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love-and-monsters · 1 year

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The Warlord and his Lady pt. 7

M dragonkin X F human, 16,180 words

I’m making up for the last chapter being slightly shorter by making this chapter almost DOUBLE THE LENGTH. This wasn’t really intentional, but I couldn’t find a good stopping place so it kind of just kept going... Hope it’s not too long for you all! Also, we’re approaching the endgame now... only a few chapters to go...

Content warning: Discussions and use of poison, character injury

(Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5) (Ch. 6)

The ballroom is strikingly pretty, with domed gold ceilings and elaborate enameled patterns on the walls, but all I can think about is how much I don’t want to be here.

I’m not supposed to be here. Well, I am, but not really. It’s an open ball, meaning there’s no need for a formal invitation to attend. Everyone from the surrounding area is free to attend. But the fact is that I am not the sort of person who typically attends balls, nor am I the sort of person who generally likes balls. Attending a formal event where the main activities are standing around and dancing isn’t the most fun for someone whose body is actively giving all the time.

Attending is something I’ve been more or less press-ganged into doing. I can understand why- the ball is being held to celebrate the new warlord, and it’s sort of an insult to avoid attendance. But just because I understand it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I watch the rest of the people in the ballroom idly dance and chat. People will occasionally strike up conversations with me, but they never last long. There are even people who ask me to dance, though I always turn them down. I don’t want to risk collapsing on the dance floor.

After some time of idly watching other people dance, talk, and generally have a better time than me, I slip out of the ballroom. My back and legs are starting to throb and I want to take another look at the medicine I’m carrying with me. I’ve been experimenting with mixing a few different painkillers together, which has been working better than expected, but it also makes me more tired. I’m debating whether or not to take an awakening mixture along with it when my legs start trembling.

It’s not something I’m unused to- sudden bouts of muscle weakness are common with my condition, and I haven’t come up with anything to fix that yet. Unfortunately, I’m too far from the ballroom to hurry back to the seats in there. Ah well. There’s no one out here, so no one is going to see me awkwardly sink to the floor and dirty my nicest dress.

I press my back against the wall and pluck at my bag with trembling fingers. The weakness will pass- I might as well take the time to take my medicine. I swallow the bitter medicine and pop a piece of sugar in my mouth to take the edge off. As the candy melts on my tongue, I tilt my head back to rest against the wall and close my eyes.

There’s silence for a few moments, a silence that is abruptly broken by someone clearing their throat. My eyes snap back open. “Excuse me,” the throat-clearer continues. “Is everything all right?”

I don’t recognize the face of the man in front of me, but I certainly recognize his tail. He’s the only draconid I’ve ever met in my entire life, possibly the only one that’s ever even been in the town. Our new warlord, Rastek.

He’s wearing formal wear, a red and gold vest over a white shirt, his hair done in a fancy braid that curls up at the back of his head. His eyes are a striking shade of gold in the warm half-light trickling in from the ballroom.

“Yes. I just needed to sit for a bit. I’ll be all right.” To prove my words, I shove myself to my feet. My knees tremble, but you can’t see it under my dress.

“There are plenty of places to sit in the ballroom,” Rastek says.

“I needed a break,” I say. “I’ve never been to one of these before. It can be a little overwhelming.”

To my surprise, his face breaks into a smile. “Ah. I’ve been to several and I’m afraid I don’t see much of the point to it. There’s only so long I can dance and talk politics before it becomes tiresome.” He gives me a sly look. “I’m afraid that’s why I’m out here. After seven or eight balls, you start looking for excuses to avoid them.”

“I suppose I figured you were holding them because you enjoyed them,” I say. It hadn’t really occurred to me that he wouldn’t like them either.

“They’re politically beneficial, and there’s nothing to endear you to your people like holding a fancy party with a bunch of free food. But they’re not quite my idea of a good time.”

One of my legs picks that moment to give out. I stumble, but catch myself on the wall before I can really fall. I’ve had a lot of practice catching myself. Rastek looks alarmed, though, his hands half extending as if to catch me.

“Are you all right? I’m certain there are some quieter rooms nearby if you need to lie down.”

“I promise, it’s nothing. I just need…” I rummage through my bag and pull out a vial of strengthening solution. I’ll feel it in the morning, but it’s better than collapsing in front of our new warlord. The concoction tastes foul going down. The energy seeps from my stomach into my limbs within a few moments.

Rastek watches me take it and a flicker of realization crosses his face. “I know you,” he says.

I pause. “You do?”

“Yes, a couple of people mentioned you. You’re this town’s herbalist, yes? They said you nearly always had a bag with all kinds of concoctions in it on your person.”

I give a barely humorous laugh. “It’s not just because of my trade. I’ve got a medical condition. That’s what got me into herbalism in the first place- it was far cheaper and easier to create the medicines I need myself than to seek out other sources.”

Rastek’s expression falls a little. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a concern of yours,” I say as gently as I can manage. “Just the way things are.”

Rastek nods. “I also heard that you have particular skill with… concoctions other than medicine.”

I hesitate. Warlords usually don’t bother to involve themselves in local crimes- they station guards at the towns for the worst of crimes and mostly allow for the people to take care of things otherwise. But it’s still not the greatest idea to go telling people willy nilly. “Is that what you’ve heard?” I say in the most neutral tone possible.

He smiles faintly. “From a few different people. They seemed quite pleased by your skills.” When I don’t respond, he laughs gently. “I’m not going to arrest you.”

“Forgive my suspicion, but you saying that you’re not going to arrest me doesn’t mean that you’re not actually going to arrest me,” I say. Rastek lowers his head in a slight nod.

“I understand. Let me explain myself, first.” He leans in a little, turning so his back is to the doorway. He’s large enough that the motion completely obscures me from the view of the ballroom. “You’re aware of my position as a warlord.”

“Of course.”

“I control sections of the eastern border. A border that has recently been threatened. My soldiers are skilled, but… well, skill can only do so much to hold back overwhelming force. I’ve petitioned others for aid, but there’s been some hesitancy in providing it- I’m new, after all, and my failure might mean more prestige for others. I’m looking for something that might ensure my victory.”

“That’s why you’re coming to me,” I say. Rastek nods. He could still be looking to arrest me, but it seems unlikely he’d be making up a story and attending to it personally just to get me.

“You seem to have some skills. I thought we could have a partnership,” he says.

I hesitate. This is a big opportunity. Working for a warlord means pay, good pay. Better than I can make as an herbalist. It means access to people of a higher educational background. Maybe people who can understand my condition. Maybe people who can help me. But if I go into this and screw up, or don’t get him the results he wants… well, he seems like a nice guy, but getting on the wrong side of a warlord is generally not considered a great strategy for a long and healthy life.

“Can I ask why you picked me in particular?” I ask, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. “I’m sure there are people more skilled than I am, and there are certainly people more educated.”

Rastek looked amused. “I don’t know if pointing out that you’re underqualified is the best move when someone offers you a job.”

“I want to make sure that we’re on the same page with this,” I say. “And if there’s a specific reason you’re wanting me, then I’d like to know it.”

He looks pleased, so I feel I’ve done something right. “There is a reason. The talk around here is that you’re quite creative with your methods. Better at creating more effective solutions. Stronger ones. Most poisoners focus on single targets- useful for assassinations, but less useful for an army. I’m hoping that your creativity will help us come up with a solution that makes it highly effective in large doses. And perhaps make something that’s more useful for combat- quicker acting, more disorienting, all of that.”

He’s not wrong. I experiment constantly, changing the herbs and ratios that I use. I’m mostly experimenting for medicinal reasons- I want to make something that’s more effective in treating my condition. But medicine isn’t so far from poison, and I can use the results of even unsuccessful experiments to create new and interesting poisons.

“I could do that,” I say slowly. My mind’s already reaching for possible combinations, ways to increase potency over smaller batch sizes. “I mean, I think. I can at least try.”

Rastek smiles. “Thank you.” His smile fades a little. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” I say, although I’m starting to think I should sit back down, no matter how disrespectful that might be to a warlord. One of my legs has started to shake, even with the effects of the strengthening solution. I reach back to steady myself against the wall.

“You’re looking unsteady,” Rastek says. He stretches out an arm, not quite touching me, but offering the support. “Is it your condition?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing serious. I just need to sit for a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” I rarely get embarrassed about my condition, but looking like this in front of Rastek is bothering me. I don’t want him to think of me as weak.

Rastek glances down the hall. “Can you walk for a little ways? Just down the hall. I can give you support if you need it.”

“Yes, I can walk.” Rastek offers his arm and I cling to it with both hands, leaning my weight against him. Despite that, he’s steady as a rock. Being this close to him means I can feel the way his muscles shift under my grip and the warmth of his body. It’s surprisingly soothing.

Rastek guides me down the hall and past several doors before abruptly stopping. “I think this is it…” He retrieves a key from his pocket and unlocks the door with the hand not supporting me.

The room beyond the door is dim. Rastek illuminates it with a wave of his hand and a spark of magic. It looks like a small sitting room, with a few plush seats and a small tea table in the center of them.

He guides me into the room and I settle in the nearest seat. It’s almost ridiculously comfortable. “There we are,” he says. “You can rest in here.”

I glance at him. “Why do you have a key?”

He pauses and his cheeks go very slightly pink. “It was suggested to me that I might want a private place to retire to that is not my room. Lest there be rumors.” His gaze roves the room before falling on a particularly shadowed corner. “The idea seems to be that I would be able to claim this room is for political discussions instead of…” He waves his hand vaguely in the corner of the room. I have to squint to make it out, but then it strikes me. There’s a bed nestled into a nook, barely visible from the door. Certainly more discreet than the lavish bedchamber they presumably gave him as an honored politician.

“Oh,” I say, letting my tone show that I’m understanding his implication. The flush of color spreads, though, creeping toward his forehead and ears.

“That isn’t what this is, of course,” he adds hastily. “I just thought you would like a private place to recover. I wasn’t intending to proposition you.”

If I was I more sensitive person, I might be offended, seeing how quickly he backpedaled. But I’m just pleased he’s not intending to try anything with me. “It’s fine. I’m grateful for your generosity.”

He nods his head, settling in a chair across from mine. “No trouble at all. I was glad to be of some assistance to you.” He glances toward the now-closed door of the room and adds, in more of an undertone, “I was rather getting tired of the ball, anyway.”

“It’s definitely quieter in here,” I agree. There is only the very faint sounds of music and people’s voices through the door. Silence falls over the room and I take the opportunity to glance at Rastek. He sits slightly forward in his chair to avoid squishing the base of his tail, the majority of which is curled across his lap.

We sit together in silence for some time. My body starts to grow stiff and sore as the aftereffects of the weakness set in- one of my legs is throbbing in a way that lets me know it will be a pain to walk on it the next day. Rastek glances at a watch tucked in his uniform. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” I say. “You don’t have to sit with me. I don’t want to keep you if there are important things to handle at the ball.”

Rastek’s nose wrinkled just the tiniest amount. “No. Nothing terribly important. I did my requisite few dances and spoke to those I needed to.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “You said this was your first one, didn’t you? A shame that you’re not feeling well.”

“I was struggling to enjoy myself anyway. It’s hard for me to dance.”

“You’re not missing all that much,” Rastek says.

“I don’t know. A lot of people tell me it’s quite nice.”

Rastek turns his gaze so he’s looking directly at me. His gold eyes glimmer, reflecting the dim lights of the room. “Perhaps. I’ll admit, it might be nicer when you have someone worth dancing with.” He tilts his head to one side, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “But I’m afraid I haven’t met anyone like that yet.”

The world dissolves into swirls, like a paintbrush dipped in water. I try to blink, but my eyes won’t open- or maybe they won’t close. It’s hard to tell. I focus all my attention on them, forcing them as closed as possible, then flinging them open as hard as I can.

My eyes fly open with a surprising amount of force. My entire body jerks with it, and I realize that I’m panting. My heart’s thundering in my chest.

The thaumatist, who has been leaning over me with his hands hovering over my chest, sits back. “There she is,” he says calmly.

Rastek makes a soft, wounded noise. I turn my head to see where he is. He’s slumped over, less than an inch from resting his weight on the flimsy fabric of the tent. One of his hands is partially covering his face, but I can see some of his expression. He looks exhausted and sad.

The thaumatist settles his hands on his knees. “It wasn’t all that bad this time. Though I am glad you got me. Emotional distress makes these things more likely to happen.”

“What happened?” I ask. I try to push myself upright, but my arms don’t want to cooperate. “Did I slip again?”

The thaumatist looks at Rastek like he’s waiting for Rastek to speak, but when he says nothing, the thaumatist begins. “Yes. Your slipping was relatively minor this time.” The thaumatist hesitates for a moment before he speaks again. “There seemed to be conflicting magical forces at play.”

“Which means what?” I ask. I half expect Rastek to demand answers, but he doesn’t say anything. He barely looks at me.

“It could mean your soul is tethering itself more firmly to your body,” the thaumatist says. Rastek actually looks up at that. “Or it could mean magical interference from somewhere that your soul was attempting to resist.”

Rastek actually speaks. “Which is more likely?” His voice sounds a little rusty. I wonder if he was crying.

The thaumatist shakes his head. “Difficult to say. The magical conflict itself makes it hard to discern anything clearly.”

Rastek nodded once. “Hm.”

His silence was unsettling, but moreso was his expression. He looked blank, almost dazed.

The thaumatist cleared his throat. “I can stay nearby, if that would be beneficial- if it happens again and I am able to sense the magic at work from the beginning, that might help me distinguish exactly what is happening.”

Rastek doesn’t say anything. The thaumatist looks at me in askance, but I don’t know what to say to him. “I- I-” I look back at Rastek, silently pleading for him to respond. He barely glances at me, then focuses his eyes on the thaumatist.

“Stay nearby. Just outside, if you will.” Rastek’s voice sounds steadier now, though there’s still that rusty edge to his voice. The thaumatist nods, stands, dusts himself off, and heads out of the tent. Rastek slumps back down, supporting himself with one arm. He looked moments from falling against the tent wall and bringing the whole thing down on top of us.

We sit in silence for a while. Rastek doesn’t look like he wants to talk. He just gazes emptily into space. I can’t read his expression at all. It looks completely blank.

In lieu of speaking, I run the dream over in my mind. It feels like a memory- it’s not as faded and distant as most dreams are after I wake up. If it was a memory, then it must have been the day Rastek and I met. I certainly felt more comfortable in my own skin there. It makes me realize how constant the sense of alienation has been since I woke up here. I never feel like I know what I’m doing.

I’d agreed to work with him in the dream. And, apparently, I’d been poisoning people before that, if what memory Rastek said was true. Was I just an indiscriminate poisoner? What does that say about the person I was? The person that I am now? What does that say about Rastek, if he fell in love with a person like that? He seemed to be kind before- now I feel like I’m looking at everything he’s done or said in a different light.

A part of me wants to ask Rastek about this. I want to have some explanation, something to reassure me that I’m not as bad of a person as I think I am. But I don’t know if I can trust him. I’m worried he’ll lie to me.

More than that, I’m worried that he won’t. That it will be worse than what I’m thinking.

Rastek shifts suddenly, knocking against the tent wall and causing the whole thing to wobble. I look over at him. He’s moving his hand to cover his face again, but he’s not fast enough. I see the wet tear tracks running along his cheeks.

I speak before I can stop myself. “Rastek?”

He shuffles, turning partially away from me so he can cover his face more easily. He takes in a breath, but it catches and comes out sort of wet.

I’m not sure what to say. Rastek makes another soft noise, like he’s barely resisting sobbing, and my chest squeezes. “I, um,” I try again. “Are you… um.” I don’t want to ask if he’s okay, because that seems like a stupid question. But I can’t think of anything else to say. Eventually, I give up on words and just lean over to hold him.

Rastek doesn’t move to hold me back, but he also doesn’t try to move away, which I take as a good sign. He makes another quiet, wet-sounding sob. I pat his back. It’s a little awkward. But I don’t feel like I should let go.

It takes some time, but eventually, Rastek sniffs and moves away from me. He’s not covering his face anymore, so when he leans back, I can see that his eyes are red and puffy. “Was it, um. Bad, this time?” I say in reference to the slipping.

He looks confused for a moment before processing it. “It was not as bad as it could have been.” His voice scrapes his throat, raw and rough. It wavers, right on the edge of cracking. “You’re all right now, which is what matters.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Rastek.”

“It’s growing quite tiring, watching you nearly die over and over,” he says, his voice soft and tremulous.

“I’m sorry,” I say, since I can’t think of anything else. Rastek doesn’t say anything. He stares absently toward the wall of the tent. A part of me wants to comfort him. He looks so miserable, so pained. But another part wants him to comfort me. I want to be angry at him, that he kept things from me, but I can’t bear to yell at him when he’s in this state. I want him to tell me everything he knows, get all the information I can, and I also want to forget all of this every happened so we can go back to the way things were before.

My chest heaves with a soft sob. A couple of tears dribble pathetically down my cheeks. There’s a moment of silence, where I half-hope that Rastek didn’t hear me. Then he digs a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to me. I blot awkwardly at my face.

“If,” Rastek begins quietly, “you do not want me to be here with you, I do understand. I can arrange for someone else to-”

“That’s not going to make things better,” I say. Rastek falls silent. I take another moment to clean my face and collect my thoughts. “It’s not like anyone else understands the situation anyway. Even if I wanted to leave, I’m kind of stuck with you.”

Rastek stays silent. Maybe it’s a testament to how well I’m getting to know him, or maybe it’s just a sign that my memories are returning, but I can tell that it’s a wounded silence. “I don’t want to be mad at you,” I say. “You’ve been good to me, and I know it’s not your fault that things are like this. I just… I want to know why you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“When could I have told you?” Rastek asks. His voice is soft, surprisingly gentle. “I didn’t want to risk upsetting you and making you sicker. I planned to discuss it with you eventually. It wasn’t something I was deliberately trying to keep from you. There was just never a time that felt right.”

The worst part is, what he’s saying makes sense. I understand why he didn’t want to tell me. If I was in his place, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it either. And yet, I can’t help feeling hurt and angry that something so big was kept from me. It doesn’t make sense to be angry with him, but I want to be angry anyway. I want to do something that gets the emotions churning in my chest out so that someone else has to deal with them.

“We met because I was a poisoner,” I say. My voice sounds steady, if a little disconnected. Rastek stares at me in naked surprise.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “We did.”

I take a moment to force the words out of my mouth. “I’ve killed people, then. Or at least, sold stuff that people used to kill other people.”

Rastek opens his mouth, jaw shifting as he scrambles for something to say. “You haven’t killed anyone. You’re not responsible for what people used your poisons for. It’s like what I said yesterday, about the weaponry. A weaponsmith who makes a sword is not responsible for the people the weapon kills-”

“It’s not the same,” I say. “Swords are practical tools- you can use them as a guard or to hunt animals. Poisons are just for killing.”

“People used your wares for hunting,” Rastek said. “For protection from wild animals. And yes, some of them were used to kill, but you were careful. Always to people who needed that.”

“Who would need that?” I mumble.

“You gave an undetectable poison to a young woman to poison her parents. It saved her younger sibling from being abused and sold to a man as his wife. Another man, you sold him a poison to kill his abusive wife and allowed him to gain her money along with his freedom. And you created a rather clever poison solution to protect a family from magic-empowered creatures that stalked their small farm.” Rastek affectionately cups his hand along my face, fingertips tickling my skin. “You were not evil or indiscriminate. You were clever and skilled and you used both medicine and poison as tools. Yes, you are formidable, and I’m certain that your poisons have been used to kill people. But you are not a killer.” He shifts his hand so he’s stroking it through my hair. “Sometimes, the best way to protect people is to stop the things that are hurting them. It can be painful to take on that kind of power. We both need to hurt and kill to protect things we care about. But it does not make us evil. It’s just the way of the world. There’s no shame in doing what you need to in order to survive.”

I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “I- I just don’t want to hurt people.”

“I know. I don’t want to hurt people either.” Rastek took a deep breath of his own. “But I would. To protect you or any of the people under my command. That’s why we’re not evil. We don’t hurt to hurt. We only do it to protect.”

My jaw trembles as I open my mouth. “I don’t want to hurt people.” It takes considerable effort to get the next words out. “I don’t even know if I could do it to protect someone. Not even…” I can’t manage to get the words to rise to my throat. I hope he understands what I mean, though. Not even you.

Rastek is silent for a moment. His hand falls away from my face to rest on my upper arm, where he delivers a gentle squeeze.

“That’s all right. I’m not going to ask you to.” His hand moves away completely. Without that little touch, I feel a little disconnected. Like the few inches of air between us have suddenly become solid steel. “If you no longer want to make poisons, that’s fine. I won’t put pressure on you to do so. We may have met due to your skills with poisons, but it is not the reason I love you.”

He says those words, that I love you so easily. Like it’s something he never doubted. Like it could never be in doubt, no matter how much I feel like a different person who replaced his wife. It’s a weighty feeling, but also startlingly pleasant. Reassuring.

Perhaps it’s cruel of me, but despite knowing both his and my past, I can’t think of him as a monster. Not someone who promised to care for me, to even love me, despite my memory loss. Even if he’d shown no remorse, I don’t know if I would have been able to hate him for it. The love he offers me is too overwhelming not to accept.

“We, ah. We met at that ball in my town,” I say hesitantly. Rastek stares at me, his expression one of barely-constrained hope. Like he’s trying not to get himself too excited for something that might not be real. “I was sick, so I went outside the actual ballroom and that’s where we met. You took me to a private room to rest and we talked… We never danced, though, even if we were at a ball.” The memory gets distinctly fuzzy after that. I have to focus to even grasp any of it. “We stayed there half the night. Even though you were supposed to go conclude the ball.”

The guardedness of Rastek’s expression has melted away, leaving nothing but naked delight and disbelief behind. “You- you remember.”

“It just came back to me when I was sleeping. It’s jus that snippet, nothing else, though.”

Rastek lunges forward and I’m pressed into the expanse of his chest. His breathing shudders with emotion. The hug is about as tight as he can manage while still being mindful of my physical health. “You remember,” he murmurs. His arms shift and he pulls away to stare intently at me while he clutches my hands. “Tell me what you remember.”

I fumble for a moment, stumbling to pull up details I can give to him. “It was at a ball, one for your… inauguration, or something? You were introducing yourself as the warlord and I had to come, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I stepped outside because I was sick and then you came up to me and we talked. You recognized me and then… you took me to a room to sit down for a bit.” I grin at the memory. “It was a room they’d given you in case you found someone you liked, I think.”

“Well,” Rastek says, his smile never wavering on his face, “I did find someone, didn’t I?”

“You seemed very eager to convince me it wasn’t like that when we were in the room together,” I tease. Rastek chuckles, eyes gleaming with fondness.

“It wasn’t like that, at the time! I was trying to make sure you were comfortable.”

“My memory gets kind of fuzzy after we go into the private room,” I say. “Did we talk for a while?”

“Most of the night, if I remember correctly,” Rastek says. He grins in a way I can only describe as sheepish. “I believe I had to be fetched to preside over the closing ceremonies.”

“Seriously?” I ask, genuinely surprised. Rastek laughs.

“What can I say? You were quite fascinating. Though I suppose I should have been more careful about us being spotted when we went in there. I think not being in my bedroom helped prevent the rumors from spreading, but a couple politicians did make some comments the next day about warlords having impressive, ah. Stamina.”

I burst out laughing, even snorting a little. Rastek grins back. “No- no way! Oh my god, they actually said that?”

Something tells me Rastek was expecting this reaction, because he looks pleased with himself. “In so many words, yes. It was mortifying at the time, but you’re right- it is very funny now.” His expression shifts then, getting even more smug. “And, well, they weren’t exactly wrong…”

I practically double over, wheezing. One of Rastek’s hands hovers next to me, ready to support me if I need anything, but otherwise not impeding me. When I slow my laughter enough to straighten back up, I see nothing but fondness in his eyes. “One good thing about losing your memories- I can tell you my old jokes and you still think they’re hilarious.”

“You’ve told me that one before?”

“To the extent that you’ve asked me to stop bringing it up, yes,” Rastek says. “I suppose losing your memories gets my counter rest to zero, though. I could see how quickly I can get you to ban me from telling it again, though.”

“No,” I chuckle. “We will not be doing that.” Rastek grins back at me, eyes gleaming, and my heart flutters.

“As much as I would love to stay here with you,” Rastek says, glancing toward the tent flap to assess the sun’s progress in the sky, “I do have some work to attend to.”

I can feel my face fall, but I do my best not to show my disappointment too much. “Right. I get it.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can be,” Rastek says. He takes one of my hands in his and rests his other hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you something to eat, first, so you can take your medicine.”

Despite not having eaten a lot over the past day, my appetite is still pretty small. But I don’t think Rastek will let me squirm out of it, so I nod and brace my weight against him to stand. “Yes, I’ll- Oof.” My vision swims for a moment and Rastek’s touch vanishes as surely as if he’s pulled his hands away. I wobble, suddenly untethered, and reach out for him. Unfortunately, my vision is swirling into just an array of colors and I can’t find him. Distantly, as if through a thick sheet of plexiglass, I can hear Rastek calling for the thaumatist.

My vision gradually returns to clarity, like slowly adjusting the focus on a camera. I’m still standing, though I’m also leaning my weight pretty heavily against Rastek. One of my hands is fisted around the fabric of his shirt so hard that my knuckles have gone pale.

“Hm,” the thaumatist says. He looks almost fascinated, which is more disturbing than him being completely emotionless. He’s definitely leaning closer to me than I’d like. “Well. That is interesting.”

Rastek huffs impatiently. “Please. If you’re ever going to use the phrase ‘that’s interesting’ again, then at least do the courtesy of also explaining what you find so interesting without me having to ask.”

The thaumatist looks unperturbed, despite Rastek’s tone. “Your wife is being assaulted through magic.”

There’s a moment of silence. Rastek takes a deep breath in and lets it back out. The next word that comes out of his mouth is said in the most chilling tone I’ve heard from him. “How?”

The thaumatist continues to look mildly interested, at best. “Whoever is doing it seems to be trying to throw her soul out of her body once more. However, the protective spells on her are dampening its influence. It actually seems to be having the opposite effect- her soul, in response, is tethering itself tighter to her body.”

“That’s why I remembered something,” I say. The thaumatist doesn’t look surprised by this announcement.

“Yes, returning memories would be a likely side effect. However. I would not suggest allowing this to continue. The magic is not hurting her right now, but allowing the attacks to continue increases the chances that something will go wrong.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that we allow the attacks to continue. Even if they do seem to be helping with her memory,” Rastek says. “Can you trace the magic?”

“Perhaps, if it’s not otherwise designed to block me.” The thaumatist lifts his hands away from me, moving them through the air like he was tracing lines I couldn’t see. “Ah. They’ve got a bit of a sensor on this spell. The instant they sense me trying to trace it, they’ll-”

Something happens. It’s like my vision gets sharper or a weight eases off of my chest. I release tension I wasn’t even aware I was holding along with a big sigh.

“Yes. They ceased the magic to avoid me tracing it.” The thaumatist drops his hands.

Rastek purses his lips. “Did you get anything from it at all?”

The thaumatist tilts his head to one side, eyes distant. “Yes. The signature was stronger than I was expecting.”

Again, Rastek has to prod him to get him to say anything else. “Which means?”

“The magic user must be closer by than I thought,” the thaumatist says. “I was rather working under the assumption they were casting from a safe base some distance away from us. It makes the most sense, since that would make it harder to trace the magic. But this signature would seem to indicate that they are significantly closer.”

“How close?” Rastek asks. His shoulders are set, tense, and his teeth are gritted. He leans forward to the thaumatist. “As close as the enemy camp?”

“Possibly,” the thaumatist said, seeming completely unintimidated by a warlord leaning into his personal space. “I would certainly say it’s fairly likely- tracing the distance through magic signature is hardly an exact science, especially considering how fast it was dropped, but I would say it had a much stronger signature than I would assume it would have even coming from the nearest town. And given that our encampment and the enemy’s encampment are the only two settlements of people out here…”

“It is possible it could be a rogue agent who’s stalking nearby as well,” Rastek says. “I’ll send some soldiers to do a sweep nearby. At the very least, even if we don’t find them, it should send them packing, at least temporarily. If we don’t see any signs of anyone, then perhaps it’s time to show our enemies a little more aggression.”

He bares his teeth as he talks, a strange, strained smile pulling at his face. A worm of worry crawls its way into my stomach. “Rastek, don’t be too hasty. We need to be at least a little cautious.”

“I’m being as cautious as I can be, considering the person who nearly killed you might be right under our noses.” He looks at the thaumatist. “Do you think you could sense them? Track them using magic, somehow, if you know their magical signature?”

The thaumatist looks unimpressed. “I’m hardly a bloodhound.”

“But can you?” Rastek presses.

“Possibly. I offer no guarantees.”

Rastek nods. “Come with me, then. We’ll gather some soldiers and head out.” He turns toward the entrance of the tent.

“Rastek!” The cry bursts out of me, without even thinking about it. He stops, looking back at me. “Let me come with you.”

His expression drops into a solid mask of disapproval. “No.”

“I’m not staying here by myself. And do you really want me hanging out here at camp when the thaumatist is off with you? What if something happens again?”

Alarm darts across Rastek’s face before he shuts it down again. “That’s a fair point,” he says after a moment. “You’ll ride with me, then.” He turns his gaze to the thaumatist. “Stay here with her while I gather some people to come with us. If anything happens, you know how to alert me.”

“Of course,” the thaumatist says, though he doesn’t seem particularly concerned. Rastek steps toward the doorway, then pauses and hurries back over to me.

“Take your medicine and rest while I’m out. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” One of his hands cups the back of my head and he leans in for a quick kiss on my forehead. My skin tingles pleasantly under the tickle of his warm breath against my skin. Rastek straightens up and hurries out of the tent.

The thaumatist almost instantly closes his eyes and sits in the sort of cross-legged position that I associate with meditating. The air around him seems to be faintly charged with a feeling similar to, though not the same as, static electricity. It makes my brain go slightly fuzzy.

The tent flap shifts and a familiar face pokes through. I stare, surprised. “Ethan?”

It’s the servant boy from the kitchen, the one I’d spoken to a couple of times. He flushes furiously, pink spreading up to the tips of his ears. “My lady, you, uh. Remember my name?”

“Of course,” I say, before realizing that it might be strange for me to do so. “I thought you would have stayed back. I didn’t realize you were coming with us.”

Ethan’s face goes even redder, and he ducks his head so I can’t quite see his expression. I assume it’s rather bashful. “Y-yes, well. They indicated they could use another cook at the encampment and I thought it might be some more experience and anyway, I was the only cook who could really go, so I thought- yeah.” He drops the tray of food he’s carrying in front of me. The thaumatist shifts in his meditation, opening his eyes slightly. A strange expression flickers over his face- like he’s trying to get his eyes to focus on something right in front of his face. Ethan ducks in a quick bow and scrambles out the tent flap.

“Everything all right?” I ask the thaumatist. I can’t even tell if he can hear me. After a moment, his eyes close again. A moment later, he takes a piece of toast from the tray and starts chewing on it without opening his eyes.

That seems to be all the answer I’m going to get. I content myself with thinking that, if there really was something wrong, he would not be casually munching on toast. I take my own breakfast, then my meds. Rastek’s still not back. I occupy myself by flipping through a few of the books. The idea of handling poisons still unsettles me, but it’s also interesting to see how thorough my notes are. At least I seemed to put a lot of time and effort into the whole making poisons thing.

The tent flap rustles and I look up in time to see Rastek stepping through. The thaumatist opens his eyes and rises to his feet. “We’re almost ready to go. Your horse is already prepared,” Rastek tells him. The thaumatist nods once, then heads out, leaving me and Rastek alone together.

His expression softens when he turns to me. “How are you doing?”

Admittedly, the medicine I just took is making me both sleepy and nauseated, but I don’t want to say that in case he decides not to let me come. “I’m all right. Is everything ready?”

“Nearly. You’ll need to get on your riding gear.” Rastek pulls some sturdy-looking clothes out of a bag and helps me put them on. “You’ll be riding behind me the whole time. It might take a while to round the whole of camp, but we’re not going to be able to take any breaks.”

Hm. I hadn’t considered the no-breaks idea. I’m not entirely sure I can manage riding for an extended period of time without one. My legs hurt just thinking of it. But I have a weird, bad feeling, and that’s more pressing than the concern about an aching back and rear. “Sure. That’s fine.”

Rastek seems mildly surprised by my acquiescence, but he just nods. “Good. Then we’ll be off.”

We exit the tent together, with Rastek slightly in front of me. He leads me toward the edge of camp, where there’s a semicircle of soldiers waiting for us. A couple of them are dressed in armor that covers all of their bodies, and I do mean all of it. They remind me of knights, though the face shielding seems to be flatter than I remember knight helmets being. The others are wearing less armor, but their faces are still at least partially concealed by masks.

It’s a weird choice, considering that, at least from what I saw, none of the soldiers riding out into battle were wearing any sort of masks. Doesn’t that make it harder to ride? Or at least to see where you’re going? I consider the idea that they’re used to prevent inhaling the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves, but then, no one else on horseback has been wearing them.

Rastek must sense my confusion, or at least see it on my face, because he takes a moment to pretend to adjust his horse’s tack in order to speak to me. “We’re tracking magic users. Standard practice is to hide your face.”

“But not us,” I say, not questioning, just a little uncertain.

“We’re working under the assumption that they already know us,” Rastek says. “Anyone around here likely knows of me already- and if they’re the people who attacked you, they must know your face because they’ve already used magic on you.”

I grimace. “You’d think people would be more cautious about showing their faces at all, if a magic user could kill or hurt you based on knowing that alone.”

Rastek shrugs. “Maybe. But magic users that powerful are quite uncommon. Magic attacks are rare, at least distanced ones that require the knowledge of what someone looks like.”

“So I’m just massively unlucky,” I grouse.

“Something like that,” Rastek says. “I could get you a mask, if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

“If they already know me, I’m not going to bother,” I say. “Does this mean that the person is someone we know? Or could they just have seen a portrait of us and gone off that?”

“Portraits don’t work super well- they’re not always completely accurate, and that can interfere with the spell. Don’t ask me how exactly that works, but it always works best if the caster has seen what the person actually looks like, not the way another artist saw them.”

“Then that means the person knows us? Or at least me?”

“It could mean that,” Rastek says. “But more likely they saw us in passing, at a ball or something.” The horse shifts impatiently and Rastek straightens. “I would suggest asking the thaumatist about this if you want to know more. I was never all that good at the specific mechanics of magic.”

We settle in on the horse together. Rastek makes a signal with his hand and we start off at a steady, quick pace. The thaumatist rides next to us, looking incongruous between all the soldiers. Even his horse doesn’t seem to suit him- I keep feeling like he should be riding a ghostly pale horse instead of a sturdy brown thoroughbred. The horse we’re riding suits Rastek, though- steady, reliable, and strong. I can feel its muscles shifting as it runs.

The riding isn’t that different from any other time before- interesting to start with, then boring, then gradually painful. The saddle we’re in at least seems to be designed differently than the other ones I’ve ridden in. I’m no horse tack expert, but even I can tell it’s slightly wider and more padded than the other soldier’s saddles. That helps, if only a little bit.

We move through forests for a little while, then the trees thin and we hit fields. Every now and then, we’ll have a momentary stop while the thaumatist guides his horse in circles, looking at something the rest of us can’t see. But by midday, we haven’t found whatever it is we’re looking for, and I can’t tell if we’re actually any closer to doing so.

By afternoon, I’m starting to become genuinely concerned that I’m going to fall off the horse. My legs have crept past the ‘sore’ part of muscle tiredness and moved into the ‘generally kind of numb’ part. On one hand. Less painful. On the other. More difficult to ride a horse when everything from the waist down feels tinglingly dead. Rastek helps by keeping one of his hands on the reins and the other on my waist, gripping at my clothes. Whenever I slip sideways, he straightens me back out. I’m certain he can tell that I’m losing my balance more often now than when we started out, but he hasn’t made any comment on it. I don’t complain either- I asked to come on this trip and I knew it would be difficult, so I’m not going to whine about it.

The thaumatist abruptly pulls to a stop, tugging on his horse’s reins. His gaze snaps toward the west, perpendicular to the direction we’re riding. He’s still for so long that I start to wonder if there’s something wrong with him. The soldiers we’re riding with close ranks, drawing in a tighter circle around us.

“What is it?” Rastek calls out. His voice seems uncomfortably loud now that the clatter of horse hooves is mostly silent.

The thaumatist speaks, his voice barely carrying. “Something… is impinging on my senses.”

A couple of the soldiers shift nervously. Rastek ignores it. “Is it what we’re looking for?”

“Maybe. It’s communication magic. Which could be what we’re looking for. It could also be completely benign.” The thaumatist looks at Rastek, completely unconcerned and neutral. “Do you advise us to follow?”

Rastek hesitates for a couple of moments. The hand at my waist tightens. “We may as well check it out,” he says. “If it’s something innocuous, then we’ll just continue on our way.”

The thaumatist nods and spurs his horse in the direction he was looking in. We set off at a quicker pace, almost a canter (at least, I think that’s what it is- I’m not practiced with horse terms.)

When it happens, it happens so quickly, I almost miss it. One second, we’re loping across the plains, the tall grass waving around us. And then there was someone abruptly bolting away in front of us. The thaumatist’s horse rears with a shrill whinny. It takes me a moment to realize the fleeing person must have been lying down in the grass, trying to go unnoticed, before they realized we were going to trample them if they didn’t move. Their sudden appearance works to their advantage- the horses spooked and, while we were trying to get them back under control, the person was making headway through the grass.

Rastek yanks on his horse’s reins, forcing it into submission. With a single kick, he spurs it forward, charging after the person’s rapidly-retreating back. I hunker down in the saddle and cling on with all my might.

The person ahead of us must be using magic to run faster, because they’re almost managing to outpace us, even though we’re on a horse. They’re bent forward, almost parallel to the ground, trampling the tall grass in their way so thoroughly that it leaves a trail for us to follow. I

I can’t tell what they’re trying to do- even with their magical might, they’re not going to be able to outrun over us forever. We’re gaining on them steadily. It would make sense of they were trying to get back between the trees, since the terrain would slow the horses down enough that they could get solidly ahead and hide somewhere. But they’re instead moving deeper into the grasslands, heading away from the trees. Maybe they’re just trying to get further away from the encampment. Or maybe they’re looking for-

“Cut them off before they get to the Ley line!” Rastek bellows over his shoulder. A couple of the riders behind us break away, apparently trying to get around our target, but they’re going barely faster than us- I can’t tell if they can go fast enough to make it. Rastek’s not sure either, because he directs his next order to the thaumatist. “Choke the Ley line off!”

“Impossible, from this distance.” The thaumatist’s voice still sounds relaxed, despite him yelling from the back of a horse. “Physical restraint would be the most reliable course of action.”

Rastek growls. I can feel it rumble through his chest. “Hold on,” he tosses over his shoulder at me. He kicks his heels and the horse jolts forward, sprinting at full tilt. I cling to Rastek and grit my teeth so the wild bouncing doesn’t make me bite my tongue off.

We gain more on the running figure. The horse’s hooves are nearly touching the trail of the cloak that blocks their face from view. Rastek wraps the reins around one of his fists and draws his sword. The blade glints in the sunlight as he draws it down toward the figure, just within swinging distance.

It happens within a second. The figure, without braking stride, twists and something catches the sunlight for just a second. Rastek jerks and slumps sideways in the saddle with a loud cry. The horse whinnies, almost a scream, and veers away from the figure. I sway, clinging to Rastek- it’s fortunate that he’s strapped into the saddle, because I wouldn’t have been able to hold him up all by myself. There are shouts of confusion from behind me and the glimpse I catch of the other soldiers shows that some of them are breaking off, heading our way. The confusion is all the figure needs. They sprint several more yards away and there’s a pop of displaced air as they vanish.

“No,” Rastek groans, fumbling to straighten himself up. A wave of relief washes over me- he’s not dead, not even unconscious. He’s at least somewhat okay. “Fuck… dammit.”

“Hold on, hold on,” I say, making eye contact with the closest soldier. “Someone’s here to help.”

The soldier takes the reins and places a steadying hand on Rastek’s shoulder. “Sir, status report. Where were you hurt?”

“Ugh,” Rastek groans. His teeth are clenched, his breath coming in shallow little pants. I can feel the rigid tension through every line in his body. “They hit me with a throwing knife, I think.” He straightens up a little more and curls his hand away from where it’s cradling his side.

There’s immediately red. Streaming red, soaking through his clothes. It looks like the knife just barely missed his armor, burying into the lower left part of his abdomen. “It hurts, but I believe it’s just a flesh wound.”

“Can you make it back to camp?” the soldier asks. The other soldiers and the thaumatist stand in a loose circle around us. The thaumatist urges his horse closer.

“I’ve no great skill in healing,” he says, whispery and unconcerned. “But I could stem the blood for long enough that you could make it back to the camp where you can have proper medical care.”

“Yes,” Rastek says. I can hear that he’s gritting his teeth. “Do that.”

The thaumatist pulls his horse even with us, the soldier on Rastek’s other side breaking away to join the others. There’s a faint electric feeling in the air and the thaumatist’s had shoots out. He touches Rastek’s side for just a second, then pulls back, easing his horse away. Rastek huffs out a long breath, almost a wheeze.

“We should return to camp quickly,” the thaumatist says. “It won’t hold for more than a couple of hours,” Without waiting for a response, he turns his horse back toward the camp and kicks it into a quick trot.

Rastek doesn’t immediately follow. He shifts a little in his saddle, letting out a couple harsh breaths. I reach up to tentatively place a hand on his back. “Are you sure you’re okay to be riding back now? The thaumatist could maybe send a message or something instead, to get a healer out here.”

“No,” Rastek grunts. “It’ll take too long. And it’s not a bad wound.”

“You got stabbed,” I point out.

“I’ve had worse,” Rastek says. That does not make me feel any better. “It hardly hit anything important,” he continues, like there are any parts of him that are unimportant. But he’s already kicking his horse into higher gear, despite the short, tight breaths he’s taking every time his wound is jostled. I just settle into the motion of riding, trying to at least keep an eye on Rastek.

We do make it a solid amount of the way back to camp. In fact, we get close enough to be able to see the shapes of tents and people on the horizon. But the horse suddenly shifts beneath us, gait faltering in uncertainty. I struggle to grab onto something, but before I can even steady myself, I feel Rastek slip sideways in the saddle. The horse gives a shrill, frightened whinny, and my attention is abruptly split between trying to drag it to a stop and trying to stop Rastek from falling. I don’t manage either- Rastek falls sideways, still strapped into the saddle so he’s literally dangling from the horse, his head brushing the ground while the horse whinnies and starts picking up like it’s going to run. I put all my attention toward the reins, tugging on them as hard as I can.

The horse pulls to a stop just as the other soldiers fall in next to me. One of them grabs the reins while another hops off their horse to unstrap Rastek. A third tries to pull me off the horse to lead me away, but I shoo them away and scramble back to Rastek’s side.

Rastek groans and struggles to sit up as soon as he’s unbuckled from the saddle. One of the soldiers pushes him back so he’s lying on the ground. “Get a healer,” they snap and I hear the sound of hoofbeats headed away at top speed. I don’t turn to see who’s going. I just struggle closer to Rastek, forcing my way through the throng of concerned soldiers. They part pretty easily for me.

“Rastek!” I say. He blinks, focusing on me. There’s a fine sheen of sweat over his forehead, his hair slicking down to his skin. A flush sits high on his cheekbones, at contrast to the pallor of the rest of his face. His eyes focus on me, but their usual golden sharpness is lost- he looks a little foggy. A quick glance at the wound shows me that whatever the thaumatist did to stop it from bleeding has failed or worn off or something- there’s a fresh, steady trickle of blood staining his clothes once more.

“’M all right,” he murmurs. His voice sounds lost, like he’s out of it. “Just- just fell.”

I tap his face gently, but firmly, trying to draw his attention. He focuses on me after a couple of tries. “Talk to me. Stay awake, okay?” He did it for me. I have to do it for him now. And no one seems keen on taking me away, so perhaps this is a regular occurrence.

“Hmm,” he grunts. His eyes close, then flutter open again. There’s definitely a concerted effort on his part to look at me. I’ll take it, rewarding him by brushing some of the hair out of his face and clearing some of the sweat away.

“What are you feeling?” I ask. His wound is still bleeding, but his reaction seems incongruent with dying from blood loss. People who have blood loss are often cold and very pale- he’s warm and sweaty, more like he has a fever. The knife did hit his guts. If it nicked something important and there’s bile or waste pouring into his bloodstream- I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know if that can be fixed.

No. There’s magic here. There’s medicine of some sort. There must be a way to fix him. I can’t think like he’s already gone.

Rastek takes in a breath. It rattles a little in a terrifying way. “F-fuck it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” I say, smoothing his hair back again. His eyes drifted mostly shut before he forced them open again. “Keep talking to me. What does it feel like exactly?”

“Burning,” he says. His breath comes in another trembling rasp. “Like something’s burning under my skin.”

It’s not the most helpful description. I don’t know what that means for him- it could mean something important got perforated, or it could mean some kind of infection setting in and I don’t know how to fix it.

Racing footsteps behind me alert me to the approach of a couple of soldiers and a healer. The healer drops to her knees as soon as she’s within reach of Rastek. She pushes me out of the way, not cruelly, but with blunt efficiency. Rastek makes a pained noise, but I’m not sure if he’s reacting to me being shoved or the healer pressing her hands against his side.

“What happened?” she asks, all business. One of the other soldiers fills her in. I change positions so I’m next to Rastek’s head, busying myself by stroking his hair and murmuring soothingly to him.

The healer pokes at him for a few moments, probing. Rastek twitches and grunts when she touches the wound, but I can see his gaze getting less focused. He’s fading, clearly exhausted. The healer binds his wound and directs the other soldiers to pick Rastek up on a makeshift stretcher. I rise to go with them and my legs buckle.

One of the soldiers grabs me before I hit the ground. “My lady?” she says. “Perhaps you should lie down-”

“No,” I snarl. I’m tired, so it’s not the most vicious sound I’ve ever made, but it does give the soldier pause. “I’m going with him.”

She hesitates, exchanging glances with the other soldiers. I can see their respect for my position warring with their obvious fear of what Rastek will do if anything happens to his wife. “Allow me to escort you, then,” she says after a few moments. I nod. I’m not sure I could make it wherever they’re taking Rastek without help.

As it turns out, they’re taking him to a large tent in the middle of the camp. I can hear whispers and gasps from soldiers as they see us walking through. I ignore them, keeping my eyes fixed on Rastek. His tail dangles off the stretcher and I can see it flex ever now and then. It’s reassuring. It means he’s not dead.

Once we’re in the tent, the healer sets up a section blocked off from the rest of the tent by curtains. I’m forced off to one side, almost pressed up against the curtain barrier as a few other healers come in and start fussing around him. I’m in the way- I know I am. But I can’t bring myself to leave. If something happens to him- if something happens-

No one tries to get me to leave, but no one speaks to me either. They’re all focused on Rastek. I wait, twisting my hands together, my heart in my throat. It’s the only thing I can do.

I don’t know how long it takes exactly, but after a while, the bustling of healers slows. A few of them clean up their tools and hurry off to work on other soldiers. I get a good look at Rastek for the first time since they’ve started working on him.

They’ve stripped off his armor and shirt, leaving his chest completely bare. It would probably be hot, but his sickly paleness and labored breathing really take way from that. His side has been thoroughly bandaged, but I can see lines of red tracing up his side, moving out in a starburst pattern from the wound. It reminds me of an infection.

“We examined the wound,” one of the healers says, turning to me. I startle a little- they’ve been ignoring me for so long I started to forget they could even see me. “The wound is not deep, and it managed to avoid his organs. It required stitches, but the cut itself is not dangerous. On its own, it would take a while to heal, but it would certainly be survivable.”

I can sense the weight of something unsaid behind her words. “There’s something else wrong.”

The healer looks a little uncomfortable. “We were hoping for your assistance with this, my lady.”

I’m really hoping my face doesn’t show how worried that request makes me. “I’m not a healer. What would you need my assistance with?”

She seems a little confused, but she explains regardless. “The knife he was stabbed with was poisoned. It’s the only explanation for why he’s gotten so sick so quickly. We were hoping for your assistance in determining what the poison is and what antidotes might be effective.”

It feels like the world drops out from under my feet. I can hear my breath whistling in my chest, coming too fast and too shallow. “I- I can craft poisons, but curing them is not really my area of expertise…” My voice sounds weak, even to my ears.

“Your husband said you had some training in medicine,” the healer says. She’s looking a little suspicious, but I don’t care. “Even if you cannot craft the antidote yourself, just being able to narrow the list of possible poisons would be a great help.”

Rastek stirs a little, head turning toward me. I can see his eyes focusing on me. His gaze is a little bleary, but I can read his expression. “I would like to speak to my husband for a moment,” I say, putting my focus into sounding like I know what I’m doing. “Alone.”

The healer hesitates, then dips her head and leaves, swishing the curtains closed behind her. I turn to Rastek.

He looks worn. Tired. There are shadows under his eyes and his breathing is heavy. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. If he wasn’t already lying down, he would look like he was about to collapse.

The urge to bust into tears hits me, strong and sudden. I fight it back. Rastek needs me. I can’t break down now.

“They said you’ve been poisoned,” I say. My voice is remarkably steady. Rastek dips his head. Even the effort of nodding seems to exhaust him.

“I would assume,” he says. “I had hoped it wasn’t the case, but…” His lips curl. “It’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” The word bursts out of me louder and harsher than I expect. The thing I said about my voice being steady? Gone. The word quivers like a leaf in a storm. Rastek looks almost frightened for a moment, and I clamp down on my emotions as hard as I can before speaking again. “We might be a little beyond unfortunate. Rastek, I don’t know what to do.”

He grimaces, licking his lips. Despite the fine sheen over the rest of his face, his lips are rather dry and cracked looking. “You don’t do anything. Go back to the tent. I’ll tell them you’re too close to work on this or something. It’ll emotionally effect you badly enough to make you sick.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say. “Rastek. You’re dying.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “There are good healers here, and draconids are resilient. If they can keep me alive until the poisons works out of my system, then-”

“And if they can’t? You look awful already. You don’t even know what kind of poison it is. What if it’s always fatal?”

“Then I suppose I die,” Rastek says. There’s barely any emotion in his voice. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely unbothered or if he’s just too tired to emote. “I told you already, I won’t let anything happen to you, even if I-”

“I don’t care what happens to me! What about what happens to you?” I whisper-yell. Rastek sighs and gives me a mournful look.

“The healers will do their best to help, and I will do my best to stay alive. But right now, there’s nothing you can do.” He reaches out and I step forward to let his fingers interlace with mine. His hands are clammy and his fingers actually feel weak against mine. It’s so strange and scary to feel just how exhausted he is. I can’t help him the way he helped me. Again, that feeling of incredible uselessness washes over me. I can’t do anything. I can’t help him. I’m going to sit here and watch the person who cares most about me in this world die. Because I can’t do jack shit to stop it, even though I should be able to. Even though people expect me to.

Unless… I can help. I have to be able to help. I can’t leave Rastek here to die. I have to help. No matter what.

I turn, sliding my hand from Rastek’s, and whisk open the curtains around his bed. One of the nearby healers looks up at me as I step out. I swallow the anxiety swelling in my throat. “I can help,” I say. “But I’ll need time to research. Let me stop by my tent first to gather some of my belongings and then I can begin.”

“Wait,” Rastek says from behind me, his voice pitching with alarm. “You don’t have to-”

I look over my shoulder at him, mustering the most reassuring smile I can. “Please. Let me help you.” His brows draw together, but before he can say anything, he sags back and lets out a few wheezing coughs. He shivers, despite the warmth in the tent. I turn back to the healer. “It might take some time. But I will manage it.”

“Of course, my lady. I’ll have someone accompany you to the tent,” she says. A guard materializes at my side. I give them a nod of acknowledgement and cast one more look over my shoulder at Rastek. He’s gazing after me, brows furrowed.

“It’s okay,” I mouth back at him. “I will make sure you’re all right.”

As soon as we step outside the tent, the thaumatist appears out of nowhere. He doesn’t say anything, but he does fall into step beside me as I walk. After a few moments of silence, where he doesn’t seem to be preparing to say anything, I speak. “Rastek was poisoned.”

The thaumatist nods. “Yes. I overheard.” He turns his gaze to me, thoughtful and assessing. “I also overheard that you were planning on helping.”

I glance at the guard. They don’t look like they’re paying attention, but I still don’t want to be too open about my memory loss. “Yes. He’s my husband. Of course I’m going to help.” The thaumatist nods and falls into silence. I can still feel his assessing eyes on me, even when I’m not looking. It unnerves me.

When we arrive at the tent, the guard stops to wait outside for me. The thaumatist does not. Instead, he ducks into the tent right on my heels without waiting to be invited.

“I assume you want to talk about something,” I say as he glances around.

“I am here if you wish to talk about something,” he says. “I thought you might. Given that you’re volunteering to help unpoison your husband. With precious little knowledge about how poisons work.”

“I have some memories back,” I mutter, retrieving a few books from my stash. “And I’ve got all of my old notes. I have to be able to figure something out.”

“There is no guarantee you will be able to do that,” the thaumatist says. “And working off of incorrect or incomplete memories may not allow you to create the antidote. It may only poison him worse.”

I stack my books and turn to glare at him. “Are you here to stop me, then? Because I’m not just going to sit here. I can’t.”

The thaumatist shrugged. “In truth, I don’t really care if you save him or not. He’s a good employer. But someone of my skill could find employment anywhere I desire.” His voice is perfectly flat, like he’s saying something everyone already knows instead of bragging. “But you are, strictly speaking, my client currently. I am supposed to be ensuring your health. Which is why I would like you to exhibit caution.”

I narrow my eyes at him. If he doesn’t care about Rastek, why the hell would he care about me? Then again, he’s definitely proven himself to be strange. “You can’t possibly be interested in my just because I’m your client.”

The thaumatist shrugs, making his robe shift on his shoulders. “You are an interesting case. I’d like further opportunity to study the spell on you and its general effects. Which I cannot do if you are dead. Or comatose.” That gives me pause. “And are either of those things likely to happen?”

“It is a possibility, depending on how strong the spell is and how determined you are to retrieve your old memories. If it has some form of failsafe, trying to regain your memories all at once could become quite damaging to your mental state.”

My eyes narrow further. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“No,” the thaumatist says. “Because you were recovering them slowly enough that it wasn’t a concern. But now you are going to deliberately attempt to recover at least some of your memories, which is much more dangerous. Especially considering your fragile physical condition.”

“Then you are going to stop me,” I say. The thaumatist shakes his head.

“I have no real intention of stopping you. Only of warning you of what might happen. Attempting to recover your memories may damage you. Possibly severely enough that you will not survive.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “And I don’t particularly appreciate you only warning me because I’d make a really neat subject for you.”

“That is not the only reason,” the thaumatist says with the barest hint of irritation in his voice. “If you die and Rastek survives, I would not put it past him to throw me in prison for failing to save you. If he does not kill me.”

“You couldn’t magic your way out of that situation?”

“Possibly. But draconids are known for their perseverance and I would prefer not to be hunted for the rest of my life.” The thaumatist crosses his arms over his chest. “Concern for me or yourself does not seem to be changing your opinion.”

I shift the stack of books in my arms, grimacing at their weight. “I don’t care about me if it means I can save Rastek. And, sorry to be rude, but I don’t really care about you, either. He’s been caring for me all this time. I need to do something to try and save him.”

“He’s been caring for you because he wants to,” the thaumatist says. “You’re not obligated to repay him.”

“No,” I agree. “But I want to.”

“You’re an idiot,” the thaumatist observes with the same casual air of someone commenting on a particularly brightly colored shirt.

“Whatever. You’re free to stop me,” I say, only because I’m fairly confident he won’t. sure enough, he sighs, but makes no moves to stop me as I head back toward the tent entrance.

He doesn’t try to stop me, but he does trail after me like a shadow as we head toward my work area. I don’t try to shoo him off. The more the merrier, right? Anyway, at least if I do manage to kill myself, there will be someone in the tent with me to drag my corpse back to Rastek. Or, at the risk of being too optimistic, maybe he’ll even save my life.

Once I’ve tucked myself away in my little work-tent, the first order of business is to find out exactly what Rastek’s been poisoned with. Unfortunately, diagnosing a poison is more difficult than I initially assumed. Several of them list symptoms that I’m not sure how to test, like determining if there’s ‘degradation to the stomach lining’ or ‘mild damage to the kidneys.’ A lot of different poisons also have similar symptoms, so differentiating them isn’t easy. And finally, several poisons are touted for only really being identifiable postmortem. I don’t have the luxury of waiting for that point. I need to identify the poison before it kills him.

The only bright spot is that, when I look through the book I wrote, there’s a section categorizing poisons based on their delivery methods. I can eliminate a decent swathe of poisons that need to be ingested to take effect, as well as several others that have weirdly specific ways of being administered (the weirdest being ‘direct spinal injection’). Several others I can eliminate based on their kill window. A lot of the more potent ones are powerful enough that we would have been dragging his corpse back to camp if he’d been hit with them. There are also several that don’t show symptoms until hours to days after the injection, which also eliminates them.

Even after taking down several swathes of possible poisons from the list, there are still over a hundred that it could possibly be. I comb through the list, going over each one in as fine detail as I can manage. Sometimes, there’s a major symptom missing that lets me strike it, like a certain poison always causing a severe rash all over the body within an hour of its introduction. But more often than not, the poison ends up getting shuffled over to my ‘possibility’ list, which gets more depressing to look at the longer it grows.

Even after looking into the details of each poison, the list of possibilities is still over fifty different poisons long. And my head is killing me. It pounds like someone is striking my temple with a hammer in rhythm, my eyes watering. My stomach turns and I drop my head into my hands, blocking out the flickering light of the room. It helps a little.

“You’re pushing the barriers of the magic,” the thaumatist says. His voice is a little distant, like I’m hearing it from the other end of a tunnel. “I would recommend taking a rest.”

I growl from beneath my hands. “I can’t take a break. Rastek is dying. I just need a few seconds.” My head throbs harder and I feel the blood drain from my face as my mouth goes dry. My stomach clenches and I manage to get my mouth over a cup before I spit up a mouthful of bile.

“I did warn that pushing the magic would have some physical effects,” the thuamatist says. I don’t notice him getting closer, but there’s suddenly a hand on my back. My headache recedes and my vision focuses. “I would advise taking a break. I can stabilize you, but the magic is not going to hold forever.”

“It doesn’t need to hold forever,” I say. “It just needs to hold until I figure this out.” The overall pain of my head has gone down, but every now and then, there will be a massive spike of pain that makes my vision go gray and fuzzy. I want to lie down. I want to bury myself in my pillows and hide until this pain goes away. But I can’t. Rastek is suffering so much worse than I am right now, and he’ll die if I don’t do anything.

Despite the throbbing in my head and my dizziness, I fumble for my book and force it open. It takes a few moments for my eyes to properly focus, and even longer for my brain to make the letters on the page into words. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I stop, he dies.

If I can’t figure out what kind of poison it is specifically, maybe I can combine some antidotes to cover my bases. I flip through the books, trying to locate some sort of comprehensive list of antidotes. There’s nothing comprehensive, and the list of poisons with the bright red marker of ‘no antidote known’ makes my stomach twist even worse. My vision blurs as I flip through the pages until the swirling words all blend together. I blink hurriedly, but my vision refuses to clear.

“You’ve been in here for a long time.” That’s Rastek’s voice. My head snaps up, surprise and relief burning in my chest. His name tries to rise to my lips, but it sputters before it gets there. Instead, a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, like my body is moving on its own.

I speak then, my mouth moving on its own accord. “It’s only been a few hours.” As I speak, I register the room and feel rather surprised. I’m not in my tent anymore. I’m in a small stone room.

Even the surprise I feel is weird- there’s no physical reaction from my body. I can feel my heart thumping steady as ever in my chest and there’s no startled swoop of my stomach. My body moves on its own, like I’m locked into a full-body mechanical suit that’s being remotely controlled.

Oh, of course I can’t control anything. I’m not actually here. This is a memory.

“I’ve been trying to concoct a proper antidote to this poison. The issue is that when the body tries to purge it, it causes massive damage to the liver and kidneys, so trying to speed up how quickly the body gets rid of it is actually more dangerous. If I can find out some way to protect the liver as the poison is expelled- or maybe some way to neutralize it altogether-”

“Darling,” Rastek says. His voice is honeyed with affection as he steps closer. “You’ve been in here all day.”

“I haven’t figured anything out yet,” I admit. “There are some medicines that might be able to help the liver and kidneys, but nothing that’s strong enough to protect it entirely.”

“Speaking of medicine,” Rastek says in a prodding tone, “you need to take yours.”

“I took it,” I say. “It’s fine.” I step back from the book and stretch. My legs throb and both my knees and my spine crack. Rastek winces at the sound. “I’m not hurt, my joints are just a little stiff,” I mollify him.

“It’s not good for you to stand here all day,” he says. He steps closer and presses a kiss to my head. He smells like armor polish. “And perhaps I’m rather missing my wife.”

I massage my head. There’s a tension gathering around the base of my neck and back of my head that’s prepared to graduate into full-blown pain. “This is important.”

I’m not saying it’s not,” Rastek says. His voice is almost pouty, a tone I’ve never heard from him before. It’s adorable. “What I am saying is that, when I asked you to take this job, I didn’t expect you to commit every waking moment to it. You are allowed to have a life outside of it.”

“I do,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Nor did I expect you to sacrifice your health for it,” Rastek continues, his voice growing more pointedly concerned. “When was the last time you ate? Or rested?”

“This morning,” I say. “I’m hardly starving. And this antidote could save lives. I think it’s worth a little bit of discomfort.”

“You’re not obligated to cure every poison in the world,” Rastek says. “That’s not even what I hired you to do.” One of his hands rests on my back, running up and down along my spine. “What’s bothering you? You’re not this driven unless something’s eating at your mind.”

“Mrgh,” I mumble and don’t elaborate. Rastek gives me a few more moments, waiting patiently. Then he grasps my waist and hefts my up, prompting me to give an undignified squawk. “Rastek!”

“You were ignoring me,” Rastek says. “I was out of alternate options.” He shifts me like he’s preparing to throw me over his shoulder. “Now, I suggest you tell me what’s bothering you before I decide that you’re too tired to keep working and haul you upstairs-”

“Put me down! I’m fine! You can’t just drag me around whenever you want!”

Rastek’s voice is deeply amused as he answers. “As a matter of fact, I can. You’re quite light.” He sways me lightly, like I’m a particularly grouchy little cat that he’s captured. “Darling. Tell me what’s bothering you. Or I am going to bring you upstairs and sit in our room with you until you fall asleep. Which, given your state, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, really.”

“Put me down first,” I say. Rastek considers the proposal, then lowers me to the ground. I groan. “I’ve been trying to cure this poison. I want to have antidotes on hand for a lot of the poisons I use. But this one’s proving tricky to figure out.”

“Hm,” Rastek says. He leans over to look at my notes. “No success so far, though?”

“Not that I can tell. I’ve gone over a few results, but it’s hard to make the antidote less dangerous than the poison. If I can find a way to make the liver more efficient while also stopping the damage it accumulates, I can do it, but I’ve gone over like five different ways of doing it and none of them seem to be right. This one is the closest,” I continue, stabbing a finger at the third example, “but that one causes a buildup of a different waste product that can cause death anyway, so I don’t think it’s working.”

“Darling,” Rastek says gently. “Perhaps it can’t be cured and you’re stressing yourself out over nothing.”

“All poisons can be cured.” I massage a hand over my head. “It’s just a matter of finding out what’s going to do it.” I squint at the page. My vision is blurring a little. “Maybe… Maybe if I find out a way to block the poison from receptors entirely? That might work? Unless that starts blocking too much and then the receptors can’t get what they need, which means-”

“You’re exhausted,” Rastek says, gently cutting me off. “Don’t try to hide it. I can see it. You’ve been at this for hours and you need to rest. Not curing this specific poison is not going to be the end of the world.”

I grimace, but flip the book closed. “Yes, I know. Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good,” Rastek says. “Come on. There are some flowers blooming in the garden that I think you would love.”

My vision blurs over and doesn’t clear. It takes me a few moments to realize that the memory has faded, and even longer to realize that my vision is still blurred because tears have flooded my eyes.

It takes me even longer to realize that there’s a hand on my back. Someone is speaking quietly, their voice gentle but insistent. “If you can hear me, please attempt to put your hand in mine.” There’s a hand in front of me, hovering steadily. It takes me two shots, but I manage to get my hand in there.

“Good.” There’s a feeling like static electricity. My eyes water even more, forcing a few tears out. “Talk to me, when you’re able.”

“Uh.” My mouth feels weirdly numb, but the more I move it, the more I’m able to form words. “I think I just had another memory.”

“Indeed.” It finally registers in my mind that I’m talking to the thaumatist. He gives my hand a slight squeeze before dropping it. “The magic is getting weaker, I believe. Your soul is starting to settle more firmly in your body.” The thaumatist gives me a look I can’t quite read. “Tell me. Your other life. You mentioned having a sister at one point, yes? Rastek mentioned it to me.”

“Yes,” I say, not sure where he’s going with this.

“What is her name?” The thaumatist’s voice is light, but something about both the tone and the question makes my stomach do an unsettled flip.

“It’s-” I stop. My sister’s name. I should know this, obviously. It’s my sister. I’ve known her since she was born. So why can’t I remember it at all?

My mind scrambles, clawing through names, but the uncertainty only makes it worse. My heart pounds in my chest. “It’s… it’s…” A couple of names float to me, but I can’t tell if they’re right or not. My stomach rolls. “I think it’s… Eryn?”

“It may be,” the thaumatist says. “But as far as I can recall, that is the name of your sister here.”

My mouth feels dry. I lick my lips and try again. “It’s… Corrinne.”

“Again. The name of one of your sisters here.” The thaumatist’s voice shifts ever so slightly, taking on just a bit of pity. “As you recall more of your time here, your other memories are fading. And the more you take on this task of trying to heal Rastek, the more likely it is that you will regain memories.”

“So I’m going to forget everything in my old life?” I ask.

“Not everything. There will probably still be little bits and pieces that you can put together. But a large amount of it will fade. Names of people, places, details.” The thaumatist gives me an assessing look. “The two sets of memories can’t exist at the same time. One will always overwrite the other.”

“The more I try to save Rastek, the more I’ll forget about my old life,” I say. “My choices are either forget everything in my old life or let Rastek die.”

“That assumes your old memories are going to be enough to formulate a cure. They may not be,” the thaumatist says.

I grit my teeth. He’s right. Even sifting through my memories, there’s nothing that conclusively points to an antidote. There might not be anything at all.

But if I give up, what am I giving up for? Some hazy memories of a life that I don’t even have anymore? I need to try. I need to do whatever I can to save him. No matter how slim the possibility is. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

“In the memory, I was trying to find an antidote,” I say, “but I wasn’t finding anything.” I close my eyes, scrunching my face up with the effort to remember. “We were talking about trying to keep a patient alive even though their liver was failing, because the poison would make their liver worse the more they tried to clear it from the body.” My head throbs. I ignore it. “I think… that’s kind of like what Rastek has now. Maybe that’s where the memory came from.”

“What antidote did you find?” the thaumatist asks.

“That’s the issue. I didn’t find anything,” I say. “No matter what I tried, the poison was still killing the patient. If you let it stay in the body, then it gradually damages everything until the patient gets so sick they die. If you try to get it to filter out faster, it damages the liver and kidneys until the patient gets so sick they die anyway.”

“I’m afraid all this stuff is a bit over my head,” the thaumatist says.

“You don’t need to say anything, I’m just talking out loud to try and figure this out,” I say. “There’s got to be a way we can balance this. There’s always a solution. There has to be.” My head throbs even worse and my vision starts to blur.

“The magic is surging again,” the thaumatist warns. “Your soul is-”

“Fuck that.” I grit my teeth. My vision blurs alarmingly, but it doesn’t fade away. “Not right now. I have other shit to do.”

Slowly, my vision slides back into focus. My head throbs, but I squint through it. The thaumatist stares at me. I can’t read his expression, but I think he’s surprised. Or maybe a little horrified. “That… was not something I was aware could happen. Fascinating.”

“You can study it later! We just need to make sure they his liver and kidneys don’t give up while we’re getting rid of the poison. If only we had dialysis, that would make this all so much easier!”

“I am afraid I’m failing to understand what you’re talking about,” the thaumatist says.

“That’s fine, just let me think. I don’t think we can do a dialysis equivalent, so we’ll have to do something that prevents the poison from hurting his body. Or at least something that stops his liver and kidneys from collapsing completely. Gotta help them limp to the finish line and fix them later.” My head’s still pounding, though it feels strange now. More like I can feel my blood pulsing through my temples than any pain. There’s a tingling behind my eyes and in my fingers. Something is prodding at the edge of my memory, not concrete, but almost there. It gives me a rush of confidence. I know how to do this.

“The medicine that I use is designed to strengthen my muscles to make them stand up against the degradation that’s constantly wearing them down. If I can remake another medicine that does something similar for his liver and kidneys, maybe that can work…” My voice trails off into mumbles. The thaumatist watches me, but thankfully doesn’t say anything else. Every now and then, when my vision starts top blur severely and my head swims, he lifts his hand and there’s a tingle of magic in the air. Whatever he’s doing seems to be keeping the worst of the magic at bay- every time he waves his hand, my vision refocuses and I get a little rush of energy.

I move through my supplies with a practiced ease. It’s weird- the less I think about it, the easier it is to do. My body moves almost without conscious input from my mind. I pull herbs off the shelves, letting instinct guide my actions. My brain buzzes with energy. I’m going to save him. I can do it.

The entire process takes hours. My legs ache and tremble, my head pounds with a continuous pain, and my brain feels like someone’s run it through a wringer. I feel awful. But I have something that I think will work.

There’s a pretty big part of me that realizes this isn’t a good idea- I’m testing this on my husband, who’s injured and weak, and it’s an antidote I’ve made mostly on instinct. But I don’t have much other choice. And, despite the anxiety of my head, my gut is calm. There’s some innate part of me, deeper than any other part, that knows I’m right. This will work. I would bet my life on it.

I would bet Rastek’s life on it. That’s more important.

“We need to take this to him,” I say.

“I can take it,” the guard, who’s been half asleep the entire time, says. “My lady, you should get some rest.” He honestly looks pleased just to be of some use, but I shake my head.

“I have to give it to him.” I have to be with him when he takes it. I have to see if it works. And, really, I have to be there if it fails. I can’t just give it to him and hide away if he dies. “You can come with me. But I need to be there.”

The guard looks unsettled, but he nods. The thaumatist gives a slight bow to me. “Go to your husband. I will join you later, to ensure the magic in you is still stable. But you will be all right for now.” He waves a hand at me. “Go.”

I gather my antidote and run.

The running doesn’t last very long. I end up walking back to the medical tent, and not very quickly at that. The guard follows my footsteps silently, eyes glued to me.

The tent is quieter when we arrive. Rastek has been moved, shuffled to a more secluded area and surrounded by a curtain. One of the doctors looks over at me when I enter.

“He’s resting. One of the servants stopped by to bring him some dinner,” she says. “They’re trying to get him to eat, though I’m uncertain how receptive he is.”

I lift the bottle in my hand. “I’ll dismiss them. He needs to drink this and rest. I’ll keep an eye on him.” The doctor nods and turns back to another patient on a bed. The guard following me stops at a gesture from me, allowing me to step behind the curtain without him following me.

Rastek’s area is bigger than before, allowing space for a bed and a few other people to stand around him. He’s breathing, though shallowly. Bending over him is another person, their back to me. My brain stutters for a moment before I realize that the person is familiar to me.

“Ethan?” He snaps his head up toward me, eyes wide. And that’s when I see that he’s holding a flask of something dark and viscous.

Ch. 8 here

#exophilia #dragon husband #dragon lover #monster lover #monster romance #monster love #male monster #male dragon #Rastek #the warlord and his lady

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sadisticwoof-dcmk · 2 years

Text

until the flowers bloom again

My @shinranweek entry for Day 5 (Family)

Summary: Shinichi comes back from his case, trauma and a bullet wound as souvenirs, and he does his best to rebuild his life after it had all fallen apart..

Rating: Teen and up (for swearing and a lil angst / working through trauma)

Word Count: 10,657

Read the whole thing on AO3

What is family?

As a child, he would confidently say that a family was a mother, a father, and a child (he would then side-eye the kids with siblings , and amend the statement to children ) under a roof.

He, along his many peers, would agree with his fair assessment. A family was a mother and a father loving their child (or children).

And then Ran’s family fell apart, and he had to reevaluate his concept of family . Which was stupid, if you asked him. Ran still had her parents, just that they don’t live together anymore- she can still call them her family, right?

(Ran pushed him down the slide when he expressed this. He has no idea what he deserved to have such brutal treatment.)

Fine. So, family didn’t have to be a mother and a father loving their child (or children). It could be a mother who leaves and loves from afar, a father who stays and tries to love, and a child who wishes her love was enough to keep them together.

His world view is always changing, and he loves to learn. He takes this new information well.

(And then a few years later, his parents leave for the United States, and he comes to terms that family could be a mother who leaves, a father who leaves, and a child who copes).

>>><<<

(And then a few years after that, his entire life falls apart in one night and he gets caught up in a terrifying case, but somehow his family becomes the grumpy uncle who tries to get his shit together, and a girl whom he loves dearly, nursing a broken heart.)

>>><<<

Slowly, but surely, his idea of what constitutes as family, changes.

He collects the people he cares about, like a dragon collecting precious jewels for its hoard, and he tries, god he tries, to keep them safe.

And when he returns from that terrifying case, he can’t let go of the people he had grown to care about, those he had grown attached to.

>>><<<

Ran laughs at his frenzied state, which he finds very insulting, thank you very much. Here he is not at all panicking because the kids (his kids that he had looked after and watched grow up over the last two and a half years) are coming over to his house.

His girlfriend had told him that they had demanded to meet this mysterious Kudou-boyfriend, and here he is, trying to find a shirt in his closet that looked casual enough to not look stuffy and uptight, but not too casual that he looked like he wasn’t trying hard enough and came across as a slob.

“Fair warning, I think Genta-kun is ready use his body and slam you into the floor should he deem you unsuitable,” she had said to him lightly.

It’s utter bullshit. He’s the one that taught them that Ran is someone very special and they had to pinky promise him that they would look after her (and now look at him – reaping the seeds he had sown).

He glances over at Ran, who sits on the edge of his bed, the warmest and softest looking knitted jumper tucked into a long skirt, and he has to try and catch his breath.

Mouri Ran is undoubtedly the prettiest person he knows, and he is so goddamn lucky that she is in his life.

“Love, can you please help me choose an outfit?” He doesn’t whine, but wow is he close, “They’re going to be here soon and I only decided on what pants to wear.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain?”

Fucking hell.

Shinichi stumbles over his feet, cheeks burning as he splutters out a response, “Ran! That is unhelpful- no stop laughing- let's focus please!”

He is entirely in love with her, and watching the light dance in her eyes, he just knows he wants to be with her forever.

(He used to believe that things would never improve. That he would die in a body far too young to be his own. That he would forever exist on a separate passage of time. This? This is something he had dreamed of with a bated breath, tears in his eyes when he had woken up with Kogoro’s snores in his ears.)

Ran appears back in his vision (and they both pretend to not notice his flinch), holding out a grey and white button up shirt he is pretty sure was a gift from Sonoko. “How about this?”

Has he mentioned how much he loves her?

>>><<<

Shinichi almost lets out a yell when he spots Ran in the doorway, arms crossed with a serene expression on her face – her eyes following his movements, her pouty lips pulled into a smile. He knows she does her best to not sneak up on him, so she must have tried to stand somewhere he would easily see her, but also didn’t want to interrupt him.

“Hi love, who was at the door?” He lowers his right hand from the piano, rolling back his stiff shoulders (Ran wincing at the audible cracks of the joints) before- “Wait, Genta? What are you doing here?”

Half hidden behind Ran in the doorway stands Genta, eyes wide with his hands in pockets, as if startled that he had been addressed to begin with.

Shinichi lets his eyes sweep the area, his ears straining – and nothing. Genta came by himself.

“Hi Shinichi-niichan,” the kid (his kid, his mind helpfully reminds him) says, stepping into the room.

He shoots the silent question at his girlfriend, who decides now is the perfect time to ignore his existence, and instead, ushers Genta to the couches shoved against the wall.

Years ago, Sonoko had suggested that they steal the armchairs from the library and stash them in the spare room, which they had remodeled to a makeshift music room. It had become a whole project – Sonoko ordering way too many soundproofing tiles to stick to the wall, and then promptly arguing with Ran about the correct orientation (Ran had won, of course); the display cabinet which had taken them three hours to assemble, proudly showcasing the dried roses from congratulatory bouquets and commemoratory photographs (the awards and trophies pushed to the back); and the bookshelf unit Ran had hauled from another room in the house, filled to the brim with music scores and books collected from over the years.

Shinichi would say that he is very proud of the room, and he knows that they had sought refuge within the walls whenever they had to escape from life.

So, he watches Genta look around the room in awe, cataloguing everything with a keen eye like he had taught them.

(“You never know when something will be important to a case. But most of all, you check to see where the exit points are, okay?”

“Okay, Conan-kun!”)

Ran sits down next to Genta, letting him molding himself into her, and she offers a sad smile to Shinichi.

Ah.

“What do you know about the piano, Genta?” Shinichi asks.

The child blinks up at him, his (trembling) hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Uh, not much?”

“Would you like to listen for a bit?”

He seems to have said the right thing, because Genta relaxes at the suggestion, a huge grin appearing on his face. “Yes please!”

Ran giggles at the enthusiasm, “He’s a bit rusty, so we can’t laugh at him, okay?”

“I am a musical genius, Ran. Genta- don't listen to her,” Shinichi warns, pointing at both of them with his good hand. He splays his fingers across the keys, feet tapping against the pedals as he frowns over the musical notes on the page.

What Ran had said was true. He hadn’t played the piano in years. It had only been something he had picked up briefly before moving right onto the violin.

But now with his arm in a sling and no violin playing for him for the next foreseeable future, smashing out the melodies with his right hand seemed like a grand way to pass time.

Taking a breath, he begins again, a few bars from where he left off, and soon, the music fills the room.

(At a break in the music, he risks a glance over his shoulder, tension bleeding from his frame when he notices Genta curled sideways on the couch, head resting in Ran’s lap. Her fingers run through his short tufts of hair soothingly.

I love you, he mouths.

They’re safe.

I love you too, she mouths back.)

>>><<<

“Guys, you can’t all hold my hand.”

Sonoko gasps, smacking her forehead as she is overcome with an epiphany, “Rock-paper-scissors this bitches. The winner gets to hold his hand.”

Shinichi massages his temple as his friends dutifully ignore him. They are huddled in a top-secret meeting, a little way away, apparently to decide who can stand next to him, which he finds very bizarre.

He continues to sit on the park bench, watching over his closest friends.

Shouts of disbelief and threats of varying levels are screamed out, but Ran skips towards him with a happy smile, closely followed by a very upset Heiji.

“I take it you won.” The words are barely out of his mouth before they squish onto the bench, taking a side each, Ran on his right, Heiji on his left.

“Ran is a cheating whore and she should have been excluded,” Sonoko seethes, stalking up to them.

He would love to hide, but seeing as he is currently trapped in the hold of two very strong individuals, he has to gulp and stands his ground. “Sorry?” But his apology sounds weak even to his own ears (because holy shit? How can someone holding his hand feel this good?)

His girlfriend rubs circles with her thumb across his knuckles and Heiji’s larger hand, so warm and comforting, rests on his knee.

Sonoko, his other best friend of too many years, sees through his (shitty) poker face, and reaches up to ruffle his hair. His protests are futile because is still very much trapped in the intense handholding session, and Sonoko takes advantage of this (like the gremlin she is).

“I forgive you because this is the funniest thing I have witnessed, and I enjoy seeing you attempting to not enjoy the attention.”

He hates her.

(It’s a lie. He would do anything for his friends, Sonoko very much occupying one of the Top Five spots, and she knows this.)

“Isn’t he cute?” Ran coos, surging up to press her lips against his cheek, curling in to his neck to giggle when Sonoko pretends to gag. Heiji, from his other side, huffs at the ‘display of dominance’ and kisses his other cheek.

Shinichi acts that his face isn’t on fire. Wow, the day is sure hot.

Kazuha appears from behind them, Makoto in tow, balancing six drinks between the two of them. She raises an eyebrow at his obvious flustered state, eyes catching his hands, and she smirks.

“Caramel frappe?” Kazuha reads out the tiny scrawls written on the cup, “And a vanilla cold brew?”

Shinichi cocks his head, “Mine was a cold brew. Just make sure it’s not the one with almond milk – that's Sonoko’s drink.”

“The caramel one is mine, Kazuha-san. This one is yours then, Sonoko-chan,” Makoto says, handing her the drink, while Kazuha places the vanilla coffee in Sonoko’s other hand (seeing as he has no free hands available). “Hattori-kun, which did you order?”

Sonoko grins, putting the drink in front of his face, the straw inches from his mouth.

He scowls.

She gently shakes the drink out, and he sighs, sipping his drink through the straw. It’s annoying that it tastes good.

Heiji tears his fascinated eyes away from him to answer, “The hazelnut one.”

“Okay, here you are! And this one must be yours, Ran-san?” Makoto asks, passing the last drink to her, “It’s the chocolate frappe.”

He can feel the weight of Ran’s dazzling smile, and he’s not even facing her. Fuck.

Heiji suddenly cuts in, “Suzuki-chan, I’ll take Kudou's drink.”

“Do not give it to him- Wow. Screw you Sonoko,” Shinichi groans.

The Kansai detective holds out the coffee for him, and he wordlessly accepts, taking another sip.

>>><<<

He stares at the blue sweater in his hand.

There’s a hole.

He hadn’t meant to. He had been wearing it around the house, his fingers playing with the hem of the sweater, thinking about- god, what had he been thinking about? Food? How Ayumi was doing at school- how Ai was coping at night- whether Heiji was surviving university- what piece he should let Genta try on his violin.

He doesn’t remember what he had been thinking about.

All of them, maybe.

Or nothing at all.

Shinichi stares at the hole on the sleeve. It’s a noticeable rip, snagged on the handle of a cupboard, because he still has trouble balancing at times. He had fallen backwards, sleeve caught, and in his panic, wrenched his arm away from whatever had grabbed him.

It had been nothing, in the end. Just phantom hands clutching at his body, threatening to pull him into the shadows. Nothing but his hyperactive imagination.

He stares at the hole in the sleeve.

Almost the same size a bullet hole

He stares, numb.

In his hand, the sweater becomes stained, the threads darkening. Like how water flows through channels, like how vibrations travel along a spiderweb, like how poison runs through veins-

There’s a hole in his sweater and his world begins to unravel.

He lets it fall to the ground (like how dead bodies fall).

There’s a hole-

He walks away.

>>><<<

Shinichi waking up in the dead of night is unfortunately, quite the common occurrence. Something to do with the amount of trauma he has gone through, the amount of death he has witnessed, the number of times he nearly lost the people he loves.

Hell, if someone so much as whispered during the night, his brain would pick up on it and he would not feel relaxed enough to go back to sleep unless he triple-checked the reason he had woken up. And then on the other hand, a room that was too quiet would sound too jarring that he would wake with his erratic heart beating in his mouth.

So yes, waking up in the dead of night is a normal occurrence.

He is also used to waking up because someone is shuffling around in the house.

He is not, however, used to waking up because some part of him is screaming at him that something is wrong.

Shinichi can’t put his finger on it. His hand carefully reaches over and brushes against Ran’s arm (warm, soft, alive ) and his lips twitch into a fond smile.

Not Ran then.

Trying not to wake his girlfriend, he slips out of bed, murmuring reassurances when she reaches out for him in her sleep. He eases the door to his bedroom open, bare feet cautiously making their way down the hardwood floors.

He’s about to check the other bedrooms in the hallway, when he notices a light from downstairs, the faint sound of a tap being turned on and off reaching his ears.

One of the kids are awake, and he has to make sure. Make sure that they were fine. Make sure that nothing is wrong.

He slowly walks down the stairs, each step shaking him more and more awake, until he reaches the bottom, and his entire body is tingling. Thankfully, Shinichi has enough brain power to remember to make enough noise to alert his kid that he is approaching (the last thing he needs to do it cause them to panic).

Check check check-

He rounds the corner to the kitchen, and his body relaxes when his eyes lands on the small figure huddled near the sink.

“Hey Mitsuhiko, what are you doing at,” Shinichi squints at the green numbers illuminated on the microwave, “2:53AM?”

The boy shrugs, placing his empty glass onto the kitchen counter. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Shinichi studies him a while. The exhaustion in his bloodshot eyes, the paleness of his face, the bags beneath his eyes, the slump of his shoulders.

“Wanna go watch a movie?” he asks.

Mitsuhiko jolts at the question. “N-Now? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Right back at you.” Rubbing at the knot in his left shoulder, he ushers the kid out of the kitchen, “Come along. Let’s go watch something stupid.” His mind is already running through the list of potential shows to throw on his laptop.

They enter the back room, couches covered in blankets and discarded pillows from the earlier that night greeting them as he flicks on the overhead light. Mitsuhiko picks through the piles of throws and selects a suitable one while Shinichi grabs his laptop from where it had been charging against the wall.

Shinichi settles into the couch, propping the laptop on the table and patting the empty space beside him, “We have a wonderful selection of Kamen Yaiba reruns, Pokemon, Hattori’s Aztec Empire documentary- what the hell is that guy watching, and a bunch of superhero movies. Anything take your fancy?”

Mitsuhiko burrows himself into the couch, his body falling into the crook of Shinichi’s side. “I think Heiji-oniisan may cry if we watch his show without him.”

“More the reason to watch it,” he sniffs.

The younger boy giggles, batting at his knee, “That’s so mean.”

“Hattori would never get upset with you guys. I don’t think he knows the concept.”

Mitsuhiko hums. He picks at the cuff of his sleeve. “Haibara-san said that you wouldn’t get upset or- disappointed with us.”

The blasted woman has a point- wait disappointed? Where would he get such an idea?

“I would never be disappointed in you guys. Sometimes I may get upset, but that’s because I care about you and sometimes, I get scared that things could happen to you guys.” He drapes his good arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his body. “But I will never ever be disappointed- you will never be a disappointment, okay?”

“Even if it’s childish to- to have dreams and can’t sleep?”

Shinichi sighs, rubbing his hand along Mitsuhiko’s arm. “I’m sorry you’re having nightmares. They’re never fun. But no, they don’t make you childish or weak.” He leans forwards and taps his laptop, quickly lowering the volume when the cheerful melody of Doraemon starts playing, letting the soft murmurs of the animated characters fill the suffocating silence.

“Do you... do you get nightmares too?”

“Almost every day.”

The boy turns to him, eyes wide in shock. “Really? Isn’t that scary?” Soon as the words leave his mouth, he blushes, dropping his head to stare at his hands in his lap.

“It’s exhausting,” Shinichi admits. “I wake up and I have to convince myself that I’m alive, and that my family is safe. It helps when Ran stays over. Because I can see her. Every night is a different nightmare.”

Mitsuhiko shifts on the couch, pulling a cushion into his lap, hugging it to his chest, chin resting on top. “I hate going to sleep. I lay there for hours, and my brain won’t turn off. And when it does...”

“Nightmares?”

A small nod. “Do you ever feel like... you’re not yourself? Like it’s your body and you’re going through life, but it also doesn’t feel real? I- I can’t explain it- But it’s scary.”

“Way too often.” He presses his lips into a thin line, unsure whether to continue or not, but Mitsuhiko is a smart kid. Much smarter than people give him credit for. “Have you heard of something called dissociation?”

“Dissociation?”

“It’s a broad concept, but it essentially is about being disconnected from your own feelings, your thoughts, or your sense of identity. And sometimes, it’s your body’s way of coping with something traumatic that’s happened in your life.”

“Oh...”

The people on the screen run through the green fields, muted laughter and chatter hiding the silence that follows his explanation.

“Have you...” Shinichi pauses, trying to think of how to put his thoughts into words, without ruining everything. He’s been told enough times that he can lack tact and has a habit of blundering through sensitive conversations. “This has been taking a toll on you, hasn’t it.”

Mitsuhiko nods again, face hidden behind the pillow.

“You’ve gone through things that no one should have had to go through, and you’re right to be upset and feel helpless... Thank you for sharing your struggles with me, Mitsuhiko,” he hesitates, before continuing softly, “and I think it would be helpful to share this with a therapist.”

He lifts his head slightly, watery eyes peeking through his fringe. “A th-therapist- but I’m not- Am I broken?”

“Oh goodness no- That's not-” Shinichi reaches over, brushing the hair from the child's face. “Seeing someone doesn’t mean you’re broken or that you need fixing. They help. They help you to learn how to cope with things and help you come up with strategies to regulate your emotions.”

“But you think... you think I need help?”

He hates how fragile his kid looks on the couch. Shinichi gestures to the cast on his arm, “If I came up to you with a broken arm, would you tell me to just stay at home and see how it goes, or would you suggest I see the doctor?”

Mitsuhiko blinks, taken aback. “I- uh what? Of course, you should go to the doctor-”

“I’m glad you think so. Ran would have had some words if you thought otherwise.”

That brings out a short chuckle. They both know how worried and overprotective Ran could get (a few days ago, she almost dragged Makoto to the ER for having a bleeding knuckle from boxing practice. It took ten minutes for them to convince her that Makoto would survive with a band-aid.)

Shinichi continues, “So if you would go to the doctor for a broken arm, there’s also no reason why you can’t go to the doctor for mental health.”

“But- you can’t see it.”

“But it still exists. It’s in the brain, yes, but it is also the brain, ” he points out. “The brain is an organ, is it not?”

Something akin to an epiphany lights up behind the child’s eyes.

“Mental health can cause headaches, stomach aches, insomnia, and that can lead to the deterioration of the physical body.” Shinichi fights the urge to fix Mitsuhiko’s hair again. “Do you remember that car accident we heard about last week? We and the police thought it was because the driver was driving under the influence?”

Mitsuhiko nods. “The breath test came back negative- She... she said she had accidentally fallen asleep at the wheel...”

“Of course, we don’t know if she was suffering from insomnia or anxiety, or any mental health issue, but we know she almost got into a fatal accident because she didn’t have enough sleep.” He wets his lips, “But it doesn’t have to be driving. It can be about everyday things, and they can be impacted because of our brain. Walking to school, studying, playing soccer, anything really. That’s why it’s important to look after the silly organ up there.” He taps his head for emphasis.

“I... I think I get what you mean...”

He smiles, reaching over to wipe the tears from Mitsuhiko’s face. “You don’t have to decide anything now. I promise. But if it’s something you want to look into, come talk to me or Ran, okay?” He searches his eyes, “Gather information, form an opinion, and decide. There is no rush. No one is forcing you to do anything.”

“Thank you, Shinichi-oniisan.”

“Anytime.” He glances to where the laptop had been obediently being playing the TV show on low volume. “Did you want to go back to bed or did you want to stay here for a bit?”

Mitsuhiko chews his lips, shooting a nervous look between the laptop, the door, and Shinichi. “Um, is it okay if we stay here for a bit?”

“Not at all. Let’s get comfy.” They rearrange themselves so that the child was once again tucked carefully next to him, the blanket covering their bodies. “We’ll stay here until you want to go back.”

(Shinichi wakes a few hours later with a crick in his neck, Mitsuhiko sleeping sprawled across his body, and an amused Ran standing in the doorway.)

Read the rest here

#ShinRanWeek2022 #detective conan #dcmk #dcmk fanfic #ShinRan #kudou shinichi #mouri ran #suzuki sonoko #detective boys #shinichi is a dad to those kids #they are a family

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warningslice · 3 years

Text

squinchy

#WARNING THE PERSON WEARING THIS SHIRT IS ON THE EDGE AND CAN INSULT YOU AT ANY MOMENT DONT MAKE EYE CONTACT OR ANY SUDDEN MOVES #reigen arataka #mp100 #chad reigen #my art #too tired to add background sorry 😞

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

it's messy inside, let me take your coat

Summary: “I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut, female nudity), strong language, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of fluff, soft and nervous Bucky Barnes, original female character friends, one-night stand, body insecurity, anxiety

Word Count: 8723

A/N: This story was written for @eurynome827 and her 2k follower challenge with the prompt "Mimosas and Bloody Marys at brunch." Thank you for hosting and congrats again on your milestone!

main masterlist | AO3

“Cheers!”

The flutes clink together, orange juice sloshing and spilling and dripping down the glasses and onto the table as your giggles fade into the background noise of the café’s patio. You tip your head back as you drink, mimosas bubbly in your throat like your own happiness, threatening to pour out of you and dribble onto your shirt, already tipsy.

“God,” Carissa says, throwing herself back into the metal chair, “I cannot wait to have his babies.”

Beside her, Kora claps. “I can’t wait to be an aunt! I’m going to spoil them all so rotten you’re going to want to throttle me by the end of it.”

“Spoil them all you want, I’m having eight of ‘em.”

At that, you go ahead and polish off your drink, carbonation stinging your throat, and while you set the empty glass down your hand goes up in the air, signaling the waiter for another.

Sara points at you. “I’m with her.” She makes a face at Carissa. “If you have eight kids I will make like your dad and bounce.”

Kora slaps her on the knee but the four of you descend into laughter anyway, and it’s easy and light and beautiful, like always. Washington D.C. can be pretty in this way—iron-wrought fencing and fancy metal tables and red patio tiling. Good food, better mimosas, best friends. There’s a breeze in the air that’s calling for autumn, scattering cloth napkins sitting in laps and spreading the scent of fresh baked bread.

The bags at your feet carrying your new shoes for the winter wedding that’s approaching rustle. That feeling isn’t just D.C. It’s excitement and love and adoration, too.

Carissa, bride to be, catches you in her gaze. “When are you going to finally settle down, huh?” She gestures across the table at you with her half-filled mimosa. Everyone else looks at you too, waiting for your response.

You shrug. “You’re having plenty of babies, I don’t need any.”

“I don’t mean babies,” she says. “I mean a human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment.”

“You need—no, you deserve—someone to take care of you!” Kora adds. “You’re always taking care of everyone. Don’t you want someone to, y’know, take care of you?”

“I have plenty of vibrators in my empty apartment.”

Sara snorts, covering her mouth. The waiter delivers another round, thank god.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, sighing. “You’re just bothering me ‘cause it’s wedding season and you want to set me up with your weird—”

“He’s not weird,” Carissa interrupts. “He’s tall and he’s mysterious which is exactly your type.”

“She’ll find someone when the time is right,” Sara says. “Just ‘cause we’re happy with our boyfriends doesn’t mean she needs one to be happy.”

“Thank you, Sara, my one-true-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world.” You force your glass against hers in a loud clank, turning the heads of all the patrons on the café’s patio before taking a gulp. Your face is already getting a little hot, the alcohol hitting you. This is why you aren’t allowed to pregame before you go to brunch anymore.

“We’re not trying to force you,” Kora starts, but her mouth is pulled into a concerned frown. “We really do just want you to be as happy as we are, that’s all.”

You smile at her. “I know.”

And you do know. You understand. It’s been years now since you’ve had anything real—anything worthwhile, to be specific. At some point, the relationships slowed down. Boyfriends became friends with benefits when you were working on your masters. Friends with benefits became ignored booty calls at two in the morning when you started your dissertation, on the road to get your doctorate. Now, you’re lucky to go home with someone from the bar, and they never, ever, come home with you.

It’s okay. You aren’t lonely. The right person just hasn’t landed in your lap, and maybe that’s kind of because it’s not open, but it’s just ‘cause you’re busy. You’re busy. Passionate. Need to change the world.

Love can wait.

The next mimosa is finished and you’re feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell Carissa. “I’m happy for all of you, and I’m happy with my life, and I’m happy that we’re all together and we’re celebrating and I’m happy that you all care about me enough to worry but I’m perfectly fine with how things are.”

Carissa smiles, but it’s got too much teeth. “I could set you up with Kie—”

“No, no setting me up with Kieran or Harry or Josh or anyone. But especially not Kieran.”

You’d already fucked him once and it wasn’t worth the experience.

“Fine! Fine.” Carissa busies herself with her drink. “No setting you up with Kieran.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the reception!” You pull out your phone and open the planning spreadsheet, smiling. “So I called the venue for you about the tables…”

This is easier. Planning Carissa’s wedding, helping support her, being excited for her—that’s easier than talking about your love life. If anything, this is your love life. Taking care of the people you love, your best friends, having fun and being together and romanticizing the time you spend with them. It’s not just mimosas over brunch and a green spreadsheet for wedding planning. With them, it’s the wind in your hair and the sun making your eyes sparkle and the alcohol making all your insides feel effervescent.

It’s love. It’s perfection. It’s your own brand of happiness.

And sure, maybe it’s a little defensive, but this is easier than loving someone and trying to make them love you. It’s easier.

“Whose dress are we still waiting on?” Carissa asks a little later, mouth full of avocado and bacon and looking very un-bridely.

“Mine,” Kora says, a little guiltily. “It’s at the tailor getting taken in—again.”

“I have mine,” you pipe up, wiping your mouth of jam. “And god, do I look like a full course Michelin star meal in that piece. Like, we’re talking ass for days, legs for days, tits for—”

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me.” A man, towering over the café table makes himself known, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a look on his visage that you can’t name.

“—days,” you finish, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says with a smile, “but I’m raising money for uh, breast cancer awareness, and I was hoping you would donate and sign up for uh, a marathon we’re doing.”

You blink. “Sorry,” you tell him, “but we don’t carry cash on us.” With a small smile, you nod at him, your eyes passing over your friends and looking around the café to see if any of the other patrons have noticed what’s going on. None of them look bothered.

“Not even for breast cancer awareness? C’mon, girl.”

“We don’t carry cash,” Sara repeats with a deadpan, but her eyes don’t meet his.

He doesn’t look at her either, content to stare at you, and your skin crawls.

“What about signing up for the marathon?”

“Fine,” you snap. Anything to get him to leave you all alone. “How do I sign up?”

“You give me your phone number and I’ll text you the details.” His grin is a little wider now, edging a little closer to where you sit at the table. You’re regretting that third mimosa. You aren’t on your game. The panic running through you is covered in a champagne haze.

You scoff. “No way.” Immediately you grab your purse, digging through it, and you slam a handful of loose change onto the table in front of him. “Here—a donation. Now please leave.”

His face twists into a scowl, but he scoops the money off the table and pockets it.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he suddenly says, and anger courses through you until you shoot up from your seat, chair skidding behind you. He’s tall—much taller than your short stature. But, fuck it, the alcohol’s dimming the fear and fueling the need for you to protect your friends.

When you glance over, Carissa is already gathering the bags, eyes wide. Kora has her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to make herself smaller, ready to run. Sara’s phone is in her hand, 9-1-1 already dialed.

And still, no one in the café is doing a goddamn thing.

“Excuse me?” You glare up at the man.

“I just wanted your number, you fat bitch.” He sneers. “No wonder you’ve got an attitude, you obviously don’t get laid.”

Really, you can sit there and say it isn’t the fat comment. It’s not the insult. You’re used to that, with your overly-generous curves and your soft jawline and the fact that you’re wearing a skirt showing off the cellulite running through your thighs like a creek and a crop top that lets everyone peek at your stretch marks. You’re used to it.

And, really, you could handle this better. You certainly have before ‘cause this isn’t the first time you’ve been hustled or the first time some creep has hit on you. Old men have been slapping your ass in public since you were sixteen. You’re hot, you get it. If you saw yourself on the street you’d want a piece of your own goddamn ass, too. It comes with the territory, but it’s gross. And it’s sad but you’re used to it. So it’s not him calling you a fat bitch.

It’s the comment about getting laid. It’s sore as fuck.

You grab your would-be fourth mimosa and drench him in it, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering upon the patio’s tiled floor in an instant.

“Slut!” The man lunges for you and you jump away, bumping into the table and losing your footing. You fall to the ground as glass comes crashing down around you, spilling sweet-smelling alcohol all over you. Ouch. Your friends scream, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

And then a gleam of black and gold blurs past you and grabs the creep by his neck, throwing him down. Now, a tall, wide body dressed in a dark hoodie is blocking you, guarding you, sheltering you.

“Try it,” Mystery Savior says.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Carissa chants, calling your name.

Your hand is sticky when you wave her away. “Get out of here, I’m fine. Just go. I’ll meet you—meet you at Kora’s.”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sara shouts, but something, maybe adrenaline or fear or fucking champagne, is running through your blood vessels at high speed.

“Just go!” you scream back at her. “I’m not fucking kidding, go!”

Because if there is one redeemable thing about you, it’s the length you’ll go to keep the people you love safe. And Mystery Savior might have just choked a creep out for you, but he also choked a creep out for you, and that’s enough to get your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t know who the good guy is—if there even is a good guy here.

“Fuck,” the creep curses, but it comes out raspy as he grasps at his quickly bruising neck. “You’re a—” he wheezes, “—you’re a murderer!”

Mystery Savior holds up his hands, and that’s when you see it. The black and gold of a vibranium arm just peeking out of the sleeve of his hoodie.

This isn’t a murderer. Not a Mystery Savior either. This is James Bucky Barnes, the Avenger, holy shit. Definitely good guy. Probably. He’s reformed, the news talks about it.

“Caught me,” he says, voice monotone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

If you weren’t currently sprawled on the ground, covered in mimosa, and panicking wildly about whatever is unfolding right in front of you, the very buzzed part of your brain would really appreciate the smoothness of Bucky’s voice when he said that, the cool, calm, collected delivery.

You’ll file it in the back of your mind for when you go back to your empty apartment.

“That fat ass ain’t worth it,” the creep chokes out, scrambling to get up. As soon as he’s on his feet, poised to take off, Bucky moves faster than you could have imagined and grabs the guy by his shirt.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You can’t see his face, but you think Bucky might be smiling.

A portly man, a little shorter than Bucky, pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes wide and panicked, face red, already sweating. When you glance at his golden nametag, it reads: Jason, Manager. Cool that the manager showed up this late. If Bucky hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably be in a pile of limbs on the ground by now. Also—is he going to comp your bill? ‘Cause at this point, you’re starting to think you deserve it.

Okay, not a good time to be distracted.

“Thank you for getting him, sir,” the manager says, a little breathless. “Winter Soldier, sir.”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, and then he shoves the creep toward the manager. “Not sure why you didn’t step in before he got violent.”

Exactly! Why did everyone just stand around and do nothing as some six-foot man hustled the four women sitting beside the street? You glance around again, seeing your friends have disappeared and now, both the wait staff and other café patrons, are crowded around your table. It’s a little unsettling how no one cared to even look at you until everything escalated.

As the manager grabs the creep and hauls him off toward the street to wait for the cops, Bucky Barnes relaxes his shoulders and turns toward you slowly, and it’s—well, for lack of a better word—it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

He looks nothing like the superhero in the pictures. Here, with the D.C. sun hitting him unabashedly, his slate eyes like glass marbles, the lines surrounding them wrinkled in concern, his tongue darting between his lips to wet the skin where his teeth bite down, a habitual sore, his short locks ruffled by the breeze or maybe the fight or maybe he just wakes up perfectly rumpled, here he looks like a man.

“You okay?” he asks, somehow nonchalant and still worried, and he holds out a calloused hand to you.

Or, well, maybe Bucky had been watching. And maybe that’s enough.

God, you don’t even know this man outside of his Avenger persona, the headlines you read on the news, the pictures you see on social media, but there’s just something about him that makes you want to trust him. Like he guarantees safety, and you know that no one, least of all an Avenger, can guarantee safety. Even if that’s their job.

Stop feeling safe around him.

But you take his hand anyway, his long, thick fingers folding over your own like he means to swallow them, and Bucky pulls you up as though you weigh nothing. In fact, he does it so easily that you crash straight into him with a yelp and his arms instantly slide around your waist to catch you as your knees go weak, buckling beneath you.

When you look up at him, your hands trying to find purchase in the material of his hoodie, he’s staring down at you with the hint of a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, quiet and a little stunned.

His lips crack a little wider. “No problem.”

For a few seconds longer than deemed socially appropriate, you stare at Bucky, captured by the changing color of his blue-gray eyes. And then, as if god is slapping you on the back of your head, you blink and remember that you are covered in alcohol and currently pressed against the chest of a superhero, and your eyes go wide as you quickly push away from him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m disgusting—you probably have orange juice all over you now, fuck.”

“Hey,” he says, his flesh hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you, “it’s okay. Seriously though, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something and then shut it again when you realize nothing sounds like the right answer. Bucky waits patiently though, peering down at you, his grip a little more grounding than you wish it was.

“Yes?” you say, but it sounds like a question. “I mean, maybe? I’m—It’s not like I’m not used to this happening. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowns. “Used to it?”

You shrug. “Not all men are superheroes. Most don’t have good intentions. And I’m not even that pretty, can you imagine what other women deal with?”

It slips out before you realize it, the self-hatred you keep at bay.

“Not pretty?” Bucky’s face twists into something confused. “That guy assaulted you just to get your number. I’m not saying it’s right, but if you think you aren’t pretty, well that’s just wrong.”

Oh god, what are you supposed to say now? So stupid. If you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have forced an Avenger—a really fucking hot Avenger—to give you an awkward compliment and now you have to scramble to figure out what to say. If you deny the compliment, you’ll look ungrateful. If you accept the compliment, that’s too egotistical. Too into yourself.

You’ve backed yourself into a corner here, and Bucky’s on the other side of the ring.

“Look,” he interrupts your inner monologuing, running a hand through his hair and glancing away, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re—well—you’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.”

Your mouth falls open and you stare at him, nervous energy radiating off him, and when his eyes shift back to yours he coughs.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not—I’m not trying to hit on you after what just happened, I promise.” His eyes go wide, then, and he throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “That’s not to say I’m not! Not hitting on you. I mean, shit, I just think you’ve gotta be the most beautiful dame—woman, sorry—that I’ve seen in years.”

There’s something soft about it, something sweetly suffocating, like buttercream frosting in the back of your throat, about his nervousness. The gentle panic, the way his eyes go back and forth from the ground at your feet to your eyes like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t said the wrong thing, but he just keeps putting his foot in his mouth like it’s a magnet to metal. It’s endearing. It’s real.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” you blurt out, and Bucky blanches. “I know it’s only, like, noon but I need a drink. And I owe you. For saving me.”

He relaxes at this, another one of those small smiles easing its way onto his face, and his shoves his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t just panicking two seconds ago about calling you a dame, which if anyone else had done, you would have socked them in the mouth, but he’s like one-hundred-and-six or something and you kinda get it.

“The drinks you’re wearing ain’t enough, doll?”

A laugh breaks from your mouth and he lights up, grinning.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can’t help the smile splitting your own lips. “Sure, make fun of the girl who just got hustled, easy prey.”

The way he looks at you is burning.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “James Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. When you give him your name, he almost looks like he wants to try it out, but he keeps it on his tongue like he’s tasting it instead.

“So, a drink?” he asks, a little cautiously.

“I’d like that.” Then, you look down and curse. “But I’m gross. I really need to go home and change.”

Bucky nods, but a look of disappointment crosses his face, there and then gone again, just enough to make your heart tighten into a painful brick weight atop your chest. Everything in your brain is saying no, don’t do it, don’t do it. But your heart hurts and it hurts for him, a man you’ve only met in news articles and awkward interviews until now, when he’s saved you from being slapped around by some creep or worse, and god, you have such a soft heart sometimes and it’s gotten you in trouble before but you can’t just ignore it.

“Do you like Bloody Marys?”

His eyes meet yours again and you’re drawn into the storm that swirls in his irises once again.

“Never had one,” he admits. “They don’t look much like a drink.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I have the stuff to make a really good one at home. And then I could change and clean up a little and still y’know, thank you for saving my life? I mean it’s not much, but—”

“Yes,” he says, his voice as sure and steady as it was earlier when he was in hero mode. “That sounds great.”

Oh, you’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not easy. Bucky walks beside you like a forcefield, using his body to guide you through the throng of people walking along the streets without even touching you. He reminds you of a sheepdog. The thought almost makes you laugh more than a few times during your stroll.

He walks with his hands in his pockets most of the way, especially his metal one. And he isn’t much of a talker, not that you mind as long as he keeps answering the questions you’re asking him, like what kind of food he likes and what he thinks about sphynx cats and if he likes memes—of which his answers consist of anything, what the hell is that and why is it naked, and a resounding yes.

Bucky asks some of his own questions, though they are few and far between and a lot more cohesive and meaningful than your own. He asks about how long you’ve lived in Washington D.C., about what you do for a living, and about your friends.

“Why did they leave you there?” He’s staring at you when he asks, brows sharp and furrowed.

“Because I told them to,” you answer. “I didn’t want them to get hurt or anything. And I’m kind of the person that if I’m yelling, you better listen ‘cause I’m usually yelling for a good reason.”

He nods like he understands, but his lips are pressed flat. “They shouldn’t have left you.”

You shrug. “I wanted them to. I would’ve been more pissed if they hadn’t run off and gotten tangled up in the middle of everything.”

“You’re a good person,” he says, still looking at you. His face is softer, that hint of a curve in his mouth the only sign that anything’s changed.

You give him your own smile. “Maybe.”

It’s only once you get to the front door of your apartment that things shift and your stomach rolls, heavy and fluttering light all at once, a not-so-familiar-anymore anxiety chilling your skin. The keys in your hand jingle and you aren’t sure if it's because your fingers are shaking or not.

“It’s not much,” you say, beckoning him inside, “but y’know, it’s enough for me.”

Bucky steps through the door with a reverence, a caution, a carefulness that strikes you right in the heart. He looks out of place for a minute, like he’s never entered an apartment before. And then, as you kick off your shoes, losing the extra inch of height, smiling and gesturing for him to do the same, there’s something in him that snaps and bends and his shoulders fall, relaxed.

He toes off his boots, leaving them by the door, and suddenly there’s a different air in the apartment. Almost intimate. Comfortable.

Stop it. You don’t even know him.

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something?”

Bucky shakes his head as he follows behind you, slowly, his eyes roaming over your space. It’s really not much, you know that. A little more than a box with a bathroom and a bedroom attached, what with the living room and the kitchen being “open-concept,” a word you’re pretty sure was invented to sell tiny apartments for more money. You don’t even have a table to sit at—just a couch to plunk down on while you’re eating.

“I’m alright, doll,” he says, running a hand over the soft cushions of said couch. “You go change, I’m fine.”

As soon as you disappear into your bedroom, the door locked behind you, you lean against the wood and let out a sigh. This is awkward. What the fuck were you thinking? Asking an Avenger—Bucky Barnes—back to your apartment for a drink? A bloody mary? Who are you trying to kid?

It’s been years, literal years since you’ve invited anyone back to your apartment. In fact, you don’t think anyone besides your friends has even stepped foot inside. Maybe they haven’t even made it to the door.

Why would you invite him here?

In frustration, you strip your dirty shirt off and throw it onto the floor, shimmy-ing out of your skirt and kicking it toward the hamper just as well. You sort through your drawers, looking for something comfortable to throw on. Or maybe you should wear something nice? Something that looks similar to what you wore to brunch. But Bucky’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie. But he also looks like a modern god in just that.

Fuck. You are fucked. Why did you ask him back to your place for a drink? What did you think would happen?

You throw an old band t-shirt over your head and pull a black pair of loose shorts up over your hips, cursing when you realize they don’t even hit mid-thigh. Does that seem suggestive? Is Bucky going to think you want to fuck him if you walk out in these?

Do you want to fuck Bucky?

No. No. This is not what this is about. You invited him over because you owed him a drink and because you needed to change and because he seemed so damn sad when you said you couldn’t go out for a drink. So you asked him to come home with you. Oh, god, that’s so complicated. What have you gotten yourself into?

Stop. Just stop thinking.

But—you have to admit it to yourself—you want it. You want him.

Your friends’ earlier words repeat in your head. A human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment. They aren’t wrong for thinking that it’s something you want. For most of your life, you’ve lived thinking that you shouldn’t need someone. But isn’t it okay to want someone? You’re tired of being alone. Bucky Barnes is the first man that’s been in your empty apartment since you moved in, and maybe it’s a bold move, but you know what?

You throw yourself out of your bedroom, probably looking a little too frazzled, and you quickly comb your fingers through your hair as nonchalantly as possible to fix the flyaways. Bucky’s sitting on your couch, looking lonely, his hands rigid on his spread knees.

He looks like he fits there, on your sofa, in your empty apartment.

“Look,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. When he looks at you, his eyes sweep over your body like he’s never seen a woman before; shy, timid, a little nervous, but there’s something else there. It’s the same thing that’s heating your insides right now.

“I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then a cocky grin is curling his lips up, his face brightening the entire apartment. You don’t know if your body is warm because you’re embarrassed at your own daring or because Bucky Barnes is so beautiful it’s criminal, but you know that there’s static and stretch in your limbs and desire pooling in your belly. Liquor and lust are chasing away whatever fears you had before.

“Really?” he asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds you of what a fucking flirt he is, or that he can be, and you think butterflies might be taking up residence in your tummy.

“Really,” you mimic, wearing your own charmed smile. Bucky lets his head fall to the side as he looks over you, then crooks one metal finger at you, beckoning you to join him on the couch. With as much confidence as you can muster, you stride toward him, putting a little swing in your steps. Maybe you look crazy doing it, but it’s enough that his eyes flicker down to watch your hips, and it sends a thrill through you.

“This isn’t like me,” you tell him as you sink down beside him, as close as possible while still giving him space to bolt if he needs to. “I don’t invite strangers over to my house like this.”

He smiles and it’s warm and big and easy. “I’m glad you did,” he says.

God, his eyes are pretty. “Me too.”

With Bucky’s thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting dangerously close to one of your bare knees, knuckles brushing your skin every time he shifts, you’re melting into his touch and you don’t care. It’s intoxicating—not the alcohol, which you swear should be wearing off by now, but him.

“I don’t do this often,” you say again, like you need to defend your bold behavior.

“Does that mean I’m special?”

“I think so,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear being this close.

Kinder than you thought possible, somehow simultaneously suave but still a little nervous, and yet authentic to a fault, Bucky Barnes is a thousand and one contradictions. Nothing like you ever thought he’d be. And maybe that’s what gives you the courage, the thought that someone so hardened could be so soft. That someone who looks like him, chiseled and striking and like a charcoal sketching on stark paper, could turn red at your innuendos and your charmed quips. That there’s a chance he could be attracted to you.

This—This is the connection you’ve been waiting for. The person who makes you feel like this. Tipsy when you shouldn’t be tipsy anymore.

“I know we barely know each other, but I really, really want you, Bucky.”

Your shoulder is pressed to his shoulder, your chest nearing his chest, your chin tipped up to stare at his eyes, his nose, his parted lips. Bucky stares down at you, his Adam’s apple dipping and bobbing as he swallows hard. Your lips curl, threatening to giggle. He’s so damn cute. How can someone like him, an Avenger, a super soldier, look so cute?

But the hand at your knee finally creeps up your skin, his hot palm glossing over your bare thigh, resting a little higher than a friendly touch would go. He presses indents—not too hard, but not too soft—into your plush, silken flesh.

“You do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lip and you want to follow it back into his mouth with your own.

To answer, you push closer, your hand coming up to drape across his neck, a little off-balance as you sit up on your knees.

“Mhm,” you hum, and that’s all he needs to grasp your thigh roughly and drag you over him, seating you upon his lap as a squeak of surprise flies from your lips. His hands fall to your hips as if your body was made for him to hold and suddenly you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you instead, and god, he’s staring at you like you’re heaven and earth and everything he ever needed to be saved.

“I want you too,” he says, exhaling as if you’ve stolen all the air in his lungs.

“Then will you finally kiss me?” Your nose brushes his and his breath ghosts over your mouth.

Bucky’s lips surge up to meet yours, swallowing the last sounds of your words like it’s the first drink of water he’s had in years, cool and refreshing and tinged with smoke, something uniquely him.

As your hands thread through his short locks, desperate to hold onto him in any way, his fingers begin to curve over your ass. You rock into him, pressing against him harder, sucking at his plush lips as his tongue skims over your top lip until you grant him entry. Bucky kisses like he’s trying to taste every single part of you and it sends waves of pleasure through your belly and to your core, where you grind down until you feel his hardening length beneath you.

Immediately, you start to strip him of his hoodie, divesting him of that layer to feel the soft shirt beneath—but only barely because it’s hell trying to pull his hands away from where they’re touching you.

And he’s touching you everywhere. His fingers roam over every generous piece of your body. The silken planes of your thighs where he’s pushed your shorts up, the wide canyons of your hips, the bumpy hills of your waist where your stomach is too big and too soft and where he slips his mismatched hands under your shirt to trace the lines of your stretch marks. It isn’t long until he brushes by the band of your bra and then he’s tugging at the hem of the shirt, pulling away from your lips long enough to rid you of it.

You take the moment to rid him of his too, and then you’re both topless, still sitting atop his lap and panting from lack of air. No words are shared between you before Bucky is capturing your mouth again. It’s only passion, frenzied and hot and wanting.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra blindly as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, nipping and giggling and tangling your tongue around his. As soon as you hear the snap, you lean back and Bucky pulls it off you, flinging the offending garment somewhere else in the apartment.

Now, with your naked chest completely bared to him, you wait for it to happen. For his eyes to dart away, for the apprehension to cross his features, for the disgust to set it. The real reason that it’s been so long since you’ve invited someone into your empty apartment—into your empty life.

You’re scared.

Like you’re expecting the blow, you close your eyes and brace yourself, but you don’t cover up. You’ve learned not to cover up. You refuse to make yourself smaller, or prettier, or more tolerable for people. It’s why you don’t get entangled with one-night stands anymore, why you don’t ask strangers to come home with you, why you don’t let your girlfriends set you up with anyone. Because you refuse to make yourself something you’re not just to fit in, and that’s what always, always ends up happening.

Bucky touches you and it makes you flinch, his vibranium fingers a little chilly against the soft, warm skin of your stomach. He touches you and it’s electric, but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re too afraid to look and see the disappointment in his gorgeous blues.

His hands skim over your rib cage, sliding around the sides of your waist, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. You shiver at the contact. He continues his trail upwards, but then he lays his palms on your shoulders and caresses over your neck, his fingers finally finding the edge of your soft jaw to cradle your face. A shaky breath leaves you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, closer than you thought.

And no matter how much you’ll berate yourself over it later, there is something so safe about Bucky Barnes that your lashes flutter and your eyes open, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, staring at you with those stormy sea eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, his pink lips parted in awe, and you gasp at the intensity that strikes right through the center of you.

“You’re…” he trails off, swallowing nervously again. “Doll, I don’t think I know a word in English that describes you.”

Bucky presses forward, his chest brushing against your hardened nipples, stealing your breath and then sealing your lips with a kiss that isn’t like before. This kiss isn’t needy or wanting or filled with teeth and tongue and desperation. This time, his mouth moves with yours as if he’s trying to spell out a thousand words in twenty different languages to tell you how he feels, his lips leading yours in a dance that isn’t worried about an audience or the music or if you step on his toes.

When he pulls away, you wonder if your mouth is as swollen as his.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a finality in his tone that almost makes you collapse into his arms.

Then, Bucky wastes no time and captures a nipple in between those swollen lips, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud noise in surprise. His metal hand finds your other breast, thumb stroking over the bud until you’re arching further into him. As his tongue traces patterns around one nipple, his fingers tweak and twist and pull its sister, and your hands grasp his broad shoulders in an attempt to hold on.

Finally, he presses gentle kisses over your rosy buds, all worn out by his touches, and then circles your breasts with more kitten licks and grazes of his teeth. Bucky’s hands settle at your hips again, fingers grasping your skin like he can’t get enough of the feel of you. He’s trying to imprint your body on his palms.

“I need to have you, doll,” he says all breathy as if he isn’t the one absolutely drenched right now. “Please. Please,” he asks so softly that you wonder if this is the man who even came to your rescue today, all tall and brooding. When you grind down on his lap again, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans as he lets out a groan and tightens his grip on your waist, you realize you’re not the only one feeling the tension.

Still, there’s something cheeky left in you and you reach out to swipe your finger across his nose, effectively booping it cutely. A grin splits your lips.

“You need me?” you ask teasingly. “What if I need you instead?”

It’s like it sets something ablaze in him or something, ‘cause as soon as you go in for another kiss, Bucky stands up from the couch, his hands cradling your ass as you shriek and wrap your legs around him in reflex.

“Oh my god—”

“Now you’ve done it,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck to pepper kisses all over the stretch of skin that encompasses your shoulder, your jawline, even up into your hairline by your ear.

“Oh my god, put me down Bucky, I’m—you’re gonna drop me, I’m too heavy!”

“Heavy?” He chuckles against your throat and the vibrations almost make you shudder in pleasure. God, what is this man doing to you? “Darlin’, I don’t think you know the meaning of heavy.”

Bucky flashes you a wide, almost predatory grin, and you wonder where that soft, nervous boy went.

“If I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and steady, “I could fuck you right here, in the middle of the room, for hours.” He must feel the shiver that goes through your entire body because he’s laughing again. “But I want to fuck you into your mattress if that’s okay. Can I do that?”

Your throat feels dry when you whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He punctuates your plea with a heated kiss to your lips, his tongue tasting the citrus and bubble from your mimosas, the alcohol long since worn off. It’s all him that you feel, all him that intoxicates you, and all him around you as he walks you into your bedroom, not even straining under your weight, and dumps you onto the middle of your sheets.

There, he cages you, hovering above you to kiss down your body, already intent on tearing your shorts off.

“Bucky,” you whine. In the afternoon light streaming through the single window in your room, his eyes are a startling color you wish you could name, all clear and confident and crystal and god, god, his fingers are already exploring the slit of your core so lightly it makes you flush and want to hide, your inner thighs sticky and coated in your own slick from how hot he’s made you with such simple touches.

“You want me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” you hiss in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Bucky leans down to kiss the shell of your ear, his tongue blazing a hot trail that makes you moan and buck your hips up to meet his, but he won’t have any of that.

“Good,” he says, “‘cause I need to have you, and I don’t plan on letting you go ‘till I’ve gotten everything you’ve got to give, doll.”

That nervous Bucky, all awkward smiles and panicked glances and sweet lines, he’s gone. In his place is this Bucky, assured and charming and suave and smooth and making your eyes roll back into your head until a scream is threatening to burst from your lips unless he swallows it with his own kiss, which he does, over and over again.

“I’m gonna ravage you, darlin’.”

You aren’t sure which one you like better—but is it greedy to say both?

As the light of a new day spreads through your apartment, you awaken easily, softly, but painfully. Someone’s pulled the blankets up to your chin and tucked them around you, and the thought leaves an empty feeling inside of you. When you stretch, every part of you burns deliciously, a memory from the hours spent in bed, on the couch, on the fucking counter after you’d eaten and he still wasn’t satisfied, and then again in bed.

And now, looking over at the space beside you, he’s gone. His clothes are gone from the floor. There’s no sound echoing in the building. He even left you tucked in, for god’s sake.

Your apartment is just as it always has been—empty.

With a groan, you kick the covers off and plant your feet on the floor, willing yourself to get up. The ache in your muscles is nothing more than a pleasant memory, an unpleasant reminder of the marks he left on you, his absence.

Stop it. You shouldn’t have even gotten attached to him in the first place. You knew what this was, and he did too, and it’s no wonder he’s gone this morning.

Get over it.

You swipe an oversized shirt from your dresser and throw it over your head as you stride out toward the kitchen, content to go pantyless for the day after the abuse you put it through last night. Yawning, your eyes screwed shut in another big stretch to warm up your overused muscles, you hear him before you see him.

“Mornin’, doll.”

Like that, your eyes snap open and he’s there, standing in your tiny kitchen in nothing but last night’s boxers, looking fucking glorious in the spotlight of the warm sun that’s streaming through the room and highlighting the counters.

“Bucky?” you ask, but it’s a little loud and a little shrieking, something you don’t intend. But all he does is smile at you, metal fingers tapping the plastic countertop, so at ease he just looks like he belongs there.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast but you have nothing in your fridge,” he jokes, leaning back against the drawers and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

You shift, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, I need to go shopping.”

A long stretch of silence fills your apartment and you’re unsure of what to say in order to break it. Bucky’s clearly watching you, drinking in the sight of your love-marked body, bruises peeking out of the hem of your shirt that barely skims past the tops of your thighs, and you remember you’re wearing nothing underneath.

And he’s here, right here, and you really aren’t sure why. It seems the two of you have almost switched places. Where Bucky was nervous and shy at first, he’s now confident and comfortable and you’re left with heated cheeks and a tongue-tied in knots. Whatever boldness that came over you all yesterday has fled.

It’s left a deep pocket of insecurity inside of you.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, like you don’t care, but your voice shakes a little. He’s too far away to really tell, but you think a flash of hurt passes over Bucky’s brow.

“‘Cause you still owe me a drink,” he says as if it's obvious, a small smile still sitting so prettily on his mouth.

You blink, a little confused, but shuffle closer. “Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep breath, his grin growing bigger the closer that you come toward him. “Will you still make me one?”

You nod, toes finally crossing into the kitchen, and then you and Bucky are staring at each other. There are scratches left like the bones of a graveyard on his arms, and you’re almost sure if he turned around they’d cover his neck and back just as well. Seeing those reddened marks, similar to the bruises he’s left on you, makes you relax your shoulders just a little.

“Do you need help?” he asks, eyes sweeping over your barely covered form.

“No,” you say, heading to the kitchen which is little more than a countertop, a stove, and a fridge. “But you can keep me company.”

So this is what happens in the morning after. Bucky leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a burning intensity that nearly matches last night’s, and you pull all the ingredients out and line them up next to two glasses and try not to falter under his gaze. He looks at you like you’re this fascinating thing he needs to study and it bothers you, but only in the best of ways.

“Do you always stare this hard at your dates?” A smile plays at your lips as you crack open the tomato juice.

He doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Is this a date, doll?” There’s something in his voice that you can’t figure out, faintly hopeful, fairly confused. Vaguely surprised, even.

You shrug. “Maybe.” Especially after all of yesterday, you would hope he thought so.

But Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

Ow.

That hurt more than you were expecting it to. Calling yourself his date had only been a joke meant to lighten the mood, ease him up a little, cure the tension swirling in the room. You guess you should have expected it, though. You owed him a drink—he didn’t owe you a date. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, anyway.

All you had done was sleep together, for fuck’s sake. This is why you hate morning afters. This is why you would have preferred it if he had been gone when you woke.

But was that even true? Because the relief you felt when you found him waiting for you in the kitchen was immense and hard to understand.

You open the bottle of vodka a little more forcefully than you intended.

“When we go out on a real date,” he continues, and your eyes meet, “I’ll be taking you out and treating you.” A slow grin crawls over his face that reminds you of his wicked mouth and what it can do and the sight makes your heart beat and beat and beat, faster and faster, like the wings of a hummingbird, quick quick quick.

“When?”

“When,” he affirms.

“That’s bold of you,” you say, popping ice cubes from a tray into the glasses.

“Maybe,” he says, “but I know what I want now.” Bucky shifts a little closer to you, his vibranium arm brushing by the bare skin of your soft one as you try and focus on not spilling the juice, but you can smell him and he smells like cedar and bergamot and smoke and clove. A smell that consumed you whole last night, surrounded you, drowned you in it.

He’s so close you can feel him inhale.

“I’ve lived a long time not knowing—not getting to decide—what I want,” he admits, his voice low and quiet and soothing your nervous heart. “So you can call it bold, but I call it right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your hands still and you look up at him, eyes wide. In the soft white lights of your tiny kitchen, sharing the tight space with him so close, Bucky’s eyes are thunder and rain and lightning all at once, peace and chaos both, promising release and the sweet scent of earth and oil afterward.

“You don’t even know me,” you whisper.

Bucky leans closer. “But I want to.”

He’s so close, too close, close enough that he can surely hear the rhythm of your heart, unsteady and racing just for him. You could surge forward and kiss him, stake your claim once again on those pinkened lips that have held your attention from the first time you saw them, feel the stubble of his jaw rub against the soft peach fuzz of your own, let it remind you of how it felt against the apex of your thighs as he made you cry out over and over again, breaking on his tongue over and over again.

It makes you feel dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

But Bucky reaches over, past you, and takes one of the glasses from your hand, warm fingers brushing over your cooler ones. He holds it up, toward you, gesturing for a toast. With a swallow, hardly glancing away from his slate eyes to grab the other glass, you tap your Bloody Mary against his with a soft clink.

He watches you over the rim as he takes his first sip and you think he might be smirking. Then, he darts toward you and takes your lips in his own, tasting of spice and tomato juice and perfection, all Bucky, all for you.

When he pulls away, too quickly, he rests his forehead against your and looks down at you, staring into your hazy eyes.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, like he doesn’t know what you’ll say. The soft, nervous Bucky is peeking out from behind his confident visage once again, his voice hopeful and frightened and the hand that’s gliding beneath your shirt and over your waist more timid than it was last night.

There’s a million things you can say. You can tell him to take you out to brunch instead. You can tell him you’re too busy. You can tell him that this was a one-night stand, it was only ever meant to be a one night stand, and that it was fun but you can’t afford to get attached to him and god, you know you’re going to get attached to him if he stays and that scares the ever-living fuck out of you. You can tell him that it’s messy here, inside your empty apartment, inside your empty heart. You can tell him that he could take up residence here. You can tell him so, so many things.

“Yes,” you say instead, and Bucky laughs against your mouth when he kisses you hard once more.

#Eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #plus sized reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes smut #smut #divine masterlist

1K notes · View notes

kkusuka · 3 years

Text

HQ Middle blocker kinks <3

@xxxxtanaxxxx request hq kinks but middle blocker version please 🥺

I'm gonna be honest i wasn't gonna do this buuut here it is

i have a setter one in the works and here is the ace version!

here is the setter version <3

Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Kuroo Tetsuro, Suna Rintaro, Satori Tendo, Taichi Kawanishi, Issei Matsukawa, Takanobu Aone,, Shoyo Hinata, Lev Haiba Shugo Meian (MSBY captain), and Yutaro Kindaichi

Mentioned female anatomy, but mostly gn

content warning: consensual non-con, humiliation, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurisms, degradation, bondage, sex toys, cockwarming, edging, soft priamal/prey, mentions of house break-ins, pegging, size kink, overuse of the word Daddy, face fucking, hickeys

i think thats all?

buckle up, this is gonna be looooong.

Tsukishima Kei

Degradation

This is a given, my mans has a mouth on him, AND HE KNOWS HOW TO USE IT

He says the most vulgar things in your ears (and you love it)

His nickname for you is Cum-dump, and he calls you that so much that you’ve started to respond to it. “Hey, Cum-dump! Come here” “ok Tsukki”

And when he’s cumming? A slew of insults just come out

“You whore, oh, you fucking cum-slut, you’d let anyone do this to you won't you”

And it's not limited to this!

“You're just a hole”

“You only exist for me to fuck, Right? You're just a glorified fleshlight”

“You're only good for sucking my cock”

“I should just leave you chained to the wall so I can fuck you anytime I want, that's all you're good at so you should love it”

It won’t even be only during sex

You could literally be just studying with him and he’ll just lean over and say “ you want to be fucked right now don't you? In front of all these people, I bet you’d love it Cum-dump”

Humiliation

Goes with a dirty mouth

He’ll flip your skirt while walking in front of groups of other students

He purposely sucks hickeys where your uniform does not cover and then laughs at you because you're just such a slut.

One of his favorite things to do is have you wear a vibrator in school, only on days where you have to do something in front of the class

No worries he has the remote and turns it alllllll the way up during the middle of your presentation, you just look so cute all red!

He’ll make it better!!

You can cum in front of the class, let everyone know how much of a whore you are!

Purposeful neglect

He wants you so horny you can’t think

If that means not giving you attention for FIVE DAYS so be it.

No touching yourself and if he finds out you did he’ll ignore you for longer and you don’t want that do you?

You will wait for him to touch you.

He’ll also just ignore you.

No begging, he doesn't care, he doesn't want to hear it.

Don't touch him, stop being a brat or you won’t get off for a whole week.

Bondage

It's all about control <3

Having you tied up and immobile is the best way to show how little you are.

He’ll tie you up and put you on the couch with a vibrator and just watch movies, unable to rock your hips

This seems cruel but he’ll tie your hands up and make you eat dinner with just your mouth <3

He’ll make you watch tv with a ball gag in

He’ll have a riding crop in his hands when you study and he’ll hit your little clit/silt with it every time you get a question wrong

Kuroo Tetsuro

Pet names

Literally any kind o endearment, but mainly switches between Kitten and Baby Girl/Boy(i am swooning right now)

He WILL call you these in front of people and out loud in public

He’s called you them in front of your parents in front of Kenma in the middle of the grocery store.

So you're wondering, why does that matter? People do that all the time!

Well, he calls you them so you remember how he completely ruined your little body and how his cum is still dripping out of you <3

And its cannon that he has a sexy voice, and it drops and gets deeper when he calls you them.

Thigh highs

It doesn't matter in you have the biggest thighs ever or just a bone, if you wear any kind of thigh highs (bonus points for Cat ones) he will be ready to bust a nut

It's not only him that gets off on them, especially when he takes them off

He’ll climb over you and use his teeth to pull them down to your feet and he’ll kiss and bite his way back up to do the other one.

He also will sometimes leave them on to rail you into your bed, when this happens he puts your legs over your shoulders and squishes his head between them.

(kuroo loves thighs, and that's that)

Caregiver

He's taken care of Kenma all his life, and you bet your ass he’ll do it for you

This means he gives the best aftercare you could imagine, I’m talking bubble baths

He’ll cook for you in nothing but an apron, and he’ll tease you when you get all flushed and cute!

You had a bad day? He’ll eat you out for hours until you’re all cuddly and tired.

He’ll fuck you slow where you need it and he’ll kiss all the pain away <3

He just loves having you dependent on him makes him so happy and thankful to have you!

Threesomes

Mainly for Kenma, but he let bokuto have a turn and even convinced Tsikki to give it a try!

He really just wants to show off that you’re his what better way to show you off then let some of them get a taste of something they’d never have.

Favorite position for this? Split roasting/ Eiffel towering

He's the one who you're sucking on, and he’s so far down your throat making him suck you deeper and deeper until you’re drooling all over his balls like a good Kitten

Whoever he sharing you with would be in you following whatever Kuroo tells them to do

Rub your clit? Yes Sir.

Faster. Yup

Slowdown Kittens being bad so she doesn't get to get off <3

Suna Rinatro

Purposeful neglect

Just like Tsukki, he wants you hot and bothered all the time

He will just sit around and scroll on his phone while you’re whining :(

Just let him watch this video and he’ll get you off!

Will never tell you but you just look so cute, all needy and horny for him.

Sometimes he’ll slip you a libido pill and just watch the world burn.

He will wait until you have ruined whatever shorts you’re wearing (and he’ll take them) and THEN he will help his poor needy baby

Cockwarming

Almost every time he games, he puts you on his dick

you already know it’s happening when he takes the controller out

He says it's because he doesn't want to “leave you out”

No moving on him though, if you8 move it could distract him and you do not want him to lose, losing means being pounded into the floor until you can't think, then being ignored the rest of the day “horny sluts can sit on the floor until they need to be used”.

But if all goes well, he’ll go soft in between rounds and will suck on your neck and will let you cuddle into him during the rounds

But when Suna if feeling a bit more adventurous he will put his headset on you and fuck you with all of his friends listening

And if that's not bad enough they all clearly know what’s happening id Osamus soft coo’s and Gin’s little comments (but it's not like they want it to stop anyway)

Edging

Will literally just do this out of nowhere

You thought you were finally gonna cum, then nothing

HE WILL just do things for hours to see you cry and begging or him to just let you cum

He’ll stick four fingers in you and bring you to your climax and just leave you on the edge

He won't even have a reason, you were being good, you let him play his game and he does this?

Que pouty bby

Video/Photography

We all saw this coming-

But he takes it a step further than just having a photo collection of you

He has a personal private story with just you in it where he put videos of you riding him or sucking his dick fo you to “see how slutty you are”

that's not even it, he sends you a picture of you naked in the middle of work, with no shame either

Thus one time you were showing a coworker a shirt you had bought and he texted you and the picture showed up. It was awkward for the next few days.

But these don't even compare to how he has an entire Instagram account (private of course) of your nodes and videos of the two of you fucking.

One extra little thing is that you both watch porn together for ideas.

Satori Tendou

(i could make him a post of his own-so so many kinks for Satori)

Humiliation (mentions of pee)

This can range from calling you names to making you touch yourself in public

He’s called you a pillow princess in the middle of class, in front of your teacher

It had gotten so bad they Ushijima had to ask what a “cum-dumpster was” because Satori had called you that in front of the team.

He doesn't even introduce you as his S/O, hw=e would call you an escort or that you were just his personal fuck toy.

This kink goes so far that when you were on a double date with Semi, under the table Tendo had his hand literally in your pants.

**One of his favorite things is to make you hold your pee in until you are almost peeing yourself, isn't that embarrassing that you're a grown adult who’s about to wet yourself?

Overstimulation

He wants to see you a complete mess all over him

The main goal of all of this is to make you squirt or begin to have dry orgasms

He will not stop until he’s happy or you say your safe word (which is rare)

One orgasm just isn't enough for him :/

And it's a big boost of confidence for him!

he‘s proud to know he can make you cum so much you cant even think!

Dacryphilia

This AND overstim?

Good luck

He can't even explain why it turns him on so much.

You just look so beautiful with tears streaming down your face all fucked out

It always hits him at the worst times too, you crying over a bad grade? A pretty tear falling over your soft cheeks. Hard.

Just watched a sad movie, he’s ready to pound you into the couch.

Anal

Oh ho ho

This can be one of two things, he does it because it feels good

He does it as punishment

That means no lube

No adjusting to his dick

And no extra pleasure to help you get off

He’s so mean </3

Taichi Kawanishi

This man screams pornstar

Public sex

This man is unstable

You could just be walking in public and he just decides he wants to fuck.

Who are you to stop him?

Just let him get this out real quick you can shop later.

Exhibitionism

The thought of being in the open? This man loves it

And you don't really have a choice but to love it

Every time you go to the beach he just has his dick in you, in the ocean sitting in his lap while eating lunch

He doesn't even care who sees

Children? Who cares, look away or whatever

Getting caught

It doesn't even matter who it is

If someone walks in when you're doing it he’s cumming

It's just hot

He doesn't need to explain it to you

he also makes u take nudes and had them as his homescreen for a while

Issei Matsukawa

I’d let this man kill me-

Leather/ latex

LEATHER GLOVES

He wears them when he fingers you so he can make fun of how wet you made them.

He dresses you up in these pretty little pastel dresses (gender to heel, he doesn't care, you look hot weather your a boy, girl, or not) and he wears all black (goth daddy Mattsun) and his gloves to fuck you in his leather-covered fist.

That's not even it

He has an entire bin of different colored chokers and leashes just for his pretty baby

Along with that, he has a shelf of latex thigh highs for you to wear and even has an entire outfit for you to wear and show off to him.

Ddlg/b/n-Lifestyle

This is why he has a lot of things that you wear!

He loves to take care of you all the time!

He loves to make his baby food and love to watch movies with you

And you love him so much too!

You would do anything for Daddy!

And he takes you shopping and to restaurants, and if you want literally anything big or small all you have to do is look up at him with puppy dog eyes and a “Daddy, please!!” and boom his credit card is already out.

Size kink

Big dick Mattsun-

This all comes back to the fact that you are so beautiful

And big dick little hole, who doesn't love that??

He sure does, don't worry though he always makes sure to prep you

Except if it's punishment- he doesn't like it he swears! He’d never want to hurt you!

And you’d believe it until your crying on his cock and it throbs ://

But if it still hurts, and it does, he’ll let you go your pace and sink all the way down onto his cock<3

Fun fact the first time he went into your ass he tried to with no lube and you couldn't sit for DAYS

Voyeurism (receiving)

Makki Makki Makki

I would say he was into Cuckolding but its always him doing the watching while Issei fucks you

And Makki loves it too if his constant praises and coo’s said anything about it.

And Mattsun just gets off on the fact his best friend is watching something he’ll (maybe if you're not into it) never fully have

Mattsun also likes having you tied up an watching him fuck a fleshlight of just jerking off

You look so pathetic :)

extra for big dick mattsun, he Shows all of his friends <3

I am a whore for the Seijoh 4

You bet Makki has an entire folder of pic of you, whether they are of you dripping cum or just with your legs open.

Even if he says he doesn't save them, you know Iwa has gotten off you a recording of you moaning and asking for Daddy’s cock

And Oikawa is always asking for more (the little manwhore), he says they are “references” for him, liar, he jerks off to them in his bathroom.

Takanobu Aone

It's always the quiet ones-

I just gotta get these first two out-

Consensual non-con

I can just TELL he like to pretend to break into your house

Pretend you're so scared and you don't like it

Tying you up and listening to your little cries, awwwwweeee

You were just too pretty to ignore

Just let him have a taste, stop crying he knows you want it just as much as he does

Primal/prey

He wants to feel like he earned his reward

A perfect little trophy for him to use as a toy

His dick in your tiny dripping hole is all the reward he needs

It's like you're a pretty innocent bunny and he’s a big fox just waiting for the right time to strike :)

Soft sex/ praise

I know what I said up there

But none of that means he doesn't love just setting you down on the bed with candles and rose petals and just making love

Soft music in the background and worshipping every inch of your skin

You need to be vocal though!

Tell him how pretty he is when he cums, and how perfectly his dick fits in your hole!

Tell him how soft he looks and how he is making your nipples feel like heaven.

Aftercare- bc I am also soft for aone and he is a good guy

Bubble baths and chocolate

Movies and cuddling

All of this makes him so glad that he found you

Especially when you cuddle into him all sleepily and tired.

Shoyo Hinata

oh he is so pretty-

Mutual masturbation

It's the perfect way to experience pleasure

He can see you in all your glory

All of the faces he sometimes misses when he’s fucking you!

He also learns from it!

He sees the angle your fingers go to hit that sweet spot so the next time he’s in you he knows where to aim!

(he is so precious-)

Pegging

You wanted to try it so he almost immediately agreed-

But it felt good!

The two of you reserved what one you wanted so the one he picked was almost made for him.

Plus, you look ridiculously good with the strap on-

And he voices that as much as he can!

And sometimes when he rides the strap he just watches it going in and out and in and out

(you also think this is SUPER hot but won't tell him :/)

Riding

It doesn't matter if it's you or him

Watching you fall apart on his cock without him doing a thing makes him cum harder than anything

Sometimes he gets so excited that he comes before you and makes you stay there until he’s hard again, which doesn't take long at all.

when it's him?

he’ll go for hours just to hear you tell him how good he is and how pretty he looks

Lingerie

Especially pastel babydolls

But nothing you wear could ever make you look bad in his eyes

Ok he likes it when you keep the lingerie on too like he’s fucking you and you till have a little nightgown/crop top on

Lord he will BUUUUUUSSSTTT

Lev Haiba

Size kink

Unintentionally too

He didn't even know it, but he did know that he liked that you were so much smaller than him.

He likes to put your hand to him and just look at the difference and before he knew it he was painfully hard

On the occasion, he makes fun of you saying his dick is just too big for you and you can't handle it, but then you get on your knees and he shuts up real quick

Praise kink

A given

He wants to know how good he makes you feel at all times

It doesn't have to be words either!

loud moans explanations of pleasure all drive him to move faster and faster!

Even yelling “oh god!” gets him off

He makes you feel that good huh?

Wall sex

Just playing on the size kink thing

He loves to just pick you up and fuck with reckless abandon

Gets a way better angle too- bet you didn't think he would realize that

He also likes to watch the combination of your juices drip to the floor-

Shugo Meian (MSBY captain)

Sexiest team-

Daddy/ Captain kink

Just look at him, he screams Daddy louder than you do when he’s fucking you

He takes pride in being Captain meaning he’ll fuck you for hour if the word even falls from your lips

And yes you have said it (daddy) front of the team and he did get hard, and the both of you did fuck in the locker room of the gym for an hour before you got kicked out

Even in arguments you better call him daddy, he will stop and fuck you into the ground for it

Angry or not you WILL use his title

Spanking

Will threaten you with this almost everyday

He just uses it as an excuse to touch your ass

He makes you count after each one and makes you thank him

It would look a bit like this

“Five! Thank you Daddy!” “Good Baby, five more”

But that doesn’t mean when you really deserve it that he won't unleash the wrath of god onto your poor ass

But after he’ll kiss it all better and Daddy will reward you for taking your punishment well

Controlled orgasms

By this i mean that you wont cum unless he says so

And you have to ask

Aka “Daddy please let me cum, I really want to”

And depending on what he’s feeling maybe you’ll get to cum then

And if not you’ll have to wait like a good Girl/Boy and cum when he does, which could late literally forever.

but its better than disobeying his orders, which could lead to him completely pulling out and just jerking off to cum on you :((

Deepthroating/ Face Fucking

Nothing is better to him than coming home to you on your knees and mouth open and ready

But when he’s all pent up from practice and he sees you?

Rip your throat, you aren't talking for a few days

He’ll literally fuck your face no question

He’ll put his dick so far down your throat you could feel it in your stomach

Yutaro Kindaichi

Hate sex

He just makes everyone angry

And he gets off on it

You look so fucking delectable all red faced and angry

Makes him want to just slam into right then and there

Dom/Sub

Clearly he wants to be in control

Controlling someone is just such a turn-on for him

Looking all pretty doing exactly what he wanted you too <3

Hickeys

Wants to show off that you are his

What better way than marking up your neck with pretty bruises

Plus he likes how you get all shy when people look at them

2K notes · View notes

mbluee · 3 years

Text

Red - Thirteen x Reader

for @whumptober2021

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT…

Taunting | Insults | “Who did this to you?”

Word Count: 4,715

Warnings: blood, lots of blood, injury, near-death(ish), abandonment, so much whump, exhaustion, choking, bit of possessiveness...eek

Summary: The Doctor makes the mistake of leaving you alone, and now she must face the consequences - and so must you. Red is an awful color.

A/N: surprise! i’m doing pieces of whumptober and told no one! yes i do have a schedule!! hahahaa. hahaha. ha. you all know i can’t resist a “who did this to you?’ feat. a pretty blonde time lord. on that note, read it and weep. xoxo

✩✩✩✩

The floor below you is red, and what a pretty shade it is. Deep, glistening, red. Wine stained, rose colored. Red.

Wet, warm.

In a puddle of it beneath you, a puddle of red. How funny. A puddle of a color? Hot, fresh, new. Odd. Pretty, out of context.

Your hands are covered in it, like a paintbrush had been brought across your palms, drawn onto each knuckle. You could see the lines and creases in your skin, each dimple covered in that color. Red. Pools of it in your hands, on your clothes. Oh, not your clothes. What an awful day to wear white. Now it was red, red, all of it, red. Overwhelmingly red.

Surrounding you, red.

Beneath you, red.

The people on the floor are red. They were breathing, once, you think. Not people. Bodies.

Bloody bodies, in pools of blood, beside you, now red.

She said she was coming.

You can’t breathe very well, too caught up in the smell. No one told you blood smells.

Did she leave you behind?

Your feet are entirely numb – they only feel wet. You aren’t wearing shoes, you don’t think; Your socks are drenched. Soaked. White turned red – oh, they’re pink. Pink is a pretty color. Better than red.

She forgot about you.

Your fingertips are wrinkly. Blood was thick. It hung heavy, it weighed down your clothes. Weighed down your heart, submerged your mind. You were under the blood like you were underwater.

She left you alone.

You swallow, your mouth feels full of red. No, not red. Blood.

“She left me alone,” You think you say, but it doesn’t sound like your voice. It’s shattered, garbled. Bloody. Was that you?

Did she leave you alone?

In the sea of red comes lilac. A coat, whipping about the destructive battlefield, contrasting so sharply with the darkness of it that you almost have to close your eyes; Something tells you not to. That color, that presence. The vibrancy of it. Familiar. Safe. Home. You don't process ever saying her name, but when that bright figure whips around to face your crumpled body, you realize that you must have. A plea, a calling.

She said she'd protect you.

There was so much blood.

Her fuzzy figure breaks into a jog, boots thudding quickly across the rivers of red below. Red footprints left in their wake. It makes you sick, and your body aches; It burns red.

The Doctor kneels when she’s close enough. You want to move closer to her, to be comforted by her. She looks warm until you look to her eyes.

"What's wrong? Is this your blood?" She's demanding, her voice dark. Not light, not by any means. The color of blood, of destruction, of a deep and brewing storm. Her eyes weren't red, but they might as well have been. She says your name. A hand to your cheek.

"Who did this to you?"

Voice darker, growing bolder. Angrier. Her hand is hard against your skin, and you whimper involuntarily. You need her to be your home, and she was becoming someone you didn't recognize. The rainbows of her personality were replaced by thunder and malice. It scares you.

You startle.

She scares you.

And she stops.

It must be in your eyes, you think, or the way you flinch back at her sharpness and the cut of her touch. Usually so soft, suddenly so tight. You can’t understand it in this state of panic – maybe you would later – but right now it’s unbearable, and you just need her. Not whoever this was. Her.

“I’m sorry,” She says – guilty, regretful. Her hand softens just before it pulls away, and no, no – come back, you need her back, need that softness she just teased you with – and you reach up to grab her only to cry out in pain.

“No, no-“ The Doctor strains, falling to a pile beside you and ruining her clothes. Her knees stained red, palms turned wet. When she swipes the hair from your face, blood is left behind from the floor. You don’t care. You need her.

“I need you,” You say, without thought, automatic. It still isn’t your voice.

“I’m here.”

Her eyes are kind. Not red. Not dark, not hidden with something terrifying like before. Transparent, compassionate, home.

There she was. Your Doctor. Yours.

“Doctor,” You plead, and it is your voice – more than it was before. Bubbly, covered in stress and intensity, but it was yours again. She was yours again. “I can’t move.”

Her hands come to your side only for you to gasp in shock. It burns, sending a jolting snap through you as if her fingers shocked a painful current of electricity through your broken body, and it hurts more than it should because her hands should never cause you such pain. But it burned, and you didn’t want it to, and that fact hurt so bad that you crumble before her. The Doctor’s touch was always safe. She was safe.

But she left you alone.

And just as much as it hurts you, it burns straight through the Time Lord before you. The whirr of her sonic is all you can process through the blinding pain, and she looks at you as though her whole world is falling apart.

There’s a quick and final buzz, the flick of her wrist, and an analysis of results.

“Broken ribs. No open wounds. Oh, sweetheart-“

She catches herself, but still stares at you. Your eyes are weak and blurry when they meet her figure, but she’s so pretty against the backdrop of battle and blood, and she calls you such sweet things. Her clothes are ruined, her shoes red, and you whine without meaning to. Pathetic, maybe, but all it does is light a furious fire inside of her that you can’t quite see.

Behind that worried and gentle gaze was an impending hurricane; Eyes of lightning, steps of thunder. The Doctor pushed back that anger for your sake.

You were crumpled on the bloodied floor, and she had been ready to ravage galaxies to find you.

“I’m okay,” You tell her, trying to reassure the worried edge that covered her face with lines and regret. Your hand lifts, however slow, to touch her cheek. You’re lying to her. She knows. Your fingertips leave behind a bloody smear, and it only makes your tears fall faster – proves your false reassurance. “You’re here.”

She hushes you, leans into your desperate fingertips. You need to feel her, she needs to feel you. It’s unspoken.

You’re alive.

You found me.

“You’re here,” You repeat quietly, broken. “Don’t… Don’t leave me again. I can’t-“

“I won’t. No, never. Couldn’t.”

Each word is punctuated with a touch to your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. She leans forward, kisses your forehead so gently you must see stars. No – galaxies. Not just red. Rainbow.

“We need to move now. I’ll take you home.”

Home. When would she learn?

With her hand to your cheek and her lips to your skin, you were already there.

“Alright, then. Let’s get going. Can you do that for me?”

You could do anything for her, now that she was here. You almost forget about the blood, and so does she.

The Doctor begins pulling you to a stand.

“Slowly, now. That’s good, you’re-“

The words stop in her throat, eyes suddenly flickering down.

The Doctor freezes.

Along your neck are fingerprints. Crescent shaped marks in your skin from filthy nails, purples and blues mixing to ruin your perfect skin. Bruises. Indents. Clashing with your delicacy.

Someone touched you.

Someone who obviously didn’t know who the Doctor was, who didn’t know precisely what she was capable of. Someone who wrapped their fingers around your throat; Someone who left ugly, long-lasting marks. Someone who has just made a very, very bad enemy.

Someone who hurt you.

And her eyes go black.

“Who…” She’s straining, resisting. Body nearly shaking with the rage that suddenly ignites her, softness receding but trying desperately to keep it in place for you. You deserved that. She’d give it to you. “Who did this?”

Her fingers touch your jawline, so carefully trailing to your neck. You flinch back. Why did you do that? It’s her. Yet when The Doctor’s fingertips brush a certain spot on your skin, you cry out and drop your head against her chest before you. It hurts. You know it wasn’t her, but it hurts.

“Tell me,” She says then, tense. Withholding. She speaks through her teeth and forces herself to stay level, though you can feel her heartbeats echo rapidly in her chest. Her fingers are purposely careful against your wounds, yet you can’t help a sob when the memory returns.

His hands had covered your throat, squeezed your windpipe while you tried to scream. It was her name that came from your shrieking lungs, you think, before waking up on a blood covered floor. You needed her. She’d left you alone.

One of her hands is placed on the warmth of your cheek, the other now pressing your face into her chest. Her shirt is wet. No, wait – You were crying. Those were tears, on her shirt, making it wet. Your tears.

“Oh, no,” You say tiredly, mixed with sobs, muffled against her. “I’m sorry.”

You’re slightly delirious; Pained and needy. Her thumb grazes your cheekbone when she pulls you back, sliding across your face gently, keeping you grounded and perhaps doing the same for herself when she looks into your eyes.

“No, not sorry. Never sorry. What are you sorry for?”

You sniff again, louder, and collapse back into her chest. It’s safe there, hidden, and listening to heartbeats was steady in contrast to the terror around you.

“I’m ruining your clothes.”

The darkness in her subsides slightly, looking down at her shirt, looking down at you tucked into her.

“You…” She starts, head tilting almost in confusion before shaking it with a blink. “My clothes?”

“Yeah,” You sigh. Defeated, exhausted. You pull your head back up, straining with how heavy you feel. Your eyes are glued to the mesh of wet drops and splotches on her chest. “Messed it up. I like that shirt.”

“Do you now?” The Doctor responds softly, that sharp edge dissipating, being pushed back for another moment. Simply soft, now. Hard when she needs to be. Never hard with you.

She smiles slightly, just a tiny bit. It’s enough to brighten an entire galaxy.

“Yeah,” You tell her again. “Yeah, nice color.”

“Ah,” She settles on, smile growing. Oh, you liked that. You wanted more of that. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head over. Have got a closet full of them, and it’s certainly bigger on the inside.”

She brings a palm to your cheek, soft as can be. “Besides, you worry about the silliest things.”

You lean into her. She’s still crouched down beside you, knees on the red floor. Red floor. The feeling of dried blood covering your hands returns, and you wished you hadn’t looked down, wished you’d stayed in that moment with her and that beautiful smile. The tears on her shirt were nothing compared to the blood on her boots. You’d clean them, you think. When you got back. And you’d do laundry. Simple, soft, kind, for her. You’d erase this, rid yourself of red.

You hate red.

“Up we go,” The Doctor announces, interrupting your single-colored thoughts and filling them with iridescence. She comes to your side, slides her arm behind your shoulder blades. You lean the rest of your weight into her when she lifts your fragile form, but it still burns, and you still cry out.

The Doctor stays silent, jaw held tight. When she catches a side glance to your crumpled expression, it seems as though she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.; It’s as though she can’t bear to speak. The hot tears that slide down your freezing face gather at your chin and drop to the red ground. Stop, no. Not red. Bloody. So bloody.

As you move forward, your eyes stay on that blood. It trails across the floor like a devilish painting, like a swift masterpiece made entirely of misery, and you feel suddenly sick. Dizzy. The red room is spinning, and the Doctor tries her best to keep you still. Her tight jaw loosens. If not for anything, just for you.

“Stick with me, alright? Got a ways to go, and I need you present. Let me get you safe.”

But you left me.

It isn’t until she stops, halts both of your moving bodies, that you realize you’d said that aloud. Your one hand is clutching to the fabric on her back. Blue. Such a lovely color.

The Doctor pauses and stares at you, taking the time to think before she speaks. Her face is furrowed, though her eyebrows have slightly risen, eyes scanning over you and looking between yours. Searching you and searching for her words. You’d never known the Doctor to do that.

There’s silence for a moment, a long second of contemplation and pain on both of your parts. Her eyes are reflective as her body stays still. You might’ve mistaken her for a statue, a paragon of grief and yearning, and something else you’re all too afraid to place. She’s as still as the dead that rest on the floor.

“I know,” She murmurs. Simple and with finality. “I know.”

You stare at her, the two of you stuck in red. The blood is tacky beneath your feet. The bodies lay limp, you stand still.

“And I’ll spend the rest of my existence vowing to never do it again.”

Your next breath is shaky. The depth of her words are deeper than the shade of blood staining your world, yet it suddenly feels blue.

“Thank you,” You tell her, because you’ve no idea of what else could suffice. Nothing could, but it’s enough for now.

The Doctor adjusts her hold, bringing her hand down from your shoulder to support your waist instead. She simply looks at you. And that’s enough, too.

Your side is melded into her hold even as you clench through the pain, not caring in the slightest because that pressure reminded you she was here. It was all red, before, but now it was blue, and lilac, and blonde; There was a rainbow on her shirt and the brightest stars in her eyes. When you’d meet her gaze, she’d smile comfortingly, like home, or a window of escape and peace. The blackhole of anger within the Doctor would dissipate slightly.

“Almost back! We’ll turn a corner there, then straight down. TARDIS is hidden in a perfectly-sized closet. Convenient, isn’t it? All spaceships seem to have TARDIS sized closets.”

You trudge forward and focus on her words, calmer than the sea of vicious pain coursing through your poor body. How did it ever get this bad? Tear stained cheeks accompanied only by grief and shock. Had it all hit you, yet? The pain was stark, but the memories were blurry. You remembered them as though it was someone else.

It had been a blast, a bang, a number of rapid shots as bright red beams of light shot through the walls. Silver weapons firing into bodies, causing casualties, missing only you. How had they missed you? Bodies strewn across the floor accompanied by your own, curled up in a ball pathetically and pitifully. What could you do? Could you have saved them, all of them? Could you have been the Doctor?

You tried. Forced yourself up from the floor as it first became bloody, faced the men who burst into the complex and reigned hell upon it’s occupants. You spoke with authority and you spoke like she would. You were the Doctor, you tried to be. And it hadn’t been enough.

“Alright there?” The Doctor asks, and she already knows the answer, but she asks anyway. Maybe a piece of her hopes it’s something it isn’t. When her eyes linger on your neck again, you have to shut your eyes and block the memory. How long did bruises last? Would the divots of fingernails leave scars?

Her hand raises, slowly, you feel it. She places it on your neck and tightens her hold on your waist as best she can without hurting you. It didn’t matter, because everything hurt. She just didn’t want it to be because of her.

“It’s foolish, really,” The Doctor says, suddenly sharp. Your eyes snap open in confusion, but her eyes remain kind as she looks to you. You blink twice and open your mouth to question her, but when she looks back down to your neck, her gaze eclipses into pure, unaltered darkness, and the words stop in your throat. “Did they think they would get away with this?”

You stare at her, her eyes still locked on the damage to your throat, and she doesn’t move an inch. Stopped in this less bloody hallway, the landscape of your pain physically behind you yet still leaving an underlying imprint. You blink, swallow.

“Away with what?”

Her eyes rise slowly, dragging across your injuries, up the span of your open neck with catastrophic analysis. She notes every detail, every prick and every discoloration, and finally reaches your eyes. They’re ruinous. Possessive.

“Laying their hands on you.”

Your lungs constrict suddenly with a tight hitch and the widening of your eyes. You think your heartrate spikes, or maybe it completely stops, or maybe it flies out of your chest. She continues to stare, and you continue to freeze under her glacial expression. There’s a warmth in the hand that wraps protectively around you, so contrasting to her forbidding eyes, so much so that you almost flinch. But you stay still, trying and failing to breathe, and waiting for her next move without knowing what to do with yourself.

She shifts. The hand on your neck comes up, thumb against the front of your chin, fingers beneath your jaw, and she tilts your head to the side in order to scan you further. Her head leans forward slightly in what you assume is a way to find any other points of impact upon your skin, but it only puts her closer to you, warmer against you, breaths on your bruised neck. You freeze entirely, not even taking the time to breathe. What was she doing?

Then she leans in. You can smell her, then, the comfort and warmth and kindness of her entire being overwhelming your senses and replacing the stale stench of blood. Your palms are wet with sweat and that devastatingly red liquid when she moves even closer, and her dark eyes glow. Really, actually, glow.

You feel an exhale against your neck before she presses her lips to that specific spot, and you gasp with a flinch. Her hand on your waist tightens once, a reassurance, and your body feels suddenly light. It’s that feeling when you first wake up after a good night’s sleep, or when you climb into a bath set at the most perfect temperature. It comes from her kiss against your skin. Igniting like a steady fire, a bright glow emitting from where she made contact, and you feel completely light once more just before the feeling dissipates. It’s rejuvenating, or fulfilling. It’s… Regenerative.

You push her away, even with weak arms, and you watch as her glowing yellow eyes recede back to their almost normal hazel. They’re abnormally grave, with an extra feign of confusion. Your hands remain on her upper arms and she keeps her body close to yours.

“Doctor, you shouldn’t have done that,” You almost snap, feeling much more alive what with the very risky regenerative energy that just coursed through you without your permission – without her better judgement. The Doctor shifts, looking between your eyes as if she never even heard you, before something with finality sets into them.

“You’re going back to the TARDIS.”

She steps forward, almost crowding you, hand still supportive on your waist in a now tighter grip. Her head tilts and leans purposely into your space, and when her eyes flicker down to your neck once more, you freeze, and she notices. Her gaze is ruinous when it returns to your own. Protective. No, more than that. Possessive.

“And before that, you’re going to tell me who did this to you.”

You scoff, blinking rapidly in complete shock at her near – no, complete – arrogance, and that twinge of something else you’d very much like to ignore during this inopportune moment. Yet you can’t help but admire her, in some strange way, even through the shock of her slightly pointed words.

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit she was a sight to behold. Emotions that had never been previously directed at you were now in the forefront of her analyzing view, and in the same way that your previous moments were tainted red, her current thoughts seemed to be covered in it. Her words were precise, sharp – not cutting into you, rather – cutting into the idea of anyone ever laying a hand on what was hers. What was hers.

It should scare you.

Up close and personal with the infamous Oncoming Storm, the same hurricane that just pressed a glowing kiss to your damaged skin. So quick to switch between holding the most immense amount of compassion for you, and then lacking any sliver of it for those who even dreamed of harming you.

It should scare you.

But look at her. Rainbow in a stripe across her chest, royal blue fabric clashing with the disgusting and tired red surrounding the two of you. Her boots are perfect for running, her pants held up by bright yellow suspenders, and her smile is like the sweetest sunshine on a particularly rainy day. You’d bask in the sunlight when it came.

For now, you’ll stand in this downpour of her and revel in that instead. Two sides of the same wondrous, unpredictable coin that is the Doctor, these two sides you’ve come to…

Oh. That could be saved for another day. Perhaps it’s simply best to ignore that tug of yearning and let her care for you in the best way she knows how. Defending you, acting as a shield – knowing well that you could stand up for yourself, knowing that you’d probably tried – and dealing her own doses of karma to those who deserved it. No, she didn’t simply interfere with time; The Doctor owned it. She could pretend all she wants about being avoidant, about keeping out of history, but you knew. When something hurt the Doctor – no, when something hurt you – there was no stopping her. It was an inevitable thing. A struck nerve turned vicious.

The nerve was struck, the damage done. So here came the storm.

“I don’t know,” You admit honestly, slightly quietly. Did you wish you knew, or did you wish you’d forget all together? Was the fleeting memory better left blurry? Or would the details help you cope with the truth of it all, and the security of now? “I’m not… I don’t know. He was cruel, and disgusting. His teeth were almost brown when he- he-“

You swallow hard, avoiding the Doctor’s gaze. “When he smiled.”

Your eyes can’t bear to raise and see her reaction, but you feel the grip on your waist tighten until you hitch your breath in pain. Only then does it soften, a thumb running over your side in subtle apology even as fire runs through her veins. Anger so hot that it was palpable. You still didn’t need to look at her to know that she was staring down at you, assessing you, mind running with every possible course of what you’d call vengeance and what she’d call retribution.

The words flow out of you now, unable to stop it when the hazy memory bombards all your previously calming senses. It burns in your throat when you speak. You hope she can’t hear the painful strain, or the clench of your teeth, but you know she does. That’s just something she knows. You.

“I tried to be like… like you,” You stress, body fatigued, worried eyes needing the comfort of the Doctor’s gaze; She was safe, though the current blackhole-like-state of her eyes reflected otherwise. “I tried so hard. So you’d be…” You take a shaky breath with your eyes closed, “So you’d be proud of me.”

You laugh, then, a dangerous thing, an almost angry thing. Pitiful, perhaps, was the better word. Embarrassed, maybe. Your head shakes in frustration. At your own failure.

“But I didn’t do it right, or I’m just not cut out for that certain thing, or they just thought I looked too… pathetic,” You ramble, eyes bouncing about the room now, looking at absolutely anything but her. You don’t know the exact expression that she wears. You worry it may be of pity. “I was alone.”

You feel her inhale take a pause, slightly, barely noticeable. A guilty exhale through frowning lips that follows.

You shift again, not acknowledging the pain of your side, or the pain in your heart. Alone. It left scars a lot deeper than the ones on your skin.

“Doctor, I don’t…“ You take a breath even if you know it won’t help. Your vision becomes fuzzy, like seeing through stained glass, and you realize that it’s the gathering of tears.

You swallow. And you look up at her.

“I don’t know why they didn’t just kill me,” You whisper. The tears brimming at the edge of your eyes simply spill at that sentence, at the assertion that you could be dead. Was it ridiculous, then, to complain about what happened? To complain that you had these bruises, because you had the privilege of being alive while others didn’t?

At least you were away from the bodies, now. But they were left alone instead of you.

The Doctor’s hard eyes soften just slightly. They still hold that impending danger, the oncoming storm you’ve come to know, but it’s gentler. Not pity as you had feared, but compassion. Kindness. Understanding. You revel in it, take that sweetness in while it lasted, appreciate the mercifulness.

But your words hurt her. Your words that told the story of fear and misery, words that told the story of when she couldn’t keep you safe as she always, always promised. You knew it hurt; You saw it in the way she didn’t know whether to step closer to you or back away. Because beneath the tender care was worry, and beneath that worry was pain, and beneath that pain was guilt. Guilt that pooled in the irises of her eyes, that tinted the hazel of them a gloomy blue. Guilt at breaking her promise. Guilt at letting someone do this to you.

“I’ll be okay,” You tell her, because what else could you say? It was true, and it seemed good, and with her by your side it was attainable. Beyond that. It was close. She healed your wounds in ways no one ever could, healed your heart even if she broke it. She fixed her mistakes, she made up for her faults – she cared about you. She cared about you.

And she hadn’t meant to leave you.

You knew that, now. You were reassured of it. The red had blinded you, but with her you could see.

“I’ve been worried about the wrong things,” The Doctor concludes, looking down at you in her arms; Her vengeance pushed away, her vibrance returning to the light. “Been so focused on who hurt you, I wasn’t even considering that you’re hurt.”

You just look at her. You know you don’t have to say anything; She’s chastising herself, replacing her actions to better suit your needs.

“Alright,” She continues, a new sweetness in her eyes, a soothing apology to your pains. “Home, then?”

You nod, and she takes a breath, and you take one too.

She hadn’t meant to leave you.

What had she said before?

I’ll spend the rest of my existence vowing to never do it again.

“Yeah, Doctor,” You say softly, and something about it is rainbow. “Home sounds good.”

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you?#the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor #thirteen #the doctor #doctor who #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #thirteen x reader #this is painful #do you hate the color red now?#xoxo #also hi willow i posted are you proud of me

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thewayshedreamed · 3 years

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Congrats on the 800 followers bby you deserve it! I have a good one for you. I slipped and fell in the shower and the only person who can help me is my enemy for nessian 👀👀👀

Well, Sim, it was you who BLEW my word count. I should have seen it coming, I guess 👀

Although, I will say you didn't do it alone. I also combined @maastrash 's prompt "Are you hurt? What happened?" and one from anon, "You're cute when you're all worried."

They all went together so well that I couldn't resist. And as a result, you got this 3k+ beast. RIP 800-word limit.

Anyway, I hope you like it, my love! Enjoy!

Nesta wasn't sure why she had agreed to go to the beach with Feyre, Rhysand, and his brothers. Gwyn had come through in her time of need and agreed to join them, but she'd quickly flipped her allegiances to spend more time on the beach with the others instead of retreating back to the house with Nesta. She had a suspicion it had something to do with a certain tall, dark, and broody man who hoarded his smiles from the public eye.

Unless the public eye belonged to Gwyneth Berdara.

After the long trek to their rented beach house, Nesta stopped at the edge of the dock to knock the sand from her shoes. There was a small shower outside the backdoor to rinse the saltwater and stubborn sand from her body, and Nesta hissed against the stark cold that rained down on her legs. A proper shower was the only thing that was going to combat the chill in her blood, and that realization was enough to solidify her decision to stay inside the rest of the afternoon with a romance novel.

Her towel was full of sand, so she hanged it over the porch railing and headed directly to the bathroom. It was best if she peeled her bikini off in the shower to avoid scattering any lingering sand all over her bedroom, so she moved swiftly into the small bathroom and cranked the water nearly to the warmest setting. The firm grip of her arms around her body did very little to combat the goosebumps on her skin, and she let out a near moan at the feel of the hot water.

She closed the shower door behind her and stood beneath the spray properly to rinse her hair. Her bikini made a loud slopping sound against the tile in the corner. Dealing with it was a task for someone with any motivation beyond warmth and cleanliness.

Nesta lathered her hair and combed a generous amount of conditioner through her strands to help with the detangling process. The wind had created a monster, adding another notch against the beach in her book.

While her conditioner did the Cauldron's work, she grabbed a wash cloth and body wash. As she moved back beneath the spray, her foot slipped over the suds near the drain, but Nesta righted herself with a firm hand against the tile wall. The excessive amount of conditioner wasn't helping matters.

She rinsed her hair and body all at once to get to her lounge clothes as soon as possible. Stepping out of the spray to hang her washcloth on the nearby rack to dry was near torture now that she was properly warmed, and Nesta wasted no time in stepping back into the water for one last hit before shutting it off.

That was her intention, anyway. What happened instead is that her traitorous feet were no match for the slick tile, and the backward steps were all it took to send her careening to the floor. She slapped at the wall to no avail, finding no ally in reach. What she did find was insult to injury when various toiletry bottles rained down on top of her.

She had stupidly tried to brace her fall with her other hand, sending a spark of pain from her palm to her shoulder. Her groan echoed off the walls and the shower showed no mercy as the water rained onto her chest, all over her face.

A booming voice made her eyes snap open, only to snap them shut against the sting of the water.

"Nes?"

Her delay had been too long. The bathroom door burst open, and through the frosted glass, she saw Cassian's imposing form assessing the situation.

"Nesta? Are you hurt? What happened?"

This could not be happening. Of all the fuckers to be in the house at one of her lowest points, it had to be Cassian. Gwyn would be hearing about this.

"Go away."

She cringed against how dejected she sounded. Turning her head and shielding her eyes with her uninjured arm, she found that he did no such thing.

"Cassian," she warned. "Get the fuck out of here. Now."

He propped a hip on the bathroom counter. Arrogant bastard. At least, from what she could tell, his chin was turned up toward the ceiling rather than his gaze being fixed on the frosted glass.

"Something tells me things aren't going well if you've yet to peel yourself off the floor."

Nesta rolled her eyes and turned her face toward the water once more. Maybe she could drown.

"Let me help."

"I thought I was pretty clear. I'm not accepting help from you."

A deep sigh sounded in the bathroom, but before she could snap, his rough voice followed.

"Fine. Don't accept my help. Rhys came with me to grab snacks for the others. I'll have him switch with me."

"No," she roared, cringing against the command in her voice and her lack of options.

Every time she tried to sit up, pain tore through various parts of her body. Her ass, the hip that had taken most of the impact, her shoulder. She needed help, and while she hated the idea of accepting it from Cassian, she would rot in hell before Rhysand helped her out of the shower. How had she found herself in a situation where her only chance at help was the man who spent the majority of his life being as big of a pain in her ass as possible?

His voice sounded again, but it carried away from her. "Rhys, head back without me." His brother's voice came next, but Nesta couldn't hear him over the patter of water in the shower. "Nah, I'm good. Just taking a break from the sun. I'll catch up."

With that, he shut the bathroom door behind him. At least Cassian had the good sense to lie to Rhys rather than recruit any additional attention to her compromising position.

"Alright, Sweetheart. I've got a towel ready. I'm going to open up and shut the water off."

Nesta's breath hitched at the rush of cool air, at the form that cast her in shadow almost entirely. She pulled her legs up and shielded her chest with her good arm, earning a throaty chuckle from her savior.

"I'm not looking. I'd rather when a woman wants me to see them naked."

Why her need to launch jabs at him overpowered her pain was lost on her. "Must have been a while, then."

"Saw a good set out on the beach, actually. She was feeling pretty generous after watching me and Az play volleyball, I guess."

Nesta scowled. That tingling sensation down her spine didn't feel secondary to her injuries at hearing the story.

"You're a pig," she grumbled, but she let Cassian drape the towel over her front and ease her into a sitting position.

"It felt rude not to look."

Her huff of a laugh was genuine. Damn him. He moved to wrap the towel tightly around her shoulders.

"Think you can stand up?"

Nesta grimaced against the soreness in her hip. "Yeah. In a couple of minutes."

Without a word, Cassian hoisted her into his arms with measured gentleness. Her cheek rested against his shoulder since she didn't have her arms free to prop her up, but she barely had the energy anyway.

He maneuvered them out of the tight bathroom and down the hall to her room, easing her onto the edge of her bed. She opened her mouth to say thanks, but he had already spurred into action.

"What did you want to wear?"

"I'll get it."

He shot her a glare. "Fine. I'll pick."

Nesta growled her frustration, but Cassian only ticked his eyebrows upward in challenge. She hadn't realized initially that he wore only his swim trunks, half of his black hair pulled back and out of his face. The sun added color to his already bronze skin and left a soft blush on his cheeks that accented his hazel eyes. And she, to the contrary, was a lump beneath a massive towel. One that had managed to injure herself during a simple shower, evidenced by the soaked strands of hair plastered to her face and shoulders.

"There's a large night shirt in my suitcase and some sleep shorts."

Cassian grabbed them before turning toward her, a hand gripping the back of his neck. "Anything... underneath?"

Nesta allowed a sardonic laugh. "Underwear are for people with the use of both their arms."

He cleared his throat and left the clothes next to her on the bed. With a final instruction to call for him if she needed anything, he was gone.

She assessed the clothing and picked the shirt up first. One of her arms was through a sleeve in no time, but the second one was another story entirely. With a defeated whimper she gave up, dropping her arms into her lap with a hiss.

"Cassian!"

No response. Maybe he didn't hear her; the house was rather large. Her voice was louder the second time.

"Cassian!"

A muffled thud sounded, followed by a quick, "Coming!"

He appeared at the threshold of her door, dripping with water and suds. A large towel was wrapped around his waist, his grip white-knuckled to keep it in place.

"Everything alright? Where's the fire?"

Nesta blinked at him. "You said to call you if I needed anything," she pointed out, running her eyes over his state in accusation.

Cassian let out a long, suffering sigh. "I meant it, but you said you had this part covered. I take a 3-minute shower, tops."

"Well, I don't have it covered."

There was more bite to her voice than she'd intended, but self-pity and shame were settling into her bones. She hugged the nightshirt tighter against her body to serve as some form of armor, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Cassian's shoulders sagged, but she barely noticed in favor of watching beads of water travel down his torso, over his strong calves, and make a small puddle on the floor below. "I'm sorry. I was full of sweat and sand. I thought you'd be more likely to take help if I was clean."

Something in her chest softened at his forethought, even more so since he was right.

"Go finish your shower," she relented, settling her hips deeper into the mattress. "I can wait until you're done. I just— I need some help with my clothes."

He was on the balls of his feet, ready to haul himself straight to the shower. The water beneath his feet made her breath hitch. The words left her before she could think better of them.

"Careful! Don't rush." He blinked as if seeing her for the first time, but his usual cocky grin eventually stretched across lips. "I can't help you if you fall, too. And I'm not keeping you company on the ground until the rest of them come back."

Cassian's smile grew. He offered her a wink before he replied, "You're cute when you're all worried."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Go."

He hurried off on balanced feet, whether that was on Nesta's orders or a natural grace, she wasn't sure. While she waited, she opted to set them up as best as possible to make the process quick and painless. Well, minimally painful, considering there was a layer of awkwardness that was going nowhere fast. That was without counting the actual physical pain she would no doubt endure.

With a pathetic swatting motion, she knocked her sleep shorts to the floor and began shuffling them around with her feet. She'd managed to slip one into the proper leg hole before she heard Cassian's rich laugh from the doorway.

"Stubborn woman," he mused, seemingly allowing a sliver of affection to slip through. Nesta knew better.

She scowled, turning her chin up to make sure he knew how unwelcome his teasing was. He laughed harder and dropped to his knees in front of her, adjusting the tee he’d pulled over his head on his way into the room.

"What do you want to put on first? You're half-committed to both."

"Let's go with the shirt. It's long enough to cover me while we work on the shorts." Cassian nodded, reaching toward the crumpled article of clothing in her lap. Nesta jerked back to establish some expectations before moving forward. "You're about to see me naked."

"Yeah, probably," he sighed, as if it was a burden to him, too. "I won't look more than necessary though."

"Okay, good. And this doesn't change anything, so don't start acting weird around me. We take this to the grave, too. We'll never hear the end of it otherwise."

Cassian bit the inside of his cheek, pursing his lips in a failed attempt to hide his amusement. "You have my word."

He gently peeled the shirt from her grasp, sliding each sleeve beyond the crooks of her elbows before pulling the opening over her head. Nesta hissed at the pinch of pain through her shoulder but bit her tongue.

"I know. I'm sorry." He pulled the fabric down her sides and over her back. The backs of his knuckles dragged across her soft skin, and she barely contained her shiver.

Clearing his throat, he looked to the floor where her shorts were still tangled around her feet. He got to work on straightening them and allowed her to slip her other foot into the proper place. He didn't dare look up at her through his next request.

"Think you could put your weight on the leg that's not as sore?"

Nesta swallowed and said, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Use my shoulders to brace your weight, too.”

Her hands trembled as she reached for him. He was solid beneath her, the muscles in his shoulders unyielding under her grip. She had to resist flexing her fingers more firmly in a test of their resilience.

Cassian eased her shorts upward, the roughness of his knuckles tracing the same blazing path as they had over her back. His gaze was fixed resolutely on the floor, yet he managed to release them at the proper moment. The soft pop of the elastic snapped her out of whatever trance she was under, but the echo remained in the feel of his warm hands easing her hips back down to the mattress.

"Maybe we should have someone take a look at you; make sure you're okay." His brows came together when he realized she was already shaking her head in refusal.

"I'll rest a bit, and I'll be fine. I may be sore tomorrow, but I'm good."

Without a word, Cassian braced one of his legs outward and scooped Nesta into his arms. It grated her nerves how easily he'd lifted them both into a standing position.

"What are you doing? You can't make me go to the doctor."

Cassian leaned back and shook his head, trying to get his rogue hair out of his face. "I'm not manhandling you to the doctor, Nes. Settle down." His bottom lip jutted out to try and blow the strands away while he walked. "I'm taking you to the couch and getting you ice."

Oh. Well, that hadn't been what she expected. The gesture was enough to have her mindlessly raise a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. His eyes snapped to hers, his steps slowing to a stop in front of the couch. Their faces were close enough that she could run her nose along his if she wanted to, but she definitely didn't. Not even at the feel of his firm chest heaving against her.

They stayed that way, transfixed by the contact that was somehow more intimate than when he had draped clothes over her naked body. Their breathing settled into a rhythm together, and Nesta couldn't resist tracing the path of his sharp jaw. His slight stubble scraped against the pads of her fingers, all the way to his chin, where she grazed over his skin with her thumb. She snatched her hand away like he'd burned her.

Cassian's throat bobbed, and his fingers flexed against her ribs. His other hand did the same against her thigh, except his thumb traced a soft, idle path back and forth along the sensitive skin at the back. He made no moves to put her down.

Nesta knew she would regret the loss of his warmth immediately, but the line they flirted was thin. Not to mention, it was irresponsible to succumb to such a base urge considering, any other time, they would be poised to rip each others' heads off.

The shrieks of children at the neighboring beach house snapped their attention to something beyond the bubble they'd created for themselves. Cassian eased her to the couch and positioned pillows around her to keep as much pressure off of her aching joints as possible. He threw a blanket over her legs before heading to the nearby kitchen for ice.

Nesta watched his retreat with shameless appreciation. How had she never stopped to look at him through her current lens? Doing so may have been enough to make her more agreeable in nature. The thought made worry sink in her gut with what had transpired moments before, and she craved the oddly familiar banter they'd engaged in since he showed up to the scene of her demise.

"So," she called, eyes fixed on the intricately patterned throw pillow beneath her injured arm, "how much did you see?"

His voice was closer than she'd expected, but she managed not to startle. "Uh— I mean. I saw some things."

Nesta fixed her glare on him, and he gave her a sideways smile while he placed the ice strategically over her shoulder. She hissed against the cold, earning a look of apology.

"What things?"

He let out along breath. "A bit of everything, really. Not on purpose. " A slight blush turned the tips of his ears pink, but Nesta didn't comment on it. "Mostly, you know—" He gestured back and forth between his pecs. "—everything else was more... indirect, I guess."

Nesta groaned, allowing her forehead to fall to her good hand, cradling it in her palm. Cassian moved to the nearby armchair and took a sip of his bottled water.

"Don't be embarrassed, Sweetheart," he soothed, albeit mockingly. "They're not the worst ones I've seen today."

—

They had watched a movie in loaded silence until the others trudged up to the house near sunset. Nesta gave the cliff notes of how she'd wound up injured on the couch, making no mention of Cassian's help. The last thing they needed was an onslaught of questions from their nosy friends.

"I thought you were coming back out there. What happened to you?"

Cassian's brows drew together at Rhys' question. "Well, I saw Nesta laid up on the couch and offered to watch a movie with her. I lost track of time."

Rhysand eyed him skeptically, but no one questioned it. Cassian redirected everyone's attention to the matter of what they would cook as a group that night, but he was sure to give Nesta strict orders to stay planted on the couch. Overbearing prick.

With so many hands on deck, dinner was ready quickly. They all settled around the table, and Gwyn had made it a point to cushion Nesta's chair with pillows before letting her sit down. Her best friend must have sensed the verbal lashing that awaited her in the privacy of their shared room that night.

Laughter filled the space while they told stories from the day's events. Apparently, Azriel had rescued Gwyn from a feared creature of the deep while taking a dip in the water. He had hardly been able to stop laughing himself to tears long enough to complete the epic tale of how he defeated the bundle of seaweed that had threatened Gwyn's life so mercilessly. The latter hadn't found it quite so amusing, but Az offered her a broad smile in apology.

Nesta wasn't sure she had ever seen one quite so wide on his face, and holy gods. If she'd thought him to be beautiful before, she had been sorely mistaken.

As they usually did, Rhysand and Feyre settled close to each other as the other talked. Rhys was busy murmuring things into Feyre's ear that made her cheeks as red as Gwyn's sunburn, which earned a proper warning from Cassian to "stop being gross with his little sister". Nesta agreed with him enough to refrain from reminding him that he was in no way related to Feyre.

"Don't mind him, Darling," Rhys purred. "He's pouting because the only action he'll see during this trip will be self-directed."

Cassian nostrils flared in annoyance, and for whatever reason, Nesta found herself rising to his defense.

"I don't know," she sang, "I hear Cassian saw a pretty good set today."

A chorus of questions broke out, but he only had eyes for Nesta. The gleam in his eyes told her he knew she hadn't been referring to the ones flashed to him and Azriel after the beach volleyball game.

"I did," he agreed, sipping some of the amber liquid in his glass. "Perfect, actually."

The questions continued, and Azriel reluctantly began recounting the tale of he and Cassian's victory flashing. Nesta used her good arm to raise her wine to her lips, mouthing a subtle thank you over the glass for everything he'd done for her. The least she could do was preserve a bit of his dignity.

Cassian lifted his class in mock cheers and said everything he needed to with a single wink.

The pleasure was all mine.

#nessian #nessian au #acotar au #cassian x nesta #nessian hurt comfort #nessian tension #enemies prompt #800 followers celebration #twsd writes #twsd fics #perseusannabeth #sim tag

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

Soulmate September

Series Summary- a collection of one shots exploring different ships and au concepts. The list I created and am following can be found here.

Day One: Sparks Fly

Summary: Virgil goes deeper into the forest than he’s ventured before in the hopes of gathering more food. He finds more than he bargained for when a fairy claiming to be the prince of the forest begins to follow him.

Warnings: food mention. If there’s more please let me know!

Ships: Prinxiety (Virgil x Roman)

Prompt: Feel a spark when you touch your soulmate

WC: 3959

AO3

Tugging his long, dark cloak impatiently away from a jagged branch, Virgil skid down the steep embankment swearing the entire way. He didn’t often venture this far into the woods but he was getting just desperate enough to find gatherable ingredients he had decided to risk it. Honestly as long as he kept his eyes straight ahead and avoided the beckoning twinkles of light between the trees he should be fine. Thankfully this time of year the river was reduced to a large creek at best, making crossing to the other side where he was certain to find berries and mushrooms aplenty quite easy. It was only a matter of keeping his balance on the slimy rocks that normally made up the river bed, a skill he had mastered before he had even been entrusted as a gatherer.

Hiking his pants up to just below his knees he carefully adjusted his pack to be more balanced and draped the bottom of his cloak over his arm for good measure. The last thing he needed was to be scolded for dripping mud all over the floors again when he returned to the kitchens. Absentmindedly rubbing the stinging memory from the back of his head he hopped to the first rock, breath hissing between his teeth as the cold water rushed over his heated skin. With another breath he was perched on the second rock and then the third, toes gripping the moss in a mostly unneeded measure for stability. Wiggling a bit so his pack would recenter he eyed his next target, muscles tensing in preparation for the bigger leap.

“What are you doing?”

Squawking in alarm, Virgil tipped back dangerously, arms pinwheeling as his feet lost their purchase and let him fall backwards into the creek. Taking a brief moment to thank the gods he hadn’t landed on a rock he sat up quickly, sputtering as water ran down his face and soaked his shirt more than it already was. His cloak dragged behind him as he tried to get up, aiding only in him slipping back again with an unceremonial splash.

“Oh my dear I didn’t mean to frighten you!” There was more mirth than malice in the voice but that didn’t stop Virgil from flinching away from the strange hand that reached towards him. It retreated as he shoved sopping hair from his eyes and squinted against the sun to try and see what idiot made it a habit to scare people when they were jumping on wet stones. His breath caught when a face finally came into focus, sunlight forming a halo around the most beautiful person Virgil had ever seen.

His brightness was almost blinding, with shining red curls looking like spun gold in the light. Sharp features complemented kind brown eyes and tanned skin flecked with earth. Like Virgil he was barefoot, but instead of wearing sturdy pants and shirt to protect himself from the woods, autumn-red pants flowed just below his knees with an equally flowy white shirt tucked into them and unbuttoned to the chest. Despite the darkness of his skin he seemed to radiate his own gentle light that somehow made the sun look dull by comparison, making Virgil idly wonder if this was what seeing a god was like.

“Prince actually, but you do know how to inflate the ego.” The man chuckled.

Face burning with the realization that he had not only said that outloud but he had also been sitting in the water gaping like a stunned fish for entirely too long. Mumbling low curses under his breath he once again struggled to his feet while waving away the other’s outstretched hand impatiently. A fairy prince coming to pester someone with zero assets or connections- the fae were worse pranksters than they had the reputation for. Sighing, he decided to wade the rest of the way through the creek since he was already soaked, leaving the stranger behind in hopes he would stay there.

“So you never did answer.” No such luck apparently. “You do realize what part of the forest you’re in right?”

Virgil gritted his teeth. “I don’t wish to consort with your kind fae. I’ll only be in here for a little while.”

“My kind?” Virgil winced as he detected insult in his tone. “My kind are the reason your kind feel safe enough to traipse wherever you please regardless of obvious territorial lines!”

Virgil glanced at him quickly as he began scrambling up the incline of the bank. “Territorial lines?”

The man drew himself up proudly, keeping pace with Virgil as he effortlessly stepped his way up the embankment rather than crawling. “This part of the forest is mine, a long way from the edge of the river by your route. I could turn you into dandelion fluff for trespassing here.”

Virgil raised an unimpressed brow as he searched around for his next handhold. “Mhm, I’m sure you could.”

Smirking as the other man stomped his foot impatiently he made it up and over to the other side, slinging his pack around to see how damaged the things he had already gathered were from his earlier fall. Shoulders sinking as he surveyed the smashed contents he shot a glare at the stranger, who was currently standing on tiptoes with his arms crossed trying to see inside the bag.

“Humans used to grovel at our feet, what happened to that? Also is it custom to smash ingredients well before they’re cooked? I’m not caught up with the latest human affairs. Terribly dull, most of them.”

Gritting his teeth Virgil dumped the berries and mushrooms he had collected onto the forest floor, water that had seeped in from the top sloshing out as well and coming out like a weird, thick juice for all the mush everything had turned into. “They only smashed because I fell- something I never do unless someone decides it's a good idea to startle someone who’s trying to balance.”

The man looked unimpressed. “Why were you coming over this way anyway? There should be plenty of the things you were collecting on the other side of the river...and much closer to the nearest village too might I add.”

“Fall makes the pickings slimmer the closer to the village you are. Other people gather, animals eat what ‘s left, sparcer trees means more sun means things ripen and fall faster. I was trying my luck further in.”

“And you came alone?”

“None of your business.” Virgil hauled up the pack and stood. “I’m a tracker so I’m the one that usually gets sent out.”

“Oh really? Must be an expert to come out this late.”

“Sure.” Grunting, Virgil stepped over a rotting log and began pushing his way through bushes.

The man snorted. “Expert tracker- when I could hear you tromping through here from across the forest.”

“Your words not mine. And stop following me, I’m only here to gather ingredients.”

They continued on in silence for a while, the fae following behind him near silently as he kept an eye out for anything edible. The crops had been plentiful this year but berries, nuts and mushrooms weren’t something locally grown, so gatherers routinely went into the forest to search for them to dry for the winter. Fast protein was always welcome in the harsher months when tracking fresh meat became a dangerous chore.

The forest was quiet here, nearly serene if it wasn’t for the fae still following him no matter how harsh a path he took- not that he was having much luck finding easier ones. He imagined he could easily get lost here if he wasn’t careful so he kept an eye on the direction of the shadows and any landmarks he spotted so he couldn’t get turned around. Fair folk were rarely hostile towards travelers as long as you met them on their level and stated your intentions clearly. Most of the time a certain level of sass while only answering them when they were curious served Virgil just fine. Of course, they didn’t normally follow him either but he remained unconcerned so long as the forest didn’t turn hostile. He didn’t think he’d succeeded in pissing the other off that much...hopefully.

It was some time later when Virgil found his cloak snared on a branch as he was struggling to get over a particularly high log. Crawling under it hadn’t been an option so now he was stuck straddling the thing awkwardly with the cloak snagging in one direction and his pants in the other. Blowing out a frustrated breath he startled as the fae appeared a foot from his face, brown eyes searching his green ones as he struggled not to fall backwards for a second time.

“What are you tracking anyway?”

“What?”

“You’re a tracker, so what are you tracking?”

Virgil resumed trying to lift himself enough to get his other leg over without ripping his pants. “Nothing at the moment. Not that, again, it’s any of your business.”

The fae glanced at the dirt under his nails and hummed thoughtfully. “Mushrooms is it?”

Groaning, Virgil sat back down and instead reached behind him to try and tug his cloak free. “Partly.”

Trying and failing to get his cloak untangled he stumbled as his feet found solid ground after dangling for the better part of ten minutes, nearly overbalancing for the third time that day as the fabric went limp in his stranglehold. Looking up he saw the spot on the river bank he had climbed over not ten minutes before with a significantly lighter pack. Confused, he slung it around and peeked inside only to see it nearly overflowing with varieties of mushrooms he had never seen mixed with the more common ones he had found before. Opening his mouth to speak he quickly shut it as a light breeze carried faint laughter through the trees.

“Feel free to thank me later.” A faint voice called.

Looking down again, he carefully closed the pack and looked up at the sky. It was barely encroaching late afternoon...would anyone believe he had gathered these that quickly? Deciding to just say he had gotten turned around and found a good spot if anyone asked he started hiking his way back as slowly as he could. He’d have to find something to offer as thanks when he came back.

-----

“You’re back.”

Virgil shuffled around a low shrub between the trees awkwardly. “Mhm.”

“Do you need more mushrooms?” The fae crouched on a low branch, balancing on his tip toes as he watched Virgil struggle through the underbrush.

“They asked me to come back- ow!” Stumbling away from the bush he knelt down to tear away some thorns sticking out of his pants. “Since I was so successful yesterday they asked me to come back to find more. Among other things.”

“They?”

“People from the kitchens.” He started off in a slightly different direction, seeing sunlight a little ways away and hoping for a clearing.

“What else do you need?”

“A variety of things to dry for the winter. Nothing to concern yourself with. I won’t invade your forest for too long.”

“A shame. My forest is beautiful but I’ve found I enjoy looking at you more.”

Virgil stopped in his tracks as he tried to process the comment. Was this a trick? Some weird fae flirting technique to get his guard down so he gave away his soul? Which reminded him-

“Not because of that comment, but for helping me the other day.” He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a smooth skipping stone, the surface a perfect, uniform pale gray. He knew fairies rarely had use for human materials but things like this could be enchanted or used for entertainment- the more pleasing to the eye the better. “Here. And...thank you.”

The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of the stone, taking it carefully and running his fingers gently over the smooth surface. “For me?”

“Don’t expect it again, I don’t expect anything more from you.” Hoping that would settle it, Virgil continued on in the direction of the clearing. Fae were always tricky to get involved with and with the fall harvests approaching, continuing to speak with one claiming to be a prince wasn’t something he would allow himself to get involved with- at most for the sake of the village and at the very least for his own sanity.

“A pity really.” The fae called from behind him. “I could help you find whatever you need.”

Gritting his teeth, Virgil resisted. “I don’t need any help.”

“Right, expert tracker and all that.” He startled as his pest of a companion appeared in front of him waving a hand dismissively. “This is my forest and I can bend it however it suits me at the moment. Right now it suits me to help you, why won’t you let me?”

“I don’t want to owe you anything. Owing things is a risky business- especially with fae. No offense.”

The fae sniffed indignantly, putting a hand dramatically over his heart. “No offense indeed! I suppose this wound was here before you arrived, it’s fine really.”

Virgil glanced over as the other man draped a hand over his eyes and leaned back slightly, sighing loud and deliberate and trying to disguise the fact he was peeking at his human companion from under his arm. Virgil couldn’t help it- he barked out a laugh he managed to quickly catch with a hand slapped over his mouth. Watching as a wide grin took over the fae’s features he realized he was too late and the damage had been done. He stalked over and jabbed the air in front of Virgil with a perfectly manicured finger.

“You like my company!”

Blinking, Virgil lowered his hand. “Absolutely not!”

“You do! You find me amusing! Dare I say charming!”

Snorting, Virgil readjusted his pack. “Uh-huh. Nothing like a raving lunatic spouting he’s royalty to get the giggle juice flowing.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe fae will say anything to strike whatever emotion they want in a human. Whether it be fear or awe, the end goal is always to lead someone astray.”

Glancing over he startled when he saw the other man actually looked a bit hurt at his words, head down and eyes flicking to the side with a tight draw to the lips. A trick...obviously. But one that had him reconsidering his choice of words.

“Look I-”

The fae held up a hand. “It’s okay! I’ll prove it to you! You need mushrooms and berries and the like right?”

“Uh- yeah?” Virgil watched as the fae stepped forward and furrowed his brow in concentration. Bringing his arms up towards the clearing he swung his arms out and up before slouching tiredly.

Virgil squinted against the sunlight shining overhead, looking around in wonder. They were in a large clearing absolutely teeming with enough plantlife to fill his pack ten times over. Dappled shade dominated at least half of the clearing as the sun shone through the bright trees at an angle. Soft grass soothed his aching feet that had previously been treading on nothing but snapping sticks and long-dead leaves. It was beautiful- and glancing over at his companion as bright gold shot through his hair and the sudden calming warmth relaxed him- Virgil could tell he was in his element.

“Did you just use magic in front of me?” He honestly hadn’t thought the fae would go that far to prove a point.

“Watch regular fair folk top that for ability.” the fae mumbled under his breath. Speaking up, he flashed a bright smile and punched a hand lightly onto his hip. “Of course! Got the point across didn’t it? Never seen a fairy bend a forest before?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen a fairy perform any magic before. Usually they keep that to themselves. Honestly none of the good neighbors have paid me any mind before whether I was in their territory or not.”

“Oh.” The fae sputtered uselessly for a moment, fluttering his head to his hair to fidget with the curls. “Well, clearly that’s their loss. Berries, was it?”

Face burning, Virgil nodded mutely and made his way over to a far tree that looked like it promised chestnuts in the higher branches. He never figured having company, however forced upon him it was, would be so nice.

Later, when Virgil’s pack was practically bursting at the seams, he reluctantly turned towards home. The afternoon had been wonderful, gathering enough to make the people in the village happy while listening to the other man as he sang almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it. Rich, low tones filled the clearing with a bright melody that Virgil didn't recognize but found himself humming along to- much to his companions utter delight.

It had surprised him when he began singing popular festival songs after that, thinking that fair folk never bothered much with humans and therefore wouldn’t know many traditional tunes. But when Virgil had started softly singing along, offering a wry grin when the other man had started excitedly bouncing on his toes from having a singing partner he couldn’t bring himself to care. Eventually both of them had started getting louder and louder, swaying along to an invisible beat as they had continued collecting what was needed. Another reason Virgil was reluctant to return to the village for fear their noise had reached ears he’d rather not explain himself to. He found it strange that he felt drawn to stay, stranger still that he didn’t immediately think it was some trick on his companions' part. He just- enjoyed his company and wished he could come into the forest to actually visit rather than just his job. Pressing his lips together he turned around, smiling faintly and gesturing to his back.

“You really didn’t have to help, or keep helping. But thank you again-”

“Roman!” The fairy blurted at his slight pause.

Smirking, Virgil cocked his head to one side. “Aren’t I supposed to give you my name first?”

Roman shuffled slightly. “Yes well, seems a shame that if you were to think of me you’d have no name to give the thoughts.”

“Bold of you to assume I think of you after leaving the woods.”

“How could you not?” Striking a bold pose he sniffed indignantly. “It’d be an insult really, wounding me so deeply.”

Chuckling Virgil turned and started walking away. “I’ll be sure to bring bandages next time.”

“It’s a date, Doom and Gloom!”

“That a promise, Sir Sing-a-lot?”

“If my serenades are what brings you back I shall renounce my princehood and become a siren.”

“Your voice is certainly deadly enough, leads to something prettier though.”

The forest was silent for a moment, before Virgil began walking as quickly as possible without stabbing his feet to the edge of the woods. Why had he said that? Did he mean that? Of course he meant it but why on the gods green earth had he said it? Could he even come back now? Chest tight with nervous anxiety and head swimming he didn't look back as he dashed out of the trees.

Though if he had he would have seen Roman standing stock still, face a mask of shock but slowly splitting into a flustered smile below rapidly reddening cheeks.

-----

When Virgil stepped into the creek the following day, it was without his pack. Early evening sunlight drifted through the trees as a slight breeze ruffled the cloak around his shoulders. Pushing his dark hair away from his eyes he surveyed the banks for any sign of Roman, deflating a bit when he saw none. It was stupid to think he could get away with saying something so forthright without reaping anything but negative consequences. It was just as well he supposed, consorting with fair folk never led to anything good after all. He had just- hoped this would be different.

Fair folk and humans rarely mixed well, platonic or not, and once he found his soulmate he was doubtful they would enjoy the thought of fraternizing so casually with one of the good neighbors- especially one as powerful as Roman appeared to be. If he knew anything of the fae it was that one didn't just casually bend an entire forest to their will with so little effort by themselves. Sighing, he turned to leave, feet missing the wispy grass of the clearing as they crunched through dead leaves.

“Going so soon?” Whirling around he was met with a charming smile, Roman balancing on a rock in the middle of the creek with a hip thrust out cockily.

“I thought- I didn’t think you’d come back around.”

“If you were trying to get me to leave, your methods are wanting my friend.” Roman squinted at him curiously. “No pack today?”

Virgil shuffled a bit before answering. “I- just wanted to see you.”

Blinking in surprise, Roman smiled warmly. “What an honor it is that our wants should align. Care to join me?”

Face burning, Virgil was quick to hop to the first rock, finding his balance easily. Keeping his head down he stepped from rock to slippery rock, finally getting close to where he assumed Roman would be. Looking up however, he didn’t expect to be quite as close as he had gotten, vision suddenly filled with deep brown eyes surrounded by flaming red curls. Yelping he tipped backwards, arms reaching forward in a desperate attempt to not repeat their first meeting even as he prepared to go home soaking once again.

To his surprise, the riverbed never rose to meet him, instead finding himself surrounded by the scent of wildflowers and moss in the most comforting embrace he’d ever been in. Virgil tilted his face up when he heard Roman gasp in wonder, his own eyes widening in disbelief as he leaned back to take in their surroundings. Colorful sparks seemed to catch the evening sunset as they bounced off and around them, falling like stars imbued with the colors of the sky and sizzling as they hit the water only to be immediately replaced by ten more.

Leaning back but still catching each other’s arms they watched as the sparks continued to fly around them in a frenzied shower, dimming the already fading sun itself in their wake. Virgil watched as the light caught itself in Roman’s eyes, flecking the brown with golds and brilliant reds and deep purples. Seeing his face literally light up in amazement and wonder, Virgil couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, then tilting his head back and laughing out loud.

“What- why are you laughing?” Receiving no answer, Roman grinned uncertainly. “Do I have something on my face?”

Shaking his head, Virgil stifled another bout of laughter to answer. “I’ve never seen the sparks of soulmates before. Are they supposed to be this dramatic or is it just because of you?”

Smile turning more genuine and laughing himself, Roman let go of his arms and instead wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted, twirling them around with a sure step even as the water splashed around his feet. Setting him down gently, he rested his forehead against Virgil and held him as close as he could.

“Maybe both- knowing me, probably more of the latter. Do you really mind?”

The sparks were dying down as the sky darkened and yet to Virgil his companion still stood bright enough that he feared nothing the darkness could threaten him with. Leaning impossibly closer he touched Roman’s nose to his own and smiled softly.

“Absolutely not.”

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#false writes #sanders sides #soulmate september #ts soulmate september #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #fae roman sanders #fairy prince roman sanders #tw food mention #my writing

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ultimate-sidemen-imagines · 3 years

Text

A Not So Happy Anniversary

Title: A Not So Happy Anniversary

Pairing: Reader/Harry

Word Count: 3,151

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT

Summary: You and Harry have a long distance relationship. When Harry messes up and misses your three year anniversary, you confront him face to face.

Author’s Note: Ladies and gents, it feels good to be back. My inbox is open to requests. Let me know what you think!

You were furious with him.

Completely and utterly furious with him.

He had done this to you a million times, you always had forgiven him and moved on. But this? This was definitely something you couldn’t let go.

Both you and Harry had been dating for three years now, not a moment did you regret the decision to date the famous "wroetoshaw" on YouTube. You would be the first one to admit that his fanbase and everything that came with being labeled as his girlfriend terrified you but Harry made it worth it. Thankfully, the both of you had managed to keep your relationship away from the public. Fans not in your personal lives eliminated any unnecessary stress you both didn’t need. You were happy, he was happy. You guys barely fought. But that was about to change tonight.

Harry lived in two places: Guernsey and London. He traveled back between the two constantly which always made you a little bit upset. You understood why he'd want to live in London, of course you did. When you had gone out there with him, even you struggled to leave London once your time was up. A mix of the city life and the fact most of Harry’s friends lived there - it was a no brainer.

But being stranded in Guernsey while Harry was away in London had been the first major roadblock in your relationship. There would be long amounts of time that Harry would be in London, leaving you by yourself at home and missing your boyfriend. He'd always come back eventually and apologize in a shower of kisses. You couldn't help yourself but forgive him but this was too far now.

You stormed off back inside your small little flat, flipping off any guys that whistled at you in your short, black mini-dress while doing so. You had decided to get dressed up since tonight was a pretty big deal - the three year milestone with Harry. Your anniversary was today, something that you had reminded Harry about for two weeks. He promised over and over again that he would be home on time for your anniversary and that he'd meet you at your favorite restaurant for a romantic meal. Long story short, you had been sitting at the table for two hours with no sign of Harry. He'd let you down.

You burst through the front door of your flat, throwing your heels off to the floor and locking the door with both locks. At least that way, Harry couldn't get in if he got there in the morning. You sniffled, feeling yourself now start to get upset more than angry. How could he do this? He promised. You’d always forgiven him for being late to come home before but this just felt like a slap in the face.

A second later, you were at the fridge - taking out a bottle of wine and taking a swig from it. You knew it was stupid to try and numb the pain with alcohol, it would only leave you feeling like shit in the morning. You shook your head and put the bottle away, deciding to just go to bed and forget about Harry until the morning.

It was about half an hour later when you had finally gone to bed, wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts and sweats. You were scrolling through Twitter to see if Harry had written anything yet no tweets came up for today. You were a little concerned at that but once you remembered just why you were angry with them, any feelings of being concerned were out the window. You turned off your phone and placed it on your side table - not being able to avoid the framed photo of you and Harry sitting there. At the sight of it, you quickly turned off your lamp and went to sleep.

"Y/N, Y/N. Baby, wake up." You felt yourself being shaken out of your dream, your name being repeated over and over again. Eventually, your dream of a happy anniversary slipped away and your eyes fluttered open.

You saw a dark figure over you in the bed, causing you to scream out. The figure put his hand over your mouth, trying to reach over to turn on the light as you struggled against his hand. "Babe! Stop! It's me! Harry!" He exclaimed in a loud whisper, turning on the dim lamp light to reveal himself.

You calmed down as soon as you realized it was him, shoving him off you and sitting up in the bed. "For fuck sake Harry, you can't just hover over me in pitch darkness at-" You looked over at the time. "2:30 in the fucking morning!"

"How the hell did you get in here anyway? I locked the front door with both locks." You grumbled, crossing as arms as Harry raised an eyebrow

"Yeah, I noticed that. I had to climb up a floor outside and get in through your window." He motioned the open window before shooting you an amused look. "I told you that you needed to lock your windows."

"And you need to take the hint when I don’t want you in the flat." You grumbled, before grabbing one of your pillows and throwing it at him. "Harold, leave. I don't want to fucking talk to you or even look at you right now."

"C’mon babe, don’t be like that. I know you missed me." He joked, only making the situation worse in pure Harry style. How the hell could he be making jokes and not even acknowledge how badly he had messed up? You just glared at him, shoving him off the edge of your bed and laying back down. "Go to the couch - we’ll talk in the morning when you’re actually ready to have a serious conversation.”

"Baby, come on. I'm joking." He cooed as you just ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. Harry bit his lip and sat back on the bed again next to you, watching your body turn away from him. He took the peaceful moment to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before running a finger down your arm softly.

"Harry, I’ll seriously do something I’ll regret if you don’t get out and give me some space." You seethed, though Harry didn't budge.

"Your threats don't make you scary, babe. You're like a hamster." He teased before he decided to get serious - he knew you'd really kick him out of the flat if he kept pulling jokes as such. "Look I'm sorry, okay?"

"Sorry for what, Harry? Missing our anniversary, maybe? Maybe promising you'd be home yet you didn't come back on time. Really? I always let it go but you crossed a fucking line this time." You shot back at him.

"My flight got delayed, okay?" Harry admitted in defeat. "The plane was having engine failure so we couldn't take off in time. I had to sit on that plane for ages, I only just landed an hour ago." He said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. "I'm really sorry that I missed our dinner. I'll make it up to you, okay? Please don't be angry with me. It’s not my fault that Gatwick is proper shit."

"No Harry, I will be angry at you." You said annoyed, still refusing to turn your body towards him. "Okay fair enough, your flight got pushed back far. But you could've come back to Guernsey days ago so you wouldn't miss our anniversary or maybe actually spend some time with me - but no. You're too busy partying it up in London with all your friends and all the girls that probably want to sleep with you the first chance they get. I know there’s gonna be one day where you just don’t come back to Guernsey for me and that’ll be the end of us."

"Babe, where is all this coming from? You know when we started dating that I said I’d be travelling back and forth." Harry frowned, knowing your anger was coming from something more than him missing dinner tonight. He hated to see you aggravated over this topic. Especially when all his friends knew just how much he loved you and how loyal he was. He knew that you weren’t exactly the biggest fan of the amount of female attention he received online. He understood that. But it did bother him seeing you truly believe that he’d never come back home to you one day. “What makes you think I’d ever do anything like that to you?”

"I’m just scared, Harry." You whispered back at him. "I'm very scared of what could happen while you're in London while I'm stuck here." You closed your eyes and tried to block everything out. Until you felt him turn you on your back. You opened your eyes slowly to look up at Harry hovering over you. You felt your heart skip a beat looking up at him in the dim light. Even when you were upset and mad with him, he still had the power to take your breath away.

"You're mad, you know that? Absolutely crazy." Harry stated, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. "You think I'd get bored of you? Seriously? Take a look in the fucking mirror, Y/N." He teased you before he returned to neutral. “Whatever I’ve done to make you believe any of what you just said? I’m so sorry, babe. The last three years I’ve had with you have been the best of my life. I would never violate you like that.”

“You know I also work in London too - doing all the Sidemen shoots and videos. I’m building that brand more and more to make sure that I can always come home whenever I want. I’m doing it so that we can live comfortably, that I can take you on holidays and help you pay for this place while I’m away. Never once have I been in London and not missed you, Y/N. I know I’m definitely far from perfect but I won’t let you think that I don’t love you. Cause I do, so fucking much.”

He leaned down and placed kisses down the side of your face - pressing a quick peck on your lips before moving down to your neck.

"I fucking hate you sometimes." You insulted, gasping when you felt him leave love bites on the certain spot on your neck that drove you crazy. You snaked a hand into his hair when he did so, feeling yourself wanting him more rather than wanting to punch him back to London.

"I sincerely doubt that you hate me right now." He said in a cocky tone, pulling his head back to admire the hickies he had left on your neck and smirking down at you.

"Shut the fuck up." You growled, grabbing his fistful of his jumper and pulling his face back down to yours. You slammed your lips back against his, the whole action coming from both anger at him missing your anniversary dinner and lust at the same time. You knew there was love in your actions as well but you were more focused on other things at hand.

Harry did a pretty good job at keeping up with the pace of your lips against his, deepening it and taking the moment to nip at your bottom lip. You moaned softly at that before your hands were underneath his clothes, practically ripping them off him and throwing them off to the side. He did the same with you, the both of you continuing to keep your lips together almost like it was a form of life source.

It wasn't long before the couple were now fully naked, Harry's body pressing against yours as you made out. Something about his skin pressed against yours always gave you a funny feeling in your stomach - such a warm and safe feeling. You knew that you loved this boy after three years of dating, you only hoped you'd be able to communicate that through this.

Harry pulled back after a while, leaning over to the bedside table to retrieve a condom while you placed kisses along his neck. You made sure to leave your own marks on his skin. He grabbed one quickly enough and groaned at your hickies, pulling himself off to you long enough to roll the condom onto himself. You felt your eyes gleam at the sight of your fit boyfriend in his most vulnerable state. You completely understood why she got so jealous of him being away from you - he was such a gorgeous boy.

Your boyfriend was back on you a second later, continuing to make-out with you again as he settled himself between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his waist to keep him close, eventually both of you pulling away for air. There were no words uttered between the two, speaking with your eyes and facial expressions. The rough lust and anger had faded away now to a soft kindness and love that you felt whenever you were near Harry. You smiled at him as he returned the favor before pushing into you without another second wasted.

"Oh!" You moaned, leaning your head back against the pillows as he did so. It had been awhile for you both, having been ages since he was last home. You had definitely missed this. "Harry," You breathed out as he let out a long sigh, getting used to the feeling of being back inside you before he started to set a pace. “Feel so good around me, baby. Fuck I missed you.”

"Harry," You moaned louder this time, going up in volume the faster he went. "Harder, baby." You urged him on, hearing a type of groan and growl leave from his lips. He buried his face into your neck as he continued to thrust faster, leaving more hickies on the other side of your neck.

"Oh fuck yes." He grunted against your skin, his words only bringing back that fluttery feeling in your stomach. "My gorgeous girlfriend. Even when you’re angry at me, you’re still so fucking hot.” He whispered, lifting his head up from your neck to look at you in the eyes while he fucked you. “No-one can have you, you hear me? You're mine." He whispered, taking one of his hands to wrap around your neck. Not too tight but enough to send your mind spiraling.

"Oh fuck Harry!" You cried out at this, your hands going straight to his shoulders. You dug your fingernails into his skin, dragging them down his pale back as you struggled to get your words out. "You're mine, Lewis. You're mine and I'm yours." You choked out, gasping and moaning out a version of his name at every thrust.

"Damn right." He growled, eventually turning you both over so you were on top of him. He kept control despite the change in position, angling his hips up and holding your hips to keep you steady. He kept doing that for a while, just smirking at hearing the porn-worthy noises that came past your lips. That smirk wiped away however when he felt his thrusts starting to falter, Harry coming closer and closer to his orgasm just like you.

"Oh baby, I'm so close." You whispered, clutching onto him as she felt her high nearing. Harry only smirked at this, trying to go as fast as he could in that moment. He sat up from the mattress, keeping a hold on your hips. He kissed you, "Go on baby, come for me. I wanna hear you." He growled against your lips. That was your breaking point.

"Harry!" You practically screamed, reaching orgasm. It was incredible the types of orgasms Harry gave to you, they always left you speechless and shaking. You heard strangled groans of your name come from Harry, feeling him reach his orgasm too. You kept rocking your hips against his as you both worked each other through your orgasms - eventually stopping when Harry pulled out. He collapsed down onto the mattress, bringing you down with him and holding you against him.

You were left a panting mess, resting against Harry’s body and your head on his chest. All that could be heard was your and Harry's panting, both of your eyes closed to take in what just happened before Harry motioned you to look at him.

"You still mad at me?" Harry asked sweetly after a while, “I don’t know how you could be after that.”

"Oh shut up." You rolled your eyes playfully, enjoying his laughter before you pecked his lips.

"Still - I still think something needs to change, Harry." You admitted, gaining Harold's attention. "I mean... I... I love you, I do. And I want to be with you. But you’re in London constantly. I can’t even travel to see you that often because of university. If I’m just barely going to see you, I can't deal with that. I need a compromise."

Harry thought about what you said for a moment, placing a small kiss to your forehead. "You're right. I will admit that I love London more than Guernsey but I love you more than anything." He admitted to you, nothing left but love filling his beautifully colored eyes of his. "So let's fix the problem. When you graduate from uni, come back to London with me."

"What?" You asked, confused.

"Come back with me to London, move in with me and Cal. We never have to be apart that way." He cooed. "I can talk to the guys about letting me come back to Guernsey every couple weeks or so to see you more rather than what I have been doing until you finish school. But when you finish, I want you to move out to London to stay with me permanently. I want to have you there for everything. None of this long distance bullshit. Especially if it’s making you doubt me. I want you with me. To prove to you that you never had anything to be scared about.”

It was definitely a lot for you to take in, moving from your small little town to the big city of the UK. You were nervous about thinking of starting a life there but as you looked at Harry and saw that future involved him - it became a no brainer.

"We'll talk about it properly in the morning, okay? For now, let’s get some sleep. Especially since you gotta make up for missing today." You said softly with a smile, pecking his lips before laying your head back on his chest.

"So after the morning sex?" Harry teased, making you roll your eyes and hitting him with the nearest pillow as his laughter vibrated throughout the whole flat.

Yep. London sounded pretty good.

#wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry lewis smut #wroetoshaw smut #w2s #sidemen #sidemen smut #sidemen imagines #imagines #harry imagine #youtube #smut

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

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.”

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#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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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Note

If I may I just want Overhaul to do me on his desk during a meeting showing the precepts his personal slut

Yubitsume /// Overhaul x f!reader (18+)

Yubitsume: a Japanese ritual primarily performed by the yakuza to atone for offenses to another; a way to be punished or to show sincere apology and remorse.

This story takes place before Chisaki becomes the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and before he puts the big boss in a coma. ngl this was fun to write 😎

Tags/warnings: exhibitionism, coercion (dubcon-ish?), mild humiliation, yakuza members be perving, reader’s quirk makes it impossible for her skin to be cut (it’s relevant I promise), references to violence, some light possessiveness at the end there

You’re softer than you look.

Chisaki’s never really touched you before, so he had no way of knowing until now. Maybe it’s a subconscious association with your quirk, which prevents anything from breaking your skin, but he didn’t think you’d be so yielding. Every bit of you that he can touch is tender and unresisting under his grasp. He almost wants to take off his latex gloves so he can grip your hips and feel how smooth you are against his bare skin.

Ah…but this isn’t for his sake. It’s for yours. Your punishment, your atonement. He’s supposed to be teaching you a lesson, not feeling good. The irresistible heat of your cunt hugging over his cock is just a perk.

“Watch closely, men,” the Boss’s voice rings out across the long, narrow table, cutting across the wet sounds of Chisaki’s flesh slapping against yours. His thrusts slow and then stop with his cock buried deep inside you, giving the Boss a chance to speak over the two of you.

When the room is silent save for the sounds of your breath mixing with Chisaki’s, the Boss speaks again. “This is what happens to those who betray the interests of the Shie Hassaikai. Keep going, Chisaki.”

It’s not like he needs to tell them to watch, Chisaki thinks as he picks up the pace again. Every man in the room is staring intently at the coupling as Chisaki fucks you over the desk. You’re bent forward with your ass sticking out toward him, one trembling leg holding you up while the other is folded up on the wooden surface, angling your pussy into a perfect position for him to thrust into. You’re barely holding your face off the desk with your elbows propped up, and every time Chisaki pushes his cock back into you, you rock forward and the desk creaks under your combined weight.

It’s hardly the solemn atmosphere that’s usually considered necessary for this kind of punishment. The men watching are doing so with lascivious interest, some laughing, some making comments under their breath to each other, and some just staring. He can hardly blame them. The view from the front must be incredible—your tits bouncing, your hands holding onto the edge of the desk for dear life…

What does your face look like right now? Chisaki can’t see when he’s fucking you from the back, but he wishes he could. Are you ducking to hide your lewd expression from the men you’ve worked alongside since you joined the Shie Hassaikai? Are you biting your lip to hold back the sound of your moaning, trying to salvage the little bit of dignity you have left? From the muted noises of your voice (the little uh—uh—uh’s you can’t quite keep from slipping out), he thinks it’s pretty likely.

But if it’s between seeing you and being inside you, Chisaki knows he’s getting the better deal. Fuck, it’s like your throbbing cunt just keeps sucking him in deeper and deeper. What with the heat of your body and the slickness lubing him up in between your pussy lips, it’s getting difficult to hold back his own grunts of pleasure. His thrusts are getting less controlled and sloppier every time he pumps into you.

The men are watching…they’re watching you, Chisaki has to remind himself in order to stop the urge to lean lower over the desk and rut you for all he’s worth, observers be damned. How much deeper can you take it? Probably a little more than this, right?

His next thrust has him bumping up against your cervix, forcing a kittenish whine out of you. A couple of the voyeurs laugh. One wolf whistles. Chisaki’s noticed that the hairs on the back of your neck raise up when the men get loud, and right now your skin is pebbled with goosebumps.

“Don’t let her hide from her shame, Chisaki. Hold her up so we can see.”

Chisaki hesitates, then curls his fingers over your upper arm and drags your torso up off the desk to display your naked chest to the boss and the rest of the Shie Hassaikai. Your head lolls forward and then rolls back onto his shoulder, your damp back flush against the fabric of his shirt.

The position is a little more awkward, and he has to tilt his hips to the side a little to push back into you. On the other hand, it seems like he’s hitting your g-spot at a better angle judging by the way your pussy is twitching around his length.

“Ch…Chisaki,” you whimper, only to wince and snap your eyes shut when the name earns a suggestive whoop from one of the men watching you.

“Aw baby, you gonna beg him?” Rappa asks, voice a mocking growl. You flinch and Chisaki can feel how tense you are. The muscles in your arms go rigid as you try to jerk out of his grip.

Another thrust has you squeaking out a high-pitched moan. “Fuck yeah, make ‘er scream,” someone calls out, but Chisaki ignores it in favor of rocking deeper into you, careful to slide his thick cockhead against your g-spot. This time you’re barely able to keep your voice down, but you can’t conceal the muscles in your pussy pulsating over him.

It feels good, doesn’t it? he wants to ask you, but he knows he can’t. It’s not supposed to feel good for you. You’re supposed to be…reflecting on your mistake or something. When he’s balls deep in your pussy, it’s hard to keep track of what kind of atonement this is supposed to be.

“I see you’re once again capable of speech, (Y/N),” the Boss says, silencing the other Shie Hassaikai members. This time, however, Chisaki can’t bring himself to stop fucking you long enough to let his benefactor speak uninterrupted. The Boss doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he continues— “Enlighten us as to why we’re watching Chisaki bed you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chisaki can see your chin tip forward so you’re looking hesitantly at the Boss. Your face is so red, but you manage to form words despite your embarrassment. “P-P-Punishment… Instead of y-yubitsume, I’m being—being punished…”

Yubitsume. The yakuza ritual of cutting off one’s own pinky finger at the first knuckle to make recompense for an insult or injury committed against the organization, a mutilation that not only increases difficulty of combat and manual labor but also brands the afflicted with a public stigma. By tradition, yubitsume is the appropriate penalty for the crime you perpetrated, but your quirk makes it impossible. No blade can pierce your skin.

This—getting fucked by Chisaki while the Shie Hassaikai watches—was suggested as a substitute method of apology. There were other alternatives, other ways to exact retribution on your body (you may not bleed, but you can certainly bruise…and break). This method was almost a kindness, or at least that’s how the Boss had explained it to you until you reluctantly agreed.

Still, as the men who used to see you as a fellow (an equal, even) now jeer at you and call for Chisaki to fuck that little slut harder, he has to wonder whether this is really the kinder option.

“And what are you being punished for?” the Boss asks.

“I-I did something wrong—uhn!” You snatch a betrayed glance at Chisaki as his arm snakes around so he can grope at your breast and pinch your nipple between two fingers. “I—! Brought p-police, to the Shie Hassaikai…”

Chisaki knows better than the rest of them how minor your crime was. The transgression had nothing to do with them, and it would have happily gone unpunished had you not been caught by the authorities. The yakuza might care little about petty lawbreaking, but your real offense had been attracting the attention of the cops. They’d been lucky to get away without a thorough inspection. Now you’re paying the price for your carelessness.

“Good. As all of you know, I have no wish to treat (Y/N) too harshly. Chisaki…finish her off.”

There it is. This may be your atonement, but Chisaki’s aware that he’s being punished as well. He’s the one who brought you to the organization, and so your wrongdoing is partially his responsibility. The Boss knows how much Chisaki would usually hate this…having to touch someone’s bare flesh so intimately and so publicly. He’s getting hives just thinking about being in this position with someone else.

But it’s not someone else. It’s you. You with your untouchable skin, so clean and soft. You with your tight, hot pussy swallowing every inch of his cock so nicely. For the first time since he can remember, he half-wishes he were wearing less clothing just so he could feel you…and every second he’s inside you he regrets putting on a condom more.

And now he’s got the Boss’s blessing to make you cum on his cock. Chisaki’s hand drops from your breast down to your pussy and his index finger swirls around your clit. You gasp and cry out (much to the appreciation of the men watching), and Chisaki has to bite down on a growl of his own as your innards clamp down on him.

You’re probably close to cumming already. No, no, you’re definitely close. Even with no direct stimulation to your clit until now, Chisaki’s been fucking you for ages. All that friction over your g-spot has taken you right up to your edge, and it’s not going to take much more to push you over.

You’re already pulsing around him intermittently in rhythm with the pads of his fingers teasing your clit. The pressure of your pussy fluttering around every ridge and vein on his cock is excruciating, so fucking good that he can barely remember that the two of you are being watched. The other gang members are getting louder in their bawdy commentary of the pornographic scene playing out in front of them, but Chisaki tunes it out in favor of focusing on the way your shallow breaths meet the tempo of his thrusts.

With you draped over his chest, he barely has to adjust his position to push his masked face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder so he can nuzzle up and lick you through the stiff fabric. You shudder—ugh, do that again, he thinks—and your hips writhe weakly, trying to increase the stimulation of his hand on your clit. You’re about to cum, and so is Chisaki, but he carefully steers his hips to control both your reactions and his. When he pulls out of you he’s slow, tender, making sure you feel empty without him, but when he pushes back in he does it in a quick snap that stretches you out paired with a rough dab at your clit.

You’re coming apart in front of him, not even bothering to be quiet anymore. “Chisaki…Chisaki, I—I’m cumming!” you cry out, trying not to pay attention to all of the Shie Hassaikai egging you on and telling you what a good little whore you are. Your orgasm has your pussy sucking down on Chisaki’s cock, even tighter than before, like your body is instinctively trying to milk the cum out of him.

Goddamnit… Yeah, he’s not going to last for another minute with you clamping down on him like that. As soon as Chisaki’s sure you’re cumming so hard you’re barely coherent, he drops you gracelessly back down onto the desk so he can grab up your hips and fuck his last few pumps into you as savagely as possible. His fingers dig into your ass deeply enough that he’d be drawing blood if not for your quirk, and when the heat building in his cock spills over he holds you perfectly still despite your attempts to squirm away from him so that you feel him jerk and cum between your throbbing walls.

“(Y/N)…good, good girl,” he pants out as he gives a couple more shallow thrusts for good measure. Well, huh. That’s the first thing he’s said since he started fucking you.

When it’s too uncomfortable to stay inside for a second longer, Chisaki pulls out and tugs the filthy condom off, ties it, and drops it in the trash. He needs a shower…and something to wipe off on, but at the moment neither are available to him so he has to tuck himself back into his pants without cleaning up. Disgusting. Even though it’s just his own cum dirtying him, his skin is still crawling at the thought of it.

“Good work, Chisaki,” says the Boss, rising to his feet to leave. “You can clean up after her.”

Emboldened past their usual limits by what they just witnessed, the other men guffaw and taunt you as they follow the Boss out. Setsuno reaches out to slap your ass as he exits, but Chisaki stops him with a hand on his wrist. His hold isn’t painful, but the threat is clear.

If you touch her, you’re going to lose more than a pinky.

“R-Relax, Chisaki,” Setsuno stammers. “Hands off. I get it.”

Chisaki almost corrects him, almost tells Setsuno to call him by the right name—Overhaul. But the Boss isn’t quite out of earshot yet, and it wouldn’t do for him to hear. So he just lets Setsuno go. The rest of the men give the two of you a wide berth as they file out, although your pert little ass still gets a few lecherous glances as they leave.

And then it’s just you and him. You roll over onto your back and sit up on the desk. “…Chisaki? You don’t have to clean up, I’ll do it.”

How docile of you. You really are apologetic. To be honest, Chisaki should still be angry—you almost caused a lot of trouble for the Shie Hassaikai, and what with the plans he has in mind, getting the authorities to look a little closer at them could ruin everything. He shouldn’t be keeping a risk like you around, especially considering the Boss doesn’t usually let him play with you the way he’d like to.

But the Boss isn’t going to be the one making decisions for much longer. And until he’s out of the picture, Chisaki can’t wait for you to slip up again.

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perriewinklenerdie · 3 years

Text

Out of reach (Ethan x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 1,4 k

Summary: Ethan likes to tease Claire for her height. Claire patiently waits for it to bite him in the ass. or: Two moments when they needed each other for their height.

Warnings: None

A/N: Got inspired by one of the MO chapters and also by my own adventures as a creature with the height of 160 cm. Fluffy chaos ensued.

Claire:

The intense smell of her cooking was wafting through their apartment, filling the space gently. Claire’s spent the past three hours preparing their dinner, reading an article as she waited for the sauce to reduce and gain flavor.

Her phone lit up with a notification – a text from her husband, announcing that he was going to be home within the next ten minutes and asking if anything needed to be picked up by him. She responded, requesting a bottle of good wine.

‘Good? You insult me.’ he responded, and she could practically hear him laughing.

‘Do your worst, Dr. Ramsey’ she shot back, putting the phone down, satisfied.

And so, ten minutes later, she was preparing to finish up their food. The last thing she needed was a box of pasta, which usually sat on the middle shelf in their pantry. But that day, it sat on the highest shelf, right below the ceiling and she remembered that it was Ethan that put away their groceries the night before. Her stool, that was there exactly for situations like these, was mysteriously gone, and no chair could get her high enough.

Luckily for her, the door just opened, and she could hear Ethan’s footsteps. His briefcase hit the ground and the next thing she could hear was his voice.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“In the pantry!” she shouted back, staring at the box of pasta with wild determination. That’s how Ethan found her, an endearing smile pulling on the corners of his lips when he saw his wife.

“What did the box do to you?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her to pull her to his side. His lips pressed against her forehead in a greeting, a low hum ringing through his entire body.

“You placed it on the highest shelf and my stool is nowhere to be found. Can you get it for me, please?” Claire explained, looking up at him with a hopeful gaze. Ethan laughed, brushing his nose against hers softly.

“My tiny wife.” He muttered, pecking her lips once before reaching for the box – demonstrating his height smugly. She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“My gigantic husband thinks he’s being smart, huh? Just wait until you need more legroom on our next flight, and you have to deal with your long legs.”

“That’s why we pay for first class, honey. So I don’t have to worry about legroom. And besides.” He wrapped his arm around her again, leaning down to throw her over his shoulder. “You being so tiny makes it incredibly easy for me to do this anytime I want.” Claire shrieked, laughing happily as he walked them both out to the kitchen. “Now, what do you say we finish our dinner?”

“The wine cannot be wasted.” She agreed, shaking her head at his antics.

Ethan:

The sun shone brightly, warming his back, covered with a black t-shirt. His muscles tensed and relaxed while he adjusted the position the wooden planks, eyes roaming their backyard to figure out where he left the hammer.

Usually, Ethan would call someone in to fix the issue – three of the planks of their patio broke and made it a safety hazard to walk around. They hosted a party two days ago and Bryce got a little too excited while carrying a bottle of tequila. As he was walking from the house, he jumped, presenting the bottle. That’s when the wood gave out under him and it broke, along with the bottle of alcohol that hit the ground soon after.

But he couldn’t call anyone in. It was a Sunday, a day so hot that no sane person wanted to be anywhere near the outside atmosphere. In the past, maybe he would have waited. Ethan was no carpenter, and neither was he a fixer upper. But his little daughter – two-year-old Katherine – loved to walk, especially outside, and no temperature, hot or cold, could stop her. Needless to say, all Ethan could imagine was his child, hurting herself on the broken wood and nails sticking up from the surface.

So there he was, working for the past two hours to fix what’s been broken. He was convinced that he left the hammer right by his side. But it was nowhere to be found, so he decided to push down his frustration – he hated not knowing how to excel at things – and search for it again.

He found it, right below the patio – and right out of his reach. He tried, really tried, to reach it, multiple times, but his arms weren’t long enough and his body was too big to fit underneath the wood.

There was, however, a person at the house that just might fit into the tight space.

“Honey, can you come here for a second?” he called out, knowing that she was sitting in the living room, watching him from time to time. A moment later, his wife appeared in the doorway, a soft smile on her lips.

“Are you hanging in there?” Claire asked softly, leaning against the doorframe. Ethan breathed out, sitting back on his legs.

“It’s a bit more challenging than I thought it would be, but I’m getting there.”

“You do know that we can just keep Kat away from here for a day, right? She’ll be fine.” She reasoned, walking up to him so she could sit at the edge of the patio – the untouched part. His hand landed on her thigh, squeezing it gently.

“Our daughter loves to play outside, I’m not going to limit her just because the patio is broken.” Ethan responded, determinedly, locking his eyes with hers. She melted a bit, seeing all the love this once cold man had for his family.

“You called for me, I assume you had a reason.”

“Yes.” He pointed towards the space beneath the wooden planks. “Can you see that hammer?”

She leaned down, squinting her eyes. Nodding, she straightened her back, sitting again. “How did it even get there?”

“That’s a brilliant question that I do not have the answer to. But that’s not why I called you here.” He took her hand. “Since I’m too tall, I can’t fit in there to reach it. You, my dear, on the other hand, might be able to reach it.”

Claire stared at him for a moment, not believing that the moment was finally here. After years of him teasing her for her height, the time has come for the roles to be reversed. “Let me get this straight. You want me to fit into this tiny, tiny gap beneath our patio because you lost your hammer?”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“But we have another hammer in the garage! I can even go and bring it to you!” she argued, pointing with her arm towards the second building on their property. Ethan shook his head.

“And leave this one in there? That’s not how either of us do things and you know it.”

She gathered his face into her hands, smiling sweetly. Their lips met in a slow kiss, and he was beginning to think that she agreed, when Claire leaned back, a tiny smirk on her face when she spoke up.

“I’m very sorry, baby, I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Your wife may be small, but she also has awful claustrophobia. Unless you want to deal with a panic attack, I don’t think that’s worth it.” his head fell onto her shoulder with a resigned groan. She brushed his hair back. “You can fish it out with a broom. I’ll get it for you.”

And then she was gone. Ethan considered the frustration he felt arising in his chest, but then resigned to laughing. Of course, she was claustrophobic. He remembered, very clearly, their trip to Egypt and how she refused to go into the tombs of the pharaoh.

She brought him the broom and offered to occupy their daughter while he finished his task. He agreed, thanking her quietly, then tried to do as she told him – the broom almost got stuck in there too, but he managed, at last.

Another two hours later, he was finished, and their daughter ran onto the patio with a happy laugh. He embraced his wife, both of them smiling as they watched Kat play.

Notes

Ethan the giraffe doesn’t get the short people struggles - something Claire doesn’t shy away from reminding him. At least she can wear heels or climb that man like a tree

Thank you so much for reading, see you soon!

Perrie <3

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Note

A concept from a dream I had: Hisoka wants Chrollo's darling for himself and tries to steal her from him. Darling gets injured in the ensuing fight and has to get patched up afterwards by Machi. Then, a bit of fluff, darling seeks out Chrollo and hugs him for comfort because the whole thing has her a bit shaken. (Love your writing btw, it's super well written and captivating!)

Tunnel Vision. Yan Chrollo x Reader

Warnings: Implied amnesia. Word count: 2.2k. Note: thank you very much!! i made some minor changes, where darling is a member of the phantom troupe, and not yet aware of chrollo’s obsession. i hope you enjoy! i’ve had a lot of ideas for this specific darling with nen abilities and this idea seemed to fit her very well...

Sharp, pointed nails digging into your skin. The sickeningly sweet fragrance of bubblegum blended with metallic blood. Black dots obscuring your vision, the world growing further away with each miserable second. Through labored breathing, a tense dialogue is exchanged between both parties, the ringing from your ears making it impossible to know for sure what they’re saying. Falling in and out of consciousness, you pick up on a few phrases.

“Just admit it, you’re no worse than I am. Look what you did to the poor girl. ♥”

“Maybe so, but that’s inconsequential. Your judgment means nothing.”

...

“Ah… what… a shame, that I didn’t... get to play with her as much as you did--”

“Hmm… to think your voice has never bothered me this much until now. This should silence you permanently.”

“--So you shouldn’t move around much until it fully heals,” Machi instructs, her voice clear and direct. At your lack of immediate response, she frowns, snapping her fingers to pull you from your trance-like state. “Oi, [First]. Are you even listening?”

You blink, her voice cutting through your clouded mind like a knife. “My bad, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Machi sighs and places a hand on her hip. Sapphire eyes glance over your person, not even bothering to hide her intentions, stopping every time she reaches your healed wounds. Even though your inebriated state, you can tell she’s deep in thought. You doubt she’d tell you what’s on her mind if you asked. So you sit there in silence, politely waiting for her to repeat what you missed.

“I could tell. Just take it easy, you’re going to need a few days of rest.” Machi walks to her bag, rustling through its contents. She picks up a bottle of pills and places it on your nightstand. The same medicine that she had given you before treatment, to dull the pain. You fight back the urge to smile at the small gesture. Had you been any other customer of Machi’s, she would’ve left by now without a word, indifferent to your condition. Despite your best efforts, she catches onto your softened expression and clicks her tongue.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she deadpans, shooting you a glare. You give an apologetic smile. “Take one a day until it’s gone.”

“Thank you, Machi. I appreciate it.”

“As you should,” Machi throws her bag over her shoulder and goes to the door. Before she can turn the nob, she turns back at you. “I forgot to mention, but you have a visitor. The boss has been waiting here since he brought you in.”

An unknown emotion stirs in the depths of your soul. Any playful retaliation you had for Machi’s previous comment dies on your tongue, your eyebrows furrowing. Why do you feel troubled by this revelation? You fight back the anxiety that bubbles up in your stomach. There’s no time to linger on this newfound unease, as Chrollo enters the room after exchanging pleasantries with Machi. Despite your efforts to suppress your discomfort, your body does as it pleases, heart palpitating and throat feeling tight.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and leans against the wall.

Chrollo Lucilfer. You consider your relationship to be a strictly professional one -- maybe a touch of reverence on your behalf -- never feeling as friendly with him as with the other members. He stands before you now in casual attire. Jet black hair frames his face, loose and fine, proudly showcasing the unusual tattoo on his forehead. It’s strange to see him without his trademark leather coat. Instead, he wears jeans and a navy blue undershirt. Immediately, you pick up on the bloodstains on his shirt, assuming he had shed his coat before coming in.

He smiles at your staring, not commenting as you glance away. “How are you feeling?”

“The medicine hasn’t worn off, so not too bad,” you struggle to exhale, your breathing ragged. Why does it feel so warm in here all of a sudden? “Machi told me you, uh, carried me here. Thank you. I’m sorry about your shirt… I’ll buy you a replacement.”

Chrollo puts a hand up to stop you. “There’s no need.”

Being one on one with your mysterious boss is as awkward as you imagined it would be. You still don’t know why he’s here. In between jobs, Chrollo would disappear into thin air, untraceable until calling the Troupe back together. So him being the one to find you on the verge of death hasn’t made sense. Machi gave noncommittal answers whenever you brought this up or told you to ask him yourself. Which you intended to at the time, but now that you’re in his intimidating presence, the words die on your tongue before they can begin.

He pushes himself off the wall and sits on the edge of your bed. The proximity feels strangely intimate, your face flushing at how familiar the act seems to him. Chrollo’s close enough now where you can pick up on his rich cologne. Dry wood with hints of leather. The scent increases your heart rate, anxiety at a new peak. You bite your lip and ball your hands into a fist to try and cope with the all-encompassing unease. To appear weak in front of him would be an insult to your tattered pride.

“Machi informed me about your memory,” Chrollo leans forward as if to inspect you. Grey eyes bore deep into your soul, searching for something. “She said you thought it was July when you regained consciousness.”

You swallow thickly at his questioning. How humiliating is this? Whatever it was that had happened to injure you already felt degrading enough. your pride as a competent Nen user in shambles. The most plausible explanation is that Chrollo discovered you after you had lost a fight, but the remaining details are fuzzy at best. Theorizing is all you can do. The unexplained amnesia is frustrating, but it’s only a few months, so you figure it could’ve been worse.

“That’s correct.”

Chrollo closes his eyes, as if in deep reflection. “So that’s how it is. I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re trying to recover, but can I ask a few questions?”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry if I’m forgetting something important…”

This catches his attention, his posture tensing ever so slightly. You notice how his jaw tightens and assume your guess was correct. Your desire for answers on these missing four months strengthens and you feel hopeful that Chrollo holds some of the answers. It’s frustrating how both Machi and Chrollo seem to know more than you do but are refusing to give solid answers. Maybe they’re being considerate of your health? You’re not so fragile that you need to be coddled by your fellow Troupe members.

Chrollo looks down at you through thick eyelashes. “Do you think that you are?”

“I… I think so, yes.”

He sits silently for a moment, running a hand through his hair and giving a bittersweet smile. “We’re in a relationship.”

Wait, what? This would explain why Chrollo was with you at a time when the Troupe wasn’t gathered and his casual demeanor. Your expression must not be as schooled as you intended, as he gives a humorless chuckle to your wide eyes and parted lips. You… were in a relationship with The Phantom Troupe’s boss? Your boss? When did that happen? How did that happen? Did the others know? Ah, the teasing that would come with that. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive, your eyes work just fine, but the revelation still takes you back. Cheeks burning, you break eye contact and play with your hair. Feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious, you pull your blanket up further to cover your bare shoulders.

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed, [First],” Chrollo chastises with a playful tilt of his head. “I’ve seen all of it many times before.”

He’s not making this easier on you. You’re desperate to move on from the subject and decide to bring up another troublesome topic. Though you have an idea of what the answer will be, you’d still prefer that he’d confirm it for peace of mind.

“I was wondering, boss--” you cut yourself off with an apologetic smile when he furrows his eyebrows, “--I mean, Chrollo, about my Hatsu. I can tell I don’t have it now. Are you ‘borrowing’ it?”

There’s no other plausible explanation. In what other scenarios would you lose a fight that horrendously? You can’t picture anything else, your abilities have been enough to earn you Chrollo’s recognition and subsequent invitation to the Troupe years ago. It’s not uncommon that your boss will ask to borrow other Troupe member’s abilities. Sometime during the months that you’ve forgotten, this must’ve happened, or so you assume.

Chrollo nods his head. “I am, yes. Why do you ask? Would you like it back?”

“It does feel like a part of me is missing,” you admit sheepishly, scratching your cheek. “So, if it isn’t too much trouble…”

“I had to delay the job I borrowed it for due to what happened to you. Is it alright if I hold onto it for just a bit longer?” He’s moving even closer to you now than before. The bed shifts underneath his weight, Chrollo delicately taking your face into his hands. Your mind has trouble scrounging together a comprehensible response. How can you focus when the pads of his thumbs rub soothing circles against your cheek, his deep eyes hypnotizing. You swallow thickly when his pointer finger drags slowly against your bottom lip. Chrollo told you that you’re together, you remind yourself, assuming he has just missed touching you. It’s impossible to not notice the hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, well, in that case, it’s fine.” You only manage to relax when he pulls away from you, content with your response. This has been a draining series of events. Chrollo’s one-sided familiarity isn’t easy to keep up with, you still view him as your boss and he views you as a lover. Sensing your apprehension, he takes your hand in his and places it over your pounding heart.

“Do you feel this?” He hums, to which you nod, speechless at the bold action. “Even if you don’t remember your love for me, your body hasn’t forgotten a thing from our time together.”

Is that what this feeling is? Love? You want to trust him, to take his word for it, but something still doesn’t feel right. Chrollo’s presence has kept you on edge ever since he entered your room. Even now, your skin is covered in goosebumps, hair standing on the back of your neck. What else are you forgetting? This is the question that reverberates in your mind, threatening to consume you entirely. Softly, as not to offend him, you take his hand off you. Chrollo’s expression is unreadable as you do so.

“I’m sorry, Chrollo, I’m just not sure I’m ready for... this yet.” You admit in truth, guilt washing over you at how his flirtatious demeanor changes to a calculating one. This is the version of Chrollo that you’re most familiar with. Your mysterious boss, who coldly issues orders and relishes in thrill of thievery, someone not as personal as he’s been acting like. Chrollo moves back and you’re grateful for the room to gather your bearings.

“Of course,” his aloof tone sends shivers down your spine, a distant gleam in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have every intention of watching over you until you recover. It wouldn’t sit well with me otherwise.”

Chrollo motions to your closet door, which is slightly ajar. Inside you recognize some of his clothes that are hanging next to yours. “And I do live here, but I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight. How does that sound?”

So the two of you were so close that you had invited him to move in? How fast was this relationship going, anyway? It doesn’t feel like you to get that intimate with someone else in such a short time. The way Chrollo phrased it makes it sound like you used to sleep in the same bed too, how embarrassing… God, his comments are going to be the end of you. You need time to think. To let all this information that’s been thrust onto you sink in.

“If it’s not too much for an inconvenience. I feel awful… about forgetting as much as I have. Machi said she didn’t see any notable head injuries, so I can only assume it was a Nen ability.”

“That could be it,” Chrollo responds more flippantly than you expected, standing from your bed. You thought he’d be eager to explore the avenues of returning your memory. Maybe it’s too painful to think about? “You haven’t eaten since this morning, so I’ll get us some dinner. Keep resting up.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for all this trouble.”

Chrollo waves away your apology without concern. He does, however, acknowledge you before leaving your shared bedroom. There’s a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You hope you’re imagining it.

“By the way, [First]... I want you to know this. I’ll have you fall in love with me again. That’s a promise.”

Then he’s gone without another word.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo imagine #chrollo lucilfer imagine #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo imagine #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #elannia #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh imagines #my stuff #answered

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americxn · 3 years

Text

How the Evans act when you’re in a bad mood

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex

TATE LANGDON

- Once he’s certain that he had nothing to do with your bad mood, he kind of just leaves you be, thinking that it would be best to let you simmer for a while before interfering. - When he decides that he’s bored and misses your company, he seeks you out, a bowl of ice cream clutched in his hands as a peace offering, even though he’s not the reason why you’re in a bad mood. - You would take the bowl from his hands with a straight face, immediately shovelling a spoonful into your mouth. - With a sigh, he would say: “You’re a pain in the ass when it comes to trying to cheer you up.” Without even looking at him you would reply with: “I learn from the best.” Your words come out mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream. - Only when half of your bowl is gone do you turn to Tate, thanking him and offering him a spoonful, which he doesn’t dare accept. - And then he takes you to your bedroom, forcing you to change into your comfy clothes, which you begrudgingly do whilst glaring at the wall. - But it’s worth it when Tate opens his arms for you and you almost trip over your own feet in your eagerness to be folded into his warmth. - “Do you wanna actually tell me what’s got you all moody?” He would ask softly. “Nope.” You would say simply, stifling a smile at his overly exaggerated sigh as he fell back onto the bed, taking you with him. - Breathing in the scent of him, your head on his chest, you would finally feel the edges of your frustration wearing off, Tate’s soft breaths ruffling some strands of hair atop you head. - After several minutes of cuddling into your boyfriend in silence, Tate would utter the dreaded question of: “Are you on your (man)period?” Even if you didn’t have periods, this would earn him a playful smack on the arm and a newly-irritated sigh into his chest.

KIT WALKER - Kit didn’t even have to be told that you were in a bad mood, his demeanour changing the second you entered the room he was residing in. - “Are we gonna talk about it or no?” He would say cooly, looking up at you from his spot on the couch as you entered. You would turn your nose up at his offer. “Absolutely not.” You would state, flopping onto his body, Kit grunting, and positioning yourself so that your head was in his lap. “Just hold me.” You would mumble. - Kit would chuckle softly, his hand finding its way into your hair as you sighed and muttered incoherent whispers of anger to yourself, much to Kit’s silent amusement. - Kit would stroke your head in silence, honestly just happy to have you so close to him for so long but eventually you would sit up, the brunt of your mood having dissipated with Kit’s loving touch. - “Better?” He would murmur, making you nod happily. “Good.” Kit would state, shifting his weight so that he could flip you over, settling on top of you as you lay beneath him. - He would then lower his face to yours, his lips attacking your skin incessantly, refusing to let up until he heard you laugh beneath him. (franken)KYLE SPENCER

- Kyle, as a person who often suffered from low moods due to his difficulty in communication, could sense the moment when your mood would shift, immediately coming to your side and blinking at you in concern. - This could be annoying at times. - Sometimes, all you wanted to do was have some time to yourself, and although you loved Kyle to pieces, his constant presence could potentially worsen your mood, or sometimes even catalyse it. - The last time you were in a bad mood, you had directed your anger at Kyle when he began to trail you around the house uncertainly, causing you to raise your voice at him. Of course, you had felt terrible after this, your outburst not only worsening your mood, but sending Kyle into one as well; he hadn’t spoken a word to you until the day after. - So, you had explained to him that sometimes, as much as you loved him, you just wanted your own space. The next time your mood had suddenly dropped, he had approached you slowly, trying to gauge your reaction before either swooping in to make you feel better or leave you alone. - On the occasion that you didn’t want to be in Kyle’s presence, you would simply mutter a “sorry”, grateful when he scampered off and found something to do until you came to him. - But, when Kyle’s comfort was wanted, you would smile softly at him, huffing a defeated laugh when he hurried to you, his embrace strong as he engulfed you in his warmth. - “Sad?” He would question glumly, at your silence giving you the option of “angry?” To which you would nod into his chest. - Kyle’s remedy for anger was baking: he would pile all the ingredients on the counter of your kitchen, silently passing you and bowl and a spoon and watching as you carelessly added the ingredients, stirring them all together angrily, most of the mixture splattering onto yourself and the surface of the counter.

JIMMY DARLING

- Jimmy is the type of person to make fun of you when you’re in a bad mood. It was his attempt of lessening your disposition. - Sometimes this worked, but sometimes it didn’t: Sitting alone under the shelter on the canteen tent, you huffed, frowning at the wood of the table in front of you. “Oof,” an amused shout came from behind you, causing you to turn you head in the direction it had come from. Jimmy swaggered towards you, his hand raised to his brow to block the sun from his eyes as he walked towards the shade of the canopy that you sat under. Scowling, you turned your head away from him, your shoulders curving inwards the hopes that he would get the message and turn around to let you brood. But of course he would do no such thing. “Someone’s in a bad mood.” He would comment, the old wooden bench you sat on wobbling from the force with which he plonked himself down next to you. “No shit.” You muttered, looking straight ahead. “Geez, baby. What’s got you so worked up?” You turned to him with an unpleasant smile, the bite in your voice stark as you replied with “you and your insufferable attitude.” “Ouch.” He said, sounding completely unhurt by your comment. Your jaw worked as you became increasingly irritated by his presence. “Can you just fuck off? I love you and all but you being here is just making me get pissed at you.” He raised an eyebrow, his elbow coming to rest on the surface of the table, his chin falling into his palm in an action that gave you very much “like fuck I’m leaving” vibes. With a groan, you spun around, bringing your legs with you so that could stand from the bench. “Don’t follow me.” You ordered flatly. The bench creaked as he, too, stood, causing you to bristle. “Jimmy, I mean it.” You spun on him, your teeth gritted. He looked utterly unfazed at your tone, a small smirk on his lips. “Make me leave you alone. Go on.” You knew what he was doing. He was trying to provoke you, trying to get you to fight with him so that you could let off some steam. You sighed angrily. “No.” You said, turning and walking away. “Alright. Well I’ll be here when you decide you’re done being an ass.” He shouted after you, the shrug in his voice clear as you walked away, not taking his words to heart, his provoking intentions obvious.

JAMES MARCH

- James would let you brood. He would notice your demeanour instantly, but he wouldn’t comment on it, instead leaving you to it or silently accompanying you in whatever you were doing. - In the off chance that you really didn’t want his company, all you had to do was shoot him a frustrated glance and he would be on his feet and out the door in an instant, only appearing again when you sought him out. - But when you wanted his presence, he would run you a hot bath complete with bubbles and sometimes even rose petals if he was feeling generous. - “Here you are, my darling girl/boy/they” He would say fondly as he lead you by the hand to the bathroom, his heart fluttering at the little smile that his efforts would coax from you. - Once you had submerged yourself into the perfectly warm water with a sigh, he would come to your side, kneeling beside the tub and reaching for the softest sponge you had, quickly rolling up his sleeves before lathering it with a pretty smelling soap. - With your head rested on the side of the bath, he would reach into the water with the sponge, softly running it along your skin and murmuring to you as you became more and more relaxed under his skilled touch. - “So, what is it exactly that has put you in such a mood?” He would venture as your eyes drifted shut. James was such a good listener, and an even better talker, listening intently as you rambled into the stillness of the bathroom, James nodding along and inputting his own agreements or thoughts as you did so. - It was in these moments that your love for James rammed into you with such a force that often you were reduced from a tight ball of irritation to a mess of emotion, your eyes filling with tears as James tended to you. - You would end up gazing at him intently as he spoke to you, his hands moving beneath the water of the bath, the ends of his sleeves getting soaked as he cleaned you. It was so intimate that very often, you couldn’t help but reach with wet hands for the front of his shirt, pulling him to you and landing a kiss to his lips before pulling him harder, your heart pounding as he chuckled breathily against your mouth, his clothes becoming absolutely soaked as he clambered into the hot water with you. - When the two of you eventually emerged from the water, the floor of the bathroom had become so drenched with suds and soap that ever Miss Evers shuddered at the thought of having to clean it.

KAI ANDERSON - Kai would just see you being in a mood as a reason to provoke you even more than he already did. - He loved when you snapped at him, standing up for yourself or throwing an insult at him; for whatever reason, there was something about you having an attitude that just really turned him on. - Strangely, Kai was usually very accommodating when it came to your emotions. If you were happy, he was always there to be happy with you or listen to you when you rambled through your tears or when you were angry, he would find a way to help you channel that feeling and let off your pent up anger. - But when you were in a mood, Kai trailed after you, provoking you just to make you feel that much more frustrated, a feeling of smug accomplishment washing over him when you finally bit back. - Sometimes, very occasionally, Kai’s endless goading sometimes ended with the two of you engaging in very angry, hot as fuck sex, but very often you would simple shove your middle finger in his face and storm out of the house. Taking his car, you would drive around until his petrol light came on before returning home, driving around the neighbourhood a few times for good measure in petty revenge. - The text message that Kai would send you the next day claiming that he almost didn’t make it to the gas station and that when he got home you were as good as dead always made his incessant stirring of your emotions seem worth it.

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shesawriter39049 · 3 years

Text

|PRIVATE SHOW|M|

Pairing: Taehyung X Reader

SMUT/LIGHT ANGST

About-Just a casual lunch outing where Tae’s trying to do his job and your trying to get him off under the table with your shoe...nothing new!

OR- Tae and yourself are grabbing lunch at 71 Above, after checking out the last couple of venues for the company's end of the year Holiday party. While at said restaurant, it becomes a humbling reminder that the most important people in your life are essentially a secret...cute!

WC:5k

WARNINGS: Public sex -ish( A foot-job under the table) dirty talk, teasing, light edging, frontage (kinda), overstimulation, Tae comes in his YSL leather pants, mentions of Oral (Male receiving), Tae is somewhat submissive, whilst also being a little shit. “Baby boy/Good boy” Kink

DNA Era Tae meets 2020 Tae

Tae is her baby and also her Executive Assistant

He just wants to hold her hand tbh

NOTE: This is a stand alone smut drabble within my OT7 poly universe called “7 DEEP”. Short AU SUMMARY: Your husband Namjoon and yourself run a successful Adult Film Entertainment Company called “Onyx” with your 5 best friends from college who you also happen to be in an open relationship with! P.S. If you’re new here Kookie joins the party a little later….

_________________________________________________________

“So” Musing over your cocktail glass “Thoughts on the last place?”

Eyeing the man sitting across from you intently who’s clearly in the holiday spirit. Dressed in a deep red silk button-down, apparently, he’s taken a page out of Jimin’s book considering it’s barely buttoned, to begin with! Honestly, he’d be better off not even wearing one at all at this rate.

Smoky silver locks messily styled out of his face showcasing those bushy yet sculpted brows of his. One of your favorite past times has become watching Tae become more confident as he grows into himself. No longer finding the need to hide behind his long shaggy bangs, though you can’t; lie, you do kinda miss him looking like the puppy he truly is deep down. However this, version of Tae just hits different, your baby boy looks like a whole ass man and you’ll never get over it!

God the things you endlessly wanna do to him…..even after all these years....

You watch Tae sigh almost miserably over a mouthful of lobster mac which seems completely out of place considering the way the dish in question smells…“Honestly?”

Offering a curt nod, encouraging him to continue as you welcome yourself to his plate! The amount of cheese that’s trickling from your fork is actually disrespectful!

“It was cute, I liked how big the lot is, and more importantly how spaced out the spots are! You know how rich people get about people being too close to the damn cars!” Rolling his eyes as if he in he’s excluded from that category and you can’t help but scoff.

“Tae you technically are one of those people at this point. Just like...yesterday actually, you almost ripped Jackson’s balls off for bumping into your rearview mirror but carry on.” Flicking your fork in his direction, ignoring the sharp glare he sent your way in the process.

This time around I think both of his eyes managed to roll in different directions, again, Jimin’s wearing off on him! “Anyway, yeah, I don’t know, I liked the space, the exposed brick beams in the ceiling was cool. Kinda gave it a homey vibe which is fitting….”

You could hear it hanging off his tongue, he sounds very, “meh” about it, so you opt fil in the blank. “Butttt??”

“Butttt, I -It felt like...like I was forcing myself to like it…” Slouching down into his seat, features a little uneasy, as if him not liking the venue was a direct insult to the owner personally! You on the other hand you let out a bated breath that you weren’t even aware was being held, eyes wide shining with relief.

“Oh thank fuck” Hand slamming down absently along the table, “I thought it was just me, and I felt like such an ass too because-”

“They were so sweet” Came in unison, both of you almost cooing as you said it! Hands placed dramatically over your heart as you reclined against your chair.

“So sweet,” Tae parroted in a light pout,”I mean they were literally wearing matching loafers Y/n. Matching” Idly jading a fork into his side salad in a way that’s borderline concerning actually, a tad bit aggressive over there!

” But it just-I don’t know, I guess will always think like those broke college kids at heart” Flashing you a brief glowing smile that you can’t help but return, humming in agreeance.

“Which isn’t a bad thing, per say, the mentality definitely keeps us humbled! But there’s time and place for that attitude and honestly I just wasn’t feelin it! At least not in comparison to the others we’ve seen, it wasn’t fighting the vibe were going for. Regardless of how good the offer is” Shrugging over another mouth full of food and you there’s not much else for you to say because that was your consensus exactly.

Basically, once the two of you showed up, the cute little husband and wife duo offered you a deal which would essentially consist of them renting you the space for next to nothing. In exchange, they’d want you to post a couple of ads via your company and personal social media accounts as promo. Your initial thought outside of just thinking they were utterly adorable was how much money you’d save...but as Tae said, thankfully that’s not really a concern anymore, if you wanted you can get it!

Easily…discounts and barters aside, just a flick of the wrist and it’s yours!

“True, also can we just take a moment to talk about how aesthetically pleasing the Valentine was though?” Tossing your head back with a dramatic groan “I mean fuck you already know the way I feel about industrial spaces, the high, glass ceiling, all the greenery..” Eyes rolling to the back of your head with a slight moan…as you envision the space. Especially how moody and sexy the overall venue would look with thousands of lights cascading from the glass ceilings.

Clearly the venue was doing ....a lot for you right now!

Brow cocked at the blatant...enthusiasm surrounding the location in question “Mmm, well that’s something...interesting to add to the kink list, just when I thought I’d explored every avenue, but apparently not.” Voice low, teasing, head cocked to the side, a shit eating grin plastered along his lips, as he swirls his tongue along the tip of his straw in a way that’s……

“ I guess we’re adding “industrial spaces” to the list. Noted.” Smirking around his drink like the little shit he is!

Right, you may or may not have crossed your legs at the sudden drawl laced within his delivery but not before, kicking his shin with the tip of your heel, “You little shit” Rolling your eyes at the way he dramatically rubs the side of his leg, hitting you with straight puppy dog eyes as he pouts over at you as if you actually caused serious damage!.

Leaning forward a little so you don't have to try as hard to whisper, the notion has your breast essentially sitting on top of the table. Not that they weren’t already on full display in your dress or anything. Hand slipping beneath the table, landing on his kneecap. “What? Suddenly you don’t like a little pain?” Tone blatantly teasing whilst ghosting your nails agonizingly slow up his inner thigh, and his entire body goes rigid at the sensation. Tae’s always been extremely...

“God, your still so sensetive....” You weren’t intending for that to come out in the form of a moan but considering the one that fell from his lips in return...you ain’t mad about it! 100% dialed in to the way his eyes are fluttering, jaw tight, trying his damndest to play it cool, especially once the waitress makes eye contact silently asking if the two of you need anything. “Takes so little Hmm?”’

Flashing him a quick smile, waving her off for the time being, far too focused on another task to entertain anyone else right now! Only stopping your ministrations once your fingers land right beneath his balls.

“This place is very well lit, I like the hue, it’s casting a good soft-light, especially the way it’s bouncing off your complexion...” Eyes cascading against the ceiling, tone casual, until your eyes drop....

“You’d look so fuckin good, coming for me right now...” The words purr off your tongue, flashing him a cheeky little wink, and poor Taehyung chokes on his martini!

“You know how much you love being watched...I could have you making a mess all over yourself and no one would even know. ” Not even trying to hide the smirk playing on your lips when you can already feel the tension in the room rise. “My own little private show...” Eyes wicked as your fingers wander a little higher, gently pressing your palm down around his dick. Rubbing tauntingly, the touch isn't enough through the thick leather, however it does instantly make his length swell in the confines of his pants! We all know this….underwear is nonexistent in Tae’s world! “Kinda brings me back to our college days...” Teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the mere memory...you getting Tae off whilst in the lecture hall full of 300 plus students.

Regardless of the deer in headlights look flashing across his face his legs still spread apart, hips bucking forward because well as we just said...baby boy loves being watched. This however, prompts you to once again change positions, now digging your nails into the back of his thighs before letting the tips of your fingers tickle free. Coly bringing them back above surface to take another languid sip of your drink, tossing a strand of hair over your shoulder.

Ya know, I can’t say you’re surprised by his reaction, baby boy can dish it but sure can’t take it, neck and chest flushing to rival his shirt! Banging on his sternum in an attempt to reroute the liquor burning his lungs.

“Jesus-fuc-Y/n!” You have the nerve to hum inquisitively, only this time for his sanity he humors you! “Can you like not go from asulting me to-” Looking over his shoulder before dropping his voice down to a whisper “Stroking my dick, and offering to get me off under the table, all in the span of a nanosecond!?” The plea hissed through clenched teeth but the complaint was half hearted at most! Well aware his dicks already throbbing in his pants at the thought alone! “Fuck me” Sucking in a harsh breath, as he raked his fingers through his scalp.

“Well…” Tonguing at your inner cheek, eyes fluttering away as if you were in deep thought… “In my defense you kinda started it, bringing up my kink list like I don’t own a whole ass porn company!” Propping your chin on your palm, gaze locked and loaded “Like I wasn’t thinking about tainting that sweet innocent couple by letting them watch as I dropped to my knees, letting you fuc-”

“Y/n!” He actually attempts to sound almost applauded, like he doesn’t love how absolutely filthy your mouth is. However there’s a silent little “please” playing on his tongue, no matter how threatening he tried to sound.

You giggled, straight up giggled, reclining in your seat, amused, and somewhat satisfied so you let him be, for the time being anyway. Though you may have eaten your angel hair pasta in a very obscene manner, every now and then you’d sinfully suck the noodles through your overly glossed lips! However, if he dared to clock you on it you’d just simply note that it was your way of not messing up your makeup….

The two of you finish your lunch in comfortable silence, making small talk here and there, a mixture of work and bullshit until Tae’s phone goes off with a couple text notifications.

A low hum rattling in the back of his throat as he eyes the message from Hoseok. Subconsciously Tae reaches across the table, intertwining your fingers before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. Grazing them with his lips casually as he scrolls through his phone.

“Alright baby, so, I have a list ready, we have a couple brands that wanna work with us for the party. Seoks already narrowed it down to the ones that are actually worth discussing however-“

Honestly, it took both of you a minute to even realize what was going on, the skinship was second nature at this point. It wasn’t until his thumb grazed over your wedding band that the notion even resonated! Tae and yourself were a good two drinks in, feelin all warm and fuzzy and got caught up in the moment! Temporarily forgetting that you were in the middle of a restaurant in Downtown LA! Forgetting that the Kim currently caressing your knuckles and calling you baby is not the one you're technically married to! It may seem minor in retrospect, but you’ve always tried to stop yourselves from getting comfortable, with being comfortable in certain locations if that makes sense! You slip up one to many times and the next thing you know it happening in the office or on the red carpet!

Taehyung’s eyes grow almost comically wide, straight panic flashes over those big brown orbs of his and your heart sinks as you watch his head whip around, checking to make sure no one caught the interaction. It was almost painful how quickly he disconnected from you as his entire face dropped and no, just no!

“Hey...hey no it’s fine, it’s like 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday! Not to mention we’re tucked in a booth in the corner ,we’re good, nobody heard or saw you…” Voice calm and quiet, trying to come off comforting, flashing him a weary smile. Reaching across the table to thumb at his palm, and it would be a lie to say you didn't also check over your shoulder before hand as well’

A dry almost bitter chuckle leaves his throat as he flinches away, tossing the fork down on his plate sliding it halfway across the table indicating he is more than done eating. Flicking the bridge of his nose with his index finger, jaw twitching, “Yeah, lucky me huh? I actually got to hold your hand for all of two seconds before we realized I’m techionally not allowed to do that unless were in fuckin I don’t know Alaska!”

He’s agitated, and with every right to be, even if he is being a little dramatic. Thankfully he’s keeping his voice low, but you can feel how tight his throat is, the amount of grit laced within his tenor has your eyes bugging out of there socket.

“Bab- “ It was a reflex, whenever he’s upset it’s just what falls from your lips, and he gives you a look, almost as if to say “How fucking dare you” ! The level of hurt the pet name just rendered within his eyes is-

Eyes sharp, brows furrowed “Noo, nooo, we literally just went through this. That’s not the way it works for us in this kinda setting” Flailing his arms around to reference the restaurant. “Wrong Kim” Well damn. “So it's Tae in public remember!?” Brow quirked accusingly, he’s abating this entire situation, almost like he wants you to snap, a second away from whisper yelling! “ Or maybe I should say Taehyung, hell just use my full government while your at it. Let’s make it real impersonal, Mr. Kim maybe?” Head cocked to the side as if he’s being genuine and not a total smartass right now.

You-he’s ...hurt, and you get that, hell you respect that, but Lunch at 71 Above is not the time or place for this conversation. You’re trying to approach this on a more rational level, however the condescending delivery is making it hard, and your only human. Eyes rolling to the back of your head before you can even catch yourself and that little gesture seems to be what officially set him off!

You can physically see the tension within his face... “I’m gonna go get some air, I might actually call a Uber or somethin,.” The words trailed off his lips low in mumbled but clear enough to be heard because that’s ultimately what he wanted to begin with.

There was something in his eyes you couldn’t read, a combination of anger/hurt mixed another emotion you can’t quite pinpoint! But whatever it is, you fuckin hated it! Throat running painfully dry as watch him slide his chair out and even though realistically you know at max he’s headed home...Still the gesture alone is gut wrenching because you know this runs deeper than just this situation!

“Tae” His name leaves your throat as more of a warning, reaching up to take an almost possessive grip on his wrist. Fingertips landing on the edge of his Cartier bracelet, the one you're both wearing actually, same arm and all!

A deep labored breath shutters from his chest at the contact, thighs feelin like a newborn fawn, gaze hesitantly meeting yours. “Tae, baby” Daring to use the endearment again regardless of your current surroundings “Sit back down so I can order us dessert and we can discuss whatever you want...just-please” The ending whisked off your tongue so faint your almost wondering if he even heard you!

Taehyung narrows his eyes, teeth clenched, tongue nudging his inner cheek! “I’m not really in the mood for cake right now Y/n. To be honest I just wanna leave” You know he’s aiming for dry but instead he lands somewhere around defeated , which makes it even worse. You’re both well aware this is not truly about cake, it’s about his constant need to run away from shit!

Sliding your fingers down his wrist, interlocking your fingers, giving them a firm squeeze. Eyes locked with his “Then you can get whatever you want, but I need you to just be here right now, I really, really need you to sit here, and just breathe through this with me.”

He’s know what your really asking is for him not to run away for once!

A faint little “Whatever” Leaves his lips and then he’s dead silent, silent as he slides his chair out, remaining as such for what feels like hours, and it has your heart beating painfully hard against your ribcage. It’s almost like he’s not even here, eyes fixated on some random painting on the opposite side of the restaurant, chewing at his inner cheek until....

“I’m sorry…” He admits after a baited breath, stroking your palm with his thumb gently, you can see him working over his thought’s in his head before speaking. ”I can’t - fuck I never know when I’m going to get all in my feels with shit like this, sometimes it just sucks harder than others I guess” The curt little shrug that leaves his shoulders let’s you know how uncomfortable he is, Tae’s overall persona suddenly seems mounds smaller in this moment. Anxiously stroking the back of his own neck “But....I shouldn't have come at you like that! That was fucked on my behalf and for that I’m truly am sorry ! This isn't all on you, or Joon we all-”Gazing over his shoulder before continuing “There’s just- there’s a lot, we have families and it’s just, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, ...”

Dropping his voice a little lower “I just fuckin love you” There’s a timid smile playing on his lips “and if the offer still stands I would really fuckin like chocolate cake…”

You actually snort, that’s your first instinct because only Tae, but the plus is it lightens the mood immensely! The sudden outburst triggers that full boxy grin to come into play and god your so damn enamored by this man it’s actually sad. Bringing his knuckles up to your mouth, grazing them past your lips like he did yours moments prior. “I love you too, and chocolate cake sounds fuckin amazing, and liquor, we need new drinks, actually we need an entire bottle! ” You laugh and then so does Tae, suddenly your holding hands and laughing together and everything else just seems so miniscule in the moment.

~~~~~

So, here’s the thing...being a CEO of one of the top Adult film entertainment companies is not on the same level as like..I don’t know….

Owning a high-end clothing company, or being a reality star or something. Your field is praised just as highly as it is tabooed, so with that being said, it’s not like your the top topic on E-news, or on Business Digest. You still have a strong sense of normality, point blank you’re not that important. It’s not as common for outsiders to know the high rollers within the porn industry the way it is in other fields!

However there's another avenue to factor in where the 7 of you are concerned, and that’s the world of social media, and that’s a completely different world entirely! One that’s heavily intertwined in your state in particular, living playing, and working in LA….I mean let’s get real, shit not normal here, by any means!

You’re a 26-year-old wealthy CEO, that goes to work in a Ferrari, cute little bodycons, Louboutin's, and Chanel bags! Your executive assistant is Tae for fucks sake, he looks like a model his damn self , on the surface your life is an aesthetically pleasing wet dream. An influencer without even trying for the title, if your 2.7 million followers are at all telling! So in the public eye, especially when out in Downtown LA..you try to be discreet.

Just last week Jimin was hanging all over you while walking through Saks and one of your mutual followers stopped to ask for a picture. Again this isn’t a daily occurrence, you’re not comparing yourself to Rhianna, but it’s why you do move with a slight air of caution when in your city! You literally live in a place where people become famous for running into walls, nevertheless owning their own business!

The world knows you’re married to Namjoon, and to be honest there’s numerous reasons the other aspect of your dynamic stays hidden! More than just the obvious….

However there’s been rumors circulating over the years, or at least now that Hollywood’s decided you hold some relevance! Ones pertaining your your sexuality, typically the tabloids assuming it, insulating your swingers, or that Namjoon’s bi. A Lot of these narratives circle back from your college days though, old classmates trying to slip tea to the media. Stories of when you could go to a party and it didn’t matter if you were sandwiched between Namjoon and Yoongi at the same damn time! Not to mention the dark side of social media where nothing ever truly dies, so yeah there are some questionable photos floating around. Luckily nothing recent enough to truly add fuel to the fire but you know deep down it’s only a matter of time!

One could argue it adds allure to the overall dynamic, especially considering your line of work, and maybe it wouldn’t matter if the boys were just casual thirds...but they’re not! They’re so much more than that and that’s what makes this hard, because well in laymen’s terms...people just fucking suck! So as heartbreaking as it is, where your other boys are concerned, in the public eye at least your “relationship” holds a strong air of mystery!

It’s the little things ya know? Like now for example, the fact that he could've easily gotten a foot job under the table but has to walk on eggshells about holding your hand at times! Shit just sucks sometimes, there’s no other way around it!

~~~~~~~

The two of you don’t really talk much until the dessert comes, more drinks and a bottle is in fact ordered as well! The silence felt a little more bearable this time around, busying yourselves on your phones. A very minor but significant change, is the fact that you still haven’t let go of his hand, even once the waitress returns. The simple notion has his entire dementor shifting! Fingers still tightly bound together and your chest flutters seeing the way he flushes almost bashfully at such minor PDA! Like the two of you didn’t hook up in the back of a club in London two months ago! Like you literally weren’t palming him under the table! Yet here he is blushing at openly holding your hand!

So fuckin cute!

Eventually two pieces of molten chocolate crepe cake gets brought over and holy fuck! Both moaning in unison as the pastry hits the table...

“Oh my goddd, we have to take a piece home for Jin, the like...convince him to learn how to make it!” You watch Tae’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he laces his lips around the fork! Groaning out in agreeance once the mixtures of pure sin hit his tongue.

“K...now back to , these sponsors...” Prompting over a mouth full of cake, not that you wouldn’t love to sit here and chill all day but you do have a 4pm conference call!

You watch as Tae glances down at your intertwined fingers, and his fork....realizing ones gotta go so he can pick up his phone and you physically coo back at him, melting into your set once he opts to drop the fork instead of your hand. Purposely avoiding your glance once he noticed the look on your face, nose scrunched and all!

“Right, so Uber reached out, more specifically Uber Luxxe, looking to send us 4 cars of our choice in exchange for a couple post. Spread out between IG, Twitter and Snap, I’m personally all for this one. The contract doesn’t seem excessive and I like that the post won’t feel forced! I mean realistically we were going to hire a driving service regardless! However something to also consider is our lack of filter when drinking! I mean...”Flailing his phone between the two of you as if to give an example, obviously referencing the little slip up moments prior. At least he can joke about it a little “So realistically, would we feel more comfortable with a private car service where there’s a contract involved as opposed to just some random?”

Tae just went full EA, out of nowhere and honestly ...

You blinked at him, almost dazed, fork halfway to his mouth because, what?! . “You sound so professional right now, it’s so fuckin hot.”

Tae choked on nothing but straight air before blushing profusely. “Baby-I mean-Y-“

You didn’t even flinch, continuing, unperturbed. “Nah, actually I think I’m in the mood to be baby right now!” Eying him wickedly “Your jaw just gets really tight, and your voice gets all low and raspy! It happens during meetings too, it’s really fuckin sexy! Reminds me of the way you sound when your lips are pressed into the side of my neck when we fuck.” It's just the casualness of it all, you sound like your ordering another appetizer and Tae’s about to choke on his dessert.

The grip he has on your hand is almost painful right now, “But don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here writing out my next script in my head, carry on. What rental service did you have in mind? Or did someone already reach out as well?”

It’s the way you just went from talking about Tae, being balls deep to sponsorships all in the span of a comma! In the words of your best friend you are pure chaos.....

Tae groans head hanging in defeat and your lips curl into a smirk, brow quirked in his direction.

“It’s the way I hate it here sometimes...” Snatching his hand away to jab his fork into the neglected pastry.

“Ah huh” You roll your eyes crossing your arms over your chest before leaning back. “Right, again let’s not act like you didin’t start this, both here and at the venue.” Leaning over the table again licking your lips “Don’t act like you weren’t eye fucking me the entire time, or the way you’d accidentally brush against me as we walked through the building. You’ve been practically begging for it all day.”

Tae just stares back at you, mind momentarily blank, stomach shifting into knots, letting the fork drop from those delicate fingers of his! Mouth opening and closing like a fish straight outta water...

“Did you think about it too? The acoustics in that place were fuckin insane, the way it would just echo through as you made me cum would just- fuck” You continued adding that lethal little purr back into your voice! “Or even better the way you’d sound, you don’t even know how bad I wanted to drop-“

“Y/n”

“Baby.” Phrasing the word borderline as a threat “Would you have liked that baby boy?” Cocking your head to the side, tongue teasing your bottom lip “Me on my knees for you looking up at you all pretty, letting you hold my hair and fuck my throat until you came straight into my mouth?”

Speaking of mouths' your just straight fuckin-mayhem ...and it’s making Taehyung’s brain feel like it’s melting through his ears! But god should we be surprised though?

It’s never taken much with you....

You’ve always been just what he needs and a little bit more than he can take all in one! You haven’t even touched him yet and he feels a moan creeping up his throat! Especially as he watches you swirl the tip of your tongue over the whipped cream on the edge of your fork, sucking it between your overly glossed lips in the most obscene manner.

Eyes locked and loaded, a second away from drooling, “Fuck, yeah,” He stutters breath hitching on his lungs, heat coursing through his skin. Tae’s veins literally feel like they’re on fire, subtly trying to shift in his seat to readjust himself! Glancing subconsciously out of his peripheral, the restaurant still chill and half empty. The waitress on the opposite end of the room attending to another couple!

“You always look so damn good with my cock down your throat, and my cum on your tounge. God, especially when I wrap my hand around your throat and I can feel you swallowing down around my-” Your tongue’s swirling all over this damn fork, and he can feel every flick your tongue against his dick, and it’s just...fuck! Not to mention once you accidently spilled some whipped cream on your lips, which you took your time licking off as well. “Jesus-Fuck, Y/n!!” Taehyung’s voice is dripping with arousal, and you already know he’s leaking all over the place.

“Yeah?” Humming around the form before setting it to the side “ You like the way I look when I’m chocking on your cock?” These questions are all rhetorical, your an ass “Or how about when I get a little messy because I can’t fit it all in my mouth?” Your eyes darken, words coming out over low gasps of air, almost as if your just as aroused as he is and that’s because you are!

“Your always such a good boy for me, so helpful too holding my hair back, guiding my mouth until you hit the back of my throat...holding me in place until I gag. You know how much I love when you get rough with me ..” Tae feels the sole of your red buttons tease up his thigh, shifting between his legs. The transition was so damn smooth it catches him off guard, instinctively wanting to push away but instead...

“You’d be loud for me too wouldn’t you? Show them how good you look falling apart for me, how good you look when you come down my throat....The way your eyes roll-”

“Holy-fuck Baby” Aggressively running his palms over his face until it’s matching his shirt “Please don’t do this to me right, now, if your gonna give it to me then fuckin let me have it but I cant-.”

You can’t help but smile back at him, so fond it almost seems out of place in the moment. “I’ll give you whatever you want Tae...you know this. You just gotta promise you’ll be good for me, we can’t draw-”

“I’m always good” He damn near growled at you, eyes daring you to say otherwise and well, who were you to deny Tae of what he wants!?Gently pressing your foot at the base of his cock, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips upon feeling that your boys already fully hard.

It’s the way the two of you are just casually in one of LA’s boujeiest restaurants and your deadass about to give him a foot job in Louboutin’s! Yup, your life had turned into a porno, you’ve officially made it!

“Kay, so back to that list of sponsors, first off I completely agree, as much as I love our contact at Uber I’d prefer an actual car service for something like that.” Here you go again the queen of the switch up, you’re back to discussing work yet there’s still a slight moan in your tenor. Breathy and light and Tae feels like all the airs being sucked from his lungs.

Tae shifts, spreading his thighs even further, shuddering out a bated breath as you point your toe, dragging it up and down! It’s a peep-toe so that alone allows you a little more flexibility! Pressure intentionally light so it’s just enough to have him on the brink of begging! But instead of doing so, he picks up his phone, hands shaky and all and continue doing his job as requested!

“Right..” Clearing his throat not sure why he currently sounds like he’s going through puberty again but K... “I’ll let Hobi know, maybe we can do something we’re we use them while planning this party or something! Since you vetoed a party planner will have a lot more running around to do! Realistically outside of Joon and Jin we all have coupes anyway...so it’s not like we can carry much!”

Mmm, always the innovator, even when all the blood and airs being rushed to his dick! You feel him try and slide forward, chasing after the stimulation.

“Ohhh, I really like that, and like you said it still feels somewhat organic because realistically our cars aren’t efficient for something like that” You press down harder against his cock almost as a reward “Good boy, what’s next?” Nodding towards his phone and it takes every ounce of self control he had to swallow down the moan laying on his tongue.

Eyes struggling to stay ajar as you continuously rub your foot up and down his length. Now applying more prominent pressure with the ball of your feet! Movement stealth from the waist up so you don’t draw attraction to yourself.

“Tae Tae” The nickname falls from your lips singsong like, and far too innocent for the demon seed you are. “Next?”

He doesn't even know what to really do except follow instructions, so he just nods, scrolling through his phone. “There was also a couple brands wanted to oh fuck-“ Gasping as you pick up your pace, damn near dropping his phone into the plate beneath him.

Face splitting into an amused grin, a hint of something wicked playing on your lips. Eyes gleaming with mischief, you watch those long, delicate fingers flex, clearly struggling this time around to bite back the moan like he needs to! Hands shaking as your continue working him at a merciless pace. Rubbing faster, harder, utilizing the rounded point on the head of your heel to press right against what your assuming is Tae’s tip by the way he shudders. Thighs shaking as he grips the edge of the table for dear life!

“Oh my godddd” Tae manages to just mouth the words as opposed to screaming them the way he desperately wants too. Tugging on his own scalp, trying to just do something to get himself busy!

“You fuckin love this....” It’s not even a question, more of a consensus!

Your eyes haven’t left his once, watching intently as you swirl your tongue around the straw before taking a sip. Moaning around it because well ya know, the drinks just that damn good apparently.

God his skin feels like it’s on fire, every stroke of your foot has him feeling like he’s coming undone!

He’s trying to focus, on his surroundings, this damn list everything but he can’t he just fucking can’t! Thankfully it’s you, and he trust you with everything he has, so his subconscious is somewhat at ease with all of this because he knows you got him!

“Yeah,fuck yeah you already know you can do anything to me” He states plainly, the most stable his voice has sounded in god knows when “Whatever you want” Gaze heavy through hooded lashes, looking straight at you with steady sinful eyes.

“Mmm, and always want it don’t you baby? Always...:”

He bites back a moan nodding, and then his phone rings, of course his phone fucking rings and it’s coming from the office because why the fuck not?!

“Answer” The command was simple, clearly no room for debate and hs eyes go wide,

“Baby” Complaining with a hint of a whine in his voice and when you don’t seem to give a damn....

“Yeah?”Jaw tight, nostrils flared as he picks up the phone. Adrenaline flies through his veins, pressure building in his gut as you relentlessly keep your pace intact! Pressing harder and deeper into all the right places until he’s coughing around Moans to try and cover it up!

Dropping his head slightly, propping it on his elbow as he squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “ Welp, That's where it would be so if you don’t see any were out, email me a list and I’ll make a Amazon-“

Taehyung’s chest heaves painfully tight, breathing becoming more erratic with every stroke and yes clearly there’s a strong voyeurism kink within this man! So as crazy as it may sound , the combination of the restaurant, and this phone call ?!

Yeah, he’s not gonna last!

Slouching down completely against the back of the booth, thighs spreading to full capacity. Fingers tangled in his Smokey locks holding his bangs out of his face. Eyes shut , jaw tight, neck slightly reclined, though to the naked eye he’d just appear to be on a very unpleasant phone call! When in all actually he’s finally just letting himself fall apart beneath your touch!

Eyes fluttering open just enough to glance down at you in a way that had you feeling like you could come right with him. Your gaze is Just as heavy as his, lips darting out to wet your lips though your throats suddenly what’s running dry!

Tae’s lips part slightly, though he’s falling apart he’s giving it right back to you. Hitting you with those sinfully needy fuck me eyes! The same ones you see when your riding and edging him until he’s coming tenfold! His breathing comes stagnate every time your foot moves and Tae finds himself gnawing down on his bottom lip to stifle the moans sliding up his chest! You can tell who's on the other end now, it’s the new secretary Alanna, and she legitimately is still getting her footing! Which is the only reason Tae is even entertaining the call, well one of the reasons!

You notice Tae’s breathing is starting to even out a little almost as if he’s gained some of his self control back and we don’t support that in this household. So you proceed to dig your foot right into the head of his cock and he straight wheezes! Body jerking off the wall and all ...

“No, I’m, fuck-“ There’s a moan that finally falls freely off his tongue that only barley seems acceptable because he in fact just choked! Voice coming out what feels like a octave lower and huskier , poor Alanna! “Yeah i'm good sorry , food just went down the wrong pipe.” He can barely think straight but he knows he needs to close this up “Hey look will be back within the hour and will sort it out then alright?”

I don’t even think he even waited for her to respond before hanging up and literally throwing his phone across the table! Gucci case and all.

“Everything okay? ?” Voice low and teasing, he knows you're technically asking about the office but your timing sucks ass!

“Fuck you” Falls off his lips in a barley audible moan, so consumed as his orgasm builds in the pit of his stomach! Eyes still struggling to stay open mouth, mouth falling slack, if your were in your right mind you’d tell him to pull it together alittle! Now that he’s off the phone, he either looks like he’s getting a foot job, or like he’s high on meth! Neither are appealing to the GP! God, he must look utterly ridiculous right now, thankfully he’s shifted against the booth so he’s facing a wall as opposed to other guest!

“Mm, my pretty baby’s close yeah?” Watching how heavily his throat bobs as he swallows, Tae’s leaking precum all over the damn place, so, close hips gently rocking into your foot as discreetly as possible, growing more desperate by the second. Fuck he needs to come, he needs to!

“Yeah baby please don’t- fuck” God he sounds so good, so needy and pliant and fuck!

“I got you...” At that you actually kick your shoe off, moving back to press down even harder, rubbing and rubbing forcing Tae to attempt to grab his drink in attempts to muzzle himself. However his hands are shaking too hard and he almost knocks it over!

“God baby I’m-“

“Be a good boy for me”

And he is, coming with a shuddering breath, under the steady pressure of your foot as his release tears through his veins. Dropping his to the table as subtly as possible(Hell maybe people will think he’s tipsy or not feeling well), thighs shaking, chest heaving painfully hard. He’s not completely silently but he does a lot better than expected, a low groan manages to slip past his lips.

“Good boy” The praise rolls off your tongue and goes straight to his dick, as if he needed anymore stimulation there. Another faint whimper falls off his lips until he’s drooling all over the table. Not even realizing initially, that his hips were still grinding into you until he’s hissing from oversensitivity! The force of his orgasm has Taehyung drawing straight blanks, hearing nothing but white nose rustling in the background!

Also, I don’t know what that says about Tae as a person but he’s not even remotely humiliated! The only thing that he’s about to regret once his mind's less foggy is how absolutely drenched his YSL leather pants are!

So busy trying to get his breathing back in check as he comes down from his high, he completely missed the way you’d signaled to the server. Calmly asking for her to add 8 more slices of cake to go, and bring the bill over!

His face is flushed, his pants feel gross as hell but above everything else he feels so damn good! Reaching down to still your foot, gently massaging the top as his eyes finally flutter open! Vision still a little hazy as he looks back at you with a dazed smile, and your gazing back at him with so much fondness that the first thing that slurs off his lips in a whisper is....

“I fuckin love you!”

Flashing him a wink in return as you make eye contact with your servers whose letting you know she’ll be over in a moment. Keeping your foot stationary for a moment, enjoying the well deserved foot massage. Occasionally flexing your toes to “accidentally brush against his dick. Giggling around your drink every time he'd hiss and jerk away!

This entire lunch situation was a damn mess, and high key reckless but, the blissed out smile written all over his face is more than worth it. Where just ugh...not gonna tell the boys about this!

“Love you too Tae”

~~~~~~~~~

Everything from that moment on kind of feels like a blur honestly, up until the two of you sliding into your car and before you can even get yourself settled he’s on you! Yanking you out of your seat and into his lap before you can even put your seatbelt on which obviously is not ideal this is a sports car after all but you don’t dare complain! Taehyung’s far from shy with his wants, griping the back of your neck, sliding his fingers through your hair as he presses your lips together! He doesn’t try to ease you into it either It’s hard, hungry, desperate and overtly needy! Forcing both of you to huff out a staggered breath through your nose to even keep up! You breathe him in, and he breathes you out, it’s all open mouthed, and heady, an obscene amount of moans rolling off your tongues. Reclining your jaw, giving him free reign to explore your mouth. Tongue rolling against your slick and languid with years of finesse between the two of you. No matter how hard he’s kissing you it still doesn’t feel rushed, its deep, borderline sensual actually!

Tae pulls back just enough to nip at your bottom lip, dragging his across your jaw and down the side of your neck! Licking sucking and biting, along your skin, moaning at the way you arch and grind your hips into every touch! The two of you carry on like that until there’s suddenly something thumbing in the back of your throat!

“Hey..” There's a slight sternness within your voice that has him instantly trying to snap out of his postcoital haze. Stroking the hinge of his jaw “You know, how much I love you right? And if, we need to all sit down a re-”

Cutting you off with the smooth glide of his lips pulling you into a kiss that’s a slower, less needy, there’s no ulterior motive, Tae just wants to feel you “Nah, I don't wanna change anything sometimes- I just want-”

“I know...” Because you do, pressing your forehead to his, not even kissing just letting your breaths melt as one. Massaging his scalp gently, he already looks like he’s a second away from passing out! Pondering if maybe the two of you should switch places...

“Promise you’ll let me take care of you later” Tae nuzzles against the side of your face like a puppy wanting his ears scratched! Believe it or not he wasn’t always such a selfless lover, not until he found you guys! Now it’s almost like his orgasms feel incomplete if he’s the only one coming once it’s all said and done!

“You can do whatever you want to me Tae, you know this.” Placing a couple lingering kisses on those pouty lips of his before hesitantly shuffling into the passengers seat. Transfixed on the way he slips back into his lane, fixing his hair, pulling out his oversized cat eye frames to rest on the bridge of his nose. One hand on the wheel the other finding there home on your thigh. Noting the slight discomfort as he shifts in his seat, no doubt due to the fact that well, he just came in his pants.

“How about..” Leaning over to place a open mouth kiss right beneath is ear, digging your nails into his thigh until he moans. “ I clean you up a little on the drive, and we pit stop at mine, and we drop you off first so you can shower and chill. Then me and Joon will come back and crawl into bed with you after were done for the day..”

“Am I being given the rest of the day off Mrs. Kim?” You can already hear the smirk in his voice without even looking...

“Yes Mr. Kim that would be correct....” Already working the zipper before he can even respond because you already know how this is about to pan out...

___________________

Hi my babies, first off IDK where this came from, I also wouldn’t consider it my best, but it was the first thing I’ve written in like 6 months which felt good. This was supposed to be up back in December I had a couple holiday prompts for the series that I never got around to completing ! But If you enjoyed show this some love and come talk to me!

Love always,

Rocki

#taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kim taehung #kim taehyung smut #bts #bts smut #bts x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kpop #kpop smut

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