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aswrittenbyaj · 2 years ago

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stick and poke

pairing: shuri x black!fem!reader

summary: your time on vacation is slowly coming to an end so naturally you two try to find a way to commemorate it.

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: this one's for the lovers. rated M for mature. minors dni. partial nudity as well as nipple play (reader-receiving) and a brief moment of impact play (titty-slapping, reader-receiving). briefest mention of a needle (tattooing, obviously). there's a few pet names, but none degrading. not beta'd (that's a warning in itself). let me know if i missed any!

a/n: so this was not on my wip list because i forgot i finished this a lil while back lol. a fun twist on the tattoo shop au that i hope you'll all enjoy. i don't know xhosa so any words in bold are to be assumed as spoken in xhosa. there's one or two words in the actual language and credit for their translation goes to @iinkonde from this post. banner and divider by: me.

you were going to miss this, miss the ease of moving through the day without obligations and responsibilities looming over your shoulder. there was nothing like waking up as you pleased next to the woman you loved while the sounds of waves crashing in the distance calmed your soul. the position of the sun being your only source of time, self-carved notches on the wooden planks of the treehouse wall the only indication of how many days had passed since the two of your arrived at the secluded beach.

there was tranquility in getting away from the hustle and bustle of everyday city life. even as you stared out at the vast water before you from where you sat in the sand, the waves crashing into one another, you tried imagining what life would be like if you never went back. you almost wished it were that simple.

"you still with me, yeah?"

shuri's voice found you before your eyes found her, the lithe woman approaching from behind, a green coconut in one hand, a bowie knife in the other.

you drunk in the sight of her, midriff peeking between the gap of her cropped white t-shirt and pink shorts that stopped mid-thigh, rich skin sun-kissed with a healthy glow, one that only came from inward peace and happiness. showing off her strength, shuri swung the knife at the tree nut, hacking away at the top with ease, giving you a chance to ogle the way her biceps flexed with the moment.

"always," you replied shamelessly.

if anything, these last two weeks were proof you didn't need all the riches and privileges that came with being connected to a wakandan royal, romantically or not. you just needed her. you just wanted her. always.

she tried to hide her grin behind the coconut as she took a drink from the opening she created, but you knew her, almost better than you knew yourself it sometimes seemed. there were few reasons her cheekbones would raise towards the sun, why her eyes would crinkle at the corner.

"except when your mind is kilometers away," she retorted, plopping down next to you, her knee brushing yours as she folded her legs pretzel-style beneath her. "no people, no technology, no work to distract you, and i lose you to the ocean!" she chuckled with a shake of her head, sea-salted curls swaying with the movement.

"you could never lose me. you know that. you just like to hear me say it."

leaning in, your pressed your lips to the corner of her mouth, leaving a sweet kiss as your hand swiped the coconut from her grasp.

"naturally." she replied in her native tongue. her words were flippant, teasing, but her voice was butter-soft with affection.

"naturally," you repeated in english, tone mocking bumping her bare shoulder with your own before bringing the coconut up to your lips.

the action was clumsy, the timing of your backwards head tilt slightly off, sending the sweet water dribbling in the miniscule gap between your lip and the nut shell. without a care, you drank deeply, your thirst not surprising given how long you had been soaking in the solar rays. your mother would be disappointed in your lack of uv protection, but in that moment, it was the furthest thing from mind.

you could feel shuri's gaze on you as you drank, leaving a path of warmth that felt different than the sun. that was one thing about being here alone with her, without the so-called distractions of life. everything felt acute, supercharged, and oh-so-very intense.

swallowing, you pulled the coconut away, turning to look at her.

"intoni ingxakhi?" what's wrong, you asked, your interchanging of english and xhosa becoming more natural every time you used the language.

your wrist bent as your arm raised to wipe the soon-to-be-sticky trail from your cheek, chin and neck, only shuri had beat you to it. instead of answering your question, she leaned in, the flat of her pink tongue sliding across the sensitive skin of your collarbone before trailing up you neck. closing your eyes, you tilted your head more to give her extra room to work with. full lips sucked softly at the moisture on your chin, dragging out a groan from the back of your throat.

coconut forgotten in the sand, you brought your hand up to grip the back of her head, soft curls pliable under the grip of your fingers. finally, her mouth moved to meet yours, but as you leaned in to meet her halfway, she pulled back slightly, your lips brushing against one another.

peeling your eyes open, you saw hers were already waiting to connect, heat stirring deep within her irises. you tempted once more to mold your lips together, but again, she leaned away, just enough to keep it from happening.

"shuri." you murmured your complaint, hooded gaze raising from her lips to her eyes than back again.

she challenged with a murmur of your name, lips barely moving before finally descending upon yours.

the sand was going to be a bitch to get out of the dark coiled crown on your head, but there was no stopping you from laying back against the ocean-pebbled surface, shuri's body a welcomed weight atop of yours. legs slotted together, she ground her thigh down against your warm center, a hum of pleasure pressing through lips moving in a synchronic dance only the two of you knew.

your hands resting on her lower back, shuri pulled away to look down at you. palms on the ground at either side of your head held her up so she could take in your beauty, so she could take in the wide set nose and kiss-bitten full lips, the brown eyes that were darkened with desire.

"bast, you are very beautiful."

there was something in the way shuri breathed those words out, almost as if she hadn't meant to say them out loud, or at least not loud enough for you to hear them. one hand left the ground to cup your cheek, thumb swiping gently at slope of your cheekbone, following the curve of your jawline before traveled lower, a loose grip around your neck. her fingers tightened, palm flat as you swallowed, the skin of your throat pressing against it. her hand felt like a brand, hot, possessive. if a mark was left in its place, it'd be one you'd wear with pride.

she could've left her hand there for an eons and you wouldn't have protested in the slightest. instead, it continue its course south, fingertips gliding against the melanin rich skin of chest before meeting the rim of your tank top. her index slowly trailed along the rib knit neckline, drifting back and and forth as if she were stuck in idle.

"don't tease me."

you had barely uttered the sentiment out before she gave into the demand. in a swift action, her second hand met the first and with an easy twist of her wrists, the cotton fabric gave way with an audible tear. the sudden sound stole a gasp from you, one shuri eagerly swallowed with her tongue. she enjoyed getting these reactions from you, reveled in whatever sounds she could make spill from those plum-colored lips. she'd yet to find her favorite sequence and hoped she never would.

her wandering fingers found your nipples, pinching and rolling it between them as her palms massaged the fullness of your breasts. she plucked them like a bassist did her favorite instrument, with care, with passion, with expertise, before delivering your left breast a sharp slap, drawing out a hiss from between your clenched teeth and a smirk overtop of hers.

narrowing your eyes, your hands tightened on her waist, rolling the two of you over. as if she already knew of your plan, shuri shifted her weight as well, the two of you spinning several times, garnering a few meters of distance from your original spot before landing in your desired position. the logroll shifted the tension in the air, laughter breaking the heated moment as the two of you caught your breath.

looking down at her, chest bare as your ruined top hung off your shoulders haphazardly, you smiled.

"i love you."

it wasn't the first time you confessed those three not-so-little words, not that day, not that week, but you meant it as full as the first time you thought it to yourself. the two of you weren't even in the same country at the time. hell, you hadn't even had a conversation in days. instead, you had been watching a live feed on c-span of a united nations conference in your rented apartment.

the camera had panned to some other country's ambassador when you saw her, queen shuri looking regally bored in the background. she wasn't even the one speaking and yet you couldn't keep your eyes off of her. you could've and would've paid the cameraman three-month's salary to always have her in frame, just so you could've seen her for the full duration of the livestream.

you couldn't help but wonder if that was going to be the life you were heading back to in seven days' time, one filled with kisses in passing and workplace obligations that kept you countries-apart on a consistent basis. finding each other in a world of nearly eight billion people was kismet, but even fate had a funny way of insisting on a more difficult journey for lovers.

"what stole your mind from me?" she demanded softly, pulling you back to the present, the fiery mirth within her eyes dulling as concern filled its space.

with a soft sigh, you shifted, finding a seat in her lap as you straddled her, your bare legs aligning with her muscled thighs. though she remained reclined, shuri brought her knees up slightly, toes wiggling in the sand, one hand settling behind her head, the other resting on the curve of your ass.

"i don't want to leave yet. i know we still have a week of holiday left here, but one week is not enough when i desire an eternity with you."

you ducked your head, for speaking like that always made you a bit bashful. it didn't matter how much you knew shuri loved you or how many times she shared her affection towards you, you still couldn't imagine the queen of wakanda continuing to choose you as her boundless love.

"so then we stay."

an unamused huff of air pushed through your nostrils at her suggestion, one brow raising.

"have you forgotten who you are?" you asked incredulously, your voice raising an octave.

"have you?"

the tone of shuri's voice forced you to swallow your tongue, to choose your words, your tone a little more carefully. yes, she was your lover in all definitions, but she was still queen of the most powerful nation on land (and most-likely the sea as well, but that was a conversation for another day). if she wanted to stay, you had no doubt she would find a way to make it happen, even if it was just for a little while longer.

"i don't mean to doubt your capabilities. it's just that your people need you home. they only tolerate me. and if they found out you were considering abandoning your duties for an outsider..."

your voice trailed off, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your shook your head, refusing to finish the sentence.

the two of you didn't talk about your shaky wakandan lineage. sure your grandmother had talked fondly of the wakandan country and its people, but they were only stories, ones that couldn't be proven, not since your war dog grandfather had disappeared sometime after your mother's birth.

shuri had offer to do some digging, but you had declined, too afraid of the truth drawing a wedge not only between the two of you, but also between you and your family. whether she looked on her own, she hadn't said and you were grateful for the silence on the topic.

"so marry me."

"er...what?"

the turns this conversation had taken was sending your mind into a spin cycle. one minute you were disheartened by the fact that you had to leave her soon and the next you were in the middle of a marriage proposal.

"marry. me."

the chuckle that escaped from between your lips was an accident, a knee-jerk reaction. you had dreamt of those words coming from out of her mouth for months now and to think that they were finally here almost felt too surreal.

almost.

"you're serious?"

sitting up, shuri rested her weight on one hand, leaning in to affectionate bump her nose against yours.

"how could i not be when i am talking about a lifetime with the love of my existence?"

the unwavering of her stare as she looked into your eyes killed any thought of this being a playful joke to lighten the moment, to ease your worries. your mind decided it was the perfect time to short circuit as you tried to figure out the right thing to say.

"well it wasn't that great of a proposal so..." you said, a cheeky response to try ease the pressure in your chest.

shuri gasped at your gall, fingers digging into your side, sending you into giggles. gasping for air, you tried to squirm away, but she didn't let up nor did she let you get away.

"mercy, queen. mercy," you choked out between your laughter.

chest rising and falling rapidly, you were grateful when she finally let you catch your breath...only for her to steal it away again with the sincerity in her voice with her next words.

"do you want to marry me, nkosazana sam?" she asked her princess, the term of endearment one that melted your heart every time.

there was only one response to give her.

"yes, i want to marry you."

you closed the gap between you and shuri, your palms resting on either side of her head while you pressed your lips against hers. pulling away, you couldn't resist one more joke.

"though you might want to get used to calling me queen."

with one more quick kiss to her lips, you pushed up onto your feet and took off down the shoreline, seafoam brushing your ankles as you splashed long the waterline, your fiancée hot on your heels.

"hold still," you complained seriously, though the cackle spilling between your words didn't help.

"you are literally stabbing me with a needle. there is no 'holding still.'"

the two of you were back up in the treehouse, naked as the day, shuri lying face down on the queen-sized bed, the only luxurious furniture in the space.

you were straddling her again, only this time you had settled down on the plump of her backside, hunched over as you tried to deliver as clean of a stick-and-poke tattoo as you could to her spine. the words "eternally yours" in wakandan glyphs that trailed from the nape of your neck to the space between your shoulder blades were identical to the sentiment you were currently trying to imprint in the same location on shuri's back.

"well, it's about to say 'eternally yout' if you don't stop wiggling." you dipped the needle in the ink again as you spoke before returning back to the task at hand. "then you'll have to spend a lifetime explaining why the black panther, the fiercest and strongest creature on earth, couldn't even sit still for one measly little tatto- ow!"

before you could finish your sentence, shuri had sneakily reached her hand back to pinch your leg.

"such a brat." she snarked under her breath as she folded her arm back under her chin, making you chuckle because where was the lie.

"you love this brat, though," you countered with ease, giving her finished tattoo one final wipe, sitting back to admire your handy work.

"i do. i really do."

#as written by aj #shuri x reader #shuri x black!reader #shuri fanfiction #shuri fanfic #shuri x fem!reader #shuri fic #shuri x you #shuri x f!reader #black panther fanfic #shuri fluff

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scythegameing · 7 months ago

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Conflicting Lives- Chapter 1: Late Again

Hi! I got this idea after reading a bunch of other hero/villain au fics, and wanted to try my hand at making my own! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1471

beep. beep. beep. beep.

Scythe groans as his alarm goes off for the…who knows how many times by now, likely the third or fourth. Finally looking up at his phone, he realizes what time it is.

8:30 “Shit!” Scythe curses as he rushes to get out of bed and get dressed. “I really need to get better at waking up.”

As he walks out of his room, still trying to pull on his shirt, Scythe sees Ella sitting on the couch, watching another random show that she must have found while browsing around. Without even turning around, Ella tells him, “There's food in the microwave for you. Hopefully it's still warm but maybe not since you woke up late again,” and only then does she turn around to look at Scythe with a glare shooting daggers.

Scythe sighs and looks down, “I know, I know you don’t have to remind me. I’m working on it,” he says defeatedly, knowing well that she was right. “Thank you for making food.” Instead of saying anything, she just turns back around and continues watching whatever she put on the TV.

Grabbing his cooling food and practically running out the front door, Scythe makes his way to his class. This would be the second time he was late to his 8am, and he only has this class, Feline Behavior and Psychology, three times a week. His professor isn’t necessarily keen on attendance, but he also isn’t the most lenient on it either.

Around 7 minutes of painfully speed walking from his dorm later, he arrives at his classroom and awkwardly walks in, praying he wouldn’t be noticed.

“Late again Mr. Cristaal.” the professor says, not exactly annoyed, but not happy either. Mostly disappointed honestly.

Stiffening for a moment then accepting defeat, Scythe turns around, “Sorry Professor Scar. My alarm didn't wake me up.”

Sighing as Scythe walks to his seat, Scar turns his wheelchair to face towards the young ender hybrid, “That’s the 6th time you’ve used that excuse this semester.” shaking his head, Scar turns back towards the board. “Just see me after class and we’ll talk about it” he says, trying to be a bit more cheery, then continues with the lesson.

Scythe tried to pay attention to the lesson, but his mind inevitably wandered off somewhere else. This somewhere else just so happened to be the night before when him and the villain known as Tanuki were causing some mischief.

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

“Damn Ender, you really got some spunk!” Tanuki credited Scythe. He obviously can’t go by his real name, and the media deemed him to be named Ender with his Enderman features being more prominent thanks to his illusion magic. He looks like a completely different person.

His horns are larger and thinner, he has almost no fair-toned skin (only a few spare patches down the right side of his body), most of his hair was purple instead of being split ginger and purple, and both of his eyes are purple instead of only his left. It definitely wasn't easy holding this major of an illusion for so long either; months of training and exercises were needed for the illusion to be completely stable. Funnily enough, he does the same kind of illusion while he’s working for the agency too, but that’s a different story for a different time.

“You’re not too bad yourself oldie! Can you catch up to me though?” Scythe replies as he teleports away to another rooftop.

Now Tanuki was the type of guy to never back down from a challenge, “Oldie?! I’m not even that old you blummin idiot!” he said, laughing as he pursued Scythe across the rooftops of Hermiton.

Tanuki was actually a good friend of his, and he even helped Scythe get more confident and stable with his illusions. With this, he has seen Scythe without any illusion applied. Scythe had of course seen Tanuki outside of villain shenanigans as well, and his name is Joel. In times like this, when they’re just having fun after a night of doing who knows what and causing some chaos just for the hell of it, they tend to just chat.

There was one time where they chatted about Scythe's college work, another where Joel was talking about his two partners (being teased by Scythe the whole time, of course), then there was one night where they were just watching the stars move by in comfortable silence.

This night, however, the two were chasing each other and messing around all the way until the late hours of the night, and around probably 11:30pm, Scythe finally started to feel tired, and figured it probably best he get home to Cursia before he gets no sleep at all.

“Well it’s probably about time I head home. See you another night Tanuki!” Scythe said, stretching, as Joel caught up to him on what would inevitably be the last rooftop of the night.

“Pleasure as always, Ender. See you next time!” Joel replied with a smile, and they both went their separate ways.

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

“...ythe, can you hear me?” Scythe sat up with a jolt, Scar next to him in his wheelchair. Looking around the room, he saw that all the other seats were empty, the projector turned off, and Scar looking at him a bit worriedly.

Scythe rubbed his eyes, “Shi- uh- crap sorry Scar. Apparently I didn't get back at as descent of a time as I thought I did.” He didn't meet Scars gaze. Not because it was angry or scolding, but because it was full of pity and worry.

Scar sighed and put his hand on Scythe’s arm, “Were you… out with Joel again?” he asked, and Scythe knew exactly what Scar meant by out.

Though to most Scar would seem like a simple college professor in a Cursian College, he had a few different tricks up his sleeve. This being said, he was well aware of what Scythe and Joel got up to at times, sometimes even joining in himself, even if only just to let off a bit of steam.

Scythe knew he couldn't pass it off any longer, and he just nodded and explained, “I thought I would be able to get home sooner than I did, but apparently I didn't have enough energy to be as fast as I hoped to be.”

“I can’t always get you the material from the day, you know that right Scythe? As much as I would like to help you as a friend, I can’t always help you as your professor.�� Scar said as he turned his wheelchair back towards the front of the room, and his desk. Turning his head around one more time, Scar gave Scythe one last bit of advice, “Just try not to fall too far behind. I’ll email you the material that we went over today, just make sure you get your work done.”

As Scar turned back and started heading towards his desk, Scythe stood up and replied, “I’ll try. You might have to help me when you join in some nights though.” He caught Scar chuckling and shaking his head before turning and walking out of the classroom, towards the opposite side of the building for his next class.

Bzzt. bzzt.

Scythe pulled out his phone, checking his notifications. It had to have been something important to go through his do not disturb; not many things do after all.

New Message from Spore: Agency, 30 minutes, mandatory attendance for all recipients.

Scythe sighs, turns around, and starts heading back towards his dorm to drop off his stuff. Swiping away the message, he pulls up his texts with Scar.

Scythe: Did you get it too?

Scar: Yup. Do you think you’ll make it?

Scythe: If I can get back to my dorm quick enough without needing to teleport.

Scar: Good luck then. Meet you there, and DON’T be late. It won't end well for anyone.

Scythe: I know I know and I won't. Meet ya there.

After the lovely reminder of his increasing tardiness and time management issues, Scythe decides to start speed walking back, which turns into a light run as he exits the building.

He makes it back to his dorm in 3 minutes flat, thankfully, and hurries into his room past a curious Ella. He changes into his uniform, hidden by an illusion to the public eye, and hurries back out. Before he can make it out however, Ella grabs his arm and he looks back.

“Where are you going?” Ella asks. “Agency meeting, mandatory and last minute, as always.” Scythe replies quickly, and Ella lets go immediately. As he closes the door, he hears Ella say something along the lines of “Good luck,” before running back out the door and heading towards Hermiton, and the Agency Building.

Next>>>

#hermitcraft #life series #fanfic #self insert #original character #hyperfixation #superhero #villain #magic #alternate universe #gtwscar #conflictinglives #cl writing

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bucky-hues · 3 years ago

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stucky fic recs

here are some stucky fic recs! as always, be sure to read the warnings for each fic <3

one shots

finding home | @thedamageofherdays

cap steve x modern bucky

After he is caught in a terrible rainstorm while hiking, Bucky is glad to find shelter at the cottage Steve shares with his daughter and his dog. Bucky ends up finding so much more than just a safe place to spend the night.

x | @dreadlockholiday

steve x bucky

Request: Bucky looking through a glossy magazine and saying something like "God, can you imagine being paid for just looking cute?" And without thought Steve replies, "you'd be a millionaire" and Bucky just blushes furiously while Steve's all like 😳 *oh no, I just said that out loud*

x | @dreadlockholiday (18+)

steve x bucky

Bucky finds his BFF Steve's sketchbook... and it's full of nothing but sketches of Bucky... naked.

sweethearts | @musette22

steve x bucky

Steve confesses his feelings to Bucky using sweethearts

my moon, my man | @musette22 (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

AU meet-cute. Strangers on a Train, but with less murder and more sexual tension.

make it till you fake it | AggressiveWhenStartled (AO3)

steve x bucky

“Ned,” Peter said, like a drowning man sighting land. “Ned. Captain America and the Winter Soldier are fake dating right now and it is the most painfully awkward and obvious thing I have ever seen, all of us want to die, Ned.”

things my heart used to know | Nightwing11 (AO3)

steve x bucky

In a world where soulmates can communicate telepathically with their partners, Steve Rogers has always had Bucky Barnes with him, a calming voice in a sea of turmoil. And, when Bucky falls off the train during World War II, Steve experiences deafening silence for the first time.

Now, after crashing a plane in the Arctic to save the world and being frozen for 70 years, Steve’s still trying to figure out how to live without Bucky there. His new friends are trying to help him adjust, to move on. And he thought he was doing better, he really did.

So, why is he suddenly hearing Bucky’s voice again?

catfish | @buckmebxrnes (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers is a famous movie star, known for his role as Captain America. Bucky Barnes is a bored law student who drinks too much wine. Bucky gets on match.com to boost his confidence. What he doesn't expect is a guy using Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating profile. Bucky decides to mess with the guy. After all, what idiot uses Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating site?

Not like it's really him, right? Bucky may need more wine.

let's go have fun | @sebastanbucky

steve x bucky

“Nat wanted me to-” Nat clears her throat and he rolls his eyes. “I wanted to tell you something.” He looks at Steve with a look he hopes says ‘play along’. “Okay. What did you want to tell me?” Bucky has to take a deep breath to keep from laughing again, it helps with his performance as Nat nods encouragingly at him. “I’m gay.” He says, making his voice sound shaky and weak.

the way you came around | sokaless (AO3)

steve x bucky

After a while, Bucky says, “You know, this song sounds like it was written for you.” “That's funny,” Steve remarks. “I chose it because it reminded me of you.” Steve gives Bucky an iPod full of his favourite songs from the 21st century to help him deal with his nightmares. Bucky has a new mission- to find out who Steve is in love with, because there are a few too many unrequited love songs on that iPod.

stuck on you | wearing_tearing (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

you have the place next to my place | justanotherStonyfan (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

prompt: “We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall” AU

Captain America helps the Vet next door.

you’ve got (30) new matches | williamkaplans (AO3)

steve x bucky

When everyone finds out Steve's bi thanks to Bucky's recovering memories, Natasha kicks up her match-making into high gear. Steve has zero luck, but Natasha won't give up, especially when Sam (jokingly) suggests online dating. It isn't long before Steve finds someone, a someone who seems eerily familiar.

perfectly right wrong number | melonbutterfly (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

put your number in my phone | MacksDramaticShenanigans (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns back to the computer. He only has to click a few times before he finds the link to the questionnaire and opens it, inputting the participant number before hitting next. The beginnings of the consent form fills the page, and all Steve has left to do now is wait for the participant— one James Barnes, according to the website— to show up.

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t end up having to wait very long. James Barnes shows up ten minutes early and knocks on the door before cracking it open and peeking in.

“Oh, hi,” he says, when he spots Steve sitting at the desk. He pushes the door open all the way and steps into the room just as Steve spins in the chair to face him.

“Um, I’m, uh, a bit early, but I’m here for the decision making study,” James continues, clear blue eyes flickering around the room before landing on Steve again. The skin between his eyebrows crinkles up a little, and god, Steve probably shouldn’t find his uncertainty as cute as he does. “Am I in the right place?”

wouldn’t it be nice | MacksDramaticShenanigans (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

"You are never going to believe what just happened," Bucky bemoans, shaking his head. He's at Steve's side in a moment and doesn't bother to give any warning before he dramatically falls into Steve's lap. Steve just barely manages to save his book from getting squashed.

"What is it?" Steve asks, matching Bucky's dramatic tone. "What am I not going to believe?"

"I just got off the phone with Natasha," he starts. "She cancelled on me!" Bucky throws his arms up, nearly smacking Steve in the face in the process.

Steve carefully places his hand on Bucky's forearm and lowers it away from his face.

"You're kidding," he says, a frown curving onto his lips at the news.

"I wish I was," he sighs. Bucky presses his lips together into a disappointed line and deflates against the back of the couch, slinking down Steve's thighs a little. "Who goes to Coney Island alone? How pathetic is that?"

Steve snorts, earning a glare from Bucky, and pats Bucky's thigh. "Aw, don't be such a sourpuss, Buck," he says. "Who said anything about going alone?"

all jokes aside | darksknight (AO3)

steve x bucky

"Before we know it Banner’s gonna be makin’ insinuations.” (Everyone "jokes" about Steve and Bucky being in a relationship until, eventually, they admit that they are.)

barnes & rogers and the goddamn truth

steve x bucky (teacher au)

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

in the shadows | DragonWannabe (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Five times they thought they were almost caught, one time someone found out, and one time they didn't have to hide.

OR:

Bucky and Steve grew up in a time when people like them went to jail.

single and looking | Jaiden_S (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

"Bucky held his place with his index finger and turned the magazine over to check the date on the cover. It was brand new, just out this month. An unexpected cord of anxiety tightened in Bucky’s chest. Single and looking? Frantically, he flipped back to the article. What exactly was Steve looking for? According to the article, Steve’s dream girl should be intelligent, altruistic, well-versed in current events and have a wicked sense of humor. Oh, and he had a thing for high heels and red lipstick. Bucky’s stomach churned as he re-read the article. Was that really what Steve wanted? Make-up and stilettos?"

A slightly sappy tale of two utterly besotted super-soldiers who excel at miscommunication.

these american dreams (ain’t no white picket fences left for me) | kariye (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

In which Bucky has a house, a dog, an herb garden, and a serious case of insomnia. Welcome to Havensport, Indiana (population 8,294), where Tom’s Neighborhood Grocer stays open all night, little old ladies call the car shop to get their refrigerators repaired, and the heat of summer days and the length of summer nights can make you think that this perfect world will last forever.

i’ve been careless with a delicate man | paraxdisepink (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Steve lets SHIELD think he and Bucky were boyfriends so they’ll let him see the Winter Soldier in medical.

knock on wood | 74days (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers lives a quiet, steady life, until his next door neighbour moves in and starts having incredibly energetic sex every night. All Steve wants is for him to move his bed away from the wall so the damn headboard doesn't knock a hole through his wall.

progressively bigger keys | spinawren (AO3)

steve x bucky

“A very little key will open a very heavy door.” ― Charles Dickens, Hunted Down

Steve and Bucky, it appears, have less need for a key and more use for a battering ram in trying to come out of the closet.

(The one where Steve tries to do one thing (one thing!) without causing a national ruckus, but the press are determined to see Bucky as Steve's best friend. And nothing more.)

stucky discover gay rights | Alicia_Borealis (AO3)

steve x bucky

“Then, why-” Steve stopped himself and looked at Bucky, who had tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “We’re- we’re not sick?”

“Wait, what?” Tony asked.

“Being a homosexual, it isn’t… wrong?”

The story of how Steve Roger's loved and lost Bucky, then how he got him back and then how he realised he was allowed to love him after all.

thursday nights with bucky barnes | Ellessey (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve has a comfortable, well-worn routine for his Thursday nights, until the old man who runs the laundromat breaks his hip.

Then Steve has Bucky instead.

to seek a nood-er world | jehans (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Send noodz

Steve has been staring at his phone for the last six minutes, eyes narrowed so much they’re almost closed at this point, trying to figure out what the hell Bucky means. Noodz? What the fuck are noodz?

Listen, Steve is at least marginally aware of modern pop culture. He’s heard of nudes — not that nudes are exactly a modern invention; artists have been creating them for millennia — and he does know that people tend to misspell words to be cute or funny. They did that when he was young, too. Because time is a flat circle, apparently.

But, wait—does that mean…?

No. Not possible. Bucky isn’t asking Steve to send him…nudes.

Right?

tied ‘round your throat | sleepypercy (AO3) (18+)

police officer steve x serial killer bucky

Steve's a small-town police officer trying to track a serial killer who's been in Steve's bed the whole time.

much tattoo about nothing | Deisderium (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

the perfect man | Ellessey (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Setting up a dating profile is decidedly not in Bucky's skill-set, but against all odds he manages to connect with someone who makes the one-night stand he thought he wanted feel like not nearly enough.

kiss me and take off your clothes | steveandbucky (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers is dared to send a dick pic to a blog which critiques dick pics (run by none other than Bucky Barnes). Hilarity ensues.

i can’t dare to dream about you anymore | steveandbucky (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve considers himself to be a pretty open-minded guy, which is why he can't quite understand why he feels so uncomfortable whenever he sees his gay roommate kissing guys. He's not homophobic, but how else can he explain the way his stomach twists at the sight?

It takes him a while to catch on.

exam room b | steveandbucky (AO3)

modern steve x nurse bucky

“Wait, what do you mean he asked for me?”

“He asked if the cute male nurse with the ponytail was working today. I assume he meant you.”

kickstart my heart | Kalee60 (AO3) (18+)

doctor steve x modern bucky

Bucky’s Wednesday wasn’t off to a great start. Not only did he wake up in a hospital with his annoyed best friend staring down at him, his treating Doctor just happened to be way too familiar, and the reason for that was slightly mortifying.

With misunderstandings in the air, a snarky nurse who is a pain in his butt and the ugliest neck brace known to man attached to his body. There was no way his Wednesday was ever going to improve. Could it?

you make me feel.. | kalika_999 (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

All Steve wanted was to take a breather, decompress after a mission and go out for a jog in the rain. He wasn't expecting to hide out in a bookstore filled with new and used books or that the employee that worked there thought he was an absolute loser and didn't even realize he was insulting Captain America.

nothing in the world that could stop it | rainbow_nerds (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky just wanted to send his best friend a picture of his cat being an idiot while he was taking a bath. Was it really his fault for forgetting the full length mirror right opposite the tub?

rescue me and hold me in your arms | 74days (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky is on the worst date of his life, and what he really needs of for this waitress to get the message he's sending her with his mind to rescue him. She doesn't, but she does send someone to extract him from a night of torture...

odd ways | peterbparker (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“And it would have been an amazing night with my son if he wasn’t distracted by the hot guy on the other side of the room,” Sarah sighed, shaking her head. “He’s been looking over at you for the past fifteen minutes.”

Bucky choked on the mouthful of beer he had just taken.

“What?” he croaked. Things were starting to make a little more sense now.

“Right?” Sarah said, waving her hand towards her son. “He completely ignored my garden stories because he’s been making eyes at you so I decided to come over and introduce myself.”

series

rare is this love (keep it covered) | @musette22 (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

It’s 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.

coming up easy | @musette22 (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

4 minute window | @cesperanza

steve x bucky

"Look, if they catch me," Bucky muttered, "they're either going to kill me or they're going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can't."

swapped | writeonclara (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

if u wanted my number u couldve just asked

u didnt have to steal my whole phone ;)

Steve stared down at his phone, confused. He didn't recognize the number – except, oh wait, he really did. That was his number. On his phone.

He flipped the phone over, then slid one hand down his face. Not his phone.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

[stupid fucking] brooklyn hipster bros | relenaflanel (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky's mother gives him an ultimatum. Bucky doesn't respond well.

All Barneses are stubborn assholes, Steve observes, as though he doesn't see the irony of calling someone else stubborn. Or an asshole.

And Bucky can't even deny he is a total asshole for lying to his mother about dating Steve just so he doesn't have to bring someone else to her wedding, but damn if he's not going to give the lie everything he has.

brought to brightness | eyres (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

slide to answer | relenaflanel (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

"What do I do?” Steve appealed into the phone. “I’m freaking out.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. It lasted so long that Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and frowned at it. Pay phones were old. Maybe this one wasn’t working despite the obvious dial tone when he picked up.

“Ok,” a stranger’s voice said over the phone. “First acknowledge the fact that you dialed the wrong number, but be quick about it because my cab is a few blocks away from my own plans and I’m about to drop some truth bombs on you.”

how to woo the winter soldier | writeonclara (AO3)

steve x bucky

“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.

“What,” Natasha said.

“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.

“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.

Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

all these things that i’ve done | @not-withoutyou

steve x bucky

Steve was the patron saint of waiting too long. Bucky was atoning for his sins. Maybe they’d both been forsaken, abandoned by the light. Maybe they’d find a way back to each other again.

Post civil war, if things had gone differently.

find a way (to make it back home) | belwrites (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (college au)

Fresh off a year abroad, Head Resident Assistant Steve Rogers finds his senior year of college to be full of changes, and he's not just talking about the growth spurt. He's more concerned with the fact that his best friend...isn't talking to him? Is dating his ex? May or may not be missing an arm?

In which Steve has no fucking clue what's going on, but he's trying, Bucky learns how to communicate with his best friend again, and everyone quietly panics about the future.

is it pretending if i already want you? | OhCaptainMyCaptain (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Based on prompt: Pretend Boyfriends AU where one of their families is always wondering why they're never in a relationship, so the other offers to pretend to be their boyfriend for some family event

the roommate | layersofart, Niitza (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

dear mr. postman | odetteandodile (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve and Bucky revive an old friendship, get married (but totally just as friends, for reasons), and navigate a few of the many trials of the heart that come with falling in love with your best friend.

fate will play us out | steveandbucky (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

Bucky has landed himself a job with Stark Industries. He doesn't know yet that the job is actually being the PR manager for the Avengers.

Bucky has also started dating Steve Rogers. He also doesn't know yet that Steve is Captain America.

Bucky's life is about to get a whole lot more exciting.

the avengers hate club | notebooksandlaptops (AO3)

pop star steve x modern bucky

Bucky falls hopelessly for Steve and starts an Avengers hate club with the lead singer of the Avengers.

songbird | chicklette (AO3) (18+)

modern steve x musician bucky

At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Well, one of them anyway. He’s a man who’s given up on finding joy in his life, and if it wasn’t for his kid, he’d have probably found a way to quit the world a long time ago.

Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is, other than some musician his mom liked a lot. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top.

Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

the right partner | LeeHan (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x ws bucky

Steve meets a beautiful man with a bright laugh on a sunny day in Italy. Captain America meets the elusive Winter Soldier moments later.

Date Bucky Barnes. Defeat the Winter Soldier. Bring down Hydra. How hard could it be?

#stucky fic #stucky fic recs #steve x bucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years ago

Photo

Word Count: 1,421 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader Gender: Unspecified Era: Alexandria Summary: Daryl comes in after a run and needs stitches and is surprised when you, the only doctor in Alexandria, mention feeling trapped inside the walls.

Warnings: None really!

Your name: submit What is this?

You looked up as you heard the door open and approaching footsteps. The broad-shouldered archer was passing through the doorframe and his arm was bound with a scrap of cloth, stained rusty red. You sighed and gave him a knowing look. “Daryl, I told you, we really have to stop meeting like this,” you joked sardonically. You thought you saw one corner of his mouth twitch upward briefly and there was a pink flush in his cheeks as he ducked your gaze.

You pulled some gloves on and walked over as he sank down in a chair. “Alright, what did you do to yourself this time?” you asked, starting to untie the scrap of fabric on his upper arm. You winced as you took in the deep gash. “Ouch,” you murmured sympathetically.

Daryl couldn’t stop bouncing his leg and he chewed the side of his thumb as you inspected the injury. “S’nothin’,” he mumbled. You shot him another look, this time with your lips forming a soft pout, and you waited until his blue eyes met yours, trying your hardest to ignore the fluttering in your stomach this man always caused.

“This is not nothing,” you said, turning and heading over to the supply shelf. “Are you going to tell me what happened or do I need to get Rick in here?” you called over your shoulder. You grabbed a bottle of alcohol, cotton pads, and some suture supplies and headed back over to Daryl, pulling up a stool beside him.

“Mmm,” he hummed, trying to figure out how to tell you what had happened without worrying you more than you obviously already were. “Knife,” he drawled.

You’d been pouring some alcohol onto a cotton pad and you froze as you registered what he had just said. Daryl bit his bottom lip anxiously. He saw how you had tensed and your brow furrowed at his words. You resumed your care with another small sigh, sweeping the cotton over his arm and cleaning the dried blood and dirt from his skin. “Last time I was outside the walls, walkers didn’t carry knives. Has that changed?” you asked softly.

He let out a huff. You obviously knew the answer to that.

You made sure to flush the gash in his arm out thoroughly. Daryl didn’t even flinch at the burn of the alcohol. Sometimes you swore the man was made of stone.

“When was that anyway, doc?” he asked, hoping for a change of topic.

You were threading the sterilized needle and paused to consider him for a long moment. “Two weeks ago,” you said, averting your eyes from his. You didn’t see the flash of surprise on his face, but you didn’t need to.

“Ya went out there? Why?” There was a sharp edge to his voice.

“I just… did.”

Not much of an answer. Daryl turned and studied you as you began stitching him up. Your focus gave him leave to take in the colors in your eyes, the curve of your long lashes, the slope of your nose. His body responded with a flush of heat to his core and he ripped his eyes away again. “Ya shouldn’t be doin’ that,” he said.

“How is it any different than you going out there?” you challenged him. Your eyes met his and held the gaze firmly.

“I ain’t a doctor. I ain’t got a whole town of people relyin’ on me to be there if shit goes sideways,” he responded. His tone was harsh again, but you didn’t quail beneath it.

“I would argue that, actually, you do,” you said, placing another skillful stitch in his arm. “You get food and supplies that we need. Keep us all safe. But more than that—we like having you around.”

Daryl scoffed and looked down at his filthy boots, leaving chunks of mud on your clean, clinical white floor. “Ain’t the same. Rick or Abraham or Glenn could do all that anyway. ”

You sighed heavily again and placed a couple more stitches in his arm. “It is the same,” you said gently. You reached for a cotton pad and dabbed at some blood around the injury. “What if—what if suddenly someone told you that you weren’t allowed to leave Alexandria? What would you do?”

Daryl met your eyes, his blue ones narrowed as he puzzled over your question. “I’d tell ‘em where they could shove their opinion. I’d be gone the next damn minute.”

You nodded, resuming your ministrations. “Right. Now, imagine the same scenario, but instead of being able to tell them to shove it, you have to agree because you’re the only doctor and surgeon at the settlement, and that title is more important than anything else about you. It’s more important than the fact that you feel trapped or claustrophobic inside the walls. It’s more important than the fact that you survived on your own out there for so long you didn’t think you’d be able to come back from it. It’s more important than—” you broke off with a sigh, your face contorting a little as you realized you’d said too much. Daryl was carefully watching your expression. You bit your bottom lip anxiously and placed the last stitch in his arm. “All done,” you said, scooting back on the stool. “Just let me put some antibiotic stuff on it and wrap it up.”

Daryl nodded and took a look at the stitches in his arm. They were small and skillful, the result of well-practiced hands. He was turning your words over in his mind. He’d never thought about the burden that came with being a doctor in this time… there was a burden with it. A doctor was so needed, so valued, they kept you tucked away inside the walls without thought for your freedom or what you wanted. It was like they didn’t value you as a whole, but just as an entity that could heal and save when needed. And, sure, you were always wanting to help, wanting to do everything you could. How many times had Daryl come back beat to hell in the middle of the night, thinking there was no way you’d be in the clinic, that someone would have to run and wake you up. But he would walk in and find you slumped over some medical text, just “studying” as you called it. But it all came at a cost.

You returned and applied some ointment over Daryl’s stitches before wrapping his arm in gauze. You picked up the strip of fabric he had bound it with and shot him a look, a half-smile on your lips that sent his heart fluttering. “Your shirt is missing a piece. You want this back,” you joked.

He rolled his eyes at you and you laughed at the reaction, which made his heart jump. He tried to ignore it.

“So, I’m good?” he asked.

“You’re good. Just—”

“Try to keep it dry. Ya, I know…” He stood up and you expected to see the back of his broad-shoulders when next you looked up, but instead he was still standing there, considering you with a thoughtful look on his face.

You felt a lump form in your throat and you tried to swallow it. “What?”

He chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “I get it, ya know. Bein’ trapped in the walls… I wouldn’t like it either. Hell, I wouldn’t stay. But ya shouldn’t go out alone. So, next time I’ll go with ya. Just say when.”

You stared at the archer, perplexed.

“I couldn’t stay in here all the time. I get it.”

You nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He nudged his nose up at you in a classic Daryl nod, drawing a smile from you which sent those annoying flutters in his stomach going. “Hey—I mean what I said earlier though.” He gave you a questioning glance. “We have to stop meeting like this,” you teased him. “I’m starting to think you’re getting injured just so you can come by.”

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, his cheeks and ears distinctly pink. “See ya later, doc,” he mumbled.

“Later.” Apparently, you had yourself a chaperone. And you weren’t disappointed at the thought of spending more time with the stoic man. Maybe this was the start of something.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #the cost of doctoring

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 3 years ago

Text

Inej Ghafa x fem! Reader - Close Enough

A/n: So.... Ya I this wasn't a request I just really inspired to write about Inej today and yes I did write this all today! Also this fic goes (not full, full on) but more with Inej's struggles with touch with her S/O because I see a whole lot for Kaz (which isn't a bad thing keep writing those fics I enjoy them)! But like zero for Inej! So I made one, I hope ya'll enjoy!

Warnings: The Menagerie, mentions of sexual assault, swearing, mentions of panic attacks and flashbacks, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: You and Inej have been dancing around each both knowing that you like each other, yet Inej struggles with her past when she's around you

(The gif is not mine and I do not own shadow and bone or it's characters!)

Her eyes slide over Y/n's body admiring her beauty and the way her y/h/c locks moved with the wind from the sea.

The ship rocked back and forth and Inej couldn't help but think about the way the L/n girl moved. Although Y/n wasn't silent or fluid with her motions, the girl was still graceful in her own not very refined way.

The way she held herself, the way she walked was all so effortless and bold, nothing like the captain of the very ship who was always so lithe and elegant. Yet Inej couldn't stop thinking or looking at the girl who never stayed silent. Yet Inej would never come close to the white tiger named Y/n, and both already knew that.

The deafening sound of the sea and storm was broken by the only person who could become louder and break an unbreakable silence; Y/n.

Inej could hear her footsteps coming closer and closer. She could hear her breathing even if it wasn't heavy, and most of all she could hear her close-mouthed giggles because if they were open-mouthed it would grab all the Saints in this world's attention.

Listening wasn't an option with Y/n you had to pay attention. Her whole aura demanded it, and Inej was starting to think even the Saints could hear her sometimes because that girl had a power over her no one had ever had she didn't even realize it.

"Hello, Captain!" Y/n sings leaping towards Inej's side eagerly.

Instantly Inej's senses are filled with the white tiger's perfume and it overwhelms her with emotions and memories of her past; her past in the Menagerie.

Intentionally the girl moves closer to Inej when she doesn't say something right away, and she can physically feel the hands ripping at her purple silks trying to place them apart like monsters to get to what was underneath. The kohl was around her eyes again, the bells on her ankles and the painted spots that really made her seem like an animal were on her shoulders.

She could smell the incense in her room, and the gold metal bars on the windows. It was metaphorically a cage but it was also a literal one. Inej wasn't herself anymore she was just a seemingly useless lynx only good for one thing; then she feels a hand creep up and up...

Snapping out of her trance she harshly backs away from L/n but she's still as silent as ever and that alone makes her want to scream out her lungs because she just wants to be heard.

She thought that maybe taking down the Slavers would help her find peace, she thought being away from the barrel and the Menagerie would help her hopefully start over. Really she thought she was over this, the flashbacks, the full-on panic attacks where she can't have anyone touch her for about an hour or more.

In reality, though, all she really wants is to be able to be loud and to be able to touch Y/n romanticly, all she wants is to not feel the dirty hands of the men every time she brushes against her lover.

Inej Ghafa wants to be free of the cage that she thought she had escaped, yet every time she thinks that she's pulled right back in. Clawing at the bars trying to flee yet again.

That was why the captain of the Wraith would not come close enough to the white tiger.

Guilt flash's in Y/n's eyes and she backs away, immediately putting even more space in between the two giving Inej some space to breathe.

"Sorry." The girl whispers backing up even further but never leaving nor taking her y/c/e orbs off of Ghafa.

Inej takes a breath in and she can no longer smell Y/n's perfume and the incense from the Menagerie, but she longs to smell Y/n's scent forever. And Inej is glad that Y/n's skin isn't against her's anymore but inside she's screaming because that's the only thing she wants to feel.

Inej rubs her hands over her eyes feeling so tired of all of this; if she could she would just kiss the tiger on the lips but because of fucking trauma she couldn't.

Another thought that is always at the back of her mind is ever so present at the moment - because what if she never gets to touch Y/n? Why could she touch basically anyone else but her?

"It's not your fault, you know that okay? I just-"

But Y/n being the loud person that she is, she cuts Inej off. "But do you know?"

She snaps her head up meeting the white tiger's eyes that seem to be blazing holes into her.

"Do you know it's not your fault Ghafa?"

Once again her breath is caught in her throat and the captain of the Wraith - the fearsome captain who tames the seas and takes down slavers is rendered speechless in eight words.

"Because even if you do, do you know I don't need you to touch me or even come into a five-meter radius of me?"

"That's not fair to you." She argues.

"I just want you to love me!" Y/n starts raising her voice and tears were in her eyes showing how serious the situation really was.

"You know I can't do that without-"

"For fucks shake Inej! I don't need any of the extra touchings or even getting close to me! I JUST WANT YOUR LOVE! I don't care how you show it! I just want to be yours!"

Y/n's eyes widen and panic impulses through her eyes and for the first time in a long time everything is silent. Even the ocean, even the storm, the wind, Y/n has stopped being loud and the world is awfully quiet like it needs to run after her noise. Her brightness.

Soundless tears drip from both of the girl's eyes as Inej takes a step forward the floorboards of the ship creaking beneath her as she comes closer. Not insanely close, but that wasn't the point.

"Okay." Inej murmurs.

"What?"

"I want to be yours too."

Suddenly Y/n smiles and the world brightens again and the noise of the universe is back and Inej is no longer creaking on the floorboards she's silent again but she's pretty sure she has someone else to teach her how to be loud.

Taking four steps forwards she could probably reach out and grab Y/n's hand if she wanted to, and it wouldn't be unexpected or anything of the sort. It would be on her terms.

Carefully and even a bit terrified Inej reach's her hand out towards Y/n's and she lets them brush together.

As soon as she feels her skin against her's she forgets how to breathe and fireworks must have gone off in her stomach because that's how she was feeling. It was like jumping from rooftop to rooftop without the smoke and grim of Ketterdam, it was like sailing the ocean without the fear of drowning.

Though she quickly pulls away knowing any longer she'll be pulled back into memories of her past again. Disappointment folds her veins and Y/n could obviously tell that it was already wearing her down.

"Little by little Captain! Remember step by step!"

Her voice then takes a more serious but soothing tone.

"Don't push yourself remember what I asked of you? Your love, not your body. We got to four steps today? Well maybe in a month to a year you'll get to five, I don't care! I'll be proud either way! But for right now this is close enough."

Inej grins up at the woman standing before her.

"You're amazing you know that right?"

Y/n simply flicks her hair. "Oh, I know!"

They both laugh and it rings throughout the earth reaching all the way to the Saints and they finally looked down from the heavens to see the two most remarkable girls laughing standing five feet apart holding love for each other that was so powerful they could see it spread.

It was a power they didn't know existed among the humans and they saw its potential to spread everywhere but it stopped at one point.

But that was close enough.

Words 1400

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years ago

Text

on my mom's grave

wordcount: 3.7k

warnings: n/a

______

“How drunk do you think we’re going to get tonight?” Sophie asked, tipping back the last of a lemon White Claw as the two of them got ready for the night in her room.

“Dunno. I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “Do you not want to go?”

He shook his head and took the can from her, disappointed to realize there was nothing left. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m cool. Probably just won’t drink.”

“Is this about the phone call with your dad earlier?”

Rafe sighed, gritting his teeth. “It’s not - I’m fine, Soph.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him over, trying to get a read on his body language. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” After Rafe tugged his shirt over his head, ready much faster than Sophie, he paced around the room for a few seconds before speaking up. "Hey, so...Sarah's getting presented at the annual deb ball in spring."

Sophie seemed unbothered, turning her back to him as she wrestled her way into a crop top to get ready for the night. "Those are still a thing? Cool, so you're going home for it?" She paused, glancing over at him in his polo. "Undo another button."

He did so, then rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out what to say next.

She slowly turned back to him, realizing he was still tense across his shoulders. "What?"

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign he was nervous and Sophie wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Yeah...my dad wanted you to come home for it too."

"What? Ward? Why?"

"He, kinda, uh, wants you to be presented too?"

She just laughed, turning back to the mirror with her brow furrowed in slight concentration as she applied another coat of mascara. "Okay. Sure." But when he didn't elaborate, she turned back to him again, lips pursed. "Cameron. Tell me you told him no."

"...I didn't not not tell him no."

"Rafe."

He cracked under her stare. "I'm sorry, okay! Look, it's easy, all you have to do is throw on a pretty white dress and gloves -"

"A dress that costs thousands of dollars -"

"Hundreds, but - I'll cover you, obviously -"

"No." She turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. "Fuck no. I'm not going."

"Sophie." He nearly begged, stepping closer and running his hand through his hair. "Baby. C'mon."

"Don't call me that. No. I don’t fit into that part of your world.”

"Not even for me?" He pleaded, giving her a half-hearted grin. He ignored her last sentence, knowing any argument he had for her point would be dismissed in two seconds. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important, you know that."

She turned back to him with crossed arms, fixing him with a glare. "Do I know that?"

"Soph."

"Don't, Rafe." She warned, holding one hand out, but he stepped closer anyways.

"Angel. Please. For me." He forced a smile, tried cracking a joke. "I really don't want to have to call him up and get read the riot act."

She furrowed her brow and Rafe reached out and smoothed out the lines in between her eyebrows before he could stop himself, making her soften just a little. "If I were to say yes. What would I have to do?"

"Just wear the dress, attend a dinner, party the night before and party that night." He paused, thinking. "And stay at my house for the weekend. Be civil to my dad.” At her eyeroll, he fixed her with a more serious gaze. “Meet my grandparents. Hang with my sisters. C'mon, Wheezie adores you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. She thinks you're cool. Sarah too, but she’s less likely to admit it." He kissed her forehead, hands going to her waist. "Please?"

"It's that important?"

"I swear. On my mom's grave."

Sophie frowned immediately, reaching up to fix his hair. "That's not necessary."

"You'll do it?"

"...Yes." When he made a small fist pump, she fixed him with a glare. "Only because I love you."

“I'll go down on you every night for the next two weeks -”

She rolled her eyes at his promise, shoving lightly at his chest. "You basically already do that anyways, Rafe -”

"Okay, fine, I'll tie you up, something, anything, god, thank you, Soph. You don't know how big of a favor this is. I mean it." He sighed in relief, the tension draining from his body.

She ignored him, turning back to the mirror to apply lip gloss, carefully smearing the wand across her lips. “Why does he want me to do this? I don’t understand.”

“Is that the sticky stuff? I hate that stuff, it gets all over me when we’re kissing -” He started, then quickly shut his mouth as she flipped him off without looking. “Uh, ‘to integrate you into our society.’ Direct quote.”

“Oh god.” She groaned, setting the lip gloss aside after applying it, then started searching through her jewelry case. “So I’m gonna have to be on my best kook behavior?”

He snorted. “Sophie Flint, a kook. Not likely.”

“Watch it.” She pointed a warning finger in his face. “You don’t see anything weird with this? Your dad hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Rose does.”

“That’s not true either.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

He shrugged, relenting with a sigh. “You’re not her favorite person, no, but neither am I.”

“You think this was more her idea? For Sarah to do it too?”

“Nah, actually, pretty sure it was my grandparents’ idea. Probably Granddad. My mom went through all this, so…”

She turned her back to him and gathered her hair, offering the clasp of her gold chain to him. “Your mom was a debutante?” She questioned with interest.

_______

Rafe rarely ever talked about his mom - Sophie had only found out how she died from a newspaper article in the online archives, and hadn’t wanted to bring it up since. All she knew was that Mrs. Cameron had passed away in a car accident when Rafe was fourteen.

Both Sophie and Rafe’s schools shared a building, despite them going to private academies, and overlapped for certain advanced placement classes. In freshman year, they were together for AP chemistry, with Sophie sitting proudly at the front of the class while Rafe sat in the back with a group of his friends, often cracking jokes at inappropriate times or throwing wads of paper at each other. Freshman year Sophie was the epitome of stuck-up - she resorted to insults instead of making friends and kept to herself, terrified someone might find out that she was on scholarship and wasn’t truly meant to be there.

The day after the car accident, Rafe was unusually quiet. Sophie hadn’t heard the news yet, it was barely second period and she wasn’t looped into the trail of gossip like the rest of the girls at Greenville. They were partnered for an experiment that day - Rafe had groaned when he heard Sophie’s name after his from the teacher, and Sophie barely suppressed a roll of her eyes. She took charge right away, getting all the supplies and set up their work station without even addressing him. After a few minutes, she slid the small glass of solution to Rafe, raising her eyebrows. “You can do the work too, you know.”

He was completely spaced out, only glancing up when she said something. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, lifting a beaker and extending it to him. “Yeah. I know. Just drop in 10 milliliters of the solution, it’s not hard.”

Rafe sighed as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table, rubbing his temples. “Look, can you just do it?”

She finally took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders were slumped, but misinterpreted it all. She smirked, taking on a taunting tone. “What, you’re still drunk from last night or something?”

He gritted his jaw, his entire body growing tense, and tugged at the collar of his polo. “Fuck off, Flint. Not in the mood today.”

She recoiled immediately, setting the beaker down with a little too much force. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t be a fucking bitch.” He spit back, standing abruptly. She winced as the stool squeaked across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention - as if they hadn’t had it already. Kelce stepped over and went to grab Rafe’s arm, possibly pull him away, but Rafe just wrenched his arm out of his grip. “I’m fine.” He growled, storming out of the classroom without looking back.

After a few moments of stunned silence, with Sophie on the verge of shocked tears, their teacher cleared her throat and redirected everyone’s attention, pointing one of the girls over to join Sophie instead. Molly made her way over, occupying Rafe’s seat in the space across from her. “Poor Rafe,” she murmured.

Sophie frowned, pulling her jacket tighter across her chest like a shield of armor. “Poor Rafe? What?”

Molly nodded, lowering her voice a little. “Yeah, you didn’t hear? I’m surprised he’s at school, honestly.”

“I didn’t...what happened?”

“Oh.” Molly frowned. “Um. You know that winding road, the one that goes downhill toward the ballet studio?”

Sophie didn’t, she didn’t even have a clue - the ballet studio was on the entire opposite side of the island from where she lived, the height of Figure 8, and she hadn’t ever had a reason to even venture that way. “Yeah? What does that have to do with Rafe?”

“Um, well, it was pouring last night, and his mom was driving down that road. I heard she lost control of the car and wrecked it. There was, like, a drunk driver that swerved into her lane, but she tried to avoid him and hit a tree.” Molly told her, careful on the details.

“I’m pretty sure the Camerons can replace a car.” Sophie replied, not wanting Molly to confirm where she thought she was going with the story. She dug her nails into the skin of her thigh anyways, feeling anxiety bubble up in her chest.

Molly shook her head, slowly. “Mrs. Cameron died, Sophie.”

Her heart dropped and she bit the inside of her cheek, hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sirens last night, I saw like eight police cars last night headed toward his house. I heard Sarah was in the car too, I think -”

“Is Sarah okay?” She couldn’t concentrate on anything but her ears ringing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Oh, yeah, I think so. But god, how awful, right? The funeral is next weekend, Ward Cameron told my dad this morning. Is your family going?”

“Um...I don’t know.” Sophie glanced toward the door, hoping to god he would come back through the door and Molly would confess that it was all a joke, that she hadn’t just started something with Rafe on that day of all days.

________

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course she was. I think she really enjoyed it, actually, she’d always tell Sarah when she was little about how pretty she would look in the dress, how important it was to learn the right etiquette and -” He cut himself off, realizing he was sharing too much, and deftly fastened the clasp before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting her step away. “All that.”

“Huh.”

He smiled to himself, thinking about how his mom would let little Sarah play dress up in her old ballgown with gloves that went up to her armpits, wobbling around in high heels twice the size of her feet. His mom would tell Rafe he’d have to watch out for Sarah with her escort, keep him in line, and that when he was in college he’d be presenting a girl as well. But he was nine and didn’t think of girls in that way quite yet, so he always scowled and left the room.

“It’s kind of cool, I think. The tradition of it all.”

“The ball? Have you been?” She caught his eye in the mirror as she adjusted her top, not wanting to push for too much information before he’d shut down altogether.

“No...I was gonna present Brooklyn at the one here in Columbus, sophomore year’s normally when the girl gets presented, but. Yeah. No, I meant, it’s kind of cool that you’ll be doing something my mom did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, meeting her gaze for a moment then looked away.

“Yeah?”

“She would have liked you. I know it.”

Sophie perked up a little, cocking her head. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. She would have liked that you have an attitude with me.” He grinned when she turned back around and took his hand, tugging him over to sit on the bed next to her. “She was always saying I needed to find someone to match my energy, keep me in check. I wish she could have met you.”

“I did meet her. Once.”

He perked up, cocking his head. “You did?”

“Yeah, I served her when I was working at the restaurant at the country club once, I was only fourteen. I remember she made some comment about me being too young to work and I told her I liked it. Then she asked my name, and I remember she seemed like she knew already when I told her.” Sophie nodded. “She was really nice, left way too big of a tip and wrote my name on the bill. I always thought that was funny.”

Of course she knew, Rafe thought as he smiled to himself. She knew, because Rafe had come home and complained about a girl getting on his nerves every single week since seventh grade. She knew, when the complaints turned to “why won’t just be nice to me” and his mom had quipped that Sophie probably liked him - he had scoffed and walked away. She knew, because his mom had come home from the country club and told him Sophie Flint was a much nicer girl than Rafe painted her to be, and Rafe had immediately turned bright red and been embarrassed that his mom sought her out.

“I like that.” She leaned into him, taking his hand to play with his rings. “Will your grandparents be there? At the ball?”

“Oh, yeah. They sit on the board, I’m pretty sure, it’s this gigantic charity event. I’ll introduce you, but don’t worry, they’re chill. Nothing like my dad.” He adjusted himself so she was comfortable, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, treading carefully. “I thought your dad grew up on the Cut.”

“He did. But my mom, no way. Kook through and through. That’s, uh, where a lot of my trust is from. After she died, um. She wanted to be sure me and Sarah were set.” He shrugged, ears turning red as he felt his throat getting tight.

Sophie frowned, feeling him closing off, and leaned closer to hug him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff whenever, Rafe? I’d like to hear more about your mom. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She was.” He nodded, settling his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Soph. This is a really big deal to me, that you’ll go. I know it’s not your scene.”

“Love you.” She murmured. “You’d better buy me a pretty dress.”

He laughed, leaning back just enough to tip up her chin with one finger and kiss her. “You’ll be the best looking one there. I swear.”

“Oh, I already knew that.”

“Okay, okay, big head -”

She swatted his arm, laughing as she ducked out from under him. “Watch it, or I won’t go -”

“I was kidding!” He exclaimed, wrestling with her for a moment before grabbing both her hands and pinning them above her head.

Sophie sucked in a breath, caught off guard. “We are going to be late.”

“We’re already late.” He pointed out, taking a moment to realize the lack of innocence in the position, then slowly smirked. “We could be later. They’re not gonna miss us.”

“Rafe.”

“Sophie.”

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

She just gave him a look, staring him dead in the eyes and willing herself not to react when he leaned down with a grin and kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Please?”

“Fine. The ball or sex right now. You choose.” She raised her eyebrows, arching her back a little on purpose, pressing her hips up against his.

“That’s not fair.” He frowned, immediately shifting his hips away and moving so both his knees were on either side of her instead. “This is blackmail.”

“Your choice.” She reminded him, biting her lip for good measure.

He faltered, sitting back on her thighs and letting go of her wrists. “Soph, it’s - it’s for my mom. I swear. Not for my dad, Rose, anyone else.”

Sophie dropped the teasing act right away, propping herself up on her elbows. “Right, right, sorry. I won’t push it.”

“It’s alright.” He climbed off her, standing, and offered his hands. “Five bucks James makes some joke about us being late because we were having sex.”

“I’m not taking you up on that.” She rolled her eyes, accepting his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Love you long time, Cameron.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, favorite girl.”

“What do the dresses look like?”

“Uh...white?” Rafe shrugged, tugging on her hand to get her to follow him downstairs. “I dunno. When we go home for Thanksgiving I’ll book you an appointment to get fitted, I think it’s at some bridal shop on the mainland.”

“Sounds expensive.” She muttered, shaking her head.

“It’s…yeah. It’s not cheap.” He admitted, then shrugged as she followed him out the door, starting their walk toward the bars. “I’ll take care of it though. All of it. By the way, have you booked your flight home for Thanksgiving yet?”

“Um...no. I was going to look this week, it’s probably too late now though.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? Why, are you going home?”

Rafe nodded, not looking her in the eye. “Taking the plane.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“The plane...that no one else will be on...and it’s kinda ridiculous for you to waste money and carbon emissions on a separate flight…” He tried convincing her, a small smile playing on his lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You need to learn how carbon emissions work if you’re going to use that as an argument with me.”

“So that’s a no to sex on the plane?”

Sophie stopped in her tracks, confused. “That wasn’t - Rafe, what?”

“You, me, alone on the plane. Sorry, was I not clear enough?”

“I didn’t even say yes -”

“Oh, so you’re going to leave me all by myself on our one-year anniversary -”

She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. “When’s our anniversary, Rafe?”

He raised his back, stopping on the sidewalk to face her. “On my terms or yours? Because if we’re going with mine, it’s Halloween -”

“No, I had to ask you to be my boyfriend, it’s November 18th -”

“That is such an arbitrary thing, Sophie -”

“Hey! Stop stealing my vocabulary.” She interjected, pushing at his chest. “It’s the 18th, because I had to ask you out.”

“Okay. Whatever story makes you happy.” He shrugged, laughing when she shoved at him again. “Come on the plane with me.”

“...Fine. Only because I don’t want to miss our class reunion party on Wednesday night, I’m pretty sure some people still don’t believe we’re together.”

Rafe laughed loud at that, looping his arm around her shoulders and started walking again. “Pretty sure Topper still thinks it’s all an elaborate lie.”

“Does he know that we nearly hooked up in his room last winter break?”

“No.” He grinned. “Are you forgetting that you had to sprint into his bathroom right when I was about to kiss you because of some tequila thing you had?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re remembering wrong. That was sophomore year, before we were dating, I barely drank last year...you almost kissed me?”

“What? No, I think...remember, we were arguing over something, then you whispered in my ear to go up to his room and left. I went up a couple minutes later.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to make a move, Brooklyn and I were together then.”

Sophie scowled at the mention of Brooklyn. “I must have been hammered, I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wanted me.” He smirked, trailing his fingers along her collarbone. “One might say desperate.”

“No, no. All I remember is waking up in Topper’s bed feeling like shit, I had some crewneck on from your academy.” She ignored the blush creeping up her neck.

“How do you think you got there and got the sweatshirt?” He frowned. “I took care of you, Sophie. You really don’t remember?”

“I think I blacked out.” She confessed, shaking her head. “You took care of me?”

“Of course I did. Plus, I thought I was about to get some, I would have done anything for you.” He grinned, laughing when she shoved his shoulder. “Really thought that was the night I’d finally win you over.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame Sarah for her heavy pour that night.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I really wish I remembered that.”

“I wish you remembered too. Maybe you would have given me a chance before then instead of setting me up with Julia.”

“I - no! She asked to be set up with you, no, I did not instigate that at all.” She defended herself straightaway, cheeks flushing pink. “She said if I wasn’t going to make a move, then she was going to.”

“Sure. Whatever you believe.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they arrived at the bar. “Hey, Soph.”

She rolled her eyes, going to get in the winding line outside until he tugged her wrist back, pulling her to his chest. “What?”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Sophie softened, smiling as she rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Of course, baby. I’ve got your back.”

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46 @outerbankies

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfic #rafe x sophie #mine #college rafe #frat rafe

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drtanner · 3 years ago

Text

Here's what I don't get about people continuing to engage with the fucking Harry Potter shit even while knowing that JK Rowling is an intensely racist, transphobic garbage fire of a human being.

You guys know that I'm a voracious and enthusiastic consumer and creator of gay porn (this is relevant, I promise, don't go.) and a few years ago, I found out that the shredded abs you see on male models and guys in movies and a hell of a lot of dudes in gay porn, and really just shredded muscles in general, are literally only achievable if the guy in question is catastrophically dehydrated, as well as sticking to a set of dietary requirements that would be labelled as disordered eating if they weren't in the name of a fashionable aesthetic. It is literally just not possible to be "shredded" without fucking yourself up six ways from Sunday. Ever since I found that out, I couldn't look at guys who looked like that and find them appealing anymore! The knowledge of what goes into that physique absolutely obliterated my attraction to bodies that look like that!

Was it inconvenient and unpleasant? Yes! Did it make it harder for me to get my rocks off? Also yes! Now I have to look a lot harder to find stuff that I can enjoy, because a solid 85-90% of gay porn and gay porn creators are obsessed with an aesthetic that actively turns me off now that I know what it's made from! It's very disappointing! But here's the thing, man. I'm not going to resist my newfound distaste for these things just for the sake of being able to jack off to popular gay porn again. That would take effort that I do not want to spend!

I'm not about to sit here and retrain myself to find that shit attractive again. I'm not going to deliberately make an effort to overlook it just so that I can enjoy myself more easily. It's 100% right that it makes me uncomfortable to see it now. That's the correct reaction and I'm leaning into it. I've put it behind me. That's it. I have to look a little harder to find stuff that appeals to me now, but that's a small price to pay and I'm happy to do it. I get to see all kinds of bodies now! It's terrific. I'd even go so far as to say that I'm better off now than I was!

So here's what I don't fucking get. Here's what I don't understand.

How the fuck can you know what Rowling is about and still continue to indulge in that Harry Potter shit? Doesn't it make your skin crawl to know what went into it? Don't you think about the racism and the transphobia that the content is literally made from and contributes to every time you engage with it? Don't you remember and feel at least a little bit skeevy whenever you read or write fanfiction? When you view or make fanart? Surely it must be the same as it would be if you learned that your favourite smoothie at your favourite smoothie bar was comprised of a solid 10% literal dogshit; no matter how good it tastes, you're not going to want to get it again and you'll regret the dozens or, heaven forbid, hundreds of times you drank it! How the hell do you reconcile this internally? I genuinely don't get it.

Like obviously don't give her money, don't buy her books, don't see the movies, etc. etc., and I realise that some folks think that sticking to fanworks and what have you without directly paying Rowling is good enough, but I sincerely don't know how the hell you can do even that much without feeling gross about what it's made from.

tl;dr

OOMPA LOOMPA DOOPITY DERK~ YOU CAN'T SEPARATE THE AUTHOR AND WORK~

OOMPA LOOMPA DOOPITY DUES~ THE TONE OF THE WORK IS INFORMED BY THEIR VIEWS~

#Tanner talks

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somnambulants · 3 years ago

Text

see where you’ve been

summary: Natasha is a tease and she likes to see you flustered. 18+ word count: 1.6K.

Spending time with Natasha is the best and worst thing in the entire world.

The best because she’s the single most interesting person you’ve ever met and any time you spend in her presence feels like the ultimate gift.

(You may be slightly biased, considering your overwhelmingly large and borderline schoolgirl-esque crush on her but that was another matter entirely and one you’d firmly decided you were not going to be addressing any time soon)

But, while you coveted every second spent with her like a kid would covet candy, it could also be the worst at certain times.

Times like now.

With her pressed up so close to you that there’s not not even an inch of space between you.

Usually you’d be face down on the mat as she dug a knee into your spine by now.

This is the first time you’ve been able to pin her down and it was almost entirely by accident.

So it’s probably not surprising that you freeze up but it doesn’t make it any less mortifying.

“Okay good….You would probably make a move on the target now, though,” she teases lightly after a second of you just gaping down at her. “Not just grope them.”

Letting her go, you swallow roughly, heat crawling up your neck as you realise your hands are on her chest. God. “R-right. Sorry.”

She winks at you playfully. “Not that I mind.”

You squeak, lips moving soundlessly as you try desperately to think of something to say and come up empty.

The only other occupant of the room -- thank god, you don’t know what you’d do if all the avengers had witnessed this -- Clint makes no attempt to hide his snicker as he does a set of pull-ups in the corner.

As you scramble off her, she gives you a small, slightly amused smile and accepts the hand you hold out to help her up.

You make your excuses and book it out of there the second trainings over.

And If you take a longer than normal shower that night, definitely not doing what you’d normally do in the shower well, then, no one else has to know about it but you.

Still, you know you’re going to have a hard time meeting Natasha’s eyes tomorrow.

And you definitely do. Have a hard time meeting her eyes, that is.

You don’t know how but you somehow make it through your whole workout without once looking her in the eyes.

If you had looked though, you would have seen the speculative, knowing look in her eyes as she watched you fumble your way through training.

And then throughout the rest of the week, too.

And the week after that too.

Of course, you’re no expert in body language, but if you had just looked properly, you would have clearly been able to tell that she was planning something.

And something devious, at that.

The universe hates you. So hates you. Thats all you can think.

You really must have accumulated some major karma to have deserved this.

It’s like Natasha’s taken your normal workouts and upped them by three hundred in their intensity.

You’d thought you’d been a pretty decent fighter before this but you’re quickly realising she’s been going easy on you this entire time.

And it’s also like she knows how much her touch affects you because all of a sudden she’s always touching you.

Every-time she takes you down, her hands are on you. Lingering.

Every. single. time.

You’ve had so many cold showers over the last month, you’re surprised you haven’t picked up hypothermia.

In short, as time passes it just gets worse and worse until eventually you’re just a human ball of tension.

Like an elastic band that’s been pulled too far.

And even though you don’t realise it yet, it’s about to snap.

You yelp as she throws you down again, shoving you onto the floor and leaning down, pinning you there so you’re forced to just look straight up at her.

No matter how hard you struggle, she’s firm, holding you down, and pressing her knee against your stomach as she leans in closer.

Your heart picks up even more, rabbit fast.

“I thought I taught you better than that,” she teases you, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up as you feel her lips brush slightly against the curve of your ear.

You then let out an audible squeak as she lets you go, pulling away with this look on her face you can’t quite decipher.

You must imagine it but for a second you swear that as she goes to move off you, she grinds her hips down against your own ever so slightly.

And all of a sudden, all you can think about is her doing that. All the time. Sans the workout gear she’s currently wearing and on a much nicer, softer surface.

Like a bed.

She’s going to be the death of you. You just know it.

You feel flushed, trembling a little. If you looked at yourself in the mirror right now you’re sure you wouldn't even be able to see your irises from how dilated your pupils must be.

There are times you swear she must know how she affects you. She’s literally trained to pick up on every single thing; there’s no way she couldn’t see your pathetically obvious attraction to her.

Sometimes you’ve thought that maybe she’s just being nice and politely ignoring it, others you’re not so sure.

Other times you think she knows and she likes it.

“Damn,” Natasha is chuckling, taunting you as she throws you down again less than five minutes later, her knees on either side of your waist as she holds you down, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re really off your game today, aren’t you?”

The elastic band snaps.

Looking up at her infuriatingly attractive face as she hovers on top of you, victorious smirk on her lips -- god, it’s so attractive, she’s so attractive -- you just stop ...thinking.

You crash your lips to hers before you can stop yourself.

Surprisingly you don’t get punched in the face. No. What happens is much weirder.

She’s kissing you back.

"Finally,” she breathes against your lips. She’s smirking as she says it. You can feel it.

Why is she smirking?

What she says is confusing enough that it sticks in your head, even with the confused state of mess that your own mind is right now.

“I -- what?”

Natasha jerks your head toward her, pulling you into her as she kisses you again, more roughly this time.

“It took you long enough,” she pants, pulling away to breathe and ripping your shirt off you. She pulls it over your head and throws it on the floor. “I’m a little insulted, actually.”

You stare at her, hands freezing where you’d been fumbling with the zip on her jeans. “You...knew?”

“Obviously.” Natasha smirks down at you as you dig your nails into the flesh of her hips harder in response to her mocking tone. “You’re kind of slow, you know that?”

She lets out a surprised sound as you abruptly flip your positions.

Unconsciously, you must have picked something other than frustration from all these practices because she looks genuinely taken aback with you hovering over her all of a sudden.

“You could’ve said something.”

The look on her face fades away into amusement at your words. She hums a little. “I could’ve. But watching you squirm was more fun.”

With a growl, you pull back a little, forcing yourself between her thighs that she gladly parts for you, wrapping them around your waist loosely as you settle your hands on her hips, jerking her towards you as you kiss her again, nails digging into her skin.

This is where what little control you have ends.

In the next breath, she’s manoeuvred you both so that youre now flat on your back beneath her, gazing up at her as she looks down at you, chest heaving a little.

Not even bothering to pull your panties down, she just shoves them to the side as she enters you quickly with one, then two fingers.

You inhale sharply and then whine out loud as she removes her fingers completely after a couple of thrusts, snickering at your clear disappointment.

She brings them up to her mouth and you watch as she laves them with her tongue before pulling them out with a pop, moaning quietly to herself.

“Nat,” you plead, breathing heavily. “Please.”

Natasha smirks. “Well since you asked so nicely.”

Your hips buck up against her as she enters you again. Rougher than before.

With her free hand, she presses down on your throat ever so slightly: not enough that you can’t breathe but enough that it’s harder for you to suck air in between your moans.

“Oh my god,” you pant heavily, your eyes rolling back a little as you adjust to her pace, which is sharp and unrelenting and already dangerously close making you fall apart with the first few thrusts.

Her hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly as you close your eyes.

“Look at me,” she demands. “Look at me or I’ll stop.”

Struggling to obey, you train your suddenly blurry vision on her face and watch as Natasha’s lips curl in a slow, satisfied grin in response.

“Good.”

#natasha romanoff x reader

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blitzturtles · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Fever (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba, AbbaBru, (Platonic) Bucci Gang

Summary: “Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own.

Notes: For Day 1 of Sicktember, "Fever", because I never do anything on time. @sicktember

The morning goes like any other. One by one, the Don’s closest filter into the kitchen to get their first cup of coffee and whatever they feel like scrounging up for breakfast. There’s mundane conversation between the more wakeful lot; they aren’t allowed to talk about work until everyone’s finished their meals, which means the conversation doesn’t get much more interesting than whatever they’ve managed to get up to since the night before. It’s an odd sort of rule, but it helps to ensure that they can maintain some boundaries between their professional and personal lives, which further guarantees that they get more time together as a family, rather than as a team.

“Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own. It’s empty with no sign that the man has made it downstairs, despite their designated breakfast time ticking by.

Narancia elbows Abbacchio to get his attention when he doesn’t seem to pick up on the same thing the rest of them have. He makes a motion for Abbacchio to take off his headphones and repeats the question.

“How should I know?” Abbacchio deflects with practiced ease, but there’s an edge to his tone. Sharper than even his usual morning demeanor calls for, and it’s clear--from the way his eyes fixate on Bucciarati’s spot--that he’s as concerned as the rest of them.

“You sleep in the same room,” Fugo points out, matter-of-fact and oblivious to the daggers that Abbacchio shoots in his direction.

“Yeah, well--” Abbacchio falters. He doesn’t actually have a reply for that.

“Maybe we should go check on him?” Trish asks, ever the most reasonable of the bunch, aside from perhaps Giorno.

“You don’t need to go… crowding him,” Abbacchio trails off as Mista and Narancia race out of their seats, already making a beeline for the stairs. He sighs and gets up to follow them.

What he doesn’t tell the group won’t hurt them. They don’t need to know that Bruno had been complaining of a headache the night before, or that he crashed unusually early. Or that he had been less than compliant about waking up with Abbacchio.

“So much for ‘just a headache’,” Abbacchio mutters under his own breath as he follows the kids up the steps. He can hear the rest behind him, each as eager as the first two to check in on their once-leader. “Hey, knock it off,” he calls when he finds Mista and Narancia outside the door to their bedroom, banging on it obnoxiously.

“But he’s not answering!” Narancia whines, dramatic and loud.

“And you think this will help?” Abbacchio raises his eyebrows, but he moves to unlock the door. The moment he opens it, he can see what his tired eyes failed to notice earlier. Bruno’s face, as little of it that is visible, is bright pink. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and it’s obvious he’s been tossing and turning since Abbacchio left, which means he likely spiked a fever sometime recently.

Abbacchio ignores the kids in favor of making his way to the bed. He frowns at the dry, parted lips and the labored breathing that greet him. Bruno’s eyes haven’t so much as cracked open a hair, despite the sheer volume of Mista and Narancia. The rest of the gang catching up doesn’t seem to phase him either, even though none of them seems to be capable of shutting up.

Without thinking, Abbacchio undoes the clips that must have been left in from the night before. It speaks volumes to how poorly Bruno felt at the time. He always takes his hair down before bed, and Abbacchio isn’t sure how he missed that not-so-little detail.

“What’cha doing?” Narancia asks, startling Abbacchio out of his thoughts.

“He doesn’t like it when his hair gets sweaty,” Abbacchio explains without thinking. He splits Bruno’s bangs down the middle to pin them on either side of his face. It isn’t the most fashionable look, but it should hold.

“Guess you would know, huh?” Mista asks with a raised eyebrow.

Abbacchio feels his cheeks burn red at the suggestion, and he turns around to give the kid his best death glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mista throws his hands up quickly, “I was joking.”

“Don’t,” Abbacchio answers gruffly. He turns back to Bruno, trying to work out the best way to take out his top braid without disturbing him too much. He settles for loosening it instead, careful to avoid tugging it in a way that might pull. The point is to reduce the pressure, not add to his discomfort.

“He wears his hair down when he goes fishing,” Giorno speaks with such sincerity that it’s all Abbacchio can do not to snap at him, too. Plus, it would probably disappoint Bruno. If he were awake.

“Yeah, I pointed that out too. It’s weird.” Abbacchio shrugs. He would think that having your hair stuck to your skin with salt water would be worse than sweat, but he guesses that Bruno finds some nostalgia in it. He’s long given up on understanding certain things about his partner.

“I think it’s safe to say he’s sick,” Fugo points out, breaking the silence that follows. “We should probably get his fever down.”

“Right, yeah!” Narancia nods enthusiastically, then stops for a moment and looks dumbfounded, “How’d we do that?”

Fugo smacks him on the back of the head, “With medication and cold towels, obviously.”

“Hey!” Narancia spins on his heels, so he’s facing the other teen. He crowds in on Fugo until their chests are pressed together and Fugo’s reaching for something in one of his pockets.

“Cut it out!” Abbacchio snaps at both of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders why he ever let the whole group up here in the first place. He’s more than capable of taking care of Bruno on his own, even if he had missed the earlier signs.

“I can go get medicine,” Trish says, a bit meek compared to her usual self, and she’s gone before anyone can say otherwise.

“I’ll go get towels?” Giorno looks uncertain. He’s never had to deal with anyone else’s illness before. Not like this, and he’s always taken care of himself while sick. Usually by pushing through until his body sorted itself out.

“I’ll go with you,” Fugo offers with a half-smile. It’s meant to be reassuring, and Giorno seems to take it as such.

Abbacchio’s just relieved to have less people around. Mista and Narancia linger, but he elects to ignore both of them in favor of tucking the blankets in around Bruno. The best thing for a fever is to sweat it out, after all.

By the time the other three get back, Narancia and Mista have made themselves busy by going in search of a thermometer. It’s really more like a competition between the two, but Abbacchio doesn’t care as long as it keeps them distracted.

“I brought some water, too,” Trish says as she extends her bounty to Abbacchio. In one hand is a bottle of water; in the other is the medication she must have scavenged her own medicine cabinet for. That or the Team first aid kit. There’s actually a few of those throughout the house, but Bruno’s the only one that bothers stocking them, and that’s only when he knows to. For the most part, they run out of supplies because someone uses them without remembering to say anything later.

“We got hand towels in a bowl of ice water. It should keep him going for a while,” Fugo explains as he nods to the bowl that Giorno’s carrying and deposits his collection of towels on one of the bedside tables. He takes one and unfolds it enough to make a thin strip out of it. He dunks it into the water and squeegees out the excess before handing it to Abbacchio.

“Thank you,” Abbacchio says, taking the towel and placing it gently on Bruno’s forehead. It’s worrisome that he hasn’t stirred in the slightest. That despite all the ruckus, he’s remained sound asleep. Part of Abbacchio wants to leave him that way, but he knows getting the fever reducer in him will help him faster than the towels will. He gently shakes his partner’s shoulder and calls his name until familiar blue finally peaks open.

Bruno’s eyes are red around the edges, and there’s no focus to them. He blinks at Abbacchio a few times. Slow and owlish.

“You’re sick,” Abbacchio explains with little to-do. “You just gotta take these, and you can go back to sleep.”

A quiet hum is all he gets in response, and it’s damn near enough to convince Abbacchio to take Bruno to the nearest hospital. He’s never known Bruno to be cooperative a day in his life. Not when it comes to being sick or injured, but he forces himself to be reasonable. To think logically. Bruno isn’t indestructible. He’s allowed to feel like shit, and that means he’s allowed to want nothing more than to be left alone to sleep off the worst of whatever bug he’s managed to catch.

“I know,” Abbacchio murmurs, more to himself than Bruno. He helps Bruno sit up enough to take the pills and helps him back to lying down after that. He fixes the blankets and puts the wet towel back on Bruno’s forehead. Once he’s all settled, it takes only seconds for Bruno to pass back out.

“It’s weird seeing him like this,” Fugo admits, quietly.

“I don’t like it,” Trish’s voice is somehow softer, but there’s more to it. Her tone holds something else, and Abbacchio curses himself for not picking up on it sooner.

“He’ll be fine,” he says, doing his best to be reassuring. The problem is that he generally isn’t. “It’s been awhile, but Bruno does get sick.”

“Yeah,” Fugo says quickly, eyes following Abbacchio’s. “He’ll be fine, probably by tomorrow. Besides, Giorno can help if he needs to, right?”

Giorno looks a little startled to be pulled into the conversation, but he’s quick to nod, “If there’s any kind of damage, I can replace it.”

“See? All good. You all should get to work. It’s late already,” Abbacchio points out. Never mind the fact that he doesn’t plan on leaving Bucciarati’s side, which means they’re down, not one, but two men for the day. “And, if you see Narancia or Mista, tell them to forget about the thermometer.” The best thing they can do for Bruno at this point is leave him alone and let him rest.

“Right, yeah, let’s--let’s do that,” Trish says, stumbling over her words as much as her feet. She’s quick to reach for the door, obviously relieved to be dismissed without having to do so herself. Abbacchio can’t blame her. He doesn’t like seeing Bruno like this either, but he doesn’t have a recently deceased-from-illness parent at the forefront of his brain. He knows how much that still eats at Bruno. He can only imagine what it does to a teenager whose memories of the event are fresh.

Fugo follows her with a simple nod of his head at Abbacchio. A small sign of his appreciation that someone is taking care of the man that he sees as his savior, even now. Abbacchio mimics the gesture in acknowledgement and almost turns his attention back to Bruno before he notices Giorno, lingering by the door.

“What?”

“It’s--” Giorno swallows, “It’s nothing. Take your time. We can work out whatever we need to until he’s feeling better.”

“I will,” Abbacchio says with a tone that’s almost dismissive. Truthfully, he’s grateful for the permission. To hear it aloud rather than to think it to himself, but he won’t admit that. Least of all to Giorno. “Don’t forget to take the other two with you.”

“I will,” Giorno echoes with the slightest curve of his lips.

Cheeky little shit, Abbacchio thinks, but he watches Giorno with a near fondness reflecting in his gaze. It’s odd how much the little bastard has grown on him. Not, he supposes, unlike the rest of them. Maybe it’s all the time they spend together, given Abbacchio’s position in Investigations. Or maybe it’s the mutual concern for Bruno’s wellbeing. Whatever it is, Abbacchio’s glad the kid sees things his way. Just this once.

#sicktember2021 #bruabba #abbabru #bucci gang #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #trish una #giorno giovanna #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #blitzwrites #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #blitz

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 5: Of Metal and Men

Part five of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.1K OUR LONGEST SIN YET FOUNDLINGS

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, mild mild degredation whoops

A/N: Uhh this is so fluffy? wtf how come??/?

“Mando?”

“Hm.”

“I have to pee.”

He grunts. “So go pee.”

“I can’t see.”

“Turn on a light.”

“But…” You don’t even want to say the words aloud. You’ve so far convinced yourself that if you just never mention the fact that he’s got his helmet off right now, he’ll somehow forget to put it back on again.

It’s not that you necessarily want him to deviate from the ways of the Mandalore, obviously; you have more respect for his culture than that. No, it's just that. This is so nice. Hearing him speak without a modulator warping the natural frequency of his voice, being able to feel his skin directly under your lips with your face buried in the crook of his neck like this. Practically everything on this fucking ship is metal—the floor beneath you, the mechanics, the hull, the cockpit, the blasters, the armor. When he puts it on, he becomes nearly invincible; an unreadable, impenetrable fortress that abides by a strict code he rarely deviates from.

But without all that, he’s so… human. Not a Mandalorian, just a man. Everything that gives him prestige and recognition stripped away. Every weapon he straps to his body removed. The code he’s honored his entire life suspended in a paradisiacal loophole that you never want to end, even if it means having to walk around in the dark for the rest of your life.

He has to put the helmet back on at some point, you’re eventually forced to remind yourself. What starts out as an impossible task slowly becomes easier as the pressure in your bladder increasingly makes itself known, a reminder that you too are only human and sometimes humans have to pee soon after they wake up.

Which, y’know, a lot of times is okay. But sometimes, like right now, it really fucking isn’t okay. Because right now, his hand is so big and warm resting against your upper-back, shoved up underneath the fabric of your shirt and spread out across your shoulder blade. Right now you can feel his heartbeat through his chest, feel his lungs expand and contract slowly against you. The last thing you want is to move, and the darkness makes a perfect scapegoat.

You’re quiet for too long, apparently, because he eventually turns his chin to brush his lips against your temple. “Turn on a light. Just don’t look.”

You honestly don’t blame him. He hasn’t had as much time to contemplate the staggering predicament you’re in. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, shiny.”

“Go. I trust you.”

Your lashes brush against his neck when your eyes pop open, and the giant pang you feel in your chest shouldn’t be nearly as debilitating as it is. You know he trusts you, it goes without saying. But it’s one thing to travel around the galaxy with him, cultivate that inherent trust that comes naturally with odd partnerships that work surprisingly well. He trusts you to look after the kid, trusts you to pilot and maintain his ship, trusts you to cauterize his wounds when he’s incapable of doing so. He even trusts you enough to fall asleep next to you, leaving himself unarmored and vulnerable in ways you know you’ll never truly be able to understand.

But this—this is entirely different. This is the Way. And he’s half-asleep right now, putting a proverbial blaster in your hand and painting a target on his livelihood, telling you he trusts you enough to uphold one of the strictest, most foundational pillars of his belief system for him.

Okay. Okay. If this is what he wants. You’re not sure you’d put nearly as much blind faith in your own abilities (pun totally intended), but okay. You trust him and apparently he trusts you, so by some weirdly paradoxical extension inwards, you’re just going to have to trust yourself, too. He’s always been a man of relatively few words, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you that somehow only three of them work to provide you with more motivation than you’ve experienced in your entire life. If this is what he wants, then you’ll fight logic with gloves on and downright force yourself to see without seeing. Somehow.

You slowly start to wiggle out of his arms, but then pause for a second to tilt your chin up and press a soft kiss to his lips, trying not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

“Go,” he eventually breathes into your mouth.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Go.”

“Fuck—fine.” You carefully remove yourself and do your best to stand up on the blanket with unsteady legs, but then you stop for an entirely different reason, patting the skin on your bare hips in the pitch blackness to check. “Wait, hang on, did—did you not put any pants back on me last night?”

“…Was I supposed to?” Eventually comes from somewhere by your feet.

No. No, he most certainly was not. You’re honestly just surprised it took you this long to notice, especially since you’ve been subtly clenching your thighs and delaying the inevitable in the darkness for so long.

You don’t end up answering him, determined instead to find your way to the fresher without the use of sight so you can come back to him quicker. That’s easier said than done, though. It’s slow going from the start, trying to step over him without actually knowing exactly where he is, carefully tapping your toes to the ground three times before putting any weight on them and hoping you don’t accidentally step on anything important.

He takes the possibility away when you hear him sigh and strong fingers wrap themselves around your ankles in the dark, pulling and guiding your legs up over his body while muttering inaudibly under his breath. Something tells you he’s still getting used to having companions that are so blatantly helpless without him, but he does good in rising to the challenge regardless.

The second he releases you and you take a step forward off the blanket though, you immediately trip over something bulky and painfully hard on the floor, catching yourself just in time but managing to stub your toe in the process.

“Careful,” his voice says from behind you, over the loud clang echoing throughout the hull. “Beskar’s there.”

“Thanks, I almost tripped.” Once you get closer to the machinery standing upright against the far wall of the hull though, it’s a bit easier to see. The red and green lights act as your navigation beacons, stationary air traffic control wands guiding your turbulent body through the darkness.

The fresher light is fucking blinding when you finally make contact with the switch, and with the illumination comes an incredibly stern reminder to yourself not to look behind you. It… it’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? Turning your head just a fraction right now would be the equivalent of pulling a blaster’s trigger a mere inch—devastating, life-altering, and permanent, yet somehow so fundamentally easy.

You don’t, of course. It’s just the fleeting thought of it that jars you for a moment. You quickly shut the door behind you, use the toilet (annoyingly slanted thing you need to have a talk with him about soon, more of a weird space urinal than anything else and not really designed to be used by people with vaginas at all), and then wash your hands.

Your slightly damp fingers press tight to bridge over your eyes before you carefully open the door again, knowing you’re now facing him and the fluorescent light over the sink behind you is probably shining directly on him.

“Is it… safe?” You ask after a second.

“I’m not a rancor.” The sound of his voice makes you sigh in relief and your heart drop in disappointment simultaneously.

Modulated. Filtered, and familiar.

Sure enough, you peek through your fingers to see him laying back with an arm casually folded behind his head, his helmet back on. Even though the only skin you see is his bare hand resting on his stomach, he still looks fucking gorgeous like this—waiting silently for you in the make-shift bed you shared, blanket twisted around his lower half.

You pause there in the doorway so you can just admire him for a second. Relaxing, looking so trim and flexible in his long sleeved under-armor without all that beskar weighing him down. He looks back at you through the chrome visor, letting it tilt to the side and rest lazily in the cradle of his arm, and you suddenly remember with a jolt just how incredibly pantsless you are right now.

“Come here.”

Maker, he still makes you nervous. Stars, he had his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine last night, why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Just the literal act of seeing him in front of you? Not being able to feel like yourself around him unless he’s a disembodied voice in the darkness? Not being able to remember he’s an actual fucking person under there if you’re not actively touching his body in some way?

You feel… kind of shy now. Why? It’s like a flip inside you he can switch at will, just ever so subtly change his posture or tone of voice and bam—he’s dangerous, remember? He’s an underground bounty hunter, remember? He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s an invincible, unreadable, impenetrable fortress, and you know absolutely nothing about him. Remember?

You trip over his armor again for an entirely different reason on your way back to him this time, despite how much better you can see now. You catch yourself once more, looking down at the offending pile of beskar like it did that on purpose, but then stop to consider it for just a second.

It’s just metal. And he’s just a man. You know he’s probably killed more people than you can count and he’s intimidating as all fuck, but you also know he stutters when he gets really worked up and decided to fall asleep next to you without his helmet on. Because he’s just a man, and men aren’t born with shields on their backs and visors covering their eyes and grenades in their hands. Not even Mandalorians.

So you slowly bend down and grab his hefty gloves, taking a moment to study them before fitting your comparatively small hands into each of them one at a time, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling how much space the tips of them have to move before reaching leather.

He says your name shortly as you’re carefully stepping your right foot into his oversized boot. You ignore him, balancing precariously on one leg while your left foot slides in the other one. “Hey, guess who I am.”

“No.”

You reach down and lift the unexpectedly heavy ammo belt over your head, letting the thick leather drape between your breasts and come to rest just below the curve of your bare hip. “I’ll give you a hint,” you say, gathering the mass of dark fabric at your feet and making sure your butt doesn’t get caught on the thick bandolier when you rise back up again. You wrap the cape around your shoulders and lift your chin to tie it in a sloppy, makeshift little knot around your throat, fingers noticeably less nimble when confined in loose leather. “Handy with a blaster, not real big on droids. I also wear a helmet, probably because my face is too pretty to match my menacing vibe but those rumors are unconfirmed.”

“Come here,” he gruffs impatiently, but you just turn around and waddle back a few steps in the baggy getup, much too tiny feet clomping around awkwardly in his roomy boots and the floor-length cape dragging on the ground behind you.

And then you stop, before grabbing the hem of it and whipping around dramatically to face him, giving him your best bounty hunter pose.

“I can bring you in warm,” your voice is a deep as you can get it, your eyebrows narrowed as you fingergun and shift with flair. “Or—”

“Hey—careful—” he quickly sits up and points at your hand, “—don’t touch your thumb to the—”

“—I can bring you in—” And then an actual, real life, giant ass blaze of fucking fire suddenly shoots from your wrist and scares the living shit out of you so much that you stumble backwards and trip over your cape, choking and flailing as you come down hard on your bare ass.

You blink up at him from the ground with wide, terrified eyes. He looks back at you, arm outstretched and frozen in midair.

And then he laughs.

Mando actually fucking laughs at you.

You stare at him in utter shock as he abruptly drops his hand to his lap and his helmet to his chest, his shoulders shaking with it. As lovely and uplifting the sound is, you’re not really sure how to feel about the fact that the first time you managed to get an outright laugh out of him was at the risk of your own mortality.

“Excuse me,” you say after a second, trying your best to sound appalled. You carefully remove the death gauntlets with your hands extended as far away from your face as possible, fingers spread and thumb held completely rigid in position. “Are you actually laughing at the fact that I almost just died horrifically in front of you?”

“Stars, just—” he lifts his head back up to look at you, “fucking—come here. You’re worse than the kid is, I swear.”

You slowly stand up, and the boots are so big around your ankles that you don’t even have to kick them off, you can just leave them there in position on the floor as you lift your feet and begin walking over to him. “I’ll have you know I am a fierce bounty hunter—”

“Terrifying,” he mutters, and you’re about halfway done untying his cape when you get close enough for him to reach out and snatch the bottom of it, swiftly yanking you down on top of him and removing the fabric from your throat at the same time. He ignores your dramatic choking noise, catching your flailing body with barely a grunt. “Craziest in the guild. Your first kill was yourself.”

“Yeah, I—” you oof and giggle as he immediately flips you around, downright giddy at the ease with which he maneuvers you on the floor and gets on top of you, “—I bring them in warm, or I bring them in hot.”

“Stop,” you can hear his smile through the helmet as he catches each of your wrists and pins them to the ground by your head. “Maker.”

“Wait—” you try to wiggle out from under him. It’s futile, of course, not just because he’s all muscle while he holds you down and straddles your hips, but because all your body weight is now laying on top of his ammo belt as it slings around your chest. “Wait, h-hang on—the fresher light’s still on.”

“So?”

“So I can see you right now, which means—” you can’t take that stupid thing off your head and kiss me.

That’s what you want to say. You catch yourself just in time, biting your lip and blinking up at your warped reflection in the chrome visor. He releases your wrists and lifts his torso up tall. “…W-which means—”

Mando’s too smart for that, though. You’re not getting one by him anytime soon. Before you can come up with an alternative, he hooks his fingers under the thick band of leather trailing down through the valley between your breasts and calls you out.

“Do you want me to take my helmet off?” He asks, tilting his head down at you and letting his hand slide back and forth under the ammo belt idly. For a second you think he’s going to remove it, try and find some way to wiggle it off you in this position, but then he just lets the heavy bandolier drop back down to your sternum again and continues moving his hands down your tummy. “Hm? Or do you want to see?”

And then one of his thumbs catches the hem of his trousers and ever so slowly starts to pull the fabric downwards. Your breath stutters as tan skin and dark, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt.

When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Uh—” Stars, what the fuck kind of harrowing, existentially crippling question is this? Kiss him or look at him? Is he serious? “Uhhhh…” You legitimately feel torn, blinking up at the visor and noticing the struggle blatantly written all over your reflection. Why in Maker’s name would he put this on you? On the one hand, his mouth. On the other hand, his—

“I want you to see,” he admits quietly, and you flick your eyes down to look at him slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the dark curls. “Can I show you?”

Oh fuck, what is happening? And why are you so wet already?

“Uh… ye-yeah—” and then he’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit, before he eases his gorgeous cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them. He’s already half-hard for you, already deliciously thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again. Against all reason, his skin practically glows under the artificial lighting, somehow looking sunkissed in places that never see the sun.

Maker, you want it in your mouth.

You have no idea why that’s your first thought. Okay, well no, that’s not true—you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watch him trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head. You love the way he touches himself, how his hands look cradling the base, the beautiful contrast between the dark hair and his warm skin tone.

He slowly starts to move down your body, slide his legs back on either side of you until he’s straddling your lower thighs, and it’s not until his cock goes in the exact opposite direction you want it to (away from your mouth) that you find your voice.

“Hey, wait—I want—” his touch immediately stills along your hips and he lifts his helmet, letting you scramble to prop yourself up with your elbows, “—let me go down on you. Please.”

“I told you I’d fuck you when you woke up,” he says, dropping his gaze back down between your legs. His voice somehow sounds deeper through the filter. Maybe not the pitch exactly, but the… color? Fuller, darker, more depth. “You want to make me into a liar?”

“Never. Fuck my mouth instead.”

His hands tighten and his breathing subtly picks up through the modulator. “I want your pussy. First. We’re almost to Corellia and I’m not risking my life on another hunt until I’ve fucked it like I want to.”

“You decide that timeline,” you remind him breathlessly, pushing your upper-body up off the floor and catching the fabric of his tunic near his neck.

“I have to earn credits somehow, I can’t just—” he abruptly cuts himself off when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat. “—I… I-I can’t just stay on this ship with you f-forever and… and…”

His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder. And then he murmurs your name when you wrap your hand around his hard cock.

“You can do whatever you want to my pussy,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up and down the thick length of him. “Whenever you want. I made that clear last night. All I’m asking is that right now, you lay back and let me suck your cock for a little bit. Is that okay?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back slightly, just enough for you to collect your legs out from under him and rise up on your knees to face him. You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck while you hold the hemline to the side. Nobody will ever be able to see them, but somehow that makes it even better. A secret only you and him know. Next time he scares off a crowd of locals, he’ll be wearing your signet under his armor.

When you’ve sufficiently bitten and kissed marks along his neck and the fabric won’t stretch anymore, you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting it up up up—up until it rests right above his sternum and you can see almost the entire length of his torso underneath, tan and dusted in dark hair.

You strongarm him back to sit on the floor with one hand and hike your own shirt up over your breasts with the other, letting the fabric bunch under your armpits while his ammo belt bisects your chest diagonally. He curses when you immediately climb on top of him and start dragging your skin against his, rolling your exposed tits and pussy against the hard planes of his body and letting him feel how soft you really are.

“Is that okay?” You ask him once more, rubbing yourself into him. “Will you let me suck your cock, Mando?”

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you—h-how do you always make it feel so… so good—?”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” you tell him, beginning to slide down his body.

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head back when you slowly lick down his chest. “Not—not everything, n-not all the time.”

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him. “Keep talking,” you whisper. “It’s sexy.”

And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum.

Mando instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of your hair as you hum and taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper.

“Fuck—” he grits while lifting his helmet to look, every muscle in his body tensing under you. “Y-your mouth is—” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the blanket with a dull thud, “—fuck, your mouth is s-so—so fucking good—”

You open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can feel your throat, satisfied when his helmet falls back and his grip tightens in your hair. You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet. His thighs almost feel like he’s wearing beskar over them, his entire body held so incredibly tight and stiff as you softly pleasure him.

You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit. His head raises immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand. He doesn’t relax into it, instead he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, the exact opposite of relaxed. “You—you can’t w-walk around half-naked in—in my clothes and expect me t—”

He cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, deeper this time. And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust. One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length with slippery fingers.

When you take him down as far as you can and you drop your palm down to cradle his balls, Mando just about loses his mind.

“Fuck—let me fuck you,” he starts rasping at the ceiling, “please, l-let me—let me pound you into this dirty f-fucking ground like you wanted, like—like the filthy little girl you are—”

You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit. He probably can’t see you do it from this angle but it feels so much better this way regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself.

The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the galaxy, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair sharply in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. You keep jerking his throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your clit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth.

His grip tightens, along with the gorgeously soft skin under your tongue. “W-Wait—stop—”

You look up at him. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out and his chest rocks up and down with exertion.

“Sorry, I just—I was—” he gasps, “—I d-didn’t want to—to c-cum—”

“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock. “Please. Want it down my throat.”

You don’t know how it’s possible for his body to go even more rigid, but it does. “You—?”

He possibly could’ve stopped himself, you think. Even with the way you start gently sucking on his tip and looking up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load, maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel and his helmet rolls to the side.

But then the subtle shift of his head means he can see your hand moving between your legs, you can tell. You can tell, because he makes a choking sound through the modulator and his stomach flexes, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted him to.

There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it. It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve ever heard from him before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft.

You pull up and start swirling circles around his head just as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him and preening at his hoarse whisper of your name. You swallow everything he gives you, drain him until he’s completely empty and spent, trembling in pieces on the floor.

Admittedly you do keep him there in your mouth just a little bit longer than you should, just taking a minute to savor how good he tastes and how fucking beautiful his cock is, how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the ground like this.

“Keep—keep doing that and I’ll get hard again,” he eventually warns, though his voice comes out sounding like sandpaper in his throat.

You hum and finally pull off him. “That’s got to be the least threatening thing you’ve ever said to someone, I think.”

“Not able t—” he jerks when you bite his hipbone, “—to scare you off, apparently. Most people run from me.”

“Nope. Told you I wouldn’t, remember? Back on Cantonica. I’m also the craziest bounty hunter in the guild, so. Look.” You lift up to show him. “I even have an ammo belt, see? It holds all of the bullets, for all of my guns that I have.”

His hand slowly comes up and you think he’s going to grab the band of leather across your chest to either take it off you or pull you forward with it, but then he just grabs one of your breasts and gently squeezes it instead. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. You blink twice at him, your heart suddenly thundering under his hand.

“Wearing my armor. Not wearing it. Not wearing anything. Wearing your clothes. In complete darkness. You’re beautiful.”

You think—for one ludicrous, insane second, you think that the enormous swelling in your chest literally transfers itself up to your brain and causes you to have an aneurysm right there on the floor in front of him.

But nope—it’s just the entire hull starting to violently shift and shake, swerving sideways and jerking upwards with rapid, unpredictable shifts in gravity.

You thrown on top of him in the chaos and try to find some sort of stable ground without accidentally kneeing him in the crotch. Mando grunts and gets rolled on top of you when the ship immediately veers the other way, the weight of him suddenly crushing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe with the brutal changes in g-force. Did he—did he leave the baby in the fucking cockpit?

He left the baby in the fucking cockpit.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #smut #reader insert #pedro pascal #no-droids

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

Text

Garreg Mach Café Episode Two: Lucky Seven (Yuri x Reader)

The first thing you learned about him —one of the very few things you knew about him— was that he liked sugar. A lot. You didn’t work the counter most of the time, you just made the drinks. So, you didn’t know who had ordered the heart attack inducing Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe, only that someone was looking for a cavity. Vanilla bean coffee, three pumps of vanilla syrup, and strawberry puree with ice blended and topped with whipped cream, hazelnut drizzle, strawberry drizzle, and red sprinkles.

The second thing you learned about him was his name. Or, more accurately, his lack thereof. People regularly used dumb names. It didn’t really bug you, there was no shame in entertaining someone who thought making a barista call out a drink for Phun E. Monki was the peak of modern entertainment. Not so surprisingly, you saw a lot of hipster and nerd traffic through the café so references and jokes weren’t at all unheard of. Really, this one wasn’t even that bad. Comparatively.

“Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe for Ars��ne Lupin,” you called, turning around.

“That’s mine,” the waiting customer responded. Shockingly, it was not the top-hat wearing gentleman thief who stood at the counter waiting for his drink. Neither was it the dweeb you expected. Your Arsène Lupin —that is, the man standing on the other side of the glistening lacquered wood countertop— certainly wasn’t normal, but not in the way you had initially assumed.

The third thing you learned about him was that he was disarmingly beautiful. He stood casually; his arms crossed with one of his hands resting lightly on his chin as he watched with a half-smile that you would have sworn had a mischievous glint. Waiting to see if the little joke got a reaction, you figured.

Well, who were you to deny him that? Pushing down the instinctual nerves of talking to someone who belonged more in the technicolor light of your two-past-midnight Instagram escapades rather than the academia chic café, you smiled back. “Here you go, Monsieur Lupin.”

That made his lips twitch in amusement, which shouldn’t have been as gratifying as it was. “Thanks,” Arsène said warmly, wrapping his fingers around the cup. It wasn’t like you were intentionally trying to notice, but his fingers were long and thin, the nails neat and manicured. Pretty hands. Attractive hands. You wondered if they were soft, or as strong as they looked, or what they might feel like-

Nope. No. You needed God.

Or Tinder

“I hope you enjoy,” you said, trying to act like you hadn’t just committed some obscene thought crime. He was supposed to leave after that. People got their drinks and either sat down or left. But he didn’t, meeting your eyes with an even gaze. Their violet coloring was striking, drawn out by the purple eyeshadow smoked out over his pale eyelids. The makeup should have been off-putting, you were less than uninterested in the pierced hoard of e-boys that had saturated the modern alternative dating market, but it wasn’t. Not on him, at least.

“This is a cute place,” Arsène said. But he wasn’t looking around the cafe, he was staring directly at you. Which… you weren’t sure if you were to buy into your ego telling you he was flirting or your paranoia that he was laughing at you. “Is it usually this busy?”

Flirting was better, for your sanity’s sake if nothing else, so you smiled, doing a quick check to make sure you weren’t missing any customers. The guy working the register was looking at his phone under the counter.

“You know, you shouldn’t pick such an obvious pseudonym when you’re canvassing a business,” you said playfully. “Charm will only get you so far.”

That made him laugh, his appraising eyes sparkling with amusement as he stabbed a straw past the whipped cream of his drink. “In my experience, charm will get you anywhere.”

“For you, maybe,” you allowed, feeling a little more emboldened by that response. Lowering your voice slightly, you leaned in as if to conspire. “I guess the real question is what you’re stealing, Monsieur Lupin, hearts or jewels?”

“Jewels, usually,” Arsène told you without missing a beat. “I have no need to steal the hearts.” He shrugged one shoulder carelessly, casually. “I collect enough of them as it is.”

A corny, over-confident line like that should have made you laugh. Unfortunately, you kind of believed it. So you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That goes against the spirit of being a Phantom Thief, doesn’t it?”

“Why, do you want me to steal your heart?” Arsène asked. He didn’t sound serious, exactly, but neither was the question joking enough to keep a flush from crawling up your cheeks.

“Baristas don’t have hearts,” you told him theatrically, rejecting your silly reaction. “It’s a void of caffeine, student debt, and the disappointment of our parents.”

Arsène was about to respond when you heard the door jingle open. You turned, looking over your shoulder at the customers who had stepped up to the register. “It looks like you’re needed,” he said, following your eye line.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a strange stab of disappointment. Which was dumb. A little bit of banter with a handsome stranger was nice, but it shouldn’t have been anything else.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Arsène said, smirking in a way that made you think he’d seen your dismayed reaction. “Thanks for the drink.”

He raised the cup like a toast goodbye, and you wished him a good day. It was completely ridiculous, but that quick and strange interaction played on loop in your head for the rest of the day. You went from embarrassed, to amused, to insecure, and back again dozens of times. By the next day, you weren’t sure what to think about it and you hated to think that you were watching for him, but-

Well, you were.

The fourth thing you learned about him was that he had a schedule, a specific time slot that seemed to be allocated to getting an overly sugary drink at your little cafe.

“Noa Fruit and Caramel Macchiato for Mr Pink,” you called, already expecting to see his smile based on the name alone. Not that the preparation did a whole lot in lessening the effects. Today Arsène, or Mr Pink, wore a dark striped button up tucked into black pants. The top buttons were undone, showing off the elegant column of his neck and the framing lines of his collarbones. His skin was so pale, like it had never seen the sun, the color perfectly even and milky.

“That’s mine,” he said. Redundantly. Of course it was his.

To think that you’d done your makeup with more care than usual today was embarrassing, but you were glad for it as you passed the drink to him. “Reservoir Dogs, right?” you asked, forcing yourself to not be flustered.

“Very good,” he said in a voice that was borderline condescending.

“You thought I wouldn’t know? I serve coffee in downtown, knowing Tarantino is practically a job requirement,” you said. Arsène laughed warmly, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and mocking, a sound that invited a mess of fluttery nerves to dance around in your stomach which you covered with a smile. “Mr Pink, though… he’s a long way off from being a gentleman thief.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve fallen from grace,” Arsène said, his smile an odd combination of mirth and mystery. “Lupin is... more of an ideal. Reality is hardly ever so romantic.”

“Cheers to that,” you said wryly.

“Although if I had to emulate one of them, I’d far prefer it to be the gentleman,” he said, dropping a few dollars in your tip jar. Cheeky. “Thanks for the treat.”

“Oh… Yeah,” you said, not even thinking to point out that it was your job. Unless he wasn’t talking about the coffee, which was even more baffling. “Have a nice day.”

After that came a lineup of sugary drink orders under the names of famous thieves. Some references you knew immediately, others you had to google later. And always, always, he just about made your heart stop with that smile.

It was… Maybe a week later? Your Arsène had become something like an expectation. Which was ridiculous. And stupid. But it was true, and he hadn’t been in the day before which affected you far more than you dared admit. Seeing the familiar purple head in the lineup of waiting customers was more relieving than it should have been.

A Vanilla Wyvern Wing Latte for Danny Ocean, this time. Unfortunately, there was a swath of customer’s orders that needed filling so you couldn’t give it to him personally, sliding it across the counter before rushing back to the blender. That kind of disappointed you, especially since you hadn’t seen him the day before, until you realized that he had taken a seat along the bar, writing something in a notebook and sipping on the creamy white latte.

Waiting for you? Pushing down the spark of excitement you felt about that, you finished up the orders. After that, you took a breath, grabbing a rag to at least seem productive as you inched towards him.

“You’re awfully far from Vegas, Mr Ocean,” you said. Although you called him that, you still thought of him as Arsène Lupin. Your Arsène.

He looked up from his notebook, the end of his pen pushed against his lip in a distracting way. They were so pink. And shapely, his top lip curved by a perfectly symmetrical cupids bow that no amount of lip kits could falsify. And… And you were staring. Again. He obviously noticed, what with the way he grinned when you forced your eyes up to his, but he gracefully didn’t point it out.

“Casinos are nothing more than a party trick,” he told you lightly, flipping his pen through his fingers before letting it drop to the paper. “I’ve got my eye on something far more valuable.” His eyes were burning into yours as he spoke.

That was the fifth thing you learned about him. Arsène could make anything sound like a double entendre. You thought of yourself as being somewhat difficult to ruffle, but even the most innocuous of comments from him could make your cheeks warm. It was the tone of his smooth, lovely voice. Always speaking under his breath, or low enough that you found yourself leaning in.

“Jewels, right?” you asked, playing it cool because you refused to fall prey to what you knew was a purposeful attempt to throw you off balance. “I heard there was an exhibit coming to town.”

“I’m not really interested in that sort of thing,” Arsène said with a little wave of his elegant hand. “You know the reprehensible means they use to get them, don’t you? So beautiful... but stained with blood. Not too dissimilar from myself, I suppose.”

That momentarily tripped you up. He sounded so genuine, even with the little quip of a joke. Most people couldn’t pull off saying something so nakedly edgy. Maybe it only worked because he was pretty, and you were a fool. So you just smiled. “You really ought to work on this whole subterfuge thing.”

Arsène’s eyes met yours. So intense. “And how would you recommend I do that?”

“Misdirection,” you told him, refocusing on wiping up the counter to avoid his gaze. “The names are bad enough. You’ve gotta at least pretend to be an upstanding member of society, right?”

“Do you think I’m not?” he asked lightly, his head falling to the side, hand braced against his cheek casually. “And here I thought I was perfectly amicable.”

“Oh,” you said. Did he sound offended? You quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t think you are, it’s just that what you said-”

“I’m kidding,” Arsène said, the slightly concerned expression slipping from his face like an easily discarded mask.

You winced, internally kicking yourself. “Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry. That was cute,” Arsène said with that oddly infuriating unreadable grin and shutting his notebook to stand up.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, almost confused that he’d wait only to cut the conversation short.

“Haven’t you realized? I’m a wanted man. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Speaking of that, I hope you didn’t miss me too much yesterday. This project is more difficult than I anticipated.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I expect you to come by,” you said. You lied.

“No?” Arsène asked. He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious. “Fine, then. I’m not afraid to admit that I missed you. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait,” you said. And, despite the half-sarcastic affect you tried to put on, you meant it.

It only settled after he’d already left what he really had said. Missed you. Not for the first time, you toyed with the idea of giving him your number. Then again, maybe you were misreading the situation. After all, you didn’t even know his name.

Still, true to his word, he came around the same time the next day.

This time, it was a Cinnamon Dust Frappe for Garrett. Arsène, or Garrett, was wearing a sweater today in a nod to the rainy weather. Just like everything else he wore, it was entirely in service of his allure, a dark knit with leather elbow patches. White clips kept a section of his hair out of his face, which was curling at the ends. From the humidity? Or perhaps he usually straightened it?

“It took me a minute,” you admitted as you handed him his drink, “Garrett. That’s Thief, right? I have to be honest; you don’t really strike me as the gamer type.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he responded. After a moment, he added, “I haven’t got much time for games these days, but I have some fond memories from when I was a kid.”

“Probably why you’re a criminal,” you said.

If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second in something like surprise before that was composed into something else, his laughter driving it away. “You might be on to something with that. Video games do make kids violent, after all.”

“So, tomorrow, will it be Ezio? Or Corvo… He’s got a bit of thievery under his belt.”

Arsène scoffed. “I’d never do the same trick twice.”

That made you smile. “I look forward to it.”

After he left, you realized that you’d learned the sixth thing about him. It was such a small and mundane detail, but there was something charming and oddly intimate to imagine Arsène as a kid playing video games.

The next day, you were working register while helping to train the newbie in making drinks. It was cold. Slushy snow half-heartedly sprinkled down outside, and the heater was desperately trying, and failing, to keep the cafe warm. The repairman wouldn’t come until the following morning. All in all, your mood was rather poor.

Until the door opened and a familiar face stepped up to the counter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up here,” Arsène said.

“Desperate times,” you said with a shrug. He smiled at that, looking up at the menu contemplatively.

“I’ll have…” he said, “a Mockingbird Mocha Hot Chocolate. Medium.”

“And who might you be today?” you asked professionally, the Sharpie point poised over the side of the cardboard hot drinks cup.

“Prometheus,” he said without hesitation.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second as you tried to figure out the reference. That was… clever. The original thief. You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement as you scribbled that on the side of the cup. The newbie already knew how to make the drink, leaving you with nothing to do. The cafe was quiet today, a rarity. It was the poor weather. People dropped in to get hot drinks, but you didn’t blame them for not sticking around. Arsène was dressed for the cold, wearing a white cape coat that was either incredibly trendy or strangely fringe. Of course, it worked perfectly on him. He looked ready to hop into a new age fashion catalog for outerwear.

“From gentleman thief to a gangster to god… Moving up in the world, are we?” you asked to fill the silence.

“On the contrary,” Arsène told you “There’s no power in being a god nobody believes in.”

“I’d definitely believe in you if you could warm it up in here,” you told him. “I’ve been freezing all day.”

“I’m sure I could think of a few ways to warm you up,” Arsène said, smirking, his eyes dancing with mischievous amusement. “After all, I’m the one who stole the first flame.”

A shaky exhale left your mouth, becoming something like an awkward laugh because he definitely had you going for a second and you knew it was on purpose but still. “That’s what you meant. Right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Here you go,” the newbie said with absolutely perfect timing, handing Arsène his drink. At least your blush was keeping you warm.

“Thank you,” Arsène said, meeting her eyes. You were pretty sure you saw her swoon, which made sense. That was the most practical response to him, after all. He looked back to you. “Try to keep warm, I’d hate for you to be calling in sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said. He grinned, wishing the both of you a good day. And you did warm up. By thinking of all the ways he could keep you warm. At this point, even God Himself probably couldn’t do much about your sinful thoughts.

The next day was another cold one, meaning that it was slow. Because of that, your boss had decided that only one person was needed, and you didn’t mind if that was you. Paid hours were always welcome. More than that, and you hated yourself for it, you hoped to see your Arsène. You’d been scrolling on your phone under the register when the door opened. Winter rushed in like it had been chomping at the bit for the chance, called forth with the jingling of bells. Arsène had arrived right on time, wearing that white cloak coat and tall white heeled boots. Snowflakes shined in his hair, quick to melt in the warmth of the repaired heater. By now, you should have been immune. But you weren’t.

“Alone today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” you replied, gesturing to the empty cafe. “Not that I mind, now that the heater is fixed… What will you be having today?”

“A medium Caramel Leclair Latte,” he said.

“And your name…?”

“Yuri,” he said, which you scribbled onto the cardboard.

“All right… Just gimme a second,” you said. The drink was oddly tame for him, and a lot easier to make. You were pretty sure you could whip up a latte in your sleep. He waited without saying anything, but you could feel him watching. The music was too quiet to be a distraction and you were incredibly aware that it was just the two of you which was stupid because the counter practically put you in a different realm of reality, but-

You forced your thoughts to focus on something else, considering the name he’d given you. It was oddly unassuming, at least by the standards of other names he’d given you. You couldn’t recognize it as anything in particular, either. It was Russian. Or Japanese. It being the name of a Russian thief probably made the most sense contextually, but you were drawing a blank as to the specific reference.

“I can’t figure it out,” you admitted when you finished the drink and set it on the counter between you, “who are you impersonating today?”

Arsène blinked, a second of confusion passing before his lips quirked up just a bit. “Myself, actually. I figured it was time to give you my name. You can call me Yuri. Yuri Leclerc, to be precise.”

That was the seventh thing you learned about him. Your stomach clenched. Out of nerves or excitement or happiness, you couldn’t tell. You smiled, feeling something giddy fuzz in your head. “Well... It... It’s good to meet you, Yuri Leclerc.” Yes, you liked that name. It was better than all the others, even better than Arsène.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yuri replied smoothly.

“So… Is there a reason for this momentous revelation?” you asked.

Some of the mirth drained from his eyes as he slid two of the little coffee straws into the lid. “I’m leaving town.”

The disappointment that struck you was beyond silly, it wasn’t like you had any claim to him. You’d only just learned his name for God’s sake. “Did the police finally catch up with you?” you asked with a smile, trying to be playful.

“Not yet,” Yuri said. “I prefer to leave before they catch wise.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking or not,” you told him, shaking your head. Sure, he was smiling, but, well, he smiled a lot. It was always unreadable. Amusement at something. Life itself, maybe.

“For your own sake,” Yuri said, his eyes fixing on yours, “you should always assume I am.”

Because that really cleared it up. You decided not to worry about it too much. “But you are leaving, that’s not pretend?”

“Yeah.”

Your heart sank all over again. Stupid, stupid. At least you finally knew his name.

That made for seven things you knew about him. That was enough, wasn’t it? Lucky sevens and all that? Without thinking too hard about it, you grabbed one of the embossed café cards and a pen, scribbling your name and phone number on the back. “If you’re ever back in town or whatever, this is me,” you told him, handing it over. “Or I dunno, I get vacation time. Maybe it’d be fun to take a trip to Almyra or Albinea or wherever gentleman thieves go until the heat dies down.”

Yuri looked at the card for a long moment before tucking it into his wallet, smiling. You felt like you could read this smile, it was warm and friendly. More real than his others, the emotion catching in his eyes, too. “I wonder, do you mean that?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I might.”

“Then I do,” you said with a shrug, like it was easy as that and unsure exactly how much of what you said was strictly playful. It didn’t really matter because it made Yuri smile all over again and the look was fond enough to make your heart seize.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Until then, do you by any chance watch the news?”

“The news?” you asked, confused by the shift in topic. “Not if I can help it.”

“Well, you should, at least for a few days.”

“Am I gonna turn it on and see your mugshot slapped all over some headline about a bank robbery or something?” you asked, mostly joking. Mostly.

“What would have ever given you the impression that I’d do something like that?” he asked, feigning a tone of offense.

“Steal something?” you asked.

“Get caught,” he corrected.

You laughed, thinking of something clever to respond with. Unfortunately, the door opened to admit a trio of bundled up students, killing the moment before you spoke.

“That’s my cue,” Yuri said, picking up his coffee. “Don’t miss me too much until we meet again, yeah?”

“Only as long as you promise not to forget me,” you told him.

“It’s a deal, then.”

“Goodbye, Yuri.”

“Goodbye,” he echoed, his eyes meeting yours and voice gentle. Intimate, almost. Then he was gone, a flash of violet and white disappearing into the winter cold.

It was silly, but you kept an eye on the news like he told you, curious to know if anything would come of it or if you’d just fallen for a cute guy’s ruse. But, no, something did happen. A huge theft. The jewel exhibit that had been about to roll out downtown had been robbed. Such a feat was meant to be impossible, there was seemingly no way it could have been done. But it had and there were no suspects, no public leads. And, not surprisingly, no mugshots.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yuri leclerc #yuris leclair #fe yuri #yuri leclerc x reader #yuris leclair x reader #fe yuri x reader #YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY #YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY #ive had this idea in my head for so long #admittedly i'm not sure it turned out the way i wanted but i can't tell why #iS thIs a pERsoNa rEFeRenCe? yes

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girlfriendofwinchesters · 4 years ago

Text

Amortentia

warning - none

main couple - Severus Snape x reader

warning - sad and happy memories, conversation to resolve things, fluff, a little bit of irony, sacasmo, doubts, some kisses , Implicit obscenity , hot moments and cursing (possibly)

Summary - It takes place at the time of the goblet of fire. You are a teacher who studied with Snape and Sirius' sister, Dumbledore asks you to help Severus and with what he does alone, feelings are put on the table

I was going to dungeons, I would only spend the whole night with the most unpleasant person in the world, Severus Snape, since when we studied together we had hatred of each other, the best I could not describe as hatred, nor do I know exactly where this came from bitterness on both sides, it may be because she is the sister of one of the people he hates the most, Sirius Black but I was also the sister of Regulus, they were best friends, I can't explain it properly.

The night would be long, Dumbledore asked me to help him finish faster because we would have a ball to plan, I go downstairs listening to the bubbles in the portions, a magnificent smell of herbs and coffee greets me when I get to the door. I think about knocking but it was already open, I see the figure of the man from the back, I knock on the door to warn that I had arrived:

- Ah you're late!

- Ah, good night Severus, sorry I had some setbacks, if you understand me. I speak by going to your table. - Ok, you're already here, I don't understand Dumbledore I asked the Muggle study teacher to help me!

He snorts, adjusting the scrolls and a box with all the potions we have to analyze.

- I must remember that you were not the only one of your time to be the best in potions! I speak with an ironic smile. - But I was one of the only ones that managed to pass the level of alchemy!

He speaks looking at me, for a moment I thought he was going to melt me with that look, I couldn't deny that Snape was a man I would go out with, he is robust, he has a muscular body despite his clothes not showing and still had the air of a domineering man, who left anyone without walking for a week. I swallow, I think of an answer but nothing comes out, as an alternative to get out of this subject, I ask what type of potion would be analyzed.

- So, what are we going to see here?

Before answering, he lets out a nasal laugh, because he liked that I was speechless.

- Amortentia.

I take one of the bottles to analyze the contents.

- I thought you were not the teacher who liked to see his students in love during class. My tone is playful, but I get a cold response. - Dumbledore's idea, he wanted me to help him at the ball, he asked me to spend some easy time to stay that didn't take too much of my time besides that it was a potion that I was extending.

- Ah yes, so where can I start?

- Take some scrolls and smell them, you know what the point is to write them down. I sit on the chair in front of him, pick up a parchment, a quill and the inkwell starts to smell the potions, I start to write about the smells of dampening that were not pleasant.

- Snape, tell me why your students are so ...

- Bad?

- Of course I'm not talking bad about your work. I speak by finishing analyzing Dean of Griffinoria's fourth year. - Sometimes I want to retire when I remember that!

I laugh, taking his attention off the parchment.

- What?

- Nothing, you really give me that image that at the first opportunity you would leave here and isolate yourself from the rest of the world! I speak, leaning over the table. - You are sure about me just about one thing.

- Maybe, we studied practically our whole life. I speak staring at the. - You are a year younger than me!

- Even so, I know because of Lily, she told me. After saying that I remember that I loved or still love her. - Why would she tell you that?

- I don't know, Severus! I speak a little nervous, it was a lie I had asked Lillian to find out what his problem was with me and she told me about the family, I was sorry for him because I knew how to have a troubled family. - And what do you think of me?

- What? He fumbles when I ask. - What do you think about me? I talked about you, now you.

-Oh you, you were the girl who lives in a rich family but still suffered from the pressure of her mother and was expelled from home, she lost the people she loved most, a brother who died and another who disappointed her. So she became a teacher so I didn't feel alone, but she still hopes to start her own family. I remain silent, looking at the paper for a minute, how could I describe myself so well. - Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.

- No need to worry, you told the truth, it was very difficult for me, I never thought it would happen. I speak by dropping my quill and looking at him. - Life is injustice!

- Yes, Snape wanted to apologize to you. I'm ashamed of someone I should have done a long time ago.

- Why ?

- Because I didn't defend you from my brother, James and Peter, and worse that I knew you and was Reg's best friend, but you acted in bad faith with me, but I didn't do anything because I knew what you had said to Lily , I had practically no right opinion about you.

-I think I should apologize too, I always saw you with Sirius and James, I thought you were there with Regulus to play like them, now I realize that you are different from Sirius and his gang, Y \ N!

- NakedI never thought that just two hours together we could make up for so many years of evil looks and splinters! I laugh frankly. - I think the external factors have affected our relationship a lot!

- You are less stupid than your brother!

- Which of the two ? I ask in a malicious tone. - Obviously, Sirius, I think nothing will replace Reg but you are a little cooler than him!

I frown, crossing my arms.

- A little? If I remember correctly, two years ago, I made you burst out laughing when Lockhart asked me to go out in front of all the teachers and I dumped him and at the dueling club I faced him and played in the other half of the main hall.

- That was so good! He laughs, I hold my head in my hands. - I said, don't say we haven't had a good time, I have a list!

- When we were young we only had fun once. He speaks with a smile on his face. - I remember that day, we played a prank on Filch, blamed the Griffins.

- Lucius and Narcissa were sometimes worse than us who were the youngest!

- Yea ! I agree by remembering the five young men running down the hall on the second floor hiding in a broom room. - Where's a bathroom, do I need to go?

- Over there at that door. I get up and go to the bathroom to do my needs and when I leave I smell so good.

- Finally, a potion that works, is from Miss Granger! I stop beside her to try to distinguish the smells, coffee, herbs, old books and woody scent.

- What a good smell, it was a while since I smelled my shock!

- So it is .

- What does your dampening smell, Snape? I ask. - Ah hot chocolate, dog hair, molasses pie and sweet citrus scent and yours?

- Coffee, herbs, old books and woody perfume.

When I finally think about it, I was in a place surrounded by herbs and old books with a man who, since the moment I entered, drinks coffee.

- Snape ... He gets up, for a moment I realize how small I am of him. - I smelled your perfume!

- Me either . My mouth is ajar prepared for any action by Snape, but his hands go to my waist pulling closer to him, his lips touch mine.

My arms are around his neck, his hands squeeze my buttocks making me gasp and as a consequence I squeezed his shoulders.

- Sev, please, we need to finish this! I groan when one of his hands goes over the buttons on my dress. - We can be quick, but I won't insist if you don't want to.

- Snape, I want you, but I don't want you to be quick, I want you to fuck me until I can't walk!

- I never thought I would be such a slut, I won't be able to wait!

- I can stay later, if you want. I speak in a sensual tone, with my eyes closed he kisses the curve of my neck. - I love you, y \ N!

- Me too, Snape. He lets go of me, still panting, looks at me while I get ready. - What it was ?

- When ?

- I already had a crush on you when I was younger, more intensified when in the fifth year that I started working, and you?

- Even if it doesn't seem like it, I had an interest in you when we were in seventh grade, but you were my best friend's sister and on top of that you went with Sirius and James, I thought you were with Remus.

- Remus and I never did anything happen even if I wanted to. I speak in a bold tone .- Even though I thought I wanted you to fuck me before.

- Every time you say that, I think I can't take it.

- We waited so long, because we can't wait now!

- Because I can have you between my legs now. He pulls me, making me sit on his lap. - Then let's finish this!

- I decided that I will give good grades to everyone. He speaks, his hand trying to find my bare skin beneath the fabrics of the dress. - Are you sure, Severus Snape?

- Yes, now my attention is all yours. He gets up, taking me on his lap and already taking possession of my lips, we enter his room. The night was busy, but thanks to a dampening I realized that the love of my life was with me all the time.

#pro snape #severus snape #snape x you #snape fandom #snape fic #snape love #hp fandom #harry potter fandom #harry potter fic #severus x reader #teacher severus snape #snape community #professor snape #severus #severus x oc #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape one shot #harry potter

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izzabeean · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 1 : Out of Time

SUMMARY

Your first week back at university is nearly over and you’ve been dying to go on a date with your boyfriend Ushijima. And it’s not just ANY date, you are celebrating your final year of school together! However, the evening doesn’t really go as planned…

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader /iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 1,478

tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : first time writing fanfiction, I haven’t done any creative writing in a while. I feel like I changed this story so many times but I finally got it down. Please don’t drag me, I am learning!!

masterlist

ch. 1 | next >>

You thought when bad things happened, time slowed down, but it actually felt fast. Almost too fast. Everything seemed to happen in a single second, as you heard those four words, as you waited for the clock to rewind, and as you realized that the love you once had was no longer reciprocated.

--- 3 hours before ---

The anticipation of the weekend just moments away ticks in the background as you’re seated at a desk near the back of the classroom.

Today’s the last day of your first week back at university. Returning back to classes after a short break really put into perspective how much more work you were going to have to put in for your final year. But you were quite fortunate that you only needed to complete a couple more classes to graduate.

You squint at your professor straining your hearing to focus on every word he spoke, but your concentration continues to shift to your thoughts after class.

An evening that’s been planned for months.

To go out for a romantic dinner with your boyfriend Ushijima Wakatoshi, and drink expensive sake while toasting to a bright future together. You have been dating for a year now and the sentiment causes you to feel completely entranced in tonight's endeavors.

As you attempt to regain your focus, you feel a nudge on your arm making the hairs stand on the back of your neck. You turn to your seat-mate who takes the pen from your hand that you’ve been subconsciously fiddling with.

“Tōru!” you whisper, reaching to grab your pen back.

But Oikawa makes sure it's out of your grasp and places it behind his ear opposite from you.

Your eyebrow twitches as Oikawa radiates with a shit-eating grin. You hate it when he makes that face. And that’s when you realize that his actions are intended to be the sole purpose of irritating you, perhaps partially due to the fact getting a reaction out of you was so easy.

Before you cause a scene, you control yourself and let Oikawa get away with stealing your pen. You hear the professor wrap up the remainder of the lesson and begin to pack your things.

Oikawa smiles and focuses on you for a moment. There’s just something about the way you attempt to hide your crossness through the purse of your lips and flush of your cheeks while avoiding eye contact.

As he gathers his belongings, you observe him through your peripheral vision. There was a softness to his appearance, a kind of warmth that reminded you of when you first met.

It’s been almost three years. The two of you met on campus and you’d heard about him from other girls for being exceptionally charming and very attractive. You never quite understood why, but your curiosity grew upon your first impression of Oikawa and the next thing you knew, you were friends.

When the professor gives his final dismissal, you pop out of your seat and reach over to grab your pen. Oikawa’s attempt to stop you is too slow but takes the opportunity to grab your wrist.

You try not to snap and remain calm for fear you’ll give him what he wants, so you pout at his interception trying your best to appear innocent.

Oikawa raises a brow at you as you clutch the pen in your knuckles.

“What’s the magic word…” he coos.

You roll your eyes at his obnoxious tone, “Tōru!”

Oikawa chuckles as he watches you squirm your wrist out of his grip.

Collecting the rest of your things, you quickly regain your composure. To be honest, you couldn’t be bothered with Oikawa’s game, you had to quickly get home to get ready for your date and you already felt you had succumbed to his antics.

Oikawa slings on his backpack and waves to a couple of girls obviously gawking in his direction. You can tell they both undeniably have a crush on him as they continue to linger in the nearly empty classroom. His gesture causes them to blush while squealing out a farewell as they scurry out.

The brief exchange is nothing but the same any day you’re with Oikawa. It’s enough to the point you’re completely immune to it and the dirty looks you get from other girls for being around him.

“Do you want to come grab drinks with me and a friend?” he asks quizzically.

You furrow your brow at his invitation, feeling a bit of disappointment as you’ve been talking his ear off for months about your celebratory dinner with Ushijima.

“Tempting, but I have plans with Wakkan,” you respond.

"Oh, right,” Oikawa fumed.

You can tell he’s displeased as he pouts his lips in petulant annoyance-- Ushijima isn’t someone Oikawa has warmed up to. Often, at times, Oikawa can act quite childish around Ushijima as their personalities don’t necessarily complement each other and it’s been like that since the beginning of your relationship with Ushijima.

However, today you didn’t quite feel in the mood to argue, so instead, you give Oikawa a little nudge with your elbow.

“I’ll come hang out tomorrow, I promise,” you force a smile and hold your breath.

“Fine,” he says, narrowing his eyes, holding you to it.

You exhale deeply, grateful for Oikawa’s acceptance.

------

A knock comes across the silent apartment.

The unexpected noise lingers as you pause from touching up your lashes with a thin coat of mascara. You give your reflection one last anxious glance in the mirror, checking for any flaws. You had to look perfect.

Peeling yourself away from the mirror, you putter to the entrance of your apartment. It was too early for Ushijima to arrive and you weren’t expecting anyone else. But when you open the door, a tall young man stares down at you.

Wakkun!

Casually clothed in a matching hoodie and sweatpants, his rigid complexion radiates stony and daunting. You smile wide--despite his careless appearance--and invite him in.

Ushijima stiffens at your request and shakes his head.

A little helpless, you feel your stomach knot. Something didn’t feel right. His eyes are hard to read, as always, and pierce you with his gaze. But you feel his answer is cold and distant unlike what you are accustomed to.

Then your thoughts start to snowball… Why doesn't he want to come in? Why is he dressed like that? Is he sick? Is he canceling tonight?

“Is everything okay?” You hesitantly ask, putting a pause to your hasty thinking.

“We need to talk,” Ushijima grunts.

It takes you a moment to answer while you let the words sync in.

“W-what!” you stammer, clenching your fists. “I don’t understand--" But you stop yourself when he gives you a look so empty, it’s haunting. The feeling of anguish hangs in your chest, while your throat tightens making it much harder to breathe.

“I think we need to break up,” he utters without skipping a beat.

With those words, time speeds up, almost too fast for you to grasp. Your head starts to spin and in a single second everything is over, but it feels unbelievable as you stare into Ushijima with your adoring eyes. No words can express the aching that courses through you.

Then you shut the door.

Your mind goes blank. As your heart starts to race, you try to make sense of the sudden surprise attack. You could’ve sworn that it wasn’t over and perhaps it was a mistake, that Ushijima will be back. Yet you know it’s real once you stood there with your eyes locking on to the door for what felt like ages. Your entire composure depletes as you lose feeling in your legs and fall to the ground. You want to scream, to open the door and run after him begging to stay. But you can’t. You won’t.

You clench your fists so tightly your knuckles turn white, sending chills of dread down your spine and ounces of tears brim out of the corners of your eyes. You feel overwhelmed with hatred and sadness for being so naive and thinking things can last. Where the fuck did you go wrong? you blame yourself.

Your thoughts are cut when you notice the room got visibly darker, followed by the sound of people giggling and walking outside past your door.

Getting up, you flick on the hallway light illuminating the foyer of your apartment. It’s quiet and disgustingly morbid from the lingering tension of the event that unfolded earlier.

The curtains are wide open for the city lights to bleed in. A sense of loneliness seeps into your skin as you approach the window that overlooks the gritty streets. Taking a deep breath, you swear that tonight will be the only night you let yourself come completely undone.

Little did you know it was going to be a long evening.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x y/n #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years ago

Text

“is scamming gay rights?” - Dean & Jack, DeanCas, Bi!Dean (ao3)

Jack tries teaching Dean about his latest obsession, TikTok, except a breakdown in communication teaches Dean that, sometimes, acronyms can mean more than one thing.

Dean didn’t understand exactly what Jack rambled on about, but he passed the point of no return a few minutes back and couldn’t interrupt without revealing he had no clue what the younger boy prattled on and on about. As it was Jack currently kept pushing his phone in Dean’s face, gesturing at it and shaking it every ten seconds or so. Dean glanced between Jack and it; each time he did there was a new video on screen and by the time he shifted his focus back to his son the lecture had moved elsewhere along a road he had trouble following. By then, he let himself sink into the comfortable numbing cadence of Jack’s speech, sipping at his beer, surfacing only when he recognized a word before diving back under.

His ears perked in familiarity as Jack used an acronym Dean recently learned, and so he tuned back in. Jack drew the phone closer to his side of the kitchen table, tapping on it. “There was this big problem with mlms actually, and even though I filtered my home page to avoid profiles like that, they kept popping up,” he said, “Luckily TikTok went ahead and basically blacklisted and deleted all mlm content. Now, I rarely see any of those kinds of content.”

Dean’s features shuddered, mouth dropping slightly in fright. His ears echoed with the awful drumming of his heart, and a painful wheeze tickled his throat, demanding freedom. He released it on a sigh, slightly curling in on himself. “W-what?” he asked, “You… you didn’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, “I mean, it was kind of annoying, but I learned to ignore them. When I learned how harmful the content was, however, I was very glad to hear that TikTok went ahead and took some sort of action – Hey!”

On autopilot, Dean snatched the phone out of Jack’s hands. He slammed it, hard, on the table between them. Dean pointed a harsh finger towards Jack, snarling his next few words. “I don’t want to ever hear you talk like that again.”

“What?”

“Or!” he added, fist hammering Jack’s phone further into the wood, “use this, this damned app – if this is what it turns you into!” He huffed, hands retreating to steeple at his chin. “You think you’re raising a kid right… raising a kid to be accepting despite being so close to the Bible Belt… and one dumb app undoes all that hard work.”

Jack, frozen in his seat, stared at Dean with concern shining in his comically wide eyes. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Look,” Dean said instead, his finger extending once more to point at the younger boy. It was a less accusatory gesture, softened by the gentle tone Dean adopted. “I know I haven’t been the best role model with… with that kind of stuff. Hell of a lot better than my dad was, though… still not the best. But I’ve been getting better, especially after I…” His words bottlenecked on his tongue, and through great effort did Dean spit them out. “After I admitted my own attraction to… to men, especially one man in particular…” Dean’s head felt like it might erupt, magma-like blood swelling his brain to dangerous sizes. “Cas.”

“Yes, Dean,” Jack nodded, “I know that. I’m… I’m confused what any of that has to do with this?”

“What it has to do with…? Jack…” Dean pinched his brow, tense shoulders collapsing as the strain became too much, muscles snapping like bridge cables. “I might not be the most… the most out, or the most proud, okay? But I’m trying. Remember that bi flag pin I wore during that hunt one time? That was me… trying. And I’ll keep trying, because this isn’t something I’m ashamed of.” He reached for Jack, ensnaring his wrist to make sure his message was well received. “So you see, being gay isn’t – it’s not annoying. It shouldn’t be hidden, or… banned and it certainly isn’t harmful despite what some repressed shitheads might think.” Emboldened, Dean levelled a disappointing glare at Jack. His lower lip jutted out in fatherly disapproval. “And I’d rather be staked on some piece of rusty rebar than let a stupid app make you homophobic. No more… Ticking-tock. Period.”

While Jack might not appreciate Dean’s ultimatum now, he will later on in his life. Dean imagined a future where he and Jack, much older than they were in this moment, sat on a porch swing talking about how good a job Dean did raising him to be a decent human being, as Jack’s partner, whose features he couldn’t distinguish from such a distance in their front yard, played with their son, named for the man who set Jack on the right path, obviously. He was knocked out of this fantasy, unfortunately, by the lumbering footsteps of his oafish brother.

Sam entered the kitchen, Cas at his side with a tome held open in his hands. Their conversation withered as they took in the scene they walked in on. “Hey,” Sam said, shuffling his way to them, “what’s going on?”

Dean opened his mouth, about to explain that he was dishing some serious parental law and wisdom. Except Jack hurriedly interrupted, rushing to speak first. “I have no idea,” he told them, “I was explaining TikTok to Dean, and suddenly he starts ranting about how it’s a homophobic platform?”

“Because it is!” Dean argued. He grabbed Jack’s phone, waving it at the others. “Jack told me that they’ve gone full Russia – banning mlms and… and it was brainwashing him, making him hate gay people!”

“Dean! I don’t hate gay people –“

“Because I acted before any of the damage actually managed to take root,” he said, “If you used this any longer you would’ve had more harsh things to say about mlms than they’re annoying.”

Jack groaned, scrubbing his face with twitching fingers. “They are annoying!”

Dean gestured at Jack, asking with exaggerated brows and frown lines, what they should do about Jack’s denigration. Sam, for his part, seemed unbothered by Jack’s callous attitude. “I mean,” he shrugged, “Jack’s not wrong. Mlms are… pretty annoying.”

Betrayed, Dean staggered to his feet. He faltered visibly, enough that Cas rushed over, dropping the yellowed book he held, and offered a hand. Dean accepted it, leaning on his boyfriend’s shoulder. The touch on the small of his back renewed his strength. “Sam,” he muttered, voice cracking, “how could you say that?”

Sam mirrored the confusion noticeably present in Jack’s features. “Dean, why are you taking this so personally?”

“Because, apparently,” Dean shouted at him, “you find me annoying!”

“No more than I usually do,” Sam told Dean, “But that’s never bothered you before?”

“Well, it’s pretty hard staying fucking unbothered when you think my sexuality is annoying.”

“What?” Suddenly, something flashed behind Sam’s eyes, and the fog of bewilderment dissipated as pure rays of understanding shone from his smug expression and annoyingly struck Dean in the face. “Dean,” Sam sighed, “you… we’re not talking about gay people.”

Dean snorted, “Of course you are. I’m not stupid.” Sam’s bitchy expression disagreed. “I’m hip, Sam. I know the lingo – better than you would, anyway… ‘ally’. Mlm… men loving men… What else could it be?”

“Mlm is an acronym for multi-level marketing, Dean,” Sam explained, “that’s the kind of mlm we’ve been talking about this entire time.”

“What?” Dean’s gaze bounced around the room, from Sam to Jack, then Cas, finally returning to Sam. “No, but I… the Internet, mlm is… it stands for…”

“Things can have more than one meaning,” Cas supplied, appearing pained as he spoke, “especially acronyms.” He pressed a consolatory kiss upon Dean’s cheek, touch sparking a flame on his already burning skin. “It was nice to see how outspoken you’ve become, though.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “Like a modern-day Harvey Milk.”

Dean refused to comment on Sam’s teasing, sinking into his seat again while his mind processed this new information. Cas joined him, continually rubbing soothing circles into his back. Sam sat next to Jack, across from them. Jack, sullenly tracing the cracks Dean made in his phone screen, asked, “Does this mean I’m not banned from TikTok?”

“I just don’t get it,” Dean said, ignoring Jack’s question, “why would something that sounds boring like multi-level marketing even deserve its own acronym, let alone be banned from a whole app.”

“Because it’s bad, Dean,” Sam explained, “multi-level marketing is, like, an evolved pyramid scheme, made more prevalent because of how easily social media disseminates misinformation and reaches impressionable people. Companies like TikTok are doing what they can to try and curb all these kinds of scams because, well… they’re annoying.”

Adamant, Dean scowled and shook his head. “Mlm meaning that is what’s annoying.”

“Too bad, Dean,” Sam said, “that’s probably the universally accepted meaning for it.”

“No!” Dean said, “No, mlm is about gay people. It doesn’t have anything to do with scams.”

Cas scoffed at Dean’s side, mumbling, “But what if scamming people is gay rights?”

It was ridiculous, made in jest, and held no actual weight in a discussion, but Dean latched onto the throwaway line like it were the last life preserver on the Titanic. “You know what, Cas, you’re right!” he crowed, “Scamming is gay rights.”

“It is?”

“It should be,” Dean said, “I mean, do you know the number of times in my life I’ve scammed bigoted jerks for all they had? Scamming definitely feels like something that’s for gays only.”

Sam rubbed his temples, battling an incoming migraine. “I don’t know why, but that take feels homophobic.”

“Hush, Sam,” Cas told the other man, “I want to see where Dean goes with this.”

Jack nodded, camera eclipsing his features. “Just let me hit record first, Dean. This could go viral.”

Dean waited for the signal from Jack, a small thumbs up, and then he cleared his throat. “Okay, so here’s why scamming is a right for the gays and the gays alone…”

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #sam winchester #jack kline #mlm in both meanings of the acronym #spn crack

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