#rough spring break but then do not expect any less from us after they went to like barceolona or wherever for 5 days while we suffered and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years ago

Text

alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself!

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT-- 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s-- sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference.

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

----

You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old.

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life.

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void.

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Prominently above them all, you could feel Mr. Adler’s hatred for you, like a thick, toxic wall every time you passed through your front door and into what was supposed to be your sanctuary.

He shouted at you for inane things, like the pantry door being left open, or the fact that your mother was tired after cooking dinner, insisting you never did enough to help. As a child of eight, what did he expect you to do? You kept your room clean, cleared and set the table, helped your mom water the plants in her garden. What more could Adler want from you?

Still, Mr. Adler’s hate for you colored your every interaction with him, the world you saw him through tinged with an orange-red lens of rage.

You had never tried expanding upon your grasp of others’ feelings until you had witnessed a boy in your class push your pigtailed classmate, Annabelle, down on the playground. Anna’s shock, fear and sadness had bitten into you from the other side of the sandbox like an unwelcome spider bite, sudden and itchy.

It didn’t sit right with you. To you, how was this boy any different from Adler? Reigning terror over someone else just because he thought he could. You’d recognize that red-orange tinge in another person anywhere.

You stood, marching over to the boy, gripping his wrist firmly in your stubby, grubby fingers. Quick as a flash, you were met with every emotion this boy had ever felt -- annoyance at Anna (she wouldn’t share her toys. How selfish, the boy had thought); anger (how dare you grab him!); and finally, prominently, fear.

Fear looked different for everyone, you had noticed. For some, like this boy, it was an ugly green, so like jealousy. For others, like Adler when he’d been drinking, it was an inky black you could drown in. Fear was clearly the strongest. You knew that now.

You gripped the boy’s fear in your own mind, pushing it to the forefront until he began to cry, his eyes welling with the sudden fear he couldn’t understand.

“You won’t do that again,” you said. Turning to Anna, you offered a hand to help her up, but she just shook her head, pigtails flying, and scampered away from you.

Your teachers were clearly afraid of you after that. Could sense that something wasn’t right. Anna? You thought she’d be grateful ... but the chilly pale yellow of her fear, and everyone else’s, followed you wherever you went.

Fine, you thought. If they wouldn’t be grateful for what you could do, you may as well help yourself.

From then on, you exploited your teachers’ happiness -- pop quizzes became less frequent. Everytime they wanted to scold you for incomplete homework, they were left grasping at straws and with the daze of an emotion they couldn’t name.

Adler hated you for it.

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” he sneered over your mother’s weeping objections. “I don’t know what it is, but I know there’s something.”

Once you reached 18, you left for the neighboring bustling metropolis and didn’t look back. The world was full of people like Adler, like the boy in the sandbox, like your teachers, who tried to use their own fear to feed their hate, to exploit others. To exercise false power over them.

Well, you wouldn’t have it. If it meant a few of those assholes got hurt, well, so be it.

You lived like that for years. Until --

---

"I hope you choke on it," you hissed, watching the smoky black tendrils slither their way around the man, constricting -- bringing him to his knees, hacking and gasping. "I see your fear, I feel it all. You deserve this, you know you do," you lectured, advancing toward the man, your hands raised.

He was seconds away, you knew it-- and then one more scumbag would be off the streets for good ...

Things were going your way, you were in your favorite position in an altercation-- you know, the one where you had the upper hand? Everything was coming up you, until--

Your ears were met with a whizzing noise mere seconds before a sharp, shiny something nicked your cheek and lodged into the wooden beam just past you.

Your gaze left the piteous man before you long enough to see what looked like a small, but dangerously sharp, knife embedded in the beam. You reached up and plucked it from its resting place, spinning it in your palm before catching the hilt in a clutching grip. You turned to see where it had come from, your eyes catching a dark blur flipping from the fire escape of the opposite building, before said blur landed at your feet.

Standing at his full height, the blur-- no, the Kraken himself-- towered above you.

You had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Standing before you in head-to-toe black and a harness replete with shimmering, twinkling edges and danger, you could've sworn he was your knight in shining leather. His cropped hair and facial scars gave him the air that he was every bit as sharp and deadly as the many blades that adorned his body. His oilslick eyes so like mirthless pits of danger, daring to suck you beneath their surface. He was, in a word, imposing.

Regarding you from behind his Venetian domino mask, he spoke, "Miss I'm gonna need you to drop the knife and let this man go."

You snorted.

"You're joking, right?" Not giving him a chance to respond, you chuckled as you swung at him with the hand still holding what you now knew to be his blade.

You'd give credit where it was due, Diego Hargreeves, aka Number Two, aka the Kraken, was every bit as fast as they'd said. In this regard, the stories and Umbrella Academy-related media hadn't been wrong.

Diego dodged your swing, bending his body back before twirling around to strike at your torso, like a snake, with his heavy, hammered fist.

The hit knocked the wind out of you, effectively breaking your concentration, and, devastatingly, your connection with the previously fear-choked man cowering in the alley behind you. As you recovered from Diego's hit and swung around to check your quarry, you could only watch as he shook himself from your fear-induced trance.

He scraped and scrabbled to get up off his knees as Diego shouted at him to "Go, just get out of here!"

You snarled and swung a well-aimed high kick at Diego's head, connecting with just enough of his jaw to drop him. As soon as your proverbial window opened, you turned from Diego to run after the man. But even grounded from a blow, Diego was formidable. He shot his arm out and snagged your ankle, yanking you to the ground.

The gritty pavement scraped your palms as you attempted to catch yourself on your way down, growling as you glanced up to see that loathsome cockroach of a man slip out of the alley, huffing as his bloated legs carried himself far away from you.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder to see Diego righting himself as he stood up, looking down at you before shrugging, offering you his hand.

"Not a chance," you scoffed, knocking his hand away. You rolled slightly back, arched up, and used your hands to help you spring as you lept to your feet in one smooth movement. You landed with a thud of your boots, your feet spread apart, and arms raised in a boxer's stance.

Diego had the decency to look slightly surprised at your obviously-dangerous athleticism. He shook himself slightly as he regarded you.

Besides, he thought, taking in your stature, it's not as though you were any match for him. No way.

"Why would you get in my way, Umbrella douche?" You bit out harshly, glaring daggers at the knife-wielding Kraken.

"Come on, hot stuff," Diego shrugged. "If you know who I am, you gotta know it's not like I can just let you mug that man with … well, whatever you were doing to him." What he had seen you do in the alley seemed to be catching up with him as he cocked his head and queried, "What exactly were you doing to him, by the way? I mean, other than hurting a civilian?"

"A civilian?" You spat. "You don't know what you're talking about, do-gooder. If you knew what he was, you wouldn't be defending him so staunchly."

“And what was he?” Diego pressed.

“That dickless fuckhead would-be-rapist isn’t worth the shit on your shoe,” you snarled. “And you let him get away. Nice job, hero,” you sing-songed the last word mockingly, taking advantage of Diego’s lowered guard to level a swinging hit to his nose.

Your punch landed with a satisfying crack, Diego stumbling back, shaking his head.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK is wrong with you, lady?” Diego shouted.

“Take your hits like a big boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘Big Deal?’ ” you asked, advancing toward Diego, fists raised.

“Honey, my reputation precedes me for a reason,” Diego quipped back, blocking your next swing and making one of his own toward your gut.

The two of you sparred in the alleyway, whirling and spinning in a very violent dance between two unwilling partners -- Diego, clearly pulling his punches, while you were obviously preoccupied with your rage at your escaped quarry.

Diego flipped and spun and swung his fists with a speed that bordered on unnatural. His jabs and kicks annoyingly landed, as you were really only able to block just about every other hit. Fuck him for being so fast.

So it was true, you thought, the superpower hype was real. Well, two could play that game.

At Diego’s next hit, you caught his fist, allowing the contact to create the connection you needed, feeling for Diego and any underlying emotion that would be his undoing, before latching onto your favorite-- past the overstuffed confidence, you tasted simmering rage. Beyond that? A tiny prickle of … was that??…Ah, yes, the stinging, burns-so-good zip of lust... File that one away for later … and beneath it all lay Diego’s stammering, stuttering, suffocating fear.

You dug your proverbial claws into it once you found it, bringing it to the surface, manifesting it into your signature smoky tendrils.

Drag them down with their own fear.

Diego’s eyes widened as he looked down to see his legs wrapped in what looked like snakes. Suddenly, his worst memories of fearful days under his father’s tyrannical reign were the only things in his brain. The shouting proclamation his own inadequacies in his father’s too-posh voice pounded within his skull. It was all he could think about -- Your presence before him seemed to dwindle, he couldn’t focus on you, try as he might-- when he was overcome with the feelings of every bad memory he had ever suffered through bearing down on him like the crushing weight of the ocean, pulling him under with the riptide of his own panic and inadequacies.

What the fuck was this shit?

He pushed through his sudden indifference toward you to regard you, the woman stood before him. Diego’s fist clenched as he took in your own grip clutching around his wrist. Your eyes were closed as your face was screwed up in concentration.

Repulsive. You were repulsive, he suddenly thought. How could he have cared so much about hurting you when his own terror and agitation sat heavy on his tongue, like ugly curdled cream?

But he hadn’t always felt this way-- not his usual modus operandi, was it? So what was this? Was this-- you?? Was this what you had done to that man?

Diego began to dredge himself through his own agitation, past his father’s lilting abuse… through the mire of never-quite-being-enough against Luther... dragging his proverbial feet through a bog of his own self-hatred. Just long enough to wrench his wrist from your grip, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning around, slamming you probably a little too hard into the wall behind him. Your eyes snapped open as your head made a minor thwack off the alleyway-- you had just enough time to tilt your head to the left as Diego brought one of his knives down, driving it into the wall a sliver from the space your face had previously occupied.

Diego bore his weight on his toes, leaning his imposing height into and over you, panting and snorting heavily through his nose. You looked at his eyes behind his mask-- hardened flints of pissed-off-superhero glared back at you.

“W-wh-What the F-f-UCK was that?” Diego spit, lip curling over his teeth in a gruesome snarl.

A fleeting flicker of shame passed through you. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that, had he? Before you shook yourself out of it-- No! He let that rat-faced motherfucker get away!

You fixed your face into an impassive mask of your own before you chirped, annoyingly, “What was what?”

Diego chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. How did you do that?” Diego pressed, leaning even closer to you, if that were possible.

“Do what?” you chimed innocently, tilting your chin up, eyes meeting Diego’s from beneath your lashes. Maintaining your feigned ignorance.

“Don’t do that,” Diego snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I think we both know at this point-- you’re alot of things, and dumb isn’t one of them.”

“You’d know all about playing dumb, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Or for you, is it not really playing?” You reached up and ran a finger along his sharp jaw before tweaking his chin and dropping your hand back to your side. You sighed at Diego’s stone face. Honestly, it was so boring when they didn’t bite back.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cutie pie. I can’t help it. People are just drawn to me,” you quirked an eyebrow. “Or repulsed by me. I really haven’t decided.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, ever the pretty picture.

Diego leaned further into you, pressing your back further and further into the wall. All the while, his leather-gloved grip creaked around the handle of the knife he’d plunged into the wall next to your head as he gripped it tighter.

“Huh,” he mused, scoffing at you lightly. “Ya know something, doll? I just don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

“Babe, if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask,” you smirked as the stone face slid from his features and gave way to "surprised face."

“Honestly, honey,” you slinked up Diego’s body, propping yourself onto your toes and brushing his lips ever-so-lightly with your own as you spoke into his mouth, “Did you really think you and your reject siblings were the only ones in this whole wide world with a little … taste … of power?” you purred.

Ah, you thought, and there it was.

The warming, zinging hum that your ability recognized as Diego’s lust crept through your fingertips that were currently resting on his chin. You were sure if you took the time to analyze exactly who was feeling what, that this feeling of craving wouldn’t be as one-sided as you’d otherwise have hoped. Diego was, you had to admit, very pretty -- for a man.

The swirling galaxies in his midnight eyes regarded you with confusionangerwant. Had you really just -- kinda kissed him?

You took advantage of Diego’s surprised state to knock his grip from your shoulder and shove -- hard. Diego toppled back, and you took off as fast as your enhanced body would carry you, cutting down the alley and away from your fascinatingly frustrating new rival.

Diego took in your retreating form from his final resting place in the disgusting alley’s concrete. Slamming his fist into the rough-gravel ground, groaning out his frustration and anger.

You were gone.

What were you?

Were you really like him? Like the others?

---

Diego shuffled into Hargreeves Manor, determined to see who else was around. Surely they, or Pogo, would know if there were others like them out there. Had he been the only one to run into one? Was it all a hoax?

As he wandered into the cavernous, but simultaneously stuffy, living room, sure enough-- there was Klaus, sprawled across the couch, arm slung over his face in a restless nap.

“Klaus!” Diego barked, startling the spindly man from his perch on the couch and onto the floor.

Klaus looked balefully up at his brother from his spot on the carpet. “Jeeeesus, Diego, really? What do you want that made that necessary,” Klaus grumbled.

“Have you seen Pogo?”

“I haven’t seen anything but the back of my eyelids for the last several hours, thank you very much,” Klaus replied, “Although, I did have a very good dream about running into an old friend of mine in the grocery store. He was always so convinced he was straight. But I think the rest of my dream calls bullshit.” Klaus chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, whatever, man. I need to talk to Pogo,” Diego stressed, turning to leave the living room.

“Well, wait, wait, wait. What is so important?” Klaus queried, clambering up and lumbering across the room to catch Diego’s arm.

Diego sighed, facing his brother.

“Do you think … Do you think we’re the only ones like us?” He asked.

“Well, there’s no one like you, brother,” Klaus chuckled, taking on a rumbling, Diego-esque mocking tone, “I’m Number Two!” He cackled to himself for a moment before coming back to himself with a sigh. “And honestly, we all know I’m an original. So I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“I mean… it couldn’t just be the seven of us, right? There’s a lot of other people in the world… it just makes sense others could do things like what we can?” Diego pressed.

Klaus started. He had never seen this look in his brother’s eye before. The unhinged mania of a fight? Sure. Crushing doubt? Obviously. But not this … fierce certainty buried beneath a question. This was new for Diego. He must be serious.

Klaus blinked, regarding his brother, before slowly nodding. “I mean… sure… theoretically, there could be others. But I don’t know any. Why? Did you find someone?”

Diego drew in a breath, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to Klaus. After all, you were his nemesis. His pain in the ass. His whatever you were.

Diego crossed the room again, back to the couch Klaus had previously occupied, before sitting down in a creak of leather and clink of blades still strapped to his harness. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he placed his head in his hands.

“I don’t know. I think so? I found her while I was out patrolling, and I … I don’t really know how to describe what I saw.”

Klaus placed himself next to his erstwhile sibling, tucking his feet beneath himself as he sat, reaching up to pat Diego on the shoulder.

“There, there, big guy. Just… tell me what happened,” Klaus crooned.

Diego launched into the story of finding you in the alley, choking the man with your smoke without even laying a hand on him. He described to Klaus how the two of you had fought, and how you had called the man a “would-be-rapist” before knocking Diego to the ground and making your getaway.

“Well, she sounds hot.”

“Helpful, Klaus,” Diego deadpanned.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, sweet Dee?” Klaus chimed at the end of Diego’s story. At his brother’s nonplussed look, Klaus continued. “She’s just like you! She likes to put on her Batman underoos and fight crime,” he chuckled. “Even if she is like… us… she clearly can do something different. But I think the most telling thing is how obviously into her you are.”

Diego sputtered, “Wh-what?? I am not into that … psycho. Whatever she can do, that’s all I want to figure out.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Klaus sing-songed. “Whatever you say, brother. But I think the only way you’ll really figure it out is if you run into her again. I mean, we know dad had his secrets. If he knew about other powered children, don’t you think the Umbrella Academy would’ve been a lot bigger? The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s more out there, but, um… we just didn’t know about it until now?”

Diego sighed deeply. “Oh, joy,” he muttered. Ignoring the tinge of excitement that passed through him at Klaus’s suggestion he seek you out.

Klaus clapped his hands joyously, cuffing Diego’s shoulder, shaking him.

“A nemesis, Diego! How sexy! How exciting!”

---

Your encounter with one of the Umbrella Academy had left you slightly shaken, to say the least. You were so careful when you went out. No one missed those assholes you took care of. Honestly, you were doing the city a favor.

Patrolling on any given night would yield one or two men who were plotting something less than savory. And all it took was a brush of skin to determine their true intentions.

You sighed angrily, ripping off your bodysuit and stomping across your apartment to your shower, yanking back the curtain and twisting the knob forcefully.

Hot water began to pour from the showerhead, steam filling your bathroom. You regarded your reflection in your bathroom mirror, a distinctly palmlike-bruise adorned your shoulder from where Diego had clutched it, not to mention the scrapes that lined your body from your repeated meetings with the concrete during your sparring.

You met your own eyes in your reflection, regarding yourself as balefulness gave way to venom.

Honestly, that toadlike little nobody had deserved what you were about to do to him. You had watched him from the back of the bar as he had annoyingly pressed his presence onto a poor girl who was just trying to enjoy her drink. Her drink that the toad had slipped something in when he thought she wasn’t looking. He even went so far as to grab her wrist with his stubby little hands. That was the final straw.

You steeled yourself, letting the lustful, rowdy feeling of the other bar patrons that permeated the air like thick smoke take you over. Putting on your best, beguiling smile, you crossed the room and brushed your hand over the man’s bare arm, letting him feel the tingling want that you had absorbed. Simultaneously, you felt everything of his disgusting intent-- the hateful, possessive desire for the girl, the hurt he intended to inflict to trample his own inadequacies and sadness.

Oh, yeah, you were right about this asshole.

He looked up at you, disgusting gaze lingering on you, before forgetting all about his intended prey, pushing back from his barstool and venturing behind you out into the alley.

The rest, as they say, is history. And an annoying vigilante type who had an ass that just wouldn’t quit once encased in black leather just had to rain on your proverbial pain parade.

Diego Hargreeves… Of course you knew who he was. Everyone knew about the Umbrella kids. And you knew the man once-dubbed The Kraken was still doing his best Caped Crusader (sans cape) and kicking ass by night. Annoyingly self-righteous, really, you thought. Choosing ever-so-delicately to ignore the hypocrisy laden in your thought. Is that not, in effect, what you were doing? Albeit with a little more emotional manipulation and bloodshed.

As you thought of Diego, your fingers traced the slim, sharp cut his knife had made in your cheek as it surged past you.

You let the remnants of Diego’s rage that you had felt overtake you, amplified by your own, as you slammed your fist into the small mirror over your sink, letting the shards clatter to the ground around your feet.

Payback was a bitch, and so were you. You didn’t know if Diego Hargreeves was a praying man, but he had better hope to whatever deity would listen that he didn’t run into you again.

You wouldn’t be so kind twice, you told yourself, climbing into your shower and letting the blood and grit from your body swirl down the drain.

---

As luck wouldn’t have it, your gods were decidedly not on your side. And clearly whatever deity you had mentally implored Diego to pray to was on vacation.

Because you ran into that maddeningly beautiful dipshit, several times over the following weeks. He would do his best to bust up your party, stopping you from exacting your special brand of vengeance. You’d exchange a few quips and blows before running off before he could ask you the question you knew was burning in his mind.

You managed to evade prolonged encounters with Diego until about another two weeks later. Too soon, honestly.

Or not soon enough? God, your inner voice was desperate and annoying.

You encountered Diego again while you were propped against the wall of a seedy dive on the other edge of town, assessing each person as they passed. While your power worked best if you could touch, some feelings were perfectly easy to pick up from a distance.

So far, nothing. Just a few gross, horny bikers and depressive barflies. It was a maddeningly slow night. And you doubted you were needed here.

Just as you were about to call it and head to another hotspot, a familiar prickle passed through you. You glanced up, across the street.

Sure enough, on the neighboring rooftop, perched Diego Hargreeves in the flesh, surveying you like some kind of Great Value Nightwing.

You sighed, pushing off the wall and crossing the street. Diego watched as you clambered up the fire escape to meet him on the rooftop.

“Of course you would be here,” you chastised. “Are you fucking following me? I’ve been a good girl. Haven’t killed anyone in a week. I promise!” You held up your hands in mock surrender, coming to stand in front of Diego’s gloriously firm, leather-clad figure.

“If you say so, Princess. Maybe I’m just here for a drink?” Diego cocked his head toward the shitty bar whose entrance you were haunting mere moments ago.

“Doubtful, Underoos. I think…” you trailed off, circling Diego, tapping your finger to your chin in a pondering gesture. “I think you’re babysitting me. Making sure I don’t do your job for you and clean up the streets too well.”

You ceased your vulture-like circling, coming to stand before Diego. His eyes bore into your own, once again partially obscured behind that stupid mask. As if you didn’t know what he looked like without it. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you saw Diego’s eyes flash a quick up-down of your body before resuming his stern visage.

Oh good, you thought. You recognized the latent feelings buried beneath Diego’s anger. A new one brushed over you-- confusion… He still hadn’t figured you, or, more than likely, your power, out…

You weren’t left in suspense too long.

“Tell me about what you can do,” Diego pressed, advancing toward you. You took a step back to maintain some distance… best if you can perpetuate some veil of advantage.

“Ah, ah, ah, baby. It doesn’t work like that,” you chided. “You think I’m just going to spill all of my secrets because why? You’re cute? Try again. Ask nicely,” you smirked, pushing your lips into a tantalizing pout.

Diego rolled his eyes. You weren’t going to play fair? Fine, neither was he. Honestly, his fuse was too-fuckin-short for your shit. He wanted answers, even if he had to beat them out of you. Quick as a flash, he strode toward you, jumping into a flip and kicking you down to the ground upon his landing.

You looked up at him, standing over your body as it lay on the gravelled rooftop, bringing your hand up to touch your jaw, where his boot had collided with your face not moments ago.

You grinned widely, savagely, around bloodied teeth and split lips. "So that’s how we’re going to play? Do your worst, Big Deal. I like when it hurts."

With that, you swung your leg at Diego’s, causing him to topple beside you, where you promptly rolled over, coming to straddle his hips, bringing your hands to his wrists, the direct contact allowing you to bring his fear to the forefront.

Just as you were about to choke him with the smoke of his own fear, Diego surged upright, his arms breaking free from the grip of your wrists, his own hands coming to close around your throat. He squeezed insistently, enough to break your concentration-- the smoke dissipating as soon as it had come. With that, he had managed to roll the two of you over, you flat on your back as one of his thighs came to rest between yours.

You gasped, looking up at Diego with fiery shock looming in your eyes.

“Wow,” you rasped, “I told you before-- if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask.”

Diego removed one hand from your throat, bringing it to his own head and ripping off his flimsy excuse for a mask. He regarded you with nacreous, tarpit eyes that glowed and glittered with the streetlights, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs through his sinfully full lips. His cropped hair was glistening with sweat borne equally from the heat of the night and your encounter.

“Baby, I think you owe me an explanation first,” He pressed, squeezing your throat lightly, free hand pulling a knife from his harness that he spun in his fingers while gazing down at you.

You whined, rolling your hips against where his thigh rested between your legs.

“This would be so much more fun if you’d just do things my way,” you pouted at Diego.

“Maybe I would, if you would bother to tell me what your way is,” Diego retorted.

“I could tell you, or I could show you,” you purred, rolling your hips again. “I’m all about more fun.”

Diego sighed. The familiar buzz of lust radiating from your skin-- or was it his own-- that always seemed to hang over your encounters was pressingly prevalent and it was all he could do to not just give in. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

“No. Come on. I know what you’re doing… whatever it is. Just … tell me what it is you can do. Tell me why you’re hurting those people,” he implored.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, using your free hands to knock his grip from your throat and coming to a sitting position, as Diego remained crouched over you.

“All you hero-types. You’re no fun. You want to know what I can do? That pleasant little hum you feel? That’s you. Well, it’s me. But it’s you. I don’t make anyone feel what they don’t already… but I can use it against them. That first night at the bar? That,” you shuddered, “That rat was going to force himself on some poor girl. I could feel his every feeling as he was preying on her. I had to stop it. It’s simple, honeybunch. I do what you do, but better. I’ll make them choke in it, their own fear, their self-hatred, their inadequacy, their lust, I’ll drown them in it, and they’ll thank me for it. Because I’m nothing if not merciful,” you gritted out.

Diego’s mind reeled, jaw slack from your confession. He knew it! You were an empath, an enhanced emotional manipulator. Except you seemed to be able to manifest emotions into something tangible, something harmful.

Suddenly, the weight of your confession seemed to crush Diego, you had exploited every feeling of his during your encounters to gain an upper hand. And he hadn’t truly known about it until now.

You felt the surge of his rage, his disgust, his fear with you before he could say it--

“You c-can’t-- you can’t do that,” Diego said. “Kililng people who haven’t even done anything yet? It’s w-wrong. Y-you’re w-wro-wrong,” He stuttered out, clearly distressed, but advancing even further into your space.

“As opposed to you?” You bit out. “You wait until someone’s already hurting or hurt someone else to do something. How are you any better? Who are you to judge me,” you spit through gritted teeth.

“You’re a killer,” Diego pressed, pushing back from you and coming to stand.

“Sticks and stones. So are you. But I don’t hate you for it,” you snarled, jumping into a standing position, squaring your shoulders before Diego’s imposing form.

“You could always work with me,” Diego offered, “ We could take what you can do and just… re-tool it a bit.”

You ground out a harsh laugh.

“Unlikely, you absolutely patronizing dick. You don’t want anything to do with me other than to change me, control me. You’re just like them.”

With that, you unleashed a slew and flurry of attacks on Diego, swinging your hips around to level a kick at his gut, knocking him to his knees, where your arm was ready to strike a heavy blow against his cheek, your rage fueling the unnatural strength behind the hit.

Diego sprawled against the concrete of the rooftop, half conscious after blows you’d dealt him.

You stood over Diego now, looking down at his prone form.

“I would never want anyone who only means to stifle me. To take me apart until there’s nothing left. Never.” You spit a glob of bloodied saliva at Diego’s feet, leaving him in his semi-conscious, battered state-- the guilt only slightly prickling you.

His fear-- choking on half-gasped words from behind the tremulous task of tripping over his own tongue-- followed you like a stuttering stormcloud. It stung. Knowing that he was afraid of you.

---

Okay. The guilt was more than slight.

All he had wanted to do was help, right?

Years alone with your power, the sting of Adler’s rejection as a child, it all weighed down on you like the crushing magnitude of Atlas. You didn’t really want to hurt him.

You sighed, resolute. You just needed to make sure.

With that, you headed out in the storm. Headed toward Diego.

---

The rain pounded on the walls of the Fighting Lion, plunking heavily like half-hewn nails tossed onto the small window in Diego’s back bedroom. He could hear as it landed on the brick, the wet stone and stormy atmosphere making the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and rain.

A kind of whoosh passed through the room, prompting him to turn from where he was folding his laundry on the bed to see you propped against the door, legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit as if you belonged.

“Wow, Big Deal. Nice digs,” you said as you sauntered in the room, staring at the case at the foot of the bed that was full of Diego’s knives. “Not what I’d expect coming from a dude who hails from the city’s biggest mansion. But still -- homey.”

Diego ignored the jab about his upbringing in favor of the real question.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, seemingly --and to you, maddeningly-- disinterested in your presence as he continued stacking his paired socks into their rightful place in his bureau.

“Uh, have you seen this place? It’s not exactly rigged with ‘Entrapment’ levels of security,” you snarked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Does that make you a cat burglar? Are you Catherine Zeta-Jones in this scenario?” Diego glanced at you from his socks, cocking a strong eyebrow.

“If you want me to be, sweetie,” you shrugged. “But, uh -- and don’t take this the wrong way, Diego, but you don’t exactly have anything I’d want to steal.”

“Then I’ll amend the question. What are you doing here?” Diego asked, finally turning to fully face you, taking in your form as you stood by his bed. The sight causing a pleasantly-unpleasant little something to prickle across his skin.

No, no, it’s not like that, he chided himself. Besides. You were an absolutely monumental pain in his ass. And his head. And basically every other body part of his you came in contact with. Nope, nope... Don’t think about her body parts “coming into contact” with anything of yours, he scolded.

“Aw, well now, Big Deal. Maybe I just missed you?” You mused.

“Doubtful. Did you come back to kick my ass with your freaky little homicidal chokehold some more?” Diego snapped.

Ouch. Maybe you had gone too far in your last little encounter. After all, wasn't that why you were there? To check on your favorite knife-wielding antagonist? To make sure you hadn't actually hurt him?

But what came out instead was--

"Is there any other kind of chokehold?" You hummed, arching your brow.

Before he could stop himself, Diego retorted, “Based on our last meeting, I think you know there is."

Momentarily stunned into silence, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks at the memory of his hands on your throat, you dropped your arms from where they were crossed at your chest down to your sides, hands flexing nervously. You chuckled.

"Heh. As tempting as that offer is, pretty boy, I only came to make sure I didn't ring your bell too bad."

Diego leaned against his dresser, tilting his head back and looking down his perfect, strong nose at you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I must be going fuckin' deaf. Did you just say you slunk in here with your little kitten tail between your legs to say you were sorry?" Diego snorted, obviously pleased with himself as he saw the obvious fluster cross your face.

Okay, now he was pissing you off. You came here with good will and he sasses you? Two can play at that, as you two so often do...

"You must be fuckin' deaf, dipshit. I didn't say I was here to say I was sorry. I did say I wanted to make sure I didn't kick your sorry ass into oblivion. Which, you're obviously fine, so I'll just be going." You crossed Diego's room, breezing for the door.

Honestly, why did you think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Diego caught your arm as you passed him in your hurried attempt at an exit. You gave a half-hearted tug to pull your arm from Diego's grip, surprised to find how firm it was. You turned your head to meet Diego's gaze, throat closing around your sudden nerves. Diego's eyes were molten, boring into you with quizzical questions and low-burning heat. His grip on your arm afforded you an insight into the unique blend that was his confusion and simmering passion.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Come on," Diego drawled. "You clearly know what I'm feeling. But I have no idea what you're feeling. You have me at a disadvantage. I don't like it."

"Every time we meet, I have you at a disadvantage," you snarked. At the brief hurt that flashed across Diego's face, you sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant what I said when I told you I was coming to check on you … I just--"

You looked down at your feet, the laces in your boots suddenly incredibly interesting to you. Diego's other hand gently gripped your chin, his thumb pressing into its apex, fingers curled beneath your jaw.

"D-don't do that-- keep going. Tell me what you're feeling for once," Diego implored, eyes meeting yours once more, lips ever-so-close to yours. “Please,” he added, softly.

Had your heart been thudding like this the whole time?? Was your jacket always this hot? All you could hear was the pounding sheet of rain, pressing itself into your brain, growing fuzzier. Diego's proximity to your person was decidedly distracting. Wholeheartedly overwhelming.

Could he really not tell what you were thinking? You were certain at this point it must be written all over your face. Were you not being obvious?? Your burning ardor for him creeping through every inch of your person, drowning your intentions and better sensibilities in anything and everything Diego Hargreeves. You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm feeling-- was feeling … guilty. The last time I saw you.. I h-hit you... pretty hard. So, you win. I guess I am here to tell you I'm sorry." You brushed your fingers softly over the bruise that adorned his prominent, proud cheekbone. "I… I just wanted you to be okay. Because I think you were just trying to help. And that's stupid. It's stupid. I'm sorry," you hurriedly stammered.

Diego relinquished his grip on your arm, allowing his hand to travel down your side until it met your waist. He cocked his head and studied your eyes with his own mercurial ones-- searching for any hint of mistruth in your confession, but seemingly finding none.

After all, he too knew the honesty behind words that struggled to come out.

"You were… worried about me? You?"

"Let's not make a big thing of this, big boy. You're obviously fine. I shouldn't have come… An honest mistake. Won’t happen again," you started to turn your head, breaking his gaze.

But Diego's grip on your chin firmed, forcing you to look at him again before surging forward and crushing his lips to yours.

And, oh, this was bliss-- you were just sure of it. Your yearning manifested itself in the hand you had placed on Diego's cheek, cupping your hands to the sides of his face before dragging them back to thread through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then passing your hands up through his longer hair toward the top of his head and tugging. You took advantage of the gasp Diego elicited at that sensation, sweeping your tongue into his mouth.

Your shared lust bled through your connected skin, hands on faces and elsewhere… washing over you both like warm static, a pleasant buzz akin to drinking just a little too much champagne.

Diego’s hands tugged at the hem of your rain-dampened hoodie, tugging it over your head. Your newly-exposed skin prickled with goosebumps at the sudden chill. You had run over here in the rain, after all. Diego’s darkened, honeyed gaze reverently took in your form.

Never one to waste an opportunity, you took the break in action as your chance to respond in kind-- peeling his skin-tight black crewneck shirt from his own gloriously-sculpted body.

The two of you stood, staring at each other’s exposed torsos, ragged breaths dragging through the air of passion so-stifling the room like incense you’ve left burning for too long.

Diego stared at your chest, breasts heaving from behind the scrap of lace that constituted your bralette-- were those piercings that made your nipples poke so prominently through the lace? WIth this realization, Diego felt himself harden. He lunged for you with a growl, scooping you by the waist and dropping you with a bounce onto his bed.

His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking insistently while his powerful hands rested at the edges of the delicate lace trim of your bra, passing almost reverently across your ribcage.

You gasped as he brushed a thumb over your nipple, feeling yourself growing wet beneath your leggings. You hmm’d a whine as Diego’s mouth found that spot on your throat, his thumb still rolling circles over your nipple.

“D-Diego,” you gasped, sucking in air like you’d never properly breathed before.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take it off,” you glanced down at the scrap of lace that adorned your chest. “Please,” you intoned, sweetly.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Diego said,” creeping his fingers beneath the lace to lift it off your skin. Suddenly, with that preternatural speed he’d come to recognize as a gift of those who were enhanced, like himself, you seized his wrist and squeezed.

“It wasn’t meant to be nice,” you ground out. “Take. It. Off. Now.”

With that, you released his wrist, and Diego gripped the lace where it rested beneath your breasts with this two hands and tugged, ripping your bralette cleanly in two, exposing your tits to his roving gaze.

“There you go, Big Deal,” you preened in satisfaction, taking your own hands from where they had previously been resting along his strong abdomen, trailing them down to the top of his jeans. You popped the button on his fly and began tugging his zipper down, before Diego caught your hand as quickly as you had just done to him.

“I’ve got this, baby,” Diego assured.

With that, he brought his mouth down to your left breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple, taking the hand still clutching your wrist and planting it above your head. He released your wrist, trailing his hand, down your side until it met the waistband of your leggings. He pressed his fingers beneath the waistband, raking his fingers under your panties, to where you wanted him most.

As he dragged a finger through your wetness, you gasped out a keening sigh. Diego’s long fingers working magic against your center, rubbing up and down your slit before pressing one, long finger inside. He lifted his mouth from your breast, pressing it to yours to swallow your moan with a searing kiss.

After a few more moments, Diego slid his finger from your center, retracting his hand from your pants, his other hand coming to meet it, peeling your leggings and panties from you in one fluid motion. You lifted and wiggled your hips to assist him. As soon as the leggings were free from your legs, you wasted no time in wrapping your bare legs around Diego’s waist, locking your ankles behind him and pulling him to you, dragging your hands up his neck and into his hair, hissing in pained pleasure as you rolled your hips against Diego’s still denim-clad hardness.

Diego groaned as he felt your hardened nipples press against his chest, the microscopic bite of cold from your piercings as they touched his warm skin made him sigh.

The room felt like it was bordering on a hundred degrees, the previously champagne-drunk feeling of your shared lust now replaced with a frantic urge to taste and mark every inch of the other as their own.

As you continued to grind your hips into Diego, he kissed you deeply, tongue sliding into your mouth, running along your own tongue and teeth, tasting every bit of your want for him as he succumbed to the heated buzz of the room.

Your power had its benefits, he reasoned, if it meant this would feel so… resplendent.

The mutuality of your shared passion was enough to do you in. You couldn’t be imagining that Diego wanted you as much as you wanted him. If that wasn’t the case, you both wouldn’t be burning like this, writhing atop his bed with pent-up passion and aggression.

Diego broke his hands from where they had previously been digging bruises into your hips, coming up onto his knees to start shucking his own jeans and underwear off.

And oh, he thought, you were a vision. As he looked at you while he stripped himself, he was overcome. Your half-lidded gaze swimming with hazy, unfulfilled promises, swirling lazily like the drizzle of sinfully sweet syrup over something forbidden. Your lips were flushed, swollen and lightly bruised from the punishing pace of your shared kisses. Your wickedly luscious curves and the glimmering slick between your thighs on display for only him. In this moment, he felt he could die under whatever your power would dish out, if it meant he died feeling like this.

Now bared to you in his entirety, Diego positioned himself once more between your legs, his impressive length sliding to where he had guided it along your opening.

You tossed your head back, eyes closed at the glorious feeling of his skin finally meeting yours where you wanted it most… but, still, it wasn’t enough.

“Di- eh - go,” you panted, your glimmering gaze meeting his lustrously darkened one. “P-please, I need it. I need you,” you cried piteously, clutching his shoulders and grinding your hips once more against him.

Diego chuckled, only to happy to oblige. With a guiding hand and a smooth flex-and-thrust of his hips, Diego entered you with a powerful, needed thrust. You cried out, sound going straight to his cock, twitching from its rightful place inside of you.

“There, now, baby,” Diego crooned, bringing his mouth back to yours and humming into your open lips. “Doesn’t that feel ... So. Much. Better?” He punctuated each of his last few words with hard, firm thrusts of his hips.

You nodded, eagerly fusing your mouths together, rolling your hips in kind to meet Diego’s sweet, but punishing thrusts.

“After all that shit you pulled with me,” DIego ground out, “It’s nice to know-- this is what you really wanted. Fuck--” he broke off as you clenched around him just right. “This is what you needed.”

You whined your assent, keening and high-pitched.

“Mmmm, I want y-you, as much as you want me,” you gasped out, Diego’s brutal thrusting brushing your clit with his pubic bone, bringing you ever closer, closer, closer to that teetering edge. You lifted yourself up to balance on one hand and meet Diego’s face where he was hovering above you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressing into one another with a delicious, filthy heat. You looked into his eyes, your jaw slack with the stupidly good feeling of everything he was doing to you.

You turned your head to face his sculpted shoulder, and grazed your teeth there, biting into the apex of his arm. Diego hissed, obviously pleased with the feeling, bringing his hand to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and tearing your teeth away from his shoulder, guiding your mouth back to his with the pads of his fingers lightly pressing into your airway.

You gasped, the combined feeling of his kiss, his pressing, insistent touch, and his cock inside you brushing repeatedly against that spot of your inner walls causing you to clench, crying out your sudden, gushing release.

Diego guided your head back to his pillow, clenching his fist, the same battered-knuckled boxer’s fist that had previously clutched your throat, now clutched around his bedframe as he hammered his final thrusts, pounding into you until he met his release, groaning as he came down from his sudden, bursting high.

He sighed into your neck, the lovingly sticky heat of your sweaty bodies pressed together as he eased himself from you, pulling you into his side.

You sighed in contentment.

Was everything Diego Hargreeves did punctuated with such beautiful, forthright power?

---

You both lie in the after, bodies pressed firmly together. It would have been romantically intimate had the primary motivator not been the lack of space on Diego's too-small mattress squeezed along the wall in his room.

Nevertheless, you lie there in complete contentment, basking in the afterglow and Diego's delightfully even, rhythmic breathing.

Said lothario had his head turned into your cheek, nose brushing against your hair. His arm around you, curling you to him and trailing his fingers up and down your side at a slow, steady pace.

Why couldn't it always be like this?

After all, fire doused with water still burns brightly at one time, but loses its penchant for destruction, tampered in cool, calming depths and leaving behind cooling steam. So, too, had you and Diego drawn a peaceable, but joyfully sweaty truce.

In that moment, you could see yourself loving him. You know he'd let you, if you gave him enough time and enough of yourself. The man had not had enough love given to him in his life-- he fought for it, tooth and nail. And had come up woefully empty, like clutching at soft sand that slips through your fingers. He'd had the love of his siblings, sure. But this was -- understandably-- different. You recognized a chasm in him that you often thought you'd never mend within yourself.

But he was so deserving of love. Whereas you? Well, the jury was still out.

When you think of Diego, you couldn't help but think of strength. Assuredness. Agility. His aura burned red in your deeper sentiments. Power. You do associate his memory with annoyance, sure, but also a biting wit that he so-oft concealed. And an endearing sentimentality. And an iron will suffused with stubbornness.

You had gleaned some of this from your foray into exploring his emotions, sure. But you don't use your power at every turn. The rest of it was every impression Diego had devastatingly left you with. You had learned so much of him, you yearned to share a piece of yourself, similarly eager for acceptance. Which then prompted you to share--

“You know,” you piped up in the dark, “You remind me a bit of the main character of my favorite books series-- Ever hear of ‘The Dark Tower?’ You know, the legendary Gunslinger?”

Diego scoffed at that.

“Guns are for pussies, real men throw knives,” he stated primly, but still unable to conceal the smile in his voice.

“That sounds a little rehearsed, Big Deal. But I’ll let it slide. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing,” you acquiesced, turning your head to face him, your noses brushing.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not into all that bookworm stuff. Cuz, ya know, I’m not a fuckin’ virgin,” he chuckled. Obviously pleased with his middle school-grade burn.

You met his eyes, yours widening in mock surprise. “Oh no?” you gasped. “Well, then why do you dress like one?”

Honestly, it had to be some kind of world record, how fast Diego’s face fell.

"I'm kidding, big boy. You know I dig the black leather," you crooned. Ever eager to smooth the waters of this moment, of his now furrowed brow, back to the placid lake it had been.

"You're goddamn right, you do," Diego chuffed, his grin now prominent in his voice.

You looked at him, your eyes travelling between his shining, ochre eyes and his full lips.

"I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.

“I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.

"I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart," you recited.

Diego regarded you for a moment before brushing his lips across yours, kissing you warmly.

"What was that?" He asked.

"'The Dark Tower,'" you replied. "What? I like to read. You really do remind me of him. Surly, but just. Lost, but ever-searching. Pinpoint accuracy. Deadly. But hasn't lost hope."

Diego kissed you again, running his hand down your body beneath the covers to grip your bum and roll your body over his, urging you to tarry with him on another burning exploration of one another's bodies.

Yes, you think, sighing as Diego's teeth graze that spot on your neck, his warm palm on your breast. You could easily fall in love with him… if you let yourself. You were probably more than halfway in love with him already.

Oh, no.

---

You awoke to the early-morning sun peeking weakly behind the remnants of fat, overstuffed rainclouds from the night before, purpling the sky as sunlight met grey.

You took in Diego’s, sweet sleeping form-- his long lashes fringing his sweetly-closed eyes, his cropped hair mussed from a night of tugging, rolling, writhing. He breathed deeply, evenly, peaceably, as evidenced by the repetitive motion of his muscled torso, his long-fingered hands resting along his stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t taint someone so noble and beautiful with your special brand of poisonous manipulation.

You couldn’t stop yourself as you spoke softly to the sleeping man beside you, coming to sit on the edge of his bed and brushing one hand through his soft hair.

“You wanted to know about my power? It’s a curse. You think I want this? This? It’s isolation, Diego-- it’s eternal damnation. I shouldn’t be able to do what I can do … No one should. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. And it dooms me to a life alone,” your voice cracks as your breath catches in your throat, hitching over tears that were now, suddenly pooling in your eyes. “There’s no trust. It’s what I … It’s what I deserve.”

With that, you left Diego’s room. Leaving him to wake alone to a cold one-half of his bed, fingers clutching over air and the warm memories of the night before. He blinked in confusion, the sting of your rejection settling beneath his skin.

---

When you saw Diego again, it was nearly a month after your last… encounter. The sharp knife of anxiety and longing you so regularly felt in yourself since that day, you recognized immediately as emanating from Diego as you watched him limp away from what you assumed was a particularly nasty fight.

“Big Deal!” You shouted across the street and through the darkness.

Diego’s head whipped up, head turning to the direction of your voice, before meeting your gaze. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking. Away from you.

Ouch.

Honestly, you could understand why he would. You had done the same to him a month ago. Walked away. But the pinging sting of his rejection dug at you, like glass into the thin skin between your knuckles.

All you had ever wanted was for other people to understand. But mostly, now, you realized… You really only cared that Diego understood.

You took off after him, enhanced speed helping you catch up to his limping form outside of a boarded-up, long-closed bar.

“Diego!” You called, stopping in front of him, causing him to halt.

“What could you possibly want with me, after all this time?” Diego spit.

“I.. I deserve that, Big Deal. I do,” you glanced at your boots, scuffing the toe into the pavement. “Please, just… hear me out?”

You looked up at Diego. Really looked at him. His beautiful, tawny skin damp with sweat from a fight, his usually bright and mischievous eyes sunken under the weight of tired bags that sat beneath them. He looked drawn, more exhausted than you remember. You caught sight of a particularly nasty, jagged cut on the side of his neck that had clearly only recently stopped bleeding, the splotching clot like a raised, splintering cut from a large cat’s claws. A particularly nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye and onto his beautifully-sculpted, prominent cheek.

You rushed to meet him, your fingers coming to brush along his cheeks, mindful of the bruise. He closed his eyes at your touch, lashes fanning downward in defeat.

“Who hurt you? What did they do, Big Deal? Who the fuck did this? If anyone hurt you, I would make them hurt. I’ll make them pay”

Diego dropped the knife you now noticed was previously-clutched in his right hand, bringing his hand to meet your wrist.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Don’t do what? Kill the fucker who hurt you? Fine, I’ll just break their knees--” you started, before Diego shushed you.

“No,” he said, “Shut the fuck up. D- Don’t act like you give a shit. Someone who gives a shit wouldn’t bounce for a fuckin’ month. Not after a night like that.”

Your hand left Diego’s face.

“I… I deserve that,” you said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” And with that, you plopped yourself onto the pavement, sitting on the sidewalk at Diego’s feet. Annoying? Sure. Dramatic? Sure. But if something is stupid and it works, then it isn’t stupid.

Diego sighed at you, rolling his eyes before coming to sit beside you, gasping out in pain and clutching an obviously bruised rib or two on his way down.

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck happened. Why’d you go?”

“Diego--” you started… “I-- I can’t be with someone when I’m like this. It never works,” you confessed.

“Like what?” He pressed, bringing his hand to your knee.

“I’m-- I’m a monster,” you cried. “Adler knew it. Everyone I meet knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you know it too. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” The tears you thought you could hold at bay were now creeping up and causing your throat to close around your words of contrition.

“You’re not--” Diego began, but you silenced him with a harsh wave of your hand.

“You don't understand. You wanted to know how it works? I’ll tell you. The power works based on the other's emotion, sure. I amplify what they feel. Cripple them with it, even. But that's not all… it only works, really works, if it's something I can draw on. They feel what I want them to feel-- because I feel it too …" you admitted. “Everything I ever do to someone else I can only do because I know how it feels. If I want someone to hurt, they’ll hurt… I -- I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“You won’t. Not with me,” Diego pressed.

“And how can you be sure? Even now, I feel how pissed you are at me for leaving. It’s humming beneath your skin. I can feel it.”

Diego nodded, picking up the knife he had previously dropped and beginning to spin it around in his hand.

“I know it because I felt it. When we were together,” he sighed. “We both, we both can do these things. Anyone else would piss themselves if it was turned against them. But you look the danger of what I am in the face, and you laugh. When we’re together, we’re matched. The way that room felt? I know what that was.”

You sat, stunned at Diego’s read of the situation.

“I take back what I said the first night we met,” you said. At the question in his eyes, you continued, “You’re not dumb. That was… that was… something. But I know how to flex my power. I know what fells all men. Fear is a powerful emotion."

Diego smiled at you.

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not scared of you. I know you think I am, but I’m not. And you know what's even stronger than fear? Love."

You looked at Diego, blinked. He blinked back. You then turned your head with a mocking, retching, gag.

"Jesus, Big Deal. They teach you ‘Hokey Catchphrases 101’ at Dysfunctional Superhero Camp?"

“Hey,” he jostled your shoulder with his. “You know I’m right.”

You stood, offering Diego your hand.

“Come on, big boy. Walk me home?”

Diego acquiesced, coming to stand with a stifled grunt.

“You’re lucky I heal quickly.”

With that, the two of you walked down the street. You matched Diego’s stride, mindful of his injuries. As you walked side-by-side, your fingers brushed. Before you could stop yourself or think better of it, you took Diego’s hand.

When you reached your door, you turned to Diego, fiddling with your keys.

“Everyone’s distinct, you know? Everyone feels differently. Wears their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak. But with everyone, it’s a different emotion. Some flaunt pride. Some are more passive. Do you want to know what I feel when I see you?”

Diego glanced down to where your hands were still joined. He brought them up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want whatever you’ll tell me. You’re such an open book,” he admitted sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, I’m being serious here. You feel... you feel...”

At Diego’s urging look, you continued.

"You feel like warmth. Like I could wrap myself in you and never feel the biting cold of my heart again. And when you're not around? The absence of you is worse than any feeling I could ever exploit. I hate it when you aren't here."

Diego stared at you in silence for a moment, before he spoke, “I really think you should open the door now and let me take you inside.”

You smiled, pleased that your honest confession had gone over well, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“As you wish, Big Deal.”

And in the morning? Well, In the morning, you and Diego were still wrapped up in one another.

You looked into Diego’s swimming, honey-and-tar eyes, tracing your palms down the sides of his jaw and cupping his cheeks as you told him, “You have my whole heart. It’s yours -- crush it, hold it, bury it in whatever you feel ... Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. Just say you want it-- that you want me.”

“I want you.” With that, he kissed you deeply.

---

You were a master of emotional manipulation. To do that, you had to have a decent handle on your own emotions. For years, you’d rested on your own laurels of your mastery of self, indulging only in the most passing of forays into others’ feelings for the sake of your own.

So why on Earth were you so fucking nervous? Why couldn’t you get it under control?

Yet, here you were, hand in Diego’s, fingers laced, on your way to Hargreeves Manor to meet his siblings, months after your mutual confessions of want. The two of you had been inseparable.

Diego clearly sensed your unease, because he turned to you, squeezing your fingers in his own, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“They’ll like you,” he promised.

“How can you be so sure?” You worried, trying to keep all of them straight in your mind based on Diego’s stories, anecdotes and descriptions.

“Because I like you, and they love to annoy me. So they’ll definitely want to buddy up,” he chuckled with a shrug. “Baby, you’ll be fine.”

With that, you found yourself standing in the ornate living room with five nonplussed persons who introduced themselves to you one by one.

As the largest of the group approached you, you beat him to the punch.

“You must be Luther,” you said, pumping your arm in a handshake where his hand comically dwarfed yours.

Luther blinked. “How did you know?”

"Easy,” you said, “You look like a 'Number One.’ "

Luther straightened, obviously pleased. "Important?" he asked.

"Self-important."

This caused the lithe one with the smudged eyeliner who had introduced himself with a wink as, “Klaus, darling,” to howl with laughter.

“She’s fuckin’ got your number, Luther,” he gasped out between his chuckles. He turned to the seemingly-empty air beside himself and said, “I know! She is fun!”

The group found itself sitting around the living room on the various, overstuffed furnishings, in a fun little Q-and-A circle, which was only getting easier all the time, as you found the Hargreeves siblings’ obvious bond to be so endearing. The glamorous one you knew to be Allison had queried about your power, curious as to how you and Diego had met.

Diego had recounted your first meeting to the group, and proffered an explanation of your powers with, "She takes the idea of 'wrapped up in your emotions' and makes it literal."

“And how did this come about?” Klaus queried, gesturing his long fingers between you and Diego. “It’s not like that first meeting was full of warm-and fuzzies.”

“I don’t know … We’ve … run into each other a few times,” you offer with a shrug and a shy grin.

Klaus clapped his hands, a large grin adorning his face.

“Oh-ho! I like this. Diego’s girlfriend beats the shit out of him on the regular!” Klaus happily sang to the massive living room. “Or is that how you two, you know, keep it exciting?” he intoned to Diego in what must have been the world’s loudest and worst attempt at a whisper.

“She does not beat the shit out of me,” Diego protested, rolling his eyes at his brother’s swaggering antics.

“Right, right, you beat the shit out of each other. Honestly, I get it. Kinda hot. No judgment from me, you crazy kids,” Klaus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, flashing you the “Hello” and “Goodbye” on his palms. “Diego told me about you the day after you first met. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself when I’m ever-so-alone at night,” he added with a wink.

All you could do was chuckle. Who couldn’t love Klaus Hargreeves?

After that, the questioning from the gathered siblings dissipated into a casual little party, with people pairing off to speak in groups of just them, and with drinks from the open bar being passed around amongst the siblings. Even Five. If you were honest, it was strange to see a thirteen-year-old boy drink frozen margaritas. But you’d had to remind yourself that he was actually older than all of you. Honestly, you’d tried not to think about it too hard.

In between drinks, you found yourself engaged in silly banter with Klaus and Vanya, laughing at Klaus’s stories of eating bagels from dumpsters and his bantering memories with their brother Ben. You responded in kind with stories of your own-- making your elementary school teachers believe they’d had crushes on one another by exploiting their repressed desires, making your classmates piss themselves every Halloween with some prank or another ...

While Vanya was a bit more reserved with her amusement, you’d caught a smile playing at her lips. Klaus outright howled.

“Oh, you truly belong here, don’t you? Reggie would’ve haaaated you,” he gestured at the stern portrait of their father. “Which means you’re absolutely perfect for our dear Diego,” Klaus proclaimed, lacing his fingers through your own.

With that, Klaus turned to you with a conspiratorial giggle and hmm'd into your ear, "You know what they say, peaches. 'A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly.' And if we're being honest, Diego deeeeeeefinitely thinks he's fly."

You laughed, choking on your sip of margarita. You’d never felt a kind of discordant unity like this one.

With Diego’s family… with Diego, you felt like you truly did belong.

As you and Diego lay together in bed after the day with his family, he’d asked if you felt comfortable.

“Of course, love.” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of Diego’s nose, nuzzling your own against his. “They were wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

Diego gazed lovingly at you, eyes, a deep, endless pit of an eclipse, brimming with golden honey streaks of mischief.

“I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your shoulder and settling beside you comfortably.

Ah. So that’s what that warm, soft, cotton-y, cloud-like feeling you had begun to experience since you’d began your relationship with Diego was ... Comfort. Funny how it blended so seamlessly into the burning, cinnamon-tinged, blooming one you’d come to recognize as his love.

---

Tagging: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @winters-buck @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @ali-cide @fleetwoodmactshirt @stellarkyun @zeldasayer @ayeayecaptaingally @nappingtopknot @holographic-carmen @mandaloriane @pascalplease @phoenixhalliwell @white-wolf-buckaroo @melon-eyes @pancakepike @noturjacky @johnc0nstantine @amarachoren @outrebanx @yespolkadotkitty @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul @netflixandzayn @deadpoolcouldshootme @manchuria @flhorah @halerune @spideymanreads @athousandbuckys @imagining-constantly @dovesgrangers @ravenoussss @pyrosag @rzrcrst

2K notes · View notes

weasvlys · 4 years ago

Text

Jealous

Fred Weasley x Y/N (FEMALE! READER)

Warnings: Smut, rough sex (choking, spanking and hair pulling), unprotect sex, sexual grafic contenten, curses, explicit language.

Word count: 2131.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Harry! Are you kidding? You haven't prepared anything for the second task?!" By the look on Harry's face you already knew he didn't even know what was about "Oh Harry! At least do you know what it is about?" You ask again, desperate for an answer. Since that your father, Sirius Black, knew that Harry had entered in the triwizard tournament he had desperately asked you to watch for him and help him in all the tests to ensure, if not win, survive, and, of course, being the youngest of the 4 champions, he was the most inexperienced and in the same way the least likely to survive any of the tests and since the previous one, being dragons, nothing less was expected from this, it was rumored that it could be hunting some magical beast, but there were all just rumors.

"Uhm... Well, kind of... When I put it under water I heard a song, and sounds like they gave a message- a hint about what the test was going to be. " Harry said discouraged.

"Brilliant! But... Why do you look kinda sad about it?"

"Well, It's... Just that the song is kind of complicated to decipher, i already know that I have to look for something under water, but I'm not sure what, and i have no idea of how I'm going to breath under water for one hole our, Hermione, Ron and I already look in the hole library, but there's nothing, and it's in just one week..." He said hurriedly and worried, so much so that it was quite difficult to understand what he wanted to say, but you did understand. "Have you ask my dad? He might have an idea..." You said, tried to comfort him, but it didn't work, Harry quickly shook his head in desperation to dispel your idea, he said "I don't want to worry him much less encourage him to come, you know he is in great danger near the school grounds, more so now that Mr. Crouch seems to be so interested in the tournament"

"Right... Well, let's go to the library, something useful must be there, something that might be you and your friends didn't see last time" you said a little discouraged, it seemed that not even being days years older than Harry and the same age as Cedric gave you a bit of experience in these topics, you should have paid attention in class the last 5 years, but you were too busy coming up with new ways to tease Filch with the twins.

They had been there for about 2 hours and still found nothing useful, not a spell, not a potion, not even a curse. Samples you read the fifth dome of "Modern spells for modern magicians" you began to hear someone doing "psssstt" behind you, at first you thought they might be talking to someone else, but then you remembered that only you and Harry were there, and it was definitely not Harry, since he was totally and hopelessly asleep on the first dome of the same book, you turned around just to find a Fred Weasley.

"Yes?..." You said waiting for a short answer since at least that night you still had to find that it was a clue of how Harry could survive. "Can we have a word?" He said, it seems like he was angry but you didn't you paid so much attention to it. "Well... Yes, do you wanna sit here?" You respond pointing to the seat next to you, "I mean, just you and me, something more personal" he said obvious, you stand up and went outside the library while he follow you behind.

"What is it?" You said a little fed up, ready to go to sleep "Well... I-I..." He replied stammering "Fred, is it something that can't wait? You see, I'm helping Harry, and we could use a hand" You replied, now desperate for an answer "No. It can't, look, I don't like you spending so much time with Harry." At first you thought it was a joke, but when you see his expression, you knew it wasn't "What?" You said kind of angry, there was no reason for you to not help Harry, he needed you "I just don't like you to be always around him, walking in the castle, you look like you are dating, Are you? Because I don't think you could make a good couple, you are just waisting your time and i don't think he's not good for you and i just think if you gonna date some one that person should be more than enough and-" Fred kept saying angry in a very particular way, you've never seen him like this "Fred ... Fred!" Fred kept saying angry in a very particular way, you've never seen him like that "Fred!! What the hell are you talking about? Harry and I were not dating and if it were like that, it wouldn't- ohhh... Ohhhhh! Merlin! I know what happens here... " You said realizing what was happening, Fred Weasley was jealous of Harry, you started laughing, it was unimaginable, Fred jealous? "No. No. No. It's not what you think Y/N, it's just that's-" He hastened to answer now quite nervous "Yes it is!! You are jealous!" You started to say laughing, and from one moment to another and without notice, you felt Fred's lips on yours, they were soft and sweet, you felt butterflies inside you from the sensation of his hands taking your waist, after a while it detached itself from you, you were overwhelmed and surprised, there was a nervous silence for a couple of seconds, but soon and without wasting time you quickly took Fred by the face and directed him to your lips again to now give him a more passionate kiss, to which he corresponded, it was time he pulled more of your hips, it seemed that he was hungry, he began to lower his hands to your thighs, and there he began to walk his hand under your skirt gently but quickly you lowered his hands, he obeyed when they finally detached from the kiss your lips said in a whisper together "you don't know how long I had wanted to kiss you ..." You just smile and then take him by the hand and guide him to the library, you looked everywhere and it seemed that there was no one, not even Harry, who had been sitting there minutes ago, surely left after seeing you exchanging saliva with Fred "Would you help me?..." you said holding a book and putting it away, he took another book and did the same, you continued doing it, when without prior notice he began to caress your thigh that was discovered when you reached up to raise the book that was on top.

When you felt his touch you quickly turned around surprised and he just smiled flirtatious, you turned around again, ignoring it, worse again it did, and this time climbing even more to your butt, when you got up he got dangerously close to you heard "Kissing you is not the only thing I've wanted to do for a long time" he said with a smirk "oh yeah?... What else have you wanted to do to me? " You answered in the same way while I looked at you again in that way so lustful and hungry, a look that weakened your knees and gave a particular sensation of pleasure to your center, you turned around sitting on the table, he was right in front of you, he smiled and directed his right hand to your thigh caressing it while staring at you, he raised his other hand and with his finger he brought you to his face by the chin and began to kiss you gently and temptingly, leaving soft bites on your lower lip, you you took off from the kiss and, apparently angry, he press your thigh harder making you moan sileviosam and quickly, and with the same hand that was on your chin, he aggressively grabbed your neck and pulled you towards him to kiss you again, now in a more aggressive way.

He raised your face and began to kiss your clavicle, leaving marks there, began to unbutton your shirt and remove your tie, what made you moan, tried to do it as quietly as possible, lowered his hand to your chest and squeezed one of your breasts over the bra, making you moan, he looked up and smiled triumphs, and with both hands he took off your shirt, breaking some buttons that are not unbuttoned, you raised your hands to remove the tie but Fred took your wrists and said "Leave it... The skirt too" He said in a whisper as he directed his hands to your back and unbuttoned your bra, he raised his hands to the straps to remove it, without first giving you a look seeking approval, you nodded approving, he smiled at you and when he took it off he stared at them, you could almost see how he was drooling "You're beautiful Y/N" He said, and then he took one of them and quickly directed them to your mouth, where he began to suck, which made you moan with pleasure while you must have gotten more and more wet.

You lowered your hands to the edge of his sweater and and you took it off, he detached himself from your chest and lifted his face and hands, you pulled his tie and again they began to kiss while you took off his shirt and tie quickly, again Fred placed his hand on the inside of your thigh and quickly brought it to your core, where he began to caress the circles with his thumb, when you felt his touch you moaned on his lips "I can feel how wet you are through your panties love ..." He said in such a sexy way you felt that pleasure again in your center, he put his hands on your hips and quickly turned you around, leaving your entire ass in his sight, I lift your skirt leaving your ass almost bare, you moaned at his action and with his hands he squeezed the area, making you moan loud.

Fred put his left hand on your left hip, put his right hand on your butt and gave a strong spanking that made you moan loudly "I hope this shows you how you can only be around with me" and gave another even harder spanking, which made your clit throb and moan even louder, and gave another, and another noticing how you moaned louder each time, he separated his hand from your hip and under his face and left a soft kiss on one of your buttocks and when he was there he could appreciate how wet you were and how it looked through your panties "You are so fucking wet Y/N" He take the springs of the panties and slowly lower them, watching the flow form webs as it detaches from your pussy "Fuck..." He whisper surprised.

He pull his pants followed by his boxers, as soon as he lowered them, his hard and sore erection bounced, with one of his hands he took his cock and with the other he took your hip, placed the tip on your entrance, playing "Please Fred..." You said eager to be penetrated, "What do you say little girl?..." Playfully replied "Please... Fuck me, Freddy..." You responded by pushing your hips to his cock, You felt like he put his penis inside you slowly, damn it! It was so big... He started to go out and into you softly, waiting for you to get used to it, but not hard because he quickly put both hands on your head and picked up speed, penetrating you so fast and hard that make you go crazy and scream with pleasure.

With his right hand he grabbed your hair and pulled it, which made you moan even louder, the faster you could feel it touching your g-spot, You could feel how little by little you were tightening more and more, the heat was concentrated, you moaned in an almost pornographic way, you felt how you came on his cock as well as him inside of you, he came out slowly as he watched that white viscous liquid drip from your entrance, and with tired breathing he sat in a chair behind him while he tried to regulate his breathing, you rotate and you did the same, staying next to him.

"Do you want to go to the honey dukes on Saturday with me? "He said a little nervous "Sure" you smiled, you could never get tired of this.

#fred weasley x reader #fred Weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley blurb #smut #hp #harry potter #harry potter smut #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins supremacy #weasley twins smut #blurb

365 notes · View notes

cherrywoes · 4 years ago

Text

crimson king. (diavolo x fem!reader.)

prologue.

“Stricken among a field of poppies,

With hair as red as molten flame,

The Crimson King brought low the thane,

And thus usurped his father’s throne,

For there would be a day the world would end,

And he would not see it until his own life’s end.”

— the records of Paimon, King of the West.

masterlist | i. cruor.

♕

“LADIES, GATHER ‘ROUND.” The Matriarch of House Gascoigne clapped her silk gloved hands sharply. The sound echoed throughout the dance room, cracking through the air with the force of a whip. “We have news from the capital!”

An excited murmur rose amongst the girls. It had been months since the royal family had last issued news on any events regarding the palace, or the King and Queen themselves; ever since their children, the prince and princess, had fallen ill with some unknown illness, not a mere scant of word was allowed outside the palace doors, much less from the mouths of maids and butlers. It had left much of House Gascoigne (their female occupants, at least) with little to do besides practice their waltz, needlework, and plan on wooing the finest bachelors in the kingdom. To have this little bit of gossip to break their melancholy was welcoming—even if it was bad news, for a time.

“News from the capital!” One girl gasped, reaching for the letter in delight. The Matriarch held it high above her head, swatting the girl’s grasping fingers with the paper and striking a deep cut in her hand. She hissed and pressed the well of blood to her mouth, scowling at the older woman.

“Yes, news.” The Matriarch’s stony gray gaze flickered over the throng of girls, counting each head—seven in all, her daughters—and found herself just one shy. She counted once more, just to be sure, and yet again, she was lacking a duckling with particular [color] hair and [color] eyes. “Where’s [Name]?”

“[Name]?” Another of the sisters rolled her eyes and stamped her heel. The hem of her dress caught in the stiletto and she was forced to listen to the slight tear of the seam as it punctured through the expensive fabric. “Please! It’s not like she cares for idle gossip; open the letter, mother!”

“Last I heard she went out hunting with father,” one crowed slyly, waving a lace fan in front of her face coquettishly. Her eyes, sharp and blue, darted over to the matriarch, whose face was unmoving. “Not much of a change, is it, sisters?”

“Girls!” The matriarch’s sharp tone cut through the speculating chatter like a knife. The sisters dropped their gazes to the floor momentarily, then back up to their mother, properly chastised. “I am ashamed of you—all of you. Speaking of your sister as if she is scum of the earth; why, your father would be disappointed in all of you. I do not believe any of you deserve to hear this news today.”

“No, mother! We promise not to speak of her as such again!” Similar sentiment rose, each girl pleading with their mother individually with different promises and different oaths. “Please, the letter!”

The matriarch looked upon her daughters with a narrowed gaze. They returned her stare with ones of silent pleading. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Very well then. Let’s see what it says, shall we?”

She cracked the wax seal upon it and with a cough to clear her throat, began to read.

“Marriage?” You parroted back at your father with gawkish eyes. Your mare came to a still beneath you, snuffling at a patch of vibrant green grass, a product of the new spring. You could feel the stays of your corset protest at the deep inhale of disbelief you took, squeezing hard shards of whale bone against your ribs. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“It’s time, [Name].” Your father sighed, much in the same way your mother would do when she was exasperated with something you or one of your sisters had said. He adjusted the reins of his horse’s bridle, nervous, and stared off in the distance somewhere away from you. “You know I would never force you into an arranged marriage, but…”

“But I need to start looking,” you mocked in a high, posh voice. You snorted through your nose and fixed him with a dark glower. “How many times have I heard that before? Ten? Twelve?”

“I know… I know your mother pressures you,” he amended,”but this time I’m afraid I’m the one asking you to begin searching. You’re twenty years old, [Name], far past the age of marriage already; I just want to see you well off and comfortable, if not happy.”

“And my happiness doesn’t matter as long as I’m well off and comfortable.”

This wasn’t how you expected your day out with your father to go. You had expected to hunt dove, at most, maybe a few squirrels or two; your quiver had been packed to handle it. Instead, you had gotten barely a foot or so into the forest, your mare eager to head into the lush grass, before he was bringing up the subject of your marriage—again. This wasn’t the first time you had heard it, but it was the first time it had come from him, and you were starting to wonder if they were just concerned or wanted you gone.

“Sometimes you can have one thing and forsake the other.” He shrugged helplessly. “I would rather you have money and comfort. But if you can somehow gain happiness as well, then…”

Which was highly unlikely, he was saying, as your marriage would likely be out of convenience, as the majority of your older sisters’ were. Your family was rich and everyone wanted part of the Gascoigne fortune—if not in gold, then in their daughters. Each of your sisters had a dowry large enough to buy off a country or two and every dirty old man wanted a piece of it, whether you were willing or not. Luckily, your parents were not so old fashioned as to arrange your marriage with a far older man, or push you in that direction, but they directly encouraged you to get married soon, and quickly. It didn’t help that a lot of the men repeated the foul saying “Gascoigne pussies are as good as gold”, meaning that if they were lucky enough to get any of your sisters or yourself with child, they might as well be set for life.

You didn’t want that. Not if you could help it.

With narrowed eyes, you looked at your father once more. He was fidgeting in his saddle, avoiding looking at you entirely, and by the look on his face, you had to wonder if he was just nervous or debating asking you to attend a debut ball knowing full well that you would be five years older than any other girl there—at least, that was your assumption. You had missed your first and subsequent balls after a particular rough bout of sickness that kept you bedridden; you had only recently been able to function normally again, albeit with some lightheadedness if you were too active in a short period of time.

“Right.” You reached up and held a hand over your head to deflect an oncoming branch. “Well, I guess I have no choice in the matter, do I?”

He sighed once more. “You know if I had any other choice, I would give you all the time in the world, [Name]. But the older you get the more you risk turning out an old crone with no marriage ties. I don’t want that for you—your mother doesn’t want that for you.”

You huffed and turned your head. Your mother’s sole goal was to marry off all of her daughters to eligible bachelors to get them off her hands; at least the ones who didn’t cater to her every whim, like yourself and a few other of your sisters. She was not a cruel mother by any means, but she was a thorn in your side at times, especially with her insistence on perfection. Your waltz and embroidery were as perfect as they were going to get, and you most certainly weren’t going to shrink your waist down to her tastes either. You would be surprised if she didn’t have something else to harp on you about when you returned home.

“I suppose.” A glance at the sky revealed it was already lunch time. You had already skipped tea with your mother and sisters; skipping another meal was a bad idea, even if you were out hunting. A very unladylike sport, she would probably hiss. “We should probably get back for lunch if we don’t want mother getting angry at us again.”

Your father almost seemed surprised, looking up at the sky himself. “It is, isn’t it? I heard we’re having pigeon pie today.”

“Pigeon pie?” You repeated slowly. “Father, that was yesterday. We’re having potato soup today.”

“Oh. Are we?”

You didn’t answer, watching him turn his horse around and begin the ride back home. You followed at a distance behind him, watching as he regarded the trail as if it was entirely new to him and familiar in some spots. You had been wondering if his illness had gotten worse and your proof was right in front of you. His father before him had been afflicted with the same memory loss, a product of a few lines of inbreeding centuries before, you had heard, but only in the paternal line. It had started with him mixing up names and stuttering them into the proper ones; then he slowly began to fall out of his routine, eyeing his paperwork in slight confusion; and just now, forgetting days and time.

Before you could call out to him and ask what day he thought it was, you heard an ungodly screech coming from the manor. It sounded faintly like one of your sisters, but it was loud enough that the birds in the trees startled and took to the sky. You urged your horse into a canter, your father following suite, and the closer you got, the more you could make out actual voices instead of mindless screeching.

“—this is ridiculous! How does she get to go to the palace and I’m stuck here?! Mother, it makes no sense! She’s twenty years old, she has no chance—”

“—oh, please, Violetta, like you could do any better at nineteen—”

“—says you two, I could sweep him off his feet without even a—”

“—I wouldn’t even need a dance, just five minutes alone in a—”

“—Adrielle, shut your mouth! I ought to send you to a convent!”

“There she is!” A finger went flying to point to you as your mare pushed through the treeline, hooves clopping on firm stone. “Mother, tell her to turn down the offer!”

All of your sisters, including even the youngest ones, just shy of fourteen, were gathered around the cut in the pathway in a tight cluster. All of them had some range of fury or irritation on their faces as they looked at you, clutching their lace fans or skirts tightly in their fists. You had only faintly heard your mother’s threat to send Adrielle to a convent and raised an eyebrow at the little crowd they made, pulling your horse to a halt with her reins. You wouldn’t dare risk dismounting in a dress, so you stared down at them all from your mount in confusion.

“[Name],” your mother approached your horse with some hesitation, eyeing the mare’s ears in any hint of her mood. “Here. This arrived for you in the mail today.”

You didn’t miss the sour tone in her voice. You accepted the opened letter from her with a raised eyebrow, the broken seal on the back stamped with the royal crest. Your sisters watched you like a hawk, searching for any hint that you weren’t happy with whatever the letter said.

While the envelope wasn’t addressed to you, the letter inside was: it was written in the elegant hand of the Queen herself, even down to a personalized address from her as well.

‘Dear [Name] of House Gascoigne,

It is my pleasure to notify you that you have been selected to participate in the Bride Hunt for Prince Diavolo of the Devildom. As you filled all the requirements to participate, you, along with three other girls in your bracket, will be escorted to the palace to participate in a selection of games picked by the prince himself. As this is a show of goodwill between our kingdom and that of the Devildom, we encourage you to be on your best behavior with your fellow competitors and play to win.

As a more personal note, I do hope you participate, [Name]. I believe you have a true chance at winning, my dear.

Queen Cordelia.’

In the corner of the letter was her personal seal, stamped in shining red wax. Unbroken, you could make out the sigil of the phoenix, a half of the official crest. You looked up at your mother’s expectant face and then at your father’s hopeful one, having likely guessed what it was.

You sighed.

“I suppose I’m going to the palace after all, then.”

Your sisters groaned in disappointment. Some of them even clicked their tongues at you and turned to head inside, your mother turning on her heel and chiding them on their childish behavior.

Your father caught your eye as you moved your horse to head to the stables. His smile was one of pride and hope, as if this had made all of his dreams come true.

You only hoped you wouldn’t disappoint him when it all was over.

taglist (open): @crashica (just let me know if you want to be added!)

#diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #diavolo obey me #diavolo x y/n #obey me #obey me:swd #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me shall we date

133 notes · View notes

the-huntress · 3 years ago

Text

Little Moth - Chapter 3 - Rebirth

[Thank you so much to everyone that has read my story so far and thank you again for liking and sharing the chapters and master-list, it means so much to me and spurs me on to write more]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: What happened during the attack leaves you with questions for the ever-enigmatic Duke. You took down a beast that was like nothing you’ve ever seen before, but what lies beyond now that you’ve reached your destination?

Trigger Warnings: Chronic joint-pain, menstruation, nudity & genitalia.

Soundscapes Ambience Suggestions: Forest

It made sense to stick with your newfound comrade for the remainder of the journey, for it wasn’t long until you approached the sight of lights in the distance. Night soon fell after the attack, and now, at the edge of the forest, atop a sudden drop you could see the golden glow of candlelight scattered around the village. Though it was not full, the moon’s light helped to pick out the odd detail here and there, and you could see it looked not to dissimilar to many villages that you had seen before from afar, but yet in closer detail it looked somehow as though it was stuck in time. In the distance you recognised it now from Leon’s photographs, the castle or mansion, you weren’t quite sure which.

“Are you sure I can’t escort you directly into the Village, maybe find you an Inn, somewhere at least a little less exposed and safer than out here?” The Duke, for that was how he had now introduced himself to you, asked politely.

“Not today.” You replied. You needed to be alone, and despite the dangers, out here in the forest you were beginning to feel more like yourself than you had ever felt before.

You stopped for a moment, eyes looking down, and then across to the bow that you held still in your hand. “Back there, in the forest, what happened? Who was that?” You asked, turning to look up at the Duke. He looked down at you, fondness masked a little behind mystery, “A friend.” He replied.

“But who?” You demanded, taking a step towards him without meaning to.

The Duke began to turn his carriage, now patched up as best as it could be for the remainder of his journey, and he turned his head to face you one last time.

“It is a very dangerous thing to know one’s friends.” He smiled, but something else lay behind the smile, some knowing. “Keep the bow, it is a gift. When one wields a bow, it can feel as though it becomes a part of you.” He paused, “There is more to you than meets the eye, you bring your own darkness to this place; but promise me this little moth, you know where I am should I be of any use to your crusade.” You nodded silently and watched him until he was all the way out of sight. Your attention was caught by something where the carriage had been stood; your small luggage bag. How?

You pulled it up and threw it over your shoulder. Arghhh! Tears welled at your eyes which darted back down to your knee and you drew a sharp breath through your teeth. After all that and it’s my knee that’s causing me to howl. You could feel it, at some point the joint had slid, the cartilage had pinched the softer tissues. It had happened before during dislocations. This was not the right time for this. At the very moment as these thoughts a sharp pain then hit your lower abdomen and more tears welled in your eyes. A mixture of cramps and the pain from where the arrows had made their mark made you feel weak. I need to find a place to rest. You dragged yourself back into the forest, deep enough to feel alone until you found a place that at least had some shelter from the elements.

A very small clearing between a tangle of thick tree roots, forgotten by time. You found a couple of long, sturdy sticks to hold up a small tarpaulin that you’d had folded away into your bag and pulled out a thin sleeping bag to put under it. It was a risk to make a fire for warmth, but a risk that at this point you were willing to make, and created a small circle of stones, filling the centre with a turret of dried wood and kindling inside, lighting this quickly with your lighter. It finally dawned on you to check your wounds; despite it all you weren’t too bad, the obvious scrapes and cuts here and there; arm, knee, cheek. Those would heal. You pulled up your layers to expose your stomach to the cool air of the forest, cool now becoming icy with the moisture that hung in the air. You winced, hissing. It stung, it stung bad, but it would be ok once you cleaned it. You set to work; water from a hip flask, antiseptic from the medi-kit. You considered the stitches, but you knew that you could heal this without that, it would be slower, there would be very obvious scarring, but you had a feeling those stitches might be more of a necessity further into your mission.

“’Cause the Red Storm hits me today.” You mumbled to yourself, hand back over your abdomen and closing your eyes against the pain, wishing for a hot water bottle. You ate a little; dried meats and fruits from packets that you’d brought with you, and then you took to sitting beside the fire, poking it with another stick to keep it going, and lighting yourself a cigarette. The night was full of many sounds, the sounds of owls and small mammals were sounds that you had missed from your childhood. You’d grown up in a house sat next to a field, beyond that a vast woodland, not too different from this. Then there were the sounds that unsettled you; blood curdling screams and wailing. Although all in the distance, each one sent a ripple of fear through your entire body. You weren’t too sure what else to expect from this place, how long you would be here or what else you would face, but you kept reminding yourself of what you and Leon had faced together not so long ago in Racoon City, and why you were here in the first place. With every scream that filled the air, you listened close to see if it sounded like him.

“So, the light bringer has arrived.” The words made you jump out of your skin and you turned to see an old woman now perched besides you, learning forwards against a large stick, which was adorned with small trinkets and bones.

You didn’t say anything but just stared at her, a knot in your stomach. “Come now child.” She cackled softly, a warm smile on her all-knowing face. “Enlighten your elder, what do you seek on your travels?”

“I’m looking for a friend, if you must know.” It wasn’t like you to be this blunt, especially to the elderly, but it had been a rough day and this woman was making you feel uneasy to say the least.

“Perhaps the friend that you have come to find, is not the one that you think you seek.” She replied without hesitation. You raised an eyebrow at her, surely, she didn’t mean herself?

“Who are you?” You asked, looking her straight in the eyes, one of which you noticed was frosted over. Her face fell slowly, turning to look into the fire, before she began to pull herself back up to standing with her stick, the little beads clinking as she did so.

“I am everyone, and I am no one. They see me, and then they don’t. I know all, and yet I know nothing.” Her voice already seemed to start disappearing, things seemed to somehow grow a little hazier, was it the smoke from the fire? “He goes north, and he goes south, he can push as hard as you feel his pull. He can take many forms, you will know him when you seem him, but heed my words; the gravity between destined souls is a dangerous one, and can crush you with the force of nature.”

Everything went black and you passed out.

Song Suggestion: ‘Chimera’ by Hana

The night is silent, and you are forever alone in the forest’s green pasture deep, dark and timeless. In a trance like state, you stand, slowly but nimble, the night air cool against your bare flesh, for you are fully exposed in your natural form and beauty. You know not what guides you, but you find yourself back at the clearing where the beast that you had slain fell, it’s body intact, but a heap of blood and muscle circled up now into the foetal position. Lifting its head up towards you, out from under the big paw he’d held over it in his eternal slumber, you give him a new face; a mask. The skull from a giant deer, with antlers wildly big, adorned with beads, and bone and warning.

You take a fragment of slate from the ground and cut your palms, squeezing them, with pain, and yet with a hidden joy too, over the body. You feel the forest hum around you and bristle. Opening your eyes, still glassy with fog you see swirls and cascades of moths now, flying up from both yourself and the beast. The body stirs and then trembles, you reach out and take its hand, guiding it with you through both the crunch of snow and the moist welcome of the moss.

You come to a clearing, slightly larger than the one where you’d made the conscious decision earlier to set up camp. Here the ground was completely covered with different mosses, surrounded by ancient trees, their roots gnarly, like a wooded fortress around you. You could feel the innocent eyes of small woodland creatures watching you with curiosity, as you lead your beast down the moss-covered rocks towards a natural spring. He did as he was told and waited besides the pool and you descended further down the natural steps, the cool water climbing up your legs and meeting the warmth that was dripping ever so slowly from your womanhood. You let go, sinking your entire body into the cold waters, up to your neck, letting yourself lean back enough to see snatches of the starry sky through the trees. Your beast sat on his haunches, arms over his knees, leaning forward, drinking you up hungrily, thirsting for you, saliva dripping from the deer’s skull, his member tense and swollen from the mere sight of your hardened nipples breaking the surface of the water. But he wasn’t the only pair of eyes drinking you in this way. You floated in the black pool, the mirror of stars holding up your heavenly body as the water between your legs bloomed crimson and then you submerged yourself fully, completely disappearing. Your creature turned his head to the side and lurched forwards unsure for your safety, the life of the forest bristled in anticipation.

Not one crown broke the surface but two; Your hair wet and plastered to your face as you gasped for air, your eyes fully glazed now, entranced by the form in front of you. Somehow you couldn’t take in all the details of his face, but his godly size, the brawn of his shoulders, the lust he was trying so hard to hold back rising in his broad chest, keeping his face down turned, but his cold gold-silver eyes looking at you through a tangle of silvered black hair. You held each other’s gaze, seeming like forever, like your world could end in the blink of an eye. You raised your hands to touch him, and he for you, both knowing somehow that it was not fully possible, not believing that what you were seeing and feeling could be real, and yet; your hands found his, palm to palm, fingers lacing together, fire and lightning burning and sparking between the two of you.

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil 2 #resident evil village #Karl Heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg fluff #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg smut #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg resident evil #resident evil reader #mother miranda

60 notes · View notes

ao3komorii · 4 years ago

Text

About Time (Timeskip Dimitri/Reader)

Decided to start transferring my works over, starting with my oldest oneshot from ao3 with Dimitri! It’s technically Dimileth since I like the Dimitri pairing from Byleth’s position, but it’s fully in 2nd person and I don’t use any names for Reader or anything.

This oneshot was entirely born from having a thought of “what if Dimitri accidentally saw Byleth’s boobs and then freaked out.” Also, this one is set after Dimitri comes out of his emo phase, but before the final battle in the BL route. Just a note, there is sex at the end. Enjoy :)

----

You did not find yourself in over your head much anymore these days, but you also had a talent for finding new trouble.

You had been backed into a corner by multiple soldiers, and a horrible giant beast. The beast’s jaw opened slowly, revealing its gleaming teeth, dripping with a black substance as the soldiers by its side advanced, lances drawn and all pointed towards you. The Sword of the Creator at your side was growing weary, and you knew that it would not be enough to defeat the enemies in front of you.

You knew that your former students were on the battlefield somewhere, but you couldn’t see them beyond the great beast that caged you in by the wall. Either way, this was too dangerous a situation for them anyways. You could only hope they would stay away. Use the chance to escape while this creature feasted on your flesh and gnawed on your bones. You didn’t want to die, but you would not allow yourself to be the cause of any of your students’ deaths. It would break you. If anyone had to die, it should be you.

You held up your sword, ready to fight back, but the onslaught still overwhelmed you. You were able to quickly take out a few soldiers with the last remaining swipe of your mythic sword’s power before their lances got too close to you. You had no time to bask in your small victory as your sword refused to spring into action after your first swipe, only functioning as an average sword, and a dull one at that, as it lost all its power. And with its elongation use now locked away from you, you would only be able to defend yourself from close range.

This immediately proved deadly for you, as you swerved to avoid the creature’s teeth, but found yourself on the receiving end of an enemy’s lance as it sunk in and out of your shoulder. You screamed with pain and shock as you sunk down to your knees, dropping your sword to press a hand over your wound. It hurt so badly, and you looked up as a shadow loomed over you to see the monster and remaining soldiers all radiating with the satisfaction that they were about to snuff your life out. You couldn’t even gather the strength to pick your sword back up, the pain in your shoulder was too great. Even moving your hand sent unbearable jolts of pain up and down your arm. You could do nothing but watch, eyes drawn to the lance of the soldier that had stabbed you, what must be your blood dripping off the tip and onto the ground.

You felt all hope leave your mind as the abomination’s jaw opened wide, preparing to blast you with fire. Too weary to continue looking up, you turned your head down in defeat, hoping that your death would at least come fast. You heard a loud shout, but it was not enough to keep you from falling on your side, no strength left in your body to allow you to remain up. Your eyes slid closed, and death felt imminent.

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. There were sounds of screams and horrible growls, but you didn’t know what they meant, and couldn’t really rationalize anything but the extreme pain you felt. There was so much screaming and so much pain. It was hard to even think at all.

“Professor!”

A voice broke through your haze at about the same time you felt the pain lessen by a small fraction. You heard your name called, with more insistency, and you felt annoyed. You just wanted the pain to end so you could sleep. The pain was so great that in that moment you didn’t mind dying if it would end the pain.

“If she falls unconscious, we won’t be able to save her!” You heard a soft-voiced woman assert.

“Professor!” the calls of your name and title got louder, and more insistent, and your forehead felt wet as one voice rang out louder than the rest. “Please, Professor, I can’t lose you too...”

The pain lessened a little more, becoming less all-encompassing, and you allowed your eyes to open. You found your vision blurry until a warmth took over the feeling of pain in your shoulder. A call of your name focused your attention directly above you.

Dimitri was crying. It was the first thing that struck you as you gazed up at him, tears freely flowing from his uncovered eye. His eye lit up when you looked at him, and you felt the world beneath you shift.

“Dimitri!” an airy voice angrily broke the quiet. “Don’t move!”

You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your shoulder and sending a wave of pain through it as you went limp against Dimitri’s lap, where you found yourself realizing that your head was resting in. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before.

“Professor, not you too! You must not move!” the woman insisted.

Your mind felt clearer once the pain faded again to a dull ache and the warm feeling took over. You realized at once who that voice was, and you opened your eyes to look at Mercedes, who was by your injured shoulder sending healing magic into the wound. That explained the familiar feeling that you couldn’t place. She met your gaze, unable to form her usual smile as she turned back to focusing on your wound. That confused you, and you turned your head ever so slightly to look at your injury without agitating it again.

You understood Mercedes’ current urgency. Your shoulder looked horrible. There was a large rip in the shoulder of your cloak, likely ripped further by Mercedes in an effort to get better access to the wound. There was so much blood, it matted the ripped fabric around your wound to your skin, making the area feel sticky.

Most worrying was the blood nearest to the wound, if it was even your blood, was bleeding an oily black. Mercedes wiped a hand over the wound, clearing it to reveal a patch of gray skin surrounding the stab wound.

“What is that?” Came Ashe’s panicked voice.

“The enemy’s lance was poisoned, clearly,” Felix stated with a short glance behind him.

You looked beyond where you were to realize that the area behind where you lay was covered in the bodies of the enemies that had just been closing in on you. The great beast was killed with no mercy, some of its limbs meters away from its actual body. You couldn’t stand to look at what was done to the Imperial soldiers; some with deep slashes, charred, or with arrows sticking out of their heads. It looked horrible, but not unusual for the battles you regularly faced.

“But poison couldn’t work this fast!” Annette protested.

“I’ve heard of weapons being enchanted with poison before,” Ashe explained.

“Enchanted with poison...” Dimitri echoed, expression tense. “What does it look like to you, Mercedes?”

Mercedes looked up from your wound to meet Dimitri’s eyes, but quickly looked back down. “Her wound isn’t responding to my magic. If we don’t do something, I fear she may die.”

Mercedes looked sad and scared, but Dimitri’s growl brought your attention back to him in an instant.

“There has to be something we can do to save her!” His desperate gaze morphed into one of hatred, one you thought you had seen the last of after Rodrigue’s death. “Tell me who I must kill and I will do it.”

“Spoken like a boar,” Felix interjected. “You think she has the time for you to go on a murderous rampage?”

“Felix...” Ingrid protested lowly and sadly.

“Then what would you have me do, Felix?” Dimitri replied, anger clear in his voice. “She is dying, you can’t expect us to do nothing!”

“I expect you not to-” Felix started.

“Stop it!” Annette cried. “You guys need to listen to Mercie!”

Mercedes nodded toward her best friend as Felix and Dimitri reluctantly went quiet. “There is one way to save her, but we will need everyone’s help.”

“Me and Mercie came up with a plan!” Annette smiled softly at Mercedes, expression belying a reluctant confidence. “Healing magic can’t touch it, but regular magic should be able to negate its effects enough for healing to work on it again!”

“And the only magic strong enough to fend off this dark poison is Annie’s fire,” Mercedes explained. “Annie will burn off the infection, and then I will heal the wound.”

“You want to burn her?” Sylvain implored, shocked. “I know she’s tough, but...”

“We don’t have the time to think of any other solution,” Ingrid said sadly, gesturing towards you. “Grey is spreading down her arm.”

Everyone’s eyes shot over to your arm, and you lazily swept your gaze over as well to see that the grey skin tone had travelled down your arm, halfway towards your elbow. The grey patches looked rough, and unlike any affliction you had ever seen before. You wondered if the Imperial army had been exploring darker methods to kill than simple weaponry and monsters. It didn’t surprise you, but you should have seen it coming.

“What do we do...?” Ashe asked quietly, as if he wasn’t ready to hear the answer.

“You all must hold her down while Annette burns the infection away,” Mercedes answered. “It will be very painful, but if she moves, she could get hurt, so you must keep her still.”

Dimitri looked torn as he brushed some stray hairs from your face. Even through the excruciating pain, the gesture embarrassed you. Dimitri looked to be mentally weighing options as a stray tear slipped from his chin to drop on your neck. The tear was a momentary relief, a distraction, but Mercedes couldn’t keep you from feeling all the pain in your shoulder, her healing magic seemingly less and less effective by the second as the pain began to grow stronger.

“Professor,” Dimitri said, trying but failing to keep emotion out of his voice. “What do you want us to do?”

You didn’t trust your ability to talk at the moment, and so you kept eye contact with him and nodded the best you could, which ended up being two slow rises and falls of your head. You could only hope that he understood what you were trying to say. He stared at you for a few seconds before he broke eye contact.

“Dedue, Felix, take her legs,” he instructed, and the two men moved quickly towards your lower half. “Ingrid, Sylvain, take an arm each.”

The four requested students each their place at one of your limbs, and Dimitri slowly let you out of his lap, your head now resting on the ground as he made his way over to Annette and Mercedes by your injured shoulder. “I will ensure she does not move her shoulders.”

“Um...” Ashe spoke up hesitantly. “It’s not much, but I brought along a book I’ve been reading, and she might need something to bite down on, so she doesn’t bite off her tongue.”

He offered the book to Dimitri, who accepted it gratefully, and with no choice, you bit down on it when Dimitri brought it to your mouth. You would have been embarrassed if you weren’t so anxious about the somehow worse pain to come. At Dimitri’s signal, your legs and arms were restrained, ensuring that you could not move them at all. When he checked that everyone had a secure hold on you, Dimitri put one hand on your uninjured shoulder, and one on your upper chest, just above your breasts. His head was just above yours, his long hair tickling your cheeks.

“Just keep looking at me,” he whispered, voice then rising in volume. “Annette, now.”

Annette didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to. Seconds after Dimitri’s words, you felt the worst pain you have ever felt in your entire life, putting the extreme pain from before to shame. You wanted to scream, but you knew you shouldn’t, even in your haze of pain. You just bit down on the book as hard as you could to compensate. Someone held one of your hands and you squeezed their hand as hard as you could, which must have been painful, but they didn’t pull away or let go of your hand.

A whisper of your name had you looking back up to Dimitri’s face. He looked fairly upset, but the intense levels of pain you were experiencing kept you from being able to reassure him. He smiled, a clearly forced smile, but didn’t look away from you at all, which gave you no insight into how it was going with your shoulder aside from the momentous pain, which was so hot that it now felt cold. The pain was so white hot that you had to close your eyes, teeth digging into the book’s cover.

“You’ll be alright, professor,” Dimitri said quietly. “We can’t lose you.”

You knew that your students would be destroyed if you died here. You knew that they would all fall apart. So you endured the pain quietly, you had no other choice. You couldn’t leave them alone after all you had all been through. You tried to stay still, but suddenly the brutal pain increased tenfold. You screamed around the book, trying to thrash your limbs, but your students remained steadfast, restricting your movement.

“Annette!” Dimitri barked, taking his gaze from you but not his hands, which kept you pressed down.

“I’m sorry, it’s... it’s fighting against my magic! Professor, I’m so sorry!” she replied tearfully.

“We have to keep going, Annie,” Mercedes’ voice broke through the panic. “She has no chance if we don’t keep trying!”

With that, the incredible pain returned, and you once again regained the unpleasant taste of the book cover in your mouth as your teeth sank into the dents you had made previously. Everyone was so quiet while Annette and Mercedes worked that you could hear everyone’s breathing, and Dimitri sounded close to hyperventilating with how heavy his breaths sounded. You looked up at him, but he was looking over at your injury, not at you. He looked like he was about to cry again, and it being due to your strategic negligence was weighing on you at the moment.

He wouldn’t look at you and looked openly panicked. You thought he would eventually feel your eyes on him, but he didn’t. He just continued to stare at the work being done on your shoulder, which you couldn’t see yourself because Mercedes and Annette blocked your sight of it entirely. You were getting used to the horrific pain at this point, so you managed to remain still. Maybe Sothis helped with your pain tolerance, since you knew that even with the pain levels you had experienced in your life, an average person could not possibly remain as still as you were able to during this kind of a procedure.

“Mercie!” Annette cried.

At once, the burning started to fade, as the familiar feeling of Mercedes’ magic took over, engulfing your shoulder in a light so bright that you turned your head away from it and closed your eyes. There were gasps and murmured words all around you and all at once you had a range of movement in your limbs again as everyone released their tight holds on you. Dimitri, however, kept his hands where they were, and you assumed he would wait until he knew that you would be okay.

Annette and Mercedes finally backed up from your sider, allowing you a glance at your shoulder. There was nothing, not even a scratch, or the third-degree burns you were expecting from the fire magic. The grey patches of skin had receded entirely with Annette’s eradication of the strange poison magic. You were in awe of Mercedes’ magic, but you were far from the only one who was.

“Remind me not to get too far away from you on the battlefield, Mercedes!” Sylvain joked.

Sylvain’s words brought Dimitri out of his stupor and he finally released his hold on you as you reached a hand up to remove the now soggy and dented book from your mouth. You weren’t sure what to do with it since Ashe would clearly not want it back now.

You sat up as everyone else began standing up, your muscles screaming in protest. From the pain that riddled your shoulder from all that had been done to it to the soreness in your limbs from being held down by people who put all of their strength into keeping you still, you were in pain, but not deathly pain. You waved off the chorus of worried voices asking if you were okay; you were just sore, not dying!

Ignoring their protests, you slowly stood up, only for an arm to slide around your waist. Ready to scold Sylvain for choosing now of all times to flirt, you looked over to see a stubborn Dimitri gazing back at you, frowning with concern. It wasn’t like he had no caring before you were able to bring him out of his ten-year thirst for revenge, but he almost went overboard with how much he showed that everyone mattered to him now. And with that knowledge, you knew you weren’t about to win whatever argument he was about to start about your safety.

“Be careful, Professor!” he chided, refusing to let go of your waist even as were found you were able to stand properly. Not without soreness, but properly enough. “You can ride back to the monastery with me.”

You could walk just fine... probably. Your hesitation to accept must have shown on your face, because it started another bickering war.

“She’s fine without you being a mother hen,” Felix stated dryly.

“Felix!” Dimitri admonished, not removing his hold on you. “She was barely alive moments ago, and you want her to walk all the way back to the monastery?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, her shoulder is fine. Do you think she wants you to baby her when she spent months trying to get you to behave like a person and not an animal?” Felix retorted.

You would rather try to walk, to help preserve your pride, but you didn’t have the chance to speak up before the two started fighting. You weren’t sure how to break up this fight before it got worse, but luckily it was resolved for you.

“And you two think arguing about this is going to make her feel better?” Ingrid said angrily, making her way over to you. “She will ride back with me.”

Felix scoffed and turned away, while Dimitri went silent, allowing Ingrid to put your arm around her neck as she led you over to her waiting pegasus. You would have time to thank everyone for their help later. The whole experience and then the arguing had tired you out, and you just wanted to rest. So you got on the pegasus ahead of Ingrid and allowed her to take you back to the monastery, where you could get some sleep and recover.

You were pushing yourself too hard and you knew it. You were still unhappy with how you had fared in the battle with Imperial troops a week before.

And here you were, a few days later, training in the rain in the forest just outside the monastery. You had been swarmed by the students worrying about you, and your sword hand was itching to get back into practice. Nobody would agree to train with you due to your being in recovery, and Dimitri had insisted that you rest immediately, somehow even more protective of you than he had been when you were actually injured. You understood their worry, but it was getting tiring being told to rest, so you went to practice outside of the monastery to avoid everyone’s worry.

Just your luck that it was raining, but there were battles still to be fought, so you couldn’t slack on your training. You were going stir crazy, and so you found a dead tree and began practice. The dead tree was considerably more dead looking several hours later, now bearing many stabs and slashes across it. You finally took a break and sat against the tree, surrounded by bark that littered the ground around you, dislodged from your training.

You swiped a hand under your bangs with disgust. You hadn’t realized how sweaty you had gotten, but it felt nice to do some solo training the way you used to before you became a teacher. You were tired but felt assured that you were maintaining your sword skills even after sustaining such an injury. The rain was pouring even harder now, though you hadn’t noticed until you took a break. It must have been evening now, but with the harsh weather, it was hard for you to tell at all. The rain didn’t bother you, so you continued to lean against the tree, clothes totally soaked, but feeling at peace in that moment.

You knew you couldn’t stay out there forever, and so you finally sheathed your sword and stood up. Casting one last glance at the dead and beaten tree, you set back off towards the monastery. Nobody else was outside due to the awful rain, and even the merchants had temporarily closed shop. The gatekeeper, determined to do his job regardless of weather, was just under the archway and greeted you with surprise, noting your soaking wet form. You gave him a smile and reassured him that you were alright, and then continued on your way back to your room to rest for the night.

Your route back to your room took you through the entryway where you were greeted by various students and members of the church alike, who all noticed your current condition. You walked by them with a smile, brushing off their questions, until you passed by Dedue, who was just outside the dining hall. Or you tried to, as he casually stepped in your way, causing you to stop short to avoid bumping into him. You looked up at him, confused.

“Professor,” he greeted. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, not sure where this was going as you went to go into the dining hall, and he moved to block your way again. “His Highness has been looking for you.”

“...why?” you asked. You had seen Dimitri earlier, so what had happened in the past few hours that he needed you for?

“No one has been able to find you for the past eight hours,” Dedue answered. “His Highness is worried.”

Past eight hours? It had only been a few hours... at least, that was what you had thought. You had been told before that you got really focused when you trained, but you didn’t think you had taken four hours, let alone double that time!

You thanked Dedue for the information, and he only moved out of your way when you agreed that you would go meet Dimitri immediately outside your room, where Dedue told you the king had decided to wait for your return. Heaving a mental sigh, you crossed through the crowd of people getting a late dinner and made your way to your room. Just getting to the block of rooms, you noticed the broad figure with unruly blonde hair right where Dedue said he would be. Looking at his figure, you remembered your initial shock at his transformation, but it had been overpowered at the time with relief that he was still alive after five years of war. As if he could hear your footsteps over the sound of the rain, he turned his head to face you as you made your way over to him.

“Professor... where were you?” he asked, and you couldn’t think of what to reply, so he pressed onward. “You think me reckless, but you go out to train in the pouring rain when you are not yet fully recovered?”

You were surprised; how did he know? You must have looked startled because his serious expression melted away with a genuine laugh as he reached a hand out to brush along your hair, or so you thought. He brought his hand away from your hair to show you and you stared at the twig that he held in his hand, the bark of the twig rotten and dead, much like the tree it had come from.

“I can’t think of any other activities you would do in the rain with your sword at your side and end up with this twig in your hair,” he remarked. “You know, it usually is the professor that lectures their students about working too hard.”

“You haven’t been my student in a long time,” you mused.

“You may not be officially our professor, but we all rely on you for so much,” he replied thoughtfully. “You cannot expect us to not worry when our professor works herself to the point where she is liable to pass out from exhaustion in the woods without telling anyone where she has gone.”

You immediately felt sheepish. He really had you there. You wouldn’t be able to face them if you had been abducted or killed when you had told nobody where you were going or what you were doing.

“Please don’t look like that,” he implored you. “I am not mad. We just don’t want anything to happen to our favorite professor.”

It seemed like they would all keep calling you professor, even though you were all equals now. You had some really stubborn former students, you mused with a smile. Dimitri then reluctantly allowed you off the hook so you could get some rest. You both said your goodnights as you went into your room and Dimitri left for his. As you stripped yourself of your heavy, wet cloak and armor and climbed into your bed, you resolved to be a little less reckless with your training. You also wondered how long you could keep such a promise in times such as this.

It was hot. So hot. It was all that consumed your mind and body. Suddenly you realized that you had woken up. And you were only wearing a top and shorts, but you were burning up. With a groan, you assessed the situation. You felt sluggish, and so, so warm. Your throat felt sore and sitting up in your bed made you feel nauseous, so you quickly laid back down. You had to face facts; you were clearly sick.

You knew it had to be the rain. You were outside in the rain for eight hours and overexerted yourself. The combination was a bad idea, but unfortunately you did not see it like that at the time, so here you were. Sick and feeling miserable, unable to get out of bed for fear of throwing up. You didn’t even know what time it was, but you knew that being awake was doing you no favors. You didn’t feel like being awake in this state anyways, so you had only one choice. Gardening and tea parties would have to wait until you didn’t feel like you had just drank poison.

The feverish heat you felt kept you from sleeping however, which made you even more miserable. Feverish and now irritated that you couldn’t get to sleep, you decided to just remove your top and chest wrappings, your shorts taken off as well for good measure. You had never slept in just your underwear at the monastery before for fear of someone barging in your room without knocking, but at this point you didn’t care. Seteth’s lectures about propriety be damned. You just wanted to be less overwhelmingly warm, and so you laid back down in just your underwear, not bothering to put the blanket back on and curling up in the hopes that sleep would finally come.

“I’ve had that one before! Remember when we had that visiting professor at the sorcery school? I think she made these for us!” Annette exclaimed excitedly.

Mercedes nodded as she flipped the page of the new sweets book they had purchased at the market, and they both stared curiously at the next page.

“Ooh, I always wanted to make some of those!” Annette said, pointing at the colorful pastries that were illustrated on the page.

“Me too, Annie! We really should make some to share with everyone,” Mercedes replied.

Their excited chatter was interrupted as Dimitri strode by their table in the dining room for what Annette estimated was likely the fifteenth time that day. He had hardly eaten what would be considered a basic nutritional amount of dinner before he resumed his cycles around the monastery.

“Dimitri!” Annette called out to him as he was about to pass them to leave the dining hall, and he stopped in front of them. “ Mercie and I were thinking of making some sweets and having a little party with everyone!”

Dimitri seemed distracted as he responded. “Oh, Annette... that would be...”

“Are you alright, Dimitri?” Mercedes interjected. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

“Oh...” Dimitri replied stiffly, coming out of his thoughts for a moment. “Has the professor been by here?”

“No,” Mercedes shook her head. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Is she okay? Do you want us to help look for her?” Annette pressed, sweets book all but forgotten in worry.

“She should be fine...” Dimitri trailed off. “Sorry for bothering you both, your idea sounds wonderful.”

And before either woman could protest, Dimitri exited the dining hall in a hurry, not even glancing behind him, cape fluttering with his movement. Mercedes and Annette could only watch in a haze of confusion and concern, their questions unanswered.

If you were out training in secret again after overworking yourself in the rain the previous day... no, Dimitri dismissed the thought. He had already looked in the forest and located the tree that you had cut to ribbons the day before. You could have gone farther into the forest, but he thought that unlikely as well. You had seemed regretful when the two of you had spoken at your door the night before, and he thought it unlikely that you would immediately break a promise to him, especially after he had told you how much you and your health mattered to all of them.

It occurred to him just then that he had neglected to check your room. It should have been the first place he checked, but it had slipped his mind. He would have to go check now. You may have decided to relax in your room for the day, and then he would have been worrying for nothing. Although he knew that you had a healthy appetite, but nobody had seen you in the dining hall at all, which was very strange.

There was nobody at the dorms, or if they were, they must have been inside their rooms. Dimitri was able to arrive at your door with no hassle, but he couldn’t hear any sounds from inside. He knocked politely, but to no response at all.

“Professor?” he called out as he knocked again, louder this time.

There was still no reply, which vexed him. If you didn’t want to see anyone, you would have replied to inform him of that. Which left only one thought running wild in his mind; you must have gone out to train and been injured. Or been injured yesterday and were now in too bad or a state to even talk. Once the thought entered his mind, he was consumed with worry. Reaching out and finding the door locked, he did not spare any thought before he slammed his shoulder into the door, bursting open the lock. Without a moment to spare, he thrust open the door and rushed into your room.

“Professor-” Dimitri exclaimed, but his eye widened in shock as he took in the scene in front of him.

The room looked fairly normal , a similar state of cleanliness to what it had been the last time he had visited you here for tea. Your blanket was half draped on the end of the bed and half on the floor, but none of your sparse belongings were out of place.

Dimitri found you immediately, and his cheeks immediately felt hot. You did not appear to be injured, and he was easily able to discern this because of your lack of clothes. You were curled up on your bed... in only your smallclothes. Dimitri’s mind went blank as his focus was drawn to your bare breasts. He didn’t know what to do, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He knew what breasts looked like, but he couldn’t remember seeing any bare but yours at this exact moment. He was transfixed, even though every instinct of his was telling him he had to look away, to protect your modesty.

And then you moaned and brought him out of his stupor. Now that he thought about it, you did not look very well. Still unsure if he was making the right decision, he closed the door behind him before making his way over to you. He removed a glove and placed his hand on your forehead, having his suspicions confirmed. You were burning up, clearly sick from training in the rain for so long the day before. He presumed that you had not left your room the entire day, which did not seem good, considering you must have spent the entire day unconscious and fevered.

He wanted to cover you up, for the sake of his waning composure, but you didn’t have the time for that and he didn’t want to overheat you further. He would have to try to disregard his embarrassment for the moment, because you needed his help, and he didn’t know how to explain to one of the women around the monastery that he had busted down your door and found you nearly naked. And you would never forgive him if he had others see you compromised like this. It was already bad enough that he had seen you like this.

He quietly left your room, glancing around to confirm that nobody was around to see him coming and going from your room so late. It was a cold night, but it did nothing to calm him down at all. Your body was beautiful, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind as he fetched a small bucket of water and a cloth before returning to your room. He mentally braced himself before opening the door to find you in pretty much the same position you had been in, laying on your back.

Prioritizing his worry for you over his shyness, he closed the door gently behind him and walked over to your bedside. He carefully wet the cloth, wringing some of the excess water out before moving your bangs to the side and placing the cloth on your forehead. You exhaled loudly but evenly in your sleep, which he took to be a positive sign.

He ended up not getting a lot of sleep that night. He stayed in your room for quite a while into the early hours of the morning, dunking the cloth in the cold water again whenever it began to be overcome by your body temperature. He never felt his lack of sleep at all, practice, he assumed, from all of his sleepless nights spent longing for revenge. He had never slept as well as he had since he had allowed himself to be free of the burdens of his dead loved ones. Not free from his obligations to them, but now he would channel his resolve into freeing Fódlan from Edelgard’s tyranny as opposed to the mindless bloodshed that he had surrounded himself with for the majority of the past five years.

You were such a comfort to him, one he thought he had lost a long time ago. You had supported him and been by his side, and he was too consumed to appreciate it until after he lost Rodrigue. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with you and all of his former classmates and friends surrounding him. They did not want him to be consumed and lost to revenge, and now he understood that the dead did not want that either. But he was not free from the choices he knew he would have to make soon, it was something that weighed on his mind. He did not want to kill his stepsister, but as he went to wet the cloth again, he was glad you would be with him when he made that decision. He needed your support, and he resolved to support you as well as he could, especially given your recent hobby of being reckless with your own health and safety.

Feeling your forehead, he was relieved to discover that your fever had finally broken. You may not have been fully healthy again, but if you were at least a normal temperature now, then he knew that he had done his job. You were still nearly naked though, and he would likely be an unwelcome sight when you woke up, and so he took the cloth and bucket and stood up. Better that you did not know he had been here; it would spare at least you of the embarrassment. But as he quickly fixed the lock back into place before opening the door and closing it behind him, he knew it would be a difficult feat to erase the sight of your uncovered body from his mind any time soon. You were so pretty, and it was all he could think about the entire way back to his room.

You woke up slowly, eyes still closed but aware that you were now awake. Your middle of the night wakeup felt almost like a dream compared to how you felt now. You felt somewhat bad still, your throat not fully better and limbs still feeling a bit heavy, but the incredible fever you had felt earlier had all but faded. You must have really been doing poorly, because a glance outside the window told you that it was morning.

You supposed that you might as well get up; there was no way to assuage worry except going to interact with everyone. You would feel better eventually. You knew that the students would worry about you. Getting up and checking with your calendar, you discovered that you had spent an entire day and night in bed.

You slowly put your clothing back on, happy to discover that it had dried all the way, pretty much a given as it had lain in a heap for over a full day on your floor. You probably looked awful after your high fever, so you headed out of your room and towards the bathhouse to freshen yourself up. Just as you went to enter, Ingrid was leaving, her hair obviously wet, and you exchanged smiles as you passed by each other.

The bathhouse was almost completely empty, save a few women, but none of your students. It made sense that there weren’t a lot of people up this early in the morning. There had just been a big battle, and there were still more to come. Everyone worked so hard, so you felt that they more than deserved to sleep in if they wanted to. But you were more than happy to finally be free from your bed, and so you stripped down and got into the water in just your towel.

You took your time to wash your hair and body, happy to not feel gross for the first time in a while. Only after scrubbing yourself to your utmost satisfaction did you relent and get redressed, leaving the bathhouse behind and feeling fully refreshed. Stifling a yawn, you decided to head over to the dining hall as your stomach yearned for food after so long without.

“Good morning, Professor,” Mercedes greeted you as you both entered the dining hall together. “Did you also hear that they would be including sugar scones in today’s breakfast menu?”

You hadn’t heard anything about menus at all, but any food sounded good to you at this point. You couldn’t remember if you had eaten sugar scones before, but they sounded like something you would like. You and Mercedes walked up to the front of the hall together, both accepting a plate of assorted muffins and colorful scones that were sparkling with sugar.

“Oh, I just love these!” Mercedes spoke cheerily as the two of you found a free section of table and sat down across from each other. “Have you had sugar scones before, Professor?”

You shook your head no and she giggled. “Well, I would recommend spreading some Albenian berry jam on them,” she informed you happily, gesturing to the small dish of red jelly that was situated in the middle of your plate. “These are one of Annie’s favorites, so I thought she would be here by now…”

As if on cue, Annette burst through the doorway to the dining hall, almost tripping as she skidded to a stop just in time to turn and rush towards the dining hall staff for her tray of breakfast sweets. She waved happily at you and Mercedes as she passed you to get to the front. The two of you watched, amused, as Annette was scolded by the head chef for running in the dining hall. She sheepishly apologized and received her tray of sweets, which brought a smile back onto her face as she turned and made her way over to you, taking a seat next to Mercedes.

“Sorry I’m late! I thought scone day was tomorrow!” Annette explained as she took in the sight of her breakfast tray.

“You’re so forgetful, Annie,” Mercedes teased with a smile.

“Well at least I got here in time!” Annette huffed, wasting no time in smearing jam all over one of her scones and taking a big bite out of it.

“That is true,” Mercedes agreed, before turning her head to look at you. “Do you like them, Professor?”

You had tried a bite while they were talking, spreading the jam like Mercedes had suggested, and found that you did like them. You must have missed it when these had been served in the dining hall before. You had eaten an entire scone by the time Mercedes had asked the question, and you were interrupted before you could answer her.

“Mind if I join you ladies?” Sylvain asked from behind you.

“Of course, Sylvain,” Mercedes replied, and he slid in right next to you with his own plate of food that he placed down in front of himself.

“I feel like I missed seeing your pretty face around here the past few days,” Sylvain said, popping an entire scone in his mouth as he looked over at you.

“You never change, do you?” Ingrid said wearingly as she sat down on your other side. “You think that she hasn’t had enough of your behavior already?”

“Ingrid…” Sylvain groaned. “She got a hole cut out of her not that long ago, I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“And you thought your flirting would heal her wounds?” Felix raised an eyebrow as he sat down next to Mercedes. “You delusions never end.”

“Hey, why is everyone turning on me?” Sylvain complained, and you laughed. “Not you too, Professor! You wound me!”

Now Annette and Mercedes laughed, while Felix rolled his eyes and Ingrid smiled and shook her head. You all ate your breakfast while chatting, slowly adding Ashe and Dedue to your midst. Even when Dedue didn’t appear to be coming to sit with your group, Annette called his name and beckoned him over to join your table, while Ashe was convinced as soon as he saw your group all together. It was very lively, and almost made you forget that there was a war looming over you all. But just because you would soon have to kill or be killed yet again did not mean that you couldn’t enjoy the company of your lively house members.

“Hey, shouldn’t Dimitri be up by now?” Annette wondered out loud.

“That’s true,” Ingrid agreed. “He’s never been one to sleep in.”

“I can go and check his room,” Dedue volunteered. “If he is not there, then he may-”

“No need!” Annette replied. “I see him now! Dimitri, over here!”

The tall blonde king had just walked into the dining hall, and looked your way at Annette’s call, noticing your entire group all sitting together and walking over to approach you all. Before anyone could stop him or insist that he didn’t have to, Dedue was up from his seat to grab Dimitri a plate of breakfast from the cooks at the front. Some other people stopped Dimitri to talk quickly or greet him, and so he arrived at your table just as Dedue had brought back a plate for him, which he accepted gratefully, knowing better than to try to dissuade his friend from performing errands without being asked by this point. He sat down next to Dedue, and Annette got up to bring over some tea to share with everyone. It was the most cheerful that you all had been during this time of war, and you could not recall a time when you had been happier.

You talked with Ingrid about how her pegasus was doing, and she happily invited you to come flying with her if you would like, to which Mercedes and Annette chimed in that they would love to fly with her as well. Meanwhile, Sylvain on your other side informed you that his horse was available for riding lessons as well, to which Ashe mentioned that he wanted to improve his riding skills, and Sylvain looked marginally defeated. You were having so much fun talking with everyone that you didn’t notice anything amiss with Dimitri at all.

“Are you ill, Your Highness?” Dedue said, with no intentions of being discreet with his volume management. “You have not touched your food.”

Everyone paused their conversations to stare at the king, who had been staring at his plate until Dedue had spoken up to him. He looked up at the sudden silence, surprised to see everyone’s eyes on him. He gave Dedue a small smile, assuring him that he was alright, which Dedue reluctantly accepted, but it was not good enough for Ingrid.

“You don’t look very well, Dimitri,” she insisted, leaning forward a bit to get a better look at him. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

He looked over, meeting your eyes for a very brief moment before immediately looking at Ingrid, ignoring your confused stare. “I am fine,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head with a laugh when Ingrid gave him a hard look. “Really, Ingrid. I am alright.”

“If you don’t sleep, you’re just making it easier for the enemy to cut you down,” Felix said sharply.

“I bought some tea at the market that is supposed to help with sleeping problems if you would like to try some,” Mercedes offered.

“I promise you all that I am alright,” Dimitri insisted with a smile.

Sensing that a change of mood was in order, you offered the last remaining thing on your plate, a Dagda fruit muffin, to Sylvain. You found that you did not like Dadga fruit tea, and so you figured that it would be better to give it to someone who would appreciate it more. And it didn’t hurt as a conversation swap either.

“You don’t want it, Professor?” he asked, blinking at you, surprised.

You shook your head, holding the plate a little closer to him, and he shrugged, grinning at you. “Who am I to refuse you? Thanks for the muffin.”

Sylvain ate the muffin in a few bites as Dimitri finally began to pick at his own tray. You tried again to catch his eye, but he was determined to stare down at his plate. Conversation began to pick up again as Annette started to tell a story from back when they were all students. The conversation took a nostalgic turn as everyone then began sharing stories from their school lives five years prior.

“Not to be rude, but I thought you hated us at first!” Annette told you, blushing slightly with embarrassment.

“I must confess that I felt the same at the start,” Ashe agreed, quickly adding, “but we couldn’t be where we are now without you.”

“I do remember calling you beautiful and you just stared at me... I thought you didn’t hear me for a second,” Sylvain recalled.

“How is that any different from now?” Felix sneered.

“That is true,” Mercedes agreed. “Just the other day I saw a village girl just turn around and leave without saying anything.”

“Mercedes!” Sylvain’s jaw went slack. ��You saw that?”

“I see your success rate hasn’t changed,” Felix scoffed.

Sylvain really had no comeback for that, and you were far from the only one at the table to laugh at his plight. Giggling, you locked eyes with Annette, who you noticed had also finished her plate. Nodding at each other, you both got up from the table to take your empty plates back.

“I feel like I’ve got my muffin fix for a while!” she joked as you handed your empty plates to the dining hall staff.

“What are your plans for the day?” you asked her, and she smiled.

“Don’t tell Mercie, but she was talking about how she missed these sweet ginger cakes we had when we were younger, and I was going to make some to surprise her with!” she whispered excitedly.

You were glad that Annette was such an endless supply of joy and kindness. You knew how much everyone appreciated any distractions from the mounting scale of war you were faced with, and so you also would have to do your best to keep a happy demeanor about yourself. Annette’s eyes drifted from yours as you both got back to the table as she stared ahead.

“Hey, where did Dimitri go?” she asked.

You looked over to where Annette had her eyes set and noticed that your table was missing its blonde king. You both must have looked incredibly confused, because Dedue decided to put you out of your misery.

“His Highness… had something to attend to.” Even Dedue sounded puzzled.

“Yeah, he just said that he had forgotten to do something and left…” Ingrid added, her eyebrows drawn together.

“Maybe he just had a bad reaction to the muffins?” Sylvain suggested, but one look at Dimitri’s plate told you that he hadn’t eaten a single thing from his plate.

He was acting weird, but he didn’t seem to be sliding back into his darkness again. Even so, you would have to check on him later, just to make sure. You had abandoned him for five years, even if it wasn’t by choice, and you would never leave his side again until the day came when he no longer needed you. You wouldn’t lose him again, not when everyone, when Faerghus, needed him.

Dimitri walked briskly to the cathedral, taking up his usual spot in front of the rubble that had once been a proud altar. He knew that he was clearly acting off, and his friends would eventually come and make sure he was okay. And he knew that he was not doing well, but it was not the type of problem that he imagined that they thought that he was dealing with. He had never dealt with anything like this before, and he didn’t know what to do. And so, he stared at the rubble, but too lost in thoughts to take in the scenery.

He couldn’t sleep at all the night before, and he didn’t know how he would get any sleep tonight. Seeing your mostly nude body had awoken within him feelings that he had kept himself from feeling for so long. He had been so focused on revenge for the entirety of his developing years that he had never allowed himself to think of romance as more than a faraway concept. He had sheltered himself for so long, and now the reality of his situation was hitting him with the full force that it would have had he allowed himself when he was a teenager. Instead, he was an adult man who was only now realizing the depths that his feelings could reach. He loved you, and it scared him.

He knew that he couldn’t avoid you forever. You had a war to win, and he couldn’t avoid his closest ally, even if he happened to just discover his feelings for you. He wanted desperately to be near you, but even with your widening range of emotions, he had seen no indication that you had any romantic feelings towards him. And besides, you would never talk to him again if you found out that he had stayed in your room while you were not fully dressed, even if it was to help you recover from your fever. He would live with his shame and hide his feelings, and would channel his energy into the war. Although that still didn’t resolve how he was going to sleep tonight, since he knew that every time he closed his eyes that night he would see your perfect breasts or your kind smile.

He had spent the last few hours of the night after he had returned to his room staring out of his window into the night sky. He had wrestled with his longing to go back there and tell you how he felt, kiss you… but you were sick. You needed rest. And you certainly did not need to have to deal with this new revelation of his. He relied on you for so much that he would crumble without your support, and so he just had to accept that your support would never be that of a wife’s to him.

He felt like a preteen boy. He couldn’t even stand to meet eyes with you in the dining hall earlier. He was so focused on staring at his plate that he could barely hear what anyone else had said. He had met your eyes for only half a second and even that was too much for him in his current state. You had looked worried for him, worries that he didn’t feel that he could assuage. He would have to keep his distance from you until he could resolve this within himself.

He must have been lost in thought for a while because eventually, he realized that Dedue was by his side. He gave Dedue a nod and then turned back to face the rubble, but a call of his title had him looking back to his stoic friend.

“Is everything alright, Your Highness?” Dedue asked simply.

“I…” Dimitri was not sure what to say.

“When I pledged myself to you, I intended to ensure that no harm came to you,” Dedue explained. “If anyone has been upsetting you, or you are suffering a cursed ailment, you need only to tell me and I will scourge whoever dared to curse you.”

Dimitri could never have a normal conversation with him during this war, could he? There were so many threats to his life, he was willing to admit, but Dedue never ceased to worry, even when everything was stable for the moment. He knew that Dedue cared about him, but he always thought the worst of things when it concerned his king.

“I have no injuries or curses, my friend,” he told Dedue who looked entirely unconvinced.

“If it is something that you feel that you cannot tell the others…” Dedue’s offer was implied. He was concerned, that much Dimitri could tell easily.

“For now, it is something that I must handle on my own,” Dimitri said, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

It took some convincing, but Dedue finally relented in his insistence that he walk the king back to his room, despite the fact that they were on entirely different floors. He also rebuffed Dedue’s offer to stand guard outside his room the entire night to defend him from attackers. Dedue had finally, reluctantly relented and allowed Dimitri to finally return to his room alone. He was careful to check that he hadn’t been followed; Dedue had done it before, after all. But he saw no signs of anyone following him and arrived on the second floor of the dormitories, not meeting anyone on the way down the hall and to his room.

It was early in the night, he discovered as he returned to his room. It was earlier than he usually went to sleep, but being awake for closing in on thirty or so hours was wearing on him. With getting some rest potentially in sight, he sat on his bed and began the painstaking process of removing his armor. He let out a tired sigh as his leg armor came off, and he carefully placed it aside before repeating the process on his upper armor, removing his cape and furs as well when he had taken his armor off. He was left in just his long black undershirt and black pants, which was all he wore when he slept these days. Although he did recall that he had previously pushed himself to the point of collapse when in his full armor before, and waking up from that had never felt pleasant on his body. But given his state of mind at the time, he simply got up and continued to do the work he felt needed to be done; being sore never kept him from the slaughter. But as he was now, he appreciated that he could take his armor off at the end of the day and rest. He never knew how nice it would feel to let down his last layer of defense and truly be himself around his friends with nothing to hide. Well, he thought, nothing to hide but his attraction to you that refused to wane.

He would try to sleep; at least now he was in his room, where he was not likely to run into you. His onset affection for you was so strong that he didn’t think it would go away, and he did not know if that was a good thing or not. He took off his shoes, setting them down before laying down on his bed and closing his eyes in the hope that sleep would find him.

You had spent your day talking to the other occupants of the monastery, doing your best to confirm that everyone was doing alright. You knew that this war weighed on everyone’s souls, and if you could do anything to help, you would. And so, you did some light training with Felix, went to the marketplace with Ashe, and ended up helping Annette do some baking for Mercedes, which did not result in any kitchen disasters for once, which was a relief. You had seen Dimitri in the cathedral earlier, in that same place he had always gone before he had broken free of his darkness. You decided to give him some space, but when you passed by the cathedral again later in the evening, he was no longer in his usual spot in front of the rubble.

Whatever was wrong with him, you wanted to give him time. You really did. But if he was sinking back into his inner darkness, then you couldn’t stand by and let it happen again. You walked around the monastery grounds but were unable to find him. As a last ditch effort, you decided to head to the second floor of the dormitories to check and see if he was in his room. You passed various people as they headed to their own rooms to retire for the night, smiling as Flayn excitedly wished you a good night as you passed by her. Finally, you arrived at what you recalled to be Dimitri’s bedroom door.

You raised a hand and lightly knocked on the door. No answer. Maybe he had gone for a late night walk and you had just missed him on your walk around the monastery. You knocked one more time, slightly louder, but still got no response. You couldn’t hear any sounds from at all from the other side of the door. Having no choice, you reluctantly decided to leave and head back to your own room. You could talk with Dimitri the next time you saw him, you reassured yourself. And so, you began to retreat the way that you had come, off to get some sleep and hopefully wake up fully free from your sickness.

“Professor…”

It was so quiet that you almost didn’t detect it, but you supposed your sensitivity on the battlefield allowed you to pick up the muted whisper of your old title. You turned your head back, not sure what to expect, but found Dimitri in only pants and a long-sleeved shirt, both in black, staring at you from just outside his room. He met your gaze with a look of surprise on his face, almost as if he had not expected you to hear him or turn back to look. You made your way back over to him, and he opened his door wider and gestured for you to accompany him inside.

He walked all the way to his window before turning only his head back to face you. His expression was unreadable, but yours certainly wasn’t, and he immediately saw the worry on your face.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly. You knew that you couldn’t make him talk if he didn’t want to but you needed him to know that you were here for him.

“You never let up, do you?” he asked, and you vaguely recalled him saying something like that to you in the past. Before you could reply, he continued. “I could not be who I am today without your help.”

Why was he saying that now, and then why did he look so troubled? You didn’t understand where he was going with this, and were about to tell him so.

“I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, finally turning around fully and stepping slightly closer to you. “But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

“That is not possible,” you countered, staring him down sternly.

Dimitri only grew a small sad smile at your words. He looked to be waging a mental war on himself, but you bridged the gap that was still between you and forced him to look at you in the eyes. You looked at him with all the seriousness you could manage in an attempt to convey to him that you would listen to anything that he had to say. He broke eye contact with you almost immediately, staring at the floor as he spoke quietly.

“You had a fever,” he explained. “Nobody had seen you the day after you were out in the rain. I went to check on you, and you were not answering your door and I…”

Your eyes went wide in surprise. That night, you were…

“I am so sorry, Professor!” he spoke, sounding upset as he hung his head in shame. “I saw you in a state that only your husband should see you in and I-”

His rambling cut off and you looked at him, trying desperately to have him meet your eyes, but he continued to look at the floor, so you took a second to reevaluate these new revelations. Dimitri had not fully explained, but from what you had pieced together, he had been worried about you and came into your room, which must have been after you had stripped down to only your underwear, based on Dimitri’s odd husband comment. You felt a rush of embarrassment that he had seen you like that, but you found that you were more bothered that he had seen you looking so weak rather than the fact that he had seen you nearly naked. But you also found that you didn’t really mind that it was him that had seen you that way.

“I… I did not leave you be. I could not. I stayed with you and kept a cold cloth on your forehead until your fever broke. I should have left, but I could not just leave you like that,” Dimitri spoke up again.

He was so earnest that it was cute. Apologizing for seeing you nearly nude was one thing, but you stifled a laugh as he was for some reason apologizing for staying with you and taking care of you while you were sick. He was fiercely intelligent, brave in the face of the hardships of war, but looking at him now, he looked like an awkward teenager trapped in the body of a grown man. You could no longer help yourself, and you let out a quiet giggle.

“Professor?” Dimitri uttered as he looked at you in shock and you laughed at his expression.

“You’re so cute,” you told him, and watched as your words sent a pink flush to his cheeks as he stared at you in disbelief.

You knew that you should do something to put him out of his misery, but you weren’t sure what. You reached a hand up to cup one of his cheeks, and he looked at you unsteadily, closing his eye as he leaned into your touch. You weren’t sure why you had decided to reach out for him physically, but staring at his handsome face, so close to your own, you felt the most comfortable and safe you had ever felt. You closed your eyes too to bask in the moment, but then he said your name, not your title, but your actual name. You opened your eyes again and the two of you stared at each other and he raised his own hand to cover yours that was still on his cheek. He had an urgency in his eyes that you could not place.

“I need to kiss you,” he said, not breaking eye contact, unwavering under your surprised look.

You really shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were, given how physically close the two of you were now, and how emotionally close you had been to each other for so long, but you hadn’t had the time to think that this was even a possibility. Overpowering all of your mind was the sense that this was all that you wanted in this moment. He was different than he had been when you had reunited with him, but he had broken free of his darkness, and had become the kind, strong leader that his people needed. That you all needed. He was your dearest friend, but right now you wanted him to kiss you more than anything, and so you nodded.

He didn’t waste any more than a few seconds before bending down and connecting your lips as your eyes slid closed as the same time. You adjusted your chin so you would be better locked together as your other hand weakly grasped at the material of his shirt, just above his chest. The kiss felt so effortless, as you both adjusted to the other’s rhythm and Dimitri’s other hand came up to rest on the back of your head, keeping you close together.

The kiss stayed simple, but it was making you feel lightheaded with the intensity that you were both putting into it. You pulled away, not confident in your ability to breathe at the moment and he followed, gently steering you back until the back of your knees hit his bed and you allowed him to push you back down onto it.

You found yourself laying on your back as Dimitri hovered over you, his legs on either side of you. He was upright with his knees pressed against your upper thighs, looking at you with want but unsure of how to proceed. While he sat there in a daze, you shrugged your coat off and gently removed your gauntlets, letting it all fall down in a heap by the bedside, and as you did, you noticed a pile of Dimitri’s own clothing and armor only a few feet away.

When you looked back up, you noticed that Dimitri had been following you with his gaze, but he still looked unsure. You had no idea what was going on in his head or what had happened to his confidence, but you decided that you would have to make it abundantly clear that you would like this to continue. And so, you lifted your torso up from the bed and wriggled out of your shirt, throwing everything that covered your upper body onto the floor and watching Dimitri’s eye widen and cheeks turned red as he once again took in the sight of your bare breasts. You were just happy that you were conscious this time so you could enjoy his very honest reaction.

He was still staring, this time he had switched back to look you in the eyes and you couldn’t help but tease him. “Dimitri, your shirt…”

He finally relaxed a bit and smiled so sweetly down at you. “I suppose I should make it even.”

You had never seen him shirtless before, but the scars on his body told you what he could never bring himself to about what had happened to him over the past ten years. He gave you no explanation, and did not give you the time to fully examine all of his scars as he lowered his head down and kissed you again, feeding in your boldness as he supported himself with one hand, bringing his other hand up to feel one breast. The shock of his sudden movements had you moaning in surprise, and the kiss transitioned further as you both allowed your tongues to meet as well.

You cradled his head in your hands, bringing one hand through his hair, so much longer than it had been five years earlier. Finding yourself wanting to be even closer to him, you brought one leg out from under him and wrapped it around his hip. The position allowed you to grind up against him, and he met your hips excitedly as you kissed and you felt a shiver go down your spine as you realized how much he wanted this, your hips so close together that you could not miss how hard he had become in such little time. The friction was exactly where you wanted it, but it began to not feel like anywhere close to enough.

He pulled back from you by a few centimeters, nose still touching yours, and his hand that was not supporting his weight drifted from your breast to brush a hand through your hair. “I love you,” he said sincerely, chuckling as you looked up at him in shock. “You did not think I loved you?”

He seemed amused by your lack of response, and in truth you did not know, you had been so happy to be like this with him that you hadn’t even considered the feelings that were obviously involved. But you could not deny how happy those words made you, and he leaned down to kiss you again as a smile lit up your face. He gave you a few short kisses before he disengaged himself from you, sitting at the side of the bed, and you hastened to join him. He looked over as you hesitantly placed your head on his shoulder, and he readily accepted the contact.

“I did not think that I would ever feel like this… that I deserved to feel this way with you. I escaped the darkness that I had been trapped in, but I know there are those who will never forgive me for the sins I have committed. But you stuck by my side when I treated you so poorly. I don’t deserve you… any of you,” he said, staring at the wall but wrapping an arm around your naked back.

“You are indispensable to me,” he said as he leaned over to kiss your hair. “I knew that I would not be here without you, but I did not realize my feelings until that night.”

You knew which night he meant, but you had taken even longer than him to discover your own feelings, but you knew now. You loved him, and there was no going back now, even if you wanted to. Which, sitting side by side in this moment, you knew that you only wanted to experience even more with this man who was so dear to you.

“I wanted to wait until after the war, until we had peace. But after that night, I could not look back at you without seeing your bare form. It is shameful, but I cannot hold back any longer, especially now that I know it is mutual,” he explained, adjusting the both of you so that you were facing each other. “I want to be with you.”

He was looking at you expectantly, but kindly. You realized that he needed you to also affirm that this was real, that you loved him as well. He believed in you, but you knew that you should put the poor boy out of his misery. You leaned in to kiss him and he reciprocated happily, pulling back after a few seconds, eyes fluttering open to look at Dimitri, who looked so content in that moment.

“I love you,” you told him, truly meaning it. “I want to be with you.”

Dimitri looked so happy, but with a glance downwards, you saw that he was no less hard. It looked rather painful, and couldn’t be comfortable for him. You were not as subtle as you thought you had been, and he caught your glance downwards on his form.

“I… it is okay, I would never pressure you. You do not have to worry about me,” he said quickly, face flushing pink.

He was about to get up and put some distance between you, but you would not let that happen. You stood up with him and spoke his name softly as you slipped your hands into the sides of your shorts, pulling them down along with your tights and slipping out of them and your boots. It was not a particularly graceful or sexy stripping of your last articles of clothing, but it got the job done. You crossed the room to where he was standing and he allowed you to begin the process of removing the clothes covering his lower half.

“If this is what you really want,” his growled words sent your cheeks aflame. “I will not hold back, my love.”

He helped you by kicking his pants and underwear off, and as soon as you were both fully naked, he picked you up, his hands grasping your thighs to support you. You hastily wrapped your legs and arms around him so you wouldn’t fall, and he grinned at you as he placed you down on the bed, following you down so he could kiss you again. Dimitri kissed you for only a moment longer as you desperately tried to keep up with his pace. You were so ready for what was to come, and you pulled back from the kiss and gazed up at him with longing.

Dimitri swallowed as he looked down at you, and you spread your legs as he reached down to his achingly hard cock. You were embarrassed to discover that you were easily wet enough from just kisses and simple groping that Dimitri was able to rub himself against you before he began to slide himself inside with ease. You let out a breathy moan as you tried not to squirm at the foreign feeling. Dimitri’s eyes closed as he dropped down to rest his head on your shoulder, his deep groan right by your ear as he pushed further inside you. Finally, your hips fully met as he was seated fully within you, and you knew that you had never felt anything like this before. You knew what sex was, your father had been too awkward to give you the talk himself and had a female village chief explain to it to you after you had saved their village, so you knew the basics. But no explanation could match up with how good it felt to be so intimate with the man you loved.

You felt his breath tickle your ear as he pulled himself back up, his eyes half lidded. “You feel so good… forgive me, but it is hard for me to focus on anything else.”

You felt the same way, but you didn’t have the patience for him to wait and adjust to this feeling, so you decided to force the issue by squeezing your inner muscles and watching as he shuddered, eye fluttering closed for a moment with a groan. He opened his eye to glare halfheartedly at you, obviously too pleased at the moment for you to believe that he was actually angry with you.

“You are so impatient,” he teased, but complied with your wishes as he pulled ever so slightly out of you before canting his hips back into yours.

He didn’t waste a second in continuing the movement, and his gentle rocking was driving you crazy. You were completely naked, and it had been a cold month, but you were so, so warm. There was a pleasant burn that was slowly ebbing away to just feel good in a way that you had never felt before. Evidently this was new to Dimitri as well, because he was in no better of a state than you were, panting against your skin as he leaned down to kiss at your neck. You were content to lay like that, your arms around his neck and feeling his hair tickle your face, but a well-timed thrust had you unexpectedly crying out with the sudden spike of pleasure.

Dimitri couldn’t suppress his own groan as he was able to reach deeper within you. And when you rolled your hips up to meet him, he almost stopped his momentum to bask in how good it felt. He once again palmed your breasts and stifled your moan as he kissed you again. He closed his eye as he kissed you because he feared that if he was to keep it open and take in the way you looked right now, this would end far sooner than he wanted. You were so beautiful like this, and his heart stuttered with every sound that left your mouth.

He wanted this to last, but he could no longer be satisfied with the current pace. He began to pull out more swiftly and push back in with a new speed and intensity. He felt pride surge up in him as you squirmed and broke the kiss to let out another cute cry. Your next cry was of his name, which set his pace on fire as you both rapidly tried to meet your ends as you both connected in a desperate clashing of tongues, both groping at any inch of the other’s skin that you could reach.

“I fear this will not last much longer, beloved,” Dimitri panted. “But we have so much more time ahead of us.”

You weren’t fully sure what he meant by that, but at this point you were so close to reaching your peak that you could do no more than moan and grasp weakly onto his neck and back, tangling one hand in his hair. You closed your eyes tightly as Dimitri held you as close to him as he could, his chest brushing against yours in tandem with his thrusting. It only took a bit more of his harsh, fast pace before you lost yourself in pleasure. Dimitri continued to move, prolonging your orgasm as you moaned and squeezed around him. He could only hold out for so long and he was finally pushed over the edge with a strained groan of your name. The two of you stayed joined for a moment before Dimitri gently moved off of you, giving you a shy smile. You went to get up with him, but he stopped you with a hand on your arm and you obeyed, laying back down, but looked at him quizzically.

“You may not want to get up. We have made quite a mess,” Dimitri said reluctantly.

He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the feeling to distract you, you realized just how gross you were feeling… down there. You closed your legs tightly in embarrassment, and in the hopes that you wouldn’t ruin Dimitri’s sheets. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

Dimitri laughed at your sudden shyness. “I will go fetch something to clean you up with,” he explained, beginning to dress himself to his first layer of clothing, foregoing his armor.

He bent down to kiss one of your flushed cheeks, and then he was gone out the door. Once the door had been closed and you were alone, you felt all of your remaining composure slip away. You and Dimitri had… you had no idea how he was so much more composed than you were, easily leaving the room to bring back something to clean you up. You felt too embarrassed to leave this room for a month, let alone right after you had been so intimate for the first time. You did not even know what to say to Dimitri when he got back, but you would dare to hope he had meant what he said, implying that he wanted to do this again. That he loved you. But for now, all you could do was wait for him to return.

Dimitri kept a relatively quick pace to fetch a cloth, although for a much different reason than the previous time. He still had a hard time believing that had just happened, that you and he were… he loved you, and he would not deny it even if being open about it was so new for him. Smiling to himself, he wistfully hoped that you would agree to spend the night in his room. He would not force you, but he could not deny that the idea of waking up and seeing your beautiful face first thing in the morning set his heart aflutter.

Dimitri had gotten to the middle of the hallway before he noticed someone waving at him just past his room, standing at the end of the hallway. Sylvain grinned at him as Dimitri walked past his own room to meet his friend just outside the redhead’s room.

“Late night walk, Your Highness?” Sylvain quipped, eyes briefly darting down to the towel in Dimitri’s grasp.

Dimitri was silent for a moment too long, wondering what to respond, and Sylvain laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Just one thing though, you might want to noise-proof your room.”

“Sylvain!” Dimitri admonished, shocked.

“Hey!” Sylvain waved his hands in a defensive manner. “It wasn’t me! But, uh, Felix was just here complaining that you and the Professor were interrupting his sleep…”

Dimitri was not sure what to say to that, and immediately felt bad because he was sure that you would be embarrassed if you knew that you two had been heard. Dimitri turned a hard gaze to Sylvain; his childhood friend had not been known to be the most trustworthy with gossip, but Sylvain immediately knew what Dimitri was thinking, and what he was likely about to say.

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone, relax!” Sylvain stated quickly. “Just be careful, ladies don’t really like having an audience.”

Dimitri scoffed, but smiled at his friend. “I will keep that in mind, Sylvain.”

Relieved that Dimitri was not mad at him, he clasped one of his friend’s shoulders. “I won’t keep you from her, but I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy, Dimitri. Just don’t let her get away!” he joked.

Both men having said their piece, turned to go to their respective rooms. Dimitri could only hope that you hadn’t heard any of their conversation. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you away or make you uncomfortable. But as he opened the door, he found you still on his bed, shutting the door behind him without looking back because he could not stand to look away from the smile you gave him upon seeing him return.

It hadn’t been long, but you felt happiness surge up in you at the sight of him. He briskly made his way over to you and handed you the towel he had brought, to your great relief. It would be too embarrassing to have him clean you, and so you accepted the towel gratefully, cleaning yourself as he turned his back to give you some privacy. You made quick work of cleaning yourself, feeling less of a mess immediately, other than your hair still being slightly matted to your forehead with sweat. You wanted to savor this moment, but you also wanted to know if he had really meant what he had said earlier.

Dimitri, not noticing the shift in your mood, leaned down onto the bed just as you sat up so he could give you a light kiss. He looked so happy when he pulled away from you, his smile unwavering. It was only then that he noticed how strained your small smile was. “My love…?”

“…you said we would have more time,” you said quietly, and his brows drew together in confusion, before nodding affirmatively.

“You have not figured it out yet?” Dimitri teased, reaching down to hold your hand. “I would hope that this was not the only time we would be together like this.”

You were still confused, and he noticed immediately. “I do not mean only in a carnal sense. This is a rather unusual setting, but I have no regrets. I want to marry you.”

Oh... You stared at him in shock. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, only just nervous that he would tell you to leave, that this was a one-time thing. But he had gone in the farthest direction possible from what you had feared. You found that you really wanted this, you wanted to marry him, wanted to stay by his side forever. None of your thoughts made it to your face, your expression blank as you stared at him. Dimitri didn’t seem to understand what you were thinking, and got a little anxious himself.

“If you do not want to, of course…” he muttered. “I do not have a ring, yet I decided to ask this of you. I understand if you do not want this with me.”

He had seemingly already decided his fate, and you smiled softly at him. “I accept.”

“You… you do?” he sounded surprised, and you weren’t quite sure why. He was a wonderful man, and you loved him so much. He was a fool to think anything otherwise. Especially after what you had just done together, and all you both had been through.

He had finally seemed to get the message, and practically lunged towards you, connecting your lips together in a rough kiss. This war would end, you knew, and then the two of you could build a peaceful world together. You looked forward to that, but you knew that you would have Dimitri at your side for anything that came your way, and that gave you all the confidence you could ever need.

#reader insert #xreader #fire emblem #fire emblem 3h #fire emblem three houses #dimileth #dimitri x reader #fe3h x reader #fire emblem three houses x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #smut at the end #smut

276 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Practice Makes Perfect.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Commissioned by the lovely @furudolove.

Pairing: Yandere!OC/Reader.

TW: Death, Light Gore, Blood, Graphic Injury, Mentions of Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, Slight Sociopathy/Apathy, Implied Anxiety, Obsessive mindsets.

Her smile was familiar.

Or, familiar might’ve been the wrong word for it. Cozy in the way a hotel room was, stiff and sterile, but repetitive and recognizable, too. Reassuring like a disinterested family, soothing like the buzz of a broken streetlamp, relaxing like being so utterly, completely, absolutely lost, there was nothing you could do to possibly make things worse than they already are. It wasn’t off-putting, but it wasn’t welcoming, either. She didn’t feel intimidating, and yet, you still wanted to keep your distance, like a mouse might from a docile housecat. To stay bundled up in your little corner off the coffee shop, your coat pulled over your chest and…

And then she glanced up, and something in your brain short-circuited.

You really should’ve stopped staring earlier.

Instantly, your eyes shot back to the wooden tabletop in front of you, to the mug you’d almost forgotten, steam still rising off the top. She was a barista, after all, she was working, and the last thing she needed was some creep staring her down for the better half of the last thirty minutes, if only because of that uncanny, unidentifiable resemblance to something you couldn’t name. You weren’t a regular, but she felt new, still awkward with the machines and robotic with costumers, but you couldn’t say you were any better. You’d hardly said a word to her, aside from your order, and you didn’t plan to, not if you could help it. You’d never been good at that kind of thing, and you had a feeling your luck wouldn’t improve with someone so…

Someone like her.

Not that you’d been all that lucky with much of anything, lately. Hell, you were only here because you’d missed your train, and the next wouldn’t arrive for another hour, at least. There were more pressing things you could focus on, like the early shift you had tomorrow, how late you were going to get home, the busted lock on the door of your apartment, but it was easier to hate the rigid schedule that hadn’t bent to your will, the sidewalk that’d been just a little too crowded let you squeeze your way through peacefully, the light snowfall that meant you couldn’t wait at the station, regardless of how badly you wanted to bunker down on an uncomfortable, freezing bench and stubbornly glare at the tracks until you found a way to turn-back time and avoid such a trivial problem entirely. It was easier to focus on the barista, how her black hair fell in front of her face as she worked, how your fingers twitched, moving reflexively to push it back. It was an invasive kind of intimacy, the type that was as unearned as it was unwanted. Irrational and irritating, despite your attempts to brush it off.

Downing the rest of your drink, you forced yourself to stand. The station would be better, and fresh air would help to clear your mind, to stop you from paying attention to things that didn’t need attention. You tried to start towards the door, but you hardly made it a full step before something caught the back of your collar, tugging you back into place. There was a brief pause, a second that stretched out just a little too long, but hesitantly, you managed to turn around, only to be met by the smiling face you’d been simultaneously inspecting and avoiding. Only to be met by her, the barista, the girl you’d been all-but leering at, since you walked in.

Reflexively, you moved to apologize, but she was already talking, already forcing another paper cup into your unoccupied hand. “On the house,” She explained, in place of a proper greeting. You didn’t mind. You couldn’t really say you expected one, not from her. “It’s cold out there, and you’re starting to look like you could use it.”

There was a playful lull to her voice, a hint of something that balanced on the line between an insult and a genuine show of sympathy. You could only bow your head, your eyes suddenly glued to the floor. “I could, honestly,” You managed, the words coming out meeker than you would’ve liked. If she noticed, it didn’t seem to dampen her mood, her grin only growing broader as you went on. “Thank you…”

“Anya,” She finished, her smile never faltering.

“Call me Anya.”

You recognized her eyes, too.

Dark, just teetering on the shade where brown begins to blend with back. You might’ve said she looked distracted, but that wouldn’t be right – if anything, she seemed a little too concentrated. You were better about your staring, this time, but it would’ve been impossible not to look over you shoulder occasionally, not to throw a glance in her direction as you ducked behind a rack of magazines. It was a pathetic effort, really, an unnecessary one. It was a corner store, not her bedroom. You were shopping, not setting up hidden cameras. You’d gotten here before her, and you would’ve left if she hadn’t come in, if you could just put a strange resemblance aside and manage to act like a normal, functional human being. That’s what you should do, really. It’s what anyone else would do, whether or not there was the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant chance she’d see you and think, quietly and to herself, that you were a creep.

But, you weren’t someone else. And you really, really didn’t want her to think you were a creep.

So, hiding behind the magazine rack it was.

Currently, you were staring down a display cooler, trying to blend in with the background or melt into the fluorescent lights. You wanted to make yourself less noticeable, to shrink into your jacket and disappear, but that wasn’t an option – you were sure you already would’ve abused the privilege, if you had it. You just had to wait her out. You just had to—

“Another rough day?”

You just had to die. That was it, you just had to die.

At least she didn’t seem uncomfortable, inviting herself into your personal space before you could make the mistake of invading hers, choosing to stand just a little too close, her shoulder nearly touching yours. “Is it that obvious?” You muttered, your voice still low, like you were still trying to hide. A fox, still trying to walk on the leg it’d already chewed off. “I wasn’t really planning on running into anyone, this late.”

You said it like the two of you were friends, like it even made sense that she’d taken time out of her night to talk to you. Instantly, you regretted opening your mouth at all, but Anya only laughed. “I’d offer you another coffee, if I could,” She quipped, nudging you gently, her tone still unbothered, as if she made a hobby of confronting near-strangers. She might’ve, for all you knew. She felt like the kind of person who did. “A little company can’t hurt, though. I’d like to think I’ve gotten good at this kind of thing.” There was a pause, and enviously, you scanned over a dented energy drink. “Lots of training, y’know? People say I have a common face, makes it easier for people to talk to me.”

You allowed yourself a small sigh, a wave of relief washing over you. She must’ve been used to it, the strange stares and that distorted attraction, but you still tried to keep your eyes in front of you, on the sleeve of her silver coat as she reached up, toying with the cooler’s handle. “I don’t really have a lot to say,” You conceded, reluctantly. “It’s just been a tough week. My karma’s been off or something – nothing just seems to go right. Not that anything’s gone that wrong, either.” It was one of the few advantages of living such a small life. If you had the time to worry about whether or not the same girl would recognize you twice, you couldn’t have had much to worry about in the first place. “I’m just… a little stuck, I guess. It’s like I’m treading water, but I still know I’m going to drown, eventually.”

You caught her reflection in the clouded glass, an expression similar to guilt passing across her features and disappearing just a quickly, fading into a small, understanding smile, so unabashedly sympathetic, it almost felt practiced. “Like the universe has a bounty on your head.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

“Things can always get worse.” It was a declaration, shameless and unabashedly pessimistic, the kind that forced the tension in your shoulders to dissolve and your nerves to settle in the pit of your stomach, if only out of respect for her confidence alone. “But, no one should have to die alone. If you want to walk me home, we could try to stave it off for another twenty minutes together.”

If it were anyone else, any other stranger, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. You hadn’t been making excuses – it was late, closer to sunrise than sunset, and if your luck was going to get any worse, wondering around the city probably wasn’t the best idea. But, there was something about the way she asked, like she already knew you’d say yes, like she already trusted you enough to know you would. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You didn’t want to break whatever golden, idealistic expectations she’d managed to form, in the handful of days since you’d met.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” You admitted, letting her hook her arm around yours, pulling you closer to her side as you fought to keep your focus on the ground, willing the heat rushing to your cheeks to cool. “If it’ll keep me alive, I mean.”

There was only a smile in response, bright enough to let you overlook that, despite already moving to drag you to the cashier, she didn’t actually have anything to buy.

“I’ll do my best, this time.”

You could’ve sworn you’d seen her apartment before, despite knowing you’d never taken a step past the threshold.

Admittedly, you probably should’ve made more of an effort to change that before springing at the first opportunity to move in. Despite her confidence, Anya liked her privacy, and she always seemed to prefer your place over hers, taking every excuse you offered to spend the night or hand out or, on one special occasion, try and fail to surprise you with a romantic dinner. It almost felt unreal, trying to navigate the strange, empty halls, a cardboard box in your arms and your eyes burning, a side-effect of the white walls and the hanging fluorescent lights, complicated metal fixtures she seemed a little too fond of. You’d have to ask her about that, later on. You doubted your vision would last, if the entire apartment was like this.

“Already lost, babe?”

Your heart raced at the sound of Anya’s voice, but not like it used to, not out of pure, nervous tension. This was a nice sensation, a more pleasant sort of unease, leaving your cheeks flushed and your tongue failing as Anya draped herself over your shoulders, her own crate already thrown into whichever black room she decided it belonged in. She’d wanted to help, but with the Spring heat and how much time the two of you had spent cleaning out your last place, neither of you seemed capable of getting much done. “Can you blame me?” You asked, leaning back and melting into her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lured my back to your empty, bleached out murder den.” There was a pause, a slight hesitation on your part. “Which is not what happened, right?”

“Oh, no, not until I see how unbearable you are to live with, at least.” You huffed, attempting to shrug her off, but Anya only laughed, her arms dropping to your waist and her cheek coming to rest against your back. “I mean, I should be the scared one, if anything. After what happened to your apartment—”

“It was just bad luck,” You interjected, already embarrassed. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“An entire building burning down is not ‘bad luck’.” She sounded annoyed, but her faux exasperation was half-hearted, at best, a sentiment only backed up by her breathy sigh, all poorly veiled relief and numbed exhaustion. “It’s just a miracle you weren’t home. When you called me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do if…”

She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. You were still in a state of shock, honestly, still stuck in the same distant headspace you’d been in when you first saw the smoke rising into the air and the caution tape surrounding your neighborhood and the crowds, and you couldn’t imagine it was any less gruesome for her. “It’s not all bad,” You offered, reaching back, running your fingers through her hair idly. “If you hadn’t wanted to go on a date that day, I might’ve actually been—”

You didn’t get a chance to finish. Above you, something creaked, the sound of metal scraping against metal as a fuse fizzled and popped, an electrical static that fell silent just a moment too soon. You barely got a chance to consider moving before you were thrown on the ground, Anya on top of you and a mangled pile of glass and wires scattered across the floor behind her, the invasive light of the hall suddenly dulled into something grey, something absent. It took you a moment to process it all – the cracked floor tiles, the ache forming in the spot where your chest hit the ground, but Anya was quick to recover, a stifled laugh slipping past her lips before she could swallow it back. You might’ve been tempted to do the same, if your tongue hadn’t suddenly felt so heavy.

You might’ve been able to take it as lightly as she did, if the sound hadn’t been so familiar in such an awful, terrifying way.

It was difficult to speak, but you managed, the words coming out faltered and breathless. “I can’t… A-Are you alright?”

“You’re alright,” She mumbled, more to herself than for you.

“I’m fine, as long as you’re alright.”

Somehow, you felt like you’d heard her voice before.

Her smile was familiar, as were her eyes and the unnerving emptiness of her apartment, but you felt like you’d heard her voice before, like you’d listened to her, like you’d lied with your head in her lap and you’d heard her, not just something similar, not just an imitation you could convince yourself wasn’t the real thing. It was personal. It was real. It was Anya, even if you knew it couldn’t be. Even if you knew it wasn’t supposed to be.

Even if it had to be, and you were beginning to realize it could never have been anything else.

Anya was trying to be gentle, today. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be gentle if you found her like this, at the bottom of a staircase in a pool of her own blood, bones shattered and ribs cracked and body so twisted, you weren’t sure how she’d even recognized you. Still, there was an exhausted lilt in her voice as she crouched by your side – or, what she must’ve thought was your side, at least. “I knew this would happen.” There was a pause, a spark of agony that flittered across your scalp as she reached down, combing her fingers through your hair lazily. “Took a week longer than last time. Getting you back to my apartment is usually a turning point, but… different rules for different run-throughs, I guess.

“This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen,” She went on, not bothering to wait for a response she knew wouldn’t come. “Car accidents are usually bloodier. You’ve gotten gutted a couple times, usually a day or two after we’re supposed to meet, and when you get caught in that fire…” She trailed off, and you tried to take a deep breath, something in your lungs ripping and spilling out, as a result. “I had to pull you out of a train crash, once. A fucking train crash. You hated trains, a few cycles ago.”

Anya let out a huff, something between a sigh and a groan, but if she had more to say, she didn’t bother offering more than a parting kiss to your bruised forehead, forcing out a whimper so cracked and so pitiful, you could hardly bring yourself to acknowledge as human. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.”

A blocked heel pressed against the crack in the back of your skull, and Anya’s weight shifted with a small, practiced grace.

It hurt, for a moment.

But then, it didn’t.

You looked a little different at the start of every cycle.

Anya didn’t mind. You were still you – beautiful, lovable, endearing you, regardless of the color of your jacket or what drink you chose, the day the two of you were predestined to meet. It didn’t matter if you were a little more jittery than you were last time, a little less willing to meet her eyes as she took your order, she could look past that. Whatever gap existed between the two, she could bridge it. Whatever hesitancy dozens of bloody, gory deaths might’ve instilled in you, she could help you overcome it, she could choke it out of you until only admiration was left, the same love she felt for you.

Of course, her goal was your survival, to protect you and get close to you and make sure you shake off whatever awful curse you seem to be under, but Anya found that a relationship was the best way to do that. She’d tried keeping her distance, manipulating individual factors rather than keeping you out of harm’s way directly, but that’d been about as effective as the time she’d locked you in her bedroom and attempted to take a more forceful approach to keeping you safe. She needed to keep a firm hand, not a strangle-hold. She needed to be outgoing, not intrusive.

Part of her was a little worried, albeit not nearly worried enough. She’d been the shy one, the first time the two of you met, stuttering and plain and completely unimportant, and you’d been confident, care-free, a far-cry from the paranoid, anxious shell you’d taken to hiding in, lately. She still loved you, obviously, she doubted she could ever stop loving you, but you were different. She was different, too. Both of you were.

But, Anya couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She smiled as she finished writing, reading over the number written onto your cheap, disposable paper cup, her name underneath it, punctuated by a row of hearts, for good measure. You wouldn’t call, she already knew, but Anya wasn’t feeling as patient as she usually was, she didn’t want to wait as long to skip to the fun part of her little routine. It was the least she could do to experiment. If she got lucky, you’d be desperate enough to ask for her help, after a little prodding. And, if she wasn’t, it’d be fine. She was sure of that. It’d always be fine.

She knew what to do if she made a bad impression, if she said the wrong thing, if she decided she couldn’t trust you with your own safety, anymore. You’d already abandoned her over and over again, died and left Anya to smooth over the damage…

She was sure you wouldn’t mind if she chose to be a little selfish, this time around.

141 notes · View notes

mooniefics · 4 years ago

Text

in the grand scheme of things [ 3 ]

pairings : zeke jaeger / reader, referenced eren jaeger / reader

word count : 5.5k

tags : unhealthy relationships, relationship discussions, implied cheating, drinking, break ups, mutual infidelity, dubious morality, love triangles

warning : descriptions of alcohol and drug use

summary : you and eren hadn't been doing the best these past few months, and no one that you knew seemed to have any answers for you, or pointers in the right direction. who better to offer you some sound, insightful relationship advice than his older brother. or so you thought.

— originally posted 1 / 28 / 21 on ao3 —

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ: *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:*·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:*

sasha 3:47 pm hey u down to party tonight?? jean told connie he could get us into another one of the azo parties again

you sighed at the sight of the notifications on your phone from its place on the passenger's seat, pensively drumming your fingers on your steering wheel. the most recent party of the most popular fraternity chapter on your campus you'd attended had been the last party you'd subjected yourself to attending—the halloween party where you'd gotten ditched out and subsequently cheated on. though you could admit that it had been fun in the moment, especially when you had caught the struggle between sasha and historia when she saw your roommate snap a picture of her kissing the standoffish sophomore that always helped her with her english lit homework, ymir, rather than the fraternity guy she was meant to be with.

the memory of that night, at least the time before you'd realized your boyfriend and his annoyingly attractive best friend were nowhere to be found, made you consider. classes did start back up next week, and the most eventful thing you'd done over the break was your quaint little family get-together for new year's eve—and your two rendezvous with zeke, meetings that you were slowly beginning to feel more and more skeptical about as time went on—and you were sure that your second semester would drown you in work just as much—if not more—than you'd had in your first semester. so as soon as you came to a stop at a red light, you picked your phone up to shoot her back a message, laughing to yourself when she replied instantly.

you 3:51 pm party on a wednesday? really?

sasha 3:51 pm come onnnn please??? i heard nikos gonna be there! ur rlly gonna make me go all alone??

so that was why she wanted to go, to see the foreign culinary major that somehow always managed to send her back to the dorm with a large plate of food and a blinding smile plastered on her face for at least the next hour. you were honestly surprised that they hadn't gotten together yet, considering how many common interests they'd shared.

a pleasant thought suddenly popped into your head, the thought that she was probably asking you because mikasa had already declined, meaning that she wouldn't be in attendance. armin was out in turkey with eren, ensuring his absence. that fact made you feel a bit less anxious about accepting sasha's invitation. you could catch up with the friends you'd been unable to see while you were off-campus—or too swamped with work to be able to reach out to—let loose one last time before you were trapped back in the monotonous cycle of working, sleeping, crying, and eating for the next couple months until spring break. your mind had been made up.

you 3:52 pm fine. i'll go as moral support. but no promises u won't have to babysit after you've had ur fun with nikolo this break has been rough for me lol

sasha 3:53 pm oh god my i loveyou so much already picking out our outfits

you chuckled to yourself, slipping your phone into the cupholder as the brake lights of the car in front of you flashed off and you eased your foot onto the gas. you made it back to the dorm relatively quickly, sasha more than elated to see you even though you didn't have any food to bring back for her. and just as her text message had read, she'd already laid out one of your nicer dresses and a set of heels that didn't absolutely kill your feet by the end of the night by your bed, digging through the closet with a pile of discarded clothes growing on the floor.

"thanks sash," you giggled, "but don't you think it's a little to be getting ready? what time's the party?"

"connie told me seven-thirty, but jean said for us to come an hour later so we aren't the only ones there." she spoke over her shoulder, huffing as she tossed another piece of clothing aside, "but i wanna look good! i'm gonna hop in the shower as soon as i find the right thing to wear."

holding out your dress before you, you frowned. it was simple, black and made of a sheer, clingy material with lace accents decorating the low neckline, thin straps that bared the entirety of your shoulders and a modest amount of cleavage. it was one of your favorites, but the half-healed bruises scattered across the skin that would be exposed by it wasn't ideal.

"oh, don't forget to take a cheap coat that you don't mind forgetting. it's kinda chilly out, and i always end up losing track of mine during the night."

you let out a breath of relief, remembering that covering up a bit more would be weather appropriate. "yeah, i'll wear a long-sleeved undershirt and something light on top." perfect.

you waited until sasha had gathered her toiletries and scurried off to the nearest bathroom to change clothes, feeling your face heat up at the thought of zeke, the initial deep pigmentation having faded out over the last two days but still a very visible shade of faint red. you were fully dressed upon your roommate's return, earning an excited slew of compliments from her as she wrapped up her hair in a towel and settled down beside you to get started on her makeup.

you were actually grateful for how early she'd insisted on getting ready considering how long she'd agonized over her eyeliner, or how many times she'd applied and removed her lashes, complaining that "something was off" or "it just didn't look right". your suggested time of arrival came in no time at all, and by then sasha was more than eager to start rushing you despite the pace she'd been moving at earlier.

"hurry!! if niko brings food, i don't wanna get there by the time it's all gone!" she whined, jiggling the doorknob to your room impatiently, "for the thanksgiving party, he brought a charcuterie board with all these nice cheeses on it and it was so good, he looked so happy watching me eat it, it was so cute!"

you chuckled softly at her enthusiasm, shoving the last of your things into your clutch, zipping up your phone in the small inner pocket to insure that you didn't drop it and forget on the floor of someone's house this time. "i'm sure that even if we got there late, he'd set aside plenty of food for you."

the walk to the fraternity's designated house was made much shorter by sasha's insistence, practically dragging you along by the wrist the whole way at a near jog. you couldn't deny that you were feeling a bit nervous about the whole ordeal, knowing that you would have sasha, connie, and jean at the very least, but unaware as to what you would really do besides mill around. at the halloween party, you'd been able to play the variety of drinking games that had been set out for the guests with eren and his friends, but now you weren't entirely sure who to stick to for the majority of the night.

you didn't want to bother jean or connie after they'd gotten secured you an invite, and you were sure that sasha was expecting to be able to spend some time alone with the guy she'd came to see in the first place, meaning you'd have to spend a majority of the night alone, or the unfavorable option of mingling with unfamiliar people. but you realized that was a pill you'd have to swallow as you approached the steps of the house, nearly tripping up over your feet from the speed that sasha was hauling you along at, watching her furiously knock at the door.

there were people wandering about in the yard, some on their phones, most likely waiting for their own friends to arrive, and a smoky stench of something that definitely wasn't just tobacco wafting from the group of men camped out on the porch murmuring amongst each other. you could hear the volume of the music inside the house, almost able to feel it thrumming across the floor if you focused enough.

"thomas!" she exclaimed at the sight of a younger-looking blonde boy when the door opened, whose existence you honestly had no idea about until just now, grinning so broadly it made your own cheeks hurt for her, "jean invited us!"

"oh, come right in." he beamed right back, calling loudly over his shoulder, "yo, jean, your friends are here!"

the inside of the house looked just as you expected, already crowded to max capacity, jean having to maneuver past the throng of people gathered near the front to approach the two of you. "damn, i feel like i haven't seen you in forever." he did his best to speak over the music, wrapping you up in a friendly squeeze, "glad to see you could finally make it." he turned to sasha. "niko's already in the kitchen, by the way. asked when you were coming just a few minutes ago."

sasha's face lit up with glee, turning to you, silently asking for permission to go off on her own as if you could ever deny her and her overly-eager expression. "go get 'em, tiger." you smiled, giving her a few pats on her shoulder to send her off on her way, watching her disappear into the crowd in record time.

but before apprehension of her absence could set in, you felt jean's arm sling around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. "c'mon, you didn't think i was gonna ditch out and let you hang alone all night?" you giggled, turning your head up to look at him properly for the first time.

you'd first met jean in your statistics class, an unfortunate requirement for your major of choice, and initially bonded over your mutual connection through sasha. they'd been good friends in high school, and you'd just moved into a room for at least the next year with her, so you figured it'd do you well to have someone who could get you in her good graces in the event that you two didn't get along. but, thankfully, you two were just fine on your own, and sasha and jean became your first friends outside of the small group you and eren shared.

the only real conflict of interest between the two of you seemed to be your aforementioned boyfriend, and you couldn't really be upset at him for that. eren could be difficult to get along with even at the best of times, he wasn't a terrible person—at least before he'd cheated—but he wasn't exactly the most friendly either.

"is this piercing new?" you asked, reaching up to brush your thumb over the small earring hugging the shell of jean's ear.

"yeah, got it for new year's. pretty hot, right?" you snorted, earning a grin from him, "by the way, if you need to use the bathroom just tell me, the one on the main floor is fucking filthy. and also probably has no toilet paper."

"will do." you could feel the tension ebbing away in his company, at least when you ignored the annoyed glances other girls were sending your way when they noticed his arm around you, "so, what's on the menu for tonight?"

"well, we probably have every kind of alcohol known to man," he said, leaning down to speak into your ear as he began to guide you through the crowded first floor, "beer kegs are out back, junk food and all the inexpensive shit is in the kitchen." he stopped at the opening to a hallway, smile evident in his voice. "but i'm feeling pretty generous tonight, so if you want some of the good stuff we have stashed, just say the word."

"wow, such a gentleman. do you say that to every girl that comes in?" you playfully replied, thankfully far enough away from the music now that you didn't have to talk at nearly a shout.

"only the ones i like." he added a terribly over-exaggerated wink, earning another small laugh from you, "so, what'll it be? vodka, tequila, or triple sec?"

you blinked up at him. "that's it? when you said 'good stuff', i imagined a little more variety."

"beggars can't be choosers, sweetheart. and anyways we're a frat, not a restaurant, so either take your pick or go enjoy some cheap wine while you watch nikolo and sasha drool over each other."

you rolled your eyes, feigning anger in the face of his attitude, huffing out your answer. "surprise me then, frat boy."

"good answer." he said with a grin, "wait here."

he disappeared down the hall, leaving you to stare in silence at the wall before you and listen to the barely muffled sounds of the party going on just a few meters away. you opened up your clutch to fish out your phone, opening it to find your text conversation still open, catching a glimpse of connie's name. you felt a little guilty that you'd almost forgotten about his expected presence, seeing as he had messaged you and you hadn't heard anything from sasha or jean yet. you decided to shoot him a quick text letting him know that you and sasha had arrived, not surprised when he didn't respond as quickly as he usually did, knowing that he was already wrapped up in getting high out of his mind somewhere here or doing so elsewhere.

you opted to kill time tapping through your feed, making it a point to quickly scroll past any posts with armin's handle attached to them. the thought of eren having fun halfway across the world was both pleasant and disheartening at the same time. you felt stupid for still clinging on to the second thoughts about ending things the second he got back. sure, all the dots connected suspiciously well to create a picture that led to the clear conclusion of cheating, but eren wasn't good at hiding things. you remembered the time in your junior year when he'd barely been able to keep your surprise party that your friends had organized you a secret before one of them slipped up about it and exonerated him from blame, and you couldn't help but ask yourself if he was really capable of hiding such a terrible deed when he couldn't even conceal the harmless types of secrets from you.

the more confrontational part of you said that that was ages ago, that both you and him had changed so much since your time in high school, and maybe one of those changes was what made him put so much distance between the two of you these last months rather than hang around you and risk airing out his dirty laundry. you knew you should be angry with him, you would be more than right to be angry with him, but you force yourself to stop clinging to the simpler times, the days when he'd look at you like you'd put the stars in the sky and said all he ever wanted to do was be around you. you couldn't believe how much had changed in so little time.

"ta-da!" jean's voice interrupted your self-pity, a tall plastic cup suddenly occupying your vision, "long island iced tea for the lady. with a straw."

"christ, jean, are you trying to kill me?" you guffawed, taking the cup from him anyways, "my first real party in months and this is what you start me off with?"

"at least give it a try! after i took all that time to make it for you.." he furrowed his brows at you, only relaxing after you took a tentative sip. it was surprisingly not as strong as you thought it would be, a little on the sweeter side, but it served as a good distraction for the burn of five different alcohols sliding down your throat. "pretty good, isn't it?"

"meh. five out of ten." you snarked, giggling around the straw between your lips.

"typical," he lamented, clutching his hands over his heart, "all you and sasha ever do is use me."

"don't lie to yourself, jean. you love us."

you didn't know if it was the dim lighting casting a shadow over his face, but you could swear that you saw his cheeks flush at your assertion. "anyways.. speaking of love, you still dating that asshole? eric?"

"eren." you corrected, laughing at the error, "and, well, it's complicated."

"complicated? then i'm assuming he fucked up big time, considering he's not even here with you this time around."

you took a long sip of your drink, fiddling with the bendy part of your straw, the thought of his infidelity weighing heavily on your heart. "well he'd probably be here if he wasn't out of town, he's been planning to take his trip for a while now.."

jean shot you a displeased look. "i seriously don't know how you put up with that guy, you're selling yourself short honestly. planning on breaking up with him anytime soon?"

you cast your gaze to the floor, thankful that the warmth of the alcohol in your stomach was helping to ease the cool hollowness settling deep into your chest. "oh hush. you don't even know the whole story, jean."

"well i know enough. if you're in the market for any new guys, i'll scout out someone nice for you." you scoffed at his offer, but didn't outright deny it either, unable to help smiling along with him when he smirked and nodded over to the party in the other room, "now, come play me in beer pong, then you'll really have something to complain about."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

zeke could confidently say that his night had been utterly unremarkable.

another quiet day spent working at the library, where he'd actually glanced at the door more times than he was willing to admit with the hope that it would be you walking in. he'd actually been quite tempted to message you, to ask what you were doing, if you had anywhere between two and three so that maybe he could see you, but he'd ultimately decided against it. he couldn't quite figure out the exact cause of his newly-found infatuation with you, but the rationality of it didn't concern him as much as it probably should've, he was simply pleased to relive the very recent memories of your encounters together and anticipate your next meeting—at least until his younger brother returned.

eren had attempted to goad a reaction out of him with an assortment of unsavory texts calling him just about every name in the book, a constant stream of questions asking why he did it, or what he'd done to deserve such a thing, and even a few desperate pleas begging him to say that it wasn't really you. of course, he'd ignored all of them, and he wondered if eren was trying to contact you as well, knowing that you wouldn't be able to see the messages even if that was the case, though still curious nonetheless.

but for the moment, he was lounging at his usual downtown bar, seated in a booth beside reiner and across from porco at their rescheduled night out, since both marcel and porco were unable to make it yesterday, the latter sulking after his noisy attempt to flag down the waitress ended in failure.

"is marcel actually gonna make it tonight?" reiner asked, plucking a stick of celery from the appetizer platter in the middle of the table.

"no clue." porco replied, sipping his mojito, "said he got caught up at work again, so either the let down text is gonna come any minute now, or he's gonna show up for an hour and then disappear."

zeke chuckled. "post-marriage life sure is tough, i guess."

"you can say that again. he's always calling me, freaking about the idea of kids and his mortgage and stuff that i didn't even think about until he complained about it, scary shit."

"you say that like you're not two years away from being his age."

porco began what was sure to be one of his smart-ass replies, but the waitress had finally approached their booth, hiding her annoyance with his friend with a forced smile as she took the orders for their entrées. zeke pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans when he felt it buzz, feeling the slightest hint of disappointment by the fact that it wasn't you.

"who is it? your new girlfriend?" reiner grumbled, smirking when porco shot up in his seat.

"girlfriend?!" he exclaimed far too loudly.

"yup. zeke didn't tell you he's dating a high-schooler?"

so much for "your business", zeke thought to himself. "oh, fuck off. she's in college." he frowned at his roommate, only met with another tired expression of disappointment.

"just barely." reiner turned back to the man across the table, "it's one of his brother's ex-girlfriends too."

porco stared at him incredulously, eyes wide and judgmental, falling back against the cushion of the seat with a low whistle. "shit zeke.. that's kinda fucked up, don't you think?" he seemed uncomfortable by the unexpected revelation, "you're almost thirty and you're screwing around with someone who's probably not even twenty? is this an afraid-of-getting-old thing? mid-life crisis??"

"she's an adult, she can make her own choices." zeke didn't appreciate the sudden scrutiny, finishing off his old fashioned in the hopes that the bourbon would wash away the self-conscious feeling settling unpleasantly in his gut, "not my fault that her choice happens to be wanting to be around me rather than the guys her age."

"what ever happened to you and pieck? she's hot—"

"and actually over the legal drinking age."

both porco and zeke pointedly ignored reiner's interaction as the former continued. "—i thought it was working out between you two.. what happened?"

zeke shrugged. "just wasn't the right fit for me. but you liked her, didn't you? before we had our thing." he looked up at his friend, forcing a casual grin, "maybe you could give that shot now."

he felt a bit more at ease seeing porco's ears and cheeks flush red, now fiddling with the lime garnish on the rim of his glass. "we still talk here and there.. i don't really know much about what she's up to these days."

before he could answer with more words of encouragement that detracted from the previous, morally-incriminating topic, his phone began to vibrate, and he felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of your name on the screen. "sorry, gotta take this."

he tugged on his jacket and slid out of the booth, ignoring reiner's chastising glance and porco's bewildered look, passing the waitress who was now carrying a platter with their food and refills on his way out. the cool night breeze was refreshing in comparison to the awkward, almost cramped atmosphere that had developed over their discussion, his breath coming is foggy puffs in the chilled, january air as he pressed the answer button. immediately upon raising the phone to his ear, he was met with a blurred assortment of background noise, able to discern the muffled sound of music and the sound of footsteps outside of whatever room you were in.

"hello?"

"oh, zeke, you answered!!" he could hear in your voice that you were clearly intoxicated, much more than you had been when you were at his house, words stringing together and ending syllables unnecessarily drawn out.

he felt uncharacteristically worried at the realization that you were at a party, one that sounded quite large and crowded, most likely crawling with unsavory individuals that he knew prowled around those sorts of events when he himself was in college. "are you alright? where are you right now? do you need me to pick you up?"

zeke was already digging around in his coat pocket to check if he had his keys, more than prepared to take off without his meal or saying goodbye to his friends inside. "'m at a party on campus, 's okay. in the bathroom. just thinking."

zeke didn't feel eased at all at the sound of loud knocking coming from somewhere, hearing you becoming distant for a moment as you presumably pulled the phone away from your ear to call out that the bathroom was occupied. there was shuffling on the other line, then silence for a short moment. "can i ask you something?"

zeke frowned. the idea of not being able to know who was monitoring you in this state wasn't sitting well with him. "go ahead."

"but don't call me stupid, ok? i already know it's a stupid question, but i still wanna ask it."

"there's no such thing as stupid questions." he assured you, ignoring the buzz of a text notification, most likely porco or reiner telling him to come back in before the burger he ordered got cold.

"do i really have to break up with eren?"

zeke felt something odd flicker in his chest, that unfamiliar feeling he'd felt when he caught you staring at you and his brother's one-sided chat logs, but yet the affirmative answer he thought he would be able to give with no problem sat on the tip of his tongue, undelivered. he thought back to that face reiner had made when he told him who you were, and porco's hesitant words trying to rationalize his actions but ultimately failing to do so.

zeke didn't understand why he felt so conflicted all of a sudden. this was meant to be a simple ordeal, one where he got what he needed to teach eren a lesson and moved on with his life. but now here he was, concerned about your whereabouts, focusing hard enough on your muddled words that he managed to catch the wobble in your voice that betrayed your own state of emotional unrest. he realized a moment too late that he hadn't said anything, hearing a small sniffle on your end before we began speaking.

"god, i can't believe i said that out loud, you must really think i'm dumb r'now, but.. i just can't let go of what we had." he was sure that you were crying now. "i keep thinking about what you said, an' you're right. he's been an ass to me, he practically ignored me for, like, three months, probably fuckin' cheated on me with his hot best friend, so i can't understand why i just wanna keep trying to fix things... and its so confusing 'cause everyone just keeps telling me to enjoy myself an' have fun, but i have no idea what i even want anymore, and i don't even know what we are right now and i can't fuckin' believe i cheated on my boyfriend with his fuckin' older brother and i don't know what i'd ever do if he found out."

by the end of it, you were letting out small, hiccuped sobs, breath fast and uneven just as it had been the night he'd invited you over. he honestly didn't know what to say, listening to you cry, staring at the steam of his breath as it dissipated out into the night. you were a good person, someone who was undeserving of such treatment from either him or eren, but it was simply an unfortunate coincidence that you had been caught in the fray.

he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, preparing to deliver an affirmation similar to the one he'd given you a few days ago when you first laid all your relationship troubles out on the table, but there was a rapid, more insistent knocking at the bathroom door on your end. he could hear a female voice calling out your name, and the jiggling of the door knob.

"hold on," you paused, sniffling, "it's my roommate."

you steadied yourself enough to say that, tossing the phone somewhere before he heard the sound of the door unlocking. "there you are!! are you seriously wasted already? it's only, like, eleven?! why are you crying???" your roommate sounded tipsy, but nowhere near as intoxicated as you currently were, which eased zeke's initial worry, "jean! can you c'mere for a sec! wait, were you calling someone?"

there was a brief pause, and zeke could practically see your tiny nod and teary eyes in his head, then heels clicking over tile and the sound of the phone being lifted, followed by a hurried, "hey, this is her roommate! she's fine, gotta go!"

then silence, just him and the faint noise coming from inside the bar behind him. he didn't know what to think. from the sounds of it, it seemed like your friends were taking care of you for the time being, friends who names he vaguely remembered you speaking of when you'd been detailing your time at the halloween party—people that were unfamiliar to him, people he wasn't sure that he could trust. and a small part of him, a tiny voice at the back of his head, scoffed at his flimsy mask of worry that barely hid the true emotion, his possessive nature, driving his desire to go pick you up and bring you back to the apartment to take care of so you'd have to be there with him another morning with your thankful gazes and blunt, half-awake words.

he knew he was in no place to begin laying judgement at these unknown people in your life considering what he'd done, but it was an innate sort of feeling, the thought that always clouded his mind when he laid eyes on people that were younger than him, that he knew more than them, that somehow he would always be above them in an invisible hierarchy. that same feeling that he felt when he found himself looking down at you.

"zeke?" a warm, friendly voice broke him out of his thoughts, his eyes turning up from the ground to find a tired-looking marcel standing before him, "what are you doing out here by yourself?"

"smoke break." the lie slipped between his lips before he even thought of the fact that there was no cigarette between his fingers, no scent of smoke in the air or clinging to his clothes, "glad you could make it, everyone's inside. pretty sure porco already ordered you something."

but instead of immediately heading inside for zeke to come after him, marcel stood for a moment, lips drawing back and eyebrows knitting into a concerned expression. "is everything okay?"

zeke thought for a moment, giving a non-committal shrug in response.

"still having family troubles?"

despite having been quite fixated on his negative feelings revolving his own younger brother for the last few days, zeke had almost pushed out a majority of the sordid details of the entire situation out of his head, which now seemed to all flood back with such a short, simple question.

"you could say that." zeke scratched the back of his neck, now wishing he'd actually had a cigarette to take his mind off of all these turbulent thoughts, "all the arguing and shit subsided already, but..."

"anything from your dad?" marcel's voice was almost tentative asking that, frowning when zeke said nothing, "sorry.. didn't mean to be insensitive about it."

"it's not insensitive. just," he swallowed, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching out to push open the bar door, a silent, less embarrassing way to signal that he no longer wanted to talk about it anymore, "just kind of fresh. that's all."

they both stood in silence for a moment, marcel's eyes wandering his face, features expressing a clear concern, but thankfully, he didn't push the issue any further, simply following him inside like zeke wished he would've done minutes earlier to save him the trouble, proceeding to the booth housing their friends. the conversation didn't wander back to the topic of him and his morally dubious relations nor his current familial situation, much to his relief, making it much easier for him to just allow the conversation to flow around him, finding himself not having much of an appetite or desire to speak much with so much on his mind.

for a moment, zeke wondered to himself if this was a punishment from the universe, feeling so downtrodden on what was usually one of his more enjoyable nights in the week. not to say that they were always amazing to be around, but spending time with porco, reiner, marcel, and sometimes bertholdt made up most of the meaningful social interactions he had, and to have lost out on it today of all days just seemed like some odd form of karmic justice as a result of him behaving so selfishly.

but he held out for the rest of the evening anyways, going through more drinks that he probably should've, finding easier to tune in to porco and reiner's usual bickering, marcel's attempts to quell them, the ambient sound of bustling waiters and clinking glasses and plates to bury down any thought of you or his family or what was to come at the end of the week, the consequences with much more magnitude in his life than an just an unpleasant night out.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ: *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:*·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:*

previous chapter⥽

#zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager x you #snk zeke #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x reader smut #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x reader smut #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #m.nsfw

113 notes · View notes

ot7always · 4 years ago

Text

Let Go

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Established relationship/College!AU, smut, fluff

Warnings: sub!Seokjin, soft dom!Reader, copious amounts of teasing, oral (m receiving), light bondage, fingering, use of a cock ring, a bit of size kink, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of marking, creampie, overstimulation

Rating: 18+

Summary: Your boyfriend spent so much energy taking care of others. Wasn’t it time for someone to take care of him?

A/N: This fic was commissioned by the lovely @luxekook for the ChangesWithLuv project hosted by @ficswithluv in support of the Black Lives Matter movement! I hope it lives up to your expectations!

Boisterous laughter rang out through your shared apartment. With exams done and out of the way, Seokjin had invited your friends over to celebrate. While you loved them – you really did – they were loud. You’d be afraid to get a noise complaint from a grumpy old man if you didn’t know that your apartment complex was dominated by university students.

“How can you say I’m wrong, huh!? I’ll show you who’s wrong, you little punk-”

“Can you guys be normal for just one second?” Yoongi’s unamused voice called out from the opposite side of the room.

You snickered from your place at the kitchen counter as your boyfriend tackled Jungkook hard enough to shift the entire couch, Jimin squishing himself into the armrest so as not to interfere.

Yes, you loved these boys with your whole heart.

You continued mixing margaritas as you observed the group, chuckling as you heard Seokjin tell Taehyung that “it’s not a competition, but in a battle of faces I think I’d win.” You hadn’t been dating Seokjin long, but you have lived with him for years. The sense of balance he brought to your group was incredible. While at face value one might think he was just a huge goofball, he was so much more than that. He was dependable, observant. He knew when someone needed an ear just as much as he knew when they needed a laugh. It had to be tiring, always looking out for your friends like that. Sometimes you found yourself worrying whether he was happy too.

Finally finished making your pitchers of low-alcohol margaritas, you moved to join the boys in the living room. You’d made Seokjin promise nobody else was ever drinking heavily here again after the atrocity that was last year’s post-exam party. Sometimes you swore you could still smell the aftermath.

Plopping yourself onto Seokjin’s lap uninvited and ignoring the exaggerated oof in response, you started pouring out everyone’s drinks.

“You guys are sickeningly cute,” Hoseok commented from his place on the floor, eyes narrowing on Seokjin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his chin tucked over your shoulder.

“Isn’t he the cutest?” you cooed, finishing your task and raising your hands to sandwich Seokjin’s cheeks between your palms, squeezing hard enough for his lips to jut out.

“Ugh, I didn’t mean him,” he responded in mock disgust. But you only giggled, turning to face him and grinning once you took in his reddening ears. For someone who loved to (jokingly) toot his own horn to anyone who’d listen, he got shockingly embarrassed at compliments.

Deciding to spare him the teasing that would normally come from his reaction to you, you simply rested your back against his chest, closing your eyes to bask in his presence.

The night went by in a blur, friendships seemingly breaking and reforming over the course of the night. It was clear that Jungkook’s competitiveness carried over even to board games, the look in his eye far too serious for the occasion. It definitely caused no shortage of arguments. Your boyfriend was famous for picking fights with the youngest, but it was hard not to see the affection in his eyes even when he was chastising at a rapid-fire pace.

Once the boys had left for the night, thankfully slightly tipsy at maximum, you made your way back to the living room with Seokjin. Fortunately for the two of you, your friends were much less messy than they seemed, meaning you could put off cleaning until the next day without feeling any guilt.

When Seokjin settled onto the couch once again, you seated yourself in his lap, straddling him. Brushing back the dusty brown hair you’d helped him to achieve the previous week, you gave him a quick peck on the lips before leaning back.

“Can I say something?” you asked, hands reaching to interlace your fingers with his. You tried to quell your nerves at the idea of what you were about to suggest. When the 8 of you were all together, it felt more evident than ever that your boyfriend seemed to be on all the time – cracking jokes, making snarky comments. Sure, maybe it was partly his personality, but you’d love to see him let that go for once. And you had just the idea.

“You can always say something,” he responded sweetly, eyes focused on your own.

“Well...” you pondered your words. While you’d done your fair share of observing over the years, Seokjin’s “role” in your friend group always seemed to go unspoken. “We appreciate it, but I just wanted to say it’s not your responsibility to always be the funny friend, you know?”

His brows furrowed in response. “I don’t-”

“Hang on, let me finish. You’re an amazing friend and you know how to lighten the mood. But isn’t it exhausting? Don’t you want to be spoiled? To not have to think?” you punctuated your words by shifting your hips closer until you were seated right against his crotch.

He only stuttered in response, face and ears turning bright red at your words. “What are you asking me?” he stared, wide-eyed.

“You always put everyone else before yourself... won’t you relax and let me take care of you?” you bit your lip, grinding onto the growing bulge in his pants. Seokjin always took the reins in your sex life, and you always let him, losing yourself in his firm commands and rough treatment. But you really, truly wanted him to experience someone taking care of him for a change – you wanted him to be able to sit back and lose himself.

“What did you have in mind?” he breathed, pupils dilating as the movement of your hips against his only continued. You leaned forward to slot your lips over his, the kiss quickly deepening. You captured Seokjin’s muffled groan in your mouth as you pulled back slightly, pressing your teeth into his plush bottom lip.

“Bed,” you gasped, pulling away abruptly. Rising off him to begin your trek to Seokjin’s bedroom, you didn’t check to see if he was following. Your back to him, you quickly pulled your t-shirt over your head and dropped your shorts to the floor, leaving you clad in a matching navy-blue lace set. The hiss you heard from behind you was all the confirmation you needed to know that he was right on your trail.

Sitting yourself daintily on the end of Seokjin’s bed, you watched as he joined you. As his hand reached out toward your hair, you swiftly caught his wrist in your own hand. “No touching. Lay down,” you smirked, jerking your head toward the pillows. His eyes narrowed in response, but he obeyed your words, laying down on his back, head resting on his hands.

You moved to join him, fingers trailing slowly up his denim-clad thighs. “You’ll listen to me tonight, won’t you, Jinnie?” you blinked up at him, feigning the most innocent stare you could muster. You tried not to crack a smile when you saw him visibly gulp.

“I’ll listen to you, sweetheart,” he replied, desire clear on his face. At his words, you smiled sweetly at him, hands moving to unbutton his jeans.

“No touching. Just lay back and relax,” you instructed, undoing the zipper and tugging the jeans off his legs. You smirked at the sight of his cock straining against his underwear, the waistband pulling away from him his skin. He let out a hiss when you lightly dragged your pointer finger along the outline of his cock, your nail scratching lightly at him.

“Is this all for me?” you cooed, “So big...” You continued your slow ministrations for several minutes until Seokjin wouldn’t stop shifting his hips.

“Touch me,” he all but growled, hips grinding into the air in search of any friction at all.

“But I am.” You tilted your head at him, relishing in his frustrated sigh.

“Please,” he said quietly, the word sounding almost foreign in his mouth. If tonight went the way you intended, you were certain you would be hearing it a lot more.

Taking mercy on him, you tugged his underwear off, his cock springing up once his bottom half was made bare. You laid your head on his thigh, staring toward it wide-eyed, finger raising once again to trace patterns along the shaft.

“So pretty, isn’t it? You’re so big.” Sure, you were exaggerating your words and expression a bit to rile him up, but it was true. He was girthy, veins running up the underside, the head angry and red and begging to be touched.

You took him loosely into your grasp, pumping him slowly with barely enough pressure to be noticeable. When he bucked his hips up to seek more of anything, you brought your other hand to press down on his abdomen. He was more than strong enough to make the movement anyway, but you assumed he would listen to you as he said he would.

You moved to blow a warm stream of air at the head of his cock, and he twitched in your grasp at the sensation, a groan sounding out from above you. As you looked up to his face, you felt a rush of heat in your groin at his appearance, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting into his lower lip.

“Ask for what you want,” you crooned, continuing your languid movements. You had to remind yourself not to break composure at the heavy-lidded look he gave you, sweat starting to cause tendrils of hair to stick to his forehead.

“Suck me off,” he demanded, fingers digging into the pillow beneath his head.

“I see you don’t understand how this works.” Condescension coloured your tone as you cocked your head, eyes narrowing. “Why should I do anything if you’re mean to me?” you pouted, pulling your hands away from him.

It was when you simply stared at each other, neither speaking, that a thread of insecurity wrapped its way around your mind. Was he not enjoying himself? Should you give up? You wrung your hands together, feeling more and more like a fool with each passing moment.

As Seokjin noticed you getting more and more stuck in your head, your eyes unfocused, teeth gnawing at lower your lip, the guilt washed over him in waves. He wasn’t used to things like this, but it really didn’t hurt anyone to try it at least one time, especially when you were looking so happy and confident. For you, he would put his pride away for a couple hours.

“Hey,” he called out softly, smiling sweetly once your eyes met. “I’m sorry.” The look in his eyes was genuine, sincere. You returned a weak smile. “Touch me. Please.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, having been fully prepared to give up your stint. “Really?” Your heart warmed when he nodded encouragingly, relaxing fully back into the pillows.

You reached out to stroke him once again, his hips jumping up at the sudden contact. You slid your thumb up the head, smearing the precum weeping from the slit. When Seokjin tried thrusting his hips up once again, your hand returned to its place, holding him down.

“Ask for it,” you ordered, confidence returning to your voice at his visible desperation for more. You stroked lightly at the underside where the head met the shaft, taking pleasure in his quickening breaths.

“Give me your mouth, please,” he panted, abdomen and thighs tensing as he tried his best not to push his hips up anyway.

The drawn-out moan he let out when you licked a stripe up his cock from base to tip had you shivering. You continued to leave kitten licks up the shaft before wiggling your tongue at the slit, taking in the bitter taste of his precum. The tiny sighs and muffled groans that fell from his lips were music to your ears, one hand moving to cup his balls as you continued the tiny motions of your tongue.

“Please, inside,” he moaned, hand fisting in his own hair. The sight of him so wrecked and at your mercy caused a new gush in your panties, lust consuming you. At his words, you took him into your mouth without pause, sucking lightly at the head. Though it lasted only seconds before you stopped, the sensation of a hand on your head giving you pause.

Pulling off his cock with a pop, you ignored the whine of protest as you roughly shoved the hand off you. “Didn’t I say no touching?” you snapped, mustering the most intimidating expression you could.

He sighed, returning his hold to the pillow beneath him rather than on you. “Sorry, can’t help it,” he mumbled.

When you were certain he’d settled back comfortably, you took him into your mouth once again, eyes closing as you sucked lightly. You let your tongue run along the underside as you closed your lips around the head, hand raising to wrap around the base.

Encouraged by Seokjin’s more and more frequent moans, you took him deeper, cheeks hollowing as you moved your hand from his shaft to his balls. You moaned around him as he arched his back with a loud moan, head tipping back in pleasure. You wished you could capture him like this, head thrown back, mouth agape, a stream of shameless noises and heavy pants escaping him.

Feeling especially generous, you relaxed your throat, taking his sizeable length deeper for just a moment before popping back up to suckle the head.

“Fuck,” he choked out, thighs tensing. After being wound up so long, you were sure he was close. When you took him deep, swallowing around his length, his hand returned to your head, hips grinding up into your mouth.

Pulling up off him, you let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “What did I say about touching?” You smirked as the hand drew back slowly before dropping down onto the mattress. “Do I need to tie you up?” you asked, eyeing his form.

It wasn’t a rhetorical question – you stared at him, waiting for a response. You needed to know how far he was willing to take this.

“Maybe you should,” he replied, want clear in his expression. Interesting.

He let out a groan when you seated your clothed heat right over his cock, your hands reaching up to quickly unbutton his shirt. After getting him out of it, you raised his hands up to the headboard, using his shirt as a makeshift rope. Looping the material messily around his hands, you eventually tied a knot that looked something like what you’d intended.

Backing away, you winced slightly as you took in the jumble of fabric before you. Maybe you didn’t think this through – if you needed to get him out of there quickly, you doubted you could do so without the scissors on the nightstand. Well, hopefully he wasn’t too attached to that shirt.

“Pull and tell me how it feels,” you said firmly, imitating the words Seokjin had told you on the occasions you’d been in his place. He did as you said, the binds holding up much better than you’d expected.

“Good.”

“And if you want me to stop?”

“Red.”

You beamed at him, scooting off his lap, instead spreading his legs so you could seat yourself between them.

“You haven’t been very good for me,” you pouted, reaching behind you to unhook your bra. “So you’re gonna sit right there and watch me touch myself.”

His protests were immediate, but you ignored his indignant cries as you slowly shimmied out of your panties, the fabric soaked with your arousal. Leaning back on your elbows and spreading your legs obscenely wide, you reached down to part your lips, grinning at the deep groan he gave at the sight.

Smearing your wetness messily through your folds, you moaned at the first real touch of the night, having neglected yourself to focus on teasing the man in front of you. “So wet Jinnie, I think I could sit on that fat cock right now.”

When you looked up to observe him, you were displeased to see his head tipped back, vision seemingly focused on the ceiling above. “Look at me,” you barked, gaze sharp as you watched his eyes snap to you.

Happy to receive his attention once again, you moaned as you inserted your index and middle finger inside, other hand spreading your folds wide. Your sopping hole on full display, you thrusted lightly, scissoring your fingers inside you. Part of you mourned that they weren’t Seokjin’s fingers – fingers that could fill you up so much better than your own. But the tortured look on his face was worth it, his pained expression having you clench hard around your digits.

The sensation wasn’t enough. You slipped in a third finger, groaning at the stretch. “I wish they were yours, Jinnie,” you panted, grinding yourself onto your fingers, the moan you gave less exaggerated than you’d like to admit. There was something about the sight of your boyfriend tied up, horny and helpless, that sent endless waves of arousal through your body. You felt powerful, confident.

After several minutes, it no longer felt satisfying. You needed more – you needed him. You pulled your slick fingers from your walls, holding them up for him to see. Licking slowly up each individual finger to clean them, you made eye contact with Seokjin before you. You made a show of it, grinning as you heard the headboard knock against the wall with his attempts to move, his eyes glazed over with desire. As you eyed Seokjin’s cock before you, big and hard and neglected, you were suddenly reminded of something.

Boy, was he in for an interesting night.

Crawling your way over Seokjin’s body, you stretched to be able to reach into the nightstand drawer, fingers closing over something that the two of you had bought, washed, and never used.

“What do you say we try this today?” you grinned, brandishing the silicone cock ring in your hand. He blinked in surprise – he'd probably forgotten about its existence, the toy having sat in its drawer for weeks without use. After a moment of pause, he nodded his assent.

You fiddled with the ring, stretching it in your hands. You’d never used one of these before, but you were pretty sure it was supposed to go on before his cock was already rock hard, head swollen. You’d have to be careful not to hurt him.

Taking the bottle of lube from the same drawer, you squirted a generous amount onto the toy, spreading it with your fingers before sitting in front of Seokjin.

“Tell me right away if it hurts, okay?”

“Okay.”

Stretching the ring with your fingers, you brought it down his length until it was snug at the base. You breathed out a laugh when he let out a loud groan at your touch, his cock having been abandoned for so long.

“How does it feel?” you asked, sitting back to admire your handiwork. The sight of him was absolutely enticing. His chest rose and fell quickly with his breaths, his abdomen flexing and relaxing as he searched for any friction at all in the area he needed it most.

“Good,” he hummed, cock twitching. Eager to finally get him inside you, you straddled him, seating your wet folds on his shaft. The moans you both let out at the contact were shamelessly loud, your heat grinding onto his shaft. You let out a sharp cry when you leaned forward to drag your clit along his cock, the much-needed friction such a relief.

Satisfied that he was thoroughly coated with your arousal, you rose up, hand moving to position him at your entrance. Unwilling to tease both of you any longer, you lowered yourself onto him slowly, a small whimper escaping as he entered you. Despite fingering yourself before this, the stretch felt enormous, your walls struggling to take him in.

A strangled groan sounded out from Seokjin, the headboard hitting the wall once again as he tried his hardest to give you the time you needed to adjust.

“You feel so big,” you whimpered, rocking your hips back and forth as you slowly eased him deeper and deeper.

“You take it so well,” he moaned, knuckles white as he fisted his fingers into the fabric holding his hands in place. His praise and laboured breathing had a wave of arousal flowing through you, your juices painting his length with a translucent sheen.

You whined loudly as he bottomed out inside you, reaching to stabilize yourself against his abdomen. The stretch was almost too overwhelming, pants falling from your lips, your head tipping back at the onslaught of pleasure. Seokjin was faring no better, his back arching, face flushed. The feeling of your walls squeezing mercilessly around him after spending so long untouched, the sight of you falling apart on his cock all by yourself...

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding his hips upward into you. His movement caused the ring at the base to rub against your clit, and you cried out, nails digging into the firm muscle under your fingers.

When the burn of the stretch transformed into flames of pleasure, you lifted yourself a couple of inches before slamming yourself back down, the shallow thrust sending shivers up your spine. You continued the motion, punctuating every few thrusts with a slow grind against him, the unusual sensation of the cock ring rubbing against you making you moan out every time.

Seokjin’s mouth remained agape, breathy moans escaping freely as you bounced on top of him. Needing to feel him against you, you shifted to lay your upper body across his, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. The new angle meant friction against your clit with every thrust, and you muffled your moans by biting at the soft skin of Seokjin’s neck, sucking bruises into the unmarked flesh.

It felt almost bizarre to have him inside you without his arms around you, without his firm grip on your ass, without him driving into you relentlessly. But the tradeoff, the sight of him losing himself to pleasure beneath you, unabashed in his moans and cries – you loved seeing him like that. You loved being the reason for it.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted, hips raising to meet your every thrust. His movements were sloppy, though you couldn’t blame him. After being wound up so long, he had to feel ready to burst.

“Jinnie,” you whimpered, speeding up your rhythm, moans caught in your throat at the sensation of being so full, so stretched, the friction against your walls divine. The constant pressure against your clit would have had you collapsing if you weren’t already sprawled across your boyfriend’s body.

“I’m gonna cum, shit,” Seokjin whined, hips moving against yours without rhythm, his heavy pants sounding out near your ear, making you shiver.

“Cum then,” you replied, doing your best to move faster to send him over the edge.

Within seconds he was spilling into you with a roar, his cock throbbing inside you, warm spurts decorating your walls. The sensation had you clenching around him, grinding your clit roughly against the ring at the base of his cock. When he was fully spent and you didn’t stop your motions around him, his whines were immediate.

Courtesy of the ring, his cock was still half-hard inside you, and you used that to your advantage. Determined to maybe wreck your boyfriend before you reached your end, you bounced on him, sliding only an inch or two off before coming back down.

Returning to an upright position, you glanced down at where your bodies met, the obscene sight making you whimper, your walls fluttering around Seokjin’s cock. His cum was leaking out of you, what you could see of his cock when you pulled off decorated with white. It was a mess, but fuck, if it wasn’t one of the most erotic things you’d ever seen.

You eyed Seokjin as you heard a strangled groan. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard you were afraid he would draw blood.

“It’s-” he cut himself off with a choked-out moan, utterly breathless. “It’s so – fuck – so good.”

His whines were gradually increasing in volume with your continued thrusts, and he looked almost as if he was about to cry. Watching him only sent you closer and closer to hurtling off the edge, the sight of your usually-dominant boyfriend below you, whimpering and needy, lighting a barely-contained fire within you.

You were so, so very close, but you just needed that final push. Reaching down, you rubbed frantically at your clit, the added stimulation having you nearly shouting. The increased assault of pleasure sent you careening off the edge, moans caught in your throat as you saw white. You had to catch yourself on Seokjin’s chest as you fell forward, overwhelmed with pleasure, your walls squeezing around him like a vise.

Seokjin let out a low cry, the feeling of you clenched so hard around him making him see stars. The sound of the headboard slamming against the wall was paired with the sensation of his cock twitching and spasming inside you, a much weaker stream of cum being released into you.

You took a moment to sprawl yourself unceremoniously across his upper body, head laid across the firm muscles of his chest. The room was silent except for the heavy pants coming from both of you, your mind still reeling your release. You both hissed when you lifted your hips from him, his spent cock releasing from you along with your mixed fluids.

After taking a minute to collect yourself, you rushed upright as you recalled the state your boyfriend was in.

“I’m so sorry, let me untie you,” you said, cursing yourself for not remembering sooner.

“’s fine,” he slurred, the utter exhaustion clear on him – the slow blink of his eyes, the limpness of his body. Despite your previous activities, he looked almost innocent like this. His peaceful expression, the pout of his lips, the love in his gaze – it warmed your heart.

You took a moment to softly brush the sweaty strands of his hair away from his face before reaching up to untie the mess of cotton around his wrists. You were perhaps too excited when you originally tied this, because you honestly could not tell how this contraption came into being.

Several minutes, curse words, and apologies later, he was free, your fingers tenderly rubbing over the faint red marks left on his wrists.

“How does it feel?” you inquired softly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed that hard in my life.”

You burst out laughing at his words, warmth and joy spreading through you. “I meant your wrists,” you grinned down at him.

“I’m fine. Come hug me,” he pouted, tugging lightly on your arm to bring you back down to him. You conceded without hesitation – you couldn’t deny him anything when the look on his face was so sweet.

Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, you let your body mould to his. The feeling of his arms settling around you for the first time in what seemed like forever brought a tranquil smile to your face, and you relished in his warmth.

Yes, you were both sweaty. Yes, you should probably clean the mess between your legs. Yes, you could still feel the silicone of the ring pressed against your leg, and you most definitely needed to help Seokjin clean up.

But right now?

Right now, this was perfect.

#changeswithluv #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork #magicshopnet #seokjin x reader #bts smut #bts fic #seokjin fluff #seokjin smut #bts fluff #bts college au #bts established relationship au

775 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

Note

So... Fedyor's and Ivan's first intimate night together sounded like it went off to a good start 👀🙄👀 (how to ask for deleted scene of that without asking for deleted scene)

Anonymous asked: so what you’re saying is, is that Fedyor was the first person Ivan slept with both consensually and where there was actually like a “yea i can’t wait to see you again” on both ends

yea no...i have NO feelings that make me feel soft about that AT ALL. nope. not at all.

thank you again for all your writing, i really look forward to everything you post!

Anonymous asked: Your highness, many praises for "the better half of me" , specially chapter 3. Humbly requesting another Fivan Smut.

You are all thirsty and demanding little busybodies and I salute that.

Have an extra-special Fivan First Time in Phantomverse Full Length Smut Chapter. It follows immediately on from chapter 1 of a sky full of stars, and is also available on AO3 for your sexy reading pleasure. Please note that this chapter is very definitely rated E, and can be found below the cut.

The bedroom door has barely closed behind them by the time they are kissing again, in deep, gasping gulps as if they cannot possibly bring themselves to stop. Fedyor grips Ivan’s shirt in both fists, pulling his head down and biting at his mouth, as Ivan utters a growly little chuckle deep in his throat that drives Fedyor even more insane. He has all kinds of plans about how he’s going to make the bastard suffer for the excruciating little pantomime he just put him through, but right now, he’s still too drunk on the euphoria of actually getting to do it. Ivan kisses like he punches (or at least so Fedyor presumes, since he’s never actually seen him do it): hard, straight, deep, and utterly without mercy, and Fedyor is already addicted to it. He steps on Ivan’s feet, then swings him around toward the bed and gives him a shove, and Ivan laughs out loud as he stumbles backward and sits down with a jerk. He looks startled but pleased at this evidence of ferocity. “Oh, Fedya, you are mad, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Fedyor informs him, hopping alternately on each foot as he yanks his sock off the other. “Because you are a dick.”

“But that seems to be something you’re into, huh?” Ivan says, with a dark, alluring playfulness that does absolutely nothing to get any of Fedyor’s wayward blood back into his head. He crooks a finger. “Come here. I thought you were swearing to punish me.”

“Oh, I am.” Fedyor strides to the bed, still fuming, and hops up onto Ivan’s lap, straddling him and bracing his knees on either side of Ivan’s hips. Then he reaches down and takes Ivan’s face in both hands, tipping it back and lowering his opened mouth to Ivan’s mouth beneath him, hot and hungry and soft and hard and relentlessly insistent all at once. Fedyor grinds his hips against Ivan’s, making both of them groan, until something occurs to him, and he pulls back. “Just to be clear. We’ve recently had some, um, communication issues. We need to be very certain that we both know what we’re intending here. I’m asking you to have sex with me. Is that also what you are doing?”

Ivan looks at him as if he’s either very dim or very adorable (possibly both). “No, why do you think that?” he says, giving Fedyor a brief heart attack. Then he adds, still utterly straight-faced, “After all, I often passionately kiss people that I am not at all intending to sleep with. Especially on their bed.”

“Oh my God.” Fedyor lets go of Ivan’s face and punches him in both shoulders. “I cannot believe I like you so much. You are the worst person.”

“Mmm?” Ivan turns his face up, his arms slipping around Fedyor’s waist and pulling him closer, their lips meeting and musing, as Fedyor’s hands stray to his back and slide up beneath his shirt. His fingers explore the hard, sculpted muscles of Ivan’s torso, their faces pressed together, their tongues slipping into the other’s mouth, as Fedyor scoots up on Ivan’s lap and Ivan puts one hand under his ass and hitches him still closer. When they break apart for air, Ivan murmurs, “I would also very much like to have sex with you now, Fedya.”

“Was that so hard?” Fedyor asks, with a bit of a huff. “You utter troll.”

Ivan quirks an eyebrow devilishly, but doesn’t deny it. Then he pushes Fedyor off his lap, provoking a little whine of deprivation on Fedyor’s part, and stands up. As Fedyor stares at him in bemusement, since this is not normally the next action performed by someone who has just declared their carnal intentions to you, Ivan unbuttons his shirt, pulls it off, and folds it neatly before putting it on the chair. He then does the same with his undershirt, and even though the scenery is spectacular, Fedyor has to ask, “What are you doing?”

“I am taking off my clothes,” Ivan says, as if Fedyor might have recently gone blind in addition to his other deficiencies. “I believe that is often a necessary prelude to having sex.”

“Yes, but – ” Fedyor feels once more blindsided, which might be a recurring theme when it comes to Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. “Don’t you think we should – I don’t know – slow down and enjoy it? Let me do it? Or – something?”

He isn’t sure if Ivan’s version of sex involves nothing more than stripping off, pumping away, and then falling asleep immediately afterward, but he hopes not. Either way, even if they are now properly using their words, there is still no guarantee that they are actually communicating. Ivan unbuckles his belt, unzipping his jeans, and Fedyor springs off the bed, catching and holding them at his hips as he’s about to pull them down. “It’s not that I don’t want you to do that,” he says. “I very much do. I just – do you have another appointment tonight or something? There’s no rush.”

Ivan looks down his long nose at him, eyes crinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand. You said that you wanted us to have sex, didn’t you?”

“I do, I really do. Ugh.” Fedyor swallows hard, which doesn’t make his throat any less dry. “It’s just, haven’t you ever heard of foreplay?”

He uses the English word, because saying something like эротическое стимулирование (roughly “erotic stimulation”) is about as sexy as a colonoscopy. Then he wonders if perhaps Ivan hasn’t heard of it at all, but that doesn’t seem likely. He reaches out and puts his hands over Ivan’s, as Ivan himself is still looking supremely baffled. “It’s okay,” he says. “I want this. I want you. I just – you surprised me, that’s all.”

“You should be more direct, Fedyor Mikhailovich,” Ivan informs him, in a bossy voice that really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. “So explain what you want, if it isn’t this.”

“This is my fault?” Fedyor pokes Ivan in the ribs (partly because his abs are something to behold, Fedyor can’t keep his hands off, and he dearly desires Ivan to suffer at least twice as much as he wanted him to suffer before, which is saying something). “I wasn’t sure if we were dating for two whole months, now you come in and – and – ”

He splutters into impotent silence, since he doesn’t know why he’s arguing with Ivan when he really wants to be kissing Ivan, and when obviously nothing has happened that he actually objects to. He shakes his head, swears to himself, and says, “Okay. If you’re in the mood to lay down clear parameters, what do you – what do you want? What are you expecting? Hand job, or blow job, or you know, uh, full sex? Or something else? I have condoms and lube, I’ve done most of the usual stuff before, but nothing too insanely kinky. Not that that’s bad, if you’re into that. I could be up for experimenting. Just tell me what you’re expecting from me, what gets you off. I want this to be good for you.”

Ivan looks at him with the expression of a man who has been handed the wine list at a gourmet restaurant and asked to select just one. When he doesn’t answer, Fedyor finally begins to get a sense of what might be going on. Ivan might have had sex before, as evidenced by his no-nonsense undressing, but making love – that doesn’t even appear to be part of his vocabulary. There’s an uncomfortably long pause, as Fedyor’s words hang in the air. Then he asks, his voice very soft, “Do you even know what you like?”

Ivan starts to answer, then stops. He looks away, almost as if he’s ashamed, and his Adam’s apple moves up and down as he swallows. Then he makes an odd harrumphing noise, as if he’s trying hard to sound like his normal gruff self. “I am not a virgin, Fedya.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Fedyor takes a step closer, running one finger along Ivan’s broad shoulder, the strong arch of his collarbone, the heavy muscle of his upper arms, the fine, rough hair of his forearm, his big hands and long, capable-looking fingers. Ivan closes his eyes, a restrained shudder flowing through him, as if he is holding his breath. Fedyor lifts Ivan’s hand to his mouth, turning it up and kissing the calluses on his palm. Still more softly, he says, “It’s okay, Vanya. You can tell me anything.”

“I don’t – ” Ivan harrumphs again. “Fine. You know more about this than I do. I have not – before, with the others that I have been with, it is…” He shrugs defensively. “Look. I am not bad at it. In fact, I am quite good. I can show you, if you don’t believe me?”

He makes a grab for Fedyor’s belt, since Fedyor himself is still fully clothed, but he steps back and gently pushes Ivan’s hands down. “Hold on,” he says. “I did not ask you to sleep with me because that was all I cared about, only getting myself off. We don’t have to do this. We can just cuddle, or – or watch Die Hard 2, or something else. You know that, right? I still want to see you again even if we don’t sleep together right this very instant. I also do want to sleep with you, but if you’re not comfortable – ”

“No, it’s…” Ivan is clearly struggling to articulate a concept that he might not have ever processed consciously. “No, it’s not that. I want you. I want to do this. I want to make it good for you. I promise, I absolutely do not want to watch one of those baffling American movies more than I want to sleep with you. I just don’t understand why you don’t want me to…” He makes a helpless little gesture, encompassing a multitude of sins. “You know.”

“I do, I do want you to.” Fedyor reaches out and takes both of Ivan’s hands in his own, pulling him in so that their hips to brush, their chests touch. Their heads tilt down, their mouths coming close again, both of them shuddering at the jolt of electricity that burns through them, the raw, chemical need to be kissing again, to get back to what they were doing before their pasts so inconveniently intruded. “But I want to take care of you too, and I don’t think anyone has ever done that before.”

Ivan is silent. So silent that Fedyor is afraid that he’s somehow said the wrong thing, and has to finally venture, “Vanya?”

“Ah.” Ivan’s voice is thick – which sounds for a moment, though Fedyor has trouble ever imagining it from this man – as if he might be brusquely choking down tears. “Ah, but Fedya. I thought you said that I was the worst person. Earlier.”

“I did, but that’s not…” Fedyor lays one hand against Ivan’s cheek. “I was joking, okay? Teasing you. Because you like to tease me. I didn’t actually, literally mean it.”

Ivan lifts his head, his eyes raw and vulnerable and luminous in the sliver of city light that pries through Fedyor’s bedroom curtains, and Fedyor can see the fragility beneath the iron, the delicate soul that lies somewhere deep in this tough, scary, grumpy, standoffish man. It breaks his heart in half and puts it back together all at once, and he can’t think how to respond, how to answer, how to do anything but he does, which is to cup Ivan’s head in his hands again and sway back forth. “Vanya,” he breathes, enchanted by the way it sounds on his tongue, a key to a secret world that belongs to them alone. “Oh, Vanya.”

With that, he pulls Ivan close, Ivan doesn’t resist in the slightest, and they kiss so long and so slow and so deep that it feels as if it invents its own sort of time. The world turns one way before that kiss, and after it, it turns another, as Fedyor reaches up, unbuttons his own shirt, and shucks it off. Softly he says, “Vanya, would you like to come to bed with me now?”

“Yes.” It bursts from Ivan as if it’s the only thing he can think of, something that he barely feels worthy of but wants more than life itself. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay.” Fedyor reaches out, undoes the last clasp of Ivan’s belt, and pulls it off, followed by his jeans. Ivan stands still as a statue, as if he was perfectly willing to undress himself but having someone else do it is almost unfathomable, and a shiver runs through him from head to toe as he stands there in nothing except his briefs. Fedyor looks him luxuriously up and down, then says, “Do you want to take off mine, or should I?”

“Oh, I’m doing that,” Ivan orders, sounding more like his businesslike self, as he steps in and removes Fedyor’s trousers with a method that can only be described as “surgical efficiency.” When they have been disposed of, the two of them walk back to the bed together, and each take charge of stripping off their own underwear. Then they are in nothing but their skins, and the only thing that separates them is air. Fedyor feels that prick of instinctive shyness that you always feel the very first time you’re naked with a new lover, in case there’s some secretly grotesque feature that the others failed to mention and they are actually repulsed. He works out, he eats healthy, he takes care of himself, he can be confident that he looks pretty good. But there are always the weird moles, the wonky toes, the wibbly parts of yourself that you don’t like or don’t want to see in the mirror, and it’s been a long enough dry spell that it’s his turn to feel an unwelcome attack of nerves. He looks down at the floor, barely breathing.

“Fedya.” Ivan’s voice makes him look up. “Fedya, you are…”

He stops, clearly struggling for the words. He reaches out with one broad palm and ghosts it along Fedyor’s arm, then does the same with the other hand, gripping his biceps. “Beautiful,” he says almost disbelievingly, but not as if he’s in any doubt that it applies. Only that he’s in doubt that he gets to say it, that he gets to be standing here and seeing this, that it’s so much more than he has ever dreamed or felt like he deserved. “You are beautiful.”

The low, reverent whisper of his voice, the way he sounds like he has been stabbed through the heart and utterly slain, makes gooseflesh rise in cold ripples along Fedyor’s arms. He’s outwardly confident, he has had no complaints from his past lovers, he is clearly the one who will have to take more of the lead here, but he can’t recall that anyone has ever said that to him in that awestruck tone of voice. He bites his lip, moving closer again as Ivan continues to touch him, lightly and softly and slowly, as if he’s never actually done this with another man while they’re both naked. In fact, Fedyor realizes, it’s almost certain that he hasn’t. Ivan looks startled and intrigued and turned on all at once, getting on his knees and running both hands down Fedyor’s hips, the lean lines of calf and thigh, circling around his ankles and the tender hollow of the bone. Ivan even investigates Fedyor’s toes, which he can’t recall a boyfriend ever doing (except for one weirdo off Grindr with a foot fetish, who was rather swiftly disposed of). Fedyor giggles, a little unsteadily. “Come back up here.”

Ivan runs both hands over the tops of his feet, then slowly makes his way northward again. He still hasn’t ventured anywhere 18+–rated, as if he is taking his time about getting there now that he knows their night together isn’t contingent on him giving Fedyor an orgasm as quickly as possible. He stands up and touches Fedyor’s collarbone and shoulders, his chest and nipples, the muscles of stomach and back. Fedyor used to swim competitively, and they’re still pretty trim, if he says so himself. Ivan draws the rough pads of his fingers over Fedyor’s skin, provoking another round of shivers, until Fedyor is feeling very adored and worshiped indeed but also almost out of his damn mind with lust, and in the mood to progress the activities to those of an explicitly adult nature. “Vanya,” he says breathlessly. “You are very sweet, but I really want to fuck your brains out. Is that okay?”

Ivan looks surprised. Then he laughs. “You want to fuck my – ?”

“As you would put it, that is normally implied when I say that, yes.” Fedyor tries not to shift too impatiently, but he might pass out if there’s any less blood in his head. He makes a demonstrative gesture at himself. “I’m suffering here.”

“Ah,” Ivan murmurs, with the air of a repairman confronting a difficult but fascinating mechanical problem. “Then we have to do something about that, of course.”

With that, he sweeps Fedyor up and carries him bodily to the bed, settling him down on the pillows and clambering onto all fours above him. He makes a move as if to finally go down, then stops. “You said that you had condoms. Do you want one?”

“If you’re just going to…” Fedyor is tryingto focus long enough to produce coherent speech, but it’s an almighty struggle. “You know. I’m clean, I’m not – I don’t – any diseases or anything.” Great, look at them being all adult and responsible and attempting to practice clear communication and safe sex, but he is desperate. “You’re fine to just, uh. Go for it. For the love of God, please go for it.”

Ivan considers for a final moment. Then he braces himself on both hands, slides down, and does at last, and comprehensively, go for it.

Fedyor jerks, clutching fistfuls of the bedclothes and involuntarily arching his back, as Ivan reaches up with one hand and pins his hip flat again. He doesn’t break stride, sucking Fedyor’s cock down deep and then licking a slow stripe up the underside, swirling his tongue elegantly around the tip and working him over until Fedyor is swearing profusely and doing his best not to thrash. Instead, he links his ankles around Ivan’s shoulders, sturdy and strong and moving in time to the bobbing rhythm of his head, digging his heels into the unyielding muscles of Ivan’s back. Ivan doesn’t let up on him until Fedyor is whimpering for mercy, on the very edge of coming, and seeing double. Then Ivan pulls away, his mouth wet and obscene, as he wipes it with his hand. “How are you feeling up there?” he asks, as if he doesn’t good and goddamn know. “Do you want me to finish this?”

“It’s either that,” Fedyor manages to get out, “or I murder you.”

“Tut, tut.” Ivan grins, adopting a mocking scold. “For someone who claims that you like me so much, you do threaten violence quite often, my fierce little Fedya.”

“Do not call me little.”

“Mm, maybe not.” Ivan leans down and kisses very low on Fedyor’s stomach. “This isn’t little, I’d say.”

“Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov, I swear – ”

“Shh.” Ivan pushes Fedyor’s legs to either side, holding them firmly down with each of those notably large and obnoxiously capable hands, and then goes back to finishing his work. It is, by any metric, a resounding success, and Fedyor loses track of empirical reality, his higher faculties, and for a moment there, his own name. When he finally returns to earth, he can only make out the sight of Ivan propped up on one elbow next to him and looking insufferably smug. “I told you that I was good, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Fedyor mutters, still feeling as if his spinal column has been removed. “Yes, you did say that.”

Ivan leans down to kiss him again, his mouth still tasting saltily of Fedyor, and they roll over in the bedclothes and make out for a few moments, as Fedyor hasn’t figured out how he is going to take his revenge but is determined that it will be spectacular. They need a few minutes to recover and stagger to the bathroom to drink some water, then return to the bed and flop down side by side like beached whales, giggling helplessly. Fedyor has had a boyfriend or two, but he still isn’t sure that he has ever experienced anything quite like this, the ebbs and flows, the mess, the daze, the delight, the enjoyment of the interlude just as keen as the activities themselves. Their fingers grope toward each other and clutch hold, as Fedyor lifts Ivan’s hand to his mouth and kisses it. They pant and wheeze in an undignified fashion, with no attempt to look pretty or perfect or like anything except sex-stupefied horndogs in their first post-orgasmic haze, which is what they (or at least Fedyor) absolutely are. But no matter how resoundingly he has gotten a happy ending, he has not forgotten his own plans to inflict one likewise upon Ivan, and he wants to do a very thorough job of it. Especially since Ivan doesn’t necessarily know what he likes, this is going to require a bespoke basket of boutique sexcapades, all of which makes Fedyor sound like a much more experienced lothario than he actually is. Yet as is the case in everything, practice makes perfect.

When both of them are on the road to recovery, Fedyor sits up. “I am going to conduct some important science experiments on you,” he informs the intrigued-looking Ivan. “If I do anything that you don’t like or that does not feel good, you tell me, okay? And I will stop. But you have to tell me. Not just put up with it because you think that it is what I want to do or whatever. What I want to do is to make you happy and to help figure out what you like, and I can’t do that unless you tell me what you really feel. Yes?”

“Yes,” Ivan says slowly, as if he’s trying to contemplate the idea, to wrap his head around it, and then finally manages to do so. “Yes,” he says again, louder. “I trust you, Fedya.”

Fedyor smiles at him, then reaches over, opens his bedside drawer, and pulls out his lube, squeezing it into his hands and working it until they’re warm. Then he sizes up Ivan like a painter deciding where to make his first stroke on the canvas, reaches down, and takes Ivan’s erection gently in his palm, sliding his thumb slowly up to the base of the thick shaft. A dry handjob is no fun for anyone, so Fedyor makes extra-sure that there is enough lube, watching Ivan’s face to be sure that this is going well. “Mmm? How about this?”

“Fedya,” Ivan says, sounding a little breathless. “You are very beautiful and you have my cock in your hand while you look like absolute sin. I do not need a chemistry experiment.”

“Good to know.” Fedyor bites a grin, feeling slightly diabolical himself. He tries a few strokes, slower and then faster, changing the pace and pressure, as Ivan is the one suddenly scrambling for purchase on a swiftly tilting planet. But before he brings him all the way off, Fedyor lets go, re-lubes his hands, and turns Ivan over, stroking along the muscled curve of his ass and circling around his entrance. “This?” he asks. “How does this feel?”

“Fedya – ” Ivan bites another curse. “What do you think?”

“Words, Vanya. Use them.”

Ivan rolls his eyes at the heavens in mute appeal, as if this must be his divine punishment for being such a snarky bastard (and, you know, he’s not wrong). “It feels good,” he grits out. “Do you want me to write a dissertation? With footnotes?”

“No, that’s fine.” Fedyor teases at him, opens him, slides one slick finger into Ivan’s tight and intimate heat, pushing and circling until he can slip in two. Ivan growls, recoiling up onto all fours, as Fedyor climbs up behind him and positions himself more conveniently for continuing his work. He reaches around with his free hand and takes hold of Ivan’s dick again, matching the rhythm of his strokes on the outside to the insistent pressure on the sweet spot inside him. When he finds the right place, Ivan actually yelps, and Fedyor smirks. “That,” he informs the very startled Ivan, “is where the man’s G-spot is located. It is the sensation of pressure on the prostate that feels so good. Did you know that?”

“I did not know I was dating a – ” Ivan breaks off to swear. When he stops swearing, he manages, “A fucking professor of anatomy.”

“Maybe a fucking professor.” Fedyor has to pay attention to what he is doing with both hands rather than witty banter, but he leans forward long enough to catch the shell of Ivan’s ear with his teeth. “Or a professor of fucking. Take your pick.”

“God almighty,” Ivan manages through his teeth, the muscles in his forearms straining as he braces himself on Fedyor’s mattress, and this right now, this should be carved in marble by Michelangelo (also a noted devotee of gay sex, if Fedyor recalls) and kept there forever just like this, perfect. “You are actually going to kill me, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I did promise payback.” Fedyor increases the speed to ruthless levels. “Maybe next time you won’t be such a little shit, huh?”

Ivan is gasping too hard to really put much heat into it, but he still manages to aim a look over his shoulder suggesting that if this is his “punishment,” then Fedyor should probably get ready for maximum little-shitness at all times. Fedyor supposes that it is a bit counterproductive of him to reward bad behavior, but then, he’s already admitted that he is completely gone over Ivan Sakharov either way, even and (inexplicably) especially when he is such a total, godforsaken grump. He can feel in Ivan’s body that he’s close to climax, perhaps the first one that has ever been deliberately and carefully coaxed out of him like this, and feels an indecent, shivering thrill, even beyond the simple physicalities of what they are doing. It’s bewitching, intoxicating, as necessary as blood and as sweet as ambrosia. That Fedyor could be responsible for reducing a man like this to utter, incoherent cursing, the barely bridled strength in Ivan that could tear someone else apart, completely yielded up to his will, trusting him to take this body, this heart, this soul, and do whatever he pleases – to trust that it will not hurt. Fedyor is only beginning to grasp what must lie under all this, but it breaks his heart nonetheless. No, he swears, knowing somehow that even if this is their first night together, it will not be the last. I will never, ever let someone hurt you like that again.

It’s only a few more moments until Ivan is completely, outrageously losing it, as one of Fedyor’s hands turns warm and sticky and the fingers of the other are clenched slick and tight until it seems as if they have briefly been melded into one flesh. Then, as Ivan is still flat on his stomach and gulping whooping breaths as if he has been chased by a train, Fedyor smirks, pulls both hands carefully free of their entanglements, and goes to the bathroom to rinse off. When he returns, Ivan is still in the exact same position as before, and Fedyor climbs onto the bed, unable to resist a little poke. “Are you alive?”

“No,” Ivan says, voice muffled. “Ask again later.”

“Good.” Fedyor slides down next to him, throwing his arm over Ivan’s sweaty, trembling back. “So, it is fair to say that you liked that?”

“I think it is fair to say so, yes.” Ivan’s voice is extremely dry, but he shifts and rolls over to face Fedyor, their noses brushing in the dark, their heads very close on the pillow. “I shudder to imagine what you are going to do to me next, you demon.”

“Oh,” Fedyor says in a voice low with promise, reaching for the quilts and pulling them up around their waists, their naked, entangled bodies. He can definitely feel the sheer sweet satisfied sleep of sexual satiation pulling at him, but he pushes it off. He doesn’t want to do that, not quite yet. He wants to lie here in the dark with Ivan in his arms and savor every instant of what has just happened, play it back in his head, be sure that he doesn’t ever forget, not as they both should live. “Just you wait. I have plenty of ideas.”

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

43 notes · View notes

elianamarie-blog · 4 years ago

Note

Can you do an imagine with Hyde and a depressed reader?

I’d love to my dear.

I Just Need You To Hold Me

Lately, Y/n L/n hasn’t been acting like herself. She doesn’t smile or laugh as much as she used to. And if she does, it doesn’t reach her eyes. In fact, it barley graces her lips. As if she’s just faking it to make sure her friends don’t worry about her. Fez who always makes her laugh with his cute, innocent, or even lewd jokes didn’t seem to faze her. But her boyfriend, Steven Hyde, had definitely noticed. Everyone else did too, but were too timid to talk to her about it. She had even stopped taking care into her appearance. Her hair had become dull and barley combed, dark circles had developed under her y/e/c eyes, and she wouldn’t shower a few days at a time. She would use deodorant and perfume to cover up her odor.

Before they knew it, she stopped showing up to hang out. She stopped showing up to circle time and even worse, she stopped showing up to dates. Steven and the rest of the group was starting to get really worried about her. On another occasion of her not showing up to hang out, the gang sat in the basement, worrying about her.

“Should we go check on her?” Donna asked. “I mean, I haven’t seen her in three weeks. I’m really starting to worry.”

“Yeah, I think we should,” Fez responded. “She hasn’t been herself.”

“Do you have any idea what might be wrong with her?” Eric asked Hyde.

“No,” he responded, shaking his head. “She won’t let me in, man. I’ve tried asking her if she’s okay and she just keeps saying she’s fine. Clearly things aren’t fine.”

“Well, if she says she’s fine, she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it,” Jackie replied, filing her nails. “Girls do that.”

Hyde gave her a deadpanned look. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah, man. Why do you keep pushing it? Clearly, she’s okay. As long as you’re getting action, that’s all that matters,” Kelso said.

Hyde glared at him before throwing a magazine at him.

“Ow! My eye!” Kelso cried out. “Stop doing that!”

“Get smarter!” Hyde yelled back.

Suddenly, the phone rang, silencing the group’s laughter. Hyde answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” a sweet, familiar voice said from the other side.

“Hey,” he responded in a gentle tone.

“I know that this is last minute, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the movie tonight with everyone.”

“Y/n, this is the fourth time this week. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I’m just super tired. College finals are kicking my butt, you know?”

“Y/n, you’ve been on spring break all week,” he said. “C’mon, seriously. What’s wrong? I’m worried. We all are.”

“You’re worried?” Kelso said from the background. “You guys, he’s totally in love!”

Hyde motioned his hand towards Eric who nodded understanding and reached over, slugging Kelso in the shoulder.

Kelso whimpered before laughing. “That was a good one.”

Y/n weakly smiled before sighing. “I’m just going through a rough time, that’s all.”

“If you’re going through something, why didn’t you tell any of us?” he asked her. “We’re your friends. We’re here for you, you know that. Especially me.”

“Yeah, I know. I just--I didn’t want to burden you guys.”

“You know you don’t. C’mon babe--Y/n,” he quickly corrected himself after receiving raised eyebrows from the group. Knowing Hyde for so long, he’s never used pet names with his girlfriends. Well, not in front of them anyway.

“Steven, I said I’m fine. Can we please drop it?” she said frustrated. “I don’t want to talk about it, especially with you guys. You don’t need to know my business. If I choose to not talk to you about it, then I don’t have to. Please respect that.”

“Look, I was just trying to help--”

“Well, don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t need it. I can handle this on my own. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

With that, a click was heard on the other end. Hyde pressed the phone to his forehead before hanging up himself.

“What was that about?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know, man,” he responded. “Something is wrong. I can’t just sit here. I have to go see her.” He stood, grabbing his jacket and keys off the table by the door.

“Well, let us know what she says. Babe,” Eric teased.

“Remind me to pound on you later,” he threatened before ripping the door open and practically running to his car.

Once he reached Y/n’s house, he walked up to her front door and knocked. After a minute, the door swung open, revealing her mom.

“Oh, Steven,” she greeted. “What a pleasant surprise. You must be here to see Y/n.”

“Yes, Mrs. L/n. Can I see her?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, sweetie. She’s been...in a mood lately.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here. I just want to check on her and see if she’s okay. I haven’t seen her in a while and I’m worried.”

“You’re such a sweet boy. Come on in.”

When Y/n had brought home Steven for the first time, her parents weren’t crazy about him. It’s a small town, people talk. They knew his reputation, but they couldn’t deny how good he treated her and how he even changed for her. They knew he was a sweetheart and knew about his home life. It was hard to dislike him when they saw how gentle he was with her and surprisingly affectionate. And when they saw how happy they made each other, they started growing a soft spot for him too.

Steven immediately took for the stairs, making a left and going two doors down to Y/n’s room. He raised a fist to knock, but heard soft crying from the other end. He didn’t bother to knock and just let himself in. “Doll?”

The sight he walked into, made his heart drop. Her room was dark and her curtains were closed, allowing no sunlight in. Empty glasses and dirty plates littered the room, but the thing that caught his senses was the smell emitting from the room. If she hadn’t turned around upon hearing him enter, he wouldn’t thought maybe she wasn’t alive.

“Steven, what are you doing here?” she croaked.

“Oh my God...” he trailed, taking in the sight of the room before his eyes landed on her, covered by her duvet. She was a mess. Her hair was a rat’s nest, the dark circles under her eyes were even darker, her skin was dull, and she was still in her pj’s, given that it was four o’ clock in the afternoon. “Y/n...what happened? What’s going on?”

“Please, Steven, just leave,” she begged, her voice weak.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said, standing firm. “You’re done lying to me. You need to tell me the truth. Did something happen? Did I do something?” His heart picked up slightly thinking that all this was due to him.

She shook her head meekly. “No. It has nothing to do with you. You’re perfect.”

“Then please tell me what’s wrong,” he begged, sitting at the end of her bed. “Let me fix it. Please.”

“You can’t. You can’t fix it,” she croaked in a high pitch voice, fighting her tears. “Nobody can fix it.”

His eyebrows knit together. “What’re you talking about?”

She sat up fully, facing him. She casted her gaze down to her hands, afraid of wanting to admit what was wrong. “Lately, I haven’t been feeling well.”

“Is that it? You could’ve said something and I would’ve brought you some soup or something.”

She shook her head. “Not that kind of sick.”

He looked at her in confusion. “Then what kind?”

She took a deep breath, a few tears escaping. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I went to the doctor recently because I haven’t been myself. I can’t get into what normally would make me excited. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’ve lost my appetite. I can’t even get out of bed to take a shower.”

“Y/n, where is this heading?”

She scrunched her face in anguish before being able to answer. “The doctor seems to think I have depression and anxiety. He recommended that I either see a therapist and psychiatrist and go on meds or admit myself into a psych ward.”

“What?” he asked in genuine shock. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this way?”

“Because I didn’t know what was wrong with me!” she exploded, tears streaming down her face. “I thought I was going crazy. I was so scared you would t-think that I had l-lost my mind and l-leave m-me.” She was hiccupping, trying to get through a sentence through her sobbing. “I was afraid that you would see me as a burden and too much and leave me alone with e-everyone else.”

Hyde’s heart shattered after hearing her tear-felt confession. “Oh, baby doll. Come here.” He shifted himself up to her and wrapped her in such a tight hug, that she for the first time in weeks, she felt safe. “For the record, I don’t think you’re crazy or a burden.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Steven. I can handle it.”

“I’m not lying,” he answered honestly and kissed her temple. “I promise I’m telling the truth. You have no idea how amazing you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Shut up and listen to me,” he said and pulled her back, wiping her tears with the pad of his thumb. “You are the most badass girl I know. You are smart, and funny, and kind, and so beautiful. I’ve never met a girl like you before and I love you.”

She paused, looking deeply into his steel blue eyes. That was the first time he’s ever said that to her. They’ve been together for at least three months now and they’ve never exchanged those three words before.

“You...what?”

“I love you, Y/n,” he repeated. “Just because you have something screwy going on in your brain doesn’t make you less amazing. While I agree you should get some help, it doesn’t take away how much of a badass you are. You’re the only chick who can make me laugh as hard as you do. The only one who isn’t afraid to challenge me and make me think. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. You don’t take people’s shit and you’re such a good friend and girlfriend. Not too mention you’re the best sex ever.”

He winked at her, making her genuinely smile for the first time in weeks.

“You promise?” she asked weakly.

“Of course I promise, Doll,” he replied, squeezing her tighter. “You just need to let me in. And tell me what I need to do to make everything better. Even if it’s just in that moment. Please.”

She nodded. “I’ll try. This isn’t easy for me.”

“And I’m not expecting it to be,” he said, rubbing her back. “I just need to know when you start to feel this way so that I can help. Even if you feel like you can’t say anything, you can do something as squeeze my hand and I’ll know.”

She nodded, burying her face in his chest. It was a comfortable silence for a minute with him rubbing her back and her trying to control her breathing. “I loemf youem too,” she mumbled in his chest.

“What?” he asked.

“I loemf youem too,” she repeated, head still buried in his chest.

“Y/n, I can’t understand you.”

She pulled away, looking directly into his eyes. “I love you too.”

He grabbed her face and pulled her in for a much needed kiss. Not just any kiss. The “I miss you” kiss and “I’m here for you” kiss. The “I need you” kiss. The “please don’t ever let me go” kiss. Everything they wanted to say to each other was said into this kiss.

When he finally pulled away to breath some air, he rested his forehead against hers. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone until you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“But you do realize you’re going to have to face them.”

She nodded. “I know. Will you be there with me?”

“Yes, of course, baby doll.”

“Can you do something for me now?”

“Anything. What do you need?”

“Just...just hold me.”

“As long as you need me too,” he responded and got comfortable, taking his jacket and boots off. He laid down on his side and pulled her in close, wrapping his arm around her waist. “How’s this?”

“Perfect,” she whispered.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked her, thumb rubbing her stomach.

“Two days?” she asked, rather than state. “I don’t know. I kind of lost track.”

“Okay, what do you say we get some food in you and get you in the shower?” he asked. “Some food and a fresh shower always helps me feel better.”

“Is this your way of telling me I stink?” she joked.

He chuckled. “You know me so well.”

“Steven Hyde...” she warned.

“Yes, doll?”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Let me know what you think! I’m always open to requests!

17 notes · View notes

bettsfic · 4 years ago

Text

february pinned: the real & the ideal

in this month’s edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and consultation availability, i have short story recommendations for you and an essay on the nature of reality in fiction!

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

in other news, i finished two fics this month:

digging for orchids (hualian, 43k, explicit, fake marriage au)

let ruin end here (hualian, 8k, mature, neighbors au)

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

oof,

what a month. january is already a rough time. throwing in a pandemic, a coup, and an economic revolution spearheaded by reddit just seems unfair. as for me personally, the spring semester came at me fast and even though it’s only week 2, i am already buried in grading. which i realize is my fault, considering i’m the one who assigned homework.

so after hearing your feedback, i thought i’d make this newsletter even more writing-related by writing more about writing. this month i’ll start off by talking about the nature of reality in fiction in a segment i call “been thinkin a lot about.” more on that below.

new resource

i’ve compiled a folder of PDFs of the short stories i teach most often, which is to say, the stories i like enough to re-read every semester. most of them are literary fiction but a few veer into fantasy, sci fi, and horror.

i know before the MFA, i didn’t really know what a short story was. like i knew, abstractly, the concept of a short story (it is as it sounds), but i could only list a couple i’d ever read as an adult, and i hadn’t read anything that had been published in the last decade. i remember wondering why i was even being asked to care about short stories. who writes short stories? who reads them? apparently, a lot of people. short storyists are a lot like fanwriters in that they make no money and when you talk about your writing in public, people give you that “why would anyone waste their time with that?” look.

so here’s why i was asked to care about short stories: a good short story gives you the entirety of a world in a very condensed space. moreover, it can sometimes leave you as satisfied as a novel in a fraction of the reading time. all the stories i’ve compiled here are ones that stuck with me, that i find myself recommending over and over to writers who want a good example of developing character, or weird narration, or establishing stakes.

if you’re a writer considering publication or an MFA in creative writing, i highly recommend familiarizing yourself with short stories, if for no other reason than to get the feel for them so you can write some of your own. if you can get a few short story publications under your belt, it’ll be easier to open doors when you’re ready to query agents for a novel. also, short stories make a great writing sample for grad programs, workshops, fellowships, residencies, and grant funding.

if you want to check out more short stories but have no idea where to start, the 2020 best american short stories just dropped in november, or if you want a cheaper one, used copies of 2019 and earlier are available on thriftbooks. if you want an overview of the history of the (american) short story, there’s also the best american short stories of the century. fair warning, though, while it’s more diverse than expected, it’s still a bit heavy on dead-white-dude writing.

content warning: the stories in the above-linked folder may depict instances of sexual assault, suicide, and/or abuse. i have not labeled them individually with warnings but i hope to soon, as well as provide a catalog with summaries.

i’m also still working on my essay and novel recs. more to come on that hopefully next month.

writing-related posts

how i quit my banking job to do a creative writing MFA

how i learned to read faster/stop subvocalizing

how to write when you have no time or energy to write

my experience writing fic in small/dead fandoms (aka fics that will probably not get any traffic)

how to describe facial expressions

how to ask for help from your professors

how to navigate tenses during flashbacks

how to separate yourself from your work

how (and why you might want to) write a shitty first draft

why you should consider making the climax the inciting incident

for a complete list of my writing-related posts, check out this masterdoc (which i still need to update it with the past few months’ posts).

stuff i’m into rn

i’m about halfway through the rhetoric of fiction by wayne c. booth which has more or less become my narrative bible. it’s a little dated (1961) but it tackles banal writing adages that are somehow still believed, like “show don’t tell” and whatnot, and breaks them down with amazing insight, clarity, and research. it’s a bit of a dense text so i’m only reading a few pages a day, i think the first time i’ve ever let myself read something so intentionally slowly. now i’m kind of obsessed with doing things slowly. reading slowly, writing slowly, cooking slowly. i even drive slowly, because it’s so rare to go anywhere at all, and i want to enjoy it. also, it’s very snowy where i am. also also, the battery died in my car this month and i really have to make it a point to drive more often.

february availability

i have 2 openings for initial writing consultations in february! if you’re interested, please fill out this google form.

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

been thinkin a lot about

compulsory reality in fiction. many of us have probably received feedback along the lines of, or thought to ourselves as we read, “that’s not realistic.” many of us believe, consciously or not, that fiction that is more “realistic” is inherently better than fiction that is less “realistic.” for some of us, real means a saturation of details, the clear depiction of the surfaces of things. reality is found in the rendering thereof; if you can “see” it, it’s real. for others of us, it might be the development of complex characters and their growth across a narrative. and for yet others, reality is subtlety, or misery, or the idea of “slice of life,” a term i don’t think means anything, because aren’t all stories a slice of a character’s life? what would a story that’s not a slice of life look like? you’d either have to take away the “slice” part and render a whole life, which is impossible, or you’d have to take away the “life” part and create a dead story, which may be possible, but why would you want to? even if you wrote a story about a rock, the rock would be brought to life by virtue of being written about.

anyway. i think the word “real” is a shitty word for the same reason “slice of life” is a shitty phrase: everything is real and therefore nothing cannot be real. slices of life are all we know because we are alive and cannot truly perceive not being alive; reality is also all we know, and any depictions beyond reality are thus made real because they have been depicted.

so the “goal” for fiction to be “realistic” seems to me to be a false one. all fiction is real because it exists and no fiction can be truly real because it’s only a facsimile of reality. not to get all “this is not a pipe” but writing is just making squiggles, and we as a community of English-knowers agree that certain squiggles correspond to certain sounds, and certain sounds together make words which conjure meanings. and words put together into sentences into paragraphs conjure even more complicated meanings. and when those paragraphs are woven into narrative we create yet more and more complicated meaning.

every time you write anything — a text message, an email, a tweet, a fanfic — you are taking the infinite abstraction of your own cognition, narrowing it into a single concept, and representing that concept with patterns in the form of sounds represented by letters and given meaning with words, so that the infinite abstraction of your own conscience can be fractionally witnessed by the infinite abstraction of someone else’s. and even though we can’t definitively prove for ourselves that any other thing possesses a consciousness, writing shows us the shape of someone else’s mind, and tells us we are not alone.

and yet we still expect writing to be “real.”

have you ever read a story where a character sneezed? like just, a description of a sneeze for the sake of it, with no purpose or function in the plot? if not, is it because our characters aren’t real enough to sneeze, or because the sneeze isn’t relevant to their plight? what would a written sneeze look like, and why would somebody want to write it? moreover, why would somebody want to read it? that leads me to wonder, do we depict reality in the service of narrative, or narrative in the service of reality? in other words, do we write to portray reality (sans sneezing), or do we depict reality to constrain our writing, the way one might request bumpers when bowling so as not to fall in the gutters?

i’ve never read an artful rendition of a character pissing or shitting, either, even when those things are related to a character’s plight and circumstance — stories involving long road trips, living in the woods, being kidnapped. the only exception i can think of is when those things are eroticized (we do not kinkshame here in this lkwrnl), the same way it’s rare to find detailed sex writing that isn’t for the purpose of reader arousal. are there just some things about the nature of being human that are too intimate, too complex, or too boring to write?

once i wrote a murder that takes place in a small fictional midwestern town in the 90s (for the ~aesthetic), and it went uninvestigated by said town’s police force. early readers repeatedly commented along the lines of, “that’s not realistic.” and i thought, no, if anything, the incompetence of police is too realistic for the heightened reality i’m trying to render. have you ever heard of a cop solving a murder that didn’t come with an obvious suspect or immediately found evidence? i haven’t. that doesn’t mean those cases don’t exist, but i definitely think they’re less likely than mass media has us believe, and the average small-town police force has far less motivation (and possibly training) to solve crimes than we think.

i started working on the above-mentioned novel in 2016, and my goal was to depict a reality that hovers above the surface of plausibility. in this novel, which is based on macbeth, a preteen girl, mercy, becomes jealous of the love her best friend elisa shows to her father. mercy decides to get her older and very unstable brother to kill him. naturally the deed goes awry, but it does occur, and the cleanup is far messier than anticipated.

is it plausible for a 12 year old girl to plot and execute the murder of her best friend’s father? no. is that what this book is about? yes. a book about a 12 year old girl who has a perfectly healthy relationship with her best friend and who has no feelings toward her bff’s father one way or another is probably far more “realistic,” but that’s not the book i’d want to read and certainly not the one i want to write. my goal of a heightened reality is what henry james calls the intensity of illusion, the thing that allows a reader, through the witness of one’s distilled cognition into language, to exit physical, knowable reality, and enter a new and unknown reality. and isn’t climbing to that higher place, that intensity of illusion, the purpose of fiction? if it’s not, what is?

the best feedback i got on the aforementioned murder scene was from one of my professors, who, of the perfect calm of all children involved, said, “they just shot a guy. at least one of them would be freaking out.”

he was totally right, but it opened up a lot of questions for me. by what standard did he reach that conclusion? was it something in the chapter itself, was it his personal understanding of the work of narrative, or was it the logical conclusion of the slim plausibility of the scenario? moreover, where did i come up with the idea that all of my preteen characters would commit a murder and proceed to be very chill about it? if an implausible scenario begs the expectation of emotional distress, would it be more compelling to buy into that expectation or deviate from it? is it even my obligation to be compelling when i can never have a cogent grasp of the personal tastes of my audience?

that brings me to what appears to be reality’s opposite: idealism, the state those of us who write fanfic are often trying to achieve. we’re working in an entire genre of ideals, of happily ever afters, of hurt that is always followed by comfort, of glossily rendered sex during which everyone orgasms and no one has to pee afterward. we fix broken texts and continue incomplete ones. sometimes, we want to make existing things better, deeper, more complicated. but all the time, we want to make a text more than what it is.

some see this process, this drive for the ideal, as antithetical to realism, and i think that’s part of the reason fanfiction and other idealistic genres (romance, etc.) get a bad name — the assumption that more real (which for some means more miserable) is better, and therefore its opposite, the ideal, is worse. for them, i have this quote from vladimir nabokov:

For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.

the ideal, aesthetic bliss, the intensity of illusion. these are all phrases that boil down to the same thing: you the writer get to define the constraints of your own reality. you get to choose if your world even complies with the known laws of physics. and if it doesn’t, you get to choose which ones to break, and why to break them. you get to choose if your stories take place in a real house in a real town on a real day. if you wrote a story that takes place on september 11, 2001, would the events of that story be shaped by the events of that actual day, or are you writing a better world where 9/11 doesn’t happen? consider the consequences of both: why might you want to write reality? why might you want to write ideality? how do these things shape your identity and goals as a writer?

no matter where a work falls on the real-ideal spectrum, you have to accept that prose itself will only ever be a verisimilitude of reality and therefore an interpretation of it, one that might be interpreted differently by a reader. in writing and everything else, you can never have complete control over what others perceive. it’s like giving someone cash as a gift. they might buy themselves something nice with it, or they might spend it on groceries. the point is, eventually we all have to let go of our realities.

#lkwrnl #pinned

25 notes · View notes

champagne-bucky · 5 years ago

Text

Come Sail Away ⛵️

Summary: You and Bucky go on a vacation which leads to an unexpected turn of events.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, SMUT, dub-con if you squint, fingering, hand job, spanking, daddy kink.

Notes: Hey everyone! This is my entry for @imanuglywombat ‘s Ugliest Wombat Challenge. This theme that I chose is Beach Babes so here’s what I came up with. This was loosely inspired by the TV show The Nanny, if you know the episode I’m referencing then you know it’s about to go down. Anyways, please like, comment, reblog, inbox, and follow me for more!! Enjoy :)

The warm summer sun was beating down deliciously on your skin. The salt from the bright blue sea infiltrated your nostrils and was filled with with the scent of summer. Ah, summertime, where the days were unbearably hot and the nights mimicked the same. Less clothing to be worn and not a care in the world.

You welcomed the warm weather with open arms. After dealing with a gruesome winter, and a spring which brought no tease of its following season, you were more than ready to throw your heavy coat into storage and get on the first bathing suit you could find. Yes, summer was here and you were drinking in every inch of the wonderful season.

Work was rough this winter. Spending days to sometimes months in places that weren’t your own bed, sleeping in the most horrid conditions, and worst of all, the inclement weather had gotten you sick more times than you could count on both hands. Well, that’s what you signed up for with being an Avenger and all. You might not have super soldier serum to suppress the frigid air or a suit which comes with a built in heater to offer a blast of warmth in all the right places, but you have a nice week long cruise (courtesy of Tony) to forget about those lone nights in Siberia which ended up leaving you bed ridden for two weeks.

Now you’re here, standing on the ships edge looking out of the vast ocean. Not a singular care in the world crosses your mind. You craved this, you craved the peace and bliss.

“You stay out here any longer I’m afraid you’ll jump overboard and be one with the fishes,” Bucky chuckles from behind you and startles you.

He was asked by Tony to “keep watch over you” which was code for “Barnes you need this vacation just as much as her, please for the love of God relax,” however, Tony would never tell him that. Bucky enjoyed working, a little too much. After all this time he was finally able to be the good guy for once and did whatever he could to keep the newly acquired bravado intact.

“Barnes, didn’t expect to see you so close to me. Usually you’re hiding out of my line of sight, or so you thought,” you muttered the last part to yourself. He was really taking this watching over thing seriously.

“Was getting bored. I’m starting to think this mission was more a vacation for me and you,” Bucky shakes his head and chuckles.

“You’re just now figuring out Stark’s master plan?” You kiddingly scoffed as Bucky rolled his eyes at you. “Ya know, you really could use a break.”

“I got all the time in the world to have a break.”

“Oh yeah? When?” You challenged him.

“When I’m dead,” Bucky winked at you before walking off to his room, announcing that he was going to take shower.

“Oh before I go, dinner later?”

“Depends will you be sitting with me or sitting from afar like the last couple nights?” You kid with him and he rolled his eyes.

“You’re a real pain in my ass, ya know that?”

“Hey, someone’s gotta be,” you winked and Bucky turned away fast, mainly to hide the blush spreading on his cheeks.

“See ya later,” Bucky called out to you.

—

Debating on whether or not was a good time to pull yourself away from the amazing view of the ocean, you had to sadly leave your peaceful space on the balcon and go meet Bucky for dinner. A quick shower and a few shimmies into the beautiful gown Natasha lent you later, you were on your way to dinner.

Tony gave his team nothing but the best. From top of the line technology and the best clothes money could buy, he made sure that you and Bucky got a luxurious treatment while on this vacation. This included dinner at the most refined restaurant on the ship’s deck. It was so exclusive that you needed to book your reservation there first before you booked your tickets for the cruise. Of course, Tony being Tony, and your title as an Avenger, made it easy for the restaurant to put your names down in their coveted black book of mile long reservations.

Now here you are, standing a little ways from the hostess desk waiting for your beloved co-worker. While you waited you took in the beautiful scenery of the restaurant. So classy and elegant you felt out of place even if you had on an expensive gown. You were so caught up in the extravagance that you didn’t notice a hand at the small of your back.

“You clean up nice,” Bucky stood next to you in a suit and tie. He had recently cut his hair before the trip, but that didn’t stop him from throwing in a little gel.

“I could same the same for you too. New product?” The two of you made small talk as Bucky gave Tony’s name for reservation.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, the hostess eyed both and you up and down and warily took you to your table.

—

Dinner was fantastic. Like the restaurant’s atmosphere the food also had an elegant taste to it. The wait staff was equally classy and charming to all the patrons too. You and Bucky were sipping on expensive wine and dining on fine desserts until a waiter, not yours, approached you.

“Did we enjoy everything so far?” Bucky looked at the man confused.

“Yeah, yeah everything was great thank you,” being the polite person you are you gave the waiter a smile.

“Well we love hearing that customers, let alone two Avengers, are enjoying the establishment. Anyways, I was sent to come tell you that the captain has requested your presence at his table overlooking the sea. A little birdie told me you two enjoy quite a view,” Bucky was on guard at all times during this exchange. It’s not that he didn’t trust the waiter it was that he wondered why their waiter wasn’t getting them.

“Sounds good to me. C’mon Buck let’s go,” you stood up and began to follow the waiter. Bucky reluctantly got up and pulled your arm so that you were walking at his pace.

“Don’t you think it’s a little fishy that right after we get done eating the captain wants to see us?”

“Oh Bucky, who cares! Maybe he didn’t want to interrupt us or something,” Bucky was always a paranoid person.

“I just got a bad feeling about this that’s all,” you giggled and shook your head in attempt to brush off Bucky and not appear rude towards the waiter.

“And here we are! Captain Richards will be out momentarily,” and just like that the waiter was gone leaving you and Bucky to your own devices.

Not long after Captain Richards appeared. He offered you both a glass of wine and you both drank. Bucky was a little hesitant but decided to drink after you made a move to your second glass. Soon, one glass turned into almost half a bottle of expensive wine gone. You were swimming and Bucky was grinning like a mad man.

“Sergeant, would you mind fetching me and this beautiful young lady another bottle? I’d get up but I don’t have your tolerance and can barely walk a straight line,” Bucky was happy to oblige and went to Richards quarters.

“So when will you be leaving us Ms. Avenger?” Richards asks you.

“Bucky and I dock in two days in Mexico. We were planning on flying back to New York,” you slowly got up and ran over to the balcony. Your drunken state was taking in the dark misty waters.

“Well we will be missing you greatly Miss,” Richards has his hand on your back, lightly pressing you into the railing. “It’ll be such a shame that no one will be seeing you anymore, around the decks I mean,” you eyed the older man up and down. What did he just say?

“It’s such a shame, I do like you and your little partner but in order for us to continue our plans we can’t let the law, let alone a group of super freaks, ruin it,” with a harsh shove your body was lurched off the balcony.

Your reflexes hit fast and you snapped out of your inebriated state. Last second you cling onto the very last bar of the balcony. Your heels were knock off and sunk into the water.

“Little shit c’mere,” Richards growled as he stomped his heavy boot on your fingers. He crushed down so hard and you almost didn’t budge but your grip was weakening. He squished and scraped both hands successfully off the bar and you fell into the ocean.

“Y/N? Captain? Is everything alright,” Bucky emerged from the captains quarters with a new bottle of wine.

“Oh Sergeant, please help! Your comrade just flung herself overboard!” RIchard’s yelled.

“What! Oh fuck, Stark’s gonna kill me! Hang on I’m coming! You gotta stop the boat. Alert the coast guard,” Bucky struggled to free himself of both shoes. He made is way over the balcony and plunged in to find you.

“Will do Sergeant,” Richards grinned evilly when he heard a solid plunk in the water. “Will do.” The captain chuckled darkly before pulling up a com on his wrist, “the threats have been eliminated. Hail Hydra.”

—

13 hours missing

You awoke with a gasp. It felt like air had hit your lungs for the first time in ages. Your body was wet and the gown was sticking all over you, not to mention the sand in unwanted places. You barely had a chance to register your surroundings.

“Bucky? Bucky!? Bucky are you here?!” You finally stood up, legs wobbling a little, and you tried to find your super human friend.

“Oh fuck, Bucky are you okay?” After walking down a long strip of beach you found him. His face was planted in the sand and his shoes were long gone. He seemed like he was breathing but still unconscious.

“BUCKY WAKE UP,” You yelled and pushed Bucky with all your might to turn him over. Bucky, much like you, awoke with a gasp and claimed as much fresh air as he could.

“What? Huh, where are we? Y/N?! Oh my god, you’re okay?!” Bucky was a babbling mess and couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Richards threw me off the boat!”

“Threw you? He told me you got drunk and fell over! That fucking bastard!”

Bucky began to explain how he jumped in after you and grabbed you. He saw the boat wasn’t stop so he tried his best to swim after it. Not long after he grew tired and the waves were picking up. Low and behold here you both are, trapped on a deserted island.

“Fuck,” you breathed out.

“We are so fucked,” after a while and sitting around and doing nothing you and Bucky decided to make some type of shelter.

“You think they’ll find us?” You questioned.

“They have to. They’ll know somethings up when we don’t come back,” Bucky finished putting together a leaf type hut and was now getting wood for a fire.

“What are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing to do. We gotta wait it out and hope they’ll come looking for us,” Bucky sighed and hauled over some wood from fallen tree branches.

You could only hope Tony and the team would come looking for you. Neither you or Bucky had an idea of how long you’ve been on the island. Clearly not long enough that neither of your starved, but still there was no matter is finding out when someone would rescue you.

—

One week missing

“Buckyyyyyyy,” you groaned irritably, “I’m so hot and so hungryyyy.”

It had been over one week since you both fell overboard. No one had come to rescue you yet and your were becoming impatient.

“I told you that if you’re so hot to rip that fucking dress and make it shorter,” Bucky grumbled.

Bucky had been done with your shit by now. The days and nights were so unbearably hot that you both were losing your minds. Bucky had ripped up his suit into shorts a wore a t-shirt under his suit. It wasn’t much but it had to do.

“But I can’t! Natasha will kill me if I rip her dress,” you whined for the millionth time.

“The heat’s gonna kill you before she does,” you gasped at Bucky’s rude comment.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say we’re gonna die out here!”

“I’m not gonna die but you will if you don’t rip the fuck dress,” Bucky’s voice grew louder. You’d be damned if you had to rip this dress.

“Buckyyy,” you whined his name again.

“WHAT!” Bucky yelled in irritation causing you to shift back from where you were sitting.

“I’m hot,” you really were driving him and yourself stir crazy.

“I can’t fucking stand this shit. C’mere,” Bucky lunges towards you and you tried to scramble away. He was fast and grabbed your ankle.

“Aww you’re hot sweetheart? Lemme fix that,” he grabbed the gown at the bottom and tore a big slit. It was torn all the way up your thigh. It showed everything and nothing at the same time.

You tried to kick him off but he worked too fast. Bucky made his way towards the middle of the dress and ripped right below where your breasts were. He easily made the expensive gown a shitty slit skirt and a crop top. Sure, it felt a little cooler, but now you almost felt naked in front of your co-worker.

“The next time I hear you complaining I won’t hesitate to rip that outfit to shreds,” you choked back a gasp as Bucky got up and made his way to get more firewood. You almost missed the hint of lust in his eyes

—

Two weeks missing

Your body was dirty, your stomach barely filled, and damn it it was getting more and more hot as the seconds ticked away. You starts to lose hope that anyone would come looking for you and Bucky. Speaking of, Bucky was becoming more and more irritated with each passing day.

His words to you were clipped responses or inaudible grunts. You were almost afraid to ask him a question in fear that he would kill you. Of course he wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to hear him yelling at you anymore.

Night had fallen and the bugs started to come out. Icky mosquitos leaving scratchy bite marks all over both your skin. Bucky would slap a few on himself every so often, but you kept scratching away.

“Stop doing that,” Bucky spoke as you dig your too long nails into your skin, “you’re gonna bleed from all that scratching.”

“I can’t, it’s so itchy. How am I suppose to get them to stop?”

“There’s a hot spring a little ways into the woods, I can show you and you can shower off,” he tried to be nice, but his irritably was peaking through.

“Ew gross, you bathed in there too,” you didn’t want to get naked on this island, hell with how Bucky’s been acting who knows what he might do if he saw you naked.

“So I’m gross now? After all I’ve been doing for you? You think I’m gross,” Bucky’s eyes narrowed in on you.

“It’s just, you used that spring too, so isn’t that like contaminated?” You tried your best to put the words nicely but Bucky wasn’t having it.

Bucky chuckled, “I can’t believe this. I gave us a shelter, I’ve been busting my ass to get you food, fuck I even dived into the fucking ocean to save your ass. And you,” he seethed, “you—you are so fucking ungrateful and I’ve just about HAD IT!”

You froze in your spot as Bucky yelled at you. Tears were brimming your eyes as you tried not to let them fall. He was right, you have been acting a little bratty, but you chalked it up to blame on minimal food and heat distress.

A tear spilled from your eye and you looked down to wipe it away. The last thing you wanted was for Bucky to see you cry. What you didn’t realize, was that Bucky made his way over to with hatred in his eyes.

In one swift motion, Bucky grabbed you by your knotty hair and positioned you across his lap. Your eyes widened as you began to kick and push yourself away. You only stopped when Bucky laid a smack on your ass.

“Stop moving,” Bucky spanked you again.

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you and this is how I get treated,” *smack*, “given you shelter,” *smack*, “food,” *smack*, “would it be too hard to get a simple THANK,” *smack*, “YOU,” *smack*.

Bucky assaulted your bottom five more times before he heard you crying. He pushing you off of him and you laid face down in the sand. He brushed off your cries and walked past you.

“C’mon let’s get to bed. If I so much as hear a sniffle your ass will be redder than a sun burn,” Bucky sauntered into the hut leaving you in the sand to collect yourself.

—

Three weeks missing

You avoided Bucky like the plague. The only time you would see him was when you went to bed. He left you your food for the day but you ate it long after he went to sleep. It was a good system, for you at least. All that was on your mind was forming a plan out of here.

The day was no hotter than the last, if not more. You ended up tearing off more of the gown and made a short skirt for yourself. The only problem was the little slit but you didn’t care. It’s not like anybody was going to be looking, or touching there, anyways.

That’s another thing you were mad about. Almost a month since you got stranded and you were feeling deprived of touch. You wouldn’t dare touch yourself with Bucky sleeping next to you, and sadly your discreet toy was hidden away in your suitcase. It was probably tossed overboard so the ship wouldn’t be held responsible.

You gnawed at the tiny wet sensation between your legs. You wouldn’t be lying if Bucky’s half naked form wasn’t turning you on. Oh, and getting spanked had you withering a little during the nights. You longed to find some sexy guy on the cruise that would fuck your brains out. Sure, Bucky isn’t ugly, but he is your co-worker and you don’t like mixing business and pleasure.

“FUCK, Y/N!” You heard a scream coming from the woods.

“Y/N, HELP ME PLEASE!” You ran towards where the screams were coming from.

You saw Bucky stumble out of the woods. His shirt was off and only a pair of boxers on. Bucky was grabbing his thigh which was dripping blood.

“Oh my god, Bucky what happened!”

“I was bathing in the fucking hot spring and when I got out this stupid fucking snake fucking bit my fucking thigh,” he was curing up a storm and clenching his jaw hard.

“Was it poisonous?”

“Y/N, I don’t know, but if it is then you need to suck the poison out,” Bucky started to lose his balance. You held him up but he kept sinking down.

“Please, I’m sorry, help me,” Bucky has tears in his eyes and was shaking.

“Okay, okay I’ll help you,” you knelt down to where to bite was and put your lips to his thigh.

Bucky gasped as you lightly started to suck. Once you thought you had a good amount you spit it off to the side. You put your lips back and sucked vigorously. Bucky felt himself growing hard and tried to maintain it.

You weren’t paying much attention to the main above you. He was tending up and you had minimal time get as much poison out of him, depending if he had any or not. You heard Bucky gasping above you but ignored him. He loosened up a bit and put his hand in your hair. He stroked it a little as you tried to pull away to spit more poison out. Then, he stopped you.

“That’s enough, baby. I think you got it,” you were still faced with his thigh until you slowly began to look up. He was hard. Very hard. His boxers had a tiny wet spot on this and he was trying to contain himself.

“I-I could go if you-“

“No,” Bucky finally looked down at you, “your good with your mouth aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You blushed furiously and looked away. Bucky’s fingers tilted your chin up towards him.

“Don’t be shy now,” he paused, “fuck I really wanna kiss you,” Bucky licked his lips and eyes you up and down.

“Then why don’t you?” Your voice spoke before your brain could process anything.

“Come down here sweetheart,” your body was vibrating with ecstasy and excitement.

You slowly crawled up to him and planted your lower body in between the leg that wasn’t bitten. You laid on top of him and stared at him for a moment. The moment lasted to long for Bucky’s liking and he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you forward.

Your lips met with a crash. The kiss was opened mouthed and sloppy. The exposed parts of your warm bodies was enough to send a pool into your panties. Bucky moaned deeply into the kiss. He tried pulling you even closer.

Your mind was swirling around in lustful thoughts. It almost didn’t register to you the way you ground down on his thigh. You both moaned. Bucky urged you on with his hand firmly on the small of your back.

You started to grind harder and slower wanting to savor it all. Bucky finally broke the miss and you both gasped for air. You kept your forehead pressed against his.

“Baby, let me touch you,” he rasped out.

“B-but it feels s’good,” you moaned getting wetter by the second.

“I’ll make it feel even better, princess.”

You begrudgingly rolled on to your back beside Bucky. Bucky careful got on his side and looked you up and down. He groaned and licked his lips taking you in. Slowly he removed your top.

“Think you can get the rest off for me, honey?” You shook your head and rapidly pulled off the mini skirt and your panties.

Bucky was hard as a rock and began to slowly palm himself through his boxers. You removed his hand and palmed him yourself. Bucky trialed a hand down your body all the way to your aching pussy.

“So wet, did I make you this wet, honey?” You bit your lip and shook your head. You began palming him faster.

“As much as I enjoy this I think he would like skin to skin contact,” you eyes widened more as Bucky began to circle your sweet little nub.

You dipped your hand under his boxers. He was big, really fucking big, and he was leaking from the tip. You started to stroke him slowly and firmly. Bucky made quick work and started rubbing around your mound.

He dipped a finger in and you gasped loudly. Bucky smirked and began his work. Quick thrusts in and out making the most beautiful squelching sounds you both ever heard of. The stimulation was setting you into overdrive as your stroked him faster.

“Princess,” you moaned out, “you’re soaking daddy’s fingers,” Bucky stopped all movement and looked up at you. You seemed unfazed and still withering in pleasure. Of course, you thought that by stopping movement he wanted a response, what you didn’t know was that he had just outed himself and his secret kink.

“M’sorry daddy. I-I just like it so much,” little whimpers left your throat as you thrusted yourself on his fingers. Bucky was shocked that you responded but had no intentions of stopping you from fucking yourself on his fingers.

“It’s okay baby, daddy likes it so much too,” Bucky picked you his motioned as a fast pace.

You stopped stroking him due to the amount of pleasure you were receiving. He was like a jack rabbit thumping in and out of you. He then pulled his finger out of you completely. His big palm rubbed you all over. From clit to pussy you were drenched in your own arousal.

“Gotta get you wet, gotta get you ready for daddy’s thick cock,” Bucky was a madman on a mission.

Your orgasm hit you like a bullet. You arched your back and screamed Bucky’s name. By the time you came down from your high your pretty sure your soul left your body.

“Don’t think we are done just yet, princess.”

—

Four weeks missing

“FUCK, DADDY!” You screamed out as Bucky fucked you harshly against the tree.

Ever since the snake bite incident, you and Bucky has been non stop fucking. Turns out you both needed to burn off that heat distress and having sex repeatedly was the way to do it.

Morning, noon, and night Bucky had you on top of, under, ass up, mouth on, and sometimes back to, at all times. His cock became your new favorite seat. You two wouldn’t go anywhere without each other. Even while you were eating or bathing his cock stayed planted in you at all times. The days were hot but the night got cool after some intensive “exercise”.

Now here you are, bare naked up against a tree getting pounded by your co-worker. Or were you technically lovers now? Doesn’t matter, all that matters is you cumming.

“C’mon baby, let it out. Let it all out for daddy, baby,” after that day Bucky wouldn’t be Bucky anymore. You were always princess, honey, sweetheart, or baby. Bucky would always be daddy.

You did slip up your third time fucking the first night by calling him Bucky. He growled and pulled out of you and spanked you till your ass was cherry red. You liked it and he liked it. It was like the pleasure you’ve both been dreaming of.

“Fuck, I’m gonna ugh I’m gonna fucking explode in this pussy, honey. Would you like that? This little pussy fucking flooded in my cum. Say it baby, say you want my cum,” Bucky then laid you back on a giant rock and fucked you harder.

“Daddy I want your cum. I want your cum in me and I want it all over me. Fuck daddy please please PLEASE!” You screamed out as you came again.

Bucky moaned as he released into you. Give him five more minutes and he’ll be ready to go again. He was determined to make you body full of his cum.

“Turn around baby, let’s see that gorgeous ass.”

—

“There,” Steve shouted over the radar.

“What? Did you find something?” Wanda ran over to where Steve was sitting.

“I think I gotta hit on Bucky’s signal! Maybe Y/N is there with him?” Steve says.

“We can only hope. Thank god Tony put that tracker in Bucky’s arm. We would’ve never found them,” Wanda says looking at the radar.

“Hey if you want I can get a camera down there to see if they are there. Better we know now and not just see a random metal arm sticking out of the sand,” Wanda and Steve shot Clint a death glare.

“Geez tough room. Okay sending a camera down,” Clint maneuvers the little drone camera to where Bucky’s signal is pinging from.

Slowly the camera makes its way through the beachy landscape and into the wooded area of the island. There, the drone picks up two blurry figures.

“Hey guys, I think I got something,” Clint calls Steve and Wanda over.

“Is it them?”

“Maybe it’s a bear?”

“Clint there are no bears on an island.”

“Are they- are they naked?” Wanda’s eyes widen as the picture got clearer.

“OH MY GOD MY EYES!”

631 notes · View notes