#hes pathetic and that must be visible in everything i write about him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilygetou · 10 months

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎CORPSE MAKEOUT!

NERD! ARMIN X BULLYFEM!READER.

⋆. CONTENT+WARNING: heavy non con, mind break, degrading, virgin! reader, virginity loss, mention of blood, bondage, dacryphilia, blindfold, rough sex, pussy + ass slapping, mean armin, sloppy make-outs, unprotected sex, creampie, sub/dom, face fucking, overstimulation, hints of sizekink, edging, no after care, not proofread!!

based on this thirst.

Armin is ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated, abashed & mortified.

him getting turned on by getting insulted? How embarrassing! the smartest person in school, the school’s best student, your class president gets turned on by getting insulted by you?

This has to be a mistake! it must be his body & mind playing tricks on him.

getting hard every time you call him “insipid, a whore, nasty, pervert, boring, creepy, gross, horrible, disgusting…” the list goes on.

how can he get turned on by those repulsive words. how pathetic of him.

He still thinks that getting turned on has nothing to do with your degrading words. And thinks there’s just something wrong with his hormones.

today he's going to prove it! Once lunch break starts & you come up to him to insult him, he won't get turned on, not even slightly. Armin is sure of it! he’ll prove to himself that he won't get aroused by your insults.

oh how wrong armin was.

As soon as armin saw you walking towards him, short skirt, tiny shirt that had your cleavage visible to everyone, your glossy lips that look like they may taste like cherry, & your pretty messy hair.

he focused on the food in front of him, acting like he didn’t see you walking towards him.

“Did you finish my homework?” was the first thing you said, but you got no reply from armin, “do i have to repeat myself?” no reply. “you fucking loser answer me!” no reply. Armin had his eyes glued to the food in front of him, not daring to even take a fast glance at you.

“i’m already in a bad mood, don't make this worse for me disgusting creep” fuck. fuck. fuck. armin was sweating, he could feel his dick slowly growing in his pants. No, this isn’t supposed to be happening.

“h-huh sorry I zoned out...” you clicked your tongue & rolled your eyes, “did you finish my homework?” you asked again.

armin nodded his head & got your notebook out of his bag & handed it to you, still not looking at you. you took it back & started walking away, without thanking armin.

armin clicked his tongue & clenched his fists as he watched you walk away. Why the fuck is he even scared of you? You were just someone who likes to act tough, so you took advantage of armin’s introverted & weak personality.

He doesn‘t see you doing the same with anyone else in the school, only him, only him because he was the only one in the school who doesn‘t know what self defense is.

Armin will be changing that. He has a sickening plan in mind that plans to change everything, including the way you view him, talk to him, and even think of him.

How will armin get his revenge on you? armin will simply fulfill his sexual fantasies on you, whether you like it or not is none of armin‘s concern.

you have been bullying armin throughout the whole year, making this school year the worst year ever for armin. So, why should armin care if you liked having him use you or not? If you don‘t care about how armin feels then he will not be asking for any consent from you or even think about how that’ll make you feel.

How will armin start his plan?

he will invite you to his house, it will obviously not be an easy task for armin since you probably have no interest in visiting armin‘s home.

it‘s okay though, he will beg you & act as if it‘s some emergency.

armins plan will start right after school.

It was the last period of the day, only 5 minutes were left & everyone were already packing their stuff, ready to go home.

you came up to armin & slammed your notebook on his desk, “i need you to finish doing my homework by tomorrow, & be careful while writing, this is a new notebook that i got yesterday. I don't want any ink stains on it, got that?” & armin just slowly nodded his head.

what a demanding whore. armin thought.

armin was already home, now he has to think of a way to get his plan to work. First, what will he do once you get here? easy, tie you up & then blindfold you, if armin removes the part where you will try struggling, this was quite easy.

What will armin do after? With you being tied up, Armin can basically do anything to you.

Now with the text, what should he text you or tell you to make you come to his house?

it was 5pm by the time armin figured out what to say.

armin: Hello y/n, remember that blouse you told me to fix? i’m done fixing it, i need you to come pick it up today since i won’t be home for a few weeks to give it to you.

armin fiddled with his hands, nervous that his plan might not work.

y/n: Do i have to come over? Can’t you just deliver it to my house since you're still here?

armin: I’m afraid i can’t do that. I need to finish packing up my stuff.

y/n: Fine

y/n: Omw

A complete lie. Armin just told you a complete lie.

That blouse you gave him to fix? He didn’t even start fixing it.

Armin lets out a chuckle, now all he had to do was wait for you to come over.

Armin suddenly heard a loud & aggressive knocks on his door, must be you.

“open the fucking door!” armin heard from the other side, by the time armin unlocked his apartment door, you forced yourself in, a frown on your face.

“Where’s my blouse? I can't believe i had to come here to pick up some blouse.”

“no hello? or a ‘can i come in’?” armin joked, which caused you to let out a frustrated groan, “where’s my blouse?” armin slightly rolled his eyes before responding, “upstairs in my room,” you hurriedly walked up the stairs, armin following you from behind.

once you got inside armin’s room, he made sure to get in with you & lock the door behind him, “so, where is it?” Armin shrugged to which he replied with; “i lied.” you stared at armin, confused, “i lied about finishing up your blouse” you felt yourself fill up with range. your eyes starting to twitch.

“you lied? what the fuck?” armin hums in response as he walks slowly towards you, his hands behind his back, as if he‘s hiding something.

“y/n, d‘yknow how much i suffered this school year? it was miserable, matter of fact, this was the worst school year ever,” armin utters, you raised a brow in confusion, “m’kay? why are you telling me this? i really don’t give a fuck.”

once armin heard your response he grinned, “it was the worst, you made it miserable, you ruined my last year of highschool,” armin continued.

“armin, why are you telling me this? did you have me get all the way to your house to tell me this? i’m busy, i don‘t have time to sit here n’ listen to your little sob story” armin chuckled at your response.

“what‘s so funny? listen, i really don‘t have time for this, ’m leaving” armin stopped laughing once he saw you trying to walk out of his room, trying to unlock his bedroom door but failing due to the keys being with him, “why isn‘t this thing opening!?” you complained as you still kept trying to unlock the door.

“what’re you doing?” you heard a voice from behind you, armin was behind you, “’m trying to leave? isn‘t obvious?” you scoff, “oh? & how will you do that? the door is locked y’know, or are you too stupid to realize that, too?” you felt yourself getting slapped in the face, the door was locked? how did you not realize that? a frown & a pout covers your face as you click your tongue.

“why is it locked?” you asked armin but was completely ignored, armin looked like he was searching for something all over the room, you tilted your head in confusion, armin was searching rather aggressively, it seemed like he was searching for something important.

“ah, found ’em” you heard armin mutter, you move your head to the side, trying to take a look at what armin found.

it was a...knife? more specifically, it was a pocket knife, why does armin need them? “huh? what‘re you going to do with these?” armin side-eyed you & smirked, “well, for starters, i will be using them” you look at him confused, causing the blonde boys smirk to grow wider.

“It seems like you’re confused, you‘ll figure it out soon enough,” armin spoke to which you clenched your fists at, “can‘t you just tell me!?” you were ignored once again by armin. He took out a pink rope & started walking towards you.

you slowly backed away from armin causing you to bump on the edge of his bed, tripping & falling on his mattress, armin smiled as he watched what just happened, “what‘re you going to do, armin?”

armin felt his heart flutter, he hadn’t heard you say his name in a long time, usually, what you do is just call him any insult that comes to your mind. never have you ever said his name, it was only when armin first introduced himself to you, more like, you forcing him to say his name to you.

“Turn away,” armin said, “turn away?” you questioned to which armin nodded to, “no, who are you to tell me what to do?” armin didn‘t react to your words, he just repeated himself to you, “turn away y/n, face the other direction, give me your back,” armin tried to explain in more than just one word.

you still refused to listen to armin causing armin to let out a sigh & move slightly towards you, “don‘t come any closer!” armin stopped in his tracks, giving you a confused look, “why should i listen to you?” you tilted your head, anger boiling up inside you, “what?” you say, confused. “Were my words not clear? did you not hear what i said? do i have to repeat myself to you?”

you were both confused & pissed off, since when was armin like this? Usually, he would not talk back & just do as he was told. This armin is not the armin you know. the armin you know obeys without talking back, never has he spoken back to you, he just does as he‘s told.

“armin, what happened to you?” armin wanted to laugh, what happened to him? Nothing happened to him. He was just simply trying to take revenge.

armin ignored you, he ignored you & took a grip of your wrists pinning them behind your back as you kept struggling, “quit moving” armin held both of your arms with one hand and the other one was tying both of your hands together, he made sure to tie as tight as possible.

After making sure the tie isn’t loose, armin lets go of you, causing you to drop on his bed, your body jiggling a bit, your breasts landing flat on his mattress. You tried struggling, trying to break free from the rope. Armin was watching you struggle, your breasts jiggling with every move you made.

Armin started walking towards you, grabbing your hair & getting your face closer to his. You hissed in pain, without wasting a single second Armin pulled you into a kiss, you didn’t kiss back, your eyes widening in complete shock. You tried to move back but failed due to Armin tightening his grip on your hair.

Armin forced his tongue inside your mouth, his tongue melting inside your mouth before he finally decided to pull out. You kept panting, still in shock at what just happened. That disgusting nerd just kissed you. You felt horrible, you just wanted to go back home and rinse your mouth a hundred times.

Armin’s grip on your hair loosened, making you fall back onto his mattress. Your eyes darted to armin, blue eyes glaring into you with a smug on his face. Your vision slowly fell onto his crotch area, his was bulge big & huge. His dick particularly sticking out of his pants.

Armin got closer to you, he grabbed your hair again & moved your face closer to his crotch, Armin then started grinding his bulge against your face. You were letting out low gasps, your face scrunching up in disgust as armin continued grinding his clothed dick onto your face.

You were letting low gasps, continuing to struggle until armin shoved his pants down — his dick springing out his boxers, your eyes widened as you saw pre cum leaking from the slit, & the way it slowly twitched once Armin grabbed it.

Armin chuckled at your reaction, “open up” you heard him say, he was stroking his cock slowly, waiting for you to open up your mouth so he could shove his dick in.

After patiently waiting for you to open your mouth, armin got tired of waiting. He pulled your hair once again making you let out a yelp, armin quickly shoved his cock in. Tears started covering your lash line, he fully pushed it in, making it hard to breathe.

“suck” he mouthed, you shook your head, Armin frowned “i said suck!” he jolted his hips, his dick going further into your throat, you immediately started sucking. You licked the underside of his dick, Armin let out a shaky sigh in return.

You’ve been licking the tip of his dick most of the time, struggling to actually suck him off. Armin got tired of your slow pace n’ placed his hands on both sides of your face and started thrusting against your face. “a-ah shit” he moaned, armin didn’t last long before he let out his load inside your mouth.

Armin didn’t move until he watched as you gulped down his semen.

Armin started walking away from you, he walked towards his closet, looking through it — he took out a thick piece of fabric. Armin went back to you & wrapped it around your eyes, “what’re you going to do armin..!?” you said, panicked.

Armin shushed you, “don’t worry about it, i just need to teach some slut a thing or two about manners, okay?” Once he said that, you got pushed into all fours, your ass was all out for armin to ogle at.

Armin suddenly slapped it, your ass jiggling in response. He gave it another harsh slap, making you wince in pain.

“don’t act like you’re not enjoying this, the wet spot back here proves that you love this, whore.” suddenly, you felt two long digits rub against your cunt, “see? you’re getting turned on by this” armin grabbed the pocket knife and with a quick swift, your panties were torn up — you couldn’t process what had happened, you knew you heard the sound of fabric tearing but maybe armin just tore up your panties?

Armin then gave your pussy a slap. He watched as you let silk drip out your cunt & into his bed, armin snickered & gave you another slap making more silk drip out, you tears stained your blindfold, you were whimpering in pain with every slap armin was making.

Your ass was red, handprints all over it & your pussy was swollen n’ puffy, you were a crying mess.

“hm, that wasn’t even that bad, what’re you crying for? sluts like you would get it a lot worse, you should be glad that i’m feeling nice today” you couldn’t respond, the pain was unbearable.

Armin started moving his finger in a slow circle motion around your clit, you felt a sudden sting of pain, your pussy still not recovered from armin’s earlier actions.

“A-Armin…please stop” you managed to let out, a sob leaving you right after. “Shut up, have you ever listened to me whenever I told you to stop with your pathetic insults? Always embarrassing me. So why should i listen to you?” he grits, he pushes in two of his fingers, your walls clamping around his digits immediately.

A choked moan left you as you felt the guy behind you plunging his fingers deep inside your gooey cunt, his pace was slow, your cunt tightening around his fingers which made it hard to move out.

“God, you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” armin snickered, enjoying the way your cunt was clamping around his fingers, “s-stop..! ’m close, don’t wanna cum! p-please stop!” you pleaded, more tears were streaming down your face. This made Armin fasten his pace, once your orgasm hit you, he watched as your body shook & trembled.

You came all over his fingers, a muffled moan leaving you.

Armin didn’t give you time to catch your breath, he immediately pushed you down onto his mattress & flipped your body to have you laying on your back.

You couldn’t see anything, couldn’t see what kind of expression armin was making, what part of your body was he eyeing, you couldn’t see how much of a mess he made of you.

You suddenly felt armin’s dick rubbing against your pussy, his cock was stiff as he continued grinding it against your abused pussy. A loud gasp left you & you immediately filled up with fear, you tried pushing Armin off but he was much bigger & stronger than you.

“no no no, Armin please!” Armin faked a pout, “please what? please fuck me armin?” he laughed, knowing that was not what you meant. He kept gliding his cock against your messy wet folds, teasing your entrance with the tip of his dick.

Armin slowly pushed the tip into your glistening cunt, a shaky sigh left the blonde guy, his hips stuttered before he slowly started thrusting against you. Your silk was coating his dick with every thrust, armin held your hips and moved you closer to him, burying himself deeper within your pussy.

Armin’s eyes darted down to where you both were connected, his movements paused for a moment. “Blood?” he muttered in confusion before a smirk replaced the confused expression he had, “Ah, I get it now.” Armin utters, your whole body tensing up at his words.

“You’re a virgin aren’t you?” he happily says, jolting his hips against yours roughly, his dick ramming your insides. Your mouth hangs open, moans leaving you as if you had no control over your body anymore.

“I asked you a question, answer!” Armin roughly thrusts before landing a slap to your cunny, a muffled scream left you — your breathing was intense, your whole body was sore but all you could do right now was moan in pleasure as armin continued to abuse your pussy.

“i– mmfph! y-yes!” you managed to answer, Armin snickered, “yes what?” Armin held up your hips and pressed them against your shoulders, he angled his cock at your g-spot, his cock hitting it with every thrust he made.

“yes i’m a-a!” you stuttered, “virgin!” you replied, situations like these, you would be too ashamed & embarrassed to admit that but with the way armin was fucking you? You couldn’t think straight, your mind all foggy n’ hazy.

“what happened to your protests just a second ago? hah — i knew it, you like this.” Armin stated, and you didn’t even try to deny it, you didn’t have the ability to do that right now. All you wanted right now was to cum and maybe after that, you’ll try to clear up everything.

Armin’s dick kept hitting your sweet spot, your walls tightening around his cock, Armin threw back his head, his eyes shut as he let out low gasps, “fuck” he spat, knowing that his close, he kept thrusting at a rapid speed.

With a sudden twitch of armin’s cock, he filled your insides with his heavy cum. The feeling of being filled up felt too good that it brought you closer to your climax but the way your walls spasmed around armin’s cock made him pull out almost immediately. Denying your close orgasm.

A sob left you, you were so close but armin had to tear up your orgasm. You let out a frustrated sob, armin moved away from your body, “d’ya think you deserve to cum? On my dick even?” he scoffs.

Armin walks back to you & raises your whole body before he shoves his dick back in your pussy, he holds you by your thighs, his hands digging into your thighs with every thrust he makes, armin was groaning into your ears. Your body was hot, your face was a whole mess, you were letting out incoherent mumbles and loud moans.

With every jolt of armin’s hips your walls would clench around his length, armin pulled you into a kiss — slowly turning into a hot makeout session where armin forced his tongue in your mouth again. It was sloppy, your chin was dripping with saliva while armin continued hungrily kissing you.

With a few more thrusts, Armin dick throbbed, his hips quivered before he shot his load inside your cunny, your walls fluttered around his cock – indicating your climax.

After catching his breath, Armin slowly pulled out — denying your orgasm once again. He let go of your body making you fall onto his mattress, “no..armin please..!” you begged, you didn’t have it in you to cry and beg, but you really wanted to cum.

“No amount of begging would let me make you cum, just the thought of it makes me sick.” Armin threw at you, your heart sank, you felt yourself fill up with embarrassment. Armin walked up to you and removed the blindfold, revealing your teary eyes, mascara running all over your face, your hair sticking to your face and your nose runny with snot.

You sniffed, burning up with shame and embarrassment, feeling frustrated and angry at the fact Armin just took full advantage of you, you frowned.

He didn’t even let you cum, he used you multiple times just to only let you finish on his fingers. You tried to get up but immediately fell back to bed, your body was so sore.

You huffed in frustration, “untie me!” armin stopped in his tracks, looking back at you he sighed, “do you really think i’m done with you?” you tilted your head in confusion, you can’t handle another round with armin.

He’s too cruel, too mean, you can’t handle him. And, your pussy probably can’t handle another round as well, it stings with pain, and armin already came many times inside, you can’t handle anymore.

#attack on titan x reader #aot smut #armin x reader #armin smut #aot x reader #aot x you #aot armin #shingeki no kyoujin x reader

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melanieph321 · 4 months

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Ruben Dias - Be Mine Part 3/3

This fic was short but very fun to write 🤭

Enjoy the last chapter!

Anon asked: hey, have you ever written a story like ruben having an affair with his teammate's girlfriend?

No, but here is a try!

Enjoy!

"Pass the ball Bernardo!"

It was a late practice. Every player was already tired from a full day's training.

"Go on then!" The City players shouted. "Pass Ruben the fucking ball!"

Bernardo didn't listen. He wasn't even doing the drills correctly. It was pass, pass, dribble, then shoot. Bernardo just went on dribbling by himself, refusing to pass Ruben, who ran beside him, the ball. He was meant to assist him but Bernardo ran up to the goal and took the shot anyway. His teammates sighed, including Ruben. Coach blew the whistle and ordered everyone to the dressing rooms, everyone except Bernardo.

"What's wrong with him?" His teammates questioned. "I always tell him he looks like a donkey, now he plays like one too."

Ruben walked in silence, not looking back to the pitch where coach stood yelling at Bernardo like the child he was.

"Have you talked to him lately, Ruben?" His teammate, John, asked. Like the others, he seemed concerned.

"You know Bernardo." Ruben shrugged. "It's just a slip on soap, he'll be alright."

"Yeah, but do you know if everything is alright with him, like at home? You know his family don't you? His wife?"

Ruben would rather not. He hadn't thought about Ines since their last encounter, when she decisively told him never to come near her again. Bernardo however, thought otherwise, leaving Ruben with a black eye that day. It wasn't visible for long though, since Bernardo didn't hit very hard.

"I don't know John. Ask her yourself if you're so concerned." Ruben left his friend clueless, heading for the showers. He couldn't careless if Bernardo was in a mood, all he cared about was Ines and the fact that she refused to return any of his text messages.

"This is all your fault!"

Chaos erupted in the dressing room. Ruben, wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist, had just stepped out of the shower. Bernardo had joined his teammates in the dressing room and as they tried to adress what happened today during training, Bernardo spotted Ruben and all he saw was red.

"I'll kill you!"

Ruben barley flinched as his teammates rushed to prevent Bernardo from getting to him. He found the sight quite amusing.

Bernardo gritted his teeth. "I invite you to my home and you try to fuck my wife!'

"He what?"

The other players frowned, heads shifting amongst each other.

"Ruben, you didn't?"

He didn't not answer them, letting them assume the worst.

"Come on man." Jack said. "Not even I would do that, even if Bernardo's wife is a ten."

"Shut up Jack." The others hissed. They tried to hold Bernardo back, but clearly struggled to.

"I trusted you! Ines trusted you! And now she's...." Bernardo's voice broke. He stopped fighting, his knees folding beneath him. He crumbled to the floor, trembling with the low sniffles that escaped his mouth. Pathetic, Ruben thought. The other players went to comfort him, Ruben however, got dressed and left the training grounds. He was done for the day.

Ruben went home to prepare one of his favorite meals, a fine piece of steak which he planned to stuff in the oven with some baked potatoes. However, half way through his long but relaxing cooking session, the doorbell rang.

"Ines?"

He opened the door to his apartment and to Ruben's suprise there she stood, dressed in a long coat.

"Can we talk?"

Ruben stepped aside, letting her into his apartment. A lovely suprise, he thought, since he hadn't expected her to show up at his doorstep unprovoked and without an invitation.

"You need to call Bernardo and tell him to come home." She said.

Ruben watched her remove her coat, her hair damped with water. It must be raining outside.

"Did you hear what I said?" She asked, her voice stern and determined.

Ruben smiled. "I heard you."

"Good."

"Would you like somthing to drink?" Ruben slipped back into the kitchen. Glad to see that Ines was comfortable following him. A sign that what happened between them hadn't been that appalling to her, perhaps she even had trouble admitting how much she had actually enjoyed it, Ruben hands, roaming her body.

"Water will be fine, thanks."

Again, she was being stern with him. Ruben was hoping that it was only an act, because she wouldn't want to see him get stern with her.

"Water it is."

Ruben handed Ines her glass of water and did not let his eyes diverged from her lips as she emptied the glass in one go.

"So." Ruben smirked, elbows resting on top of the kitchen island.

"What?"

"You said somthing about your husband, Bernardo?"

"Yes." Her face faltered, the glass still in her hand. "I need you to talk to him."

Ruben snorted.

"I'm serious Ruben, you owe me. Bernardo hasn't been home since...since..."

I tried to fuck you, Ruben thought.

"...you know." She said, ashamed to meet his eyes. "You need to find him and tell him to come home. I'm so worried Ruben, you have no idea."

"What makes you think that I want to chase after your husband who chose to leave you."

Ines shook her head, her voice barley above a whisper. "Please Ruben, you have to. We have a family."

Dammit, he thought. Her tears, Ruben couldn't resist her tears. She tilted her head, looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

"He doesn't deserve you." He muttered.

"Well, neither do you."

Silence fell.

Ruben rejected the feeling creeping in the pit of his stomach. Was it pain? Guilt? No, he thought. He turned around, the steak and potatoes were still cooking in the oven. He was hungry.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Ruben asked, turning back to Ines.

She frowned. "Are you serious."

He shrugged. "I'll give your husband a call once we're done eating."

She bit her lip, contemplating the deal. Ruben watched her carefully, he watched her give into him again. "Fine. One plate but that's it."

They ate in silence. Ruben would've enjoyed a silent dinner with anyone else, but with Ines, he wanted to know what was on her mind. Like what did she think of his kitchen? It was newly renovated.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I probably shouldn't have come onto you the way I did."

"You think." Ines muttered, head down as she cut into her steak.

"But please, feel free to tell me what you see in Bernardo? We both know I'm the better match for you."

She sighed. "I love him Ruben. Sometimes there is no explanation for why we feel the way we do. It's human, the rawest form of humanity. Love."

Ruben felt an urgent sense to vomit. He must have expressed it on his face because Ines shook her head in disbelief. "I know someone like you won't understand."

Ruben frowned. "Someone like me?"

"Yes, someone like you. Someone so...so..."

"Broken?"

Her mouth didn't close.

"That's what I am to you right?" He said, his turn to be stern with her. "A broken man?"

"Oh Ruben. Your not broken more than me or Bernardo. But I am convinced that you've chose to be alone longer than what is good for you."

He snorted, but let his gaze fall onto his half eaten plate. "It's better this way."

There was movement. It shook the table. Ines had left her seat, now approaching Ruben. Somthing warm and gentle grasped his face, a hand. He tilted his head with her touch. Ines was looking down at him, smiling. "You deserve to find love Ruben. Just like everyone else."

"What if I've already found it?"

Her hand left the side of his face.

"No, Ruben, you haven't. Perhaps you've just realized what kind of love you want, like the love between me and Bernardo."

She went to garb her coat. Ruben was still glued to his seat, unable to move. She had paralyzed him, mostly with fear and her ability to read his mind, thoughts he believed he had hidden too far back in his head.

"Love forgives Ruben." She stood by the door, dressed to leave him. "Remember this when you give my husband a call." She reached for the doorhandle, the door coming ajar.

"Ines wait!"

Ruben stood, springing towards her. Her expression shifted when he came near, but she did not scream, nor push him away. Ruben's hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her body close. He tilted his head, meeting her lips in a gentle exchange as they shared a first kiss. She hesitated, pulling away, Ruben could feel it and promised himself to let her go if that was what she wished. However, she stopped fighting him, finally giving in. Her hand went to his face, resting upon his cheek again. Ruben leand against it, feeling the comfort spread throughout his body, throughout his entire soul and then...

"A first and last." She said, her lips parting form his. It was over before it had begun.

"Ines I...."

"Aha!" A voice exclaimed.

Both Ruben and Ines turned dramatically. The door to Ruben's apartment stood ajar and seen in the hall marching towards them, was Bernardo. "I knew it. I knew you two were doing things behind my back."

"Bernie." Ines sighed. Even Ruben understood that their kiss was one of goodbye.

"Don't Bernie me!" Bernardo said, marching up to Ruben. Their height difference was so significant that Ruben had to tilt his head down just to look at his friend.

"You and me, outside, let's go!"

"Bernie please, you're drunk."

Alcohol was on his breath and he had large bags underneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in days. No wonder he had tried to assassinate Ruben during training today.

"No, I'm fine, I'm perfectly fine. Come on Dias, you and me, man to man, downstairs."

Ruben stepped forward, to Ines concern. However he only stepped forward to put a hand on his friends shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said.

"What?"

Bernardo had been jumping from side to side, knuckles held high, like a boxer preparing for a fight. That ended however, as Ruben put a hand on his shoulder.

"I said I'm sorry." He repeated.

"For what?" Bernardo spat, throwing Ruben's hand of his shoulder. "Sorry for trying to fuck my wife?"

"Yes, that and other things." Ruben thought of their kiss, his and Ines. He was pretty sure Bernardo had appeared just after it happened, not baring witness to it at all.

"What makes you think I'll ever forgive you for what you've done?"

Ruben looked to Ines, they shared a glance. Love forgives, he thought. "I don't." He said. "I don't expect you to forgive me Bernardo. I mean, I literally tried to fuck your wife. I don't thinks there is no coming back from this, I'm sure you can agree."

Bernardo snorted, but did not appear amused.

"But I do believe that we can at least go back to being teammates if you want? What do you say?" Ruben stretched out a hand. Bernardo regarded it with disgust. "Come on Ines, let's go." He turned around and led the way back to the elevator. Ines followed but turned around, glancing at Ruben. "Thank you." She whispered.

Ruben took one last look at her as she swung her hips on the way to join her husband in the elevator. Then he shut the door and let silence capture the apartment, that and other things. He didn't feel lonely, no. Ruben remained resilient in his need for a pedantic lifestyle. However, he was open to the thought of true love. But only because he had witnessed it first hand. Love forgives, he thought. That he knew now.

The End

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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mariamariquinha · 6 months

Text

Chilean, Camembert (Jonathan Levy x f!reader) - one shot

Summary: He was pathetic. Hot, but pathetic.

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: Mentions about divorce, bad words, a few academic terms, alcohol (it's wine), p in v sex, rough sex, a little bit of angst, Jonathan is quite toxic but for the optimists he is trying, oral sex (female receiving) and... Yeah, guess that's it.

Author’s Note: I finished writing this and thought 'I should be taking care of two long fanfics I'm writing here', but this shit had been in my head for MONTHS and, just like Dave's, I had to write it just now because that's when I felt fit. It's my way. I love writing for characters that almost no one gives a shit about.

Enjoy!

(If there are any grammar mistakes, I'm sorry, but I'm lazy, tired and needed to post it).

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

------------------------------------

He still had her scent on his neck and chest and face. It was an obvious realization, but one he didn't make until he was standing in front of that restaurant looking at your seated figure, one hand supporting your visibly tired face. He was late. Very late. And in a way, Jonathan could make an excuse over the phone and feel bad about it, but he still went there because he thought he could just be honest.

But her fucking scent was there. Probing, making explicit what had happened.

He stood motionless beside the car, coat tight between his fingers and a lump in his throat. You had asked the waiter for the bill, for the only glass of wine you must have sipped all night because you weren't a big fan of the drink. He knew that, but not because he asked - you said. You always said everything and did everything. You were the one who also asked him out for the first time, who kissed him for the first time, who led the whole exchange between you two. And the two of you weren't in a relationship, it hadn't even gone beyond an expected kiss after the third date, because you were patient and understood the moment he was going through. Still, Jonathan knew it was the last straw.

With more of that bitter feeling, he also saw you picking up your things and heading towards the exit. His cell phone vibrated at the same time you put yours to your ear, trying to talk to him for the fifth or sixth time. Jonathan didn't answer.

It was like a slap in the face, the way you lost the polite smile you'd given the hostess when you walked out the door and saw him there, in front of you, a street away. Your face wore a frown, a colder, more rational look, as you measured him from head to toe with a reticent step in that direction. It felt like you were figuring out where he'd been, what every detail of him meant; it scared him a little.

“Are you-”

There, after a few firmer, closer steps, Jonathan instinctively dodged your proximity, raising his hand just high enough for you to understand his reaction. Then, with a breeze, you became aware of the sweet aroma, the strange perfume that had an owner. From cold and rational, your eyes turned sad. You blinked a few times, swallowed hard. He kept that hand up and you stared at it, as if a wave of brutal realization had coursed through you. Jonathan was left to watch the scene in silence, relishing that bad feeling of having hurt you.

“I-”

“Nn-nn,” You interrupted, closing your eyes for a second and raising a single finger to stop him. He obliged. And then you opened them again, wet from tears you were holding back, looking right at him in a moment of braveness - one he could admire if it wasn’t for the circumstances. “Don't take it away from me. Don’t take… You don't have the right to reject me twice.”

There wasn’t a single part of him that felt strong enough to fight it, to say he could make it better, that Mira was a person from his past, that she hurted him enough for him to leave. But he couldn’t. He… couldn’t do it.

You recovered with a sigh and avoided looking at him as much as possible.

“I’ll go home. Forget my number, I don’t wanna be your friend, yada, yada, yada. You know, the usual.”

“We could talk about it.”

“We could? We could, Jonathan?”

Jonathan shut his mouth again.

“Just… Leave me alone, okay? For good.”

He didn't react when he saw you walking, steps slow as you kicked off your heels and walked the rest of the way to your car in bare feet. You looked back, just to watch the traffic on the street, and in that movement the two of you exchanged glances. You cried. Far from him, with distance, like stubborn tears that insisted on coming out. Tears Mira hadn't cried for him.

And he let it be.

------------------------------

The problem was in the details. He had the same gray hairs, the messily organized curls, the sweaters, the briefcase and the glasses, as if the last two years hadn't passed him by. There was Christmas, New Years, holidays; the same. You didn't hear if he was really divorced, if he was still with Mira, what Ava's custody rules were. Like before everything, you had fragments of him. That was a problem because these fragments made you fall in love before.

You had a boyfriend after him, a real one, who didn't have problems with an ex. His name was Charles. Honestly speaking, maybe Charles would have been a comfortable blanket and a hot cup of tea during a rainstorm, which is what you had with Jonathan. And he was good. Indeed, a nice guy. He made you forget Jonathan, put a stone on what had happened and move on with your life.

But you were far away from that mess geographically and emotionally when it happened. In London, more precisely, participating in an important research group for your academic career, and Charles happened at that time. It was an incredible six months. When you came back, he just said that it wouldn't be ideal to maintain a long-distance relationship, and you broke up. You had a good opportunity in Boston as a substitute teacher, a place on the Anthropological research team at Suffolk University and you stayed there without missing Charles much.

A year and a few months later, a friend from Columbia said they were putting together a new research team on Ancient Latin American communities, which was your area of expertise, and he had a good letter of recommendation if you were interested. Rahul was a very good friend. And that, precisely, took you to that exact moment.

First, you discovered that you were a very young person in relation to the other members of the group, who must have been at least 50 years old. At 27, you were an exception who would need to prove yourself a lot. Then, during a campus tour, someone asked you where you came from (which meant where you studied) and when you said you graduated from a public university, Rahul commented that it was better to say you were from Yale until they found out it was a lie.

“It's better to be called a liar than poor around here.”

And then you arrived at the moment that, curiously enough, was the least worst of the day: finding Jonathan leaving the library, with his head lowered and eyes focused on a book. There was a possibility that you would go unnoticed, that you could process the discovery that he was in Columbia calmly, but it was at that moment that you also discovered that Rahul knew Jonathan well enough to make a point of 'introducing' you.

Among other qualities, he was always polite and cordial enough with anyone, no matter who they were. So when Jonathan looked up with a friendly smile, ready for a simple handshake and saw you, he retracted his hand a little, because damn, he really didn't even wait for Rahul to say your name before doing so.

“Good to see you, Professor Levy,” You said, professional as ever, searching for his hand for a normal handshake. No explosions, no butterflies in your stomach. It was just Jonathan.

“Do you… know each other?” Rahul asked, obnoxious by the interaction and pointing between you two.

“Professor Levy was my mentor when I was working on my doctorate,” You explained. “He helped me to get that scholarship.”

“Oh. Small world, eh?”

He didn’t say a thing for a long moment, even after you smiled at Rahul and nodded, going along with his comment to throw the ball to Jonathan. Nothing. He frowned, lips pulled in thin line, and then, just then, when you cleared your throat and averted your gaze, that he blinked a few times, finally engaging.

“... I thought you were in Boston.”

Wow. It sounded like another rejection, from the tone of his voice and the way he watched your face. You felt your neck burning, your cheeks tickling in embarrassment. Good for you, Rahul did all the explanation, gaining Jonathan’s interest really fast and really naturally. From time to time, while your friend would come and go to extend that story more than necessary, you could see him giving you glances from time to time, as if to make sure you were still there.

By the time that whole lecture ended, full of an adventure you didn’t really live in real life, Jonathan turned to you.

“I hope we can have the opportunity to catch up now that you're here,” He said with a small smile, head tilted to the side. “You’re living nearby?”

“She-”

“I didn’t find a place yet,” You interrupted Rahul before he could say anything stupid. “And I don’t want to interrupt your work hours, professor. It’s Columbia, I would be really naive to think you’re not busy.”

“I could always find time to talk with an old friend,” You both smiled falsely, clearly with different intentions. You wanted that conversation to end, Jonathan wanted to pretend something.

“Sure thing,” With a sigh, you raised your eyebrows and looked back at the library doors, pointing at it. “Can we go now?”

Finally - finally - Rahul noticed that you wanted to leave, opening his mouth like a dead fish before nodding, all the while smiling exaggeratedly.

“Yep. Library. Library! Sure, we should-” He pointed at the doors as well, already pushing you to keep walking. “See ya later, Levy?”

“Mm-hm.” Jonathan nodded, another glance in your direction. “Good to see you again.”

“Same.”

Which wasn’t true, but you couldn’t tell exactly what you felt at the idea of coming back to that… interaction. He seemed nonchalant, a little taken aback but relaxed enough or mature enough to not make it a big deal, which was good. Fine. Cool. Of course you didn’t feel anything, whatever happened in the past was in the past. If you looked back and saw him doing the same (and had that feeling on the pit of your stomach), you both were just shocked by the surprise.

Right?

------------------------------

The mirror of the bathroom was fogged when you left the shower, making you clean it a little to avert your blurry reflection. Beside the mirror, big enough to see more than just your face, you saw a pair of boxers and a dirty shaver. Rahul wasn't the best of the hosts. You really would need to find that apartment soon.

For some reason, this made you instantly think of Jonathan, which consequently made you frown. No. No, no Jonathan. You shouldn't-

“You two fucked, right?”

Rahul didn’t even wait for you to enter the bedroom, throwing himself on your bed and looking at you suspiciously.

“Rahul…”

“Na-ah, don’t come with that shit. It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

You sighed, scratching the back of your neck and sitting beside him, feeling his body adjust on the mattress to be side by side. That made you think, think, think…

“Remember that guy I was seeing before flying to London?”

“Yep. The one with the ex and-" He stopped himself. "Shit."

"Mm-hm."

"He never sold himself as an asshole."

"I don't think he is a natural asshole," You pointed out, even if you already explained that to Rahul way before that conversation, before he could even guess who was the guy from two years ago. The reaction was the same: he tsked, shaking his head in disbelief, saying you were stupid for thinking like that, that you were 'too good with everyone'.

"He may be quite a catch, honey, but he's still an asshole. A jerk, at least."

"Mm…" You hummed, shrugging a little.

"And since he's the guy from before, you two didn't go to the finals then, right?"

"No, we didn't," For some reason, that made you scoff. "Why? Trying to push your luck?"

"... He's still hot."

That made you laugh - for the first time since the topic flowed between you two. A relief, at best, since Rahul just reserved this type of behavior with you, being so shy when the topic was his love life.

You had the impression that Jonathan wouldn't be just something to make jokes about.

------------------------------

Rahul lived close to the campus, close enough to walk everyday to work. You just noticed it was a great privilege when you moved from his apartment not even two weeks later, because suddenly what seemed like 'just a few blocks' turned into a bunch of whining from you.

The price of your new place was quite high because, damn, it was New York, so you did what you were doing in Boston: particular classes. All of this brought a routine for you. In the morning, gym, then work. Then lunch. Then work again. Then avert Jonathan every chance you got. Then go to Mr. Hastings house (where he has this weird nerdy son called Dylan) and give the young boy History and Sociology lessons. Then, finally, go back home, shower, scroll through your phone during dinner and avert that notification from Facebook suggesting that you should be friends with Jonathan because he was a mutual friend with Rahul. And at least half of the Researching Department.

It started to bother you. Jonathan wasn't chasing, not like in a stalker way, but the comfort idea that Columbia was a big university (big enough to make him less of a problem) started to fade and you knew that, if it really started to poke, like a petulant child, like Dylan Hastings, you should think of a better way of dealing with the situation. Given the circumstances, it seemed like those two years, from Europe to Charles, were all a big run from the fact that you're still hurt from what happened.

Jonathan didn't move a finger to get closer or force a conversation. Still, you knew that if you hesitated for even half a second, he would be there with his air of intelligence, strong aroma of coffee and a masculine lotion that he certainly used on his beard or on the days he decided to make his hair tidier. You noticed, there was no way not to. He walked more confidently than when all this happened, but Jonathan was never smug or showy, so it was just like he walked around without sulking. That was new to you. When you two met, he certainly didn’t show anything but remorse and a small sense of… comfort? Of fucking trying?

By the end of your second month at Columbia, Jonathan was just someone to look away from. Nothing else.

“I don't know if you'll find what you're looking for there.”

You turned abruptly to the side, seeing him standing in the middle of that corridor, both hands on his pockets and a small smile on his face. It wasn’t suffocating, the way he stood there in a safe distance with his shoulders relaxed and that New Balance dad’s shoes, but with two high shelves of books surrounding you, you just felt a little out of breath.

“It says British Literature,” You pointed at the entry of that corridor, where you saw the sign clearly stating which section the library was in.

“I didn't know this would be in your search grid.”

“And you’re right,” A nod, then your eyes went back to the books. “What I'm looking for isn’t for me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s for Dylan.”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan Hastings.”

He went quiet for a moment, but you didn’t give in to the curious desire to see what the expression on his face was.

“... Private classes, then?” Was what Jonathan asked after a beat, to which you nodded again. “For you to leave Boston and come here, I imagined that the offer at the Research Department would be more tempting.”

Indiscriminately, his comment made you a little annoyed, but you tried not to let it show. He wasn't usually mean, it's just that maybe you always had the wrong dose of sarcasm and even indiscretion. Whether it was his intention or not, you seemed to try a little too hard not to be rude.

“You really seem bothered that I came here.”

“To the library?”

“To Columbia.”

You sensed him taking a small step closer, which made you retrieve in your spot. Jonathan sighed.

“I’m not.”

“Mm.”

“You deserve to be here. With your background and such.”

“I know.”

“Can you please look at me?”

It was your turn to sigh, defeated by a simple task of being polite even when you didn’t have any obligation to do so. When you gave in, turning your eyes to the man, you saw that he was serious, but not angry, as if just waiting to test what should be his side in the conversation.

He didn’t say anything for a moment or two, measuring your face while brushing his fingers on his bearded chin.

“... We can talk about what happened. I know this-”

“We can’t,” Not a question, not a small broken voice of sadness. You said it with an almost expressionless tone, arms crossed over your chest. Jonathan was surprised by the sudden interruption, blinking a few times.

Again, silence. And when he didn’t give any indication to fill it, to say something, you turned your eyes and body back to the shelf, arms dropping to your sides again.

“You always wanted to teach here,” He said surprisingly, this time not even needing to ask you to look at him. You did it right away, snapping your head in his direction.

Took you some seconds to understand what he meant.

“I honestly didn't expect you to think I don't want to talk about this because I don't want to talk to you.”

Harsh, of course, but enough to keep him away. The sarcasm, the venom dripping from your voice, it should be more than a reason for Jonathan to put himself on his place, to be away from you, to just fucking forget it. He was doing just fine for two whole months, no one needed that drama again.

With that, he left, and you cursed yourself with closed eyes for feeling bad about it too.

------------------------------

“You know that's not the answer.”

“I would know if you told me.”

“If I told you, you would still not know and we would still be here.”

Dylan narrowed his sharp blue eyes at you, pursing his lips before looking back at the copy of Not Much Ado About Nothing.

“When I'm older, I'm going to pay people to give me answers.”

You looked around, seeing a Renoir on the left wall and a solid wood china cabinet right next to it.

“I'm sure you will.”

------------------------------

You thought about it a lot and knew that if you were thinking, it was because you had to decide what to do, which could include… nothing. You could let the matter drop, make Jonathan forget everything and just carry on as if nothing had happened, which seemed prudent. Maybe 'doing nothing', maybe continuing to live and work your dream would be ideal. You loved being an ordinary person, who did ordinary things and didn't live within the limits of drama; you loved peace. But the problem was that, to 'do nothing', it was also necessary to do something, take a step, make a decision, and these were actions, even if they were silent withdrawals.

The research fund had increased circumstantially that semester. Your articles were doing very well and, at that time, you could hope, even from a distance, for a chance at leadership in your own line of research. Like good nerdy academics, the Department didn’t throw celebration parties, but directed the money towards purchasing new printers, updating books in the library and investing in publications in the university magazine or field research trips. They commented that it could frustrate you, being young and not being able to have coworkers with whom you would drink in questionable bars, but you always smiled and replied that it was okay, that you had already booked the clubs and drunk Uber rides for a past time.

And for some reason, this moment of good news, of positive points, made you stop there, with a cup of coffee in your hand and right in front of Jonathan's office.

He had to double-check that it was you who was standing there after you entered, closing his mouth before he could use the condescending tone of a teacher toward a student, lowering his expectations of meeting a desperate oil heir from his Dostoevsky classes for… you. And what would be you, standing there with an unreadable expression?

“... Good morning?” He asked, unsure, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, well, yes. Good morning.” You said. “I’m not gonna do a lot of small talk, that’s probably not the right place to do so, I just…”

Jonathan was blinking at you as if you had a second head, confused by your appearance and probably by your rambling.

“I want to apologize for how I treated you the other day. At the library,” You words had a small effect on him, almost imperceptible. “It wasn't my right to act so harshly even if I disagreed with you.”

“I still think you were polite. I don't remember anyone telling me to fuck off in such a controlled manner.”

“Jonathan…” You scolded him with a sigh, averting your gaze from him with a head shake.

“No, please, I’m being serious. I deserved it.”

“That’s not the point,” You pressed. “It is, probably, but what I’m trying to say is that we could… put a rock on the whole situation and move on. We’re both adults, we can do that.”

He stared at you for another long moment, licking his lips and considering something inside his head. Then, calmly, he nodded, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. With small steps, you sat there, eyeing the papers splayed all over and then the way he leaned against his own chair, relaxed.

“How was your search for the book in the British Literature session?” Jonathan asked casually, even grinning at the mention of your trip to the library.

“Good. I spent a lot of time looking for the damn book and then discovered that Dylan had an exclusive copy,” You rolled your eyes at the memory, crossing your legs to get comfortable. “But it was worth it. It's been a while since I read Not Much Ado About Nothing.”

“Oh, Shakespeare.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I thought you always found him quite boring.”

“I still do,” The comment made him smile more openly.

All of that calm atmosphere brought some sort of comfort, but you were still sitting on the edge of the chair, circling the elephant in the room while sipping on your coffee. After a moment, when he just sighed and clearly left the ball in your room, you stared at your pants for a moment, thinking of a better way to start the topic.

“I won't ask what happened that night,” You started, having quite bitter flashes of the restaurant, the stares, even the pity from the waiter.

“You should.”

“Maybe, but I still prefer not to. What happened in your life isn’t my problem.”

He nodded. You knew that because when you raised your head, he was observing you quietly.

“I'm not with her anymore.”

It was strange that, for Jonathan, this was the most convenient thing to say, as if he had to give you an explanation of that, specifically. You took in the information with tight lips, brushing your fingertips on the coffee cup in your lap.

“... Mm.”

“But I shouldn't have been with her at that time,” He confessed. “I still loved her or thought I did, I don't know. There was just a lot going on at once and so we… That was the last time. With her.”

Again, you took the information, letting it flow in your insides. In fact, you were right to listen to any argument from him in the past. If he told you that back then, that night, the story would be more than something to forget.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because it may not seem like it, but two years can give someone a lot of maturity,” A pause. “And you were always very firm in knowing what you wanted to deal with and what you didn't. When you decided you didn't want to hear about my shit, I realized that I didn't care about you as much as I should have. This was something you didn't deserve and I know that if you still have your reluctance towards me, I shouldn't force it.”

It didn't seem rehearsed, but thought out - there was a difference. It was thought of as a class he was teaching, as a subject he was aware of and just said, in an automatic, reflected thought. You used to have mixed feelings when he spoke to you like that before, and this time you realized it was no different. He wasn't patronizing you, but he wasn't being completely emotional either, which could be slightly incoherent for someone who was speaking his mind. You accepted anyway, because before you didn't have something very solid, not enough for such expectations, and this time the relationship was even less close.

“... Makes sense,” You all but nodded, taking another sip on your coffee. “Quite relieved that you gave it some thought.”

“I did. I care about that now.”

Whatever he meant, whatever his ‘care’ should mean at the moment, you waved off with rationality. Jonathan just didn’t want to feel even more bad about what happened, if he had hurt you - a young, naive woman. It could do things to him, a father, who wouldn’t want his daughter to face what you might've faced. Like fixing his early mistakes to have a word on the future, if necessary.

“Better late than never, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn. I didn’t come here expecting you to put the same meaning on it as me.”

“And what was your meaning?”

The question made you squirm in your seat, just a little, just enough to notice that he knew you would react somehow. Still, you played it cool: shrugged, looked around.

“You were the hot professor coming off a messy divorce, Jonathan,” You said with a scoff. “That's basically the ideal guy recipe for any frustrated girl.”

“I never thought you were frustrated.”

“But you saw something,” With raised eyebrows, you said it for sure, a truth he would try to hide with kind words and a sense of regret. “You loved Mira and I never asked you to stop doing that. And you remember, don't you? When we kissed for the first time? I told you that you should only keep going if you were sure and you did it. You still smiled and said you wanted to do it the right way, take me to dinner and be a gentleman. The impression I got was that you needed more time to fuck your ex one last time and make sure we weren't going to work out.”

It came out so naturally, tho, like you just organized all of the thoughts and insecurities and expectations you always had when it happened, that Jonathan just stared at you without a reaction, as if it was all new to him. Maybe it was. You labored such a huge crush on him back in the day, he was always more smart, more charming, more polite, more pretty - no one could even come close to what you created of him. And when he came to that restaurant smelling like a woman, smelling like Mira, you knew that Jonathan, the sexy professor with kind smiles and a toe curling kiss, was just a pathetic immature projection of a good man for you, one that you could invest in.

He just considered it as if he were giving something a bain-marie, calmly melting it so that it was right, warm but not hot. You stared back at him, expressionless and calm.

“This sounds more like frustration,” His voice came out, low and ashamed.

“Wouldn’t you say.”

Jonathan nodded, looking around his desk as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“... I'm only here because I knew what I was getting myself into. My naivety was to trust that you, at that moment, could lead to a fruitful relationship. It was the wrong time and yeah, okay, it happens. Everyone has one of these.”

“You still didn't want to talk to me about it.”

“Because the first thing you said when you saw me here was that I should be in Boston, like I was a fucking plague.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But implied. You looked like you just saw a ghost.”

“I was surprised.”

“... Really?” You sighed, brows raised in disbelief. He rolled his eyes at the teasing, but complied anyway.

“Shocked.”

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Still.”

“Mm.”

“You’re just as pretty as you were two years ago,” The sudden comment made you stop mid-sip, staring blankly at him at the admission.

“I know,” You said casually, taking a full sip then and seeing him smile.

“One of these days we can have a coffee together. You still haven't told me what it was like in London,” He changed the subject subtly.

“I can tell you what it was like right now.”

“Can you.”

“It was nice.”

“Cold.”

“So cold,” You nodded. “Lots of smart people.”

“I could have guessed.”

“And good pubs with good beers.”

“Mm.”

“Simple like that.”

“I'm sure you have more details that you won't remember now.”

“Is it like a test? I have to study and say what satisfies you?”

“You're not my student anymore, I wouldn't do that. If it can make you say yes, though…”

“Oh no, it would make me say a huge no.”

“So tell me what would change your mind. I can work something out.”

He wasn't serious, was he? You literally said he was toxic towards you and there he was, inviting you to coffee as if none of the conversation had happened. This made you shake your head negatively with an incredulous smile, looking around once again as if the answer was there, among the bookshelves and other things in his office.

“Well, if I remember correctly, you owe me a bottle of wine,” You said with nonchalance, getting up from your seat and groaning a little in the process. “Chilean. Camembert.”

He didn't respond to that either, perhaps because he knew it wasn't an invitation, but the opposite: a reminder that despite your willingness to set the record straight, it didn't mean you wanted to be friends. Because defining and being friends were different things and you were always very diligent in implying things in a confusing way. That wasn't in your words, nor in your tone; it was in the way you stood up and dismissed any chance that he might use the time as an opening for charm, a chance for reconciliation that probably had to do with your connections at Columbia and the effects that circumstance might have on his position.

You went there to reaffirm that and only that. That you wouldn't be an obstacle, that he shouldn't be an obstacle, and that you had a bottle of Chilean wine from two years ago that hadn't been paid for from the right person.

Because the least he could have done when he showed up on a date he invited you to with another woman's perfume, smelling like another woman's sex, was pay for the damn bottle of wine.

------------------------------

The bottle of wine appeared on your desk in a discreet brown package, with no indication of its contents. There was no note, or anything written, just the glass, the label and the drink itself. You didn't smile at that. If anything, you took the bottle to a dinner you had at Rahul's house later that day, and when he asked, you just said you couldn't drink it all alone at home.

None of your friends drank alcohol that night. The empty bottle was in Rahul's recycling bin the next morning.

------------------------------

The truth, raw and honest, was that Jonathan was a visibly pathetic but attractive man. It was notable, whether in classes or at conferences, that even though he hid himself in department store-looking clothes, with a very disheveled look, Jonathan caught the attention of students, colleagues and people in general. This look probably only increased others' interest in him.

He walked with the confidence of any university professor in that age group, hiding in the personality of a father, an academic, who aroused curiosity, which whether or not it was a full plate for women with daddy issues or a sense of salvation.

Yes, then, he was fucking attractive.

You were never alone in the same place, at least not after the conversation in his office. What you had of Jonathan were these little pieces, fragments of his figure walking around campus and hallways, almost always distracted by something or just determined to get somewhere. He wasn't stupid, nor foolish, because he was aware that that effect made him gain some admirers, but maybe that was enough for you to hold on to these brief moments of Jonathan in your daily life.

He always looked back, in these halls and around campus. Briefly, just like you, with a succinct exchange of glances and a polite nod. Sometimes he would say 'good morning' to you and Rahul, or whoever was with him, and he would always look at you again when no one else was paying attention to him. Little by little, this made you feel that tingling again, the anxious heat of being under the watchful eye of someone for whom you had, even if unconsciously, a growing attraction.

One time he went to the research room because he knew one of your colleagues and, in the middle of a healthy discussion about a research method you were applying, he touched your forearm to get your attention, accompanied by a nod of the head and a 'do you remember when we did this?'.Afterwards, one of the Human Sciences professors invited you to follow a Socratic debate in the class and Jonathan was there, watching you so intently that he hardly turned his face to follow the next person speaking, and soon you started talking looking at him.

He didn't approach, as you suggested, but remained in your orbit.

Rahul was along with you when a peculiar interaction took place. The two were mentioning a new methodology for computing grades in the university system and you casually made notes on the subject. Jonathan turned to you and listened to each word with a look that wandered between your mouth, your gesturing hands and your eyes, which always had a roll, a squint or a widening. When he spoke again, you found yourself noticing his serene expression, the fingers that touched the beard just below his lips and how he scratched the right side of his neck every now and then, perhaps because the beard was growing in that area.

It was clear that Rahul had something to say as soon as you dispersed.

“I get it now.”

“Mm?”

“You and Jonathan,” He said with a calm tone, watching you go from confusion to shyness in a second. “This isn’t a judgment.”

“I know.”

“Because it's natural to have unconscious sexual tension between you.”

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, stopping in your tracks to gather what he just said.

“... Sexual tension?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your lack of realization.

“Let's be honest, in these two years, despite what happened, you never imagined what it would be like with him?”

Rahul should have never opened his mouth to talk about this, because suddenly this hypothetical situation turned into a plague. In the shower, on a boring day, when the Facebook request caught your attention: you caught a glimpse of Jonathan. It wasn't that graphic and you didn't have hot dreams about it, but you knew what it felt like to be touched by him, what the weight and feel of his hands was like, his kiss, and sometimes you found yourself thinking about it.

When you saw him in person, walking around the university, you noticed how he ran his fingers through his hair, how the movement of his legs gave glimpses of the shape of his thighs, how his t-shirts and blouses sometimes missed a detail about his chest and stomach. This got worse when you started having some casual encounters with other guys. You went out with a bartender and when it was all over you realized that he looked a lot like Jonathan and that you spent the whole time in an imaginative world thinking it was him.

Damn, you thought. You couldn't keep your word for even a second.

------------------------------

When the inevitable happened, the two of you were alone - thank God. It was like a perfect, clichéd scenario: late at night, you were alone in the research room and he showed up looking for someone who wasn't you.

“I thought you were already home,” He said, looking around before landing his eyes at you, who were standing on the small ladder to return a folder to the filing cabinet.

It was a bad day to wear a skirt. You were sure that your tension at being attracted again, added to the lack of cloth on your legs, made you even more aware of the shiver you felt when you went down the steps and saw him close.

“I wanted to finish an article. I can think better when I'm alone, you know.”

“I know.”

The two of you looked at each other for a few moments and there it was, the tension palpable, the heat rising in your stomach and leaving you a little disconcerted. He got it. He took a step closer and it made you blink, looking away at the desk.

“Everyone left an hour ago, I think. If you're looking for Mr. Jones, he won't be back until Monday,” You said, fidgeting with the papers splayed out on the desk, trying to tidy it all into their respective places.

His body was there, next to you, almost touching your arm but not quite. You knew he was very close by the heat and the scent, not having the courage to turn your face to see him.

“Is that so?” Jonathan asked, voice low.

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay.”

You organized the last stack of papers, took a breath and turned to him in time to see him measure the curvature of your ass against the skirt, as it was slightly inclined. He didn't hide it. In fact, he didn't even hide his observations as he glanced up at the discreet opening of the two buttons on your blouse before stopping at your face.

His kiss was the same as the one you remembered, but this one had more certainty and heat. When your mouths met, sharing a wet kiss, Jonathan didn't hesitate to grab both of your ass cheeks, grunting when he felt them and squeezing them firmly. A chair was dragged as you let his tongue invade your mouth and soon you felt the edge of the table pressing you, which you understood immediately.

It was fast, almost desperate. You grabbed his hair when you heard the clasp on his belt come undone and you almost broke his glasses when you felt him roughly lift the fabric of your skirt. He didn't even care and you didn't apologize. Jonathan didn't prepare you either because he didn't need to - you were ridiculously wet. It was a firm penetration, which made you gasp against his mouth, without waiting, and soon the two of you were a mess of kisses and moans and whimpers with each aggressive thrust.

The table creaked with the force of his hips and, fortunately, it resisted when Jonathan lifted one of your legs to go even deeper, even firmer. You moaned softly, restrainedly, and felt a bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder when he heard you moan his name. Jonathan was big, well endowed. You would feel all that the next day, but at that moment none of it mattered. It was a meeting of unresolved frustrations and aggressive, improvised, urgent sex.

He came inside after making you cum twice; he was hugging you when he did it. You were both panting, his face pressing against your neck as you held his head and hips, staring at the ceiling as you tried to regain your decency.

You organized yourself in silence, without saying a word. Your panties were sticking, his spent dripping out of your pussy, but if he noticed, he didn't comment. The table hadn't been disorganized, at least, and you had to pull up the sleeves of your shirt with how hot you were feeling.

“Sorry about it,” You were the first to say something, seeing him eyeing the crooked leg of the glasses carefully.

“It was already like this before, don't worry.”

“... Okay.”

You didn't know what to do with yourself, nor did he. For a moment, you just ran your hands over your skirt, then your mouth, then your hair, unsure whether you should say something or just let him go.

“Are you finished with your work?” Jonathan asked then, making you shake your head.

“I’m done.”

“I’ll take you home then.”

------------------------------

You didn't tell Rahul, but you suspected he knew something as soon as you met on Monday. He didn't say anything, didn't even hint, and you were sure that if he really wanted to know, you would tell him. What you imagined, of course, was that maybe it was just a one-time, unexpected and certainly necessary thing that wouldn't happen again. And that you haven't stopped thinking about it.

God, you wished you could forget, but it was Jonathan and it happened. So, best case scenario, you've moved on, gotten back into the routine.

All the energy this began to drain from you, all this… vivid memory of the sighs of pleasure he let out in your ear, the mark he left on your neck and the grunts he made that night, that you wanted so much before and suddenly happened in an unusual way, you took it out on things in your life. Gym, morning runs, a little yoga, an extra half hour in Dylan's classes to watch him practice fencing, another extracurricular activity that Mr. Hastings made him do. Distractions, in fact, because you didn't want to poke at whatever that intense moment with Jonathan would trigger, even if it was poking you again.

“I get the impression you're trying to avoid me.”

He found you in the middle of an Architecture student exhibition on campus, scaring you while looking at a 3D project of a hospital or something like that. You glared at him, saw that he was focused on the students' table, and when you looked around, no one was paying attention to the two of you.

“I’m not.” Pfft. Of course. “What gave you that impression?

“After what happened, it's natural for you to avoid me if the sex was bad or if I was an asshole or if, I don't know, any other reason people avoid people after something like that.”

“I don't know if you really want to know my answer.”

“I do. Tell me.”

You stared at him for a moment, then sighed when he showed no intention to run away from the topic.

“It wasn't supposed to happen.”

“So you regret it.”

“No, not regret, I just… Does this sound even remotely healthy to you? The two of us suddenly fucking inside a room at this university?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it ever happened here.”

“I’m serious, Jonathan.”

“Well, I am too. People here are traditional, not puritan. And we are both single people who are evidently attracted to each other,” He reasoned, that same stance of having two hands inside his pants pockets and a neutral expression on his face.

You considered it with silence, then turned back to the project you weren’t even paying attention to begin with, working more as a way to move on from the topic.

“The first time you really wanted to take me to dinner,” You mumbled.

“The difference is that the first time I didn't know what I wanted. I know now.”

“And that do you want now?”

Jonathan approached discreetly, arm lightly touching yours as he also pretended to look at the architectural work in front of you.

“I want to fuck you without rushing.”

------------------------------

Because that was it, just fucking. That's how things went, without the anxiety of seeing him every day, without the passionate hallucinations of what it would be like to have a 'relationship' with him. Jonathan went to your apartment most of the time because of Ava, but in the weeks she spent with Mira, you fucked all over his house: sofa, bed, bathroom, kitchen.

Mira wasn't an issue either because you didn't talk about it. You only asked once and demanded honesty, at least in this regard, and he said that the divorce had been consummated shortly after you went to London. You only knew about the times he spent with Ava because, after a while, the times he came to you were seasonal enough to form a pattern.

He asked about Europe again, with a more curious and attentive look. You said it was cool, actually, and surprising. When you mentioned Charles, he didn't react or make any comment on the matter.

“I heard you're going to try out for a substitute job after spring break.”

You were leaning against the headboard of his bed when you heard him ask. Jonathan had come out of the bathroom after discarding the condom and was sitting next to you when he appeared with this curiosity.

“From Rahul?”

“Mm-hm.”

That made you shrug.

“It’s not much.”

“It’s something.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, fidgeting with the sheet covering your legs. “But it's still not much. I will be paid per class and Columbia is very traditional in having consistent professors.”

He didn't answer that, which gave you comfort and relief. You didn't want to talk about work there, at that moment, where any objective had to do with everything except Columbia, except the rich students or the next semester's curriculum.

“Are you going to have to give up Dylan?” That was what he asked, starting to place gentle kisses on your shoulder, up to your neck. You gave him space, hand holding the back of his hair, buring your fingers into his messy curls.

“Perhaps…” He bit your earlobe, making you sigh. “Why are we talking about it?”

“Mr. Hastings said a lot of nice things about you at that fundraiser.”

“The one you didn't want to go to?”

“Mm-hm…” Jonathan pulled the sheets away from your body, sliding between your now open legs and pressing more kisses on your belly, going lower to give some attention to your thighs. “Did you talk about this? About you leaving Dylan?”

“Vaguely,” You adjusted yourself, already expecting him to go just a little more bold with that closeness of his.

“He looked quite upset.”

“Jealous?”

It was the first time that someone reached this criterion, which was trivial. You were even smiling when you said that. Well, Jonathan didn't smile. He stuck his head between your legs, made you cum with his mouth and nibbled on your lip as he penetrated your pussy with a long but deep movement.

Of all the meetings, that one was the most full of passion and desire. You left his house completely sweaty and sore. Two days later, when you met again, Jonathan invited you to dinner. You looked at him with an amused expression, not understanding where that was coming from.

“I was a scoundrel, that's all. I want to be able to have the right to be jealous of you without being a complete asshole.”

That made you smile. Really smile.

“You know you're going to need more than dinner for this, right?”

“What I know is that I can start with a bottle of wine,” He smirked. “Chilean, Camembert, yeah?”

#jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy smut #jonathan levy fanfiction #oscar isaac #scenes from a marriage #female reader #reader insert #jonathan levy x you

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totowlff · 8 months

Text

chapter one — initial orientation

➝ toto wolff is a skeptic about love. after several failed dates, he definitely doesn't want to know anything about relationships anymore. however, when a friend bridges the gap between him and one of his more mysterious employees, he decides to try again. little does he know that woman is taking him back to the classroom.

➝ word count: 4,2k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut, bdsm dynamics and bondage

➝ author’s note: an experimental project, without a defined number of chapters and working from another point of view. it will probably be the dirtiest thing i will write on this blog. enjoy.

As he drove through the narrow streets of South Kensington, Toto felt butterflies in his stomach. It was almost childish, he thought, to feel that way at his age at the prospect of a date, but he couldn’t help it.

The initial idea had not been his, quite the opposite. He had reached a point of complete skepticism towards love and that must have been visible that night in Porto Cervo. Sitting at a table facing the Mediterranean, he couldn't care less about the stunning sunset that painted the sky pink and orange. His eyes were fixed on the couple who were next to him, holding hands, enjoying the scenery.

— Are you okay, Toto? — someone asked next to him.He turned his head and saw Stefano Domenicali setting down his gin and tonic.

— Yes, yes, I’m fine.

— You seem distant.

— I'm just thinking.

The man smiled.

— Would you mind sharing your thoughts?

Toto snorted, running a hand through his hair.

— It's not important.

— I think it is, considering I was talking for five minutes about next year's calendar issues and you just completely ignored me.

— What do you want me to say, Stefano? — Toto said, watching the pieces of lemon and ice floating in his glass of Coca-Cola — I can't make you or Mohamed change your minds about the 23 races.

—But you weren't thinking about that, were you?

— No.

— So, what was it?

Toto stared at his friend for long seconds before letting out another sigh.

— I was thinking about love.

— Are you in love, Toto? — Stefano asked, with a suggestive smile on his face.

— No, no — he replied, shaking his head — Actually, that’s the problem. It’s frustrating.

The man in front of him raised an eyebrow.

— Frustrated? How can a guy like you be frustrated?

— Let's say that my current prospects are dim.

— I thought you were a hit with women after Netflix came along — Stefano said — At least that's what it seems like on social media.

Toto chuckled dejectedly, picking up his glass.

— Don't believe everything you see on the internet, Stefano — he said, before taking a sip — Actually, things have been downright pathetic lately.

— Pathetic?

— On the last date I went to, the woman spent half an hour discussing how she knew that the belonging to the woman a table over wasn't a real Birkin. All I had asked was if she liked the place I had chosen for our dinner.

Stefano laughed, his hand on the base of his gin and tonic glass.

— And because of one bad date, you think your love life is pathetic?

— Well, almost every date I've had since the divorce has been pathetic. If they're not busy judging bags, they're talking about their latest purchases at the Duomo in Milan or how their ex-husbands left them for younger girls.

— On the first date? — Stefano asked — Jesus, Toto...

— And with work, it became even more complicated to fit everything together. Let's face it, no woman wants a partner who spends so much time away from home. They want a guy who stays by their side, who supports them, who pays attention to them, and I can’t always be that person.

— It's clear that you're a supportive and caring guy. If not, you wouldn't have stayed until the end of those horrible encounters of yours.

— But… That’s not what I want out of a relationship, you know?

— And what do you want?

Toto pursed his lips.

—That's a difficult question...

— Only if you don't know what you're looking for. And, in these cases, you need one of those women who are — he hesitated for a few seconds, thoughtfully — Viola says that all the time, what is it called?

— Cultured? Intelligent? Sincere?

— A girlboss, I think that's how they say it in English.

— But what the hell does that mean?

— An independent woman, who has her own career and her own success. A woman who won't need your name or her money for anything, because she has it all due to her effort. Someone who doesn’t need you to take care of her all the time. A powerful, confident woman. Just like you’re a powerful, confident man.

— I'm not powerful, Stefano.

— Toto, let's face it, things only happen inside the paddock if you want them to. You have three client teams, influence over which drivers get seats, who gets in and who gets out of the grid. You helped put Vowles in charge at Williams...

— He did that on his own merit, I didn’t…

— It doesn't matter, working with you made it so that he stood out. Everything you touch turns to gold and you need someone just like you.

Toto rolled his eyes.

— And where do you think I’ll find this person?

— At my office in London — his friend said, as he took his phone out of his pocket. After a few taps on the screen, he turned the screen towards him, with a small smile on his face.

The image of a woman illuminated the screen. She had short black hair with straight bangs, as well as greenish eyes marked by makeup and full lips. Wearing a black blazer, the only point of color in the image were the red nails on the hand holding the phone, revealing that it was a photo taken in a mirror.

— Who is this? — Toto asked softly, his skin suddenly feeling very hot.

— Ava Randall, part of the Formula One Management’s board of directors.

He blinked, somewhat incredulously. How had he not noticed that woman walking through the paddock before?

— She — Toto stammered, without looking away from the woman's serious, almost seductive expression. He couldn't stop thinking about what her voice would be like, what her smile would be like, what her touch would be like.

— Single, no children, a successful career established in the same field as you. She's what you need, Toto.

— Stefano…

— I can talk to her and give her your contact details so you can talk and arrange a date — he said — What do you think?

Toto pressed his lips into a thin line.

— Do you think she would go out with me?

— You'll only know if you let me give her her number.

“Well, it doesn't hurt to try”, he thought that night.

It was surprising when he got a message from an unknown number. The brunette woman smiling in the profile photo made Toto's heart sped up while his mind searched for the right response.

A seemingly innocent conversation soon turned into an invitation to dinner at a quiet restaurant when he was back in London. She was dressed very elegantly, and Toto couldn't take his eyes off her for even a second. He wanted to find out everything he could about her.

Ava was a lawyer, graduated from University of Cambridge, and worked for some time in an office in London until she was hired to join McLaren's defense team during the investigation of Ferrari documents being leaked to McLaren team personnel. Getting closer to the world of Formula 1 made her decide to move into the sports field, getting a position on the legal team at Formula One Management.

— And, as soon as he was appointed as CEO of F1, Stefano asked me to join the board of directors. He said that even though we were on opposite sides during Spygate, he had been impressed with my work.

— And, if I may say so, I am too, Ava — Toto said, smiling.

The night ended with the promise of another date, which took place in Abu Dhabi, on the last weekend of the race. At that point, he knew that Ava was completely different from the other women. She had a powerful aura, almost as if she made time stop every time in every room she walked into. The serious look and the restrained smile seemed like an invitation to delve even deeper into that woman, to discover even more about her and, in a way, to allow himself to be discovered.

And it was with that intention he’d ended up in front of an elegant red brick building in Chelsea. Taking a last look at his hair, Toto parked his car and started walking indirection of the building's entrance before paging her apartment on the intercom.

As he stared at his reflection in the elevator’s polished metal interior, he thought about how Ava would have been dressed and whether she had cooked for them. “Maybe she ordered something, it's easier”, Toto thought, as he entered the corridor that led to her sixth floor apartment. It didn’t matter what they would be eating. What mattered was being with her, listening to her stories and becoming more and more enchanted by her.

Few seconds passed between the moment he pressed the doorbell and the moment the door opened, revealing Ava and her charming smile.

— Good evening, Toto — she greeted him, leaning against the doorframe. Wearing a white cashmere dress that left her shoulders exposed and a delicate necklace with a yin-yang-like symbol around her neck, she looked completely at ease — How are you?

— I’m well, and you?

— Everything is perfect.

Opening the door wider, she nodded for him to come in, which he did with a shy smile on his face. After taking off his shoes and the coat he was wearing, placing them on one of the hooks hanging on the white wall, he followed her through the flat, trying not to seem too dazzled by the place.

However, the reality was that the apartment was gorgeous, with elegant and cozy decor in light wood. She led him down the hallway, past the living room until they reached the kitchen, also decorated in the same way. It didn't take long for his eyes to find the pots on the stove, as well as the wine and the two glasses carefully positioned on the dining table.

— Cooking, huh? — Toto asked, with a smile.

— I thought it would be nice to show you that I can cook — Ava replied.

— And what's on the menu for this evening?

— Spaghetti with Chicken Alfredo — she said, walking over to the stove — I know you’re selective with what you eat.

— You know I don't mind eating something different on special occasions.

Ava looked up at him, the corners of her lips turning up.

— This is a special occasion?

— Of course.

— Why?

— It's not every day I have dinner with someone like you.

— Like me? — she raised an eyebrow.

— You know… Special — Toto replied, in a low voice, feeling particularly proud of himself when she looked back at the pan in front of her, her cheeks slightly red. It was almost as if she was shy and not the incredibly confident woman who had caught his attention in their first phone messages.

After breaking the silence with a little joke, he offered to open the wine. While he poured the glasses, she drained the spaghetti and set it aside for when the sauce was ready. When Toto handed the wine to his hostess, she smiled.

— Thank you — Ava said, sipping the liquid with a curious gleam in her eyes.

Dinner was leisurely, the delicious food pairing well with the good win and their shared laughter over a few anecdotes from the days when the seat in front of him on the private jet was occupied by the same person on every flight. Niki had always been his main encourager in his search for a new love, or at least for a casual fuck, after all, "he had needs that couldn't be solved with punches on the table". Toto always tried to get him to change the subject, but it was almost impossible, especially when the former driver started talking about his adventures after Marlene's divorce.

“Niki would like her”, he thought to himself, watching as Ava took another bite of chicken, smiling a little as she realized Toto was looking at her.

— Everything’s good? — she asked, after swallowing.

— Yeah. I was just thinking about something a friend of mine said...

— About me?

— About relationships.

She placed the cutlery on the plate, curiosity making her eyes sparkle.

— Would you mind sharing?

Toto smiled.

— Well, like I told you, I've been single for a while. And this friend of mine said that I was only like this because I didn't use his approach.

— And what would that be?

— Don't talk too much, focus on the goal and achieve it — Toto said, making Ava laugh.

— Very pragmatic, isn’t he?

— It’s a very… Austrian way of looking at things.

— And you, as a good Austrian, share this vision?

He took a sip of wine.

— I prefer to take life a little slower. Besides, I think it's obvious that I talk too much.

Ava laughed again, throwing her head back, her neck with the golden necklace completely exposed. Something about that vision made him feel something warm run over his skin, while imagination made a less than innocent scene unfold in his mind. It was as if his own body was asking him to give in to his own desire and experience the taste of the soft and delicate skin of the woman in front of him.

And he was tempted to give in, his mouth suddenly dry and his face warm.

However, Toto just smiled.

After they finished eating, Ava invited him into the living room to continue their conversation. With the bottle of wine on the light wooden coffee table, they were sitting in front of the fireplace, which was crackling softly. Sipping the contents of the glasses slowly, the two chatted about trivialities, such as their plans for winter break.

Until all the wine he had consumed started to manifest itself in his bladder.

— Ava, where is the bathroom?

— In the hallway, on the left — she replied, extending her hand to take his glass — Feel free.

He got up and followed the direction Ava had pointed out. As he passed by the mirror in the apartment's hall and saw his messy hair, Toto couldn't help but think about what it would be like to feel her fingers sinking through his hair, pulling his head against her in a kiss filled with desire. “I definitely need to kiss this woman”, he thought to himself, grabbing the handle and opening the door.

However, after patting the wall for the switch and turning on the lights, Toto realized that it wasn't the bathroom.

Unlike the rest of the apartment, that room was not bright or light. The walls were painted in a mysterious shade of gray, which matched the tones of the blanket and pillows on the bed, which was large and had a particularly reinforced metal structure, with four columns forming a kind of frame over the mattress.

Walking slowly towards the bed, Toto knew he shouldn't be there, but at the same time, he wanted to stay there and try to figure out what the room was for.

It was as if he was discovering a secret side of Ava; a very different side from what she had presented until then. After a few seconds of wondering what the metal half-moons welded to the structure were for, he found the answer hanging on the wall, just above a black velvet chaise that was placed in the corner of the room.

It definitely wasn't what he expected from a woman like Ava.

On the hooks, there were ropes of different thicknesses, whips, paddles, what looked like a swing, and a feather duster.

“A fetish room?”, he asked himself, as he removed one of the ropes from the wall. Running his thumb along the fibers, Toto found that they were firm but soft, clearly made to bind a person. Giving it a tug to test its resistance, he felt somewhat perplexed by his own discovery, after all, Ava didn't seem like a woman who liked that kind of thing.

When Toto imagined himself with her in his arms, he saw an almost romantic scene. The bodies intertwined, the low moans, the lips parted, as if searching for each other in the haze of pleasure. He could feel her contract around him as her orgasm took over her, her green eyes rolling back as her muscles trembled.

— I think this is a little advanced for you — someone said behind him. With a start, Toto looked back, meeting the serious gaze of Ava, who was standing near the door.

— Yeah... Well — he stammered, a bit startled, as she dug something out of the closet behind her. After a few seconds, Ava walked towards him and took the ropes from his hands, placing two pieces of black satin in place.

— I think this is more of your speed.

Staring at the soft fabric, Toto felt his stomach turn with embarrassment. He definitely shouldn't be there, snooping around Ava's things. However, his natural curiosity had overcome any sense of common sense, which had already been diminished by the wine.

— What are they?

— Those are satin sashes. They’re softer, better for beginners.

— I mean — he hesitated — These things, this place...

Ava smiled a little.

— I think you already know, don't you?

Toto looked up at her, almost shyly.

— Uh… Do you like being tied up?

The suggestion made Ava laugh, shaking her head.

— No, Toto — she replied, in a low voice — I like doing the tying.

Toto stared at her in silence, his heart beating heavily. He knew that many people liked to tie up and even do other things with their partners during sex, even as a way to spice up the relationship. But he had never been in a relationship with someone who lived that lifestyle to the fullest.

Even Ava.

He thought about how innocent he had been to imagine that a woman like her would have a different posture in bed. Ava was intelligent, determined, powerful and, above all, she was aware of her own power, as shown by the way she walked around the paddock with well-fitted blazers in sober colors. And, by God, that was sexy.

— I know what you're thinking, Toto — she said, taking the hand that held the satin sash — How is it possible for a woman to dominate a man? Honestly, it’s one of my favorite questions to answer.

With his eyes fixed on her, Toto watched as Ava gently opened his hands, her fingers sliding across his skin and igniting a flame inside his chest.

— The fun of the game of domination and submission is precisely the possibility of assuming different roles in the sexual dynamics. It's not limiting yourself to the vision others have of you and expressing your most intimate desires in a safe and controlled context — she continued, removing the satin sash from his hand — And that's why I entered this world.

— Do you… Um, spank? — Toto asked softly, feeling his mouth dry.

— Yes, when it is necessary to bring my partner to submission — Ava replied, as she walked past him, still holding his hand — And if it's within my partner's limits. In the end, what matters inside this room is not pain or power. It's trust. The trust my partner has to surrender to my control.

Looking at their hands, Toto felt his entire body tingle.

— Control…

— Yes. Control. I control the scenario, the scenes, the objects that will be used, everything to bring pleasure to my partner — she said, somewhere behind him — That's what being a domme is, Toto.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he could feel his own pulse roaring in his ears as Ava's fingers slid across his shoulders.

— Do you know… Men that… Like that? — Toto finally managed to ask, his eyes searching Ava's face, whose lips were curved in a deliciously suggestive smile.

— Submissive men? Yes — Ava replied softly — In fact, you'd be surprised to know how many rich, powerful men find pleasure in not having any power in the bedroom.

The last sentence made Toto think of Stefano's words during dinner in Porto Cervo, about him being a powerful man. Although he ignored that rosy view of his own work, there was a grain of truth in that statement; he actually had power within that world, even if he hadn't worked for it but only for the team in which he had shares. It was precisely what made his role not just a job, but a burden.

It was difficult to deal with the attention, the spotlight, the fans, the demands. Despite being intoxicating, the power he held was stressful, not to mention toxic. And there were days when what Toto wanted most was fresh air.

With his eyes locked on Ava's, he was sure that, finally, he could breathe.

Bringing one of her hands to his face, she slowly approached him. The touch between their lips was careful, almost as if it could break them into thousands of pieces inside that room. Ava's perfume, with its floral and musky notes, enveloped him like a hug that Toto never wanted to leave. However, when he tried to reciprocate, his arms didn't respond, something soft holding his wrists together.

The discovery made him move his face away from hers, scared.

— I'm tied up — Toto said, as he moved his wrists, making Ava smile.

— No, you're not — she said — It's a simple knot, just push your wrists outward at the same time, and it will come loose.

As he repeated her instructions, the satin band gave way, freeing his wrists. As he brought them forward, he rubbed his skin with his hands, a little embarrassed at having reacted so abruptly to what she had done. But, it wasn’t like he could say he didn’t enjoy the adrenaline rush.

— Ava? — Toto said softly, looking up tentatively at her.

— Yes?

Something in the back of his mind asked him to give in to his own desire, which tingled across his skin in a stubborn, not to say insistent, way. Toto wanted that woman no matter what, even on her terms.

— Can you tell me where the bathroom is?

Ava smiled, before leading him out of the room and directing him to the right door inside the apartment. As he closed himself inside the cubicle, Toto let out a heavy sigh, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. His face was red and his breathing was heavy. His pants felt too tight and his shirt rubbed uncomfortably against his skin.

He didn't expect to react like this to his discovery about Ava. Not that she didn't provoke desire in him, quite the opposite. But there was something about the idea of allowing her to take control of his pleasure that made something below his belly button tingle and his heart beat faster.

What if he liked it?

What if he got hurt?

What if she made him feel good?

What if she scared him?

What if it was the best experience of his life?

What if it was the most traumatic experience of his life?

Shaking his head, Toto looked back at the sink, trying to focus on his own breathing and not the heat he was feeling. Ava hadn't extended any invitation to dominate him, but the knot with the satin sash had been enough for a seed to be planted in his mind. And, incredible as it seemed, it was already sprouting.

After washing his hands and face, he returned to the living room in silence, finding Ava sitting on the couch, staring at her own glass of wine. Trying to hide the strange silence, he looked at his watch to find the time.

— Well, I think it's time for me to go home.

She got up from the sofa with the glass still in her hand, a shy smile on her face.

— Are you sure? We haven't finished the wine yet.

Toto looked at his glass, which still had some of the golden liquid in the bottom. He was tempted to stay and finish the bottle with Ava, but something told him it was time to stop. He needed to process that night with a clear head.

— Yeah. Oxford is a bit far and I don't want to get home too late.

As he said that, Ava's expression seemed to lose its shine, even though there was still a cordial smile on her lips. Leaving the glass on the coffee table, she walked him to the door, one hand resting on his lower back, the touch sending a warm wave through Toto's body.

— Well, I thank you for accepting my invitation. It was a great dinner — she said, opening the apartment door while he put on his coat and shoes.

— I need to thank you, you are a great cook.

They stared at each other for a few seconds in silence. “Do I talk about that?”, Toto wondered.

— So, I'll see you in the paddock?

— Oh, yeah. Absolutely — he replied, forcing a smile — See you later, Ava.

— See you — she said softly, as Toto walked past her and left the apartment, his heart beating heavy in his chest. When he heard the door close behind him, he let out a long sigh, as if he was finally reaching the surface after a deep dive into some wreck area, as he liked to do when he was in Porto Cervo.

However, contrary to what he imagined, he didn't want to get on the boat and go back to the hotel, quite the opposite. Toto has never wanted so much to dive back in to explore Ava's depths, to uncover what was behind those well-cut blazers and flawless makeup.

He just didn't know if he had the breath for it.

#toto wolff #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #f1 x oc #toto wolff smut #liowlff

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mewhenimanonymous · 4 months

Text

Paranoia (Chapter 3)

(Secret History/TSAA Tails x Paranoid!Reader)

A/N

hai guys sorry it’s been so long ;c i started writing the next couple chapters after i published 1 and 2 but i didn’t know where 4 should go so i stopped writing for a while and then i forgot about it. i haven’t been on tumblr for a while either so when i logged back on and saw how much traction paranoia got i was like ?!!?! thank you guys sm omg?! so like im gonna try to finish this fanfic eventually but chapter 4 is a total mess right now so here’s chapter 3!! im sorry it’s short but i promise chapter 4 (and maybe 5?!) will be longer :3

—————————————————————————————————————————

You couldn’t remember anything after that, or even right now as you’re trying to wake up after a deep nap. All noise is muffled, and everything is blurry, you can only make out an orange blob looking down at you.

Wait, where am I? Soon the loopiness starts to fade away, and you’re coming back to your senses, though certainly not completely yet as Tails looks totally different than when you last remember him. Crazy how the brain works.

“Tails,” you mumble quietly, but you’re shushed by a pointed, slender finger.

“It’s alright, my dear.” His usually sweet, younger voice you’re used to was replaced by a shrill and unnerving one.

I’m hallucinating. How many drugs did he pump me with? You feel his cold, lanky hand cup your cheek, his unnaturally sharp claws grazing your jawline.

“You’re all better now.” He leans into you, examining you, and you’re able to better inspect Tails’ new monstrous form your brain made up. Freakishly bright and hypnotizing blue and pink eyes staring into your soul, a wide joker-like grin with teeth so sharp and jagged even a dentist couldn’t save them, matted and unkempt fur now with a more orangish hue, not to mention how tall he’s become compared to his usual short stature, his figure so skinny you could see his rib cage… he looks sickening.

Seeing this grotesque version of your friend should be terrifying to you, but instead you’re met with an empty, numb feeling. Your subconscious must be aware of this hallucination.

“What… happened?” Your head is still fuzzy from the anesthesia, and you try to ignore the unnatural sight that’s bestowed upon you, knowing there’s no way Tails would be aware of what you’re seeing.

“Why, I fixed you! Now my sweetheart won’t have to worry about anything ever again!” He takes your hands and intertwines your fingers together, still staring… has he blinked yet?

Sweetheart? You cringe at the nickname, having an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Tails, what’s gotten into you?” You try letting go of Tails’ hands, but his grip becomes almost unbearingly tight and you let out a yelp.

“I’m protecting you! I never want my precious (Y/N) to be in harm’s way ever again! Especially not when you’re in this pitiful, repulsive universe you call home.” Tails rolls his eyes and looks to his right. You follow his gaze and widen your eyes as you become entranced by a bright, magenta-colored portal. There were many wires connected to it, most of which coming from a crystal of the same color that was sparking with electricity.

This has to be a dream.

“I was gonna wait until much later to reveal myself to you, but plans have changed. It looks like my newest project has already decided to start tearing this universe apart, and I couldn’t bear to stay in that pathetic skin-suit of my imposter any longer than I had to!” He started becoming visibly angry, and he was crushing your hands with such force you never thought could come from him. You let out a much more painful yelp, and Tails quickly lets go of your hands, looking remorseful as he picks them up gently and plants a sympathetic kiss on them. You have mixed feelings about this.

“Plus, I don’t want to hide anything from my darling. You deserve to see the real me~” Tails runs his hand up your neck, then traces a claw along your jaw and tilts your chin up to face him. His moves his face closer into yours, and seeing his face up close only makes him more disgusting to look at. Dark eye bags around his eyes, his breath reeking like he hasn’t brushed his teeth in months, and some gray hairs in his orange fur that shouldn’t be there—he wasn’t that old, yet… or was he?

He should be a major red flag to you, but now that you couldn’t feel any fear, it was replaced with sympathy. However this dream version of Tails got this way, you care about him, and you want to help him, even if it might not be real. Even if nothing he said made any sense to you.

“Tails, did you hit your head…? Have you been feeling alright?” You move his hand out of the way and try sitting up, however he forcefully twists your head to your right to look out the window. The outside world was slowly being drained of its color, with most of the world already gray and lifeless. There were veins of bright yellow light spreading all throughout the world—it looked almost like an infection of some kind. Debris and parts of the earth were floating up into the sky, and with it, the corpses of your friends—including a massacred version of a slightly familiar blue hedgehog.

“Either come with me, or stay here and DIE like the rest of your ‘FRIENDS’.” Tails’ voice becomes much more vile in tone, which would scare the life out of any normal person. “Quite frankly, you would be an imbecile to choose the latter. But I know you better than that, sweetheart~”

He was threatening you, but you can’t feel fear. You don’t fear death, but it’s not like you want to die, so he was still able to trap you. Even then, you don’t care about anything else, you just want to help him. Maybe you’re foolish, but you know that somewhere deep down, the real Tails is in there—at least, you hope. For all you know, this may not be Tails at all.

“I’ll… I’ll come with you.” You turn your head toward Tails as he lets go of your face, and a wide, sinister grin makes its way onto his face.

“Excellent choice, my dear~” He presses his chapped lips onto your cheek, giving a wet kiss that makes your body tense up. When he pulls away, he stares at you with his sickening grin for a moment longer, before grabbing your hand and leading you toward the portal.

You both stand at the edge, and he looks at you with a smug smirk.

“Ladies first~” Tails bows slightly as he gestures his hand toward the portal. You’re tempted to go ahead, but instead you push him in, and with a shrill yell he’s gone in an instant. You can’t help but snicker as you follow him inside.

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another-clive-blog · 5 months

Note

au where clive runs for prime minister just to try one-upping b*ll h*wks

Anon, I want you to know this may be my favorite ask so far. The AU itself is amazing, but the censoring Bill Hawks' name ? Priceless. I feel like Socrates himself has come to enlighten me with incomparable wiseness-

Alright so sketches and writing under the cut ! =) No trigger warnings for this one. I had fun, I'd love to do more about this AU whenever I get the time !!

When you didn't think things through 😔 Which leads us to the fanfic-

"Professor, look !!"

Hershel Layton put down his cup of tea, anticipating the moment his apprentice would shove his newspaper in his face. With a patient smile, he took the paper in his hands and let Luke point out what piece of news had caused such excitement.

"'Clive Dove as the new prime minister' ?" Layton read out loud.

The article was front page and there was more about it in the following pages : it only made sense, with the agitation this news had caused. Bill Hawks had been prime minister before, and was the favorite candidate for this next mandate : him losing was quite surprising- quite surprising indeed.

"He doesn't look too happy," Luke said, tiptoeing to see over the professor's arm.

Layton looked at the picture in the middle of the page. On it, a shockingly young man was visibly upset, turned away from the journalists : he seemed to be yelling at someone on the side, cut off from the photo. "That is one way to put it." Layton hummed, his eyes staring at the young man a moment longer, before going to read the actual article.

"I'd be happy, I think, if I had just won the elections," Luke mused out loud. He couldn't even imagine it happening, actually : running for Prime Minister was so much work on its own !! Always giving speeches, moving around, discussing boring things- oh, and it must cost so much money too !! It must be so difficult just being a candidate.

Yeah, he'd probably be happy if he won after all that. This Dove guy was just weird.

"Say, Professor, don't you think he looks like me ? Maybe this is a sign I'll be Prime Minister some day !"

The professor didn't answer, focused solely on the paper in his hands.

-_-_-_-

"I am not doing it," Clive Dove said firmly. "I am not running this country. I quit."

John, his new personal assistant, a guy here just to listen to his every word and give him the attention Bill Hawks was desperate to get, protested loudly. "No offence Sir, but you have been prime minister for 47 minutes. The people want you as head of the country and you therefore deserve this post, especially after all the hard work and money you invested to get it."

"I don't care about the money or the people," Clive snapped. "I don't actually want this stupid job."

John was quiet for a moment, and Clive hated how unsurprised he looked. He didn't even seem disappointed or concerned, simply... irritated. It made sense for a government official : they only ever cared about things going smoothly, not making any disruptions, following the protocol.

Too bad, because Clive only cared about making their lives as difficult as they had made his.

"Well," John finally sighed, "you can always resign if you really wish to."

"Great." The faster he got out of this agonizing office, the better it would be. Clive took his coat in one hand, pushing the chair back with the other. He had no time to waste, because he was supposed to give his first speech as the new Prime Minister in about fifteen minutes.

He therefore only had fifteen minutes to leave this pathetic building and get as far away from this despicable life as possible.

Clive had his hand on the door handle when John spoke up again. "If you go through with your resignation, you'll need to sign the official declaration first."

Clive let out an exasperated sigh. Why were there declarations for everything ? Would he need a declaration to slam the door on his way out ?! "I'm leaving, what more is there to say ?!"

John was still facing the office, rearranging the files Clive had left behind : he seemed oddly calm for someone who'd have to announce both the nomination and resignation of the new prime minister. "Plenty, actually. But the more important part, the one we should focus on, is naming your successor."

Clive scoffed. "Why do I have a say in this ?"

"You don't," John simply answered. "But you'll have to confirm your official resignation, therefore leaving this post to the next best candidate. I believe Bill Hawks was the people's second choice."

Clive froze. That scum would actually get the job ? After everything he had done to keep him from it ?

Clive didn't want to rule the country- he had only run for the job to keep Bill Hawks from getting it. And he had succeeded ! But quitting now would give Hawks both the job and the pride to come out on top.

He couldn't do that. He didn't want to run the country, wasn't fit for it. He had no idea how to do it and he didn't want to learn. He hated this government, never cared about its people.

John was still rearranging the papers on the office, a peaceful smile on his face. He knew he had won, because winning was all that these miserable people cared about.

Well, Clive wouldn't let any of them win- not as long as he was head of this country. "Come on," he said, putting his coat on. "I have a speech to give."

#I actually headcanon that Clive could be a decent leader if he really tried to =)#But it would only be by accident ahah #Like he'd make a terrible decision NO ONE would have gone with and it turns out fine but it doesn't go the way he thought it would #People hate him as a person but as a leader he's passable. So it's all good really =)#clive dove #professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #My art #My writing #Ask

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bambirex · 1 year

Note

Hi Bambi! 🐻 Can I ask for some Yennskier where Yennefer finds an orphaned child and she and Jaskier look after/co-parent them and they finally admit their soft feelings for each other, whilst they found their cosy family unit, please? Thank you so much!! 🥰

Hiii! I love found family tropes so much, I've been meaning to write it for a while now ❤️

Warnings: death mention, mention of illness

She was so weak, so thin, with all her bones visible under her skin. She shivered pathetically, like a wet, abandoned kitten; maybe even a cat would have weighed more than the little girl did. It was hard to even figure out her age, being so heartbreakingly tiny as she was.

Yennefer fought against the tears in her eyes when the child looked up at her pleadingly. She couldn't just leave her there, standing next to her parents' corpses, covered in blood and mud. She must have been standing there for days, as utterly exhausted as she looked. Who even knew when was the last time the poor thing had eaten anything.

Yennefer tried not to think about the last time she tried to save a child. That baby ended up dying, and Yennefer had never managed to forgive herself. She desperately hoped she could somehow save this one: the way the little girl held onto her hands told her that as weak as she was, this child didn't want to give up yet. Yennefer needed to save her.

She had no idea what she was even going to do. As a first step, she decided to take the child to the person she trusted the most: Jaskier.

When he opened the door and saw Yennefer holding the hand of a dirty and scared little girl, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. For probably the first time in his life, he was completely speechless. He looked down at the child, then up at Yennefer, then back down at the child again. Yennefer wished she could give him an explanation.

"Alright," was all Jaskier said. His voice wavered slightly, even as he forced a weak smile onto his face. He crouched down to be eye-level with the little girl.

"Hello, there. What's your name, dear?"

Instead of replying, the girl leapt forward, straight into Jaskier's arms. The bard let out a surprised huff, before he tentatively wrapped his arms around her.

The sight of Jaskier hugging the child made something warm blossom in Yennefer's chest.

"We need to help her," she whispered. Jaskier sighed deeply, but he nodded, gently brushing the child's greasy hair out of her face.

"Yes," he said quietly, still holding her against his chest, "of course."

For the first couple weeks, she didn't speak, which was understandable after everything she had gone through. But, she wasn't afraid of them, that much was obvious: she always sought them out, followed them everywhere they went inside the house. She was also surprisingly affectionate, always silently asking for hugs.

With the help of Yennefer's magic and their combined care, she was soon getting better. A rosy, healthy color returned to her cheeks, as well as a brightness to her eyes.

In the midst of it all, Yennefer found herself not only getting attached to the child, but to Jaskier as well.

Jaskier, who wouldn't exactly be anyone's first candidate for a father figure, turned out to be a pretty good one, actually. He always sang the little girl to sleep, and cuddled her after a nightmare. He would make an actual fool of himself, making a big show of tripping over his own feet just to make her giggle.

Every single time Yennefer watched him look after the girl, her heart grew several sizes. Jaskier was so kind, so thoughtful. He cared for that child as if she was his own, and he never once acted like she was a burden- or, that Yennefer was, for that matter. He was softer with her now, too, more affectionate even physically. Yennefer found herself enjoying this new life they've built together more each day.

After about a month, the little girl started speaking. She told them her name was Aleana, she always wanted to be a mage, and she loved singing.

"Isn't it interesting, how she's the perfect combination of us?" Jaskier chuckled one evening, after they put Aleana down to sleep. "Destiny really bites us in the ass every single day."

"This isn't destiny," Yennefer replied. She smiled at Aleana's sleeping form, gently caressing a finger down her cheek. "This was choice. And I'm glad we made the choice of taking her in."

"So am I," Jaskier replied softly. He wrapped an arm around Yennefer's shoulder. Yennefer let him: she even leaned into him, enjoying his warmth.

The more time they spent together, the more Jaskier became aware his feelings for Yennefer had changed. She became bigger, shinier in his eyes: as Jaskier watched her with Aleana, he realized Yennefer was a much better, kinder person than most people believed.

And she was a wonderful mother, too. She was so gentle with Aleana, never scolding her even when she knocked over her favorite perfume bottles. She braided her hair and crawled around on all fours with her in the grass if Aleana wanted to catch bugs, not caring about her dresses or her dignity.

Fuck, Jaskier was falling in love. With Yennefer, and with this little family they made together.

He's never wanted to have kids. Sure, they were adorable, but they were also messy and required a lot of care. Jaskier barely managed to look after himself sometimes, what would he do with a child?

Yet, now, he wouldn't have it any other way. Aleana was growing stronger and healthier each day, due to their care. They loved her, and she loved them- they belonged together.

"I think I love you," Jaskier told her quietly. It didn't come as a surprise, but it still warmed Yennefer's heart.

"I love you, too," she replied as she reached for Jaskier's hand, giving it a squeeze. "You, me, and Aleana... it's real, isn't it?"

"It is," Jaskier lifted Yennefer's hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it gently. "We're a family."

Yennefer looked at Aleana who was busy playing with her ragdolls in the corner. She looked at her shiny hair, her pink cheeks, her happiness. Nowhere was that sickly, sad orphan anymore, and that was her and Jaskier's merit. They made this impossible family together.

"I'm so happy," she said softly. Jaskier smiled and kissed her gently, his hand cupping her cheek.

Sometimes, Yennefer was scared she would wake up and find out she was only dreaming: but every single day, she woke up in Jaskier's arms and to the sound of Aleana laughing in the other room, and that made her realize that no dream could ever match the perfection of reality.

#yennskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #the witcher #my fic #request

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indecisive-v · 9 months

Text

some writing since my drawing brain cells don't wanna cooperate

making the move from world of magic to arcane odyssey in the perspective of my second save file character

His entire world, swallowed by a light more blinding than what he could ever try to conjure. All of it, gone in a literal flash, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

He was devastated enough when he was just a trainee watching his home city get nearly laid to waste by magical explosions. He could only imagine how anyone else with their eyes open was feeling.

Noel Marshall, knight of Summer Hold, couldn't do anything to protect it then, and couldn't do anything to protect it now. The boy didn't even have a chance to get back at those explosion mages before it all ended.

...

Well, that's that, he supposes. Not much he can do about it now. How pathetic of him.

The world's over. Noel's life is over.

So why...

Why is he still even conscious?

Noel shifts. His movements are met with the coarse feeling of sand. The sounds of thunder and shoreline waves reach his ears. He's on a beach. A beach that he's fairly sure should have just been vaporized.

He lifts himself up from the sand and rubs his eyes to get a better look around. It seems he's on some island in the middle of nowhere, and the rain surrounding it has drenched him. Is the afterlife supposed to be a wet, rainy island? If so, he's not sure what part of the afterlife this is. Purgatory, maybe. It's too merciful for hell, and too lacking for heaven. Still, he was expecting the middle place to just be an empty, emotionless void of boredom or something. Perhaps it's personalized.

He turns to the sea behind him, just to be completely sure there isn't by any chance a boat there to pick him up. There is indeed no boat in sight, save for some little rowboats on the shore.

No way is he going to try rowing out in this weather.

Noel almost turns back to the island, wanting to still do something, but his barely-visible reflection in the water manages to catch his eye.

At least, he's pretty sure that's supposed to be his reflection.

It doesn't look quite like him. His hair is as stringy-looking as always, tied in its usual ponytail, but its copper brown color has been replaced with black. At first, he assumes it's just the lighting, but then he sees the rest of himself. His eyes have gone from moonlit blue to sunny gold- ironic, given his gift of Sunlight Magic- and there's a large scar now stretching across his face. His clothes are in tatters, but that part isn't nearly as much of a surprise compared to everything else. Then again, he was supposed to be wearing armor, so...

What in the...?

"Rael, you're awake.... I thought you'd be out for a few more days."

Who-

Noel whirls around. Facing him is a pale, dark-haired man in similar ragged clothes. The knight looks around- there isn't anyone else the man could be referring to when he says "Rael". It's just the two of them on this island. Perhaps the man simply misheard for forgot part of Noel's name. It's only two letters off, after all.

"It's Noel," he corrects him. The man raises an eyebrow. Must be awfully confident in what he thought Noel's name was.

"Did the experiments mess with your brain, or are you just joking around?" the man asks.

Experiments?

"What experiments? Am I supposed to know you?"

"Huh, are you serious?" the man's confusion evolves into genuine shock. "The two of us barely got out of there alive, and now you have memory loss... I can't believe it."

Memory loss? Noel's sure his memories are perfectly in tact. You don't just forget your tragic backstory or the sight of the world ending overnight. You don't forget those things ever, for that matter. He racks his brain for this man's name. M... Mor... Morden. That's it. Where would they have met before, though? Morden's name is all Noel can recall about him.

"We were being held captive in a remote location," Morden explains, "and they performed magic experiments on us. We saw people die every day... but I guess you don't remember that."

Ah. So much for not forgetting one's tragic backstory. Still, the events in his head weren't connecting. The world was engulfed in pure white, and then... he got captured and experimented on? How? And by who...?

Noel simply lowers his head. He failed so hard at protecting others that he even forgot they existed, huh. "I'm... sorry," he says. As if his pride isn't damaged enough.

Morden shakes his head. "It's not your fault..." But it feels like it is- "...we did the best we could." But it wasn't enough- "It's a shame that Tucker couldn't make it," He even forgot the names of the deceased- "but at least he's had a proper burial."

Noel shakes under the guilt, but remains silent. He doesn't remember what happened, so what right does he have to talk about it as if he did?

"Anyway, we're free now. You still remember how to use magic, right?" Noel nods at that. Morden continues. "Since we're magic-users, we'll make it far in this world. We just need to meet the right people. You can take one of the rowboats and go wherever you want. I'm going to go back to Tucker's grave for a bit-" he gestures towards a grassy part of the island; must be where the grave is- "I need to think some things over."

Noel looks around, then back at Morden. "Where do I even go?" he asks.

"I don't know..." Morden responds. "You're hungry, aren't you? Maybe you should go to Redwake, it's a port to the east of here. They might have food for you, and being there may help you remember some things from your past as well. Maybe we'll see each other again, Rael." He didn't correct himself. "Until then, farewe-"

"I told you, it's Noel."

Morden pauses. "Could've sworn it was always Rael, but sure. Farewell, Noel, and I wish you good fortune."

Morden turns back towards Tucker's grave, leaving Noel (Rael?) on the shore. He goes back to looking at himself in the water.

A new (but similar) face. A new (but similar) name. Morden even said he was still a magic user, but for all Noel knows he could have a completely different magic type now. Only one way to find out.

He holds his hand out, trying to summon the familiar, magical light he had always used. Sure enough, light steadily pours forth from his hand, forming into a little ball. At least that part's the same. He's relieved that he doesn't have to learn to use an entirely new element. There's just one problem.

The light he's holding isn't golden sunlight.

It's soft, blue moonlight.

What happened? Did the magic experiments or that end-of-the-world light give Noel some kind of color blindness? That wouldn't explain why Morden had called him Rael. It was so close to his name, like how his appearance had the same outline but the colors were all wrong. He had the same magic, but a different variant. It was like he was Noel Marshall, but slightly to the left. Is that what magic experiments do to you? Morden didn't seem to be having the same problems.

Was Marshall even his last name anymore? It was his family's pride- proof of their descension from a powerful warrior of Summer Hold's history.

Noel turns away from the water and runs towards where Morden went. The man is still contemplating, and Noel can see the grave he stands by now. He slows down and gives the grave an apologetic nod before looking at Morden.

"You haven't left yet?" Morden asks him.

"I just want to know one more thing," Noel answers.

"I don't know everything about what happened, but... alright. Ask away."

"My name. If it isn't Noel, what is it? My full name, I mean. First and last."

Morden hesitates. Forgetting your own name is stupid, I know. Just answer already... please.

"Rael Ordius. That's what you introduced yourself as when we first met."

Ordius. He wonders what that name could mean. Maybe it's the obvious answer- "order". Maybe it didn't matter and "Rael Ordius" was just some cover name he came up with only for his stupid, amnesiac self to blow it. What did matter, though, was the fact that he apparently had a whole new name that others in this life knew him by.

This life.

A new life.

With a different name and face.

Had he been reincarnated? Had he forgotten the entirety of his current life while retaining the memories of his previous one?

If so, then this world knew of no Noel Marshall, knight of Summer Hold. It only knew Rael Ordius, a subject and escapee of deadly magic experiments. Noel had died long ago in the blast of some sort of massive magic bomb.

He couldn't protect himself, he couldn't protect his old home, and he couldn't protect his old world. But he was in the middle of trying to gain the power to do so before that world was destroyed. Maybe this was his second chance. Granted, he was already failing, considering Morden told him he had already seen so many die in this life too, but surely now...

...The only thing he can do is light the path ahead of him.

in-universe explanation for what happened: world of magic being shut down and turned into arcane odyssey was perceived as the world getting erased and recreated; noel marshall died in the erasure and was reincarnated as rael ordius. so he's sort of right but if we put the events on a chronological timeline there's some jeremy bearimy shit going on there

real life explanation: i made noel on a whim bc i just wanted to try light magic but then i got attached but i still didn't like the name he got or his half-assed design so i changed them when ao released 👍

i like to think that although his name, legally speaking, is now rael ordius, he still introduces himself as noel for the sake of not getting attention from anyone who might have been involved in the magic experiments (and also because of course he's just more used to it)

noel's "tragic backstory" with the explosion mages was a thing that happened to me while playing world of magic; i was chilling in summer hold when some negative rep explosion mage players came in and blew the place up, killing multiple npcs whose last names were marshall in the process, and since i was still low level i couldn't really do anything unless i wanted to get my ass blown up. so yes noel's family died while he helplessly watched and some random players out there are part of my oc lore

rael also has his own history with his locked-away memories but that's for another time

#roblox #arcane odyssey #world of magic #writing #forgive me if any part of this seems a little messy i kinda just wanted to get the brain juices flowing

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offantasiesandreams · 2 years

Note

Hello I have read some of your writing and it were great . Well I have a request for you if you're ok with writing it

we know that batter's appearance change depending on the player pov sooooo what if the player has the same thing where their appearance change as well depending on what others think of them .

Imagine before they turned off the switch player said that they want to try and see what happens if they choose Judge , the player already told them that they can rewind time so he agreed to play along but when that happens he was surprised to see players appearance change. After loading the last save file he was nervous and which the player was curious about

Ooh, this is also a really interesting concept! I left what he saw, for the most part, up to the reader's interpretation! Even though I like to think he saw a fallen angel/demon, but everyone views those differently, so!

Reader Shifting

“Are you ready, Batter?” Having taken one last deep breath, you turned to your companion. Stoic as always, he simply nodded. Leaving behind the room of the creator of this broken down world, you entered the final hallway, as monochrome as the rest of this world by now. Save for one last enemy, everything was pure as the ashes of a dead fire.

And there he was, the Judge, running up to Batter and you, a usually vain attempt at stopping the inevitable. But for once, hope shall be on his side. “Stop right there, you impostor. I must say that I had placed the blindest of confidences, the solidest of hopes and the most sincere belief in you. We can well say that I have erred to the bones. But the real betrayer is rather the one who lies beyond the eye of the cat.” Moving his head to face you, there was but rage and disgust in the feline’s eyes. Nothing you had not seen before, but the guilt of knowing what you had done was only amplified by this sight.

Once again, you were given the choice between staying loyal to Batter or betraying him for the sake of saving the nothing remaining here. Pretending to be deep in thought, you stepped behind Judge. While this choice tore you apart the first time, now it was much easier, knowing what lied ahead and how, for once, you could go back to how things used to be.

“That choice was, even though pathetically useless, I think, the right one. And now, Batter, taste our revanchist thirst for justice of no avail.”

Having loaded up your save file, you were greeted with Batter taking a seat on the floating cube. Although something did seem rather strange about this encounter, for when you had approached him, no matter how close you were in his vicinity, he did not stir, lost in thought. Whereas he would know about your whereabouts as well as you would know about his, was it refusal that made him reject the idea of looking at you?

“Hey! You good?” Upon hearing your voice, he flinched away from you, visibly tensing up, before forcing his muscles to relax once more. Finally, he acknowledged your presence, getting up and standing tall before you, his bat being dragged along the ground instead of being put over his shoulder. While to an outsider it may have seemed he was making eye contact with you, to you he was simply staring right through you.

“Yes, I am quite alright. I thank you for your concerns.” He gripped his weapon with quite a lot of force before softening it, fluctuating between both states depending on how well he was aware of it. Subtle as those changes were, they weren’t enough to fool you.

You sighed, another question on your mind. “Was it really that bad?”

“But of course not, my Player, for it was still you who I saw, even if the light of truth had changed your appearance quite harshly.” During a small pause he gathered his thoughts, carefully choosing his next words. “While your beauty and grace are infinite in your divinity, the sight of yourself ruling over the heavenly spirits no more was rather unexpected.” Regardless of what he saw, it seemed to have shaken him up quite a lot.

Slow, as though you were approaching an injured animal, you took a step towards him, giving him a reassuring smile. “I see, that must have been quite the awful sight. But it’s okay now, you won’t have to see it again. And one day, the impact of that memory will subside. So, for now, let’s just focus on getting you to calm down.”

Trying to mimic your facial expression, he gave you a soft smile in return, clearly grateful you weren’t going to push him further. “I am eternally grateful to you, my Puppeteer.”

#off (game)#off x reader #batter x player #batter x reader #jebus my document containing all my off hcs is now 70 pages long #i would have never thought it would get this long #i am so curious about what page 100 will be #of course there's also stuff I never posted but that's a story for another time

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cinnamonest · 2 years

Note

Thanks for ruining my fantasies with Yan Kaeya with that post about their weird habits💀. At least there wasn't one with Zhongli so yayyy. But seriously tho, your writing had to be so good for me to get utterly turned off from them and id rather get fucked by a lawachurl than experience that for more than 5 minutes, Anyways i really really love your writing lmaooo maybe a smige more of zhongli content🥺? ajsjoaiofieao your zhongli content is that good :D

So based on me mentioning Morax in a few posts I have been... Strongly pondering the concept of a war-era Morax who is much harsher and firmer than the somewhat more mellow man he would later become.

Not that he's heartless... not at all. In fact, it was by his generosity and mercy that you're even alive to begin with. You, a goddess of something or another, a lesser deity, would be dead if not for him sparing you. It was foolish to ever think you stood a chance in combat against him. It was laughable... as much as it was irksome. Yes, it made a pit of disgust and irritation swell up in his stomach, seeing you stand against him and pose to attack, so arrogantly, so fearlessly. To even look him in the eye as you did, give a smirk that set his anger on fire -- you had to be dealt with.

But seeing you in defeat -- not that it took very long, only a few moments to disarm you and throw you to the ground -- softened his heart a bit. Once you had the polearm tip pressed against your throat, all that arrogance seemed to disappear. Your eyes filled with tears and your voice became shaky and suddenly, you were no longer hurling haughty insults, but begging to be allowed to live. Apologizing, sniffling, trembling. It was rather satisfying. It felt like everything put in its place.

And how, then, could he reject that request? Look at you, you poor, pitiful little thing. Stripped of your power and pride alike, no different from a powerless human. Pathetic... so pathetic it's perhaps endearing. It appeals to whatever sense of mercy he has. He might even feel some guilt, were he to run you through right then and there. And besides, it would be so wasteful for you to die without ever having done anything of any real worth or use... a lacking he can certainly solve.

Morax's policy is that you are to spend the remainder of your existence -- your joint existence together -- being reminded of your mistake. In the same way a few rash actions taken in the course of seconds can land one a prison sentence lasting the rest of their life, so you, too, will spend the rest of your days in punishment for your defiance and ignorance. A glowing, golden emblem that resembles that of the element of his power rests over your womb, clearly marked on your flesh, and he ensures that even when you are permitted to cover yourself, that must remain visible. It's symbolic of defeat and ownership alike. You haven't asked whether or not it's even possible for it to ever fade or be taken off. You know the reason why you can't bring yourself to ask is because you fear the answer.

You are to be grateful for the life you are provided, allowed to merely exist, a war trophy of sorts. You stay dressed in the things he gives you, if any at all, you sit on his lap, you stay silent and still, poised and obedient, to look nice for anyone there visiting. It's a rather simple job, you can do that much, can't you? It's how you can show how grateful you are.

See, if it weren't for him, you would have merely been defeated by another deity -- who would have undoubtedly slaughtered you without another thought. Aren't you grateful, then, for his grace and mercy? He asks you frequently. You know it serves no other purpose than his own satisfaction, and drilling it further into your own head. The tone of his voice is always so teasing, you can feel the smirk on his face without having to turn your head -- not that you won't, seeing as he demands it. It's sort of a thing with him, as you quickly find out, that he hates how your eyes dart around, how you look at the ground, how you squeeze your eyes shut. Look at me when you speak to me. It's said softly, but firmly, the same as many of his commands, but as with everything else, his voice will grow firmer if you make him have to repeat himself.

There's many little warnings like that. He's a patient master. He can narrow his eyes, give your arm or hand a firm squeeze, lower his voice to a warning tone. You get one warning and one warning only, for any behavior that is not in line with what he expects from you. If he needs more than that for you to behave, what that means is that he's slipped up in some way -- perhaps he's been too soft, and you don't fear him as you should.

He is patient, yes, but not nearly as much so as he might become one day many years later. For now, with you, you know when you've upset him the moment you do -- his eyes narrow, any smile he had drops. He has an angry habit of grabbing you by the jaw, holding you head in place, speaking down to you with a tone of disgust and frustration. He lacks quite the same... gentle nudging of his later self as well, no soft now let's be nice... or anything like that. No, it's far more direct. Care to say that again? He clenches his teeth at he speaks, tilting your head up with his grip on your jaw. Not that he ever bothers to hear you out or let you defend yourself, merely releasing you harshly with a mutter about you being such an ungrateful little brat. Perhaps a day or so chained to the bed, without so much as acknowledgement, will bring you back to being a bit more appreciative. If not, he's perfectly capable of more direct and corporeal punishments.

Part of your daily routine is appropriate shows of gratitude through service -- you're trained like a servant, or a pet. You, no matter how much it infuriates you, with time, will learn to come when you are commanded, be it by word of mouth or a simply tongue-click and come-hither motion with his finger. Your bouncing on his cocks, or bobbing your head up and down on your knees before him provides great stimulation while he ponders more important matters, looks over his maps and plans. You know which command is which, too, by his motions -- a finger pointing downward indicates for you to work him with your mouth, another come-hither motion means to get on his cocks and ride.

And on that matter, there is no excuse as to why you can't have both in you at once. It's one of the first aspects of your training. All dragon and qilin have that reptilian feature... sure, he could get rid of them and combine them into one with human shapeshifting... but he will not. Ah, then, how would he get to see the way your eyes prick with tears, hear those strained little cries from your throat... it's delectable. You can hear the rumbling vibrating of his chest with his chuckles as you suffer. No, your body can fit him inside you easily. You have just as many holes in your lower half as he has cocks, and if stuffing your ass is as bad as you claim, then you can take both of them in your tight little cunt instead, no?

It's the least you can do to show your gratitude. You, who he so graciously spared, why should you deny him pleasure for your own comfort? You should be willing without hesitation to... no, you should be eager, grateful, to prove your devotion to him by taking the stretch and strain that comes with keeping him satisfied. You should be grateful for any pain, any pleasure, that you obtain from him. Anything he has to give you, you will show your thankfulness for, one way or another. Besides, soon, you'll be used to it. Your body will learn him, your body will adjust, you will be able to take him more and more easily as you're molded into something that is completely and entirely his, his to a point that even your body is marked as his own.

And you should be very grateful you're being allowed the opportunity to take him at a pace and firmness you have some control over... should you refuse -- or, what you get each night come sundown anyway -- you find that when he's in control of those things, brutality is his only choice. He uses your body like a toy, keeping you face down, ass up, slamming into you over and over, hard and fast, and no amount of begging will get him to slow down until he can breed you full.

Not that he's apathetic to your own pleasure... quite the opposite. Forcing each orgasm out of your body is in and of itself a reminder of your place, that you're not something of your own existence, but a dependent existence. He's spoiled you, truly. What with the way he holds you down and works you to climax over and over, until you sob and squirm and try so desperately to get away... he's ruined you for himself. Now that your body is used to such intensity, do you really think you'll ever be able to reach that with anyone else, or even by yourself? No, you need him for that.

Not that he'd let you find out if you ever could yourself... he makes sure to keep a close eye on you and punish any such behavior, should he find you attempting to masturbate yourself in any way. It's an important rule, established early on. Orgasms are a form of control, they are rewards when you are good, and you are denied them when you're bad. He's careful to leave your hands tied whenever he needs to leave you alone for a moment, either way. So while you aren't allowed orgasms on your own, you're denied being given them, too, when you've misbehaved... so miserable. It only makes sense that, when you think you see the slightest window of opportunity, you'd take it.

Which is how he walks in on you, having shuffled your way over to the bed so that the bedpost was between your legs, humping and grinding into it, it's been so long since he let you cum... you freeze up as the door creaks open. You thought you'd be able to hear him coming, but you must have been too lost in the heat of the moment... it only takes him a second to put it together. You feared he'd be angry, but somehow, watching a smile slowly grow on his face somehow feels even more frightening.

He stoops down, grabs you by the arm, pulls you close... you poor, pathetic little thing. Don't worry, in a way, this is a good thing. You've improved in one aspect, at least... shamelessness. Do you really think the goddess you once were would ever give up your dignity and pride like this? No, the you before would have stubbornly done nothing.

Your willpower and your arrogance alike have eroded, leaving you nothing but a desperate, needy little slut... so say it. Repeat what he told you. Say that you are no goddess, as you sometimes continue to so stubbornly insist, as you often squeal at him when you want to be defiant... but just a needy whore who craves cock so badly you can't go a few minutes alone without trying to get off. Say it. Good. Aren't things so much easier when we're honest with ourselves? Still, he can't just let you continue, of course. You'll get to cum when he already told you you could, a few more days. Until then... you got slick all over the bedpost, you know. Be sure to clean that up with your tongue first. Then you can move on to actual corporeal punishment for intentional disobedience.

And throughout that, once again, he's sure to repetitively remind you of how far you sank... such a haughty, arrogant little thing you were. And look at you now, whimpering and shedding tears so easily. It's beautiful, truly. If the mark on your skin wasn't enough to keep you reminded of your place, then sessions like this will have to do instead.

#.zl #lena's asks #q #i wanna make more about this eventually too...

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bnha-dumpster · 3 years

Note

Hey! Would you be ok with you writing Aizawa x reader where Aizawa is training with a (third year, legal) student and the student ends up in a compromising position when caught up in the capture weapon? It doesn’t help that the reader always had a thing for his teacher and thought about this before. (Slight choking, suspension bondage, and a mix of praise and degradation?)

sure! binding cloth content is always good content. also i was thinking reader is in a position similar to this. and then eventually maneuvered into a position on his back so aizawa can do this (replace the collar with his hands).

pairing: aizawa x male reader content warnings: suspension bondage, mild choking, a mix of soft praise and degradation, pet names (kitten) word count: 1.7k

Having Aizawa as a training partner is more than you could’ve asked for. Training with a Pro Hero puts your skills and progress into perspective. It helps you understand how close you are to reaching your goals. Of course, that’s not the only reason.

Ever since you were put in his class, you’ve always had a bit of a crush on the hero. It was originally something small, manageable. With the years passing by though, that crush turned into something else. These days you imagine yourself in all sorts of scenarios with him. Some mundane, simple and some more risqué. You’ve gone through so many scenarios that they often repeat. Of course, you never thought any of them would actually happen. Perhaps you should’ve been more open minded.

“Um, Aizawa-sensei?”

You can’t really tell what position you’re in. The most you know is that it’s uncomfortable and probably not something a student would want their teacher to see- well, a normal student. You’ve had several daydreams of being tied up in Aizawa’s binding cloth. Like this, the only thing different from them is the uncomfortable position you’ve been caught in.

He’s not in your field of vision and he isn’t making any noise. It’s a safe assumption that he’s behind you, at least you’d like to think it’s safe.

Trying to turn your head to look around makes your neck ache. Staying still is all you can do, knowing that trying to struggle out of the cloth will only make you even more uncomfortable. Muscles are already beginning to ache from the unnatural position. You’d rather not make it worse.

“Sensei, could you get me down now?”

There’s no verbal response, but you do hear footsteps behind you this time. It’s a few seconds before the familiar form of your teacher comes into view. He stands in front of you, face neutral. The hero makes no effort to unbind you, only staring down at you. You feel embarrassed under his gaze and you can’t look at him in the eyes.

“You look good like this.” The lustful tone in Aizawa’s voice isn’t missed, nor is the way he adjusts his pants to make the bulge more obvious. Had he been wanting something like this too? “I wasn’t expecting you to look so cute when you’re vulnerable. Maybe I should’ve done this sooner.”

He grabs your chin. But he doesn’t make you look him in the eye, no, he forces you to look directly at the erection beginning to strain in his pants.

“Aizawa-sensei?”

From the confused tone in your voice, the hero stops. He crouches a bit your eye level so you don’t have to strain your neck to look up at you. There’s a bit of concern on his face.

“Do you want me to stop?” The genuine concern for your comfort and consent makes you happy. While you do want this, you’re grateful that he wants to check. “If you don’t want this, let me know and I’ll untie you-”

“No, keep going please, Aizawa-sensei...”

With those words, the concern melts away. Aizawa’s pupils dilate and he stands up, adjusting the capture weapon’s hold on you so you’re eye level with his crotch. He doesn’t hesitate to step close to you, his straining erection only a few centimeters from your face. Your eagerness to reach out and mouth at his clothed cock spurs him to bring himself so you can do just that. A hand wraps in your hair to pull you closer, almost shoving your face against him.

Even through the cloth of his pants, you can feel the heat coming off of each other. His cock gets harder as you try to suck it through the fabric, tongue lolling out and smearing your saliva everywhere. Your teacher stares down at you as he plays with your hair.

“You’re so needy, kitten. You must want my cock so much, huh kitten? How bad do you want it?”

“Sensei...” You whine against him. There’s a twitch from his cock when you call him sensei and you know that he loves it. “I want your cock so bad, Sensei...”

The groan he makes when you call him Sensei goes straight to your core. Your own cock twitches within your training clothes. From your position, he can’t see the growing tent in your pants. It’s an exciting thought, that he’s going to focus on his own pleasure and not yours.

“Oh, kitten... Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

He undoes his pants and lets his cock spring out, slapping against your face. It’s hot, heavy and better than you could’ve imagined. Aizawa’s cock is thicker than it is long, but still an impressive length. You move your head so you can trail your tongue up and down the shaft. His scent is strong because of your training just moments before and it’s intoxicating. As you lick his cock, you taste how salty it is and try to reach the head to taste the precum leaking from the tip.

A hand holds your head in place as he pulls his hips away for a moment. With your mouth already open, tongue lolling out, he can easy rest the tip of his dick on your tongue. Aizawa lets out another groan when you circle the head with your tongue, lapping away at the slit. He pulls away again despite your whining.

You’re not sure what he’s going to do until he grabs the ropes and flips you onto your back. Now the tent in your pants is visible and it twitches when you realize that Aizawa can see it.

“Kitten’s feeling good, hm?” A hand travels down your chest to rub your cock through the fabric. The hero’s movements are slow and rough, clearly teasing you instead of trying to ease your arousal. “Now open your mouth for me.”

Obediently, you open your mouth once again, tongue sticking out. He slides it along your tongue a few times to let you taste him before he begins to sheath himself inside your mouth. It stretches your jaw as he goes in slowly. Aizawa forces past your gag reflex, shuddering from the way your throat tenses around his cock. When he’s fully sheathed, your face flush against his balls, he runs his fingers over your throat. There’s a small bulge from where his cock is inside you and he traces it, pressing down on the spot.

What he does next surprises you. Calloused fingers trace the skin of your throat before his hand properly wrap around your throat. The grip is soft, barely there. The atmosphere shifts as he makes sure you’re comfortable.

“This okay?”

Once you hum in affirmation, he begins to squeeze. It’s not hard, but it’s enough to begin to make you feel lightheaded. He slowly fucks your mouth, cock sliding in and out at a steady pace. Each time your throat spasms around his cock, Aizawa grunts and presses a little harder on your throat for a second. The hero is doing his best to make sure you’re still coherent, able to feel everything.

“You’re just a slut for my cock. Aren’t you kitten?” He doesn’t actually expect an answer but you let out a moan to tell him yes. “Mm... Good kitten.”

Aizawa continues his steady pace. He lightly squeezes your throat for a few minutes before letting you go to regain oxygen flow before going back to it. Your cock strains against your pants, your precum has made a wet patch through the fabric of your boxers and the training outfit. Eventually the hands completely let go of your throat and once again travel down your torso. The hero has to lean forward to reach your erection, pushing his cock even deeper down your throat.

He pulls your cock out of your pants, watching as it twitches from his touch. One hand steadies the capturing cloth and the other wraps around the base of your cock. Aizawa begins to pump your cock with the same pace he uses to fuck your throat.

You moan and whine against his length, tongue doing its best to lap the precum leaking from his tip when he pulls back. He forces himself to maintain his pace.

“So tight, kitten. How much do you want my cum? How much does my slutty kitten want my cum?” He pulls his cock out of your mouth with a pop, letting it rest against your face. This time he wants an actual answer. He wants to hear you say it. “Kitten.”

“Please Sensei... I need it so bad.” Have you always sounded this pathetic, this needy? “Please give me your cum, Sensei!”

The second those words leave your lips, he slides his cock back in. His pace with your cock is more erratic, harder and forcing you to your limit faster than you though possible. When he sheathes himself down your throat fully and stills, ropes of cum shoot down your throat. You eagerly swallow it all. And when he pulls it out slowly, you lick it clean, lapping up what’s left.

“Kitten...” His hand’s pace slows and becomes more languid. “Does my kitten want to cum?”

He gives you a soft glare when you whine.

“Use your words, kitten. Or maybe I should leave you here like this?”

“I wanna cum, Sensei! Please!” The neediness in your voice is more than enough for Aizawa to continue. One hand pumps your cock and the other rubs against your sensitive head. The extra aggressive stimulation forces you over the edge and you tense in your bindings, cumming into the hero’s hand.

“What a good, slut of a kitten.” Aizawa pulls the hand covered in your cum up to your face and hums, “Clean it.”

You eagerly clean his hand, wanting to please him. And when you’ve licked it clean, he undoes your bindings. He gently sets you on the ground and crouches in front of you.

“You good? That wasn’t too much, was it?” There’s the stoic yet kind teacher you know. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I can.” You’re a little wobbly but you stand, tucking your limp cock into your pants. “Could we... Could we do this again sometime, Aizawa-sensei?”

“We can set up another training session. It’ll be good to get some more training in before you graduate.” A small smile tugs at his lips. Ah, this is great.

#aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x male reader #aizawa shouta x reader smut #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader smut

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

The Needs of Pain (part 2)

A/n since y’all liked part one!!

... i think i could make a part 3?? we’ll see lol

This is the LONGEST thing i’ve written on here wow,, and the smuttiest

Warnings: teasing, oral, unprotected sex (pls this is my first time writing full smut be gentle lol)

Exhaustion is an odd result of pain. I didn’t think I was that tired after the burn. I certainly didn’t feel sleepy while Kirigan cleaned my shoulder and brushed his soft lips and sharp teeth along my neck to distract me from the pain. Why am I even thinking of that? Of the way his breath felt against my skin, the way his tongue soothed any bites he left against my skin. I breathe out flatly.

Stop thinking of him. Stop thinking of him in that context--that’s why he did it. He enjoys getting under people’s skin, that’s why he’s always insulting the way I see the world. My hand reaches to my neck, touching my skin where I can still feel his lips on my skin, tracing the faint marks I had seen in the bathroom mirror.

I should have asked the healer to get rid of them before they fully formed, but the thought of showing them to anyone was too embarrassing to bear. I force my hand away, dropping it onto my pillow.

He had acted so strange today, he had been so blunt. It was a tactic. He wants to be in my head and I’m giving him what he wants. I sigh, rolling over and pulling my duvet further up my body. It’s too hot for this. Ugh. I kick the duvet off of my legs, letting my nightgown wrinkle up my body. Strong hands could pull the fabric up in a similar, yet much more euphoric way.

No. Who’s thoughts are these? The fact that I picture the same hands that dabbed at my burn earlier today has me questioning my sanity. I can’t sleep like this. Kirigan wanted to be in my head and now he is. Damn him. I can’t stand him which means I can never have him.

Desire has nothing to do with tolerance. The thought leaves my face warm and stomach twisted.

I sit up sharply, sliding out of bed tiredly. I’ll get some air and everything will be fine. The moon will clear my mind.

The Little Palace is strangely twisting at night, all long shadows and yellow lantern light. I slip out of my room quickly, but my thoughts are not immediately banished with the change of scenery. I must be ill. Infection must have set in regardless of my efforts and the healer sealed it beneath my skin and now it’s impacting me. Fever. I’m delusional with fever.

“I didn’t take you the kind for a late night trist.”

His voice leaves the hairs on the back of my neck standing like soldiers at attention. I manifested him the same way people manifest the devil. “Air.” My defense is childish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some air.”

The sound of even footsteps leaves me frozen in place. “What keeps someone like you awake?” It’s like he can read through me. “Thoughts of me?”

He can never know. “Obviously.”

My sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, he lets out an almost humored breath. “Or perhaps it’s pain.”

The comment is so confusing I almost don’t realize he’s bringing up my shoulder injury. How had I let him see me so vulnerable? Why did he seem somewhat concerned in his own way?

“My shoulder’s perfectly fine.” Good. A normal direction for this conversation to head. “It took the Healer all of two minutes.”

The touch on my shoulder is so sudden I almost jump. Kirigan doesn’t shy away at that, fingers firmly brushing down the skin. “It feels the same.”

I could scream. His strange observation means nothing to me, but the implication is enough to drive me mad. The implication that he knows my skin well enough to be able to judge whether the healed skin feels different is sickening. I’m tired of this.

I turn on my heels, all of my tiredness and irritation twisting in me. “Even if it didn’t, it’s none of your concern.”

“I didn’t realize you were extra irritable when you’re tired.”

Every conversation with him leaves me feeling petulant. “I’m not tired.” I cross my arms, keep my expression set. “I just--I wanted to get some air.”

“Hm.” He takes a step forward, preparing to close the small distance I’d managed to create between us. “And why is that?”

The question leaves me irritated in an odd way. A flat way. There’s a narcissistic entitlement in that question. An entitlement to my thoughts. I shrug. “I hoped it’d make me tired.”

Kirigan draws his eyebrows together, curiosity and something resembling amusement playing at his expression. “If you’d like to be tired, I think I know a few ways to be of assistance.”

A faint, aggravating warmth comes to my face. Not only did my lie earn me a ridiculous innuendo, it’s also trapped me in a corner I cannot escape. Healing from the burn had left me pathetically drowsy. There’s no way he can’t see through me, a tired haze has to be visible on my face. My eyelids feel weighted and I’m too distracted by my deep longing for sleep to hold onto irritation.

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” The words are not meant to be a challenge, just a way to dismiss him. I don’t think he takes them that way.

He draws his eyebrows together, eyes threatening to lose that curious quality. Kirigan steps forward, I step back blankly, desperate to keep enough distance to keep what’s left of my wits about me. He ignores my reaction, taking another step forward. I take another step back. My back touches the wall. I am a mouse and he’s an excited cat.

“You don’t have to,” his voice is too low, too intimate, “I’m not sure that’s something you want to understand.”

My chin raises just slightly, a silent protest. “Dependency is a fatal flaw.”

“So is desire,” his reply is much too quick. “Desire is worse, because one can resist dependency based on pride...but desire, that is something that one sacrifices for.”

Maybe if I was less tired I’d bother to interpret his words a little more. But all I can focus on is his tone--the quality of it. “You sound heavy.” My voice is as light as the night breeze I was craving moments ago. “But you always sound heavy.” It’s the wistful observation of someone slowly disappearing. “At least you’re pretty,” I muse, falling more and more distant by the second.

Something soft breaks across his features, his lips quirking. “Pretty?”

I rest my back against the wall comfortably, eyes shutting without permission. “I’m sure I’ll regret that comment in a moment.”

He stays silent, but his presence does not disappear. I can’t tell if I’m glad for it. The warm touch on my shoulder startles me out of my drowsy trance. Panic has me ready to jump off the wall, but Kirigan brushes his thumb up and down my shoulder. His touch sets any skin that comes in contact with him aflame. I shouldn’t find the gesture so comforting. My eyes flutter shut again, my body relaxing against the wall. When my protest dies out before it begins, Kirigan shifts closer. I’m confused, but too at peace to answer. Something velvety and warm brushes against my collar. Soft and warm and electric. He’s kissing my skin again.

My lips part in hopes of arguing, but when his teeth graze the skin he already marked earlier I’m gone. My eyes shut again, but this time it’s different. Pleasure and drowsiness clear me of all inhibitions as his touch becomes more and more assured. I let him test me, his mouth moving against any and all exposed skin. I don’t even stop him when I feel his hands graze the hem of my nightgown, wrinkling it the way I imagined earlier.

“Kirigan.” I need to find my strength, but what’s the point of strength when his touch leaves me so warm? The only acknowledgement of my protest he offers me is the lingering squeeze of my thigh before his long fingers begin to graze towards the inside of my thighs. I have no choice but to let his lips brush up my neck, his teeth grazing my skin the way they did earlier today. “Kirigan.” I try to sound firmer, but he destroys the rest of my sentence before I have the chance to get it out. His teeth nip the base of my neck, ruining my protest for a second time.

Maybe if I was less tired I’d be able to fight him off a little better, but I’m so drowsy I had trouble thinking before he started touching me. My eyes shut in both bliss and exhaustion. His thumb presses into my hip. Something in me stalls as his fingers brush the hem of my underwear--testing me, challenging me. I open my eyes on instinct, but he remains unbothered, slipping his thumb beneath the only fabric that divides us in order to better grip my hip.

I stiffen because of how badly I want to melt. This is bad. This is insane. We’re in a hallway in the middle of the night and he’s General Kirigan. Whatever attraction I feel is another tactic to manipulate me.

“We need to stop.” The command is weak, my voice as dry as my resolve.

He angles his head in order to regard me a little better. His expression is one of mock confusion as he smirks. Actually smirks. “Stop what?” False innocence drips from his voice as he leans towards me, expression amused as his lips near my own. “I haven’t even started yet.” My eyes widen, something that amuses him. “Y/n?”

I’m left on edge. I’m left wanting. My lips part flatly, but words feel so distant. “Yes?”

“What happened earlier?” His voice is the kind of sinful that��s meant to coax. Kirigan brushes his thumb across my shoulder, eyes watching mine cautiously. “How did you get burned?”

I push against the sultry quality of his voice. “I told you--an accident.”

“Hm.” His eyebrows draw together in a surprisingly soft way. I stare at him freely, but he ignores my gaze, eyes locked on my newly healed skin. Is he truly that concerned? “Whose accident?”

I swallow once. “My own.” He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m not exactly the most coordinated person, you’ve witnessed my clumsiness yourself.”

Kirigan is not convinced. Perhaps he will never fully buy my partial lie. His grip on me hardens. Restraint. I may not be able to win against his paranoia, but I might be able to distract him. Cautiously, I move one hand forward, touching the hand that’s on my shoulder. I hesitate. Touching him without prompting almost feels too intimate. I’m being ridiculous. I brush my fingers against the back of his palm, letting my touch trail up his forearm.

“Y/n.” My name borders on a warning.

I suppress a smile, playing into my sleepiness as I tilt my head to the side. “Yes?”

He doesn’t reply, expression tightening as my hand snares around his wrist, pulling it off my shoulder with more care than I thought myself capable of. The intensity of his gaze is enough to burn me. I turn my full attention to his hand. I’d never admit this out loud, but this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about how objectively attractive his hands are. I kiss each of his knuckles slowly, brushing my lips against his skin tentatively.

To my surprise, he allows my indulgence. I glance at him through my lashes. Kirigan’s eyes are shut, expression bordering on pained. “Kirigan?”

He opens his eyes but his expression does not ease. His other hand leaves my thigh, grabbing the low collar of my nightgown with such a fierce speed it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He pulls me away from the wall in a way that borders on violent.

“I don’t know who you’re protecting, but I guarantee you they’re not worth it.” The words are acidic. He’s seething. “I grow tired of your resistance.”

If he hadn’t transformed into something so untamed, I might have had enough gall to tell him I grow tired of being toyed with. I say nothing, instead I take in the abrasiveness of his anger, the tension of his grip on the thin fabric that clothes me. I am unflinching in my assessment in the most tired way possible, eyes struggling not to shut and body desperate to rest, but even more desperate for him. His eyes stare into mine, searching for something I am too far gone to offer. He must realize my sleepiness is genuine because he soon drops his gaze, taking his time in analyzing the even rise and fall of my chest as well as the hint of cleavage his grip on my nightgown is exposing. Pure heat finds itself in my face, chest, and worst of all---core. His staring lacks any shame.

Kirigan parts his lips as if to speak but then instead takes a moment to lick them. The thought of his tongue in relation to lips only makes the burning in me worse. It’s practically an ache. A needy one.

“I grow weary of your lack of understanding.”

Understanding? “What is there to understand?”

His head angles itself to one side but he doesn’t meet my gaze. The hold he has on me loosens just enough so that his hold on me is no longer taut. That should not disappoint me the way it does. I wait patiently, ignoring the bundle of unexplained nerves in my stomach as best as I can. Something strange colors his features when he finally looks at me again, something almost vulnerable.

“I brought you here.” He sounds farther from me than ever. “I…” His exhale is gentle, but his expression is quick to harden. “Who are you so willing to protect?”

I must be really tired because his voice sounds like it borders on heart ache. If I didn’t fear Arthur’s safety I’d tell Kirigan everything if it meant his pain would dissipate. I never thought Kirigan’s potential pain would bother me, but now that I’ve seen him look stricken by something so weighted--now that I’ve seen the way he wears pain--I don’t want to be the one to give him that. I want to be the one to give him some kind of sanctuary. The thought leaves me with a desire to flea.

“Will you just believe me when I say it’s no one?” In a way that’s the truth. Arthur is not particularly significant unless you’re a young Grisha female with a desire for heart ache. “No one worth mentioning at least.”

He’s quick to retighten his hold on my nightgown, leaving the fabric taut and more of me exposed. “You being desperate to protect them makes them worth interest.” A different response than I expected.

My lips thin. “Only because it was a small accident. They don’t deserve to be punished over the briefest loss of focus.”

I take his silence as an indicator that he is considering my words. His free hand finds my shoulder as he pulls me even closer to him by the fabric he’s gripping. “And if I were to revoke the threat of punishment?” His voice is the definition of temptation, low and promising and coddling me with its sinfulness. I still as Kirigan leans forward so that his lips are practically on my ear. “Then would you tell me? If I released you from the binds of your nobility?” My lips part but I have no words prepared. Before I can think of what to say, his lips graze the side of my jaw before his teeth nip at the end of my ear. “Tell me just to humor me.”

The command doesn’t make sense to me, but from his lips it feels important. “You won’t hurt them for what happened?”

His voice seems rougher than before, “Would that make a difference?”

“It would make all the difference.” I don’t like the honesty of my words.

Kirigan allows one hand to trail down my waist--a gesture I consider obscenely intimate when paired with the soft brush of his lips on my collar. “I already know who.” His voice is a dark hum. “I was always going to know one way or another--but it’s good to know you would have told me.”

My stomach lurches, dread pouring into me like tar. Before fear can force me to take action, Kirigan begins to leave open mouth kisses from the top of my jaw to the bottom of my neck, taking his time to assault any spot of skin with his tongue that he wants. This reminds me too much of earlier--touches meant to distract from pain with the use of pleasure.

“Are you--” His mouth is now on my collar, threatening to destroy my question. “Are you going to hurt him?”

At that Kirigan straightens. The sudden lack of contact leaves me cold. I shouldn't be thinking of him. Of his touch. “I’m curious,” he draws out each syllable, delighting in my nerves, “Would you bear his punishment?”

I’m not sure. I hate that. I haven’t known Arthur for that long, and while he’s kind, he also seems to see all women as replaceable. That isn’t reason for him to endure Kirigan’s punishment but I don’t know him well enough to just blindly agree to that. I loathe myself for not being noble enough to take Arthur’s punishment instantly.

“What kind of punishment?”

Kirigan’s expression twists into a greedy smile. He pushes me back easily, pressing me into the wall with more confidence than ever. I’m silent in my confusion until he presses himself against me and I feel something hard and bulging press into where I’m neediest. I stifle a gasp of surprise and something similar to pleasure. “I’m sure I could think of something for you.” I’d care more about my confusion if hot need wasn’t flooding my thoughts and my body with undeniable desperation. “I haven’t even spoken to him.” I exhale, untrusting relief desperate to escape me. Kirigan is quick to lean forward, lips brushing my ear as he prepares to whisper. “I’m more likely to harm him because he has your favor than anything else.”

Warmth burns my face. “He doesn’t--he’s not exactly the one that holds my favor.”

The heat of his breath adds to my burning as he presses his bulge into my core again. “And who does?”

I’m not sure what he considers favor, but if it has anything to do with wanting he wins. But he can never know that. “There are some contenders, but no one yet.”

His hand moves off my hip and nears my throat. “Would it be too bold to assume I’m on the short list?”

He’s two steps away from taking me in an open hallway, I doubt he finds much bold. “Do you want to be?”

Kirigan’s hand tightens on my throat. “I’ve made it clear from the beginning what I want.” His words are lethal and each syllable has him restricting my airflow a little more. Something in me must be broken because my neediness only worsens. “I brought you here because I see all that you could be. Forget being a Saint, we could be gods.” The sentiment is so raw it’s almost harder to bear than his tight grip on my neck. He leans close again, his scent only adding to my budding lightheadedness. “Say the word, and I could have you praising me like I’m already a god.” My stomach knots in both nerves and insatiable hunger. “Though I’m the one that would be doing the worshipping.”

My resolve is shattered, leaving me broken and twisting. He releases his hold on my neck in order to move his hand beneath my chin. There is nothing gentle about the way he jerks my head forward, forcing me to look into his eyes. Something about the look he gives me has me melting. His eyes are searching for something in me.

He must find whatever he’s looking for because I feel his touch against my heat, fingers pressing against fabric. I bite my lip on instinct, suppressing the sound of my undoing. Kirigan’s eyes never leave mine as the hand on my chin moves to brush against my bottom lip.

“I can only give you what you want if you tell me what that is.”

He exhales slowly, pressing his thumb against my lip downwards. My mouth parts on instinct, something that he takes well. His thumb enters my mouth slowly, taking in my reaction as I taste his skin on my tongue. Kirigan pulls his thumb away from my tongue slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting him to my mouth. With one swift tug, his free hand pulls the only fabric separating him from where I want him most down my thighs. His expression reveals nothing as his thumb, still wet with my saliva, is pressed against my core. His touch teases my clit, just barely brushing where I need him most. The whine that escapes me is so desperate I’m ashamed I can’t help it.

“So wet already,” his appraisal is gentle, the praise whispered against my throat as his lips brush against my neck. “So wet, so needy that you’d let me take you in this hallway and I’ve hardly touched you.” His finger presses further into me. I let out another pathetic breath. “A pity, someone like you--so painfully under cared for.” I’m reduced to nothing by his words and touch. “What I’d give to undue you here, against the wall--I’d have you crying so loudly everyone would know that I’ve claimed you, that I’ve made you mine.” Before I can reflect on his words, he steps back, pulling my underwear back up as quickly as he yanked it down.

I let out an instinctual whine. My hand moves to his arm, grabbing him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “What--”

Kirigan squeezes my hand, a predator’s smile on his lips. “I want to feel all of you,” his hand squeezes my hip, “I can’t exactly do that against a wall, dove of mine,” he leans forward, lips brushing against my jaw in a way that leaves me chilled and melting at the same time, “At least not the first time.”

His whisper forces my breathing to hitch, a fact that he notices with an amused look as his thumb brushes against my collar. Kirigan pulls me away from the wall easily. Even the causal touch feels electric against my skin.

The walk towards my room is tense, his hands never leaving me as if he’s aware of how necessary it is to keep me distracted to ward off my better sense. When we reach my door, Kirigan opens it like it’s his. Entitled. Typical.

I step into the room, his touch lingering on my arm. A brief shyness pushes itself into my chest. I had let Kirigan touch me in a public space and lead me back to my room. The door closes. I don’t turn.

Kirigan’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Shy, now?” His question is teasing, rekindling the fire beneath my skin as he places an open mouth kiss on my neck. He plays with the thin strap of my nightgown, pushing it off my shoulder. He kisses down my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. My inhibitions are melted away again. “When your breathing stalls like that,” his whisper is enough to elicit a desperate shudder, “I am left desperate.”

He leans forward, mouth trailing down my chest, coming dangerously close to my breasts. The electric current of his touch is all consuming and addicting. I press my back into his chest. His hands are the opposite of shy, touching me everywhere except where I’m most desperate. Kirigan’s hand places itself between my thighs, using his thumb to tease my entrance. I let out a needy sound. And then he retracts his hand, grabbing my shoulders and turning me in one swift motion.

“Kirigan.”

His eyes are dark, clouded by something I don’t understand but am too aware that I reciprocate. “Tell me that I have your favor.” His words are taut, bordering on snapping. Kirigan’s grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, an assertive need taking over him. “That you want me.”

Desire, pride, and rationality twist in my stomach, leaving me too distracted to form words. My gaze drops to the ground on instinct, something Kirigan clearly finds unacceptable because he’s quick to grab my chin and force my eyes to meet his.

I swallow once, courage withering beneath the look in his eyes. It’s as twisted as a spindling shadow, but the look is fierce admirational, appreciation so deep I could drown in it. It scares and consols me all at once. “I want you.” There’s something pained about such powerful emotion. I loathe and am empowered by it all at once. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words leave my throat scorching with their sincerity.

As soon as the words leave me, he’s closing the distance between us, the slightest exhale of tension leaving his lips before they meet mine, prepared to devour me. I reciprocate his actions on instinct alone. There is no hesitation, no space, and yet it is not enough. Not enough and yet I don’t know how to be closer. But Kirigan does. One of his hands cup my cheek, coaxing me towards him as if I could possibly have the will to leave him. He steps forward, guiding me to step back. I obey fluidly until I feel something hit the back of my legs. It’d startle me if I wasn’t so consumed by his touch.

His mouth begins to move away from my skin. I chase after him, desperate to keep him touching me. He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder, a warning about my neediness. I pout, but as he studies me I pant. Maybe the excuse for air was a good idea. I don’t fight the uneasiness of my breathing as I hold Kirigan’s gaze. He regards me with a patience I consider unbearable, taking in the determined look in his eyes, my swollen lips, disheveled hair, and the top of my night gown that’s half falling off.

It’s in this moment I realize how much more vulnerable than him I am.

If Kirigan notices any shift in me, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he adjusts his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing the hot skin gently. “You are everything.” His voice is cracking glass. “Everything that’s good, at least.”

Maybe he did notice my initial reaction because I am no longer certain that I am the one that’s most vulnerable. “You’re better than you think.” I only say this because it would only weigh on me more to stay silent. “I see it and you don’t want me to.”

His hand continues to stroke my cheek. “I want you to see all of me.” The heavy beating of my heart seems to stall in my chest. Kirigan drops his hand before grasping the hem of my nightgown. He pulls the fabric upwards easily, bundling the fabric above my hip. “I want you to…” He exhales flatly, pulling the fabric upwards even more. Nerves flood my stomach as he leans towards me, kissing down my jaw. “To know me,” he whispers against my throat.

I am nothing but uneven breaths as he mouth moves down my chest, stalling only once he’s reached my breasts. He pushes me forward easily, guiding me so that I’m laying on my bed. He’s quick to move over me, kissing up my neck as he adjusts so that I’m against the headboard.

When he pulls away again, I’m left pouting. He grins, fueled by my disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he breathes, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear before tugging it down my legs easily, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Being so exposed has my doubts flooding back, but Kirigan is quick to fight against my instincts in a way only he seems capable of. He squeezes the inside of my upper thigh before leaning down, pressing his mouth onto the skin his fingers just touched. His kisses here are meant to leave me even more desperate, each nip and fleeting pass of his tongue is lazy yet intentional. I am incapable of doing else besides letting out pathetic whines.

He ignores where I need him most, kissing up my thigh, across my lower stomach, and then down my other thigh. Kirigan continues the pattern across my skin, ignoring any pleas I swallow my pride to give. He is not rushed by my words or cries or the occasional desperate adjustment of my hips.

Kirigan lifts his head slightly, releasing my inner thigh with an obscene ‘pop’. “Patience.” His fingers trail up my thigh and over my core, teasing my entrance with his lithe fingers. “Unless you’re ready to beg?”

It’s a challenge, like everything else. The urge to give him my pride to satisfy the electric desire I’m not sure I’m capable of bearing. But then I note his tense hold on my thigh. A sign of restraint, of want.

“And if I want you to beg for me?” I don’t know where the words come from, but they charge the room with potential.

Something strange crosses his fingers before his lips tilt upwards in a dark way. “Would you like the strength of that? To have someone like me powerless before you?” My face warms. Kirigan leaves a lingering kiss on my thigh before he moves off the bed. I sigh at the loss of contact, but my tired neediness stalls at the sound of his belt coming undone. “I want to see you on your knees.” I sit up carelessly, desperate to obey him. I’m kneeling in front of him in an instant, taking in his length. The size of it has me gaping. “Open your mouth.”

I take the order more eagerly than I should, but I make no move to take him. This is just another challenge. I keep my eyes on his as I stick my tongue out before licking the bottom of his member all the way up to his tip. The sound he lets out is pure sin. I lick his tip slowly, each motion of my tongue is strategic as I finally place him in my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, moving up and down slowly.

The pace is not enough for him, he grips my hair from my scalp as he thrusts into my mouth. The motion is more powerful than I expected and I am left unable to breathe. My slight gag does the opposite of discourage him, he repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself into me until I can feel him in my throat.

The sounds he lets out are a chorus to me, but it’s not enough. I need more control, I need a way to make him beg. I raise a hand, wrapping it around the base that I cannot fit into my mouth. I stroke him once slowly, making a point as I try to push myself back in order to make him want me more.

He groans again. I make a point of pushing myself off of him. Precum protrudes his tip. I lick it off of him slowly. I lick up and down his member in the smallest way possible.

“Y/n,” the restraint in his voice fuels my teasing, “Tease me and you’ll still be overwhelmed by want when the sun rises.”

A pout tugs at my lips before I open my mouth again, taking Kirigan to my limit. He lets me set the pace of my bobs at first, but then he becomes desperate, holding me in place by the roots of my hair as he moans and thrusts into me without restraint. He ignores my choking as he continues until he throws his head back, letting out a quick praise of my name.

He finishes in my mouth and I swallow all he offers me greedly. I back off my knees slowly, throat burning as his member leaves my mouth. “On the bed.” He’s turned into something insatiable. “Now.”

I move back to my bed, laying in the same position as before. He takes his time approaching me. When he finally gets to me, he kisses my thighs easily. I let out a small breath before something that’s pure pleasure meets my core. His tongue laps upwards lazily, grazing my clit but not quite touching it. My hips thrust towards his face, but with hand he holds me down. A coil in my stomach continues to build as he angles himself more purposefully, tongue finally taking care of my clit. My gasps become less and less reasonable as he continues to lap at all that my body has to offer. The coil tightens, I see stars--and then, like cruelty personified, he pulls away. His absence leaves me ready to cry out.

My desperation only fuels Kirigan as he lines himself with my entrance. Concern twists my stomach as I consider how full my mouth felt when he was in me. I expect some level of warning, but he thrusts into me with no warning. I let out a pathetic cry, but that means nothing to him as he pulls out just to thrust into me with full force again.

“Only I can hurt you,” he demands, thrusting into me as I call out his name. My eyes water at the sensation of such fullness, pleasure and pain combining themselves in a way that leaves me incapable of thought. “Your tears,” he muses, one hand moving to wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek, “Are mine.”

His thrusts become more and more brutal, less and less even. Each movement of his body in mine leaves me begging for more and less at the same time. He continues until the coil in my stomach tenses to the point of breaking.

“Kirigan,” I manage, voice far away, “I’m going t--”

“I know,” he offers, “finish with me, dove.” His hand finds my throat, adding the slightest bit of restrained pressure. “And do not hold in your cries.”

Two more sharp thrusts have us both finishing, calling out for each other as we try to draw out the high of our orgasms together.

We stay intertwined like that for longer than we should, but then Kirigan stands. I envy his ability to do so. I don’t call for him even though I still don’t want to be alone here. A moment later, I hear him approach. I’m too drowsy to ask what he’s doing as a damp towel is wiped against my forehead and inner thighs.

When he’s finished cleaning me, some raw emotion settles in my chest. “Are you leaving?”

Kirigan hesitates. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

I roll over, the motion leaves my body aching. Kirigan accepts my invitation, crawling beneath my sheets and adjusting our bodies so that he can rest his hand on my back.

Tags: @luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy

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@tranquillitymoon

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone show #shadow and bone imagine #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan imagine #general kirigan x you #general kirigan x reader smut #grishaverse #grisha #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x you #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling smut #the darkling x you #the darkling imagine

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aetherarf · 3 years

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Hi there!! Based off of your headcanon of Diluc being allergic to alcohol, could you write either headcanons or a fic where Diluc accidentally drinks alcohol and gets sick and his s/o takes care of him? Maybe he mistakes some wine for grape juice and guzzles a glass while very thirsty or something

Of course :D! I'm going to mention I'm going off of my own allergic reactions to alcohol and this is not how everyone who IS allergic would react.

[[ ANGST WARNING: NEAR LETHAL ALLERGIC REACTIONS ( No death ) , BLOOD ]]

[[ SFW Summary: A simple night with his spouse, Diluc wants to just relax... but a mix up, he takes a sip of your wine... And it goes downhill from there.

Word Count: 1'761 ]]

"Is this a good spot?"

"Uhm... Just a little to the left... there!"

Diluc sighed, dusting off his hands. You had, only recently, gotten everything over to the Winery. Sure, you've been married for more than a few months, but it was just a daunting task... And it took a little bit of moving stuff around to make it feel like a proper home--for both of you.

And with that, it was the last bookshelf moved. You walked over, giving Diluc a hug and a kiss on the cheek, seeing that rare but beautiful smile on his usually apathetic features.

"Come, let's celebrate a little..."

"And by that you mean lazing about until dawn." Diluc said, but it wasn't an insult.

"Right. And I'm going to be drinking--I know, you won't, you won't... could you just drink some grape juice though, so you're drinking with me in spirit?" You pleaded, it felt a little less like you were getting drunk on your husband's [Husband!] lap while he was probably working on something or reading.

"Of course," he agreed, he liked grape juice anyway.

"You have to put it in a wine glass though. It's prettier that way."

"Demanding," he teased, all fluff and adoration, "That's fine, too."

The both of you walked to the kitchen, Diluc pouring you a glass of wine, and corked the bottle, but he left it out on the table--a silent way of saying Just bring it, I know you'll want more later.

He knew you quite well. Just how you knew he would never drink a drop of wine if he could help it, he didn't even like it on his skin...

In the end, he always said the same thing, I just don't like alcohol. There was no reason to press further, while you were curious if it had to do with... ahem, the late former Winemaster, or if it was just a manner of taste.

He'd tell you when he was ready.

You grabbed the bottle, walking ahead to laze about on the sofa, and a few moments later Diluc came in with his own glass of grape juice, sitting down beside you, practically dragging you to lie down on him as he set his glass down on the table beside the sofa, you reaching over to set down your glass as well, noting that it was the one on the left, before you leaned over, grabbing a book for yourself to read, and as you looked back at him, he was already reading his own... Squinting more than you expected.

"You should get your eyes checked," you commented, pressing your finger on the bookmark to your open book, flipping it open to the page, trying to find the line you left it on...

"Why?" He asked, not looking at you.

"You're squinting more and more. Old man eyes."

He only huffed, "Fine, I'll get checked another time."

"And I'll remind you."

"... thank you."

A comfortable silence fell as the two of you read. You reached over from time to time, taking a sip of your wine, and Diluc hadn't touched his... maybe he just wasn't in the mood, so it was fine. It was nice that he was just being considerate enough to 'pretend'.

Eventually, you emptied your glass, refilled it, and took a sip before lying against him again. His was untouched, but after you finally refilled yours.

Diluc looked oddly at the drinks... he should probably at least finish his glass to not waste, reaching over and grabbing it--he just didn't feel in the mood for it, but... it was fine.

He tried to drink it quickly, normally he enjoyed the taste but maybe he just was a little sick of it. But--As soon as he saw the empty glass, right before him, he made a horrific choking noise, the taste hitting him.

He drank wine-- an overly full glass no less.

A hand smacked over his mouth, he jumped up, desperately hoping that if he got it out of him, nothing bad would happen, completely ignoring your shout of dismay-You'd forgive him, he could mask it under such a horrific veil of disgust...

He grabbed a spare cloth and pressed it to his mouth, spitting any of it as he could, almost wanting to gag and vomit--his neck, his throat, it felt like it boiled, burning... horrific... It was spreading to his face and chest, both of which were probably red.

"Diluc-" Distantly, he heard your voice, but as he saw your face before him through teary eyes, he realized you were far closer than you sounded, "Diluc, what's wrong?"

He opened his mouth, but he suddenly smacked the cloth over it again, spitting up the blood that always would come up, as soon as it was out, he desperately rasped for air.

You saw--you stared at it. That was not the red of wine alone, that was blood. The deep red wine mixed with vibrant blood somehow was the most disgusting color you've ever seen.

"Please," you begged, "Tell me what to do," You could ask why or what or how when he didn't look like he was about to keel over.

But he couldn't tell you--he was so... weak. He could only devote every ounce of energy he had to breathing.

Lie down-if he could lie down, he could focus on that better, but... but...

With your arms wrapped around him, you did the bed you could dragging him over to lie down, he flopping like a corpse, but the desperate, almost shocked gasp of an inhale he made as soon as he wasn't forcing himself to stand, the world around him scalding hot, like he was boiling alive.

How pathetic he looked, lying here, reduced to this pathetic state by a single glass of stupid fucking wine.

You had left, for only a moment, getting a new, clean cloth to try and wipe any other blood off of his mouth. As you could back, he was coughing, how desperate and weak he sounded, tears pouring down his cheeks. You grabbed his arm, forcing him onto his side in fear that he could choke on his own blood,

"What happened," you asked, terrified with tears in your eyes as you wiped around his mouth, trying to offer what little comfort. His skin was damn dear as red as his hair, his throat looked almost like he was strangled, and his shoulders and chest were flush. You tried to tuck a pillow under his head, his neck, so he could strain as little as possible.

"Diluc," you begged, "Please, tell me... tell me what to do, tell me what's happening?"

You felt so selfish, crying when it looked like he was dying, but what else were you supposed to do? If-if you could know what to do, at least it was... something!

"Ah," he panted, "All...er..."

"Aller? No... Allergic?" You asked, and he weakly nodded. "You're having an allergic reaction to... no, you're allergic to alcohol?"

Again, he nodded, making a noise between a choked up cough and a sob--

"How do I help?" You asked, trying to comfort him, to wipe the mess off of his mouth again,

"Waih...tuh..." Wait, "Stah...yuh." Stay.

Probably staying here and ensuring he could keep breathing was the best course of action. You didn't want to leave for a second, and you wouldn't. How long would it last? Should you be dragging him to the Cathedral, as far as it was, you'd do it, you'd walk on two broken legs before you'd let him die, dragging him along.

... No.

If he knew he was having an allergic reaction, then he knew about it. He knew how to... deal with it felt generous, with how he was just riding it out, but if he'd survive... you'd never touch wine ever again if it meant never ever risking seeing him like this ever again. You didn't marry for wine, after all, you married him because you loved him, which made seeing him like this so, so much more painful.

Minutes, tense minutes when you just tried to comfort him turned to hours. For the first hour, oh, how horrible he must have felt, just spluttering for air... but slowly, his breathing got quieter. When you first noticed, you tried listening, but he was breathing... not just fighting as much.

By the third hour, his skin was not as red. Still visibly blushed all over.

By the fourth, he pushed himself up, but he seemed hesitant to speak... but this was enough. You sat next to him, grabbing him and holding his head to your chest--the tears that still trickled, he too exhausted to cry in the pain he must be in, stuck to your clothes. You didn't care. He could cough blood on you and you'd just want to make his pain stop.

"Soh... sorry." He apologized, weakly.

"Don't be." You cooed, worried but still full of love, "You're okay, that's all I care about."

A few long moments... and eventually, he pulled away from you--letting out a weak whine... He must've still been in pain.

"Can we," his voice was agonizingly raspy, but he could still talk, which was enough... more than enough, "Can we... go to bed...?" He asked, and you nodded

"Of course."

You both found your way to the bed, you half-dragging him as he kept tripping over himself. Again, he flopped into the bed, and you crawled in with him, holding him close.

"Are you going to be okay?" You asked, he didn't respond... but then he sighed.

"Yes," he said, "In a day... or two..."

"You're going to be like this for a day or two?"

He grumbled... "No..."

He must've just been too tired to explain.

"I can ask tomorrow," you decided, holding him close. '... Why didn't you tell me you were allergic to alcohol?"

A silence.

With your arms wrapped around him, you gently ran your knuckles up and down his back.

"Scared."

...

"You don't have to be scared of me."

"I know..."

"Are you safe to sleep?"

"Yes..."

"Okay, I'll be right here... I won't let something like this happen again."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, weakly sighing... His breathing was still a bit rough, raspy...

The next day, you'd learn that he's been allergic to alcohol since a young age, each word still raspy, and it'd take 'a day or two' for all the effects to clear up.

Suddenly, his aversion to alcohol, at least to a degree, made much, much more sense.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc #genshin diluc x reader #diluc x reader #bark writes #angst #angsty bark #// deciding to put read more higher for easiness reasons

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

A Sea of Fragment VI

Word Count: 3.964

Warnings: Slight violence

Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.

After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.

You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.

“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”

“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.

“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.

“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”

“Fair enough.”

“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”

“Alright.”

The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.

“My lord.”

Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.

“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”

“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”

“Good. That will be all.”

“Yes my lord.”

Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.

Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.

Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.

Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.

Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.

It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.

“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”

“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”

“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”

“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”

“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.

“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”

“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”

“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”

“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”

“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.

As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.

“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”

“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.

“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”

The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.

“Is there something you want?” You asked.

“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.

Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.

“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.

Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.

It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.

Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.

You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.

Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…

You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.

You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.

Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.

There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.

Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.

You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.

You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.

All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.

Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.

Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.

“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”

“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”

“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? Then, he…”

“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.

Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?

Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin scaramouche #series #my writing

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little-diable · 3 years

Text

Trust - Aaron Hotchner

I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds lately, so I had to go ahead and write something for Hotch. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: the reader gets involved in a case that pulls her deeper into her dark past, now she’s a suspect, involved in the murder of her ex-boyfriend, will the team still trust her? Will Aaron fight for his one true love?

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, abusive ex-boyfriend, violence, unprotected sex

Pairing: Aaron Hotchnerxfem!reader

Word count: 4k

“The best way to finding out if you can trust somebody is to trust them” Ernest Hemingway

She was late. Not once had she been late to any meeting ever before. He instantly missed the by now all too familiar scent of her perfume that would linger in the air as (y/n) would enter the conference room, he missed the sound of her fingertips nervously drumming against the wooden table as he’d present another case. This wasn’t like her.

“Anybody heard of (y/l/n)?” Aaron tried to keep his voice calm, eyes nonchalantly wandering around the room, making eye contact with every team member. Just as Spencer opened his mouth to reply she stepped into the room, hair slightly tangled in knots, hands tightly holding onto her bag, one didn’t need to be a profiler to tell that something was going on with her. “I’m sorry, I slept in.”

He almost didn’t recognize her voice, hoarse as if she had been screaming for hours, quieter then it had ever been, she felt ashamed, but he didn’t know why.

Aaron had to stop himself from asking what was going on with her, forcing his mind to focus on the case, the dead body that had been found in the early morning hours, though something caught his eye. Some purple spots were lingering on her throat, (y/n) had seemingly tried to cover them up, though the makeup didn’t manage to hide it all.

Bruises? Hickeys? A weird feeling began to spread through him, he had no business in digging deeper, should leave it, he could trust her. But his mind couldn’t help but begin to spin imaginary scenarios, would she cheat on him, even before they’d make their relationship official?

“Aaron?” Her soft voice ripped him out of his cruel thoughts, dark eyes meeting hers, she tried to reach for his hand, though he flinched away, reaching for his cup before she could touch him. The crease between her eyebrows got more prominent, she had to blink a few times, bile crawled up her throat, she felt awful.

It had been a rough night, she didn’t catch any sleep, was currently running on her twelfth cup of coffee. (Y/n) was officially worse than Reid.

“Joseph McQueen had been found stabbed to death around 6am this morning,” Garcia kept on talking though (y/n)‘s mind was no longer focused on her, he was dead? Shudders ran down her spine, skin littered with goosebumps, palms sweaty. He couldn’t be dead, not when she had last seen him a few hours ago.

The further her mind faded away the more suspicious Aaron grew, eyes wandering back to the dark spots on her throat. “(Y/l/n),” her eyes met his, pupils visibly dilated, she was hiding something, ”Morgan and Rossi you’ll drive to the crime scene.” He should have pulled her back, should have asked her what’s going on with her and the bruises on her skin, though he kept silent, too scared to face the truth.

Aaron couldn’t lose another woman he loved.

Even Morgan and Rossi seemed to notice that she was awfully quiet, not uttering a word as they drove through the busy streets, making their way towards a house she had been in one too many times before. “You okay sweets?” Morgan’s eyes met (y/n)’s through the rearview mirror, she quickly averted hers, scared that he could feel her pain, that nagging feeling that reminded her of all the things she had been going through.

She couldn’t look at the body, would break into tears before she’d be able to stop herself. Deep down she felt relieved, finally it was done, he no longer could hurt her, could no longer keep her awake at night. Not once had she thought that he’d end up like this, (y/n) knew that there had been quite a few people on his bad side, he hadn’t been a gentle character, not a man you’d willingly mess with.

(Y/n) did the one thing that instantly came to mind, searching for the file, the one thing he had been holding onto the night prior, playing another mindgame with her.

“Joseph, give it to me and I’ll be gone.” (Y/n) clicked her tongue, arms akimbo, cheeks burning from the heat that flooded through her. “Where would be the fun in that baby?”

Disgust flooded through her, how she ever could have willingly spent some time with him seemed inexplicable to her. “Give me my file.” The yellowish file was the only thing she could hold onto, the last piece of sanity she clang to, like a life insurance that would help her in times of need.

“No, I don’t think I will.” He stepped closer to the fireplace, about to throw her file into the fire as a shot echoed through the night. Her gun fell out of her grasp, wide eyes stared at the gunshot in his upper arm, “you fucking whore.”

A dark picture frame caught her attention, she tilted her head from left to right, praying that nobody was watching her. If she’d be careful enough she’d manage to get rid of any traces she had left behind, hiding everything that would tell her family, the team, about her dark past.

“(Y/n)?” Morgan stepped into the bedroom, not noticing the picture she was holding onto just yet, “anything worth telling?” She only shook her head, swallowing down another sob.

Before she followed Morgan out of the room she slipped the picture into her pocket, keeping it safe and hidden from curious eyes. Though with every step she took it seemed to burn itself into the fabric of her jacket, adding to the weight she carried on her shoulders, reminding her of her weakness.

The day had been long, with exhausted steps she walked up to her apartment as Aaron was sitting in his office, hand clutching his phone. “We found agent (y/l/n)‘s DNA on the body, the bullet in his arm got traced back to her gun.” The words rang in his ears, body not moving an inch. Had she killed him? Was the woman he loved more than any woman he had ever loved before a killer?

What was she hiding? What wasn’t she telling him?

Three strong, urgent knocks echoed through her apartment, Aaron was standing in front of her door, with Emily by his side. She stared at them for a moment, cleared her throat and reached for her coat, “I’m coming.”

A shuddered breath left her chapped lips, tears blurred her vision, she should have confessed right there and then, should have told her friend and lover what was going on. Though her words died on her tongue, another deep secret she’d probably take to grave with herself.

She stayed silent. Didn’t say a word. The only sound that could be heard were her sobs, the cries that bled from her lips. With every pained cry his heart kept on clenching further, he was sure that he’d get a cardiac arrest every moment now. He hated to feel like this, in this very second she was a suspect, nothing more, nothing less, though Aaron couldn’t treat her like any other criminal, after all she was still the woman that held his heart in her hands.

“I think it’s time we finally tell the team.” Her lips moved up his throat, she was straddling his thighs, dressed in an old shirt of his. “Are you sure? It would certainly complicate things.” His hands wandered up her legs, moving around her to knead the flesh of her behind. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, Aaron. I love you and I’ll do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

(Y/n) always had wondered how the suspects would feel as they were waiting for the agents to step into the interrogation room. Now, as she was one of them, a suspect apparently involved in a murder, she wished to never know this feeling.

Who would interrogate her? Aaron? Morgan? Maybe even Spencer?

The team must hate her, she was sure of it. (Y/n) couldn’t help but curse herself for not letting them in on her past any sooner, all of this could have been avoided if she had managed to overcome her fear of rejection. But now it was too late and she was the one to pay for her sins.

“You look awful sweets.” Morgan’s calming voice left her heart racing, wide pupils stared at him, “I feel awful.” He studied her, trying to find any explanation to the question that kept the team on their toes, but his mind was blank, could only picture her as the murderer of Joseph McQueen.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered the words, as if he was scared that the tape would record something he didn’t want to share. Morgan was out of the room before she could reply, leaving her confused and lonely once again.

Hours seemed to pass by, she’d fall asleep any moment now, body exhausted from the past 48 hours.

“How did you know him?” Aaron’s voice sounded rougher than it ever had been before, dripping with disappointment and anger. She didn’t answer, eyes staring at her hands, trying to stop her tears from streaming down her cheeks. “(Y/n)!” He growled her name, hands pounding against the table, her heartbeat picked up its pace once again, body flinching away from the man she loved.

“What aren’t you telling me? Why aren’t you saying anything? Did you kill him? Did you do it?” He was freaking out, not able to think rationally, another woman had played with his feelings, another person he had let into his life had fucked with him once again. “No I didn’t.” Now it was his turn to stay silent, chest heaving, jugular vein pulsing underneath the thin skin of his throat. “How did you get those bruises?”

“You shot me, you bitch.” He kicked against her knee, watching her crash to the floor with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Let go of me Joseph.” Her voice trembled, she was buried underneath him, body pressed against the scratchy rug, feet kicking.

He had his hands wrapped around her throat, choking all air out of her lungs, “I should have ended your pathetic excuse of a life years ago.” Her ex boyfriend panted his words, wondering if he should truly go through with it, killing the FBI agent.

She could only think about Aaron, his soft touch, the voice she fell in love with years ago. He didn’t know where she was, didn’t know anything about Joseph and their past relationship. There were too many things she wanted to tell him, too many secrets she’d need to let him in on, she couldn’t die, not yet.

Aaron longed to pat her tears dry, wanting to pull her out of the room, telling her that everything would be alright. But he couldn’t trust her any longer, couldn’t trust the one woman that had kept him safe for years. She had been his friend long before they had shared a bed, had been by his side for as long as he could remember, though she was fairly younger. A part of his life he didn’t want to erase.

“(Y/n), you know how this works. I need you to cooperate.” She shook her head no, fingernails pierced into her palms, leaving wounds that would stay for days. They already hated her, she didn’t want to burden them with her past any further. A disappointed, tired sigh left Aaron, chair scraping against the floor as he rose from it, storming out of the room, she was a lost cause.

“This doesn’t add up, why won’t she tell us? Doesn’t she trust us?” Spencer paced the room, eyes switching between his teammates and (y/n)‘s file, looking for the missing piece of the puzzle. “Do we still don’t know where they met or how they knew each other?” The sound of Aaron’s quiet, broken voice coaxed a cry out of Garcia, she trembled, barely able to properly do her work. “No, I have nothing, she certainly knows how to hide things.”

Sunrays danced on her cheeks, her lips were pulled into a thin line, sunglasses hiding the black eye Joseph had put onto her face a night ago. She should have called for help, should have told the team as she was laying in the hospital, for the fourth time that month. But who was she kidding, those were her own problems to deal with, her own sorrows, nothing her team should waste their time on.

The day was long over, though none of them were thinking about going home. (Y/n) kept on uncomfortably shifting in her chair, thinking about her next move. She didn’t need a lawyer, after all she wasn’t the one who killed him, wasn’t involved in the murder. Would she need to resign? Leave the people she loved behind because a mistake she had made in the past?

“Morgan and Dave, go back to his house, see if you can find anything that connects the two.” While the agents combed through the house once again she was sitting across from Strauss, staring at the elderly woman, listening to the words she knew by heart. “I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen next, do I (y/l/n)?”

Morgan’s heart raced, gloved fingers searched through every bookshelf, every drawer he could pull open, desperate to find anything that would help them with her case, not giving up on their friend just yet. He didn’t understand why she kept quiet, didn’t understand who she was trying to protect.

“Derek, look here.” Rossi was staring at a yellowish paper, a file that had been hidden beneath a few books, clearly stating her name. The further they read through the paper the more confused they got, medical records were listed on the file, telling them all about past injuries. It took them minutes to understand what the paper was about.

“What do we have on her?” Strauss's shrill voice left the team growling, reminding them of the ticking clock, they didn’t have much time left to explain what was going on. She was the only suspect, the only name on their list so far. “Nothing, she won’t talk.”

“Garcia,” Spencer combed a hand through his hair, rethinking his chain of thoughts, “pull up any medical file we have of her, check for any hospital visits in the past years.” Her fingernails left a clicking noise on the keyboard, eyes widening as she read through (y/n)‘s medical bills. “Why didn’t she tell us?”

“He abused her.” Morgan stumbled into the room, Dave hot on his heels, mind trying to process what they had just learned about (y/n), the secret she had kept hidden. She was ashamed, too scared to let them in, too scared that they’d leave her behind.

(Y/n) was slowly going crazy, feet whipping to the sound of her exhausted breaths, eyes closed, she’d pass out soon, her body won’t be able to keep this level of stress up any longer. The door got pushed open, she didn’t need to open her eyes to tell that Aaron was the one who stepped into the small room, she’d recognise his tread everywhere. “You should have told me, (y/n).”

No words left her, trying to drown out his voice, he was pitying her, staring at her with hurt clearly visible in his eyes. “We found this in his house.” It was her file. The one thing she had tried to rip away from Joseph, the one thing that had protected her from him. “Tell me, (y/n), what happened?”

It was late in the afternoon as she entered her apartment complex, tired from a long case. Though just as she wanted to unlock her door she noticed that the lock was broken open, somebody had entered her apartment. (Y/n) reached for her gun, slowly stepping into her home, checking every room, trying to prepare herself for the worst.

The apartment was empty, she was alone. Maybe she was too paranoid, mind coming up with cruel scenarios, things she had seen in numerous cases. But something caught her attention, her safe was open, she was sure that she had locked it before she had left for work. Panic flooded through her, it was gone. The one thing she had clang to, the one thing that had kept her protected.

Without thinking twice she stormed out of her four walls, running towards her SUV, she’d kill him, would rip him to shreds.

She didn’t care about speed limits, didn’t care about anything but her file, she needed to get her hands on it, before he could destroy it. “Fucking open your door Joseph.”

She hadn’t seen him in years, had managed to cut him out of her life, in hopes of never having to see him again. “I was waiting for you baby.” (Y/n) should have shot him right there and then, ending his pathetic excuse of a life. “Joseph, give it to me and I’ll be gone.” He pulled her inside, locking the door.

(Y/n) clicked her tongue, arms akimbo, cheeks burning from the heat that flooded through her. “Where would be the fun in that baby?” Disgust flooded through her, how she ever could have willingly spent some time with him seemed inexplicable to her.

“Give me my file.” The yellowish file was the only thing she could hold onto, the last piece of sanity she clang to, like a life insurance that would help her in times of need. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He stepped closer to the fireplace, about to push her file into the fire as a shot echoed through the night. Her gun fell out of her grasp, wide eyes stared at the wound in his upper arm, “you fucking whore.”

A scream rippled out of her, with one final push he rolled of her body, trying to reach for her once again. But she was faster, grasping her bag as she was running out of the house, file long forgotten.

Tears dripped down onto the back of her hand, before he could stop himself Aaron pulled her into his arms, chin placed on top of her head. “I’m sorry for ever doubting you.” (Y/n) clang to him, hands fisting the fabric of his white shirt, tears leaving wet patches on the crook of his neck, “I am sorry for not telling you.” He combed a hand through her messy hair, pulling her even closer, hearts slowly beating in sync.

“Can we go home now?” She mumbled against his skin, knees giving out, not able to keep her supported any longer. Aaron picked her up, carefully carrying her out of the room, she was fast asleep by now. “I’ll drive her home.” (Y/n) was his only priority, he trusted his team, knew they’d be able to work without the two of them for a while, worrying about her just as much as Aaron did.

He let her sleep for hours, working on his files as he kept on watching her, heart clenched at the thought of (y/n) getting hurt, Aaron couldn’t help but feel guilty, he should have listened, should have known that she’d never go against him. “I’m sorry.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, thumb tracing her cheek, waking (y/n) from her deep slumber.

She met him halfway, lips pressed against Aaron’s warm ones, hands reaching for his neck, pulling him even closer. “I love you.” Her words filled him with an all too familiar warmth, a feeling only she could wake inside of him, she was the one for him, Aaron was sure of it. “I love you too, I’m sorry love, I,-” with another kiss she shut him up, pushing herself into his lap, straddling his thighs.

The kiss grew more passionate, hands tugging on one another’s clothes, hastily undressing themselves. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His confession made her smile, lips moving down his throat, sucking on the spots that would drive him crazy, “you won’t, make love to me Aaron, please.” He flipped them around, front pressed against hers, knee tugged against her pulsing clit, slowly grinding against the wet spot on her panties.

She shuddered in anticipation, body tingling from his touch, he’d always known how to take care of her, how to make love to her in the best way possible. Carefully he pulled her shirt over her head, exposing her naked chest to his dark eyes. His boxers grew tighter, hard length pushing against the thin fabric, desperate to be freed, to feel her wrapped around him.

Aaron Hotchner was like a thunderstorm, crashing down onto her with as much force as possible, his touch was like lightning, filling her with electricity, every sound he made represented a powerful thunder that rolled through the dark sky. She was caught in a storm, drenched by his love and admiration, hooked onto his every move.

“Let me make it up to you.” His lips left a wet trail down her upper body, hands cupping her naked breasts, teasing her hardening nubs, touching her like she longed to be touched. “Aaron, I need you.” Impatiently she pressed her core against his knee, moaning into the dark room. His chuckle vibrated against her skin, hands moving down to her soaked through panties, pushing the fabric down her legs, “I got you love.”

With his arms wrapped around her thighs his head disappeared between them, tongue pressed against her wet folds, moaning at the taste of her arousal. Her fingernails scraped his scalp, urging him on to go further, to properly touch her. “You’re always so ready for me.” The praises lightened a fire deep inside of her, moan after moan rolled off his tongue, back arched off the mattress, god, he was an expert at this.

He pumped two fingers in and out of her, eyes hooked onto her face, watching his love slowly fall apart in his grasp. “Feels so good, don’t stop Aaron.” Though he would stop any moment now, he wanted to feel her come undone around his length, splitting her in half as he was making love to her.

The room was spinning, head pounding, he was moving fast, ripping his boxers off his body, length slapping against his abdomen. (Y/n) tried to reach for him, wanting to touch his soft skin, but he had seen it coming, pushing her hand away before she could feel him. They had already lost too much time, he didn’t want to waste another second, needed to bury himself deep inside of her.

No words could ever describe the sensation of Aaron perfectly filling her, length thrusting in and out of her as she gave her body to the man she loved. She could feel his every vein, every inch of his size, body reacting to the man that was hovering above her. His hands explored her body, touching her as if it was their first time together, cherishing every spot, every place of her gorgeous self.

Aaron could read her every expression, he was a profiler after all, though his profession didn’t play a big role in this. He loved her, knew her like the back of his hand, probably knew her better than she’d ever know herself. Wordlessly he picked up his pace, skin slapping against hers, length glistening with her arousal.

“I’m close.” His name bled from her lips, fingernails scratching down his shoulders, walls tightening around him. He connected their lips, tongues battling as her orgasm rumbled through her, leaving her breathless and trembling. “Oh fuck Aaron.” Her head fell back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, face displaying an expression full of euphoria.

He followed soon after, heat spreading through her as he let go, collapsing on top of her sweaty body. “I should have trusted you.” It would take Aaron a long time to forgive himself, to let go of the guilty feeling nestling inside of his heart. But she had faith in him, had forgiven him for every doubt that had ever clouded his mind.

She trusted him with all her heart.

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