teasing the lace waistband of your panties.

“May I touch you now?”

You nod, jumping softly when he all but tears the material down your legs, exposing your folds. He reaches down and cups your center, eyes widening when he feels how wet you are.

“Oh,”

He whispers, fingers tracing up to rub your clit.

“Tesoro...you’re so excited already, and I haven’t even touched you.”

Your hips suddenly buck forward out of instinct, and Maurizio chuckles breathily, rubbing a bit faster. You gasp, breath catching in your throat.

“S-Shit.”

You allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure, head falling forward onto his chest. The small noises falling from your lips get increasingly louder as you draw closer and closer to release.

His fingers suddenly push up into you, and you almost cum right on the spot. His digits feel so much better than yours as they begin plunging in and out, scissoring occasionally.

“Lasciatemi prendere, tesoro, e ti acchiappero.” (Let go for me, treasure, and I will catch you.)

He whispers breathily, stroking faster.

“Andiamo.” (Let go.)

His fingers curl up inside of you, and after a few rubs on your g-spot, you’re coming with a soft cry.

“Maurizio...oh mio dio…” (Maurizio...oh my god…)

Your knees buckle and you begin to fall, but he catches you immediately, smiling down at you as his fingers continue to work you through your climax. He leans over to kiss you again, slowly and gently pulling his fingers out.

“Lay back, mi tesoro, and open your legs.”

He whispers against your lips, standing back up straight as you sit down on the edge of the bed before laying back.

You spread my legs, ready to receive him, and he smiles as he climbs on top of you. He’s still wearing his glasses, and while you find that humorous and quite frankly cute, it’s also incredibly arousing for some reason. You don’t dwell on it, wanting to focus on the moment unfolding before your eyes.

Maurizio strokes his hardened length a few times, grunting softly, before rubbing himself across your folds. His eyes shut and he takes a shaky breath as your slick spreads across his cock. He starts pressing and rubbing the tip against your clit for a bit, smirking when your hips buck up against him.

He looks down at you, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Are you ready? I’ll go slow for you, tesoro.”

You nod and he pushes in slowly, growling softly. He shivers, stopping when he’s about halfway in.

“Is it still okay?”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pushing his hips forward while you scoot closer, pushing him in the rest of the way.

“D-Does that answer your question?”

You chuckle.

He laughs breathily, nodding.

“Indeed, it does.”

You take deep breaths while you adjust to his size, soon nodding, letting him know that it’s okay for him to move. He pulls about halfway out before pushing back in again, exhaling loudly as he establishes a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts.

“O-Oh, cazzo, sei fantastico.” (Oh, fuck, you feel amazing.)

Your jaw hangs open, body bouncing with each of his inward thrusts. You hold onto his biceps for dear life as his pace increases ever so slightly.

“Maurizio,”

You breathe, looking up into his eyes.

“Keep going, please.”

The bed squeaks as his hips’ movements grow more desperate.

“Tesoro, I--cazzo--I’m not going to last.” (fuck)

He says, eyebrows knitted on his forehead.

“I h-haven’t done this--merda--in a w-while.” (shit)

You nod in understanding, moving your hands up to cup the sides of his face.

“It’s okay, M-Maurizio, it’s alright.”

His eyes meet yours as he growls softly, shaking his head.

“No, it’s n-not. You deserve better, t-the best, Y/N.”

Your thumb swipes on his cheekbone as his eyes tear up with a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

“Y-You already are the best, bello, and I w-want you to cum, no m-matter if I have o-or not. I want you to p-pleasure yourself, okay? Don’t worry about m-me.” (handsome)

He smiles softly, falling onto his elbows, lips connecting with yours as he thrusts get harder. He grunts deeply with each thrust, breath hot and heavy on the side of your neck.

“Oh tesoro, I’m...close. Where…”

He searches for the right words, mind clouded with lust. He groans in frustration.

“Dove vuoi che sborra?” (Where do you want me to cum?)

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently.

“Sono sulla pillola. Puoi sborra dentro, se vuoi, bello.” (I’m on the pill. You can cum inside, if you want, handsome.)

These words seem to awaken something in him, his eyes going black, hips suddenly rutting quickly and desperately into you.

“Cazzo, sei incredibile, sei perfetto, tesoro.” (Fuck, you’re amazing, you’re perfect, treasure.)

Maurizio buries his face into the crook of your neck as he reaches climax, moans and gasps muffled by your skin. He buries his cock deep inside of you, painting your walls with his release, rutting them desperately as he fills you up.

“Y/N, oh dio, prendi tutto per me. Bene, sei bravissima, mi tesoro.” (Y/N, oh god, take it all for me. Good, you’re so good, my treasure).

As soon as he finishes, his hand reaches down to rub your clit in circles, eyes meeting yours.

“C’mon, let me pleasure you now. Let go, tesoro, give yourself to me.”

Your back arches and your hips grind against his fingers, mouth full of whimpers, whines, and gasps as his fingers rub you. You grab onto his bicep when you cum, looking up into his eyes.

“Yes, oh Maurizio, yes!”

You gasp, moaning softly as your release spreads throughout your body.

He continues to rub you through it, cock twitching slightly where it still sits inside of you, causing him to growl softly.

After both of you take a moment to catch your breaths, he slowly pulls out, and you can see that he’s already hard again. He blushes, looking away for a moment.

“I...I’m sorry, that’s never happened before…”

You chuckle, shaking your head.

“Maurizio, you don’t need to apologize. It’s actually sort of flattering, that I can do that to you.”

He smiles softly, laying down next to you, pulling you back against him. You didn’t realize exactly how hard he actually was until you felt him pressed against your back, and you felt bad.

“Do you…I mean, I can...”

You trail off, a bit embarrassed, hoping he got the point.

Maurizio immediately shakes his head.

“No, tesoro, don’t worry. I will be okay.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip before you speak.

“If you wanted to, you could...rub it against me.”

You feel his member twitch at your proposition, and you turn around in his arms, looking up at him. His cheeks are bright red.

“Will you show me?”

He asks quietly.

You smile, nodding.

“All you have to do is start moving your hips against me, using my skin to rub on.”

He experimentally rolls his hips, jaw clenched as he tries to contain himself.

“O-Oh.”

He tried it again, growling as his cock dragged along your stomach.

“Tesoro, it’s…”

You can’t pretend that this isn’t incredibly arousing for you to watch and feel. His tip was already red and leaking, so you knew he wasn’t going to last very long.

“Does it feel good, Maurizio?”

You feel him nod, hips moving faster now as he looks down at you.

“Yes, cristo, it’s s-so good.” (christ)

His lips crash onto yours and he loops an arm behind you, holding you still as he begins rutting against you, growling into your mouth. He moves his head down to kiss and nip at your neck.

“Your s-skin is so soft, mi tesoro.”

He whispers, grunting with each forward motion now.

His leg lifts up and lays over your hip, allowing him to thrust harder, hand still on your lower back. He’s close, you can tell, and you attentively watch the way his face contorts as he reaches orgasm.

He suddenly hugs you tight, a choked sob against your neck as his seed spills all over your stomach and his.

“Ah! Ah--oh--cristo!” (christ)

You run your hands through his hair soothingly as he comes down, trembling slightly. He slides down your body a bit, resting his head between your breasts, kissing them gently.

After a short while, he looks up at you.

“Grazie, Y/N, grazie mille.” (Thank you, Y/N, thank you so much.)

You smile.

“You don’t have to thank me, Maurizio, it was my pleasure.”

He reaches up and connects your lips in a tender yet passionate kiss before he pulls away, cringing when he feels the stickiness between you.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’ve never...that’s never…”

You kiss him again, cutting him off.

“No worries, we can just clean it off. I’ll get a wet washcloth.”

You stand and come back a moment later with a wet washcloth, reaching down to wipe yourself off before Maurizio’s hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you.

“Let me.”

He smiles, taking the cloth from your hand, cleaning up the sticky substance before doing the same to himself.

Your cheeks are warm as you look up at him.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, mi tesoro.”

He suddenly looks away, frowning softly.

“I-I can’t stay tonight, Y/N, I’m sorry. If someone catches us…”

You shake your head, holding the side of his face.

“No, no need to explain. I understand.”

Maurizio nods silently, sighing as he begins to redress. You slip your panties back on, along with an oversized t-shirt and you pull your hair up into a ponytail.

When he’s ready, you offer to go first, in case anyone’s still awake. He agrees, and you make your way down the stairs, looking around, not seeing anyone. You look up the stairs and nod, indicating that it’s okay. He makes his way down and you walk with him to the door.

“Do you have a car coming?”

He nods. “My driver is already outside.”

There’s a moment of silence before Maurizio suddenly grabs your hips, pulling you against him as his lips crash down onto yours, the kiss desperate and full of longing. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down closer.

He pulls away slowly, eyes fluttering open.

“Alla prossima, tesoro.” (Until next time, my treasure.)

You smile, biting your lip as he sneaks out the door, rushing down and hopping into the car waiting for him.

As you watch his car pull away from the curb, only one thought occupies your mind:

Holy shit, I just slept with Maurizio Gucci.

#adamdriverwriter #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver smut #adam driver fluff #maurizio gucci #maurizio gucci smut #maurizio gucci fluff #maurizio gucci x reader #maurizio gucci x you #maurizio gucci x reader smut #maurizio gucci x reader fluff #tw: infidelity #house of gucci

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years

Text

Nothing wrong with nail polish

When Jiang Cheng gets out of the car he briefly wonders if he shouldn’t just turn back around and drive back home. Nie Mingjue did say that he didn’t want to meet because he was looking forward to a relaxing evening, but he also said that Jiang Cheng can come over whenever.

The indecision makes Jiang Cheng hesitate for a long, moment but in the end he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks towards the house.

He brought his own work. He and Nie Mingjue don’t even have to talk; they can just quietly work on their own stuff, or watch TV or something. It’s not like Jiang Cheng expects or needs much, but he has missed Nie Mingjue this past week and he just wants to see him.

So he lets himself into the house like he usually does but he doesn’t call out for Nie Mingjue because he doesn’t want to startle him. A quiet evening, Nie Mingjue has said. Jiang Cheng can give him that, even with being present.

He just hopes he isn’t overstepping here.

Jiang Cheng puts his bag down by the door, toes off his shoes and then makes his way towards the kitchen first. Nie Mingjue does like to cook, so maybe Jiang Cheng will find him there, but when he enters the room, he finds dinner already packed away so clearly Nie Mingjue is done with that part of the evening.

The living-room it is then, Jiang Cheng decides.

He makes his way further into the house, briefly wondering about the fact that Nie Mingjue doesn’t even seem to be watching anything on the TV but by then he’s already stepping into the living-room. And what he sees makes him freeze in the doorway long before Nie Mingjue even notices him.

Nie Mingjue is seated on the couch, but he’s hunched over the table, one hand on top of it, while he applies nail polish with the other.

It’s not the first time Jiang Cheng has seen Nie Mingjue with nail polish, but usually it’s Nie Huaisang who applies it, claiming that he needs a test dummy to practice a new technique or something so this comes as quite the surprise to Jiang Cheng.

He’s not sure what alerts Nie Mingjue to his presence, but his head flies up, his eyes wide when he notices Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng is surprised to see the panic in his eyes.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue breathes out, the nail polish forgotten in his hand and smearing carelessly onto his nails and Jiang Cheng shakes himself out of his surprise.

“You need to take better care,” he chides Nie Mingjue as he takes a Kleenex and quickly wipes the nail polish off the ruined nail.

It didn’t dry too much, so Nie Mingjue can simply redo it, he thinks.

“Hi,” he then belatedly says and presses a kiss to Nie Mingjue’s hand, thinking that Nie Mingjue still seems a little bit too shocked to receive a kiss to the lips.

“What are you doing here?” Nie Mingjue asks, still completely unmoving where he sits, the small brush remaining in his hand.

“Gimme that,” Jiang Cheng mutters and gently takes it from him, putting it back in the bottle and sealing it up. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I missed you,” Jiang Cheng then honestly tells him, still confused by the utter look of panic on Nie Mingjue’s face.

“I probably shouldn’t have come by, huh?” Jiang Cheng lowly asks with a regretful smile when Nie Mingjue stays silent and Nie Mingjue abruptly stands up.

“I said you were always welcome,” he gives back but he can’t quite meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes and Jiang Cheng can’t shake the feeling that he did something wrong.

That he messed up somehow.

“But not today, huh?” Jiang Cheng tries for a light voice, but he knows he misses the mark when Nie Mingjue frowns at him.

“I’m not—you weren’t supposed to see that,” Nie Mingjue says after a long moment, and belatedly hides his hand behind his back as if the nail polish bottle on the table alone wouldn’t have clued Jiang Cheng in on what he had been doing.

“Why not?” Jiang Cheng asks, because this hardly is the first time he sees Nie Mingjue like this, but something about it is clearly different than normally. “Huaisang put nail polish on you multiple times, didn’t he?” he asks, because he remembers the last time Nie Huaisang did it.

Nie Mingjue came to him with sparkling nails, rolling his eyes good naturedly when he told him Nie Huaisang was trying something new yet again.

Nie Mingjue clenches his jaw at the question and he turns away from Jiang Cheng, his shoulders hunched up.

“I said I wanted to be alone this evening,” Nie Mingjue snaps at him instead of answering the question and a year ago Jiang Cheng would have bristled and been hurt by his tone, letting all the insecurities back into his life, but he likes to think that he grew as a person.

He likes to think that he grew as Nie Mingjue’s boyfriend.

“You said you wanted a relaxing evening,” Jiang Cheng counters, though he keeps his voice even. “You did not tell me to stay away, and I thought we could be relaxing together. I’m sorry for assuming.”

It takes Nie Mingjue a few deep breaths before his shoulders finally come down from where he had them all drawn up.

“Don’t be. I should have been clear,” Nie Mingjue mutters and drags a hand over his face.

“What’s going on, my soul?” Jiang Cheng dares to ask, now that Nie Mingjue seems a bit more relaxed and he walks over to Nie Mingjue.

He slings his arms around his middle and presses his forehead to Nie Mingjue’s back between his shoulder blades and just feels Nie Mingjue breathe for a few moments.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Nie Mingjue says again and it makes just as much sense as it did the first time.

“Why not?” Jiang Cheng also repeats and Nie Mingjue slumps in his arms.

“It’s not always Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue whispers, and some of the tension seeps back into his form. “Applying the nail polish, I mean,” Nie Mingjue finishes when Jiang Cheng waits him out, and Jiang Cheng frowns.

“So?” he wants to know, because he still doesn’t understand where the problem is here.

“It’s not—why are you so calm?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and he breaks out of Jiang Cheng’s arms to pace the length of the living-room.

“I have seen you with nail polish before,” Jiang Cheng reminds him, very confused about what’s upsetting Nie Mingjue like this.

“Yeah, but it was Huaisang who put it on me, because he needed to practice,” Nie Mingjue shoots back and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“So? Apparently he doesn’t always practice on you and you sometimes do it yourself. I don’t understand why that is such a big deal!”

“I like wearing nail polish!” Nie Mingjue almost yells at him and he throws his hands in the air. “I know I shouldn’t but I do, okay? And Huaisang only applies it for me half of the time at best, because mostly I do it on my own. It’s just—a convenient excuse,” Nie Mingjue confesses, but he doesn’t seem relieved to say it out loud.

Jiang Cheng mulls that over for a bit before he turns around and goes back to his bag.

He’s pretty sure he brought it with him, he thinks as he rummages around in it, but it takes him a good while to find it. Long enough for Nie Mingjue to show up in the doorway, his face pale and unhappy as he watches Jiang Cheng.

“What are you doing?” he asks when Jiang Cheng clearly takes too long looking for it, and when Jiang Cheng turns to look at him, he looks scared.

As if Jiang Cheng would leave him for something as silly as this.

“I’m looking for some—aha,” he triumphantly says when his fingers close around the small bottle and he keeps it hidden in his fist as he walks back to Nie Mingjue.

“I was going to give this to Huaisang with a subtle suggestion that maybe he should try this on his favourite test subject, but it seems like I don’t have to anymore,” Jiang Cheng says and takes Nie Mingjue’s hand in his to put the little bottle into his hand.

Nie Mingjue’s eyes get big when he sees that it’s a nail polish and he blinks twice before he turns his gaze back to Jiang Cheng.

“I think this colour would look very good on you,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug and drags Nie Mingjue back into the living-room. “You don’t have to use it, obviously, if you don’t like the colour, but I just thought—well, why not, right?” Jiang Cheng goes on when Nie Mingjue stays silent for too long.

“You don’t—mind?” Nie Mingjue carefully asks. “That I want to wear nail polish?”

“Why would I?” Jiang Cheng gives back.

“It’s not what men should do?” Nie Mingjue shoots back and Jiang Cheng laughs.

“Yeah, well, according to some people men shouldn’t be dating either and that never stopped you,” he gives back with a teasing smile and he feels accomplished when Nie Mingjue smiles back at him.

“But that’s something you do as well,” Nie Mingjue still argues back as if Jiang Cheng would truly, honestly mind that Nie Mingjue does something he likes.

“You’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng says and rolls his eyes. “For all that I care you could be wearing skirts and dresses and I would still love you. Hell, I hope you don’t mind that I sometimes wear make-up when we I go clubbing with A-Ying. The eyeliner does make my glares more cutting and I like it that way,” Jiang Cheng easily gives back and it’s not even a lie.

“But doesn’t Wei Wuxian apply that for you?”

“He used to, but not as a test dummy. He did it for me, because I wanted to. But I actually learned how to do it myself a while back, so I’m no longer reliant on the most unreliable person on the planet,” Jiang Cheng tells him.

It seems like Nie Mingjue wants to say something else, but Jiang Cheng is tired of hearing him worry about something this silly, so he takes Nie Mingjue’s face in his hands.

“My soul, listen. I don’t care. If you like wearing nail polish then by the gods, wear nail polish, no scheme needed, okay? If you want to learn how to do a mean eye-liner I can show you, and if you want to do anything else that’s not considered masculine I’ll support you, because it’s a stupid concept anyway. But I don’t mind, and I love you just as much as I did before.”

“I love you, too,” Nie Mingjue immediately gives back, but Jiang Cheng knows him well enough to see the relief on his face.

He was honestly worried that Jiang Cheng would be upset over this and Jiang Cheng cannot let this stand.

“I bought this nail polish with the explicit thought of you wearing it, my soul. If you don’t like the colour, that’s fine, but this is how much I mind that you want to wear nail polish. I’m gonna buy you all the nail polish if you really want,” Jiang Cheng promises and thinks back to the sparkling silver one he also saw.

He might have to buy that one next.

“I love you,” Nie Mingjue says again, but this time he sounds much firmer and way more settled and Jiang Cheng smiles at him.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng nods. “Now, did you really not want to see me or is it okay if I stay and we do our respective thing or whatever?” he asks, looking down at the abandoned nail polish on the table, the one Nie Mingjue was applying before Jiang Cheng barged in.

“I would like it if you stayed,” Nie Mingjue says and leans forward to kiss Jiang Cheng. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” Jiang Cheng breathes out when they part, a silly smile on his face that drops when Nie Mingjue gets up. “Where are you going? I was just getting started,” he complaints and makes grabby hands at Nie Mingjue.

“Be a good boy, I need to get some remover for this,” Nie Mingjue says with a laugh and wriggles his fingers at Jiang Cheng.

“What? Why? I thought we established that it’s okay! I didn’t make you mess it all up, did I?” he asks, reaching out for Nie Mingjue’s hand to inspect his nails personally.

It seems like most of the polish dried without a problem so he doesn’t understand why Nie Mingjue would want to remove it again.

“You didn’t,” Nie Mingjue reassures him and bends down to kiss Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “But you brought me a colour that is so much nicer than what I have here and I want to try it immediately,” Nie Mingjue then tells him and Jiang Cheng sighs out in relief.

“Alright then,” he allows. “That’s the only reason I will let pass.”

“How generous of you,” Nie Mingjue throws over his shoulder as he walks into the bathroom.

Jiang Cheng makes himself comfortable on the couch and it’s not long before Nie Mingjue is back. He gets to work almost immediately, and Jiang Cheng is very content simply watching him meticulously cleaning the old polish off his nails, before he leaves again to wash the remaining remover off.

Jiang Cheng tries to hold very still when Nie Mingjue applies the new colour, not wanting him to mess anything up, and when he’s done Jiang Cheng carefully takes one of his hands to admire the new colour.

“I knew this colour would look amazing on you,” he breathes out and kisses the back of Nie Mingjue’s hand, before he slides under his arm and snuggles into his side, still mindful of the wet polish.

“Thank you for thinking of me when you saw it,” Nie Mingjue whispers back and hugs Jiang Cheng close.

“I’m always thinking of you,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “It’s a problem, honestly.”

“I don’t think so,” Nie Mingjue chuckles. “I’m thinking of you all the time, too.”

“As you should,” Jiang Cheng decides and then reaches for the remote for the TV.

They spend the rest of the evening snuggled together, almost not speaking at all, but Jiang Cheng can see the satisfied and happy look on Nie Mingjue’s face when he can’t stop ghosting his fingers over Nie Mingjue’s freshly painted nails.

It really is Nie Mingjue’s colour and Jiang Cheng vows to get him many more. Anything to see him this happy again, he decides.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #mingcheng #the untamed #mdzs #modern au #established relationship #insecurity #nail polish #hurt/comfort #fluff #cuddling and snuggling

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princeescaluswords · 3 years

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okay hi sorry i'm a little awkward but i wanted to say that i'm just so relieved to have found your blog as someone who absolutely adores scott and just... cannot bear Stiles anymore 😭

it's so refreshing to see someone actively appreciating scott and putting words on what bothered me with Stiles from day 1 of watching teen wolf

Thank you, those are very kind words.

I want to point out that I don’t hate Stiles Stilinski at all. In fact, there’s a lot of great things about the character that I believe everyone should have the chance to appreciate. For me, though, the problem is that I am so very, very tired of Stiles Stilinski, and I’ve been tired of him since the start of the 1990s.

I’m not making a reference to the 80s movie; I’m talking about a trope I first noticed when I started to think critically about media: the Privileged Manchild. Or, in Stiles’s case, it would be the teenage larval version, the Shitty Entitled White Boy. This is a character who has flaws like any other character, but those flaws are treated not as something to overcome, but as part of his charm. They are used as a source of empathy and sympathy, without regard for their effects on the plot or on the other characters. You’ve seen these characters – and they are always white men – who get into mishaps because they are insecure, incompetent, damaged, or completely selfish but who have loyal friends or love interests (almost always conventionally attractive) whose defining character trait seems to be an inability to prioritize anything else over this toxic human being. The Privileged Manchild appears everywhere from cut-rate comedies (almost every Adam Sandler film ever made) to Emmy-winning dramas (I am also not a fan of Walter White).

How does this apply to Stiles Stilinski? There are many ways that I could answer this, mostly by examining his relationships with other characters, but today I’ll go with a single unifying theme: Stiles Stilinski never has any serious expectations put on him by the narrative. He’s not the only character who is consistently given an emotional free pass on their behavior (looking at you, the Entire Hale Family), but he is the one whose story is most strongly tied to the lead protagonist, Scott McCall, who, in turn, has nothing but expectations put on him. Now, elsewhere I’ve described Stiles as acting as Scott’s foil, and he is, but this essay is about why I dislike the character, not about the function Stiles fulfills within the narrative.

Before I continue, I want to make it perfectly clear that I’m talking about Canon Stiles, not the creation I call Fanon Stiles. I could write forever on the abomination that is Fanon Stiles, and I desire nothing more than to see it burned out of the Internet like The Vision did to Ultron in Avengers 2, but that is a topic for another day.

Canon Stiles is actually quite a brilliant creation. His motivations and decisions portray a wonderfully complex yet consistent psychological landscape, revealed by Dylan O’Brien’s exquisite acting and many insightful well-written scenes. In the end, it’s not his actions that are my problem; it’s the reaction to them. Stiles hurts other people, both emotionally and physically, but the writing insists that other characters simply accept this behavior, and if they react negatively to it, they are making a mistake. Nothing exemplifies this more to me than the scene in The Girl Who Knew Too Much (3x09), when Stiles, after spending 32 episodes lying to his father, demands that he be believed with no proof. When Noah refuses, Stiles weaponizes the memory of Claudia against him. The way that scene is shot, the Sheriff is clearly portrayed as not only wrong to become frustrated with Stiles’ behavior but actually deserving of the memories of his dead wife being used against him, because Noah learns his lesson and starts thinking the way Stiles wants.

In the end, the show put expectations of growth and change on every character with the exception of villains (which makes them villains) and Stiles. Stiles’s flaws, whether presented as humorous or not, are well addressed, but he’s never expected to grow out of them. In fact, he is given tacit permission by the narrative to continue to indulge in them, presenting his refusal to respect boundaries as a strength, his penchant for violence as a sign of devotion, and his preference for lying to everyone, including the people he cares about, as something that the other characters just have to put up with if they want to be his friends. Not that they have any choice about that.

I don’t believe in making general statements without supporting citations, and in this case I have an embarrassment of riches. Below the jump I’ll give you some examples from multiple seasons, where expectations are placed on one character as a result of their behavior while Stiles is exempted, but know this is simply not an exhaustive list. It couldn't be.

IN SEASON ONE: Am I going to talk about Heart Monitor(1x06)? Of course I’m going to talk about Heart Monitor! In the previous episode, Scott took Allison on an impromptu date to the Preserve in celebration of her birthday, but at the end a mountain lion shows up in the parking lot at the parent-teachers conference. In the confusion, the Sheriff gets tapped by a car. We could argue about Scott’s and Stiles’s extraordinary conclusion that this is somehow Scott’s fault. We could argue about the sheer privileged cruelty and mendacity Stiles displays by concealing physical punishment as ‘helping’ Scott. Scott is written as not only having to accept this, acknowledging that he ‘can’t have my best friend mad at me,’ but he also gets to sit there while Stiles – fresh from risking those upperclassman’s lives out of petty vengeance – gives Scott his hero’s charge: “Where you want it or not, you can do things that no one else can do. So that means you don’t have a choice anymore. It means you have to do something.”

That, my friend, is an expectation.

However in Lunatic(1x08), Stiles completely ignores what he said two episodes ago and pushes an obviously moon-influenced Scott into sniffing Lydia to find out if she’s sexually attracted to Stiles. This is a pretty harmless infraction, just like taking your girlfriend to the Preserve on a date. Scott and Lydia end up making out in the coach’s office, which is bad but not world shattering, very much like the Sheriff suffering an injury so minor that he doesn’t even wear a cast for a full episode. Later that night, Stiles decides to provoke Scott with a vulgar dog-bowl prank and screaming at a werewolf in the grip of the moon, like an idiot. Stiles was scared by the results, but I sat there waiting for the expectation to be placed on Stiles, for him to at least recognize that he has to stop treating Scott’s lycanthropy as a super-power at his disposal.

It never comes. Not in that episode or any episode that season or any episode in any season. Stiles never stops feeling that he has the right to tell Scott (or anyone else) how to use their abilities. He’s still doing it in Season 6, when he treats Lydia like a supernatural metal detector.

IN SEASON TWO: In this season, both Scott and Stiles hurt their parents inadvertently. Scott horrifies his mother with the revelation in Fury (2x10) about his lycanthropy. Stiles gets his father fired by stealing a police van to contain Kanima Jackson. The difference is in how the parents react to it. Melissa is shown as panicked and repulsed, with Scott expected to offer reassurance and comfort (while not forgetting his duty to stop the bad guys), until Melissa changes her mind. When she does, she stops Scott on the lacrosse field and says: “If you can do something to help, then you do it. You have to.” That my friends, is an expectation and a particularly callous and unreasonable one. Yes, son, I know I’ve treated you like a monster for a week, and I know there’s a ruthless psycho with a pet killer lizard threatening people, but go risk your life for others! The Sheriff, on the other hand, is the one that comforts Stiles, reassuring him that they’ll be all right, and absolving him of any and all attempts to make up for it. “You don’t have to solve this for me.” Notice the difference?

Scott’s story is one of expectations, and that’s fine! He’s the lead protagonist! But the narrative makes it clear that Stiles, who could be argued approaches the role of deuteragonist, has no obligation to do … much of anything really. He wants to, and that’s great, but it’s clear that the narrative wouldn’t condemn him if he chose not to, especially when he decides to lie on his bed wallowing in self-pity, only to be given a you’re-a-hero speech while Scott is placed in unwinnable situations and then scolded for them.

IN SEASON FOUR: Strangely enough, this is the season where I have the least amount of complaints about Stiles, but it is one where they have a pretty obvious example of no expectations. Stiles lies to Malia about her parentage, though he’s not the only one, and when she finds out, she’s furious and doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. They do reconcile, but when they do, it’s done in an immensely frustrating way. Stiles can’t bring himself to say “I was wrong to lie” to Malia. He hides behind word play, but that’s Stiles's normal approach. The problem is that the writing ends the scene not focusing on Stiles’s behavior, but on Malia’s unwillingness to deal with it, and how that’s really the problem.

Malia: I don't have much practice in things like forgiveness. Some things I'm picking up fast. But other things are like...

Stiles: Like math?

Malia: I hate math.

Stiles: You hate me?

Malia: I like you, Stiles. I like you a lot.

Stiles: I can work with that.

See what they did there? Suddenly the problem isn’t Stiles concealing information and lying to Malia because he knows what’s better for her than she does. Suddenly the problem has become that Malia has trouble with things like forgiving people. You know what’s missing from the scene? Any expectation placed on Stiles that he wouldn’t lie to Malia again about something important.

IN SEASON FIVE: Because he will lie to her again. In this season, Stiles lies not only to Scott, but to Malia, Lydia, his father, everyone. He lies, he betrays, he lashes out both physically and emotionally. When the dust settles, Stiles is somehow made the absolute victim in all of this. There is not a single scene, not a single indication by the end of the season that if the same situation happened in the same way, Stiles wouldn’t act in the exact same way, nor would it be expected that he not act that way.

Where’s the scene where Stiles admits he was wrong? There isn’t one. Scott is forced to beg for forgiveness and endure a chest wound for six episodes and have his murder treated as fodder for jokes and Liam’s quest for self-esteem, to the point where Liam tells Hayden that Scott’s murder is a good thing because it made him a better leader. Lydia is forced to not only endure Eichen House but to train while being imprisoned in that hellhole. Malia is forced to give up her quest for revenge against her mother for destroying her adopted family and Stiles is forced to … well … nothing. It’s suggested that he might be happier with himself if he saves someone’s life, so he decides to save the girl he’s been in love with since the third grade – quite a sacrifice – and then gets all the credit. Oh, and he gets a new girlfriend, one that he lied to and manipulated not ten episodes before, after he dumps the old one, plus the promise of a law-enforcement career after he broke half-a-dozen laws covering up a self-defense killing.

And that’s my problem with Canon Stiles Stilinski. He’s still a great character, but he’s not expected to grow. He can keep on doing the same things for the same reason and hurting the same people in the same ways, and he’s super popular for exactly that reason. It’s a power fantasy, just like all Privileged Manchildren and Shitty Entitled White Boys are power fantasies, but it’s one I find particularly distasteful.

#anti stiles stilinski #teen wolf meta #privileged manchildren #cultural critique #scott mccall defense squad

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @casifer-is-king (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

449 notes · View notes

noriyoshi · 4 years

Text

vibez. - pjh (m)

pairing: jihoon x fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 4.8k

warnings: oral (f-receiving), use of a vibrator, exhibitionism, teasing, explicit language, explicit sexual intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it!),

synopsis: Jihoon makes you wear a vibrator and teases you throughout the day as punishment for teasing him in front of Yoshi.

a/n: i’m new here and i suddenly got inspired to write this overnight so i hope u guys enjoy it! any feedback is always appreciated ^__^ not proofread atm

“Be good for me,” Jihoon says as his fingers lightly brush over your slit. You were wet long before Jihoon began to touch you. The amount of arousal Jihoon collects just from a slight brush against your lower lips would be embarrassing had he not been so turned on by it.

There is nothing Jihoon loves more than seeing you unravel underneath him. Your eyes are screwed shut and your lip trembles from between your teeth. You’re trying hard to focus on how Jihoon is touching you. He likes when you watch him. He wants you to see every little thing he does to you. Yet, you can’t help the way your eyes shut as he teases your entrance, finger prodding slightly only to return to his teasing. He’s turned to rubbing circular motions, applying a heavenly pressure onto your clit before dragging his fingers back down. He repeats the action a few more times, smirking when you start to buck your hips.

“Ah,” he tsks. “What did I tell you?”

“S-sorry,” you mumble, a cute pout sitting on your lips. “I’ll behave.”

“Thanks doll,” he kisses the inside of your thighs softly, inching his way inward towards where you needed him most. “See, I really wish this didn’t have to be a punishment.” Jihoon sighs, eyes staring at your core with hunger. He wants nothing more than to devour you, to make you cum over and over and over again. He makes a tentative swipe through your folds with his tongue, moaning at the taste. Your whimper sounds like music to his ears and he painfully wishes he could hear it all day. “But you won’t learn anything if I don’t teach you a lesson.”

He finally pushes a finger in, thrusting it in and out slowly before adding a second.

“B-but,” you choke when his fingers start to curl. “P-please” you whine. “I’ll be good, I-I-I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I disagree,” he scissors his fingers inside of you, taking his time to stretch you open. Jihoon’s pace is tantalizing. Slow and steady, as if you both don’t have classes to attend in half an hour. You haven’t even left your dorm yet. But Jihoon doesn’t seem to be worried about that. No, his mind is more preoccupied with something else. “I think this will be a good punishment for you.”

With his unoccupied hand, he pats around the bed until his hand finds the object he was looking for. He stops the fluid motion of his fingers and pulls them out, tapping your clit lightly before he sits up to show you the object.

“What is it?” you grab the bulbous, pink object and examine it with wide eyes.

“A vibrator.” he states simply. “A remote controlled vibrator that you will be wearing until I come pick you up from class.”

“Jihoon-” you begin to protest.

“This is your punishment.” he gives you a look as to not argue.

“But what if someone hears?” you mutter quietly, cheeks dusted pink at the thought of someone knowing what you’re up to.

“Well, this baby is quiet, so no one will hear or know a thing so long as you’re quiet too.”

“But-but, that’s not fair.”

“You misbehaving and teasing me in front of Yoshi wasn’t fair either, princess. Now lay back so I can put this in.”

You shuffle back onto the bed, spreading your legs open enough for Jihoon. He subconsciously licks his lips as he stares at your still glistening pussy. He presses a button near the front of the vibrator and it comes to life. Much to your surprise, it’s not vibrating like you thought it would be. Jihoon resumes his position between your legs, pressing his fingers into you once more to make sure the vibrator will fit. He uncaps the lube sitting on the desk near your bed. Your arousal is surely more than enough for an easy slide but Jihoon is precautionary and makes sure to cover the foreign object well before pressing it to your entrance.

“Relax, baby,” he coaxes, his lips kissing your thighs again as he pushes in the bulbous end of the vibrator. After the initial stretch, it rests comfortably inside you. Jihoon sits up and massages your thighs comfortingly before pressing a quick peck to your lips. “Perfect,”

You pull up your skirt and panties and stand. Your legs are a bit wobbly, but you think you can manage. The vibrator itself isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it doesn’t help with the feeling of arousal that’s still ever so present. You wonder what the purpose of the vibrator is if Jihoon’s not even gonna turn it on. As if he’s reading your mind, Jihoon picks up his phone and says, “Now we test it.”

You look at him curiously as he unlocks his phone and swipes through until he presumably finds what he’s looking for. Moments later you feel the unforgiving vibrations rumbling to life. The toy vibrates quickly, repeatedly pulsating in all the right spots. You moan aloud, unable to control yourself at the incredible feeling. You push your legs together, eager to relieve yourself when Jihoon turns it off, leaving you whining and unsatisfied.

“It works.” He smiles devilishly. He picks up his backpack and walks out the room, headings towards the front door where his shoes are. You rush after him, snatching your phone off the desk and your backpack off the floor. You shut the lights to your room off and slam the door behind you. “Jihoon, you’re just gonna leave me like this? All day?”

“Not all day babe, don’t be silly. It’s just a couple of hours.” he opens the door and waits for you to walk out before shutting and locking it behind you.

“Jihoon,” you whine quietly, tugging on his hand.

“End of discussion, now let’s go. I don’t wanna be late.” he grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers as you begin your walk towards class and begin the dreadful day.

Jihoon fills the walk to class with meaningless chatter, excitedly talking about a prank he had pulled on Junkyu not long ago and how now they were preparing for an assignment together so Junkyu’s set on getting his revenge. You giggle at the thought of Junkyu trying to get back at Jihoon. Ever since you had first met the pair, it seemed that despite their friendly nature, they were quite competitive. Especially with each other. You can’t imagine what Junkyu is gonna try to do next.

As much as you love to hear about their shenanigans, your mind can’t help but wander back to your punishment. More so, to how Jihoon seems to not be affected by his ministrations this morning. Sometimes you can’t help but be astounded at the amount of self control Jihoon exhibits. He could touch you for hours without so much as even thinking about himself, no matter how much it turns him on. You know Jihoon must be suffering just as much as you are, but he hides it behind his bright eyes and pretty smile. Ugh.

Before you could give it another thought, you arrive at your first class of the day. Jihoon kisses you softly, bidding you a good day. His eyes twinkled with mischief before he simply turned around and walked off towards his destination. You didn’t stick around to watch him, your mind set on focusing and getting through the day.

You’re about halfway through your first period and you’ve completely gotten your mind off of this morning’s situation. Your teacher has split you into groups to have a short discussion session. You’re midway through your sentence when suddenly the vibrator roars to life. You choke, fanning your face at the realization of what’s happening.

“Are you okay?” your classmate asks as she pats you on the back. You nod, uncapping your water bottle and bringing it to your lips. The water is refreshing but does very little to distract from the problem happening in your panties. You struggle to finish your point, rambling as you try to rapidly finish so that someone else can talk. Once all sets of eyes are off of you, you scan your classroom, wondering if perhaps Jihoon hadn’t headed to class like he said he would. He couldn’t have timed something so well if he weren’t in the same room as you but when your eyes fail to lock with his, you turn back to the discussion. You catch parts of the statements from your classmates but overall begin to tune them out.

Eventually, the attention is back on your professor but the feeling in between your legs isn’t getting any duller. If anything, it feels like each vibration is a new sparkler and the higher Jihoon turns it up, the closer they are to igniting and popping off in a beautiful array of fireworks. You lay your head down, as Jihoon slowly heightens the level of pressure between your legs. Keeping quiet proves difficult when Jihoon changes the pattern, an entirely new sensation that has you biting your arm in an attempt to keep your classmates from noticing the lewd thing going on right next to them.

You can feel yourself on the brink of orgasm when suddenly it stops. Unintentionally, you bang your fist on the table. It’s loud enough to draw the attention of your professor who asks, “Is there a problem?” She stares directly at you with an unsatisfied look. You sit up quickly, attempting to make yourself presentable and kept. “N-no ma’am. Sorry.” you mumble. She raises an eyebrow before turning her attention back to the lesson.

God, this is so embarrassing. Jihoon would be laughing his ass off right now if he saw this.

Little did you know, Jihoon has been sitting in the back of the classroom watching you attentively all this time.

He had gone to class like he said he would. Only thing is, he got bored halfway through. It was too hard to focus on the lesson when there was something much harder between his legs to focus on. He had done his best to ignore it; acting nonchalant was his best bet at getting you as needy and desperate as he wanted. But after all, he isn’t immune to you. How could he possibly remain unaffected when you have the most melodious sounds he’s ever heard. Every moan, whine, and whimper goes straight to his cock and has him hard without you so much as touching him. It makes him swell with pride knowing he’s the one pulling all these beautiful noises from you.

And god this morning when he was getting you all ready for your punishment, it took everything in him not to devour you. Your glimmering wet pussy was just begging for Jihoon to eat it out. Just the one flick of his tongue through your folds had him nearly abandoning the punishment completely. You taste like heaven and Jihoon can never get enough of it. Then, lord when he began to stretch you open.. He wanted nothing more than to inch his cock inside you slowly until you’re completely full of him and then fuck you relentlessly until the only thing you can cry out is Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon. He’s amazed how after he’s fucked you so many times, you’re still as tight as ever, fitting him like a glove. He almost groans thinking about how badly he wants to be buried deep inside of you right now.

But he can’t.

So he slips out of his class and takes the trek back to your classroom, sneaking in through the back doors to watch. From his position at the top of the stairs, he can see you perfectly while he remains hidden from your detection.

Like most college courses he’s been in, a majority of the students are sitting near the back which happens to be very convenient for him. He takes a seat and leans away from the student sitting two desks over. He lays his phone down face up on his desk and watches as the professor speaks. Soon after she breaks the class into groups for discussion. He pretends to join a group near him, sitting in on their conversation as they begin their discussion. Once your attention is on your group mates he slides the little emoticon up about halfway. He can’t help but laugh at your reaction. He turns back to face his group mates upon seeing your head turn in his direction. Oh, this is gonna be good.

Near the end of your first period, he heads outside to wait for you where he normally would. When your eyes land on him he’s scrolling through his phone. He looks up to see you stomping over, an endearing smile takes over his face.

“Hey babe, how was class?”

“Don’t hey babe me!” you mimic, jamming your pointer finger into his chest.

“What did I do?” he laughs, putting his hands up in defense.

“You-ugh! It was so embarrassing,” you walk away.

Jihoon jogs up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Oh no, did something happen?” he feigns innocence.

“You’re just gonna laugh at me if I tell you.” you pout.

“I swear I won’t.” he replies but you can already sense the teasing tone in his voice.

You recount the embarrassing story with your teacher to which Jihoon cracks up laughing. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” you protest, pushing him away though a small smile creeps onto your face.

“I’m sorry! It’s just- that’s hilarious.” he continues laughing.

“Jihoon!”

“Why so embarrassed, baby?” he’s stuck to your side again, this time his lips are pressed against your ear as he whispers. “You scared you’re gonna let everyone know how good I make you feel even when I’m not there? Hm?” he teases. “Or are you just saving all your pretty noises just for me?”

To any passerby, you’d look like any other couple who’re trapped in their own little world. No one would suspect something not so innocent from either of you. Which is why Jihoon takes this opportunity to turn up the vibrator again, this time to a much higher setting.

You gasp, looking around you before turning to face your boyfriend, hiding your face in his neck. “Aw, c’mon baby, is it that bad?”

You can’t find it in you to respond. Your hands clutch Jihoon’s biceps as you moan right into his ear. Your legs are starting to feel wobbly, the familiar feeling in your stomach is starting to build up again. Your breathing becomes more erratic. You try to keep quiet as Jihoon aids you to your next class but you can barely put one leg in front of the other.

“Fuck,” Jihoon mutters when you moan again, your fingernails digging into his arm. His poor baby is so close to falling apart right in front of him. He turns the vibrator off again and the sound you emit almost has him feeling sorry enough to turn it back on and let you cum right there.

“Please. Jihoon, please. Let me cum, I’m begging.” you whimper quietly.

“Sorry, babe. Rules are rules and you have to learn to follow them.”

Your pussy clenches around the toy listlessly, chasing an orgasm that will no longer come. It’s only been an hour and yet you know your panties are wet beyond repair. Jihoon pecks your forehead before turning you around towards the direction of the door down the hall and smacking your butt lightly.

If the first period was a teaser for what you’d be in for, your next two periods would be unforgiving.

—

Unforgiving they were. Jihoon really knew how to get you at the worst times. You’d been so close to coming only to be left high and dry so many times it was starting to hurt. By the end of your last period you were wet and delirious. You had stopped focusing on the class material a long time ago, your mind only caring about one thing and one thing only.

As you stepped out of your last class of the day, you didn’t bother to greet Jihoon, opting to grab his hand and drag him back to your dorm with you instead. He says nothing but follows your lead, enthused by your eagerness.

From the moment the door to your dorm room closes, your lips are on his. Jihoon may be letting you take the lead now, but don’t think for a second you’re in control. You’re still on punishment and he’ll make sure you don’t forget that.

You make your way down the hall to your own room and close that door too. You thank the heavens that by now most of the residents of your hall have cleared out for spring break. Jihoon is the king of telling you to keep quiet and yet fucking you so hard it’s nearly impossible. You’ve gotten a few noise complaints so you’re glad you can avoid one this time around.

As soon as you make it to the bed he pulls you onto his lap, his lips attached to yours in a feverish kiss. One hand holds you by the small of your back, the other hand holding the back of your neck, pushing you into him. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, holding yourself steady. Once your pace is set, his hands drop to your ass, controlling your hips as you grind down on him.

You’ve soaked through your panties to the point that Jihoon can feel your arousal seeping onto his lap. He groans into your mouth at the feeling. As he kissed you, you melted into him, feeling light headed from how aroused you were. Eventually, his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every crevice it could. You hold each other tightly, as if letting go for even one second will make the euphoric feeling disappear. The longer you kissed each other, the needier your touching got.

You could feel how hard Jihoon was now, his length sliding against your folds deliciously despite the amount of fabric between you. You wanted to quicken your pace, to finally chase the orgasm you’ve been after all day, but Jihoon is pressing into your hips so tightly it’s nearly impossible. He’ll surely leave a mark.

He begins to nip at the junction of your shoulder, biting down softly before cooling off the burn with his warm tongue.

“Have I learned my lesson now?” you rasp. You tilt your head back to give Jihoon better access to your neck. He continues to press open-mouthed kisses to your chest, leaving light marks all over it.

“For now.” he replies. Before you could ask what he meant, Jihoon tugs at your shirt, asking for you to pull it off. You comply and toss it off to the side. Jihoon follows suit, taking his off without you having to ask. He likes to think it makes you feel more comfortable if you’re both equally undressed. Small things like these remind you how considerate and sweet Jihoon is underneath his mischief and dominance.

He doesn’t spend too much time licking and sucking at your chest; his main focus for the night being the ever growing arousal between your legs. He kisses his way down your stomach and flips your skirt up. You lift your hips up slightly so you can bunch the skirt around your waist and Jihoon takes the opportunity to run a finger through the wet spot on your undies.

He peels them off and bunches them up as well, stuffing them into his back pocket.

He pulls the toy out slowly, reveling in your whine at the emptiness. He’s in love with the way your pussy clenches around nothing, begging to be filled. But before he gives in to his biggest desire, it’s only right for him to finish what he started this morning.

“So wet,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “All this for me?” he takes two of his fingers to spread your lower lips apart. He takes a moment to admire it, insanely turned on by how wet you’ve gotten over a couple of hours. He’s going to enjoy this.

You look down between your legs to see Jihoon’s eyes fixated on your core. “Stop being weird and do something,” you complain, bucking your hips up. He tears his gaze away, now looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think you should be talking like that to the person who decides when and if you get to cum.” he states flatly.

“S-sorry.” you reply quickly. “I just- I need you so so badly. Please do something, please.”

Jihoon decides to take pity on you. “Oh, look how needy my baby is,” he coos. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours soon.”

He drags a finger through your folds slowly, admiring how it glimmers when the light catches it. He sucks your essence off his finger before repositioning himself on the bed, his face coming down to your drenched pussy lips.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You’ve gotten this far and he still asks if you’re sure. As sweet as he is, you scoff, wanting nothing more than for him to just get on with it. “Yes.” you answer with an annoyed tone.

He chuckles but obliges. Moments later, you feel his hot tongue lick a stripe up your slit.

“Oh my god,” you cry out.

His tongue dove in, lapping at your folds restlessly. To say Jihoon is greedy and impatient wouldn’t be wrong. He generously licked, sucked, and slurped at your folds messily, occasionally flicking kitten licks at your clit for additional stimulation. Jihoon would stop at nothing to please you, even if that meant getting lockjaw. The thing about Jihoon is that he genuinely enjoys pleasing you (when you’re not misbehaving). He’s quick and skilled and he knows exactly what it takes to make you cum. Now, he doesn’t always take the faster route, oftentimes settling for taking his time because he could really spend the day doing this with no complaint.

You’re moaning and swearing, trying to keep your voice at bay but Jihoon can sense when you’re being too quiet. He wants you to be as loud as you want to be, as loud as you need, and sometimes he plays unfairly to get that. He buries his face in your folds and gets to work, eating you out as if you’re what he’s been craving yet so deprived of.

He brings his thumb to continuously circle over your clit while he hums and sucks and licks at your cunt. Soon enough you’re feeling the familiar heat all over your body and the coil in your stomach and this time Jihoon doesn’t let up.

“Jihoon, please.” you whine, grinding your face up against his lips.

“Please what, baby?” he pulls away. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” you say entirely too fast.

“Please don’t stop. I need to come.”

He returns to your center and laps until you’re convulsing around his tongue, shaking in pleasure and pulling away when he doesn’t let up. He holds your legs apart as you try to close them shut, not letting up for a moment even when you’re yanking at the strands of his hair, shuddering against him and grinding your pussy against his tongue until you’ve finally come down from your orgasm.

When he sits up again, he’s looking at you with a dazed yet happy smile. His lips are shimmering with your arousal and it makes your face flush worse than it already has.

“Can you go one more round for me, princess?” Jihoon asks. You’re exhausted from your long day of teasing but one look at your boyfriend throws that exhaustion out the window.

You answer by pulling him down into another lip-searing kiss. That’s all the answer he needs. He pulls away and unbuckles his pants, throwing the belt somewhere on the ground with a clink. Next, you sit up to unbutton his pants and help him shimmy out of them. Finally, all that’s left in the way are his briefs. He watches you closely as you palm him through his briefs. The groans and grunts he lets out are music to your ears. Jihoon is always about pleasing you and though he’s never against you reciprocating, you love when you get the chance to.

You’re getting into a rhythm when Jihoon’s hand covers yours, stopping you from stroking him any further.

“Not now. Wanna cum inside you.”

If you hadn’t still been so turned on that would have definitely done it.

He pulls his briefs down and you lick your lips subconsciously. His tip is already red and angry, precum oozing from the slit at the top, the vein leading down his cock to his balls looks delicious and you want to run your tongue all over it.

This time you switch positions. Jihoon slides over to your spot and scoots back until he’s against the wall. You basically jump on him, your legs settling on the outside of his thighs, straddling him once he’s comfortable.

“Still needy, huh? Don’t worry I’ll fuck that right out of you.” he teases, his hands trailing over your body before settling on your hips. You grab his dick and slideit against your folds teasingly.

“Oh,” he groans.

He holds you in place but gives you the free range to move. You slide his cock up and down your folds once more, pushing in, only slightly before pulling back out.

Fuck he thinks to himself.

You sink down further this time before pulling out again

“Don’t do that.” he warns.

“Or what?” you grin.

Once he’s sheathed inside of you, he stays still, reveling in the feeling of your warm walls as you clench around him. As you finally lift your hips to begin building a pace, Jihoon snaps his hips upward too. After a few tries, you’ve managed to build a good rhythm and he is thrusting right into the spot that makes your toes curl. He cries out at your action, a sound that’s like music to your ears. His hand immediately came down to smack your ass.

The sound of his cock driving deeply into your wet pussy echoes through your dorm. Now that you’re so acutely aware of how loud the sound resonates, you wonder if you can be heard outside these walls.

“My baby is so dirty, huh, taking my cock so easy. This cock was made for you, wasn’t it, baby?” he shifts beneath you, the new angle and his cock pistoning into you driving you closer to the edge.

You’re both covered in sweat from the exertion and your limbs are tired but you’re so close. So close. He groans and pulls out before finally picking up the pace, going almost ballistic as he fucks into you relentlessly. Nothing but the sound of skin-on-skin and loud, fervent noises fill the room.

“Fuck, yeah, I love it, holy shit-” you gasp, grasping his large hands with your small one.

You’re nearly crying out now, already feeling the tight coil in the pit of your stomach once again. You could feel his dick pulsing inside of you. He wasn’t going to last much longer and neither would you. His thrusts were getting sloppy but he wouldn’t let his pace up.

Involuntarily, you clench around Jihoon and it sends him over the edge. He’s spilling inside of you with a guttural groan. He doesn’t slow down as he rides out his orgasm, determined to get you there too. His finger thumbs over your clit harshly as you continue to clench around him.

You cum too, hips bucking and legs twitching as you cry out his name one last time. You’re holding on to his arms tightly, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. Jihoon doesn’t mind though. Any scratch, hickey, or mark from you is something he’ll wear with pride.

You don’t want to get off his lap yet, you want his cum to settle inside of you for a while. Your head is tucked into his neck, eyes tempted to flutter closed as Jihoon traces patterns on your back listlessly. Jihoon himself is starting to doze off but he lifts you off of him with whatever strength he has left. You feel his cum trickling out of you and you crinkle your nose in disgust. Jihoon notices and pushes himself off of the bed, heading towards the bathroom to get a wet washcloth.

“Hey babe?” Jihoon calls out as he nears the door.

“Hm?” you mutter sleepily.

“I hope you don’t think your punishment is over,” he replies.

#treasure smut #park jihoon smut #jihoon smut #treasure #park jihoon #treasure imagines #treasure scenarios #jihoon imagines #jihoon scenarios #treasure jihoon

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lizzy-williams · 4 years

Text

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

🍎Warnings: dark!peter parker, manipulation, innocent!reader, smut, triggering themes, oral (female receiving)

🍎Masterlist

🍎PART ONE

🍎A/N: Major trigger warning, I don’t condone actions like this, it’s fanfiction.

She was trapped in a spider’s web. Thankfully metaphorically, but it didn’t make the situation any better.

[y/n] was restless the night after the events that took place in her favorite teacher’s classroom. Tossing and turning as she found herself quite lonely in her bedroom.

Was this wrong? Was it worth it? What would someone say if they found out?

These questions floated around her head, hoping that maybe her thoughts would calm and she could at least get a little sleep before classes.

But then her alarm went off, and it set in that she would need to live on coffee and Five Hour Energy to keep her going and make her pay attention to her classes.

The day went by painfully slow. That was until her 6th period class. Mr. Parker’s class. And she purposely showed up when everybody else did, breaking her habit of arriving ten minutes early.

And Peter didn’t fail to notice.

Because little did [y/n] know that he was up all night as well. His thoughts were filled with nothing but her.

He didn’t fail to keep her eyes on him as he stood up in front of a room of rowdy college kids, his eyes training on her loose turtle neck, and pants.

She never wore pants, her usual outfit consisted of a skirt and knee high socks, usually with a matching sweater. He didn’t like the change of wardrobe.

Class continued as usual. But Peter’s thoughts filled with the events of the day before. How beautiful she looked on her knees. How she looked with her makeup spilling down her face, and her nude body perfectly prepped for what he had planned next.

It was then the Peter noticed he was beginning to get hard in his nether regions, and quickly dismissed the students to work and have a study hall, before sinking down at his desk, bright red but thankful that nobody saw.

Nobody accept one person, and she felt shameful for it, almost as red as her manipulator was.

She avoided eye contract with him the entire period, not wanting to catch his attention, and eventually the bell rang, her saving grace, as she rushed out of the room.

[y/n] felt sick. She didn’t want to go. She really didn’t want to go to his room after school, knowing that there was more to come. But as much as she hated it, she thought on it.

He said he wanted the best for her. And this was a learning opportunity with perks. As foreign as it felt, what he did to her felt... good. Not the last part, but the first part.

Nobody had touched her like that, not even her past boyfriends, who were almost just as clueless as she was. But Peter gave her something new. Something that she liked. Not to mention his praise did something to her that she liked. She wanted to hear him call her a good girl just one more time.

She took her sweet time, almost 20 minutes late to see him. She paused right as she got to the door. Was she really doing this? Was she inviting it?

But she needed a good grade on this paper. She really really wanted it.

And maybe, just maybe, a small piece of her wanted Peter.

When she opened the door, Peter immediately looked up, his leg bouncing up and down, a scowl on his face.

“You’re late.”

She looked down in guilt, hoping this didn’t anger him too much.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker, I had a family emergency, it was small, but everything is fine now...”

Her voice was barely audible as she spoke. But Peter seemed to be having none of it.

“I can’t have you being late, now can I? I might have to doc a few points from your grade...”

“No!” She started, and this was the loudest she had ever spoken to him, the threat working better than Peter had thought, “I’m sorry... sorry, I just... please, there has to be something I can do.”

“You’ll have to do an exceptionally good job today then. We need to start the next lesson.” Peter’s tone was laced with pretend disappointment, knowing it would seem authentic to his prey.

“Yes sir,” she muttered, setting her bag down and standing in front of him, sinking down to her knees, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes on the floor, preparing for what she thought was a recap of her most recent teachings.

Peter let out an amused laugh, proud that he taught her well. Fast learner, she was.

“Stand up, [y/n],” he put a finger under her chin, making her look up, “we’re going to try something different. It’s new, and I think you’ll like it.”

She began to stand up, grasping onto Peter’s hand as she stood. She was nervous, and she was starting to think twice on her decision to show up, but there was no going back now.

“I need you to sit on your desk, just like we did yesterday, alright?”

She nodded, sitting on the table of the desk before she folded her hands in front of her once again. It was a habit of hers, folding her hands, it gave her something to hold onto. Even if it was just herself.

He stepped closer, before he began to mess with the bottom of her sweater, “Never seen you in something like this before,” he muttered bitterly.

Part of him wanted to rip it off of her, destroying the modest sweater all together. But a shirtless girl walking out of his classroom could cost him his job.

He leaned over, close to her ear, sending goosebumps up her arms, “Strip.”

Peter stood back and watched as each piece of clothing found their way to the floor. She even did the honors of unhooking her bra. And soon her panties were off.

No matter how many times he would see her naked, it always felt like the first time. Amazed and in awe that even just for an evening, it was his.

“Now. What was something we learned yesterday?” He spoke, [y/n] shifted, her thighs now closed.

“Pleasure is key?” She tried, relieved at the gleeful smile that crossed her professor’s lips.

“Look at you,” he came closer, stroking her cheek, “such a fast learner. My brilliant girl,”

Even though the young woman knew what was about to come next, the praise gave her the pride to at least keep going a little while longer. Something to look forward to.

“Yesterday you gave me pleasure. You did a fantastic job. So now, it’s my turn to do it to you. But I’m also going to teach you how to do it yourself.”

Peter let his words sink in, [y/n] doing her best to understand, but no matter how hard she tried, the concept flew over her head.

“I’m going to take your hand, and I’m going to move it. I’m going to show you how to do it. Think of it like homework. Something to do while your away from me,”

Peter gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips before placing a kiss on her wrist.

This was fine, the naive nymphet thought to herself. She foolishly thought this lesson was easy.

But once she felt her hand go down her stomach, worry filled her thoughts once again, Peter’s voice an interruption.

“Have you ever touched yourself, [y/n]?” Peter pried, pausing her hand right at her clit.

She shook her head, no longer knowing how to speak. But secretly, she had tried once. Her friends (as a cruel joke on their pure friend) invested in a vibrator. But she she tried it, the buzzing only made her laugh, not being able to take it seriously. So now it sat in a box in her dorm’s closet, not being touched since then.

“Perfect.” Peter’s dreams were coming true. He knew she was pure. And he was going to show her. Help her. Have her. Even if it was just for a little while.

He positioned her hand, their pointer fingers now laced with each other.

“Start by rubbing right here...,” he instructed, rubbing her clit in soft circles, devouring the sounds of her gasps as she bit her lip.

“Hey, don’t be afraid to make noise. There’s nobody here.” He reassured.

Did he know this as a fact? No. But he would tell her anything to get her to make the sounds he had only daydreamed about.

This was when she let out a weak whimper as he applied a little more pressure. He did this for a few more seconds, Peter not failing to notice her cunt clenching around nothing. He loved her small noises.

But the whine when he took her hand away was music to his ears. It was angelic, heavenly. Everything he wanted.

“Hush,” he shushed her, “this next part you’ll like.”

She hated to admit it, but [y/n] wanted to see what was coming next. Anything to get the warm feeling on her clit again.

“It’ll be uncomfortable at first, but it will feel good after a while. Alright?”

“Mhm.”

Taking her middle and pointer finger, he positioned them. [y/n] looked up with wide eyes. Peter gave her a soft kiss on her forehead before inserting her fingers inside of her.

She whimpered at the sensation, the feeling almost alienated. It was new. It was strange. And it was very uncomfortable.

“Here, I’ll help you,” he lulled, pulling her hand slowly, her fingers slipping out, but he pushed them back in, her cunt swallowing them to the knuckle.

She let out a weak cry, the feeling of being stretched out, even by her own fingers, was scary.

“There you go, princess, just like that,” the professor muttered, continuing to guide his student.

This was a lesson he thought he should have taught her sooner.

The pace was slow and easy, but the feeling was overwhelming for the young girl. Peter then took it a step farther, pressing her palm up against her pearl and adding pressure, making sure her fingers were still moving inside her.

“That’s right. Rub that clit while you fuck your hand, that’s it...,”

Peter’s encouraging words made her melt, Peter then taking his hand off hers. But to his delight, she didn’t stop. She continued, loving the tightening in her core.

Her light moans were making Peter’s cock strain in his pants. Almost to the point of pain. Peter kicked the chair away from the desk, now standing behind her.

[y/n] was too lost in pleasure to register the sound of his belt and the unzipping from his slacks.

And the moment Peter’s cock sprung out, his hand wrapped around it, squeezing gently to relieve the pressure, his free arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her back to his chest.

This gave him perfect view of [y/n]’s finger working her pussy. He started in soft strokes, his eyes trained on her hand and the soft moans she was releasing.

He started going faster, thinking about what he wanted to do most. But that was a lesson for another day. But for now, all he had were her noises. His hand began going even faster, his head now dropping to the crook of her neck, his cheeks flushed.

“That’s right, my perfect girl, you’re doing fucking amazing, keep going, baby,” his words were muffled by the young woman’s skin, but was heard none the less.

Peter already knew that she was close, her signs apparent as she went faster, the coil that was tightening inside her feeling otherworldly.

But right as it she was at the edge, she slowed.

“Mr. Parker, I-I’m scared,” she whimpered, but Peter gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay, keep going, your almost done, don’t stop, alright? I promise it’s worth it.”

And just like he knew she would, [y/n] obeyed, resuming the swift speed she had before, moaning at her own sudden change of pace.

Peter was on the edge. He was so close. So fucking close. He had to cum before her. He wanted to take in the sight that he couldn’t imagine if he tried.

And soon enough, he came, his cum dripping down his cock and spurting onto the girl’s back, grunting loudly, cursing at his peak.

His sounds is what set her off, [y/n] letting out a loud moan as she fell off the edge, her legs shaking as she experienced her first orgasm. But right as her hand stopped, Peter reached around with his cum-covered hand and violently rubbed her clit, his harsh movements making her yelp.

She felt the coil inside her tighten again, quicker this time.

“Come on, give me one more, I wanna make you give me one more.” He growled.

And right as she fell off, her vision went white, almost blacking out as her eyes rolled back in her head. Peter held her close as he spasmed and tensed, shaking almost to the point of vibration.

Peter’s mouth dropped open as she released, squirting all over the desk and the floor in front of the classroom. His hand was soaked, and his girl was close to crying.

He refused to stop there, moving away from behind her, picking her up and laying her down at the edge of his own desk, the dazed girl laying back as her bottom half hung over the ledge.

Before she could protest, Peter was already on his knees, her legs over his shoulders, diving into her pussy, licking up everything she gave.

This time it was overstimulating, but when she tried to get away, Peter pulled her right back. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she tried to form words, her language slurred.

“S-Stop! Off!” Were the only words she could force out, but in response, Peter only licked quicker, inserting his own fingers in her cunt.

His stalky fingers shoved her open as she screamed in pain as he gave her no time to adjust before thrusting at a punishing pace.

“One more, baby, one more for me,” he growled against her folds.

And she did, her mouth opening as she let out a silent scream, forgetting how to breathe as her ears rang. Her thoughts were incoherent, mumbles of words seeping out of her mouth as she did her best to regain sanity.

But it was too much. It was all too much. And that’s all she remembered as darkness claimed her, her body no longer conscious.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

When she regained consciousness, she found herself fully dressed, laying down on her professor’s desk. She struggled to sit up, her mind fuzzy.

Peter stood up from cleaning up her... mess, letting out a breath of relief.

“Fuck, you’re up, lost you for a second,” he rushed over, helping her stand. He reached over to a stray desk, picking up a glass of water along with Advil and a shot of electrolytes.

“Here, this should help you.” He helped her drink and take the pill, watching as she did so.

And of course, there was still one thing that she couldn’t get off her mind. The question that she was dying to ask.

“D-Did I do good?”

#tom holland series #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #dark!peter x reader #professor x student #dark!peter #peter parker smut

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dennou-translations · 4 years

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Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 2

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The Night and the Auto-Memories Doll

Everything went around.

From past to present and from present to future. The dead bodies that decayed within the soil would dissolve into the earth, and from the earth, too, would new living creatures be born. Within a few hours’ time, curtains made of stars and nightly shades would be covered over by curtains in the colors of dawn.

People went around as well.

Children would be born, muster out their voices, start walking and, once they became aware of their own selves, their stories would begin. A cycle of discovering passion, coming to know love, stopping to be children and, upon sympathizing with other families, birthing offspring just as their parents had done. A cycle of learning about the world, spreading information, teaching their knowledge to younglings without sparing any of it away and generating more such younglings. A cycle in which someone’s story was someone else’s encouragement, and those who were encouraged would conceive stories of their own.

Everything went around.

There was one cycle here. It was the story of a meager cycle that likely could happen anywhere in the world.

A man picked up a wild beast from a small island to which he had drifted. It was a beautiful beast, but it had been stocked with skills long before coming to his hands. Skills for slaughtering people with ease and seeking submission.

Their first meeting was terrible. His underling had attempted to lay his hands on the beast’s beauty. As if it were a given, the beast had killed his many subordinates, leaving only one person. That was him. Granting him both disaster and salvation at the same time, the beast had sought subservience in regards to the man.

The man fled around the island where all but himself had been murdered, but gave in and accepted the beast. The beast was useful, but also an existence that he could not handle. Be it morning, noon or night, his head was troubled with the beast, his heart unable to calm down.

Essentially, he was a man who did not want to be shackled by anything. After all, he had a past of being forced into submission by his household and parents. He had escaped from his responsibilities and his home, jumping off into the sea. The man, who had been born in a family that bore the name of a flower, had run away and gained freedom.

He yearned for it – for a freedom that no one could steal from him – more than anything. Even if he had to cast away his little brother for it. Therefore, the man had done the same in the beast’s case. The one who mattered most to him was himself. He wanted to break free from that horror. Most likely, he had cut off from himself a child in need of salvation.

Everything went around.

——O God, I want to .

Everything.

A voice that sounded like bells echoed.

“Captain,” it whispered, as if to tickle the man’s ears. “Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

It was evening. A time when people were returning to their homes.

“What would you like to do?”

An orange light shone from the window inlaid with stained glass. With the sunset reflected on the elaborately designed interior decoration, the place itself looked like a single work of art.

“Could it be that, because of the impact earlier, your hearing has...”

It was supposed to be. The place where the person who called out so insistently and the person who intentionally ignored her were in was an art gallery that just recently had its interior and exterior finished.

“As if.”

“I am relieved. Then, I would like to ask if you have a plan.”

In a place they were not supposed to be at, the two who were not supposed to be together were kneeling on the floor in resignation.

“Captain.”

“.............................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“................................”

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

“............”

“What would you like to do?”

“..................”

“I would like to ask if you have a plan, by any chance.”

“.....................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“........................”

“If I may offer my opinion, firstly, I could act as a decoy—”

“Be quiet, monster. Don’t keep repeating the same thing over and over. Don’t breathe either. I’m thinking right now.”

Dietfried Bougainvillea, a naval captain of Leidenschaftlich, eldest son of the Bougainvillea – a household of patriotic national heroes – and the man who had picked up Violet Evergarden in the past and brought her to this country, was covering his eyes with his hands due to having too much on his plate. The little bit of silence and darkness had brought him relief, but someone’s sobbing, the voice of a man reproaching it and the sound of a person being brutally kicked and tumbling down dragged him back to reality.

He had a severe headache. Whether it was caused by his anxiety or his injury, he had no idea. He put a hand on the back of his head and examined it, but only a bit of blood had come out.

In order to somehow spit such awful mood out of his body, he took deep breaths. He felt that he had become a little better, but the unpleasant sensation returned once he opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the woman next to him. A spoon of discomfort, rejection and fear each was thrown into Dietfried’s emotional vessels, set on fire and boiled up. However, the most prominent feeling was something else.

The woman who had been talking to him so insistently until a moment ago was now quiet just and not letting out a single breath as he had told her. Violet Evergarden.

Dietfried looked fixatedly at his former servant. The woman, whose appearance had transfigured considerably in comparison to when they had first met, bore a radiantly shining cold beauty, which was even more conspicuous under such tense circumstances. She was almost like an ice sculpture, Dietfried thought.

——Even though you used to stink like a wild beast...

She now smelled of nothing but flowers.

——...you turned out just as I’d imagined.

“You’re a siren.”

Silence.

“My little brother destroyed a train station just to keep you alive; you’re a siren through and through. I’m not into you, but my mental stability is wrecked right now, and I’m sensing the harmfulness and influence that your existence brings about in that. You’re unmatched when it comes to breaking things and causing problems.”

Dietfried had once told his brother that the beast could become a siren. He had meant to say so including all sorts of matters. This young woman named Violet was a creature that God had created by mistake and had not been born under a good star. When one was by her side, there were many of them.

“Damn troublemaker.”

Many problems. Even though she had not wished for it, she had been born this way. Under a star that attracted disasters.

——It goes round. All of it.

He ran and ran from her, yet they would end up meeting, thus Dietfried had started to think that it might be some sort of divine revelation at this point. Telling him to face the girl that he had thrown away.

Violet was still, hand on her brooch. He someway guessed that it was given to her by his younger brother. He felt like clicking his tongue. This girl might become the worst-ever wife whose hand his most beloved little brother was going to take.

——We can leave that for later; gotta overthrow this situation first.

Determined to fight this reality, Dietfried then turned his gaze towards the sight that spread out before his eyes. Women, men, elderly people – everyone was crouching on the floor with guns pointed at them regardless of anything. Obviously, the same applied to Dietfried and Violet.

Unexpected situations – situations in which they could not make a false move even if they were on their own, let alone in the presence of so many civilians – were responsible for this. On top of it, Dietfried was also saddled with someone that he had to protect despite not wanting to. Of course he would feel like clicking his tongue at it.

Perhaps they were thought to be lovers, as no one said anything even while they stayed close to each other.

“Hey, did you really stop breathing?”

She did not seem to be in agony, but her figure as she diligently obeyed made Dietfried feel uneasy.

“I was joking; breathe.”

Violet’s blue eyes blinked with a snap.

“Yes.”

And then, she finally let out a breath. Dietfried hated himself for being remotely relieved that she had safely started breathing again, was what he thought.

“Hey, you.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, follow my orders. Don’t act on your own accord.”

“All right.”

“I’m gonna save the civilians. It’s my duty. There’s no helping it, so I’m counting you in that math too... No idea what my little brother would do if he found out I’d let you die. Even if it weren’t on purpose, if anything that could kill you happened under these circumstances, I really have no way of knowing what he’d do. He’d probably hate me.”

“No, Captain, he—”

“Have some self-awareness, Monster. My foolish younger brother blew up a train station to let you live. This fact did turn into a subject of teasing towards Gil for no matter how much time passes from now, but if you think about it on normal terms, it’s out of the ordinary. That’s the way you’ve changed him. Damn witch...”

She was the tool that he had found and that used to exist for his sake. A woman who used to be a dog with no name. An orphan whom he had picked up from a solitary island, brought back with him, attempted to get the most out of yet was unable to, and then threw away.

Asset. Girl soldier. Automatic assassination doll. Witch.

——Even if I don’t want to, for now, I gotta protect this thing and take it home.

“I’ll save you, so you save me too, Witch.”

Fate went around, adding a chance meeting as the best seasoning for a finishing touch. After all, at this very moment, Violet Evergarden and Dietfried Bougainvillea were being attacked by robbers and had weapons thrust at them.

“That’s awfully unpleasant for me, but I’ll take action by considering your life to be the top priority. Not for you. For my little brother.”

Understanding that she had received permission to talk once she had received permission to breathe, Violet gave her own opinion, “No.” She did it directly, without any restraint. “No, that is my job, Captain. Major... Lord Gilbert loves you.”

Dietfried’s eyes blinked. Those green orbs were staring fixatedly at Violet since earlier, enough to seem like they would suck her in. They were green jewels in a different shade from his younger brother’s. Those green gems, enveloped in shock, reflected Violet’s serious gaze.

“I shall guard you, no matter what happens,” Violet declared with resolution, like a knight. “I will obey your orders to the best of my abilities, but if I judge it to be dangerous, I shall take action with your safeguarding as the maximum priority.”

“Hey.”

“I will definitely protect you and bring you to Major safely. Please do not leave my side, Captain.”

“That’s my line,” Dietfried said while nonetheless wanting to kill Violet.

For the exchange between the two to reach this stage, things had first begun when morning visited Leidenschaftlich. This might be going back much too far in time for a clarification, but it all had indeed started since daybreak.

The morning weather was overflowing with sunlight on that day – typical of Leidenschaftlich in early summer. Early rising ladies formed queues in the bakeries that opened at dawn and little birds flew about the shops’ surroundings to receive breadcrumbs. There was a café three stores away from one of the popular bakeries, famous for serving floral teas, its signboard girl preparing to open it. If one went further ahead, there was a bank, and round said bank, there was a main street lined with large-scale shops.

An art gallery arranged to open the next day had been erected on the main street. Its name was Artemisia. It bore the name of its owner, who was an artist.

The gallery Artemisia displayed the works of its proprietor, of course, but it also had works of artists from within and abroad Leidenschaftlich. There were rows of works from unknown young artists that the owner had taken interest in as well, devoted as she was to the cultivation of new talents.

The Artemisia Gallery, which was to become a place where novel forms of Leidenschaftlich’s art would be born, was scheduled to hold a pre-opening party today, attended only by the people concerned. The gallery’s staff had started cleaning its interior and the sidewalk in front of it from morning.

Around noon, a restaurant employee hired for the sake of that day had visited, bringing in wine, snacks and table sets. As for the dishes, there were two types: the ones that had already been prepared and the ones that would be made by borrowing the kitchen of the owner’s residence, which had been built on the gallery’s top floor. Since eating was not the main focus, the preparations were merely enough for the upcoming guests not to feel hungry.

As evening came, the inside of Artemisia began to speed up with haste. If there were anyone in command of such a scenery, they would likely be asserting with a baton: “hurry”, “faster”, “elegantly”.

An envelope closed with a wax seal bearing the establishment’s crest. Customers arrived one after another with the invitation taken from inside of it at hand. For a pre-opening party with a limited number of invitees, there was a large amount of people. The elect few of Artemisia’s employees were in a flurry of activity.

“Bring me a coat” here, “not enough drinks” there, a plate breaking somewhere. “Where’s the owner?”, “Got caught by the guests”. “There’s no one to give us instructions”, “Oh, well” – just like this, things descended into chaos behind the scenes.

Normally, their job was to calmly recommend artistic goods. Therefore, they were unable to hide their bewilderment at handling so many visitors at first. Nevertheless, if one looked at the guests being entertained, how were they? Appreciating the artworks, looking like they were having a blast. Upon seeing this, the employees were able to understand deep down. That “what, so things are the same as usual”. By the time that the customers were completely familiar with the gallery’s interior, the employees were able to show smiles with a little bit of ease.

Among the guests invited to Artemisia, a foreign body completely unrelated to this world was mixed in.

It was a woman. A beautiful one at that. From an appreciative viewpoint, there would be nothing to complain about if she were one of the artworks. She was clad in a ribbon-tie one-piece dress, snow-white as a flower in full bloom on a summer day. Her long, softly curved golden hair extended to her waist. Perhaps she had come straight from work, as she held a heavy-looking trolley bag on one hand. “Click, click,” knocked her cocoa-brown boots against the marble flooring each time she took a step.

She walked while observing every artwork one by one. Idyllic landscape paintings, abstract paintings that looked like silver ink spilled on pure-white paper, oil paintings in which the people seemed as if they would move at any moment. Glassworks and ceramics that one would be very afraid even to look at from nearby. At first, the exhibition was of works from artists renowned within the country, but the small hall of its latter half integrated displays from artists who were still nameless. The woman stopped in front of one such work.

A painting of whimsical fantasy. Was it a winter sea? It depicted various things falling and sinking into dark and cold water. A pocket watch, a feather, a bed, a knife, a white flower and a chair. All were worn-out and had damaged parts. At first glance, one would not know what it was expressing. Only the boy painted in the center seemed to pierce through the viewer.

He was still a teenager and his appearance could also be considered that of a girl. After staring at him for a while, the feeling that he was supposed to be saved would surface. Because the boy had a facial expression that almost looked like he was making eye contact with the viewer as he fell. But this could not come true. He was sinking in the picture. No one on this side could do anything. One would not know what to do with themselves after looking at it – it was that kind of picture.

“Excuse me; I was the one who painted this. Is there anything wrong with this painti...”

Suddenly, a voice called to the woman from behind. A rock thrown into the quiet atmosphere. A low tone that cut through the dimness of the room.

People were mostly heading towards the famous artists, so the woman had been all by herself on that spot until just now. The man who had showed up a bit late was coincidentally the creator of that fantastical painting, and found himself talking to the woman who had stopped in front of his art. That was an extremely natural encounter for a pair. If their positions, circumstances and everything else were different, something might have been born between them. It did not have to be romantic love, just something – something else that “the two of them originally had”.

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

The moment the woman turned around, the space resounded with a loud squeak. It actually had not resounded, but at the very least, Dietfried heard the thump of his own heartbeat, which gave his whole body goosebumps. He was enveloped in a strange sensation, as if the blood inside him were flowing backwards. One of the things he had once evaded in his life was standing there.

“What’re you doing, Monster?”

Violet Evergarden.

Before the emerald eyes that Dietfried possessed, of a hue different from his younger brother’s, there was a young female Auto-Memories Doll. The reason why he had not recognized her from the back was likely that her golden hair was slovenly loose.

He had not had a chance to see her after she had become a grown-up ever since the incident during the Flying Letters. Only people who had great amount of interaction with each other would be able to tell such a thing just by looking at someone’s back.

“I was looking at the paintings, Captain.”

Violet was expressionless. However, her hand alone promptly searched for her emerald brooch and squeezed it.

“You, paintings? Can you understand them?”

First, a scornful laugh, and then a head start with a verbal attack. She needed to put up a defense line. After all, this girl was formerly a weapon. An automatic assassination doll.

“I cannot. It is just that... my eyes and legs stopped.”

She was the one and only woman that Dietfried feared. If he had run into anyone else, his emotions would not be so disrupted.

Dietfried was scared. This girl was terrifying.

“I caused you trouble last time.”

He knew the things she had done. He knew whom she had killed. And he also recalled how he used to treat her, telling himself that it was all right.

“By asking about Major.”

Because she was a monster.

——O God, I want to .

These words wandered about in his head. They were words that he had prayed in his childhood to the one that he would meet at some point – probably in his dying moments. Thinking back on it now, it had been a foolish, immature and helpless wish, but he was serious about it at the time.

Looking at this girl made him remember his embarrassing past self.

“I shall see myself out. Captain, please take your time.”

“Hey.”

Violet had decided to retreat from the place, putting it to action. She concluded that this would be a peaceful solution for both sides and that it would secure each other’s survival.

“Hey, wait.”

However, Dietfried still had something that he wanted to say.

At the call of restraint, Violet’s feet halted mid-step. She then gazed at Dietfried. “Why?” her eyes were asking.

Choosing to leave must have been her own way of showing respect. Considering the current and the previous relationship between two of them, it was a sound judgement. Hence, she stared at him presumptuous and mutely.

Even now, it pierced Dietfried. That quiet “why” perforated him.

Despite being the one who had told her to wait, Dietfried lost sight of his next words. He had tons of complaints. Rather, complaints were the only thing that ever came out of his mouth. Most likely, he had never presented any warm words or attitude to her. No, he had at least patted her head when they parted. But what about it? That was all he had done. Which perhaps was the reason why.

——What did you think of that painting?

Just a question like this was exceptionally challenging for him. If it were anyone else, he would surely be able to ask as easily as breathing. He could also boast that he was the one who had painted it. However, only with this woman was it so difficult.

A long silence drifted between the two. A truly long, long silence.

The mood was almost like two beasts had come across each other in the wilderness and were estimating which would attack first. Both were underdeveloped and, not matching their insides, only their appearances were actually full-fledged. Seen from the sidelines, they were a beautiful adult man and woman looking at each other, but the air flowing between them was that of a battlefield.

Dietfried was starting to sweat. As for Violet, even her breathing was becoming shallower.

Violet seemed to be thinking about something. She opened and closed her mouth, repeating it several times. What should she do in that situation? What was best? She was probably unable to decide. This was something that not just Violet but also Dietfried was thinking about, yet the degree of seriousness in behavior was surprisingly higher on Violet’s side.

She would normally not be like this.

He was the person that even Violet Evergarden, who had written so many letters, was at loss as to how to act around. That was the man called Dietfried.

Perhaps her thinking had eventually arrived to a conclusion, Violet left her baggage on the floor and put her hands behind her back. “Feel free to.”

At first, Dietfried had no idea what she was doing. Violet looked like she was offering her body.

“Ha...?”

Without hesitation, almost as if she were a tool.

“I am still. Feel free to.”

“Feel free to feast on my life,” she seemed to say. Her current self overlapped with the beast of the past.

“To do what, is what I’m asking...” Dietfried’s mouth felt sticky, giving him a hard time mustering words out. His head had been occupied mostly with how to mend the blunder that he had exposed to her, so he could not respond to Violet’s surprise attack immediately.

“Do you not remember? I used to do this whenever I had to receive reprimand or punishment.”

He could not. All of the information that had been fluttering about in Dietfried’s head until now disappeared. It vanished.

“You, what the...”

The owner of the blue eyes that stared at Dietfried as if to shoot through him always did unexpected things, tossing him about.

“I did not know how to speak back then, so in order to show that I had no intention to attack you, Captain, I would do this.”

Those eyes.

“No matter what I say, surely... there is no atonement for me. With time, I have come to understand the things I... did. And how much terror I made you go through. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the kindliness of placing me under Lord Gilbert. I wish to pay you back somehow. If you say that it is unnecessary, at the very least, do as you please.”

For whatever reason, when those eyes asked him “why”...

“Be it with fists or with reproach, as much as you want.”

...his chest ached as if it had been stabbed.

“Feel free to.”

If that place were not a quiet art gallery, Dietfried would have yelled furiously at her, without caring about shame or his reputation. He managed to ball his fists hard enough for it to hurt and swallow down his angry voice due to his high level of self-respect.

“I hate that about you...”

This girl always made him aware that she would never act as he expected.

“...to death.”

At the words spoken by Dietfried’s quivering tone, Violet took a step back. Her stance of offering herself did not change, but her instincts were on-guard, wondering if she was not going to be killed by this man. Seeing that, Dietfried sneered at her figure.

“You’re the one who could choke the life out of me anytime,” he seemed to say.

Dietfried suddenly felt the heat that had gone up his head cooling down. Violet had taken a step back. That became the trigger for him to regain his composure. Because he was able to reconfirm that she was but a child in the end. This innocent aspect and action that were much like what a child would show to an adult exerted a great influence on the other party. Dietfried loathed that.

For he, who despised interventions from anyone, had so much aversion to it that it make him want to vomit.

Those who were accustomed to oppression from others would very easily choose to hurt people. She was inwardly frightened of that tendency. Yet albeit frightened, she prioritized others over herself. That creature was like a mass of contradictions.

——Disgusting. Stop. Die. Don’t look at me.

He did not want to get involved with her. But he had a mountain of things to say. However, when it came to whether or not he could properly do it, even if he managed to squeeze them out, they would turn into nothing but abusive language.

There was a large lake between the two of them and all they could do was gaze at the opposite shore, unable to tell how deep it was. Their first meeting was to blame for that. It was the cause of everything.

His underlings had attacked her and she had killed all of them. She then chased and chased after him, making him into her master. Despite there being a hierarchy, Violet was the one who had a grip over his life.

One would understand, after spending time with the girl, that this was a necessity for her. She was always like that, ever since the island only the two of them knew. Whenever anything happened, she would prioritize Dietfried. After all, even as he handed her over to Gilbert, she had not resisted.

If anything could be changed, that was the moment.

The two who never mingled with each other met again countless times in a parallel line. On such occasions, they would become unable to make a move due to shouldering the truth of rejection and of the things they had done, thus running away.

——Gilbert.

What did the person who brought the two together, whom they loved most, thought of that?

“You... I...”

——If I could change for Gilbert...

“Captain...?”

——If I could change, right here and now, for your sake...

Would it be easier for him to breathe?

Just as Dietfried was about to make a bitter decision...

“GYAAAAAAAAAH—AAAAAAH—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

...an incident occurred.

It was clearly not a hasty crime. The scream of Artemisia, the owner, echoed, and by the time that Dietfried and Violet had bolted from the quiet hall where there was just the two of them, robbers were already thrusting their weapons mostly at vulnerable women and children, having them on their knees. The course of action was far too swift.

Wide-eyed, Violet swung back her trolley bag and was about to throw it at them, yet Dietfried stopped her.

“Are you stupid?! Those aren’t all adults that can run...!”

Among the hostages, there was also a little girl held under someone’s arms, looking like she did not understand the situation.

“I will save them as fast as possible and take control of the rest.”

“They’ve got guns; what’re you gonna do if they hit someone else with a warning shot?! There’s the other artworks too... This ain’t a stage for a tactless bastard like you to brawl! Just stay put for now!”

“But, Captain—”

“Stay put!”

While the two were trying to push past each other, the robbers took notice of them.

In the main hall, perhaps in order to bind people up through fear, the men were being beaten without exception, being put on their knees over the floor. Seeing that, the women naturally sat down, trembling, and began to cry.

While screams were resounding like music, one of the robbers headed towards the duo. “So there were still weeds growing here?” was the look in his eyes as he swung his firearm emotionlessly.

Dietfried would have managed to avoid it. He had done it several times until now. He could do it as easily as floating on water. If he could catch the man’s gun with one hand and pulled it just like that, he was able to picture the opponent falling over as a reaction. Once he stole the gun, he could shoot each member of the robber gang one by one in the head. And then, there would be a gunfight. He would have done that if he were alone. Yes, if he were alone.

——Why now of all times?

There was nothing more humiliating than a punch that one had to resign oneself into receiving. But he had things he had to protect above his own dignity. Thus, he accepted the attack without dodging. If he were to start a scuffle amidst the current situation, he did not think that all of the people who had become hostages would remain unharmed. He would aim for a chance. That was what he should do. He made such decision not only for his own welfare but also for that of other people.

However, the automatic assassination doll made a completely different one. When her eyes glinted like that, she quite literally moved on automatic. She came forward to take his place. In that instant, the face of Dietfried’s younger brother was the only thing crossing his mind.

——Gil.

It was almost as if he had readied himself to do it. That was how quickly his arm reached out. He forcefully embraced Violet and turned his back towards the robber. A violent hit struck him from head to back. He could hear Violet’s breath quietly catching while holding her in his arms.

And such was how they had arrived to the present.

Dietfried did not think that his decision to suppress Violet was a mistake. He was aware that she was the woman who had fought by herself against terrorists inside an exploding train, but it would be a problem if she did something of the sort in the Artemisia Gallery.

Right now, he felt like a pet owner containing the rampage of his mad dog.

As for the mad dog herself, she had grown quiet ever since Dietfried had been hit, as if her functions were gone. Dietfried had pushed away the hands that had attempted to give him first aid. Any false moves and the robbers might beat him again.

She, who always took upon herself to protect, wound up being protected. On top of that, she had let the other be injured. This must have caused her to fall into despondency, enough to result in service outage. However, with time, she had rebooted and was rousing herself up once more to get through this situation.

“I understand that I should refrain from the use of force in an art gallery. But should we not place human lives above the artworks?”

——Whose fault do you think it is that I got hit on the back of my head?

Because she was saying the most obvious thing with the most serious face, Dietfried grabbed the collar where her brooch resided, taking the brooch along, without thinking. The thread that fastened the ribbon-tie dress’s button let out a screech. It was not the kind of deed that a gentleman would do to a lady. But Dietfried did not loosen the strength that he put into his grip.

“You... Do you still need disciplining from me?” he said, voice filled with rage, close enough for their faces to touch. “Think of this as a place that can hardly compare to any other... This thing’s pretty important for you, isn’t it?”

After blinking with a snap, she opened her mouth once, then closed it.

Once Dietfried’s hand let go of her, she grasped the brooch as if to protect it. She was more concerned about the brooch than the crumpled bust of her dress. She stroked it over and over, making sure that it had not been damaged.

Finally, she whispered in a dazed state, “I understand.”

“As if an idiot could,” Dietfried said with a snort, yet the other was a poker-faced Auto-Memories Doll. No matter how much he hurt her, it would have no effect. That was what Dietfried had thought.

“I understood completely. I will avoid combat here as much as possible.” Alas, her voice sounded a little faint.

Dietfried stared at Violet from the corners of his eyes. The brooch was indeed important to her. She was holding it down with both hands. She did not want anyone to touch it – that was what she was indicating. The two of them were speaking in an awfully low tone, but her timbre just now was as thin as the cry of a mosquito.

Dietfried said with a somewhat softer voice, “Good that you get it. I’m indebted to the owner of this gallery. I’m gonna choose the best I can for her sake too.”

“All right.”

“Human lives are the priority, of course. But we’re not gonna fight in a stupid way.”

Like a child, Violet nodded repeatedly.

“You’ve only ever been doing body guarding, murders and military action, and that’s why you don’t understand. In the sea... In fleet battles, we fight to protect. Our way of thinking is different from those who fight to conquer.”

“To protect...”

“If you can’t put brakes on them at sea, the enemies go to land. The reason why Leidenschaftlich is called a military nation ain’t just the army’s achievement. I’ve... never taught you how to fight at sea, huh... For now, forget the method of destroying and taking control of everything. Learn from my ways.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried was inwardly surprised at the obedient reply. Rather, even more than this, he was surprised that he and the “beast” were able to have mutual comprehension.

When she was in his hands, this beautiful Auto-Memories Doll was a “wild beast” that did not know how to speak, as well as a tool. An incontrollable beast, to boot.

“Still, if that is how it is, please do not forget that your wellbeing is my top priority all the more. I shall fight to protect you, Captain. Please do not think of protecting me for Lord Gilbert’s sake. If necessity arises, I will not might if you use me as a shield. I can be replaced, but there is no substitute for you.”

If, at that time...

“This is also linked to protecting Lord Gilbert.”

...in that place...

“Bye, Monster. This guy’s your next master.”

...he had educated and guided her instead of letting her go, would she have grown up the same way?

“Shut up.”

Would she have thought like that?

“Shut up, Monster.”

He had never even thought about it.

Another side of him immediately answered “no” to the self-questioning. Surely, a Violet Evergarden raised by Dietfried Bougainvillea would not have turned out like this. He might have at least taught her how to talk. They would have trouble communicating otherwise. He would have probably given her clothes and personal belongings for daily life. Bringing her along when walking around would look bad for him.

However, when it came to whether or not he would have bestowed this girl with something that would be enveloped in her hands with utmost zeal...

——I see; so it’s the same color as Gilbert’s eyes. That brooch.

...he would undeniably have not.

——Come to think of it, she was always following me around from behind ‘cause she hated being alone.

If there was anything he could have done for her, it was to at least fill up a coffin with flowers and leave it available for her. He did not intend for anything to happen, but he might have done that much. After all, if Violet had stayed beside Dietfried Bougainvillea, she would have surely died before him, for his sake.

“We’re gonna do an act.”

——Aah, Gilbert.

“An act?”

——I’m always late to realize how great you are.

“That’s right. You’re the one who suggested it, so I’m gonna make you into a decoy.”

——You’ve made that filthy beast into this.

“Understood.”

——You were able to change her like this.

“First, take this... It’s late for that, but... you got any questions about a joint struggle with me?”

As Dietfried asked, Violet responded with her neck tilted, “Why...? I do not.”

For whatever reason, his former weapon would show scraps of emotion only at times like these. Just innocently, unaware that it was merciless of her.

“Please use me correctly, Captain.” She smiled.

Why had robbers attacked the Artemisia Gallery?

There was a certain amount of history that led to such violence unfolding amidst everyday life. Firstly, it would be preferable to start with the time when a turning point happened in the life of the robbery’s main offender, but that would be rewinding too far. On to a brief explanation.

This case was a crime committed by a habitual criminal.

There were various reasons for people to rob, yet the advantage was but one. Earning compensation within a short period. Good citizens would be paid for their work, but thieves did not share this mentality. People received rewards through serving others. In order to gather a large sum, a long time and effort were necessary. Thieves abdicated from this. To achieve success, no matter in what land, a person had to be equipped with skills as a rule of thumb.

If one could stop after doing it once, why did they do it countless times? There were people here and there who thought this about criminals. It was because, if they had succeeded once, they could do it again. They were instantly able to attain things that they would have to spend a long time out of their lives to earn. This was the arrival of an opportunity to do that.

Once one got used to it, identifying opportunities was surprisingly easy.

Supposing that there was someone who excelled at predicting people’s thoughts. The other person’s personality would be determined by the movements of their eyes, the way they breathed, their voice tone, the relationships of power in their background, their social position and other such things, so one would be able to deduce what kind of conduct should be taken in order to derive the “correct answer”. It seemed like magic at first glance, but it was no more than the result of someone continuously keeping watch on another person for many years.

Since this was a strategy against individual matches, the robbers needed a slightly better ability to grasp the environment. As they were walking around the city, they incidentally found out that a new gallery was going to open. The opening date was also announced. It appeared that there would be an event only for those concerned on the day before.

No matter the establishment, dealing flawlessly with the inauguration of a new shop was difficult. Even if there were people in it who already had experience working in a gallery, but the use of their abilities to have control over such a situation and proceed with it smoothly was different. Employees would be in quite a panic on the day. If it was a members-only celebration day, there was no mistaking that the original state of the security that should be guarding the gallery would be insufficient.

And so, the robbers had thought, “Aah, if you poke this place, it’ll surely crumble down.”

They did not have any grudges in particular. They had simply judged that they could do it, thus undergoing the assault. The truth was merely that the Artemisia Gallery had been unlucky.

How many hardships the owner had gone through until she was able to open the gallery, had she lived her life bowing her head to other people? How many artists were looking forward to seeing their work exhibited in the gallery? The feelings of such people could be trampled miserably at times.

Not that many people paid any mind to weeds when walking. That was all. Except, this time, the Artemisia Gallery had been lucky about just one thing.

“No good... Hum, excuse me...! She suddenly...!”

A naval captain who loved art...

“Ugh...”

...and the woman who used to be called Leidenschaftlich’s War Maiden were amongst the hostages.

The man who had caused a commotion and pleaded to one of the robbers in a panic raised both of his hands as a display of no resistance. He was a long-haired a man. His slightly curvy dark hair went past his shoulders. Right next to him was a woman holding her stomach and trembling.

“What?”

A few armed men gathered around them.

“It seems her stomach hurts.”

“Just a stomach ache? Leave it alone.”

“You’re telling us to let her go to the bathroom? We still gotta watch these people. Besides, she’s a woman. If someone takes her to the toilet... Well, how much stuff did we get?”

“We’ve piled most of the paintings in the carrier, but there’s still the ornaments. It’s still gonna take a while.”

The robbers had a choice. The option to either silently let her suffer or kindly take her to the restroom. Beating only the men was likely one of their policies. They did not hesitate to make use of violence when needed, but when it was not, it was best to have as least animosity as possible in order to get through with things unobtrusively and quickly take the treasure. It seemed gentlemanly but was a self-righteous thinking.

“What do we do? The Head is...”

“The Head got in the car first. As if we can ask him stuff like this every single time it happens.”

“Head” probably referred to the member worthy of being their chief.

As the quiet exchanges continued in front of the agonizing woman, she finally lay down on the floor while still holding onto her stomach. The man who had appealed about her bad condition shook her shoulders, telling her to “hang in there”.

As if she had received a signal, the woman raised her face slowly. Her gemstone-like blue eyes were visible through the gaps between her disheveled golden hair. She was covering her mouth, perhaps trying not to vomit. Even so, it was easy to tell that the woman’s looks were remarkably good.

“It’s gonna take a while, huh. Besides, we’re gonna need the women later.”

Her eyes locked with one of robber’s as though sucking him in. One would not understand the destructive power that having this woman look up at them from their feet with her eyes wet had, unless they witnessed it themselves.

“Then, I guess it’s okay.”

From the vulgar smile of the man who had said so, one could presume what his intentions were. As the woman was covering her mouth, the robber instructed her to stand up, pointing his gun at her, and then took her to the restroom.

After that, the woman and the robber did not return for a while. Since there were no other people who mustered out the courage to say that they wanted to use the toilet, the period of their absence passed as if it were natural. In the meantime, the gallery’s exhibits were being carried one after another to cars with roof racks parked outside the establishment. The robbers were dressed as employees who worked with the transportation of goods, so even those walking down the street did not think there was anything strange about that work scene.

Once they had finished relocating most of the merchandises, one of the cars left the gallery. The other one that remained parked was meant for the getaway of those who were keeping watch. With the artworks that had been collected for the sake of this day snatched away down to the last one, the gallery was bare. The owner, Artemisia, had all the while been suppressing her cries and shedding tears.

Apparently, those thieves were quite the habitual criminals. They had threatened everyone with armed force upon entering the establishment, robbing people of any resistance, but after that, as long as everyone stayed still, they would do nothing but coldly keep control of the hostages, not even raising their voices. If people did as told, they would not lose their lives. That hope made the hostages obedient. Even though they were robbers, this seamless way of dealing with people was like that of artisans. They did not think of humans as humans.

“Excuse me; I just... want to lend her a handkerchief. That’s all. The sleeves of her clothes are already soaked with tears. Can’t you allow just this much?”

Hearing a voice from the back, Artemisia turned around. It came from one of the artists that she had invited over for today, whom she had known for quite some time. She was shaken by a sense of guilt that she had done something terrible to him as well.

Their first meeting had started at a certain recreational facility, when she peeked from behind while he was painting a landscape. She did not know his occupation, but they kept in touch and she had him show her his art. It seemed he had always been drawing as a hobby. He told her that even most of the people who were close to him did not know he painted, and that he had truly only been doing it for himself.

The busy man had weaved his way through spare time and the work he brought had swayed Artemisia’s senses. At first, he had hesitated at her request to put it on display, but then smiled like a boy and gave her his ready consent, looking happy.

——Aah, God. Please give it back. Please give that fun time back to everyone.

Artemisia was upset and vexed at the fact that the artworks were being stolen, but more than anything, it felt like the regret towards everyone who had been looking forward to this day would split her chest open.

“Hey, he told you to use this.”

He had lent a handkerchief to Artemisia through one of the robbers. Artemisia wiped her tears and managed to lock eyes with him somehow. She then mouthed a “thank you” to him without letting out her voice.

The man smiled. But it was not the smile that Artemisia knew. He was different when he talked about art. She had shivers before she could think. His eyes were not smiling.

“ .”

The man said something to Artemisia. As he had only moved his lips, Artemisia could not tell whether she had been able to read what he tried to convey. She could not, but most likely, he had said:

“It’ll be over soon.”

Eventually, the robbers started to create an atmosphere of evacuation at last.

“Let’s take one person with us until we leave the harbor. Can be a woman or kid. Which do we choose?”

“Woman it is.”

“That guy was playing around with the woman we were planning to use for that, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”

Assuming that they would finally be freed, the hostages started fidgeting. They had faced a disaster and the artworks that they had dedicated their lives to making had been stolen. This joyful day had been repainted into despair. But they were alive. That was the one and only bright side of today. They would not be able to maintain their rationality unless they comforted themselves with that. At any rate, they wanted to hurry and be liberated.

Amongst them, there was a man who merely observed the robbers’ movements in silence all the while. It was the man who had been caring for a woman that had a stomachache, looking worried. Once the woman had been taken to the restroom, he became expressionless, as if he had lost interest in everything. Occasionally, there were moments when he even yawned in secret, as if he had grown sleepy.

“Go call him. We could use that woman as hostage. She’s young, so she can come back walking if we throw her away on the street.”

Hearing these words, the man let out his voice and laughed. By the looks of it, he had not intended to laugh, but wound up doing so. He put a hand to his mouth, but then shrugged and let the robbers see it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you. But trying to rape that thing, huh? No matter how many lives you have, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Hey, what’s with you...? Got a complaint or something...?”

The man kept laughing, as though to say that the robbers’ threatening figures were even more comical. With her eyes, the owner, Artemisia, begged the man provoking the robbers to restrain himself, for she could not afford to lose not only the artworks that she had collected but also a guest that she had invited, yet the man closed one eye at that and replied, “Artemisia, it’s okay.”

No one in this place knew his social status. Or his history.

In the past, Dietfried Bougainvillea used to wield a weapon that could become the world’s best. It was now away from his grasp, but it was not as if their master-servant connection had been completely severed. The beast had a high level of loyalty, so although they had met by chance after a long time, her heart recognized it. That he was the one she had been following in the past – someone worth being served by her. Therefore, the beast would attend him to exhaustion.

Only a limited number of people could handle the beast. The feeling that she had returned to his hands for now was somewhat strange.

“She runs quick.”

“Ha?”

“That’s why it’s the end for you guys. My bad.”

“Hey, shut this dude up.”

As Dietfried had suddenly started talking, the robbers naturally had a doubtful reaction.

“She’s as fast as a deer. And this is the city’s main street, so there are hotels nearby.”

“So, what’re you saying?”

“I left my bodyguards behind to come here today. They’re probably drinking at their room’s bar. There’re also guys among them who know that thing from the time when she was still by my side. I left my hair tie with her, so she should be able to convince them with that. I could predict that you’d take the things you stole to the port. It’s pretty difficult to get away from pursuers on land when you make such a mess in the center of this city. It’s harder to be tracked using the sea route than the land route, right? But the sea route doesn’t work against me. It looks like one vehicle left a while ago, but it’s over by the point they reach the port. You’ll probably go outside now, but if you’re thinking about taking someone along as a hostage, you’d better drop it. Many of my subordinates are hot-blooded. If you rouse them up like that, they’ll probably get too excited. If that happens, you’re the ones who’ll be getting the short end of the stick. No matter how many dead bodies fall down, we can deal with it all we want in the aftermath. We’ll need to get the stories straight, but today’s hostages will surely choose to cooperate with me. Having people trample on the proof of a life that you’ve lived with all your might is painful for anyone.”

The eloquent man did not run out of breath even when speaking nonstop in such a situation. However, this majestic aspect of him was reflected in others’ eyes as dreadful and similar to madness.

The robbers abruptly realized that all the hostages were looking far behind them. They felt that there was something behind them. It was like a ghost, hiding even its flame of life, simply waiting for the orders of its lord.

Outside the windows of the gallery, they could hear the sounds of someone fighting from around the area where the car was parked. Simultaneously, they could hear a faint breathing just behind them.

The respiration of a woman who was out of breath from running loomed over their ears.

“Do it, Violet.” Dietfried raised his thumb and made a swift throat-cutting gesture.

While watching his doll render the robbers unconscious with a strength as overwhelming as a monster eating people, Dietfried reminisced to the past.

——Everything goes around.

He recalled the time when the two of them were stuck in that isolated island.

The beast had been scared when the rescue fleet arrived. So had Dietfried. He would not be able to bear it if more of his comrades were murdered. Hence, he had taken the beast’s hand and guided her to the outside world. In his perception, it was the same as taking the reins.

There were no reins anymore now. No need for him to pull her by the hand when walking, either. There was nothing between them.

Not love, passion, attachment, desire, anything.

“Captain.”

There was nothing, but one thing was for certain.

“Captain Bougainvillea.”

If he called for her, this Auto-Memories Doll would most likely go to the ends of the world to save him. That was her nature.

“I have just returned. Are you unharmed?”

At that moment, the beast was well aware that he had called her name for the very first time. Her eyes were crinkling.

“Yeah.”

Just this much compensation was enough to make the beast smile.

After a little while passed, Leidenschaftlich was embraced by the gentleness of the night.

Summer constellations were decorating the jet-black sky. Just as sunny as it was during daytime, the night sky was twinkling so brightly this evening that it could be called a banquet of stars. The day was about to end in Leidenschaftlich. Today was filled with chaos ever since morning.

While being observed by gathered-up onlookers, the arrest drama that had unfolded in front of the Artemisia Gallery was already coming to a conclusion, its many procedures and processing passed over to the military police. Seeing the stolen artworks safely re-delivered to Artemisia, Dietfried took a breather. His gaze then fleetingly drifted to the side. A dirtied ceramic doll was standing there. A woman beautiful enough to look like such, who shone amidst the night, was standing there. He had to say something to her. As one would expect, he should do that at least now. But he could not think of anything.

——“You did well”. “That wasn’t too bad”. “Good work”. “I commend you”... Which one?

Inside his head, words were being conceived and then disappearing. Just like the dreams that the sleeping children all around Leidenschaftlich were surely seeing right now. They were born and then vanished.

At last, he attempted to open his mouth, “Aren’t you cold?”

“It is summer, after all.”

And ended up talking to her like a man who was unused to inviting women out.

Violet Evergarden, who had been fighting reasonably and in order to protect, was still by Dietfried’s side. It was fitting to say that she had been today’s most meritorious person. The one who had come up with the idea of the arrest operation was Dietfried, but the one who had done all the work for it was Violet.

First, she had put up the woman-with-a-stomachache act and gone with one of the robbers to the restroom. She had then quietly strangled the neck of the man who had reached a hand to her shoulder with her mechanical prosthetic arms, making him pass out.

She had broken out and escaped through the restroom’s window. Rather than going to the military police, she had gone to the hotel that Dietfried instructed her to and notified the naval soldiers, who were enjoying cigarettes and drinks in a room on the top floor, of the circumstances. One of the soldiers, who happened to know her, had been frightened at first, but upon seeing that she had been entrusted with Dietfried’s ribbon, his facial expression changed and he contacted the military police, then informed the port’s security to reinforce their inspections.

Without waiting for them to get ready, she had immediately run back to the Artemisia Gallery and infiltrated it through the same route. A few of the robbers, who had the bad luck of spotting her, fell to the ground with one kick or punch to the abdomen, and so, she had finally returned. As Violet stood behind the remaining robbers while catching her breath, the hostages stared as if she were their safety, but Dietfried was sneering as he looked at her.

Just as ordered, she had saved Dietfried without damaging a single artwork.

“About what happened...”

“It will probably be best not to tell Lord Gilbert. He would worry.”

Upon seeing the last artwork be brought in, Violet took the trolley bag that lay by her feet. She likely intended to go home by herself.

After making her do so much, something similar to guilt was now sprouting within Dietfried. He wound up acknowledging that she, too, was important to someone. That was what he thought after the battle, when he saw Violet stroking her emerald brooch as if to confirm that it was there.

Even though she used to be a wild beast whom no one would mourn if she died.

——Aah, that’s an excuse. It’ll be nothing but an excuse. If so, then I don’t wanna say it.

Back then, when she was by Dietfried’s side, every single day was filled with madness on all accounts. They used to roam around battlefields, fighting from dawn to dusk, growing too accustomed to violence. The war then ended, peace had returned, and he realized that an era in which he could even make art was arriving. That those times were abnormal and the way he felt now was the default.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No need. Your escorts must be waiting, so please, feel free to take your leave, Captain.”

“It’s fine; just this time. I’ll take you home.”

“No need.”

“I’ll take you. Listen up, this is an order.”

“I cannot accept your command.”

“You little... You were taking action like I instructed you to just a while ago.”

“Because it was a state of emergency... Besides, Captain Dietfried, it would be reasonable if I were to take you home, but the opposite is illogical.”

“What’re you talking about? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“A woman”. Finding himself asserting this with his own mouth, Dietfried regretted it even more.

The corner of Violet’s lips had a cut and blood was coming out of it. Her ribbon-tie dress was drenched in sweat. Even those who did not sweat much would be like this after such a huge scuffle during summertime.

“I’m calling a carriage. It’s all right; just wait right there. I’ll see you off until you get inside the Evergarden house. And then it’s goodbye. We’ll never see each other again. No matter what you and Gil become, we’ll never see each other again.”

What he had done today to this woman, who had become fully able to accept someone’s love, was not something that a son of the Bougainvillea should ever do to a lady.

After they had hopped into the carriage, a moment of silence went on for a while.

——Is it okay for her to keep such an open secret even though those two are a couple?

Dietfried found himself accidentally concerned about his younger brother’s love life. After all, this situation might be a betrayal to his dearest brother. Gilbert had completely forgiven Dietfried. For pushing the headship succession onto him. For not having any consideration for their family. For forcing an indescribable wild beast onto him. He had forgiven everything.

Thinking back, the only time that he attempted to push Dietfried away, saying he would not forgive him, had been when Dietfried offered Violet to him. He had called it “human trafficking”. Told Dietfried not to be violent with a child.

Most likely, those two were each other’s only exception from the very beginning. There was probably no pardoning what Dietfried had done to Violet today. Gilbert would forgive most things. Save for matters related to the one and only thing that was most important to him. Being hated by a loved one. This could cast a shadow over anyone’s heart, regardless of how old they were.

“It is all right.” The voice that cut through the silence was thrown at him as if to soothe him down. The words sounded almost as if she had perceived Dietfried’s uneasiness. “If, by any chance... word ends up reaching him through someone else about this case, I will definitely defend you, Captain Dietfried.”

“‘Defend’, you say?”

“To tell the truth, I often get involved in large-scale incidents without Major knowing. But I return without fail. To Leidenschaftlich. I will return today as well. Therefore, we are all right.”

“What do you do out there?”

“We were separated for much too long. Therefore, we have many moments that the other does not know about in the first place. Perhaps even now, too. I have work to do and so does he. We have limited time to see each other. However, I will definitely always return to Major. He knows this as well. Even when we are apart, that person is the only one who occupies my mind. I am not sure if I convey it to him properly, but that is how it is.”

Her statements were something that would normally make him burst into laughter, but Dietfried was unable to do so.

——When did you become like that?

Dietfried hated Violet. Several factors had induced his emotions to it.

——Now you can correspond to someone’s love.

He saw himself overlap with her. Her subservience to adults and the way that she herself wanted it disgusted him. He despised the wild beast that did not yearn for freedom. Despised the fact that she had been trained by someone to be this way. Despised everything. To begin with, Dietfried did not have many things that he liked.

Even the number of people who could become kind had a limit.

The truth was that, even if he wanted to be kind, it was no longer possible. He had prayed to God for it countless times in the past. However, unable to achieve this, a man named Dietfried Bougainvillea existed.

——O God, I want to, he begged a certain Someone in his mind for the first in a long time. Perhaps since his childhood.

Still, this sort of being did not give any reply to calls. Even now, he had no idea if his plea had reached Him. It was certainly impossible. His and Violet’s stars were in a position that would not radically change.

Nevertheless, for some reason, he had the overwhelming desire to ask someone for forgiveness today.

——I wanna go back.

Not even he knew where to.

——Hurry and be over, this day, today and the time I have to spend with her.

He was not annoyed.

——O God, I want to...

But painfully miserable.

“Captain.”

The carriage ran amongst trees dyed in the darkness of the night. A cool voice echoed amidst them.

Violet was looking at the scenery outside. She was observing the moon, which chased after them, no matter how far, far apart they were.

The moon was something that would continue to exist forever. Unlike stories. Regardless of whether Dietfried concerned himself with it, everything about his story would come to a closing one day as well. Demise would arrive even to the things that he did not wish to ever be over. Even the feelings he had now would end.

“How was I today?”

“What?”

“Did my work earn your satisfaction today?”

Dietfried could not read the intentions behind Violet’s question at all. She was someone whose emotions he could not read in the first place, but it was even harder to understand the meaning of that sentence.

“What do you want to say?”

Silence.

“Hey, just say it straight. Don’t be dodgy with me.”

“All right,” the cool voice entered his ears once more. Such coldness resembled the night, but it never left his ears, easy as it was to catch.

Violet turned her neck and cast her gaze at him. Slowly, blue and green eyes blended with each other.

“I...”

Bathed in moonlight, she was simply, purely beautiful, enough to take Dietfried’s breath away.

“When I was with you, Lord Dietfried, my work was never satisfactory. Now that I became an adult, have I finally been able to repay my debt... with my work?”

“What d’you mean by ‘debt’?”

His voice was hoarse. He suddenly felt as if this icy woman had robbed his entire body of its heat. The inside of his mouth was extremely dry.

“I mean everything. It all started when you brought me from that island. I am the way I am now because you entrusted me to Ma... to Lord Gilbert.”

“If you’d stayed with me, probably nothing good would’ve happened.”

“How would I be if I had continued to serve you?”

These words became a bullet and pierced Dietfried’s heart. He felt as if his breathing would stop at the unexpected question. Things had been like that since the distant past. Dietfried would reconfirm time and time again that she was a woman who could have become a lethal weapon for him.

“So you also imagine a hypothesis... of ‘what if’,” her exquisitely cold voice rang within the darkness. Upon being asked, “You too?”, Violet nodded.

That was his line, Dietfried thought, but Violet then sent his gemstone eyes a dream-like gaze. His existence might be devoid of realism to her.

Violet began to whisper. If only she had disobeyed that order back then. If only she had rushed to him a step faster at that time.

“Back then, if”. “Back then, if”. “Back then, if”.

She could not bring myself not to think that, if only she had had this extra step, he would not have lost that emerald eye.

“Besides, I wonder... if I had managed to protect him back then...”

She had to let go of her most beloved lord’s hand and was entrusted to someone else as if she had been thrown away.

“...I would not have had to spend that time away from Major.”

Thinking back, she had always been abandoned and then picked up by somebody. She should have been used to it. That was the star she had been born under.

She was originally a foreign body to this world and was supposed to have been eliminated. Her destiny had also flowed in this way. The reason why Violet had rebelled against her sectioned path, despite having been tamely submitting herself to it, was that the other was special.

——I also threw her away.

He had thrown his home away. Thrown away his little brother, who cried in protest. And thrown away this beast.

“I also wonder what would have happened if you had not left me with Major.”

This woman.

“But all of these are akin to dreams, crossing my mind and fading away. After passing through countless ‘if’s, I...”

He had pushed this woman onto his brother and forsaken her. Looking at her made him sick. He was also scared of her. Most importantly, he would have stopped being himself. This terrified him.

“And now, I have become an Auto-Memories Doll and am spending a night with you.”

This woman possessed an element that transmuted people.

“Y’know, you’ll be alone one day. You’re the one who’s got the longer lifespan, aren’t you?”

Violet closed her eyes at those words. If she had pictured numerous “if”s, this would obviously come to mind as well.

“I do not know.”

“If that happens, what’re you gonna do?”

“I do not know. But are you not the same as me when it comes to this? You love him, right?”

“I’m... I’m the older one. I’ll be gone sooner.”

“No one knows about that. But... if, one day... I do become alone... if I am left living by myself... my order will still be valid. I will probably live on.”

If she ended up living by herself, this supposition was the cruelest of things to the beast. Just what did he want to do by making her say this now?

Thinking back, ever since they had first met, he had not known how to deal with her. Should he have protected her? Killed her? Protected? Killed? Or perhaps...

“That is why I write letters every day. Even if they do not reach him, I write letters to Major every single day.”

Silence.

“Captain, what will you do?”

“Me, huh? I... let’s see. Paint, I guess.”

“A painting or Major?”

“That’s right.”

“May I go see it?”

To Dietfried Bougainvillea, this wild beast was both a woman and a monster from the very beginning. She was now as far-off as a dream.

“You’re the only one of my relatives who knows I paint. Do whatever you want.”

——O God, I want to be a good person.

#violet evergarden #fyeahvioletevergarden #veedit #dietfried bougainvillea #kyoani #kyoto animation #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #my translation

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danny-chase · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Damian Wayne Centric, Panic Attack, Sickfic, Sick Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, he gets half a hug, Damian Wayne is a sweetheart, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Damian Wayne is a good brother Series: Part 10 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Sequel to Pneumonia, Damian decides to spend his day home with Richard.

Full story under cut

Footsteps echo through the hall, light, but heavy enough to be intentional. Too carefully timed to be confident in their placement. And with too little bounce to be Richard’s.

Nor would he waken if they were Richard’s and that’s really his first clue. Briskly throwing off the sheets and flattening his hair, he throws open the door before his father can make it the rest of the way down the hall. The footsteps stop in their tracks.

He leaves the door open as invitation, yet it’s unnecessary – father doesn’t approach. From what little time they’ve spent together, Damian finds it strange – his father is single minded in his work but yet so indecisive in his home – well – really this wasn’t his home. “How is he?” The words come out too harshly and he grits his teeth, hoping for leniency – father is to be respected, not talked to in such a manner.

Nor was father was pleased the last time he erred in his judgment. Ever since he’d failed the first time he meant, he’d been treated like a plague, locked in his room then, and avoided now.

…But he’d heard stories from Richard about a softer man than the one he’d met a year ago. A man whose love was stronger than his hate – who took in children and saved their souls.

It was odd that such a man had shied away from his own son. Damian couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong – he understood the skirmish with Drake was wrong – but Richard spoke of a man who could forgive. And yet. He’d only seen forgiveness from Richard.

He’d thought perhaps, that had been his father’s influence.

Another footstep resounds around him, and the realization strikes – he hasn’t moved. Huffing – at no one in particular – he silently strides forward, yanking his dresser drawers open to retrieve a set of perfectly folded clothes.

“Damian.” Father stays just out of sight beyond the door. Its nerve wracking – almost painful – waiting for information. Richard promised he would be fine, last night, he promised Bruce could take care of the things – would be back – would fix it.

He’d almost believed him, but for a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

It was odd, seeing him waver – especially because he’d seen for himself how much Bruce cared for him. He’d read the worry in his expressions and the thinly veiled pain as he stitched his successor’s side. Father was back – he’d believed that much – though he didn’t believe it when Richard said it – and that was… a complicated thing.

Suffice to say, he’d kept watch from afar until he heard the doorknob turn, leaving once father began to speak.

An awkward clearing of the throat makes him turn. Father stands in the doorway, looking stern but unsure, finally having decided to make an appearance. It’s irritating, how tall he seems; his head mere inches away from the top of the doorframe. “What?” He can’t keep panic from slipping into his voice. Swallowing, he makes another attempt. “How is Richard?”

Frowning, father shakes his head slightly looking displeased. Damian’s heart sinks to the floor – Richard couldn’t – he promised – he –

“He’s not doing as well as I’d hoped. His blood oxygen level fell last night, I had to put him on an external canister to raise it.” Damian lets out a long breath, his pulse returning to normal as father continued. “He’s stable, Leslie came over an hour ago. She predicts a full recovery, just don’t expect him to bounce back too quickly.” His father paused, giving him a curious look. “You look flush, are you alright?”

Suddenly full of the desire to be alone, he shuts the door. “Yes. One moment.” For a moment he thought – never mind that now. Turning back to his clothes, he kicks off his pajamas, hastily changing. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing steadily – everything is fine.

He can hear his father hesitating, the floorboards groaning as he shifts his weight. “School starts in an hour. I’ll drive you.” It takes all the willpower he can muster not to let a groan escape his lips. School’s awful on the best of days, a miserable prison with miserable teachers not paid enough to put up with his obnoxious rich classmates’ egregious behavior.

“I’m not going.” Richard needs monitoring after all and his father had fulfilled the task last night. For proper care, he needs properly awake caretakers.

“You will go.” The response is firm, but not without minor hesitation – something Richard had taught him to look for – something he could exploit in interrogations – something he could exploit here (for a good cause of course).

His argument must be flawless – rational and logical, nothing else will suffice. Pulling on his socks, crossing the room, he flings the door open, storming into the hall, in a display of righteous fury. “The benefits of my attending school today do not outweigh the benefits Richard would receive if I monitor his progress and allow you sleep in order to be prepared to monitor him tonight. Firstly, I know the material already.” His father makes a noise to interrupt, but he continues unperturbed.

“Secondly, I understand the social benefits are a concern to you. Ask Richard, I have made a friend. His name is Colin and he’s much better than any of the awful children at that school. And I’ve met with Lian and Irey and Jay.” The Titan’s children were annoying, but he wasn’t lying. It was awful, but he’d made it through the ‘playdate’. “Thirdly, as for extracurricular activities, Grayson has provided me with all necessary materials to pursue my interests. And…” He trails off, finding his father’s eyes tired, the bags under them unreasonably puffy. Gesturing vaguely, he pointed back at a mirror in his room. “Just look at yourself, you expect to watch him well like that?” They can debate all they’d like, but if father refuses to sleep much longer, the argument will be decided in his favor.

The eyes shift to the mirror and back, then to him, to the floor, then covered by a hand. His father turns, muttering something he can’t quite hear, but he makes out the words from reading his lips. ‘What the hell has Dick been teaching you?’ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth – he’s won. Perhaps, with further needling, he’ll be out of school for good, but today, he doesn’t press his luck.

Father drops his hand with a sigh. “Fine. Keep up with your studies.” He takes a few steps back. “You can sit in the room but don’t bother him.” Damian holds back an eye roll, as if he would bother Richard while he’s recuperating. “Call if anything changes, I’ll make breakfast.” Father turns, Damian’s eyes follow, watching him stride down the hall, ducking into the kitchen.

As the kitchen door smoothly thuds shut, he turns back to his room, swallowing down the odd sensation that stirs in the base of his throat. His steps are silent – mindlessly so, as he pads over into the adjacent bathroom to finish his morning routine.

He emerges – the strange feelings sticking with him – he supposes he ought to feel relieved, but dread builds in the pit of his stomach instead at the prospect of seeing Richard.

Father said Richard would be fine. Leslie said Richard would be fine. Richard promised he would be fine.

None of them are liars – but what if they missed something? The thought wracks his mind on an endless loop. The hallway seems to stretch out as he takes a step towards his brother’s room. What if something changes before he gets there? What if the medication doesn’t work – what if it’s a super virus or an antibiotic resistant bacteria? Their enemies could come up with ridiculously effective toxins, pathogens aren’t that much different.

Richard promised. He tries desperately to hold on to that thought, stumbling forward, forcing himself closer to his room. His heart pounds harder the closer he inches, his head joining the party and thudding along in time. He feels like the deer slipping on ice on that dumb movie Richard made him watch; it’s as if his legs have forgotten to function.

He’s nearly there – the hallway spins slightly but it’s just a few more steps – he needs to get control of himself but he can’t breathe. Two more steps. Two more steps and then he can. See Richard.

Halfway through his next step, he trips, falling face first onto the floor, unable to do anything but choke out unsteady breaths, his mind screaming the counts to a breathing exercise learned as a child long ago.

Pathetic. He would have been killed in the League for less. He mastered control of his emotion as a child – this – this is unacceptable! He reaches a hand forward, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself – he has to keep moving.

His hand connects with a foot, he looks up, finding a flush face with bleary eyes staring back. “Damian?” Richard’s voice is rough and quiet, guilt floods his stomach – Richard shouldn’t be out of bed – he shouldn’t have panicked like this – this is – “Woah, buddy, breathe.” There’s a hand resting on his shoulder, the next time he looks up, Richard sits next to him on the floor, tapping his hand in time to a new count, one he learned here a few months ago.

There’s a million pieces of his mind scattered about the hallway and the longer he sits there breathing, the more pieces settle back into their places. Richard’s verbal count shifts into coughs, but he keeps his hand steady. When he finishes, the tapping’s all that’s left.

Damian shakily pulls himself up on his knees, not quite sure what exactly happened. Richard gives him a small sad smile, his eyes full of sympathy – sympathy that Damian doesn’t want – feels guilty for receiving – sympathy he’s never earned. It’s overwhelming – and something’s wrong with him – because he doesn’t cry – hasn’t cried since he was nine – and he’s nearly eleven and he’s over this.

He can’t cry because everything’s okay – Richard’s arms are open in an invitation, his hand receding from his shoulder, but close enough to hover. He’s fine. Richard is fine. Tired, yes, but his side’s not gushing blood, and his coughs subsided. Damian wipes his eyes on his sleeve, glancing around – ensuring they’re alone – before sliding up against the wall next to Richard, scooting under one of his shoulders. A muscular arm drapes over his shoulders, hand settling back on his shoulder.

He’s warm, a bit uncomfortably so, and his breathing sounds raspy, but as he leans against his brother’s chest, he hears a steady heartbeat and it’s unbelievingly reassuring. The hand on his shoulder is firm, but not tight; he can slip out; he’s not trapped.

Really, he ought to be ashamed, of needing comfort like some sniveling third-grader, but it’s different – coming from Richard – someone he’s seen far too many times on the wrong end of some twisted concoction of fear gas, crying and screaming – needing comforting himself. Fear gas. Maybe this was an after effect – he files away the notion to mull over later – perhaps run a blood test on himself later.

Richard’s grip tightens as he coughs, turning to face away. Damian’s gut drops – Richard was supposed to be on supplemental oxygen. Guilt claws at his insides as he quickly stands, pulling his brother along the best he can. It gives him appreciation for Nightwing’s smaller frame – his brother is way heavier and bulkier than he was a year ago – supporting him takes nearly all his might. “Come on.” He urges, dragging Richard into his room, this times his steps steady and stable.

They’re both out of breath by the time they’ve made it to the bed. Richard plops down, bouncing slightly on mattress, gasping for air. Biting back his guilt, Damian quickly traces the path of the nasal cannula, shoving the nose piece into Richard’s hands. “Here.” He watches the man fumble for a second before settling it place.

He slides down, tucking himself into a tight ball beside the bed, listening as gasps turns to wheezes, wheezes to coughs, coughs to rasps and back again, as Richard learns how to breathe like a normal human being. “Thanks.” He grunts, nudging Damian with his shin.

Damian huffs, he shouldn’t be thanked – he caused this mess! “For what?!” He half-shouts, quickly lowering his voice before he can say more. He needs to stay calm – he’s not supposed to be a disturbance. “It’s my fault you-”

“Damian.” Richard groans in an annoyed way, not an ‘I’m about to hack up another lung’ way. “Thanks for staying in to keep me company. It’s sweet.” Some company he is, forcing his brother out of bed to come pick him up off the floor. “Quit pouting, I’m fine.” The leg nudges him again. A third time when he doesn’t respond. He pushes back. Richard nudges him again. Damian scowls, what’s he supposed to even do in this situation?! “Let’s play Mario Kart or something.” Richard says, as if he’s overheard Damian’s thoughts.

Just as he pauses to mull over the suggestion, the door screeches on its hinges, shaking him out of his musings. “We should get that oiled.” Father mutters, carrying a tray of breakfast foods. He freezes in his tracks at the sight of Damian on the floor. “Everything okay?” Unfreezing, his motions are rigid and forced, his lips pursing into a straight line, brow furrowing, contorting into deep worry lines.

Richard swings his legs back onto the bed. “Just left to use the bathroom, Damian helped me back.” The lie sounds natural, comes far too readily out of his mouth. Damian swallows, staring at the floor as his father ponders whether the statement rings true.

It seems he’s decided to let it slip if he knows. He grunts an acknowledgement, setting the tray aside the bed, passing each a plate. It’s funny – how their dishes are so plain – just pure white, no décor. It struck him as odd when he’d first used them, now no longer odd, but fitting. The bland dish fits right in with Richard’s bland room.

Father leaves as quick as he came, and Damian’s left to reflect on the empty room as he munches on a bagel. He hasn’t spent much time in here, out of respect for privacy, he’s seen it before, but never thought what it would be like to live in it. “Don’t you get bored of looking at the walls?” He mutters, after swallowing a bite. His own walls are cluttered with his possessions; trophies from fallen enemies, keepsakes from his mother, and gifts from his brother (even a friendship bracelet from Brown is tacked to his corkboard). Richard’s are bare, save one faded poster. His eyes linger on the grinning young acrobat, gracefully swinging with his parents in the background.

Richard hums, curiously following his gaze. “Walls are walls, I don’t normally look at them. I just come in here to sleep.” He nods towards the television. “If I’m bored I can watch a show.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you even turned it on?” He stands, spinning, taking in a full view of the room. “Room color effects your mood.” It’s something Richard used an excuse, to get him to pick a new color for his bedroom when they first moved in. “And potted plants are good for overall wellbeing.” He has a few on his dresser, he even set up an automatic watering system. He could hang some ivy over the balcony. Though… maybe not ivy.

Richard smiles to himself, letting out a little raspy noise that he supposes could be a laugh. “You’re really into it, huh?” Damian feels heat rise to his cheeks, he’s not ‘into’ anything as trivial as room décor. “Go wild, you can order whatever online and have it delivered.”

Damian turns his attention back towards Richard, hastily scoffing as he finishes speaking. “I’m not interested, I just wondered how <em>you</em> of all people could have such a bland room.” A flash of annoyance runs over Richard’s face, lingering long enough for Damian to properly identify it. It’s surprising to say the least; Richard almost never looks that way at him anymore.

Annoyance fades as Richard gazes out past the balcony. “I… lost a lot of stuff in the move.” Damian kicks himself mentally – Richard last lived in New York, but a month ago he overheard him and Drake talk about an old apartment back in Blüdhaven. He’d done some snooping in old casefiles, Richard’s stint there had been quite extended. Extended enough to have his property demolished by a villain even before the entire city was leveled by a nuclear explosion. “Damian.” Richard looks at him, face carefully neutral. “Don’t worry about it, let’s play cards or something.”

Don’t worry about it – how can he not worry about it?! He’d be devastated if he lost the gifts from his mother – some things aren’t replaceable. He gives the room another glance – it’s still empty – but he could fix it slightly. Maybe consult with Drake about the former apartment, if necessary contact – he shudders – the Titans during – he gags – one of their playdates for advice. “Damian are you okay?” Richard looks perplexed.

He shoves his plans back down, first things first, walls and flooring. He turns on the spot, marching out the door. “We’re fixing your room.” He mutters, storming down the hall to grab his laptop.

When he walks back in the room, Richard is staring at him. “What?” He demands, as Richard’s eyes follow him all the way to a chair aside the bed. He’s a bit annoyed at the chair even, it’s from the kitchen, probably dragged in here by his father last night. He adds ‘seating’ to his mental list – if Richard’s ill or injured, it would be nice for Pennyworth or him to be able to sit somewhere.

Richard shuffles back, edging closer and sitting upright against a mountain of pillows. “Nothing. I just thought you weren’t interested.” He cocks an eyebrow as Damian pulls up a paint comparison site.

“I’m not.” He spits. “I don’t want to look at your boring walls anymore.”

Richard laughs again, in his modified way. “Mm. Yup. Sure.”

Damian ignores the comment, already delving into the program, comparing colors against the wall - connecting to the TV to display them, and weighing the pros and cons of each one. Richard watches, providing occasional commentary, rating each color on a scale from one to one hundred. They argue over shades of green, and the correct way to make purple pop – nothing serious, nor work related. Later the room will be full of things, but for now he’s content to let their conversation fill the void.

#bad things happen bingo #batfam #batfamily #batman #dick grayson #damian wayne #absolutely no one requested this so hella self indulgent lmao #oh trying out a new writing style so if it's different that's why #my writing

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whenimaunicorn · 4 years

Text

Playing House - Part 13.1

Summary: Ivar clarifies your role, and Hvitserk reaps all the benefits. Words: 2588 Notes: Content Warnings for bondage (possibly uncomfortable), BDSM humiliation and dirty talk, orgasm control, roleplayed dub/noncon (now that the relationships are established I’m going to remind you less often that they’ve already negotiated consent and safety measures).

Previous posts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

(Fic begins below the cut because it starts off with a bang, baby)

In your current predicament, the world has narrowed down to two things. The vulnerability of your body, and the total neediness of your cunt.

The two are most certainly related. Ivar is not one to make idle threats. When he told you over the phone that he believed you deserved punishment . . . it seems that he had immediately started making plans.

You’re alone, now, helpless on your own bed. Of course, it’s Hvitserk’s bed, this week. Ivar has bound your wrists to your ankles, and pointed you with your spread legs aimed right at the door. The open door.

What a sight Hvitserk is going to see when he walks in.

“You know you deserve this,” Ivar had said, trussing you up with methodical fingers. The way that he took your clothes from you, you’re not sure you’re going to get them back until Hvitserk’s no longer in town. “You had freedom, and you wasted it. Now you have to understand that you are here for our pleasure. Not the other way around. This pussy,” he said, giving it a sudden rub followed by a quick slap, “is here for our use. So . . . I’m not letting you use anything else for a little while.”

Your hands are tied to the insides of your ankles. You can try closing your legs, but your thighs won’t come quite back together with your arms bound right there in the way. Lying on your back as you are, the slit of your swollen pussy lips would still be visible between your raised legs to anyone standing in the doorway anyway. So why bother.

He had assured you that he would make sure Hvitserk “stumbled in” fairly soon, before you got too stiff in this humiliating pose. But you’re sure he’s going to stretch out the suspense as long as he thinks you can handle it.

You rock your body anyway, fruitlessly seeking just a little relief. After opening you up, Ivar had carefully applied a liberal helping of lube all over your pussy, inside and out. “I want you wet and ready for him.” A bullet vibrator came next, positioned carefully on top of your clit by a small shibari harness wrapped around your upper thighs and waist. “I am not turning this up high enough to make you come,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You are not to come until your punishment is over. This is here merely to keep you focused.”

And fuck, are you focused. You’re cursing yourself for allowing Ivar to learn your body so well, to know just exactly how high he can turn up the vibration without pushing you over the edge. And the pattern, fuck, that pulsing, wavelike rrrm, Rrrm, RRRM is damned hypnotic. You can’t possibly ignore it. And yet you want to sob every time the wave crests too soon, the intensity dropping well before the tension building between your thighs has anywhere to go.

An even more powerful thrill rushes through your body as you hear movement at the door. Lifting your head from the mattress, you see Hvitserk’s eyes widen, his steps arrested on his way into the room. He does a doubletake before his brain can fully process the obscenity he’s truly seeing in front of him. He glances back down the hallway, then slides inside and shuts the door with a shark’s smile spreading across his face.

“You seem to be kind of stuck, Y/N.” His eyes roam over the backs of your thighs, and what’s on display in between. There’s no way not to feel completely, horribly exposed to him. It’s so hot you’re probably about to start dripping all over the sheets. “Can I help you?”

You look him right in the eyes. “I need to be fucked.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, settling down on his knees beside the bed, definitely not lining up to drive himself into you like you so desperately need.

“Yeah.” You nod, quickly. “I need it bad.”

You arc and whine when Hviterk’s fingers slide around your opening, gliding between your outer and inner lips. “You’re wet enough for me to believe you.” The pads of his fingers dip inside, but only shallowly, stretching the rim of your opening in a wide swirl.

“Fuck,” you sob. That’s a lot of entirely unsatisfying stimulation right there. You need to feel filled up, not stretched out. “Please, Hvitserk. I’m here for your use, so use me, fuck me, put me out of my misery.” You have crane your neck to make eye contact with him, looking down the line of your body and between your own legs.

His eyes are dark as he stares at your naked and readied body, which shudders with the strength of your need. His eyes flit up to the ropes that bind each ankle to a wrist. “Ivar did this?”

“Yes.”

His fingers slide along the thinner cord tying the vibrator down onto your clit.

“He said it’s my lesson. I need you to fuck me until I learn.” Having to explain this to Hvitserk somehow makes your predicament all the hotter.

Hvitserk moves in closer, until you can see his face between your ankles and don’t have to contort your neck so badly anymore. “That’s what Ivar wants.” His softly scratchy voice adds weight and intimacy to his words. “But what do you want?”

His fingers are still just teasing, up and down and around your entrance. He hasn’t even taken his dick out. “Fuck! Did he send you in here to test me or something?” You’re starting to feel desperate. “This isn’t about obedience, Hvitserk. I need to be used. I want it this way. I-I just want you to fuck me like a toy.”

“That’s it?” he asks, a wicked gleam flashing through his deep-set eyes. “All this” he gestures at your body “is just here for me to play with?”

“Uh huh.”

He grins and nips at your inner thighs, and finally presses two of those long fingers into your pussy.

You throw your head back and keen your pleasure.

He toys with you, for a while. The relief of friction, of satisfying depth and pressure, starts to give way to fear that he might accidentally push you into orgasm before Ivar had permitted it. That hadn’t sounded like it would be such a hard rule to follow, when you thought that Hvitserk was going to come in here like the horny bro he’d been acting like before, and just sink his eager cock straight into you.

But even when there’s no contest to be won, Hvitserk evidently loves getting up close and personal with the pussy. He pulls his fingers out just to bring them to his lips, plunging them into his own mouth to taste you with a little savoring sound as he locks a promising look onto your eyes.

He’s not done. Hvitserk’s fingers slide under the ropes that bind the vibrator against your clit, then he’s pushing them out of his way and removing it.

You sigh, relieved to be free of the temptation and missing it immediately at the same time.

But then Hvitserk’s mouth replaces the device. And this is not just a taste. This is business, the same masterful pace and pressure that won him the contest earlier.

“No . . .” you wail at him, drowning under your own conflicting needs. “No, Hvitserk, Ivar said not to.”

He lifts his head just barely far enough to answer you, so that you can feel his breath against your slick and sensitive parts with every word. “I’m supposed to use you how I want, right? And what I want to do is eat this pussy like a birthday cake.”

“You can’t,” you insist. “I’m not allowed to come!”

He barely hesitates. “But I want you to,” he says, voice breathy and urgent. And he begins another round of his very best work.

There’s not really any other type of ordeal quite like this one. Pleasure blooms, white-hot and urgent, beneath Hvitserk’s tongue, and you can do nothing but grit your teeth and try to push it back. You could use your safeword if this was truly bothering you, Ivar had told you that Hvitserk was informed how that works. But this is a challenge you prefer to ride out, come what may.

You know Ivar well enough to be sure that he’s monitoring this, although you don’t see him darkening the doorway this time when you strain your neck to look. Perhaps he’s waiting just outside the door. Or hell, maybe the walls just are as thin as the boys keep saying. Either way, it makes you want to do him proud. Show him you can endure even this absolutely torturous pleasure, and follow his command despite it.

You manage to hold out, though internally you’re screaming. Your body is clenched in a line of sheer, stubborn tenacity against that insistent rapture when Hvitserk finally gives up, swiping his face with the back of his arm as he stands up. “Fine. Is this what you want?” He pulls out his dick, proud and rock-solid with a bit of a graceful curve toward the tip. He gives himself a crude stroke. “On to the main course, then.”

You sob your victorious agreement.

He grabs a rubber. Ivar had literally left a bowl of condoms right next to you, on top of a guest towel. It doesn’t get much more demeaning than that.

Hvitserk whips his shirt off and then leans over you, ready cock bobbing, and grasps one of your swaying feet in each hand. “This is so fuckin’ hot,” he intones, staring at the ropes. “Can you handle it if I leave you like this while we fuck?”

You let out a shaky breath and agree. You’ll stretch out later. This is, just as Hvitserk said, too fuckin’ hot.

The angle has your hips turned up rather sharply. He misses on his first attempt to enter you, cock slipping off your lubricated lips. He mutters an obscenity and then laughs it off, reaching down to line himself up better with an endearingly self-deprecating smirk.

It’s fun to watch him handle himself. You can’t do much to help the process, your body positioned precisely how Ivar wanted you left, with very little wiggle room. A lock of dirty blonde hair falls into his face as he peers down and lifts up onto his tiptoes to drive himself downward into your body.

It just got real, now. There’s nothing more grounding than an urgent cock pressing deep, deep inside.

Hvitserk leans over you, eyes going wide and tight around the edges as he sinks all the way into your aching pussy. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight like this.”

Your eyes bulge a little as you agree. This angle makes you feel full as hell.

Hvitserk stares down into your face as he starts moving his hips. That eye contact of his, fuck. You’re not sure how to handle it. Somehow it feels more intimate than the rubbing of your naughty bits together. He fucks down into you with an increasing pace, his lips curling up in a cheeky smile. “This is it, huh?” he glances down, looking at the way your tits bounce between your imprisoned arms, at your upturned cunt swallowing his cock down. “What you were begging for.” He interrupts himself with a sigh and a smile, bites his lip as he repeats an angle that must be particularly good for him.

“Fuck, yes,” you say, relishing the relentless depth of every one of his increasingly-wild strokes. “Use me.”

He puts one knee up on the bed, balancing the movement by wrapping an arm around your raised leg, and deepens the already-maddening intensity of the position. He groans with abandon above you, guttural sounds as he does exactly what you’ve encouraged him to do. You let him rut into you with no concern for anything else at all, neither your comfort or your pleasure. It’s worth it; the rush of this feels better than any soft, candlelit evening you could get out of a partner that was focused only on making you feel good. This is so much more complex; it scratches a deep itch you couldn’t even begin to explain, to let every boy in this apartment use your body according to their own wild and selfish desires.

Hvitserk is going to come soon. You can tell by the way his face is twisting to one side, almost wincing, the pleasure apparent in the wild sparkling of his eyes as he continues to attempt to hold onto your gaze even through all of this. You can hear it in the way his grunting breaths are matching the rhythm of his strokes, and the way his thrusts have gone from fluid to insistent, driving at a tight, brutal angle so deep that you swear he’s going to hit your backbone.

He invokes your name like a curse when he finally blows, drawing it out into a long and ragged sound. He can’t keep his eyes open for that moment, making you feel like you can finally catch your breath just as he’s losing his.

He shudders inside you, sealing himself in deep as he comes down from it. He’s propped his weight onto one hand that presses into the mattress just beside your head, so you don’t have much of anywhere to look aside from his heavy brow as he sags in the air right above you.

This time Ubbe’s not ready and waiting. You can’t see the doorway, but if Ivar’s there he has yet to announce himself. This time Hvitserk gets to stay nestled inside you as long as he wants, and you catch your breaths together.

When he lifts his head, his eyes are glittering with easy mirth and hints of something deeper. You smile back, squeezing your inner arms into contact with his body. It’s the closest to a hug you can do in these restraints.

Hvitserk turns his head, following the line of your arm up to ropes that connect it to your ankle. “Let’s get you out of those,” he says gently. He withdraws his cock with a shaky breath and eases himself back up to standing. “I can’t believe you—” his mouth is set at a wry angle and he shows his awe in a little shake of his head. “I’m sorry I—”

He’s cut off by Ivar’s return, his voice a sharp, loud contrast that instantly shifts the mood. “Leave those, Hvitserk. I will handle that.”

Hvitserk had just been reaching for your ankle. He drops his arm and melts back a bit.

“Did you enjoy my gift?” Ivar asks, stepping in between the two of you. He sets his crutch so he can stand more solidly beside the bed, and looks you over. His eyes crackle with a deep blue fire at whatever mess he sees in your face, and the expanse of your naked skin. When Hvitserk doesn’t give much of a response, Ivar moves to loosen the rope at your closest ankle. “Would you like to help me give her the rest of her punishment now?” He spares one pointed glance for his brother. “You are the wronged party, after all.”

“That wasn’t the punishment.” He looks at Ivar with a raised brow.

“Of course not. She loved that.” Ivar says, matter-of-factly, and then his whole face breaks out in his evilest grin.

Next Chapter

Link to my other Hvitserk fics

#hvitserk/reader #hvitserk/you #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk smut #playing house fic

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intheticklecloset · 4 years

Text

Pressure Points (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Happy New Year’s Eve! WE MADE IT THROUGH 2020 EVERYONE!! :D

I have officially caught up on the MHA anime (movies included!) and I am so desperately in love with this show and these characters, I can’t even explain to you how amazing discovering this new fandom has been. I’m PSYCHED for season five in just a few months! In honor of what is definitely the best anime I’ve seen this year - and to celebrate surviving the year of the devil 2020 - I thought it fitting to wrap it all up with yet another MHA tickle fic! (For the record, I counted, and this fic makes the 45th one I’ve posted on this blog in 2020. That’s a crazy number! Haha!) I hope you enjoy, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

“Give me your foot.”

The words were so unexpected that for a moment Bakugou just stared at Todoroki, whose eyes were still trained on his textbook.

“What?”

“Give me your foot,” Todoroki repeated, glancing at him. “I need to practice these pressure points.”

“Like heck you do,” Bakugou growled. “Practice on your own dang foot.”

“It’s too difficult to get the right angle on my own.”

“Right angle? What are you talking about?”

Todoroki sighed. “What’s the problem? You have to learn them, too.”

“I am not giving you my foot.”

“Bakugou.” Todoroki tilted his head, watching him with that ever-cool, nonchalant expression. “We’re really behind the others. We’re the only ones who didn’t get our provisional licenses. The only way we won’t fall further behind is to stay on top of the game academically. So again I say: give me your foot. I need to practice.”

Bakugou knew Todoroki was right, and he hated that the half-and-half hero always had to bring it up. But still he growled and trained his eyes back on his own work. “And again I say: like heck you do.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“I’m not. I just don’t want you…” Bakugou trailed off, shaking his head. “I just don’t want to.”

“Don’t want me to what? Are you afraid I’ll tickle you?”

Bakugou glared at Todoroki. “I’m not afraid of anything, idiot.”

“Then give me your foot, hothead.” Todoroki smirked. “I promise I’m just practicing pressure points. Nothing more.”

The blonde grumbled, but finally did as he was told and propped his foot up on the couch cushion between them. “Hmph. Hothead. You’re one to talk, Icy-Hot.”

For a solid few minutes Todoroki did exactly what he said he would and only focused on pressure points, gently massaging and kneading into Bakugou’s foot, watching silently as the explosive teen reluctantly relaxed and even sighed once or twice. When he was finally off his guard, Todoroki paused for a moment to scan his textbook, as if searching for something.

Bakugou had returned his own focus to the work he’d been doing, having gotten to the point where it no longer bothered him to have someone touching him in such a vulnerable area. In the next moment, however, he jolted sharply, nearly dropping his workbook from his lap as he tried – and failed – to pull his foot away from Todoroki. “Hey! Back off!”

“I’m not done yet,” the other replied in an even tone, betraying nothing. “I still have a couple more.” Again he swiped a finger from Bakugou’s heel to his toes, and again the blonde jolted.

“Agh! You said you were just doing pressure points,” Bakugou growled, trying to free himself from his classmate’s surprisingly strong grasp.

“I am.” Todoroki lifted his gaze from his textbook, eyes and features as serious as before. “Now I’m testing how much pressure is needed to actually relieve pain rather than…tickle.” He swiped again.

“That’s bullcrap and you know it!” Bakugou shouted, letting his book fall to the floor as he fought against the half-and-half hero. “Let go of me now, or I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Todoroki asked calmly, scribbling all five fingers into Bakugou’s sole.

“Hrk—hehehey! Stahahahahahahap!” The giggles spilled out of him before he could stop them, his face flushing a deep red within seconds. He tried to tug his foot away but there was no point. Todoroki’s grip was firm; vicelike, even. “Stop! Icy-Hohohohohohohot!”

Todoroki reached down while Bakugou was weakened and distracted to grab his other foot and pull them both closer. Then he swung his own legs over his ankles so the blonde’s feet were pinned down and scribbled his fingers along both soles.

Bakugou shrieked, hating himself for it. He quickly covered his mouth with both hands, writhing on the couch, trying to conceal his growing mirth. “St-Stop, Tohohohohodoroki—stop it, I d-don’t—ahahahahahaha!”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t like it!” Bakugou yelled, trying desperately to pull his feet from Todoroki’s trap. “Gah! Stahahahahahahap it alreadyhehehehehe!”

Instead, Todoroki dug his fingers into Bakugou’s toes.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAGH NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Bakugou cried, tossing his head back with laughter that he couldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried to. His writhing became thrashing and he pounded the couch cushions. “FRICKING—STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“Interesting,” Todoroki mused, the smallest of grins beginning to tug at his lips. “I applied more pressure, yet this still seems to tickle.”

“CUT IT OUT WIHIHIHIHIHIHITH THAT CRAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! THIHIHIHIHIS ISN’T FOR SCIEHEHEHEHEHENCE ANYMORE!!” Bakugou howled with laughter, trying to twist out of Todoroki’s grip so hard he ended up toppling off the couch, landing awkwardly on his side with his feet still trapped and tickled. “YOU’RE JUST MOHOHOHOHOHOCKING ME NOHOHOHOW!! QUIHIHIHIHIHIHIT IT!!”

“Mocking you?” Todoroki quirked a brow. “At what point did I ever imply that I think less of you for this? Tell me one thing I’ve said or done to give you that indication.”

Bakugou knew he was blushing furiously, but he couldn’t help it. This was humiliating, being stuck helplessly like this, unable to control the shrieks of laughter that burst from his lungs from the sensations Todoroki was creating. He pounded on the couch desperately, unable to do much else.

“Can’t think of anything?” Todoroki shrugged. “That’s because I’m not mocking you. I’m just helping you lighten up.”

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! TH-THAHAHAHAHAHAT’S WHAT THEHEHEHEHEHE OTHERS SAID TOO, DAHAHAHAHAHANG IT!!”

“Others?” Now Todoroki was smiling fully. “I’m not the first to tickle you?”

“SHUT UP!!” Bakugou wanted to remain defiant and angry, but the longer this went on the more he just wanted to get out of it. He started pounding the floor. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! WHAHAHAHAHAHAT DO I HAHAHAHAHVE TO DO TO GEHEHEHEHEHET YOU TO KNOHOHOHOHOCK IT OFF?!”

Todoroki finally stopped, lifting his legs so Bakugou could free himself and curl into a ball on the floor, gasping for breath. When he’d recovered somewhat, he pushed himself up into a seated position and glanced at the half-and-half hero, who was watching him silently, a small smile on his face.

“Wh-Why’d you stop?” he asked.

Todoroki’s brows shot up. “You wanted more?”

“No!” Bakugou didn’t mean for it to come out as a panicked cry, but it did, and he blushed even harder. “Of course not, idiot! Just…what were you trying to do? Why humiliate me like that? Just for fun? To prove something?”

“No.” Todoroki shrugged. “When you asked what you had to do to make me stop, that’s when I knew you really needed me to. You never beg.”

“I wasn’t begging!”

“No, and I didn’t want you to.”

Bakugou frowned, climbing back up to his seat on the couch. “You’re not making any sense, Icy-Hot.”

“I wanted you to lighten up.” Todoroki looked at him. “You and I are alike in many ways. We both take things seriously. We do our best to make it to the top. But sometimes in the process we forget we’re just people. We need to relax and take breaks just like anyone else.”

“Tch.” Bakugou reached for his fallen textbook, straightening out some of the crumpled pages. “Maybe you do. I’m fine on my own, idiot.”

“My intention truly was just to help you relax with the pressure points,” Todoroki admitted, glancing at the open page that detailed where said points were. “But then I thought about Midoriya, and how he always seems happier after he’s tickled, and I wanted to help you that way, too.” He averted his eyes. “I’m sorry if I went too far.”

Bakugou stared at his classmate, unsure what to say for a moment. He didn’t enjoy being tickled, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit lighter after what had just happened. He growled out a sigh. “I’m nothing like Deku, Icy-Hot. Get that through your head before you try something like that again.” He glared at Todoroki. “And do not breathe a word of this to anyone, you hear me? Not a word!”

Todoroki smiled softly. “Not a word,” he agreed, before adding, “But wait – who else has tickled you, Bakugou?”

Bakugou pulled his textbook up to his face and groaned.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boko no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou #kacchan #todoroki #shoto #pressure points #foot tickling #ticklish #tickle #tickling

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earliebirb · 4 years

Text

too close for comfort

I kinda combined the following two prompts from an anon and @ishipallthings into one fic. I hope you guys don’t mind!

Sorry it’s taking me a century to go through all the prompts in my inbox. 😔

I hope you enjoy the fic! 🤍

too close for comfort

steve/tony, fluff, getting together, 2532 words

It was born out of a genuine desire to help, but as with many things in his life, Tony soon finds that the situation is rapidly spiraling out of his control.

It all started because Steve had looked so goddamn sad all the time. The guy seemed to have the tendency to turn every single negative emotion inwards and Tony just couldn’t stand seeing him wound up so tight anymore, like if someone were to poke him in the wrong way he would just snap one day.

So maybe when Steve was seated at the dining table one day, shoulders hunched in on himself and a grim expression on his face, Tony’s resolve to just leave the man alone finally broke and he asked, between sips of his fifth cup of coffee of the day:

“Cap?”

Blue eyes turned his way, ever wary and apprehensive.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but—” Tony set his MIT mug down on the counter and took a fortifying breath. “Do you want a hug?”

Steve blinked a few times. To be fair, it was sort of a non-sequitur.

The perplexed expression taking over Steve’s features made Tony kick himself internally, because of course Steve was going to be weirded out—Tony wasn’t even sure if they were friends.

Tony swallowed with difficulty, deciding to power through for the moment despite his better judgment, “When I was little, my mom used to give me hugs when I had a bad day. I learned to ask for them from my mom from time to time, growing up, and then from Rhodey during college, and then Pepper sometimes, and I just thought— You know what, never mind, pretend I never said anything, this was stupid—”

“I—” Steve blurted out. Tony paused.

Steve was quiet for a few moments. The lines of his face crumpled up in an awful grimace, looking like it physically hurt him to speak as he gritted out, “I would like one. If you don’t mind.”

Tony blinked three times in rapid succession. Then he shuffled over awkwardly to where Steve was sitting.

“So, like, do you want to stand up or do I just lean down? Uh, which one would you prefer? Or—”

Steve took the choice entirely out of his hands when he stood up, tall body towering over Tony. He then proceeded to wrap his arms around Tony tentatively, like he wasn't sure how Tony would fit in his embrace.

Their bodies pressed up flush against one another, the dips and curves lining up perfectly. With his arms curled around Steve, Tony tightened his hold around Steve’s midriff just a little bit, the way Tony liked it when he was stressed out, physical touch grounding him in the moment and reminding him to focus on the present.

By the pleased and almost involuntary sigh Steve let out, he seemed to appreciate it, too. The cold tip of Steve’s nose brushed against the skin of his exposed collarbone as Steve curled even closer into him.

They stayed like that for a few heartbeats, soaking up each other’s warmth. Tony could even feel himself relaxing, the tension ebbing away from his muscles. Maybe he had needed the hug just as much as Steve did.

When Steve eventually pulled back to release him, he looked better. Not like he had been relieved of all of his burdens, but looking less like he was going to cave in due to the weight of the world. The line of his shoulders was less taut, like he had acquired the strength to push through at least another day.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, voice all low, rough, and unmistakably earnest, blue eyes looking down at Tony in wonder. He looked like he was looking at Tony in an entirely new light and Tony was a little bit terrified to find out just exactly what kind of light that was.

After all, they had gotten off on the wrong foot, meeting under less than ideal circumstances with tensions running high.

“Anytime, Cap.”

“Steve,” Steve corrected gently with a kind smile, “please call me Steve.”

“Anytime, Steve,” he said, and found that he genuinely meant it.

Steve seemed to think that Tony had meant it, too, because after that one fateful hug, Steve sought him out for more. He became surprisingly liberal with physical affection when it came to Tony, going to him for not only more hugs but also other kinds of physical touch: claps on the back, shoulder squeezes, and in one memorable incident that Tony remembers with way too much fondness and startling clarity—hand-holding.

Well, sort of. Steve had been watching TV in the common area on one chilly evening and his face lit up the second he saw Tony walking in.

“What are you watching?” Tony asked, taking the empty seat beside him on the couch.

Steve glanced back at the TV screen. Tony took in the sight of Steve, clad in a cozy-looking brown wool sweater and a pair of grey sweatpants, his long limbs lax and back sinking into the couch. His eyes lingered on Steve’s easy smile. He seemed more relaxed, no longer looking like he had a stormy cloud looming above his head all the time. Tony thought that maybe Steve was starting to become more accustomed to the twenty-first century.

Privately, he also liked to think that maybe he had helped in some way to make Steve feel more at home at the Tower.

“I’m not sure, actually. Some animated movie.” Steve shrugged, watching the TV absentmindedly, the colorful lights from the screen reflected in his bright blue eyes.

As he spoke, he rubbed his hands together continuously, skin glistening under the lights. It was then that Tony detected a pleasant and sweet smell in the air.

“What’s that?” Tony asked, nodding at Steve’s hands.

Steve’s smile widened at the question. He leaned forward and picked up a small tube that was sitting on top of the coffee table, handing it to Tony.

“Hand cream,” he said. “Vanilla and cinnamon-scented. Bruce finds it soothing and he recommended it to me.”

“Huh.” Tony smiled, inspecting the tube of cream in his hand.

“You want some?”

“Huh?”

“Here, I’ll apply it for you.” Steve snatched the tube out of his hands and turned sideways to face him on the couch. “Give me your hand.”

Tony did so obediently and watched as Steve squirted a generous amount of cream onto the palm of his hand. Steve began rubbing the dollop of cream around with both of his hands, spreading it all over the skin of Tony’s calloused palm—rendered sandpaper-rough from all his engineering work. He also made sure to apply the cream to Tony’s fingers, as well as the back of his palm and down to his wrist.

All the while, Tony found it oddly difficult to breathe, heart fluttering with Steve’s every touch. When he was finished with the one hand, Steve asked for the other. Dazed, Tony gave it to him.

He continued to rub cream into Tony’s hand, pouring his full attention into the simple task, making sure the cream was spread all the way to the spaces between his fingers. At one point, he paused, frowning down at a spot on Tony’s hand. Tony swallowed, nervous for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint.

“What?” Tony asked.

Steve tilted Tony’s hand wordlessly, showing him a bit of discoloration located on the webbing of his hand, between his point finger and thumb.

“Soldering iron,” Tony explained, voice tight and breathless. Steve nodded silently, but his eyes lingered on the scar for a few moments. He gently pressed on the healed burn mark with the pad of his thumb before caressing it in multiple strokes, like if he did it enough times the mark would eventually disappear.

“Sorry. I know my hands aren’t exactly the softest, what with all the work I do in the workshop.” Tony flexed his fingers, feeling more than a little bit self-conscious under Steve’s scrutiny.

Steve maneuvered Tony’s hand so that it was stacked atop his own, palm facing up.

“Not soft, no.” Steve shook his head, agreeing with Tony. Using the index finger of his other hand, he began to trace the lines of Tony’s palm.

Then his lips curved up into a soft smile, eyes following the movements of his own finger across Tony’s hand.

“But really pretty,” he whispered, voice hushed. Steve looked at him then, warm blue eyes holding his gaze steadily. “I think your hands are beautiful, Tony.”

Tony distinctly remembers the way he floundered for a few painful seconds, struggling to come up with a coherent reply, before eventually choking out a feeble “thanks”.

That moment lingered in his mind for days afterward, and Tony started to find himself unable to stop his own mind from wandering toward thoughts of Steve on a daily basis, like the man himself had moved in permanently and taken up residence in Tony’s head.

When Tony’s heart couldn’t stop doing somersaults in his chest after Steve had ambushed him with a random hug one morning as the man made his way to the elevator for his run, Tony decided that all of this had to stop.

That is how he finds himself standing in front of Steve’s bedroom, trying to build up the courage to knock on Steve’s door to tell him that he has to start going to someone else for his fix of physical comfort, because Tony just can’t offer it to him anymore without feeling increasingly like he is taking advantage of Steve, greedily savoring every touch that Steve has been innocently giving him.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that what Steve needs is physical touch in general for the sake of comfort, and not necessarily from Tony in particular. Steve just seeks him out because Tony is the one person that has given him explicit permission to do so, the one that has offered him physical affection in the first place.

Tony inhales deeply to calm his nerves and squeezes his eyes shut. His raised fist is about to rap on the door when said door opens abruptly from the inside. Tony takes a few steps back in surprise. Steve blinks at the sight of Tony, equally as taken aback.

“Tony? What are you doing here?”

“I just— I— Um. That is, I was, uh—”

Tony stills when Steve gathers him into his arms, pulling him close. Steve buries his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, breathing him in before sighing in relief.

“What great timing. I’m having a terrible day. I was just about to go and find you,” Steve confesses, voice muffled, nose and lips brushing against the delicate skin just above Tony’s collarbone. That combined with the tickling sensation of his warm breath has Tony holding his breath and clenching his jaw to fight an inappropriate shiver from running down his spine.

Tony’s heart is racing in his chest, blood is rushing in his ears, and he can definitely feel his palms starting to get clammy with sweat.

“Actually, Steve,” Tony squeaks, “I need you to let me go.”

Steve tenses almost immediately around him, muscles locking tight. Slowly, he releases Tony. When Tony pulls back, he gets a clear look at the evident confusion and concern playing out on Steve’s face.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you somewhere?” Steve’s eyes travel down Tony’s body, looking for signs of injury.

“No,” Tony says as he shakes his head with a shaky exhale, “it’s nothing like that.”

Steve’s eyebrows draw even closer together. “What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Steve continues to stare at him, eyes unblinking.

“The hugs,” Tony clarifies, the two words leaving his mouth in a rush.

Steve blinks, processing the information. His mouth opens and closes quietly, like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh,” Steve breathes. Tony thinks he catches a flash of hurt in Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah.”

Concern immediately floods back into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tony. Did I make you uncomfortable? In any way, at all?”

You made me too comfortable, Tony thinks.

“No. Uh, it’s not you, it’s me,” he says, and then winces at his choice of words. He averts his gaze, looking at Steve’s chest instead. The weight of Steve’s blue eyes has started to become too much to handle. “I… Uh. It’s just that. I’ve started. Developing feelings. For you.”

After a few seconds of silence, he chances a look up at Steve and finds the man staring at him with an intense look on his face.

Tony quickly drops his eyes back to Steve’s chest. To his horror, he begins to ramble, “Non-friendly feelings for you. I mean, not non-friendly in the sense that I dislike you, because I like you. It’s, uh. More in the sense that I like you... too much. I have feelings. Of the— The non-platonic kind. And, uh, yeah. There. Sorry. I really didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Steve continues to say nothing.

And then—

Steve chuckles. Tony’s head snaps up. Upon catching Tony’s eyes, Steve bites back a grin.

“What— Are you laughing at me? Is this funny to you?” Tony asks, quickly crossing the line from nervous and embarrassed to offended. Tony is putting himself in a vulnerable position for the sake of their friendship, okay? He is trying to do the right thing here. He expected a polite and painful rejection, but laughter?

“No, no,” Steve says in between chuckles that manage to slip out despite his best efforts, “please don’t be mad. I just—”

“What?” Tony interrupts, unimpressed.

“I’ve, uh… The truth is, I’ve been finding excuses to touch you for months now,” Steve admits sheepishly, cheeks tinged a soft pink. His gaze drops down to the floor. “At first, I really did look forward to your hugs because they brought me comfort. They calmed me down, made me feel better. But then you kept being so sweet and kind, always checking in on me, making sure I’m okay, even when you don’t have to. And you’re so funny, Tony. You make me laugh even on my worst days, when it seems impossible to, and I just…”

The words trail off and Steve shrugs before meeting Tony’s eyes bashfully.

“After a while, you just made it impossible for me not to fall for you.”

Tony blinks, heart in his throat. It doesn’t feel real, hearing that he can affect someone else in the way Steve just described.

Steve swallows, stepping closer to Tony. Carefully, he cradles Tony’s cheeks in his hands.

“You make me really happy, Tony.” Steve looks down at him, sincerity gleaming in his azure eyes. “And I’d be over the moon if you’d be willing to give me the chance to try to make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

Tony’s throat clicks. When he remembers to breathe again, he replies:

“I’d— Love to,” Tony whispers, low voice fraught with emotion. “I’d really like that.”

When Steve’s lips melt sweetly against his, Tony feels him smile into the kiss, the first of a thousand more to come.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #earl answers #anonymous #user: ishipallthings

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