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tulipsforyourlips · 29 days

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✧˖°. i found you ✧˖°. (7)

|| the sandman x dead boy detectives ||

SUMMARY: You run the dead boys detective agency along with your two best friends. And somehow two ghosts and a living girl make it work. Until you dream one night, of dream himself.

PAIRING: dream of the endless x fem!reader

WC: 3.6K

WARNINGS: heavy angst, violence, heavy depictions of gore!! proceed only if you have the stomach for it!

PART 7 ✧˖°.

You were wrapping the take out noodles around your fork, for some minutes now. There was no space for food inside you, your guts were packed. With agonizing feelings. And the worst of them- unrequited feelings. You dropped your head on the table.

"Insult. Preposterous scandalous insult. If I could eat, I would never ever insult noodles like that." Charles entered the living room.

He sat down beside you on the floor with a sigh. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." You titled your head in his direction, still resting it on the marble surface.

He brought his face needlessly closer. "Yeah?"

"You know mate there is this notion you have never heard of-it's called personal space and you're seriously invading it right now." You pushed his face back.

"Come on, tell me." He poked your leg with his under the table.

"Charles I," you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes.

"I think I am in love." You brought your hands down and looked into his eyes.

"Haz you're my best friend-" Huh "-and I love you, I do but-"

"Not with you! You buffoon!" You smacked his shoulder.

His mouth formed an 'O'. "Of course I knew that," he said while massaging his shoulder. "That hurt by the way."

"Good." You threw your head on the couch behind you.

"Who is the unlucky man?"

"You don't know him."

"Wait is this the guy you keep ditching us for?"

"No-yes and I don't ditch you for him you overdramatic arse."

"Whatever. Are you sure you are in love?" He asked. "It's not just some infatuation?"

"No Charles it isn't a stupid crush. I feel my trachea physically contract when I am near him. Like someone has just seized it, leaving behind thumbprints-his thumbprints."

"I did not get a word of that."

You rolled your eyes.

"Is he hot?" He smirked.

You went over the memories of his flawless face, each detail on it so intricately stored in your mind.

"He's beautiful."

"Damn, you are fucked mate."

You were fucked.

"What's going on?" Edwin joined you both.

"Hazel is in love."

"Wha-"

"No!" You shrieked. "I think. I don't know."

"The mystery date?" Edwin pulled a chair and spun it so that his torso was against the back of it.

"Yeah."

"Haven't you known him for a month maybe?"

"It feels like an eternity," you said. "Why me?" You wailed.

"Happens to the best of us soldier." Charles patted your back.

"Does he..love you back?" Edwin inquired.

"Guys love is too strong a word! And no."

"Has he told you that?"

You narrowed your eyes at Edwin. "No." Before he could take apart your reply and divulge into its interpretations, you rebuffed, "he can't. It's not possible. It's complicated. Just that he can't. And please, can we stop talking about this. Don't you two have any better things to do than piss me off."

"No. Hazel in love is a whole new facet for me to explore."

"Say love one more time and I will skin you alive," you threatened.

"Loooooove," Charles sang.

"This is precisely why I was planning to just sulk by myself alone and swallow down my feelings. Fuck healthy coping mechanisms." You pushed the table back and began standing up when Charles pulled you down.

"You would have exploded."

"Like I am practicing sainthood right now," you fumed as you thrashed against his arms.

"So how old is he?" Edwin queried.

"You people are insufferable. Are you building a freaking facebook page for him?"

"Hey how did you know?" Charles was sniffing the bowl of noodles.

You hit him on the head. "Can you even smell it?"

"It's the effort that counts mate and stop bloody hitting me!" He yelped.

"Stop being you!"

"Guys guys stop it! Hazel how old is he?"

"Quite old," you sighed.

"Like grandpa old-"

"Ew Charles. Well," He was technically more than that.

Edwin's eyes widened. "I was aware you were into older men but?"

"Come on he can't be older than us," Charles grinned.

Yeah about that...

"What is he? Jesus?" Edwin questioned.

"Yeah mate like she just casually fell in love with a god."

Oh boy they were treading dangerously close.

As they began speculating which greek gods they would fuck, marry or kill, you felt your eyelids droop down and you succumbed to the sweet call of sleep.

You stood over the dreaming waters, a wind blowing your hair awry. You lowered your body and your fingers grazed the surface of the glittering water, causing a tremor of ripple. You felt the energy seething in the water body, intangible but somehow compellingly real. And you let it's force pull you into the unfathomable depths of the sea. The impact was cold against your mortal skin, but not as jarring as it should have been for a human. Perhaps it was practice, perhaps it was your weird abilities. Here you could even breathe underwater without flooding your lungs. A trail of light erupted inside the water, guiding you to your destinations. You slackened your muscles and allowed it to steer your body to the dream awaiting you. Like it had been for the past few days. You fell into the dream. Riveting darkness engulfed you. Something was off. A putrid smell wafted through the air which was devoid of any warmth. You opened your arms wide, trying to gain an estimation of your surroundings. Your hands braced against something. A wall? You tried to feel the coarse rugged wall with your fingers but they came away slicky. Gross.

"Hello?" You called out into the apparent void and heard your voice echo against the sickening enclosure of wherever the fuck you had stumbled onto.

The rancid odour that hung in its air did not aid in pacifying your nerves. You carefully started walking, trying to locate the dream's inhabitant and reach the end of wherever you were when a clank sounded from where your feet had accidentally kicked something. Before you could discern it, a torch shone in the far distance. A muddled sense of relief poured into your nerves.

"Is anyone there?" You called into the darkness and began approaching the source of light which was gradually making its way towards you.

As you neared the silhouette, it began taking the form of a person. Then you stopped in your tracks, the momentary relief freezing into blocks of fear. A beast of a man holding a sconce alit with fire stared at you with eyes reflecting its light along with an untamed hunger for bloodlust. And then he smiled, displaying all of his crooked yellowed teeth. You took a step back, then another and ran for your life. But luck adored you and you tripped and fell face first onto the ground. Ouch. Your tongue tasted copper as blood oozed from your lips. The left side of your face that was in direct contact with the grimy ground throbbed and you were sure you had managed to bruise that too. You lifted yourself up on your hands weight which stung with meek cuts. The man's footsteps grew louder. And as they did, the light of the raving fire fell on the object you had first hit your leg against and now tripped on. A corpse, multiple corpses, half of them dwindled down to a revolting cluster of skeletons while the other half were decaying their way towards their comrades littered around your own breathing body which could soon add to the pile. Could you die in dreams? You could definitely get hurt. Oh my god you could definitely die. You wanted to empty your guts. Instead you ran. How were you in a nightmare and whose bloody conscious were you in? Who dreamt of walls slick with blood and cannibals or whichever friendly profession the guy practiced roaming within them?

"Dream," your voice pleaded as you exhausted your lungs' limits. You spared a glance back, he was still pursuing you. "Dream! Help me!"

No answer.

He couldn't hear you. You knew that. You had tried it the second time you had entered someone else's dream- cursing and taunting him as a healthy way to vent your anger at your failed attempts. You had to escape this place. But how? The only way you knew was the opening of a portal after the dream had bent to your will. And there was no way you could get that despising man to trust you. Your legs ached but the nearing shadow on the ground had you disregard it. A portal appeared out of nowhere in front of you and the inertia of your run had you dive straight into it. Pitch black swallowed you again, this time absent of the smell of rotten corpses as you plummeted, to your death. No, not your death. You landed on stable ground in pure darkness. And a light bulb switched on. A mob of zombies were circled around you. Sharp acute fear sliced through your insides. Then the light fused out. Pitch black. When it switched on again, the bloodthirsty creatures were impossibly near you. Shabby vile hands wrapped around your throat. Another pair around your forearm. And another. The army of zombies was on you, nails digging into your flesh, drawing blood.

"Dream please," you futilely begged.

No answer.

Just as your mind was supplying you with images of the dead boy detectives at your tombstone, a portal opened underneath you and gravity pulled you down yet again. Your feet slammed against a polished floor. You found yourself in a diner. Nobody seemed to take in your pathetic presence as you stood studying the scenes playing in front of you. A waitress named Jenny took a happy couple's order. A young man dressed up for a job interview sat on the counter. A woman was calling up her girlfriend after a nasty fight. In the kitchen someone chopped up tomatoes. An odd man sat in a booth in a corner, observing the people all around with an unsettling glint in his eye. A red glow illuminated his face which seemed to come from an object clutched in his hand. Conversations played out everywhere. The scenes segued into the next seamlessly. Something about this figment felt less a dream and more like a memory. But that did nothing to melt the blocks of fear still floating around in your blood, given the fiery streak of nightmares you were on. It's as if you were witnessing the worst of humanity. Your skin bore bleeding gashes as proof. You watched the now mismatched couples make out with each other. And when you blinked, you were alone. It was as though the people had vaporized into thin air. Apprehension tingled your spine. Three people flickered into existence to your right like the lights flickering overhead. The job interviewee was huddled over the CEO's husband. He pulled away a little and a gasp of horror left your mouth. A gaping slash decorated his neck as blood streamed from it, seeping into his clothes and onto the floor. Bile arose in your throat.

"What did you do?" The wife squeaked.

"I didn't mean to-" The young man started explaining when he dissolved into nothingness like the rest.

You wanted to get out of here. What kind of fucked up memory was this?

Two figures materialized in the back, in the kitchen. The waitress was burning papers into a fire while the chopping guy from before was cutting up more vegetables. You warily approached the window segregating the customer side and you wished you hadn't. It wasn't just papers the woman was burning but her own hands and you fought the urge to scream at the charred skin of the woman which was peeling off her hands, exposing the tissues and bones inside. Her friend wasn't bringing his knife down on tomatoes but with a grimace, you saw on his own fingers. Blood spluttered onto the chopping board, a few droplets etching on his face. You grabbed the counter behind you as you shivered due to the gruesome sight you had just experienced. You grinded your teeth in order to not throw up right there and then. In the next second, they were both gone. You revolved your head around, scanning for any sort of escape from the ceaseless series of nightmares you had locked yourself in. You started towards the door, when Jenny appeared in your way with two screwdrivers in her hand. And to your utter harrowing horror, thrusted their spiky ends into her eyes. Your stomach unfurled into a sickening frenzy that gripped every organ of your being and you shuddered. You closed your eyes. Tears slid down your face, mixing the taste of copper and seawater on your tongue. Everything hurt.

"Dream I want to get out," you croaked to yourself, fingers trembling.

No answer.

When you opened them again, all the individuals from before were leering at you. Drenched in blood- gushing out of necks, dripping down from hammered and sliced hands, accompanied by bloodied slits for eyes.

"Dream please, I need you," you whispered, tears falling down in a torrent.

Blood splattered everywhere as they made their way to you. The door was just behind you. But you were frozen in your spot, dread weighing your body down. They spread around, closing in from every direction. You took a step back and your back collided with something solid. You closed your eyelids, waiting to be impaled on a knife or a screwdriver when a familiar hand draped around your waist.

"I got you," Dream's sweet voice said in your ears.

And in a heartbeat, the horrendous scene was replaced by his throne room. He released his hold on you and without his hands keeping you upright, your knees buckled and you fell to the floor.

Bottling down any sob that could dare leak through, you asked, blinking away tears, "what happened back there?"

"You accidentally ventured into the worst the Dreaming has to offer," he explained while scrutinizing your injuries.

"I did not venture Dream. I got sucked into it," you bit out.

The Endless lowered himself to where you were crouched on the floor. You must be looking a complete and hapless fiasco, lips and skin torn, blood desecrating your features, incongruous in the Dreaming castle.

"Hazel I never thought those could even be accessible to you. Some nightmares yes, but none that terrorizing. Something must have-"

"You knew?" You looked up at him. "You knew that I could stumble into a nightmare any of the days you sent me there?"

"It-it never happened before, with Hope-"

"I am not Hope!" you snapped. "I almost died Dream, more than once." Your voice shook involuntarily.

"I wouldn't have let you," he said firmly. "I heard you."

He did? All the names you had called him and the jokes you had made of his 'conceited arse' passed through your mind. But the spur of embarrassment mellowed down as rage took its hold back on you.

His fingers skimmed across the underside of your eye where a scar was engraving into it.

"Don't touch me." You swatted his hand away.

A momentary hurt flashed in his eyes.

"Oh please like I am not doing you a favour. You act as if my touch burns you." You tried to get up but a swell of dizziness swept over you and you would have fallen again if Dream hadn't caught you against him. And as quickly, he let go of his hands.

"You promised,"

Dream flinched at your words.

"You promised it would be fine. Nothing about that was fine."

Dream went still. You turned back, away from the glass panes. The crystal colours reminded you of the apron Jenny was wearing and the image of the waitress jabbing the metal ends into her eyes, surfaced from wherever it had been imprinted in your mind for the remainder of your life.

"I can't do this anymore Dream. I am sorry."

A yank pulled you out of your sleep and your eyes fluttered open in the waking world. Every muscle in your anatomy was sore.

"Come on you tosser up!" Charles barged into your room.

You dragged your sheets over your head, shielding your sorry state from his gaze.

"Get up mate!" He whined. "I come as a bearer of absolutely brills news. We have, drumroll please," he rapped his hands on the bedstand, "another sea monster creating havoc!"

"I am not feeling really well today. I don't think I will be able to accompany you," you said from under your covers and Charles groped them, about to toss them aside.

"Bugger off! It could be a nasty infection, you will catch it."

"Ghost's don't get sick idiot."

"Charles please I am a mess right now, go without me," you pleaded.

"Ugh fine. Rot in bed for all I care." And he went away.

So you proceeded to rot in bed all day, staring at the wall, regretting your existence, you know, the usual. After a while, as the sun became dimmer, you got out of your bed with grueling effort, scrambled on a hoodie to conceal your bruised face and body incase the boys got back and went to the study. You began combing through thick volumes of parasite trivia to distract your mind from replaying the events of last night. Even the knowledge of your confrontation with Dream sparked a pain that hurt more than any physical wounds on your self. You browsed through the shelves and your fingers hovered over a book that peeked your interest. You pulled it out and immediately dropped it onto the floor at the swooshing sound from the mirror.

"Fuck, you scared me," you told a reappeared Edwin.

"I had no intention to," he apologized. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you lied.

Charles was next through the mirror.

"How was the case?"

"Ugly," he said. "Did you know about the night nurse?" He scrunched his face.

"The what?" Your bafflement was genuine.

"She's this transcendental being working in some afterlife department locating missing boys-missing dead boys and allotting them their fixed places in the afterlife," Edwin spoke up.

"Yeah she's a bitch basically. Tried to separate Edwin and me here." He put up his hands in disbelief. "The gall. She can try." He balled up his fist into a punch. "I won't let her take you back to hell," he told Edwin.

Edwin smiled softly and squeezed his hand. "I know Charles."

"This doesn't make sense. Death isn't even after you," you blurted out and realized your mistake.

"What do you mean?" Both their ears perked up.

"I don't think that she is." You moved away from them and secured the hood around your head. You kept the study barely lit for the aesthetics and you applauded yourself for that whimsy decision.

"Well believe it or not the world doesn't adjust itself to what Hazel thinks and what Hazel feels," Charles blabbered.

Except it did.

"Yeah, I know. I am going to bed, see you later." You picked up the book you had dropped earlier and walked away.

"You sleep more than a corpse these days you know?"

You stopped in the doorway as the skeletons and remains of people from one of the nightmares entered your vision, a fate you were about to join.

"That isn't funny," you deadpanned as you turned around.

"Dude chill it was a joke. Why so serious? Trouble with your boyfriend?" He snickered.

"Everything is not a bloody joke Charles!" You hurled your book at him and he ducked just in time from having a permanent dent on his head.

"What the fuck mate?"

"Hazel," Edwin chastised.

You pressed your fingers against your temples. "I am sorry."

You rushed out of the study, mad at everyone and yourself. Footsteps followed behind.

"Edwin please don't."

You winced as he grabbed your forearm. He noticed your reaction and pulled your sleeve up. You jerked free from his grip but he had already seen the claw marks carved in your skin.

"What was that?"

You shied away from his inspecting glare. He warily approached you, afraid he might set you off again. But as you retreated back, your hood fell back and light illuminated your battered face.

Edwin sucked in a breath. "What the fuck happened to your face?" His voice was upsettingly calm. You had never heard him curse once in the 4 years you had known him.

He clenched his teeth when you didn't respond. "Hazel, I asked you a question."

"I tripped." That was partially true.

"You tripped?" He asked incredulously. "What is happening to you?"

"Everything is fine Edwin! Absolutely brilliant. There is nothing you need to worry about."

"How can we not?" He cried. "We care for you!" He brought his voice down several octaves. "We want to help you."

"You can't okay!" You yelled at him.

"Let us try." His eyes were locked on yours. "Please."

Your eyes grew watery. You plopped down on the couch near you. Edwin sat himself next to you.

"What is going on Hazel?" He gently probed.

You pursed your lips to stop yourself from crying. "Nothing." You shook your head.

"Come here."

He put his arm around you and at the touch, the dam of your emotions busted open and you crumbled into his embrace, soiling his shirt with your tears. He stroked your hair as you sobbed into his chest, emptying all of the pent up frustration and hurt and loss until you were numb, incapable of feeling anything. Oh Dream, what are you doing to me?

SERIES MASTERLIST ✧˖°.

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allbark-no-bite · 6 months

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i’ve been meaning to tell you.

icemav (wc: 4.4k)

summary: to love a man is to tear the other apart and ruin each other ruthlessly. OR the fic Ice’s dad is the worst and Maverick loves Ice anyway

warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of violence, blood, homophobia, and vomiting

authors note: i’m sorry guys, the little gay pilots just do it for me. apologies for the half ass ending. title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘seven’

————————————————————————

What a lot of people tend to forget about Maverick Mitchell is that he grew up a younger brother. So not only was his old man knocking him around— that is when he was actually around— but his older brother too. Mav had to learn how to defend himself by whatever means necessary, whether that meant kicking and screaming or taking a swing. He's got just as much scrappiness in his body as a hungry stray dog. It tends to get him in trouble.

Today in the locker room is no different.

They've all just been released from training for the day and have flocked to the locker room to shower. Today's flight didn't go particularly well for Maverick, but that's not totally unusual. They all have bad days, and he's just so happened to fall upon a streak of bad luck. But unfortunately enough, a bad day in the air for Maverick means a good day in the air for Tom Kazansky. And the blonde pilot is not about to let him forget it.

The shit-talking begins the moment Maverick enters into the locker room. He intentionally allows the door to swing shut behind him in the feeble hope that it will catch the pilot who is hot on his heels behind him.

Much to his disappointment, Ice catches it with his palm right before it hits him in his perfect face. "You're pathetic, honestly, Mitchell. I mean were you even trying out there? I got a lock on you faster than if it was my grandma flying out there."

"Isn't your grandma dead?" is the comment that comes from the obnoxiously tall, lumbering oaf of a man beside him.

Has he also mentioned that he hates Slider's dumbass face? He's nothing but a dick with legs. Maverick is beginning to think the RIO shares a brain cell with his pilot because he's never heard Ice say something without Slider parroting along with his own smart ass comment.

The remark is too much for Goose— who Maverick is constantly having to remind himself that he adores— and even at the expense of his best friend, can't contain himself. He latches onto Maverick's shoulder in an attempt to keep himself upright whilst his head falls back into the shrieking laugh that is reminiscent of his call sign. If Slider wasn't so insufferably stupid, Maverick might would hate him a little bit for it. Instead he shoves his spindly RIO away from him and slams his locker shut to face Ice.

"You know, maybe if I screwed up your face, Slider here wound't be so keen to kiss your ass all of the time."

Ice takes a step towards him so that they're face to face, even if he does have to look down to be eye level with the brunette pilot. Maverick has to shove down the urge to rise up on his toes just so that they're even. He would never hear the end of that. So instead he plants his feet into the ground and steels himself against Ice's looming presence.

Ice sneers down at him, bearing his teeth just how he does when he smiles, taunting and cocksure. "We'll have a go when you learn how to make a fist, Mitchell."

Maverick smirks. "Wouldn't you like that, Kazansky?" His green eyes are blazing with what anyone watching might would interpret as righteous anger. He and Ice both know it's something else. It's all a game. A game that is so synchronized and well rehearsed that neither of them are willing to give it up just yet. Because when you know the rules, when you know just what buttons to push without it blowing up in your face, the game is safer that way.

It took them a while to get to this point, to realize that they didn't actually hate each other. There was a lot of growing pains and moments of uncomfortable realization. Mav came into Topgun with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove, and then there was Ice, who had it all. He was charismatic and smart and funny— everything Maverick was without the debilitating strain of an estranged father who fucked off into the sky one day and never returned. And Maverick hated him for that. Hated him until he walked into the locker room one day and heard Ice's dad screaming at him over the phone.

"—no goddamn son of mine will call themselves a homosexual. As long as you have my last name—"

Ice had hung up as soon as he heard Maverick behind him, choking out a "Look, I have to go, Dad. I'm sorry— Yes, sir. Yes sir, I understand. Bye."

Maverick had just stood there at first, pretending he didn't see Ice wiping his eyes, didn't even comment as Ice cleared a sob from his throat. After that Ice just stood there staring at him, as though just waiting for Maverick to bring it up.

Finally, Maverick just laughed. "Guess we both have some pretty mean old men," was all he said. He never brought up the part about Ice's dad calling him a homosexual, but after that it was just kinda understood.

Ice was gay.

And that— that changed everything. They were still always at each other's throats. Still taunted and teased and took things too far, only for a different reason now. With DADT in place, it was the only thing they could do.

It's just that now they've been playing this game for far too long, without it ever resulting to anything, and the tension between them has built up thick enough to be cut by a knife.

Ice seems to realize this because he somehow grins even wider. "C'mon then. What're you waiting for, Mitchell?" He adds, "Hell, I'm sure you could do it if you tried hard enough."

Maverick passes his tongue over the bridge of his teeth, and turns his head away, as if he's contemplating the invitation. To everyone around them, it looks as though Maverick's going to backdown. Really, it's to conceal the smile that has crept onto his face. Everyone should know by now that it's not like him to backdown from a challenge.

As his best friend and RIO, Goose should have seen this one coming.

Just when it looks like he's going to step away, Maverick shifts his weight on his heels and swings. Ice flinches back just a fraction of a second too late, and Maverick's fist connects with the left side of his jaw. It sends a shock ricocheting back through Maverick's arm and radiates from his knuckles all the way up to his elbow. Because the blonde pilot does have some size on him, it's not enough to send him toppling over, but Ice does have to catch himself, his hand lifting up to grab his jaw once he recovers.

It feels so good that Maverick hardly notices the clamor of the other pilots around them or Goose grabbing at the sleeve of his flight suit. He watches as Slider and Sundown rush over to help Ice, but he shrugs them off. When he straightens, there's a mar of red on his jaw where Maverick's fist had been, and his bottom lip is busted, already swelling up purple and staring to bleed.

Maverick stares at him, breathing hard in satisfaction. Despite the pain that is still sparking though his knuckles, he knows he's not above the rules of chivalry, and he offers Ice his hand—

—And finds himself sprawled out on the ground a mere second later. He must blackout for a moment because when he comes to, Ice is crouched down in front of him and there's pain pulsing from his cheekbone. Maverick squeezes his eyes shut, already feeling the beginnings of a migraine, and he wonders if he might have a concussion. Now that would really be something.

When he opens his eyes, Ice is still in front of him. The blonde pilot is smirking, his blue eyes alight with amusement despite just having been nailed in the face. "I warned you didn't I, Mitchell?"

Most of the attention their fight had originally drawn has dispersed, the pilots around them likely sensing that Ice had dutifully settled the score and that there was no more to be seen. Ever faithful, Goose is lingering just a few steps away, waiting to intervene should he be needed.

Slowly, he looks back to the pilot crouched before him. As much as Maverick hates to say it, Ice looks good when he's a little roughed up.

"Is that really all you've got?" he manages. What he means is, I'd let you punch me any day of the week if only it meant that we got to be this close.

"Maverick—" comes Goose's worried sounding voice of reason.

Ice just smiles, humoring him. "Tell you what, Mitchell. If you can even stand up straight, we'll go again."

They both know that's not going to happen. His head is pounding so hard right now that he might would be sick if he tried to stand up. Still, Maverick snarls at him comically though the pain. "Coward." But there's no bite to it.

Again, all Tom can do is smile. "C'mon," he says. He offers Maverick his hand and pulls him to his feet, throwing the brunette pilot's arms around his shoulders to take on most of his weight. "Let's go find you some ice."

Goose can only shake his head and watch them go.

And that was how it went. That was how they got by without losing their minds. If they couldn't love each other then they'd hate each other enough to make up for it.

They both know the risks. One wrong word and they're dead. All it takes is for the wrong person to hear the wrong thing, interpret an interaction the wrong way.

No one talks about it but everyone know what happens to sailors who let on that they're too friendly with their shipmates. Maverick's heard it before, some poor lieutenant screaming in the middle of the night, drug from his own bed and beaten until he's unrecognizable, and all you can do is roll over and pray for the screaming to stop. Because if you intervene you're just as guilty.

It happens more often than anyone would think, the Navy just keeps quiet about it. It's called don't ask don't tell for a reason.

It's probably the same reason as to why no one has questioned the fact that the Iceman has not once gone home with a girl from the O-Club in the entire six weeks that they have been stationed at Topgun.

His disinterest is almost comical. At any given second of the night, the blonde pilot has got girls crawling all over him. There is almost always one hanging off of his arm, gazing up longingly at him as he tries not to spill his drink, another with a delicate hand to his chest as she giggles and laughs at something he didn't even think was that funny.

Ice doesn't seem to mind the attention, but he doesn't care to feed into it either. Not even the feel of the girl to his left placing her hand a little too high up on his thigh is enough to stir his dick in his pants. It's been a long time since he's been with a girl, probably since his freshman year at the academy. Before he realized that he was gay. And even if he was hankering to get laid, which he isn't, he wouldn't consider taking one of them home. Unlike a lot of guys at the bar, he had morals, and that meant not pretending to be into it with some poor girl just to get his dick sucked.

Regardless, Maverick thinks it's really fucking distracting.

Them with their wandering hands all over Ice, it really makes his blood boil. Who were they to get to touch him like that in front of everyone.

Ice glances over and their eyes lock for a brief moment. Cheeks flaming, Maverick has to tear his eyes away. He hadn't realized he was staring until Goose swings an arm over his shoulder and places a beer in his hand. "You keep staring and he's going to come over here and beat your ass again."

Maverick sputters. "Wha—? I wasn't—"

Smiling knowingly, Goose pats his chest. "I'm just saying. No one's going to say anything about two guys having a drink together at the bar. But if you keep up with whatever the hell all of this sexual tension filled staring is about, people are going to notice and he's going to knock your lights out for real this time."

Maverick glares at him. Goose had figured out that Maverick was bi pretty early on, way back in their roommate days at the academy, but it had taken him until last week in the locker room to realize that the brunette pilot's apparent hate for his wingman was really just a hopeless middle school crush disguised by toxic masculine bravado. Now Goose has taken it upon himself to get them together. Of course that's what any good best friend would do, but if Goose has to watch the two of them flirt with each other like a bunch of sexually frustrated peacocks any longer, he might wash his own eyes out with bleach.

"Now here's what I suggest you do—"

"Maverick."

Freezing, they both slowly turn around. Maverick already knows who it is. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Ice is standing behind them, a fresh beer in his hand. The girls from earlier are now nowhere to be seen, Maverick notes. "Ice," is all he says back, every other word in his vocabulary seemingly lost.

Really, if Goose hadn't just been in the backseat of a multimillion dollar aircraft that Maverick was flying just a few hours before, he would think the man was incompetent. Goose pats Maverick's chest before removing his arm from around his shoulders and excusing himself. "Guess that's my queue to leave, kids. I'll be over there. Way, way, over there." Before Maverick can stop him, he's disappearing into the sea of white by the bar.

And then it's just them standing together off to the side of the bar.

Ice clears his throat. "You wanna step outside, get some air?"

And because he doesn't know how else to respond to that, because he's certainly not going to tell him no, he shrugs. "Sure."

They walk outside together, or more like Maverick follows Ice out like a confused looking duckling, and Ice brings them to a stop just in front of the railing of the porch. And then he just stands there, looking out into the parking lot. Maverick lingers a few paces behind him, wondering whether or not he's supposed to join him. He tries to tell himself to relax because like Goose said, there's nothing wrong with two guys having a drink together, and maybe that's all that this is, but it certainly hadn't felt like it when they made eye contact back in the bar.

Finally, Ice asks, "Mitchell, your old man ever hit you for no good reason?" The way he asks it, it feels more like a confession than a question.

Shoulders dropping, Maverick lets out a breath of air that he'd been holding onto, and it kinda comes out as an amused laugh. "Yeah, man... Y'know sometime I think he did it just for fun. My brother too."

For the first time since they've walked outside, Ice glances sideways at him. "You've got a brother?"

"Yeah, I was younger by like six years though."

Ice's mouth twitches up into a smile. "That explains a lot."

Maverick shoves him, not hard, but it's enough to make the blonde pilot beside him sway a little to the side as he moves to lean against the railing beside him. Once Ice settles, they're shoulder to shoulder, their sides pressed into each other. Too close for explanation should someone question them.

"What about your old man?" Mav asks. He's not sure he would have ever brought up Ice's father under normal circumstances but this isn't a normal conversation.

Ice just shakes his head. "We don't talk all that much anymore unless he's calling to yell at me... You heard."

Maverick nods, taking in what Ice is telling him in. Of course he's known or at least assumed all of these things, but it's different hearing them out loud.

"Maverick, you know I'm... That's why my dad—"

Maverick straightens and Ice stops talking and follows him, the two pilots turning to face each other.

"You trying to tell me something, Iceman?" Maverick asks, smothering a smile.

Although they're not quite the same height, they're eye to eye, and for once it feels like they're equals. Ice's blue eyes glint dangerously.

Maverick's heart is pounding in his chest.

"It's Tom. And yeah, maybe I'm trying to tell you something."

In the barely lit front porch of the bar, where he's sure no one can see them, Maverick reaches out to touch him. His fingers skim along the crisp white fabric of Tom's uniform, tentative at first, until he's sure he is actually going to let him touch him. When the blonde pilot doesn't immediately pull away, Maverick's fingers curl into the fabric at his side, tugging him forcefully closer so that their bodies are pressed together and he can lean up to connect their mouths. As if equally as prepared to reciprocate the kiss, Tom's hands fist into Maverick's uniform, half untucking his shirt in the process. Their mouths clash together, forcing the other open while their tongues fight for a taste.

There's nothing glamorous about it. Maybe if they hadn't been so desperate for this moment it would have been, but there no stopping them now. Ice kisses him with every ounce of emotion that he's been keeping inside, and Maverick reciprocates it with the same vigorousity, chasing after his mouth when Ice draws away for a breath. No sooner than he does and they're kissing again.

Ice is so engrossed in the taste of Maverick's mouth, the warmth of his swollen lips, that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Maverick's palm at his crotch. He doesn't even have the time to be embarrassed when the other pilot snickers at him because his dick is reminding for the first time in months that it actually works. Ice's hips roll into Maverick's palm, begging for more.

If Maverick had been waiting for permission, Ice's response is all he needs. He palms him again, firmer this time, and feels Ice hardening in his hand. At the same time, Maverick runs his tongue along the pout of Ice's bottom lip, catching it gently between his teeth when Ice groans into his mouth. His hand rubs at the now bulging crotch of Ice's uniform, and it makes the blonde's hip stutter.

Maverick is pushing him back, polished black shoes walking forward, one between Ice's legs to nudge him backwards and the other one flanking his hip. He's still all over Ice, mouthing sloppily at whatever is within kissing distance, his hand groping at Ice's dick through his pants, the other fisting his blonde hair, both of them breathing hard.

Ice's body is on fire.

It's like something primal takes over him, and before Maverick can back him against the railing, the fists he has clenched at Maverick's chest shove the brunette backwards. Ice follows, the wall catching Maverick before he can stumble completely backwards, and Ice reconnects their mouths without a moment to recover. His teeth catch at Maverick's jaw, scraping against skin until Maverick finds his mouth again in a bruising kiss.

It's a type of madness that Ice feels. It's uncontrollable and burning through his veins, every muscle in his body. Every neuron in his brain is more alive than it's ever been. It's been a long time since he's had anything this good. Because you can't do this with a woman. You can't ravage her, tear her apart the same way you can a man. You have to be considerate and thoughtful and slow. You have to attend to a woman, practice and play her like an instrument.

It's an art.

This is a whole other beast.

It's adrenaline rushing, being intimate with someone who is your equal in just about every way. It's as vulnerable as rolling over to show your belly to someone as dangerous as yourself and trusting them not to tear you apart. Someone who's after the same high as you. Someone who won't take any of your shit.

Ice gives it and Maverick gives it right back, teeth biting, lips sucking, fingers bruising. They're so close that Ice can feel the slide of muscle against his chest as Maverick breathes, his chest expanding wide with every breath. He's sucking a bruise into Maverick's throat, swirling his tongue against the other pilot's flushed skin and tasting iron.

Maverick's fingers find the button of his pants, the zipper, and then he's slipping his hand inside. Ice hisses at the intrusion of Maverick's cold fingers into his boxers, his dick jumping at the contact. Maverick wraps a hand around his throbbing cock and tugs upwards. A strangled sound leaves Ice's chest. He repeats the motion, this time using some of the precome leaking down Ice's shaft to obtain more of a gliding motion. With the lubrication, he falls into more of a rhythm, enabling Ice to match it with the rut of his hips.

Every jerk of Maverick's hand makes a sickening sucking sound, and something in the back of Ice's mind tells him he should be worried about someone hearing them. It invites a sort of adrenaline-filled fear within him. The same fear that flying gives him. Maverick swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, and he almost cries, the thought gone from his mind.

They haven't spoken this entire time but their noises of pleasure say enough. Ice is panting into the junction of Maverick's neck, muffling cries when he twists his wrist just enough to make Ice's jaw go slack.

One more tug of Maverick's hand around his pulsing cock and Ice's head goes fuzzy, followed by the most mind-shattering orgasm he's ever had flooding through him. He comes in Maverick's hand, spilling into his palm and the front of his boxers. When his coherence returns, the dead weight of his body is supported almost entirely by Maverick, almost certainly crushing him against the wall. The other pilot doesn't seem to mind, one hand around Ice's waist and the other lazily ghosting over Ice's flushed cock, sticky with come.

Ice's heart is pounding, and he's never felt more alive in his own body.

When he gets his bearings about him and the feel of Maverick stroking his sensitive cock becomes too much, he pulls away just so that there's a bit of space between them. Maverick lets him go, remaining with his back pressed against the wall.

Finally, Ice finds his voice. "Fuck, man."

He feels light headed and euphoric and full of bliss all at once.

Then his stomach churns. He's going to vomit.

Ice stumbles a few feet to lean over the side of the deck and retch, earlier's alcohol burning in his stomach. He heaves, the sudden burst of nausea coursing through him without warning. Stomach turning, Ice doesn't recall ever feeling this violently ill in his life.

When the nausea finally subside, there are tears in his eyes and an empty pit in his stomach that isn't from the vomiting. He doesn't trust himself to move away from the railing just yet, but he does look over his shoulder to find Maverick.

The brunette pilot is standing quietly behind him, a towel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He must have slipped inside and nabbed a few things from the bar. Ice isn't sure how he had the time to do that, but he also isn't sure how long he was bent over the railing puking his guts out.

This time he gasps out, "What the fuck was that, man?"

For some reason that Ice isn't following, Maverick chuckles. "That, my friend, was the best orgasm of your life. The thing that you're experiencing right now is called guilt."

When Ice just stares at him blankly, Maverick continues. "Happened to me too the first time I got with a guy. You spend your whole life being told that something is wrong, and then you get it and it's the best thing ever. Then you come down from the high and you're disgusted with yourself for enjoying it so much because you know you're not supposed to."

His dad's voice flashes through his mind.

Stomach churning again, Ice covers his face with his palms and groans. Maverick, who seems to be enjoying Ice's misery all too much, just chuckles again. "Here, sit down and drink this," and he holds out the opened bottle of water to Ice.

Ice, feeling too queasy to argue, removes his hands from his face and takes the bottle. He sits down on the front steps and Maverick follows. They sit shoulder to shoulder, once again too close should anyone come out and find them.

Hands clasped together in front of his knees, Maverick watches as Ice takes a few small sips of the water. He remembers feeling the way Ice is now all too well. Remembers the feeling of euphoria like never before, followed by the nausea and spiral downwards. If you think about it, it's kind of funny, having such a visceral reaction to something you want so bad.

Once Ice has gotten down about half of the bottle and no longer looks like he's going to vomit, Maverick continues. “This—thing—between us. Fuck, Ice, I want it. I want it so bad. And I know that this might be harder for you than it is for me because of your dad but—Tom, I want this.”

He hears Ice shudder out a breath beside him. He’s been awfully quiet this entire time, and for a moment Maverick thinks he’s going to refuse him. Instead the blonde pilot places a hand on Maverick’s knee, his thumb smoothing over it through the fabric of his pants. “Damn you, Mitchell.”

He’s smiling and Maverick laughs, a full body laugh that has his shoulders shaking as he leans further into Ice’s side. It’s one of the greatest laughs Ice has ever heard in his entire life.

#top gun maverick #top gun fic #topgun maverick #top gun iceman #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x iceman #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year

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teaser - loose lips sink ships

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: depictions of high school, mild cursing, allusions to vaping & mike wheeler dumbassery

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated; enjoy!

series masterlist

Now - Spring term, March

“Look kid,” Hopper sighs, drumming his hands along the desk. “Far be it from me to pry into your personal life…”

Pulse quickening, the pen in your hand pauses in anticipation. Your eyes cut to him, curious.

“People are starting to talk.”

“About what?”

Another sigh and shake of his head. When his eyes meet yours, it’s as if he’s silently pleading for you to understand his vague remarks.

Seeing a crease begin between your brows, Hopper knows he’ll have to come out and say it. He glances to the door, checking that no one lingers in the hall outside.

“‘Bout you and Harrington.”

An awkward moment passes before you cap your pen and set aside the essays you’d been grading. You’d always been a cool customer, Hopper recalls, even as a student–all calming breaths and calculated replies. Never quick to anger or snap judgments, always holding out for a rational explanation; or, as the case so often is, to hear a rambling teenager’s interpretation of events.

And he knows, god does he know, how difficult the past year has been for you. The last thing he wants to do is quash any semblance of happiness you’ve managed to find as you meticulously picked up the shattered pieces of your life. But–

“There’s nothing to say.”

The response shocks him, and his broad shoulders slack.

“That so?”

You softly clear your throat before resuming your grading. “Cards on the table?”

He nods mutely.

“We’re living together.”

“Huh?!” He nearly shouts.

His response surprises you, and you subtly raise an eyebrow.

“You’re… looking at me pretty intensely here, Chief.”

He begins to sputter and flushes nearly rouge. “Oh, that’s just uh–” Jim Hopper takes a deep breath, “And you’re sure there’s nothin–”

“Just friends,” you shrug, placing the marked essay in the stack to your right. “I was in tough spot and he offered to help me out.”

The walkie at his hip crackles to life. “Base to eleven, base to eleven; over.”

With a sigh he radios back, “Eleven to base, copy.”

You can hear the exhaustion in Joyce’s voice when she responds, “Code green in the language hall’s boys’ bathroom; over.”

Hop pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Copy.”

He rises from the chair he’d pulled up to your desk, joints popping. You let out a soft snort at his predicament. “5 bucks says it’s Wheeler,” you mutter, shuffling essays.

He rasps a laugh, “You’re on.”

Glancing to the clock above the door, you quickly stand and usher him out into the hall. You kick the doorstop into place and lean against the wall. “Give ‘em hell Hop,” you say by way of goodbye, a little too loudly. “Flush that vape down the drain!”

He turns back at that, eyes a silent plea for you to keep it down as students flood the halls in time with the bell. Steve joins you mere seconds later, door propped open to take in the exchange.

“What was that all about?”

You shrug casually, “Code green,” you whisper, voice hushed as the early arrivals wander in to the classroom.

A slow smirk pulls across his lips, “Wheeler?”

“Oh, a hundred percent.”

He scoffs, “Vaping? Who are they kidding–sucking from a glorified MP3 player does not make you look cool.”

“And you’d know all about that, I suppose,” you quip back.

“Damn straight,” he nods to a few students in greeting. “You have to light a cigarette, at least there’s a semblance of danger there.”

“Right, because the imminent threat of emphysema and lung cancer wasn’t enough.”

He laughs brightly, “See, you get it!”

“Uh huh,” you kick the doorstop back into your classroom as the bell rings out, “So saith the King.”

A mop of curls attempts to enter without your notice, Steve clocks it too and raises his brows in interest. You roll your eyes at him, mouthing ‘later’ and follow Henderson into the classroom. He takes his seat and begins to pull out his supplies. Greeting a few students as they settle in, you stop just shy of his desk.

Squirrely on the best of days, Dustin spies you from the corner of his eye and continues to line up the pens and pencils on his desk.

You bide your time, waving to a few students in the interim; you can wait it out with the best of ‘em. And that is clearly what Dustin is trying to do now. “So, it’s gonna be like that, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is his perfunctory response.

“Is that so?” You find yourself echoing Hop from earlier, “I was just going to commend you on that latest timed writing assignment,” you keep your tone light. “Your analysis of Elie Wiesel’s Nobel Prize Acceptance speech was beautifully done.”

He abruptly stops fiddling with the pens at his desk.

“The way you noted the allusions and repeated rhetorical strategies from Night was–”

“I didn’t write it!” He admits, eyes screwed shut in embarrassment, “I-I ran out of time and used Chat GPT–”

“Hah!” You shout indignantly pointing at him and walking to the lectern, “I knew it Henderson, I knew it!”

By now the rest of the class has filed and in taken their seats. You diligently uncap an expo marker to add Dustin’s initials to the ‘You Suck’ column on the whiteboard. With an exaggerated pout, you slowly erase the ‘D.H.’ from the ‘You Rule’ column.

The class emits a prolonged ‘oooh’ as you hop on to your chair and wave a hand for them to stop. Curiously, Mike Wheeler is absent and you make a mental note to text Hop to pay up later.

“Standard procedure Dustin,” you say as a reminder, “A call home, email to teachers, zero in the gradebook until the assignment can be corrected during mandatory week-long tutorials.”

He sulks in his seat, slouching low against the back of the plastic chair, “But I’ll miss Hellfire!”

“Tsk,” you cluck, “Should’ve thought about that before plagiarizing. Munson’ll never let you live it down.”

Turning to the board, you move to go over the day’s agenda when Sinclair pipes up.

“Okay, but is it technically plagiarism?”

You appreciate his attempt to go to bat for his friend, you really do. And you’d hate to crush his burgeoning inquiry, anyway.

“Interesting line of thought… Continue.”

Lucas hesitates as the attention of the class falls on him, “Well, I just– It’s an AI. There’s no previous ownership over the product, right?”

You breathe out a sigh, “True, AI sentience has yet to be determined,” you acknowledge, “But intellectual ownership is what’s important here.”

Dustin sinks lower in his chair, if at all possible.

“At the end of the day, what Henderson did is really no better than…” you take a pause for effect, “Saaaay Christian’s use of Cyrano’s words for Roxane’s affections.”

The class audibly groans as you bring them back to the task and text at hand. You smile brightly and continue with the day’s lesson.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #reader insert #fanfiction #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

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Taglist: @mess-in-side @buckys-pillow @16boyfriends-and-me @pinkybee926 @mahirublue and others for wanting a part two to this fic I pulled out my sleep deprived ass. This one’s for you.

It had been a short while since the fiasco in the library, Mathew doesn’t seem to think so and calls you dramatic. People were meant to interpret situations however they saw fit -whether it be good or bad- and you were aloud to see what went off in the library as a disaster plus fiasco! The solution? Hide away from Morpheus’ line of sight until you could muster the strength to stare into his starry blue eyes without the knowing inkling tickling the back of your head that he knew.

He knew whenever your eyes met, he knew whenever he allowed you to stand closer then usual, more so when he granted you the wish of laying your head on his shoulder as boldly as you did whenever you were in his presence. He knew when your pinkies touched that one night in the dreaming where you were both stood on the balcony of his palace, overlooking his kingdom together. He knew when you came to him during sleepless nights for his help that ended in you fast asleep within the comfort of his bed. You felt stupid for ignoring how blatant he was in showing you the comfort he felt within your presence nor how he’d seek you out as you were dreaming; watching over you like a silent guardian, never daring to get closer in fear of ruining the painting.

His mere presence in the corner of your dreams gave you the same message. Nothing was going to hurt you. Not when Morpheus was there and it made you feel as though you were worth everything. His ego maybe a hindrance but overall he was perfectly flawed in every way possible and it made you love him all the more for it. Yet it scared you knowing that he knew so in defence of not wanting your feelings smashed into stardust you remain within your own area of the dreaming for the time being, only going near the castle or to Cain and Able when asked of you. Other then that you remained in the backyard of your cottage, overlooking the griffons within your care that dream has gifted you long ago. You named them Jess, a shortened version of the name Jessamy, the name of Dreams’ last raven companion who died rather tragically.

You were rather fond of Jessamy as you’d find her upon your windowsill every morning when you woke up to start your day, this was before you met Morpheus, that wouldn’t come til you chased after the raven for stealing a pendant you no longer remembered the origins of off from the top shelf before flying out of the window with you hot on her trail. She didn’t stop even as she glided through a particular tricky forest until you found yourself at the doorstep of the palace, looking up at the very balcony you’d soon step foot on as the dark haired and clothed king looked down at you with a face who’s only purpose was to mimic that of a stone.

Now you’d find yourself unable to break such habits as now and then you would still find yourself awaiting Jessamy to steal something from you and lead you back to Morpheus’ palace. Yet you were only greeted with silence after her passing and it left a tear within your heart that you didn’t think would be healing so soon. You were so lost within your thoughts that you didn’t process that something had landed upon your shoulder nor the muffled sound of a voice that followed seconds after. “Y/n?” Mathew asked, staring into your blank visage. “Y/n?!” He tried again, this time taping his bird feet against your shoulder, nothing.

“Morpheus is worried.” Those words seemed to snap you out of your head without a cinch as you looked at your feathered companion/sometimes nemesis, “why would he be worried? Can’t be because of me can it?” Mathew groaned, he had been sent here by Morpheus to check up on you for something he clearly didn’t listen to because he knew that during your hiatus from Morpheus’ life, it had already caused worry to arise within him that he sent Mathew to make sure you were still within his realm, preferably living. “Your dense for someone who just recently was flirting with the literal king of dreams and nightmares. Yes he’s worried about you, for all he’s aware you just up and dissipated without saying anything to him about it. Anybody would be worried if the people we love pulled that shit.” Mathew cried as he flapped his wings.

“As you can see I am fine, now you can go back and report to Morpheus that I’m not dead yet and leave me alone.” You said as you brought yourself up to your feet to stretch your muscles, causing the raven to take refuge upon the lowest branch of a nearby tree. “What’s gotten into you?” Mathew asked concerned, this type of behaviour wasn’t like you, normally you would’ve been ecstatic that Morpheus was worried about you as you’d rant about how your plan to making him swoon over you was working like a charm but this was…something was wrong and he wasn’t about to let a friend suffer in silence. “What if he doesn’t want me and he’s only playing along to ease the rejection yet to come, I seem like I talk big and act big when really I fear over the tiniest things. My mind conjures up false realities on things that don’t even pose a great enough threat and yet here I am stressing over the possibility that Morpheus’ feelings for me aren’t what they are and I’m just being delusional.” You admitted to the raven, feeling your throat tighten up as tears welled behind your eyelids as you tried to regain enough composure to get through a civil conversation.

“Look,” Mathew began, “Morpheus may act like an angsty teenager who’s been told to put away the black eyeliner for one family gathering, “ you snorted at the comparison but allowed the raven to continue, “but i know for a fact that he loves you, craves you even, so much so that when you stopped hanging out with me, Lucienne, Cain, Able and Merv I could see the disheartened look in his eye whenever he comes back from standing on that balcony waiting for you to come visit only for that to never come to fruition…it breaks his heart. You’ve integrated yourself into his life so deeply that Morpheus can’t bring himself to imagine ever living as long as he had without you bringing your own pallet of colours to liven up his own in a weird yet compatible way.” The raven watched as your face falls once more and how your eyes darkened as you looked deep into the depths of your hands as if they hold the answer for everything.

Little did you know but Mathew would catch Morpheus doing the exact same when he thought he was alone to ponder his mind into a reason as to your sudden distancing. The heartbreak and anger within his eyes alone scared Mathew into taking flight if ever he were to be caught spying on the dream lord in his moment of uncharacteristic weakness. “Look, just go to him y/n, he needs you just as much as you need him. He’s -as afraid he is to say it-lost without you.”

#the sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x you #the sandman imagine #the sandman imagines #the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus imagines #morpheus imagine #Morpheus fic #Morpheus fanfic #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless imagines #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #Spotify

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boundinparchment · 2 years

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Dream a Little Dream of Me - II

Celestia has a cruel sense of humor. He's always known this, ever since his days as a student. But a soulmate? Really? Dottore/Female Reader Soulmate AU. Expect lore speculation, interpretations, etc. Available on AO3 as well. Reblogs and comments are appreciated and encouraged.

He couldn’t have a soulmate. He couldn’t.

Bad enough he received a Vision at all. But to have his fate intertwined with another?

Celestia had the worst sense of timing and humor. The hubris of the floating island and its Archons knew no bounds, it seemed; he did nothing but openly denounce the gods, worked against them, and yet…

The years had only sharpened the hatred he held for such absurdity, such nonsense. He didn’t have time for it when he first realized what was happening, let alone now, when he was laying the groundwork for an alliance with the Akademiya and the Fatui. Dreams like the one often sunk their claws so deep in mind that he spent the better part of the day grounding himself.

How could he remember so many of those moments with you so vividly, despite how fragmented his memory was? Not that the dreams with you were the only things he wished he could forget and never did; there were plenty of memories he could do without that lingered and clawed their way into his mind far too often.

But tonight…tonight was, at least, partially successful.

As much as he loathed the concept of fate keeping him in its choke-hold, of destiny taking a red string and tangling both of you in it…at least this past dream proved useful.

For months, for years, he tried to track you down. The lack of a definitive appearance never helped, of course, and neither did only knowing your first name. Some nights held fewer details than others. This past dream, in which he allowed himself to analyze and consider you properly if only to sate his curiosity, revealed not only your profession, but your nation and defining characteristics. Your hair color, your eyes, the way your mouth pursed into a defensive pout when you pulled your hands away, offended at being so easy to read…

Dottore rolled his shoulders and activated his Akasha terminal, the room around him fading as his consciousness fell into the shared space by all who attached themselves to the device. There was only a limited window of time before the data was compressed and stored; still accessible but harder to delve into, memories shoved into a file system he hated navigating when he had to.

Crowds of people surrounded him, aimlessly wandering down their own paths, oblivious to one another. No. No. Not that one. Dottore frowned and began wandering in the opposite direction, setting his terminal to search for specific characteristics, recent arrivals, sifting through those who had been in Sumeru City all of their lives. The shades faded easily, like steam wafting from hot water, and he was left with fewer, closer results.

Such as the one before him now. An absolutely perfect mimicry of you, from your height to your eyes to your posture.

“Records,” he commanded.

His vision filled with a recent travel visa from Fontaine, bearing your name, and a single voice file from the Akasha registration. Your voice filled his head and Dottore felt something tug in his chest as anticipation flooded him.

You.

You, you, you.

The cause of his misery and pain and insomnia. The hindrance to all of his research. The second reminder that he would never be free of Celestia. No matter how much he tried to wear the yoke of rationality. No matter how many times he blasphemed the gods and grew closer to the monster everyone said he was. He would never be free.

Dottore waved a hand and the visage of you (he shoved away the thought that dared to consider it lovely) disappeared, as did the subspace of the terminal. He was once again in his lab, surrounded by familiar equipment and books and papers; his Omega build was close by in stand-by mode, ready to be utilized as needed.

So, you were in Sumeru. How fascinating.

That made his work easier, then. Much, much easier.

Now, all that needed to be determined was what, exactly, to do with you.

#il dottore/reader #dottore #genshin impact fanfiction #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/reader #genshin reader insert #please do not expect rapid updates this is just to set the tone of the story!#if you enjoyed please just reblog it

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starreadssstuff · 1 year

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comfort in each others arms- Toji Fushiguro

warnings- none zero nada nothing, its really just lots of fluff with our favorite “sorcerer killer”.

Authors note- Please, he's just baby girl, he can do no wrong. I have not read the manga but I have see peoples interpretation of him soo... I wrote him how I wanted him to be so sorry it's not very canon but whatever fits aren't canon either. anyways enjoy this cuz you know I did! love, star 💜

The rain fell gently against the windows, creating a soothing rhythm that filled the air. Inside Toji’s cozy apartment, you found yourself wrapped in a soft blanket, sitting on the couch, and reading a book. Toji, with his usual serious expression, was seated beside you, engrossed in a stack of paperwork.

As you turned another page, a particularly loud clap of thunder made you jump slightly, causing Toji to glance up from his work. His eyes softened as he noticed your slight unease, and he closed his paperwork, setting it aside.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

You smiled, appreciating his attentiveness. "I'm okay, Toji. It's just the thunder caught me off guard."

Toji nodded and rose from his seat, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment. He returned with two mugs of hot chocolate, a comforting aroma wafting through the room. Handing one to you, he settled back on the couch, his proximity bringing a sense of warmth and security.

"Sometimes, the rain can be quite calming," Toji remarked, gazing out of the window as droplets cascaded down.

You took a sip of the hot chocolate, the rich sweetness enveloping your senses. "You're right. It has its own beauty and tranquility."

Silence settled between you, the only sounds being the pitter-patter of rain and occasional thunder. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that only true companions could share.

Toji shifted closer to you, his shoulder gently brushing against yours. You leaned into his side, feeling his warmth seep through the blanket and into your skin. His presence alone brought you a sense of peace and contentment.

With your head resting on Toji's shoulder, you continued reading, occasionally stealing glances at him. He had a serene expression, his eyes focused on the rain, yet his presence was comforting and reassuring. It was as if the storm outside couldn't touch you both, for you had found solace in each other's company.

As the rain subsided and the sky cleared, Toji's hand found its way to yours, his fingers interlacing with yours effortlessly. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a sense of closeness and understanding.

"I'm glad you're here, Y/N," Toji whispered softly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

A soft smile graced your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. "I'm glad too, Toji. Your presence brings me comfort and happiness."

The evening wore on, and the soft glow of the lamp illuminated the room, casting a warm ambiance. With the rain now reduced to a gentle drizzle, you and Toji remained in your cozy haven, reveling in each other's presence.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you both found solace from the outside world, cherishing the simple moments of togetherness. It didn't matter that the rain was pouring outside because within the walls of Toji's apartment, you had created your own little sanctuary filled with love, warmth, and a sense of belonging.

As you gazed into each other's eyes, the depth of your connection was palpable. In this quiet and intimate space, you realized that home wasn't merely a physical place, but rather, it was the feeling of being with someone who made you feel safe, loved, and at peace.

And as the rain continued to tap against the windows, you knew that, in Toji's arms, you had found your true home.

#i love toji #Stan my bbg #toji #jjk toji #jjk #i love jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk toji fushiguro #jjk fushiguro #why is his last name so difficult

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cartoonsaint · 2 years

Text

been busy (but in decent health yay!) the past month so writing’s been slow; figured that for now i’d offer a lil sth i wrote about a year ago and never finished, mostly bc it required me to maintain too high a suspension of disbelief about how hot and/or how much effort mr gordos feetman would put into his appearance. the guy canonically uses head & shoulders. and he's proud about it. man wouldn't know a mousse from a moisturizer.

a lot of the beats and central tensions i had planned for this story have been folded into a different project i like more, so this little bit is all that remains. Not A Game AU, might actually be rated G (wow!), contains eating and some talk of weight and appearances. enjoy an oblivious gordon learning that many people think he’s hot, including at least one person at the dinner table. surely he’d use that information wisely and not be a big dumb smug bastard about it, right?

That night at dinner, Joshua sets aside his drink (root beer cut with seltzer, a treat he only gets when they eat with the NeoScience Team), a thoughtful look on his freckled face, and asks, “Daddy, why do all the other parents always wanna talk to you?”

“What?” Gordon says, chuckling. He nudges some of the mystery root vegetable he’s just cut up towards his son, who studiously avoids it to fork another bit of meat. Venison of some kind, he thinks? Tommy and Sunkist caught it today, they said. “The other parents don’t always wanna talk to me. I’m hardly ever even there, bud.”

Joshua frowns and opens his mouth to rebut, but Coomer advises, “We don’t talk with our mouths full at the table, Joshua!” Obediently, Joshua closes his mouth and begins to chew quickly, the better to ask his question sooner, but the rest of the table has already had its attention caught.

“Why would anyone ever want to talk to your father?” scoffs a voice in Sylfaen, though Gordon can hear that Bubby’s smirking around the straw of his protein shake. “He’s so boring. He can’t even set anything on fire.”

“Don-don’t say that!” Tommy interjects. Under the table he’s clearly offering a bite from his plate to Sunkist, who is in the form of a large hound today. The Perfect Dog does not beg, of course — though with Tommy’s big heart around, she doesn’t need to. “I, I’m sure Mr. Freeman could light, could set anything on fire if he really wanted to.”

“And since he doesn’t, he’s boring,” Bubby snarks back.

“Oh, are we setting things on fire?” Coomer asks brightly, pushing his chair back from the table as though to leap into action.

“No! We, we have to let Mr. Freeman do it!” Tommy protests, already half-standing.

“Why, so he can f— screw it up?”

“We’re not setting anything on fire,” Gordon says loudly before an argument (or a fire) can erupt. “Everyone sit down! Besides, Joshie, Bubby’s… well, kind of right. The other parents are just being friendly.”

“Of course I’m right,” Bubby mutters from across the table, but at least he settles some. The others retake their seats and for a moment it seems like they’ll be able to continue their nice, (relatively) calm dinner together without any more fuss.

But Joshua shakes his head furiously, swallowing at last. “Nuh-uh! When Daddy comes pick me up, all the other moms and dads always wanna talk to him. Benrey knows,” he adds stubbornly. “Benrey thinks it’s weird, too.”

As one, the table turns to Benrey.

Benrey, who is sitting on Josh’s other side cutting up his meat while Gordon cuts up his vegetables, doesn’t appear to notice. He reaches across Joshua’s plate to nudge the sweet potato (?) closer to him once more, sets his utensils down, and picks up his glass of Powerade. He’s mid-sip by the time he realizes he’s being stared at.

“Huh?” Benrey says.

Bubby mutters something under his breath that could be “slap him on the ass” for all Gordon can tell, but Coomer pipes up with, “Welcome back to the conversation, Benrey! We were just discussing whether or not the parents at Joshua’s elementary school go out of their way to talk to Gordon more than is typical. Since you work there, we figured you would know best!”

It’s still a mystery to Gordon how Benrey managed to land a job as a security guard at a children’s school in such a safe town, but at this point he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth (especially when that gift horse is Benrey). And anyway, Joshua and Benrey being in the same place kills several birds with one stone: Benrey’s out of Gordon’s hair, Gordon has the house to himself during the day, Joshua is under the constant protection of a non-human monster who is absolutely devoted to him, and if Gordon has a panic attack about living with a non-human monster who has access to his son, then he gets several hours alone to deal with it himself without anyone being the wiser.

It also means that Gordon rarely picks Joshua up from school. Benrey brings him home most days, except for when Gordon goes to collect them both so they can all go directly to a NeoScience Team Dinner together. So if there is a difference in the way the other parents treat Gordon, Benrey would know.

Despite himself, Gordon finds his attention on the other man, curious. What, if anything, has Benrey noticed?

“...Oh,” Benrey says slowly in response to Dr. Coomer. He sets his glass down slowly, as though his thoughts are elsewhere, and then he glances sideways at Josh so obviously that even Gordon notices.

“What are you—?” Gordon starts, but Bubby hushes him. Gordon glances around the table to find all eyes focused on his son and his roommate, whose own eyes are locked as they silently have what must be a ferocious, facial expression-based argument. Gordon huffs in frustration. “Come on, at least—”

Joshua interrupts him. “Benny, pleeeeease?”

At that Benrey throws his head back; his hands come up to tug at the strings of his chullo. “Ugh,” he groans, which transforms into a bout of sweet voice in bright blue and green with pink shot throughout.

“Watermelon slice by the pool: I love you, but you make me act a fool,” Tommy translates dutifully, but Gordon had already gotten the gist. He stares at Benrey as the guy slumps forward, face in hands. Joshua, apparently satisfied, picks up his fork and starts eating again.

“...Yeah,” Benrey finally says, voice as unreadable as always. “They all always wanna talk to him. Won’t leave him alone… sometimes me n’ Josh can’t even reach him.”

“Wait, really?” Gordon says, eyebrows shooting up. He’d noticed that the other parents did tend to clump together when waiting for their kids to come out, and they did always include him in conversations, but surely that was just them being friendly? “But they always — Isn’t that just… like, normal?”

Joshie actually giggles. Benrey, face still in his hands, shakes his head.

Gordon tugs on his bangs, uncertainty rising. “Really? But I don’t, I don’t even — why?”

“Muh, maybe it’s because you’re fun to talk to?” Tommy offers.

“O-oh. Well, I — thank you, Tommy,” Gordon says. “I mean, I guess I sort of am? Like, like I can talk about science all day, I guess, and — well, I am very funny. But I don’t, uh, don’t usually—”

“Perhaps it’s because you’re the main character, Gordon!” Coomer says boisterously.

“What? Dr. Coomer—”

“Oh my god,” Bubby mutters before raising his voice. “You’re all morons. It’s because he’s a DILF.”

Gordon sputters some high-pitched, disbelieving laughter that fails to resolve into words because, immediately, Benrey growls.

Gordon jumps. He recovers quickly, though — at least this is a distraction from that totally absurd conjecture that would likely end in his mockery — and puts his hands over Joshie’s ears, protective. “Benrey,” Gordon says warningly, but the guy doesn’t even look at him. He just goes silent, pulling his hat even lower and again covering the rest of his face with sharp-clawed hands.

“Oh, relax, I’m happily taken,” Bubby says waspishly, which has Gordon doubletaking as Joshua wiggles out of his hands. What? Since when? Who—?

“That would make sense, though,” Tommy says, thoughtful. “The, the DILF thing. Humans — uh, people do like to be close to attractive people, and, and talk to them, too. And Mr. Freeman is pretty hot.”

Gordon sputters, heat rising to his face. “W-wait, what??” Bubby spouting nonsense is one thing, but it hits different coming from the most put-together adult of their group. “Tommy—”

“What’s a DILF?” Joshua asks loudly.

“Excellent question, Joshua! The term DILF is based on the slang acronym ‘MILF.’ It stands for ‘Daddy I’d Like to—’”

Sunkist barks sharply in time with Gordon’s quick, “Woah woah hey!”

“It means they think he’s attractive, and would like to, to maybe date him,” Tommy explains kindly. Joshua ohhhs and stabs his last bite of meat, watching the conversation continue ping-ponging around the table without Gordon’s control.

“Subjectively, you’re too tall and your teeth are too white. Objectively, euh… some people like that.”

“Your face is very symmetrical, Mr. Freeman, and the, the gray streak and scars are — they’re distinctive and appealing!”

“Gordon, you often wear t-shirts that show off your arms, and your work-out regimen is clearly paying off,” Dr. Coomer says matter-of-factly.

“W-well, I had to be able to carry the HEV suit, and then exercising helped with stress,” Gordon admits. “But it’s not like I’m losing weight—”

“But you, you carry it well, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy says earnestly. “You look healthy.”

“Your skin is, hm, pretty good, too,” Bubby adds stiffly. “Keeps all your blood in. And your hair is…” He slurps at his near-empty protein shake, the sound somehow judgmental. “...fine.”

“Those are high compliments from the perfect organism, Gordon!”

“Uh, thanks, I moisturize. And use conditioner. But — but that doesn’t make me — those things don’t make a person hot.”

“No, but the effort certainly helps!” Tommy chirps. “You don’t seem to notice, but when we go out people sometimes — people stare. Plus you’re a, a single dad who loves kids. From the outside, you’re kind of a, kind of the total package, Mr. Freeman.”

“...Wait, ‘from the outside’ — what’s that supposed to—?”

“How did you think you got so many followers on JustinTV so fast? It obviously wasn’t your sparkling wit.”

“He’s right, Gordon! Attractiveness likely accounts for a large portion of the viewers on your channel!”

“No, hey, my wit is plenty sparkling! And, and, my filming set-up is kind of crap and you know it. Viewers probably wouldn’t even notice if I was, was—” For some reason, Gordon looks past Joshua (who appears to be attentively cataloging the facial expressions of everyone at the table) towards Benrey — but the guy is holding his hat to his face and singing a series of muffled chords into it, the colors of his sweet voice muted by the fabric, and doesn’t appear to even notice. Why isn’t he—?

“It’s four against one. You’re hot, get over it,” Bubby says, swapping his shake for a glass of bug juice.

“You really haven’t noticed, Mr. Freeman? People even, they treat you differently, even. Don’t you remember the other day when you, when that clerk gave you a discount for no good reason?”

“Hm! Gordon’s obliviousness would explain why he never uses his good looks to his advantage,” Coomer says thoughtfully.

“Wait, you can use being pretty to get stuff?” Joshua asks quickly. “Can I be pretty??”

“Of, of course you can, Joshua,” Tommy says indulgently.

For Gordon, this dumb hotness hypothesis is all too quickly developing into an unexpectedly supportable thesis. But he still has the evidence of twenty-seven years of being himself and looking in the mirror; while physical attractiveness isn’t necessarily the kind of thing to which he pays that much attention, surely he wouldn’t have missed it if he were hot.

“Guys, none of this matters because the premise of this conversation doesn’t make any sense. I’m not — I look okay, but I’m just regular. I’m nothing special. And I’m a smart guy, I graduated from MIT, I think I’d know, or notice, if I was, was — hot, or whatever.”

The table goes silent, all eyes on Gordon, and he can practically see the ellipses floating around his friends’ heads. A flush starts to build, heating his face and chest. “I would! You —” he tsks, annoyed — “you know, sometimes you guys act like I’m completely oblivious, but I’m not.”

The hum of sweet voice suddenly cuts off. Gordon barely has time to blink before it’s replaced with a hoarse, incredulous cackle, the kind that he only rarely hears, even living with the guy. He jerks his head round to find Benrey staring directly at him, sharp teeth flashing as he sucks in a breath to laugh again.

“What??” Gordon demands, the heat of his embarrassment and confusion easily flipping towards anger.

...

“Must we… really. Discuss this at — hhh — the dinner. Table?” the G-Man finally interrupts, gliding from the open plan kitchen into the dining room and setting down a basket of oven-fresh rolls with an exasperated thump. For a moment the weird air breaks; Gordon seizes on it, never more grateful for the G-Man’s disarming presence.

“I agree with Mr. Coolatta,” Gordon says quickly. “Let’s just — here, Joshie, why don’t you finish up your plate? You’ve still got these, um. These… white carrots? Left to eat.”

“That. Is a turnip… Mr. Freeman,” the G-Man says, disapproval frosting the air between them.

On Joshie’s other side, Benrey carefully spears one of the turnips with a fork, bringing it to his nose to sniff. It must pass muster, because he puts it in his mouth, chewing slowly — and then makes a noise of interest and spears another.

Joshua, seeing this, immediately picks up his fork and goes for one of the turnips as well. Gordon blinks and looks with renewed interest at his own plate; maybe he ought to try one as well.

and... that's it, sorry! onto better things etc. hope u enjoyed this behind the scenes peek, & thanks for reading! :)

#hlvrai #hlvrbtaiisa #saint writes #gordos feetman #nothing against head&shoulders. or people who interpret him as hot #i love to see pictures of pretty people and i enjoy writing from benrey's perspective which comes w some Strong feelings about gord so.#like i get it u kno

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bokutoslittlebird · 2 years

Note

just thinkin about Daddy!Bokuto and his son who (even tho he’s like 18) doesn’t know what a wet dream is,, Until he has one for the first time and starts sobbing in the middle of the night cause he thought he wet the bed,, Bokuto n him share a bed,, Bokuto wakes up n sees his baby boy all covered in tears,, with a hard-on and a cum stain on his boxers,,

Daddy!Bokuto explains that he didn’t wet the bed n that he just had a wet dream n helps out reader by softly stroking his cock,, making him shake and whine softly until he cums all over Daddy’s hand..

Daddy!Bokuto telling reader that he’s had many dreams about reader,, Kissing his cheek and cuddles ensue..

This is gonna be a bit different from my usual drabbles bc this is technically a thirst? But it’s long so it’s kind of like a drabble? But it’ll be on my thirst masterlist I know it’s confusing but I had thoughts and a simple thirst could not suffice.

Warnings: incest, age gap, dilf Bokuto, nightmares, mentions of pee/urine, hand job, masturbation, age play? Not really but can be interpreted as such, bit of an innocence kink

Innocence is a curse more than a blessing and in this instance, you’d have to agree. Wet dreams were something you knew about, but just juicy dreams that your friends would giggle over the next day, never something so violent that you’d feel gross about. Until it happens to you, but you didn’t know because you never heard of the actual waking up, just of the dreams.

Then, one night, you waking up drenched in sweat and your sheets feel damp, you panic thinking you just wet the bed even at your practically adult age, like you’ve graduated and you wet the bed? Embarrassed, you immediately panic because your dad lets you sleep in his bed whenever your nightmares get really bad and he’s always there to calm you down, so immediately you think to how he’s gonna react when he wakes up. It’s not like you can wash the sheets without him knowing, right?

Whenever you get really embarrassed, your emotions tend to take over and lots of times you end up crying which has made you avoid these situations, but you can’t stop it when the guilt and panic bubbles inside your chest. Fat tears trickling down your face, you try to stifle the sobs but you know a peep out of you and Kōtarō will be awake, caressing and coddling you as if you were a baby. And indeed, you holding back sobs only makes him wake up with a jolt, startled by your cries.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Did you have another nightmare?” He asks, bringing you closer to his bare toned chest. He always ran hot, sleeping in boxers while you were covered.

“I-I think I wet the bed,” you manage to sob out in between heaves, only to have him look at you odd. Then his eyes trail down and he notices the tent in your shorts, plus the wetness on the light cloth. “I didn’t mean to! I just- I don’t know what happened,”

“I don’t think you wet the bed, baby. I think you just had a wet dream,” he says, quietly as if he’s introducing you to something new. “This is normal for people your age. Nothing to be ashamed about,” his hand then rubs over the tent in your pants, making you moan at the friction. “See, you just need to please yourself to relieve some stress. Daddy gets wet dreams all the time,”

“You do? Do you wake up sweaty and sticky?” Your sobs have turned into moans, Kōtarō’s hand gently rubbing your cock through the fabric.

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just dreams, though. Just gotta work through it,” he then slips you into his lap, keeping your legs spread with his and pulling down your clothes, letting your cock spring free. Feeling his hand against your skin is so nice, his hand is warm and contrasts with the cold room and his thumb manages to brush over your slit that has you curling your toes and clinging to his arms. “Feels good, don’t it?”

“Mhm! Really good..” you trail off, closing your eyes and throwing your head against his shoulder. A soft chuckle from him and you’re feeling weightless as an intense pleasure runs over your body. You vaguely hear Kōtarō complimenting you as you regain full consciousness, realizing your cum is trickling down his hand.

“That’s all it takes. So next time, you can do it yourself,” he doesn’t slide you off his lap, keeping you there as he gets comfortable. “It helps thinking about the wet dream, too,”

“What about you? What do your dreams look like?” Such a deep question out of nowhere, but he just laughs and brings you closer, whispering in your ear.

“Sometimes I dream of you,” a kiss on your cheek, “sometimes I’m with you, sometimes I’m watching,” a kiss on your temple. “I always handle it myself, though, so don’t worry,”

“Next time, I can help you, can’t I? It’s only natural for us to help each other out,” your question seems to surprise him, but he just grins and nods, but rubs himself against you before getting comfortable.

“Maybe next time, baby. I don’t think you’re ready for too much so soon,” he pecks your lips, letting you lay beside him. With him, you’ll never have to worry about what your dreams throw at you.

#✉️.anon #BB.Thirst #Mr. Kōtarō #tw.incest #tw.age gap #cw.hand job #tw.innocence kink #tw.bed wetting #tw.age play

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eloquent-vowel · 3 years

Note

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

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

The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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

It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

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

Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

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

It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

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

You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

312 notes · View notes

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.

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salazarslytherin · 3 years

Text

midnight rendezvous (b.w x y/n)

requested: yes! by @weasleyswizardwheezes1 [i love you arms your writing so uh anything w bill weasley. either smut, angst, fluff, etc. is fine, but could it be on the longer side. please and thank you, no pressure btw :)] send in your own request here

summary: where you and bill have a penchant for meeting in the night

part two here

🃛 masterlist

cw/tw: angst, smut AND fluff babes fem!reader, bill's kind of a dick for a part. sexual tension to the MAX doll. age difference (~6-7 years?) reader IS 18! jic anyone was worried. also i imply reader is short-ish? but in my mind bill is like 6’3-6’5 so he’s massive and like most people would be shorter than him

word count: 5.25k (so i heard u say ‘on the longer side’ and interpreted it as ‘i want a short novel’. hope this satisfies u doll, there'll be one or two?? more parts coming!!)

a/n: requested by @weasleyswizardwheezes1 . hope you like it! pls leave a comment, like or reblog to help boost if you did xx

☯︎ join tag list here

Being the best friend of the Weasley twins definitely had its perks. Spending summers at the Burrow, having a second family that was closer to you than your own, friendly banter that came along with the family.

However, there was an unexpected drawback that came with this.

A drawback by the name of Bill Weasley.

⚔︎

Although in the same year as the twins, you were a year older than Fred and George, meaning you had always felt a little more mature than the two pranksters.

Thus, you felt like you noticed things that the two of them never really noticed. Girls having crushes on them, boys being envious of them, the ways rumours would fly around about the three of you.

The main thing, however, that you felt the two of them didn't notice, was the way Bill treated you.

It wasn't that he'd always been like this. The first few years you'd known the man, he was very nice to you – familial and brotherly, much like the rest of the family had been to you.

However, sometime in fifth year, things changed.

⚔︎

You arrived at the Burrow with the twins for Christmas, ready to be welcomed by the family you'd come to call your own, but was left feeling hurt, weirdly hollow.

Every Weasley had welcomed you with open arms, except Bill. Harry, the only other non-Weasley around, was embraced heartily by the curse-breaker, but you were given a sharp nod, and nothing more.

Confused, you shook it off, moving to sit next to George, his arm wrapped around your waist as you snuggled into him. Fred landed on your other side, passing you a mug of hot cocoa as he landed a kiss on the top of your head, arm enveloping your shoulders with a tight squeeze.

Surrounded by the younger Weasleys as you watched Ginny, Ron and Harry play a game of Exploding Snap, you felt an intense gaze on you, looking up to see the four oldest Weasleys sat around the dining table, watching all of you.

You caught Bill's eyes, sending him a familiar smile, but was ignored as the man took a sip of his coffee, turning to look out the window instead.

Your hurt was short-lived as Fred leaned into whisper a soft quip into your ear, letting out a laugh, turning to relay the same quip to George.

The rest of the trip went similarly – every time you attempted to catch Bill's eye, to hold a proper conversation, he'd ignore you, or brush you off, pretending that he had something else to do.

The day all of you left the Burrow to go back to Hogwarts, Bill had even left the group before you could say goodbye to him, and you could only be left wondering, what did you do?

⚔︎

Now that you've graduated, you were relishing in the last summer you could spend in the Burrow as a teenager without the pressure of work hovering over you.

Determined to have the best time you possibly could with your 'family', your days were consumed by pranks with the twins, quidditch with the family, and helping Molly bake.

Yet, you still felt empty; a hole in the warm pit created by familial love, a hole marked with the name 'Bill Weasley'.

The cursebreaker was still actively avoiding you, for no known reason, and you stopped seeking out why a year ago. Instead, you sought to live your life with one less brother, one less family member to love.

Tossing and turning, you found yourself particularly restless one night. Not wanting to wake Fred, who was sleeping soundly in bed next to you, you got up, tiptoeing down to the kitchen to have a nice cool sip of water.

You'd taken to sleeping in the twins' room since the first holiday you were at the Burrow. Molly was against the idea at first of course, but was incapable of stopping the pranksters who managed to sneak you in night after night, insistent on having 'sleepovers' with you.

After the third night, Molly gave up, only giving you three a strict 'no funny business!' warning, before trudging back off to bed.

⚔︎

The dim lamplight from the kitchen illuminated just about enough for you to see your surroundings, having been around the Weasleys' long enough to know which boards to avoid so as to not have them creak and wake the family up.

However, what you hadn't taken into account was a body on the ground, hitting your foot into a blanketed torso, making you elicit a shriek, the unknown body on the ground letting out a muffled groan.

"What the fuck?"

You muttered a quick 'Lumos', pointing your wand at the person under the quilt, only for the fabric to be thrown aside, revealing a tousled Bill Weasley, sleep clouding his narrowed eyes as he massaged his abdominal with one hand, ruffling his hair with the other.

"Oh."

Realising that the man on the floor was, in fact, a Weasley, and not some thief who'd stolen into the house in the middle of the night, you dismissed the charm, lowering your wand and shifting awkwardly on your feet.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were there."

Throwing a curt apology at Bill, you moved off towards the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cupboard above and wordlessly filling it up, intent on finishing your business as quickly as possible before heading back up to the twins.

"Pour me a cup?"

The deep voice startled you for a moment. At some point Bill had gotten up from his mound of pillows and now found himself stood behind you, his hand holding out a mug that had a 'B' painted on it, gesturing at the water jug you were holding.

Nodding curtly, you poured him his water, Bill thanking you before moving to lean against a counter, watching you from behind the rim of his mug.

"'m surprised you're down here."

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at the man in confusion.

"What'd you mean?"

He shrugged, downing the rest of his water before placing the mug down on the counter with a tad bit more strength than he needed. He stretched for a moment, arms pulled over his head to pull the sleep out of his eyes, shirt moving up with the movement to show off a slither of his toned stomach.

"You're always around the twins, never see you without 'em. Expected you to be, in their beds or something I don't know."

A protest spluttered from your throat, choking slightly on the water that you'd been drinking.

"I–what?"

The man lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

"Am I wrong? You've been in and out both their beds since you were firsties. I mean, it's not hard to guess what you're doing in there with 'em."

You huffed at the implications of Bill's words, putting your mug down with much of the same vigour as he had just now.

"First off, I'm an adult, and I can do what I please."

You were fuming, steam practically coming out your ears, and hearing the muttered 'clearly been an adult for a while' from Bill's lips didn't help.

"Second, even if I was sleeping with your brothers, which I am not, I don't understand why it'd be any of your business. It's not like we're friends or anything."

An odd, emotionless laugh came from Bill's lips, pushing off the counter to come stand over you. His tall stature forced you to stumble backwards, pressed against the wooden cabinets as he glared down at you.

"First off," Bill's deep voice was modulated up an octave, mocking your previous rebuttal.

"I am not saying your life is part of my concern. I'm concerned for my brothers."

A hand landed next to your head, pushing against the cabinet harshly.

"But second, you're practically a Weasley. It's my duty to look after you guys."

You laughed indignantly, looking away from the intense man to focus on his arm instead, as if studying the tattoos that covered his tanned frame.

"I'm sorry. It's your duty to look after me?"

You pushed him off of you, moving away with a huff, grabbing the two abandoned mugs to wash them with far too much tenacity, water splashing everywhere.

"Yes, that's what I said. I've known you since you were eleven – of course I have to watch over you. You're like family."

You rolled your eyes, giving up the facade of placidity as you left the mugs clattering in the sink, whipping around to face Bill.

"I'm like family? That's rich, William, truly rich."

Now it was your turn to advance towards the man, causing him to back up as your anger fueled you with energy, stomping dangerously close to his feet.

"If how you treat me is how you treat your family, I pity Molly for having you as a son."

Incoherent words left Bill's mouth in an attempt to argue further with you, but you didn't listen. Turning on your heel, you left the man in the kitchen, no longer concerning yourself with which steps to avoid as you stomped back to the twins' room, leaving Bill accompanied only by the dim light from the lamp, and the creaks coming from the floorboards.

⚔︎

After that infuriating night, it was no longer a 'hidden' fact that something was off between you and Bill.

While it had seemed that Bill used to be the one avidly avoiding you, the tables had quickly turned – you were now the prey ardently avoiding any encounters with your predator.

Any time Bill came into the room, you'd either leave, or place yourself as far away as humanly possible. During meals, you'd move yourself to sit next to Ginny, as opposed to in between the twins as you'd been sat for years, just so you no longer sat across from Bill. Even during quidditch, one of your favourite things to do with the whole family, you opted to sit out and stay in the twins' room or help Molly with the dishes, just to make sure you never had to interact with Bill.

Honestly, you weren't quite certain why the conversation with Bill had ticked you off so much. Maybe it was because he accused you of sleeping with your best friends, as if that was all you were good for. Maybe, it was because he had no right to insert himself in your life like that, to pretend like he cared about you in the first place.

It was clear he no longer wanted to be a part of your life when you were sixteen. You had no desire to welcome the curse-breaker back into your life now.

⚔︎

Three days after the midnight meeting with Bill, you found yourself restless again, unable to sleep.

George shifted slightly as you moved out of his bed, turning to cuddle with your now abandoned pillow as you slipped out of his grasp.

You decided to go for a quick midnight broom ride, hoping that the adrenaline rush and energy that you'd burn while flying would tire you out so you could finally fall asleep. A lot of the time you'd spent avoiding Bill turned into naps, which meant you were increasingly unable to fall asleep at night, disrupting your sleep schedule massively.

Cursing Bill under your breath, you creeped down the stairs, hoping that he wouldn't be down there again. You didn't want to have to deal with the eldest Weasley again.

Thanking your lucky stars, you landed on the final step, noting that the first floor was empty. Hoping that the door wouldn't creak when you opened it, you ran towards the small shed out back, grabbing a random broom from it and got ready to fly.

"Y/N?"

You were already mounted on the broom and ready to kick off as that dreaded baritone resounded from the door.

You should have known you weren't that lucky.

Yelling a quick "Nope!", you kicked off and flew out towards the countryside, only looking behind you to see Bill standing in his sleeping pants, hands gesturing out at you in exasperation.

"Now how's that for some good ol' avoidance?"

⚔︎

Though you'd initially planned on flying only for a little bit, seeing Bill at the door really put a damper on your plans, making you decide to fly to a nearby watering hole the Weasleys used to bring you to.

Illuminated by the moonlight, you descended upon the grassy area, smiling at the way the water rippled in the soft night breeze.

Tranquility was what the scene spelt.

In a moment motivated by something you'd come to dub as 'Weasley Whims', i.e the reason the twins had gotten the three of you in trouble constantly, you decided to strip down to your underwear to take a dip in the cool water, abandoning your clothes and wand on a mossy rock nearby.

Taking a running leap, you threw yourself into the water, feeling, for the first time in three days, free. A laugh rippled the waters as you broke through the surface, swimming back over to the edge, only for the laugh to be stolen away as you noticed a shadowed figure land next to your broom.

Bill Weasley was here to ruin your night, yet again.

You let out a strangled scream of frustration as the man alighted from his broom, feet and torso bared to the moonlight.

Clearly, he, like you, had not bothered to dress properly for the impromptu flight.

"Why are you following me."

Your question held no semblance of curiosity, only frustration as you demanded an answer from the man. His answer did not come, only moving towards the water to kneel in front of it, looking down at you.

"Why are you running away from me?"

Wisps of his ginger hair fell forward, covering bits of his handsome face as the rest was carelessly thrown up into a short ponytail, clearly done to prevent his hair from falling into his face during the flight, a precaution that you'd forgotten to take.

"I could ask you the same. Only, it must be a bit harder to hide from someone when they're already hiding from you in the first place, hmm?"

You turned away from the man, diving back down into the depths of the watering hole to kick yourself over to the other side, wanting to do nothing more than swim away from the ginger, or maybe, have him leave you alone and fly back to the burrow, alone.

But of course, fate never let you have your way.

You turned around only to see the man had sat himself down cross-legged, body illuminated by the moonlight as it highlighted the tattoos decorating his forearm, the several scars that littered his chest a sharp white juxtaposing his tanned skin.

"I never ran away from you."

Your head fell back as you tread the water lightly, looking up instead to admire the stars that embellished the night sky, recalling fondly the astronomy classes you'd taken in the past two years as you focused on constellation after constellation, intent on ignoring the man in front of you, hoping your disregard would drive him away.

"Y/N, I'm talking to you."

The words drew a monotone chuckle from you, your eyes snapping to meet Bill's.

"Well that's a first."

Bill moved to stand up, and your heart jumped for a moment. Maybe he would finally leave you alone.

But yet again, luck never did seem to favour Y/N Y/L/N.

Instead of moving further away as you'd thought he would, Bill moved closer, stepping into the shallow of the watering hole, the water soaking the bottom of his pants.

Your eyes darted at the ripple of his abs with every movement, swallowing as your eyes darted to look anywhere else you could. You were not about to find this man attractive.

You could see him coming towards you in your peripherals, and moved back to face him, his pecs the only part of his torso above the water.

"You haven't spoken to me for almost two years, and now you've just got so much to say to me, huh?

Bill looked down into the water, nibbling on his lip as he looked back into your eyes, almost sheepish as he tried to answer.

"I–"

"You know how much that hurt?"

You swam closer towards him, your feet finding ground as you stood next to him, your shoulders bared to the world as you were no longer submerged.

"You were like family to me for almost five years, and then one day. You just fucking stopped. Stopped talking to me. Stopped joking around with me. For a while, you didn't even look at me!"

Your hands came up out of the water, gesturing wildly as you basically screamed at the man, Bill flinching slightly as the water splashed into his face, looking back down at the water again.

Ashamed.

"D'you know how fucked up that was? I had no clue what happened, why one of the people I considered family, one of my favourite people in the world, just fucking despised me all of a sudden."

Bill looked up at you in surprise at your words.

"And you know the worst fucking part?"

Your voice suddenly fell to a hush, almost a whisper as a tear welled in your eye, prompting you to shut them as your head tilted down, urging your breath to slow down.

"The worst part, the worst part was that I thought it was my fault, that it was something I'd done to drive you away. I blamed myself for ages, didn't know what I said, didn't know why you hated me."

"Didn't know why you'd never like me back."

The last part was said in a true whisper, barely audible despite the silent night.

Yet Bill still heard it, and his breath hitched in his throat, eyes searching your face as a tear escaped you, rolling down your cheek.

Unable to restrain himself, Bill's hand darted forward out, cooled by the waters you two found yourself in, a blatant contrast to the warm tear as the pad of his thumb wiped it away.

You flinched away from Bill, feeling vulnerable for the first time that night, coming to the sudden realisation that you were clad only in your underwear, your unintended confession drawing heat to your cheeks as you moved away from the man.

"I, I was afraid."

Bill's own confession halted your movements, making you turn back around to look up at him, confused.

"I–, how do I say this. I was ashamed of myself."

It was now Bill's turn to feel vulnerable, his unease making him shift in the water, the water rippling around the two of you at his movements.

"That winter when you came back here, when you turned sixteen, I started seeing you as more than family. I– I found you attractive, and I felt disgusted with myself."

You huffed, disbelieving of the words you were hearing.

"I'm being serious Y/N. You just, grew up over those few months, and just came back different, somehow. I felt like a predator, I was twenty-three! You were still a kid, and I, I just didn't know what to do anymore."

"I wasn't a kid!"

"Of course you were! You were still in school, I'd been working for five years, I couldn't live with myself feeling like that. I didn't know what to do, so I just, distanced myself. Hoped that the feelings would go away eventually, then I'd just, go back to being normal."

Your eyes scanned the ginger's face, searching for a speck of a lie, a pinch of deception but only found uncertainty, attraction and lust dusting the man's face.

"But you never stopped..."

Your breath stopped for a moment as your eyes met.

"Are you being serious?"

His breath fanned your face as both of you instinctively moved closer towards each other, more of your body exposed to the world as you came further out of the water.

"As serious as I could be Y/N."

Your breath was taken away as Bill leaned in, ghosting his lips over yours, strands of ginger hair falling to tickle your face.

"Can I kiss you?"

A breathless whisper fell from Bill's lips, prompting you to nod in assent, the man falling to capture your lips before you even finished the move.

Sparks flew in that moment, the man's lips gliding over yours as he stole your breath away. You pulled apart after a second, before your lips fell back together again, insatiable in your desire to taste each other.

Bill's tongue teased you, mouth falling open for his teeth to graze at your lower lip, making you gasp such that your lips fell open in the same way, his hand moving to cup your jaw. Taking advantage of your momentary shock, the ginger slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of you as you moaned into his lips, pressing your chest against his.

The water waded around you as Bill's left hand moved down your body, fitting snugly under your ass as he muttered a soft 'jump', which you obliged.

Your legs wrapped around the man's hips, Bill walking the two of you onto the soft grass, muttering a charm against your lips before placing you down.

Instead of feeling prickly blades of grass on your skin, a soft blanket had appeared, making you smile, pulling away from the man.

"Quite the romantic, Mr Weasley. Know how to treat a girl right don't you?"

A deep chuckle sounded from the man who hovered above you on his hands and knees, biting his lower lip at the sight of you.

"Only the best for my girl."

Your heart leapt at Bill’s words; were you his now?

Not wanting to dwell on it, to overthink this moment of passion, you pulled his lips back down onto yours.

His girl.

⚔︎

The moon hung high in the night sky as both your hands explored each other, frantic, as if it was your last day on Earth and you only had here and now to envelop yourselves in each other.

The pure animalistic need that pulsed through the two of you allowed no time for foreplay, fingers hooking into the soaking fabrics that clung to both of you.

“Can I?”

Bill fingered the waistband of your underwear, thumb brushing your hip bone with motions feather light, wildly disparate from the way his lips devoured yours hungrily.

One act designed to ruin you, the other almost afraid he’d break you.

“Yes, I need you.”

You deigned to show him just how much by hooking your own fingers into his waistband, soaked pajama pants pulled away to reveal his boxers, clinging to his muscular frame.

Bill responded by undressing you with much of the same vigour, moving to pull your underwear down to your ankles, his pants in very much the same state, gazing down at your soaked private with lust clouding his vision.

“Next time,” he breathed out onto your glistening lips, “I’ll make you cum with just my tongue.”

Your breath hitched at his words, no, his promise, of a next time as Bill made his way back up your body, peppering kisses on your exposed skin, his hard-on grinding against your leg as he moved up.

The cursebreaker’s deft hands unhooked your bra expertly, sucking in a breath as your pert nipples were revealed to him.

“Beautiful.” He mumbled, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

Bill moved to unclothe himself fully, before you stopped his movements, his hands already pulling at the waistband around his hips.

“May, may I?”

He nodded as you sat up, eyes glazed as he studied your body, memorising the way your breasts glistened in the moonlight. He would make it his mission to mark them, to show anyone who came near you that you were no one’s, but his.

You hooked your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down to his thighs at an almost agonising pace as every part of Bill was unveiled to you, standing proudly in the light.

“Are you... a virgin?”

The man above you asked as it dawned upon him. He was really about to have the girl he’d been craving for.

“No, I’m not.”

His jaw clenched at your admission, the thought of someone else’s hands on you ticking him off, before pushing it away.

It didn’t matter. You were with him now.

He nodded, coming back down to kiss you as one hand braced him by your head, the other reaching down to pump himself slowly.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, eyes falling closed as you immerse yourself in him.

Bill’s knee nudged your thighs apart, moving himself so he was lined up against you, hand brushing his cock up and down your lips, causing both of you to shudder.

His head dipped into you, your tight heat causing him to hiss, pausing for a moment to savour the feeling before pushing himself in fully, stopping only once he’d bottomed out.

“Are y’okay?”

You bit your lower lip as Bill moved away from you to scan your face for discomfort or pain. His girth, while not quite painful was definitely bordering on pain, your walls stretching as he filled you entirely.

“Yes, just, one second.”

Your hands gripped his neck, lacing your fingers through the tresses of his hair as you adjusted around him. As the pain receded, you nodded, a silent signal for the man to move.

He carefully pulled out of you, then pushed back in slowly, hands landing by your head to brace himself, testing the waters whilst both of you moaned at the feeling.

“Faster.”

Bill obliged, moving to thrust in and out of you at increasing speeds with each movement. His hips snapped against yours at a speed that could only be described as vicious, eliciting sounds that defiled the tranquil nature you were surrounded by.

You were breathless as the man thrusted in and out of you, his movements only capable of drawing pants and whimpers from your mouth, the activity rendering you a simpleton who knew only two words - ‘Bill’ and ‘please’.

Your climax soon drew close, a coil tightening with his every sound and every move, your body notifying the man above you by the clench of your walls around him, the motion drawing him closer to his own orgasm.

“Are you close baby?”

A nod was all you managed as you threw your head back, Bill’s tip brushing against your g-spot edging you even closer to your precipice.

One of Bill’s hands moved down your body, landing on the bundle of nerves above where the two of you met, rubbing figure eights onto you, making you let out a gasp of surprise as the older man helped you move closer to your orgasm.

His movements didn’t falter as your moans grew louder, seeming instead encouraged by the promise of your climax, your moans growing loud and unabashed.

Each pant of his name made the man groan in return, moving both his fingers and his hips so ferociously that your breasts bounced with each thrust, your back sure to be red and chafed in the morning from the friction against the blanket.

But you didn’t care - the only thoughts you were capable of manifesting was how good it felt to have Bill inside you, how this was the one thing you’d ever needed to feel full, how he never stopped in his stimulation, the way his mouth felt on your nipples - sucking on the skin of your breasts, a reminder that would last of this fleeting night.

As Bill stimulated you with his cock, his fingers, his mouth, you couldn’t hold it in any longer - and you could tell Bill was reaching his breaking point as well - you let out a moan that would awaken the sleeping birds in the tree nearby, a scream of “Bill” that would leave the twins wondering why your voice was hoarse in the morning left you, legs trembling as you released around the man.

Yet he still never relented.

As you rode out your orgasm, your cunt throbbing, Bill never faltered in his actions, hips thrusting into you as he bit into your neck softly, intent on marking you for all to see as his cock twitched inside of you.

With a moan that you could only describe as sinful, yet angelic, a sound that would haunt your dreams and bless your nightmares, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, Bill came into you. Hot stripes of white liquid coating your walls while his thrusts slowed to a stop.

Getting up on trembling hands, Bill hovered above you, exiting you in a slow movement that had you whimpering at the sudden emptiness, your eyes still shut from your post-orgasmic bliss.

Lips pressed onto your forehead, as if Bill was savouring something he didn’t want to lose.

Something you didn’t want to lose either.

⚔︎

The flight back to the Burrow was silent, the two of you side by side as you flew through the wilderness of Ottery St. Catchpole.

When you landed, you looked out onto the nature around you, Bill landing almost immediately after you.

In the distance, you could see the sun readying to rise in the East, colours bleeding into the sky that had been pitch dark save for the spattered stars hours ago.

“Did you regret that?”

The man standing beside you asked after a moment of silence, not daring to meet your eyes as he appeared vulnerable, afraid, feigning an interest in the rising sun.

His muscular arm was what you were faced with as you turned towards him, his tall stature casting a shadow over you. You eyed the red marks you’d left on him, the little reminders scattered on his shoulders and back.

“No. Did you?”

The cursebreaker turned to face you, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched you, scanning your face for the umpteenth time that night.

“Of course not.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, drawing Bill’s gaze down towards them, a small smile telling you he was admiring the slowly darkening marks he’d left on you.

“Then why’d you assume I would’ve?”

He caught his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on it absentmindedly as he shrugged.

“I dunno. Just assumed you wouldn’t have wanted that with an older man or somethin’, I s’just worried, s’all.”

You inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh as you reached out towards the man, cupping a hand on either side of his chiseled jaw, making him look into your eyes.

“Bill, that was my decision to make. If I didn’t want to have sex with you, I wouldn’t’ve done it. It’s not your place to decide for me whether I wanted it.”

You leaned in to capture his lips in yours; this time deepening the kiss on your terms, slipping your tongue into his mouth and savouring his taste.

Cinnamon, with a hint of mint and tobacco.

You pulled away, tracing your lips to the sweet spot under his ear, sucking softly before turning to whisper in his ear.

“I wanted it, and I’ve wanted you for longer than you could have known.”

part two out now x

#mine #writing #request #bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley angst #bill weasley smut #bill weasley fluff #harry potter fluff #harry potter imagine #harry potter angst #harry potter smut #bill weasley imagine #hp angst #hp imagine #hp fluff #hp smut

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hollow-jack · 2 years

Text

well. I wrote more thing.

continuation of this

feat ingo being abducted by sneasler and emmet and hoshino finding an interesting coin...

The strange Pokémon carries Ingo across the mountain, long into an icy range. It's colder here than on the mountain, and it sends shivers through him. The state of disrepair his clothing is in doesn't help much. He can do nothing but wait and watch as he's brought to what he recognises must be some sort of campsite. Tents pitched up in pink and red fabrics surround a community space, and in the distance he can see steam rising off of what must be a hot spring.

"Lady Sneasler?" A confused very female, very human voice turns Ingo's attention to looking for its owner. It isn't hard to find her - she's standing right in front of them. She has a soft face and kind eyes. Ingo doesn't really notice it at first, though, as he's both more concerned with the fact that there are people living out here and that this "Sneasler" Pokémon had brought him to them.

"Who is this…?" The girl is looking him over now, and squeaks in alarm when Sneasler unceremoniously drops Ingo into the snow. He mutters an "oof" as the wind is knocked out of him, lays there for moment, then sits up, fixing his hat on his head.

He clears his throat. "Greetings, Miss!" He tries his best to sound polite. He speaks very loudly, so much so that the girl visibly flinches. "I seem to have fallen off-course and lost sight of my home station approximately thirty days ago upon a nearby mountain! I do not know where I am nor who I am, and this Sneasler Pokémon has brought me to your campsite. Could I humbly ask for your assistance?" Ingo salutes her as he finishes his summarised version of events.

"Dear Sinnoh, you're loud- Slow down, slow- Thirty days?" Her expression shifts from irritation, to worry, to awe in rapid succession. Ingo holds his salute until she makes a vague gesture that he interprets as a message to stop. He shifts his weight, fiddling with the strap of the makeshift basket on his shoulder.

"Yes. Give or take a few, as I could only keep track by the sun cycles."

The girl stands slackjawed for a moment. Besides maybe the Galactic Team's survey corps and some of the more skilled clansmen, nobody had ever spent more than a week alone in the wild and lived - let alone a month. She looks Ingo up and down. He's shivering in his boots from the cold, one hand on his basket's strap and the other pulling his tattered coat closer to himself on his thin frame. He looks gaunt, which only accentuates his somewhat intimidating eternal frown, but she would bet he hasn't been eating enough to readily beat her in a fight. No bandit would come this close to Pearl Clan's camp alone unless they didn't have a brain, and Lady Sneasler wouldn't have brought him here if he were a Zoroark…

She sighs. "We'll talk in my tent. Follow me."

Ingo nods with enthusiasm. The girl can see his eyes brighten a little. She leads him to her tent in an oddly tense silence, but she isn't afraid. She can hear Sneasler's footfalls behind them. It's always a curio when Sneasler is involved with a human - the Lady was just fickle and odd like that, she always has been.

The girl sits down on a mat in her tent, and Ingo sits across from her, removing his basket and making himself a little more comfortable. He sits with his back straightened and his hands folded neatly in his lap as though he were attempting to appear more proper. He's a little tense, the girl can tell, and she wonders briefly if he's nervous. Sneasler settles outside, but her silhouette shades the side of the tent, visible against the sun.

"You said you cannot remember who you are. Can you tell me your name?" The girl begins, watching Ingo carefully. As the leader of the Pearl Clan, it is her duty to ensure he isn't a threat to them, however harmless and somewhat goofy he may seem.

He nods. "My name is Ingo. I know that I am not from this station, and that I do not recognise where "this station" is."

Ingo fiddles with his coat, shifting, trying to make himself a little warmer. The girl notes that he really does seem completely clueless, and the confidence and honesty with which he speaks certainly doesn't make him seem any more threatening. Sneasler is good at spotting actors. If he is faking, he's doing a damn good job of it.

"I see… I am Irida, the leader of the Pearl Clan. You said you have been living on Mount Coronet for thirty days?"

Ingo nods again. He's trying his best to be as respectful as he can, very much not wanting to possibly anger what could very well be his only lifeline out here. Besides, it's simply polite to be respectful. "I woke up alone and made use of the caves to evade the Pokémon in the surrounding area," he explains simply, "and I foraged and hunted."

"Wait a moment - the caves?" To Irida, he sounds quite possibly insane. Living alone? Navigating Wayward Cave back and forth over the course of a month, without any Pokémon partners, and coming out unscathed?

"Hm? Yes, the caves - those winding tunnels. Pokémon get quite lost in them, you see, so it is only a matter of evading them."

Irida simply looks baffled. Nobody willingly goes to Wayward Cave. Simply nobody! There are easier spots to mine for ore and forage for food and find water. And yet, this mysterious stranger who speaks in such an odd manner had been living in them for the past month without any of them knowing. He must know Pokémon very well, too - for how else would he be so skilled at staying away from fights? She hums, thinking to herself. She didn't trust him, but if he's truly as honest and straightforward as he seems, perhaps there's an ally in him yet.

"Do you know how to battle?"

"Battle? Why, yes, I am quite knowledgeable of Pokémon battles." He speaks easily, but his expression turns to a sadder one as he realises that he doesn't know why he knows that. "Yet strangely, I cannot seem to recall why."

'Oh yeah, he's a strange one,' Irida thinks. "I wish to test you, then." She stands up and crosses over to a drawer, from which she retrieves a bag of about ten or so Pokéballs. "The Galactic Team of Jubilife Village to the south has recently invented these… Pokémon capturing devices. I want you to use them, catch a Pokémon, and battle my Glaceon."

Ingo watches Irida. A fervent excitement sparks somewhere in the depths of his eyes as he stands and takes the bag from her. "I understand. I will complete this task with utmost haste! All aboard!" He salutes her and turns on his heel, making his way out of the tent before she has the chance to say anything else. 'Yes, certainly an odd one…'

-----

Once again left with nowhere to turn, Emmet and Hoshino investigate the subway tunnels again. Armed with Chandelure's glow and Hoshino's partner's nocturnal eyes, they hope to find something that they may have overlooked the first twenty-five times they looked. They're heading back to the site of Ingo's disappearance when Chandelure begins hissing in a low tone.

"He gets like this every time we come back," Emmet mutters, looking to his brother's partner. He's frowning a little, worried. "I've never heard him so angry."

Hoshino turns to look at the chandelier Pokémon as well. He can tell that Chandelure is bothered, trembling ever-so-slightly as it floats alongside them. He wonders what Chandelure would say to them if he could speak. Did he see what took Ingo? What did Ingo say back then? Vaguely, Hoshino recalls the strange Team Plasma man he'd met on his journey a year ago. He wishes he knew where he is now. Maybe that man would be able to tell what Chandelure is saying.

They stop in front of the familiar security camera and begin scouring the tunnel again. Their flashlights wave to and fro as they meticulously check everywhere they can possibly think of. Their Pokémon are searching with just as much fervor.

After what seems like centuries, Emmet emits a triumphant cry. Hoshino turns to see his beaming face next to a strange, partially-rusted coin, held gently in his fingertips. It doesn't look familiar to either of them, but it's something new. It could be a lead.

"I wonder what region its from." Hoshino muses; he's always had an interest in history, but he was definitely more invested in mechanical contraptions than relics or coins. "It's hard to see through the rust…"

"Lenora could restore it!" Emmet insists, all but shoving the coin in Hoshino's face. The champion takes a step back anyway.

"She could," he agrees, "which means we should go to Nacrene City right now, like right now." He's already moving as he says it, and Emmet is on the same train of thought. Pretty soon, they're sprinting down the tracks. Emmet is dialing Elesa on his cellphone and Hoshino returns his partner to its Pokéball.

"Elesa, Elesa," Emmet can barely speak as he runs, "meet us at the Nacrene Gym, right now, right now!"

He hangs up before Elesa gets the chance to say anything. The pair is out of the subway tunnels in a matter of minutes and before long, Emmet's Archeops and Hoshino's Sigilyph drop them off in front of Nacrene Gym.

Elesa is already inside, chatting with Lenora. Their idea of a "chat" is Elesa warning her colleague that Emmet and Hoshino are on their way, which is a fair warning, as the front door of the museum bursts open mere seconds after the words leave Elesa's tongue.

Emmet is scrambling across the museum in a matter of milliseconds, cradling the coin like a lifeline. "Lenora! Lenora!" He chants, presenting it to her. She's taken aback by his pushiness, but she knows Emmet well enough through Elesa to adjust quickly - and besides that, the coin in his hands piques her interest. She takes the coin carefully between her fingers, looking it over. The rust is thick and it's certainly a very old coin - she's already very sure it predates modern Pokédollars - but she reckons she'll find the year embedded on it when she chips through the rust. Both Emmet's and Hoshino's eyes are glittery as they watch her examine it.

"Alright, alright, boys. I get it." She tucks the coin into her breast pocket. "I'll look at it and get back to you. Y'all are like kids, gettin' excited over a little coin…"

Neither speaks up to tell her the truth, and Elesa waves goodbye as the two girls head deeper into the museum, likely so that Lenora can examine the coin in more detail. Emmet and Hoshino share a glance. Whatever this coin is, it's something that can lead them to Ingo - that's enough reason for them to be so thrilled. Both of them wear nervous, yet excited expressions.

A possible step in the right direction. They would find Ingo, no matter what.

#warden ingo #ingo #emmet #writing #submas #Irida #Oc #hoshino #Pokemon #Pla

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adelior · 3 years

Text

Name: Unconditionally

Author: R. Adelio

Genre: Romance, Minecraft, Comedy, Fluff

Main Lead: Technoblade, Dreamwastaken

Female Lead: Reader

Chapter: 1

Special Addition: Tchnomaid

Letters: 10,718

<- ->

"I'm bored" You mumbled into your palm as you kept your gaze on the papers that were set up in front of you. "It's your fault for trespassing their area, [Name]. You should know by now how strict Dream is with the boundaries of the countries." Wilbur interpreted, his brows furrowing by the second. "They could have killed you."

"I'm sorry, I was just curious" Hearing you apologize, he softened up and groaned. Wil patted your shoulder with a somewhat forced smile before leaving the room. "Make sure to finish brewing the potions by the end of the day. For now," He looked back, nodding his head. "I'll see you around, [Name]."

"You too, Wil" Sighing, you turned to look at the blonde-haired boy who stood awkwardly in the corner. "Well uh, that went well at least!" Slamming your first, you startled Tommy as he shrieked. "I got in trouble in YOUR PLACE-"

"Yeahhhh, about that, I'm sorry!" Tommy shook you by the shoulders, a grin spreading across his face. "I'll make it up to you okay? I'll set you up on a date with Wilbur if it makes you feel any better" Your cheeks darkened, giving the kid a pathetic slap as you covered the bottom half of your face.

"It's really nothing like that. I don't.. like him.." The last part of your sentence was muttered, and as usual, the boy who knew of your feelings let out a hollering laugh. "I knew it! Who would have fucking thought that you'd fall for Wil! Out of all people!"

"LOOK-" You turned to face him, your face getting hotter and hotter the more you thought about it. "I have my reasons okay! He's a good guy, and on top of that, he's an amazing friend"

"An amazing friend you say? He's also one hell of a fucking leader that's for sure. But enough about your crush let's go out and play with Tubbo!" Dismissing him with a single wave, you gave your best sympathetic smile. "Sorry Tommy, but I have to finish brewing these potions by the end of the day. I can't afford to be disciplined by Wil again"

"Hm, whatever, fine" The boy shrugged, leaving you alone. "THIS ISN'T THE END WOMAN! You will join me and Tubbo on our conquest sooner or later!" You chuckled, smiling at his childish behavior. "Yeah, yeah, now go on and have fun"

You can hear him shout out loud, laughing as he tackled what you perceive to be Tubbo. "I never wanna leave" The sentence that slipped out of your mouth caught you off guard. Despite being an outsider to their nation, they treated you with respect and saw you as a member of their group.

Sitting back down, you continued to flip through the pages of the book. Studying the recipes and applying the specific ingredients to each bottle. "Oh shit, I ran out of spider eyes" Cursing, you stood up to walk towards the door, looking out into the hallway. "Niki!" You shouted from your office, capturing the woman's attention. "Yes, [Name]?"

"Do you know if we have any spider eyes left in the chest room? Or have we completely run out of it" She pondered for a second, answering once she finished checking her inventory. "I don't think we have any more spider eyes. I'm also not carrying any with me sadly"

"Oh, that's alright. I can just outside and kill some spiders myself" Pushing yourself forward to one of your chests, you opened it and took some resources. A bow, 10 arrows, and full iron armor apart from your golden shoes. "[Name], you don't need to go out and kill some on your own. It's dangerous at night"

"Exactly, which is why I plan to go to the Piglin market to trade some gold for a few stacks of spider eyes" Niki shook her head in denial, refusing to let you pass by. "That's even more dangerous! We're humans, we can't go inside there unless we have the King's permission. And usually, we'd have knightly escorts to go around with us"

"True, but I can slip in and slip out without being noticed" You shrugged on your hood, a robe that covered your full body apart from your face. "I can hide with this, besides if they aren't able to tell that I'm human they'll never be able to report it to the king"

"Al..right.." The short-haired girl had a troubled expression on her face, but nevertheless, let you pass. "Good luck! Please come home safely" You turned to give her a single nod, a reassuring smile that was enough to calm her down. "I promise, so don't worry about me okay?"

And so you left, walking to the basement of your home where the Nether Portal stood tall. You gulped at the mere sight of it, how mysterious yet alluring. The purple particles only making it look majestic. "beautiful.." You muttered as you slowly entered, the change of temperature really hit you hard. It was hot, humid compared to how it felt in the overworld. "Goddamn how do piglins live like this"

"Shocking, right?" A male voice erupted from the silence, causing you to stiffen. "I'm assuming you're not used to traveling to the Nether." You slowly turned around, only to be met with a man with dirty blonde hair. "Pardon?" You tilted your head, staring at his smiling mask. "Nothing, would you like me to escort you and keep you safe?"

"And what makes you think I'd trust a stranger" You questioned, earning a chuckle from the man. "You're not as dumb as you look. But don't worry you're not my type, I won't do anything."

"WH-" His hand went over your mouth in a flash, he moves fast for a person with netherite armor, and on top of that a black robe. "Keep your voice down, first rule when entering the Nether World is to never bring unnecessary attention to yourself."

"Got it" Your voice was muffled from his large hand, he stepped back before leading the way, making sure that you were tailing right behind him. "The second rule, make sure to always be with somebody. Never travel alone or you'll die in an instant without somebody keeping you safe."

"Safe? Is the Nether really dangerous for you to say that?" Observing his reaction, you realized how sharp his jawline was. You can't peak through the mask but his mouth was fully exposed. "Yes, I take it you've never looked into this dimension?"

"Well, to be fair I've only heard of the Nether. This is my first time actually setting foot into the portal" The man's mouth pulled back into a dumbfounded snarl, almost as if he was silently judging you for your actions. "Weird." Was all he said before nudging you forward. "We're here, keep your guard up. What are you here for exactly?"

"I'm here to trade gold for a few stacks of spider eyes" He sighed, pulling your hood closer to your face. "You do realize you could have killed a few spiders in the overworld without having to come here."

"Uh, not really the best in combat you see" You admitted, darting your attention to the passing piglings who stood at least 5 feet taller than the man leading the way. Their species were large and brute compared to humans, they were cool but dangerous to interact with. "What the hell were you thinking when you decided to come here without somebody to guide you."

"I honestly have no clue" You stared at the man with a blank face, earning a disappointed grunt from him. "Well, turn around Princess because we just arrived at the Mob looting store. Stay out here, I'll get the eyes for you."

"Wait a second- I feel bad you're the one who led me here and protected me-" The man that accompanied you patted your head with one of the most genuine smiles you've ever seen. Despite him being awfully mysterious, he has shown nothing but kindness all throughout your journey. "Don't worry about it. Just stay here and don't run off anywhere. It's even more dangerous inside because piglins tend to fight over items."

Fidgeting with your hands, you finally agreed. The blonde took that as an agreement and stepped into the store. You were left to stay outside, leaning against the wall that was nearest to the door. A few seconds passed, and yet you were still outside waiting. You were beginning to think that the man who you walked with abandoned you.

"Ex..c.." A piglin with long pink hair muttered, his hand reaching for you. "Excu.." You stepped aside, worried that the mob was here to harm you. The more you stared at him the more you realized he was one of them, but one that looked more human. "Is there something you need?" You questioned the man, earning a nod. "What is it?"

"Do you.. Do-" Before he was able to finish his sentence, your eyes widened in realization. You swung your right hand to open your inventory, taking out a gold bar to hand over to him. 'I heard piglins liked gold, maybe he'll leave me alone if I gave him one' Was what you thought as you urged the hybrid to take it.

He looked at you back and forth, debating whether or not he should accept it. "Take it, it's alright I have plenty of where that came from" The man in front of you hesitantly took the gold into his hands, his eyes widening when he realized how shiny and well kept the item was.

"You..-"

"Hey." The man who accompanied you shouted once he exited the shop, pulling out his netherite sword. "Back off."

"Hey wait! He didn't do anything wrong, leave him be" You pushed the blonde male back slightly, apologizing to the other person with a forced smile. "Let's just head back before we get caught!" Turning around, you tangled your fingers with his and ran away, waving the piglin goodbye.

"What are you doing." He asked, narrowing his eyes from under the mask. "You said to keep attention away from us so I am-"

"I wasn't even that loud." You turned to glare at him. "It got a lot of people's attention" The man laughed, swooping you into his arms, and began to speed up his pace. "You're a good listener." He complimented, a smile fighting to break through his irritated expression.

It took time for the two of you to finally reach the same Nether portal from before. The blonde slowly lowered you onto your feet, handing the bag of spider eyes into your chest. "Here, it's heavy so make sure to hold it with both hands."

"Thank you.." You muttered, gladly taking the bag with a smile. "Say, um.. I never caught your name?" Before the man was able to walk away, he turned to look at you one last time before telling you his name. "Clay, the name's clay."

"Clay?"

"I'll see you around." With that, he pushed you into the portal. You fell onto your back once you were transported over to the overworld, lying there with staggering breaths. "I never got to tell him my name though" But once you sat up, the Nether Portal's liquid-like wall disappeared. The particles were being sucked into the middle, and the doorway to hell was disappearing.

"What the..-"

"[NAME!]" You hear your name being called out by what sounds to be Wilbur. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see the whole group running towards you with a worrying expression. "You're back!"

<- ->

ec: @quacobs (instagram)

#mcyt x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #technoblade x reader

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costellos · 3 years

Text

❥ ┋ ❝ gojo, itadori, yuta, mai, & the things that make them flustered!

anonymous said: For the Valentine's event may I have blush with Yuuji, Gojo, Yuuta and Mai please? Thank you!

a/n: THIS IS SUCH A POWERFUL LINE UP... omg. thank you, nonnie. there isn’t enough love for Yuta or Mai, so I hope you have as much fun reading this piece as I did writing it! enjooooy.

tw: none.

ask game: 💌 15 valentine’s day questions (closed!)

disclaimer: I’m anime-only outside of the prequel, so apologies if my character interpretations aren’t accurate.

gojo satoru.

Gojo gets flustered when you lean your head against his chest.

teaching isn’t the profession he thought he’d find himself in. after all, he’s the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer of his generation. his fame is akin to a rock star’s in this profession. he could be anything he wanted to be. and yet, here he is, at his alma mater mentoring a bunch of teenagers.

it’s not like he minds. he chose this career path. improving the jujutsu world starts with the next generation. and besides, while his students might be a crowd of snot-nosed kids, he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t like being relied on.

and that doesn’t just go for the students — that goes for you, too. he tries to make himself available to the kids and you. he’s not just a mentor, he’s someone you can always come to at the end of the day. he’s the person you know will be there for you, arms open, dumb joke on the backburner.

when you come back home after a grueling mission, breathless and sore, he knows not to say anything. he expects you to clean up and go to bed. instead, you wordlessly approach him and place your head on his chest. no grand gesture. no crocodile tears. just silence and your head on him. and Gojo’s heart explodes. it takes him a moment to process it. normally you push your feelings aside during missions like these. but you’re finally opening up to him, relying on him in the smallest way. it’s not much, but it’s enough to make Gojo swallow hard. ↳ “hey... what’s going on? everything okay?”

itadori yuji.

Itadori gets flustered when you blow hot air into his hands.

it’s been unbearably cold lately. maybe it’s because it’s the middle of February or maybe it’s because it’s his first winter in Tokyo, but nothing could’ve prepared Itadori for how quickly his fingers freeze. he gave up on trying to wear gloves. nothing could properly protect his hands.

his chattering teeth combined with the bitingly cold air at this bus stop are evidence enough that he’s freezing. so you tell him to give you his hands. he’s confused, for sure, but he relents. he trusts you enough to know you wouldn’t do anything weird. besides, you probably just want to hold them.

but because your gloves are wet from the snow around you, Itadori lets out a soft hiss. it makes his skin feel even number than before, if that was even possible. you say a hurried apology and shield his hands as best as you can, cupping them in your own. before Itadori can ask what this is about, you take a deep inhale, and... what. oh? you huff hot air into his palms. is... is this your attempt at keeping him warm?

Itadori blinks. then he blinks two more times. your huffs don’t do anything to help bring warmth to his skin, but. your attempt has his heart pounding a million beats a minute. that alone is enough to bring feeling back to his fingertips. it’s such a sweet and dumb and you way of trying to take care of him. and while your breaths don’t help his hands, his face suddenly feels much warmer. ↳ “[N-Name]! ahaha...! s-stop that tickles!! no, wait, I didn’t mean to literally stop—”

okkotsu yuta.

Yuta gets flustered when you hold his hand.

to be honest, most things you do for Yuta make him flustered. he would turn away, blush on his cheeks, anytime you’d so much as look at him. and when you approached him directly, he could never seem to make direct eye contact with you. he still finds his face warm whenever you give him the time of day, even after a month of dating.

can you blame him? he finds everything about you so wonderful. you’re so patient with him. you guide him through proper form and new cursed techniques. you aren’t just his partner, but a trusted companion whom he would do anything for.

he doesn’t know why you asked him out. there are so many more capable people across the city you could be with. hell, Inumaki is handsome enough. but... that’s a thought Yuta tries to keep out of his head. you’re with him and that’s what matters. for all that he is, he’s yours and he’s happy with that.

even still, he gets this big lump in his throat every time you lace your fingers with his. a wave of anxiety floods his system — can you feel how clammy his palms are? — and he wonders if this is another thing he could fuck up. but then you rub your thumb along his hand and the tide passes over. his shoulders relax. he’s smiling. and if he looks over at you, he can see that you’re smiling, too. ↳ “I... really enjoy our time together, [Name]... ah, was that too cheesy?”

zenin mai.

Mai gets flustered when you fix her lip gloss.

like Yuta, most things you do for Mai make her flustered. she would never admit it, though. she’s far too proud to say that your compliments still giver her butterflies. well. at least say verbally. physically, she turns away and tells you to knock it off, her hand over her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her grin.

the thing is, though: Mai hides her smile a lot around you. it’s not that she’s particularly self-conscious about it. it’s just that when you have the weight of your family’s reputation laying on your shoulders, you grow accustomed to the persona you take on. hence, she presents herself as more intimidating than she means to, even around you.

it’s not that she wants to. hell, she wishes she could show more of her true self around you. she despises the person she’s grown into. she doesn’t know what you find so lovable about who she is. yet you’re still here, and... that says enough for her. so she’ll try to be more honest with you.

that opportunity presents itself while on a date. she’d just returned from the bathroom to fix her makeup when your eyes widen. before she can ask what the look’s for, you take your thumb and swipe the bottom of her lip, fixing a rogue droplet of lip gloss. on instinct, her hand rises up to cover her sheepish grin, but she catches herself. she lets you see her face. and while it’s all sorts of pink, it’s still very much Zenin Mai, the girl you fell in love with. ↳ “th... thanks... it, um... would’ve been embarrassing if anyone’d seen that...”

like this piece? here are similar works! 🌑🌒🌓

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #itadori yuji #itadori yuji x reader #okkotsu yuta #okkotsu yuta x reader #zenin mai #zenin mai x reader #headcanons #long post

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

Rayleigh x fem! Reader

Anon: Ciao Sniggy, I'm back with another request hehe

It's for our Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh...(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ and virgin!female reader. They are both members of Rogers crew and maybe you could imply age gap? If you want you can make it kinky! The reader is still 25+!! They were kinda dating, but still nothing official but a lot of flirting for a few weeks now and it is readers first time. If you don't want that, it's totally fine! Maybe you could write their first time together instead?

Thanks a lot!!

Hey Anon. Well I'm sorry to say that this is going to be a two part story as well. There have just been too many ideas floating around my head sooo...yeah. Spicy part will follow in part two but I hope you enjoy part one as well! I don't have a title for this one yet but it will follow! (Maybe)

Also, Rayleigh and reader are not dating (yet?). Maybe in part two ✌🏼️

Warning: none

Pairing: Silvers Rayleigh x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

„Hey, Y/n-san. Could you pass me the beer?” Rayleigh asked, his hand brushing against your arm, eliciting an electric jolt on the spot he touched. “Sure.” you mumbled, your face heating up ever so slightly. You didn’t show it but you were quite nervous around Roger’s first mate. It hasn’t been long since you joined the crew but from the beginning you’ve felt this special attraction towards him that made your knees go weak whenever he even looked your way.

You grabbed the bottle and put it down in front of him, smiling at the older male as lightheartedly as you could manage. “Thanks, dear.” He replied, grabbing the bottle with his hand and taking a big gulp. Out of the corners of your eyes you watched how his bicep flexed while he was bending his arm, thinking it was extremely hot.

Rayleigh noticed you staring but didn’t say anything, just grinning to himself ever so slightly, while he focused his attention back on your captain who was telling a story. There was loud laughter surrounding you and it made you feel right at home. It also helped that you weren’t the only woman on board; Toki was sitting next to Oden, holding his arm and giggling from time to time. The kids were already in bed so they could enjoy this get-together with the rest of the crew.

While time passed, everyone including you got more and more drunk, the alcohol slowly but surely getting to your head and you felt dizzy, a lazy smile constantly on your face while you listened to the stories or sang pirate songs together with the rest. At one point, Rayleigh had his arm around your shoulder, swaying from left to right to left to right to left to right, the other hand holding his beer. You held up your beverage as well, swaying together with him, one hand resting on his thigh for support.

“And once more, you bastards!” Roger yelled, striking up Bink’s Sake for the umpteenth time but nobody minded, joining in in this song; it couldn’t even be called singing anymore since it was simply a roaring of drunk people who couldn’t carry a tune for their lives. But it was amazing. Ever since you’ve joined the crew you could say without a doubt that this night was the most fun you’ve had in a really long time.

You felt how Rayleigh’s had which was on your shoulder slowly wandered down your arm and instead found its place on your waist. Now, you were painfully aware of the touch and you stiffened a little, your face heating up in embarrassment. You felt how your insides started to tingle in an exciting way, making you feel things you haven’t felt before. You removed your hand from his thigh, starting to fidget with your fingers unconsciously. The man, on the other hand, interpreted your sudden tension differently and let go of your waist immediately.

“I’m sorry, Y/n-san.” He said, his tone sounding surprisingly sober. “N-no, it’s okay. I was just-“ but you pressed your lips together, realizing how this must’ve sounded. Rayleigh’s deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, a big grin coming back on his features. “No worries. I know I overstepped my boundaries. It was inappropriate.” Your face heated up again, your mind screaming at you to tell him it was okay but at the same time not wanting to seem desperate. Why was he even sober such a gentleman?

“Hey, Rayleigh! Don’t make this little thing all flustered! She’s way too young for you anyway!” Gaban yelled from the other side of the table, raising his mug towards his friend. The other men laughed at his words, raising their mugs to join Gaban. “But it doesn’t seem like Y/n is minding too much, right Y/n?!” Oden laughed, your face heating up even more. “Shut up, Oden!” you scolded him, taking a deep sip of your beer.

“See? She doesn’t mind!” the laughter only grew louder and you wanted to sink into the floor, disappear from this scene. Rayleigh noticed your discomfort and shook his head. “Hey, guys, calm down. Let’s not make this even more uncomfortable for her.” He said, the grin still on his lips. The crew quieted down a little and dropped the topic completely. Just the occasional glance your way indicated that not everyone had completely forgotten about it.

This get-together was a three days ago and by now the whole situation has gone back to normal again. Nobody was even looking at you in a funny way whenever you were close to him, shrugging the teasing from a couple of days ago off like it was nothing. You and Rayleigh were just friends and as far as they knew there wasn’t anything going on between the two of you. You were glad about this since you didn’t want anyone to know about you maybe or maybe not having a crush on the older male. You just couldn’t help it.

But ever since this day you two have become a little closer, talking to each other on a more intimate level. He was curious about your home, what had made you decide to set out to sea and to eventually join the Roger pirates. Your answer surprised him and it felt like he had even more respect for you than before. He had such a calming way of talking, making you feel at ease whenever he opened his mouth. Maybe it was his age and his experience, maybe it wasn’t but you felt the effect it had on you; your body wanted to get even closer to him and also your mind told you to open up to him more and to get to know him better.

Rayleigh also enjoyed the time you two spent together; he was just a little concerned with the way you looked at him. Normally, he didn’t have a problem interacting with a woman, especially younger women. But there was this barrier for him when it came to crew members. It was bound to create problems that could’ve been avoided in the first place. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts wandering off to different things whenever he looked at you from afar.

He wanted to see you as something like his little sister, hell!, even as his daughter if it helped stop his thoughts but he couldn’t. There was just the way your hips swayed when you walked, the way you showed your cleavage or ass whenever you bent down, the way your eyes looked at him with this curiosity that had him drawn to you. And he knew you were drawn to him as well. He was a very observant man but even if he wasn’t it was quite obvious. In his opinion, you were terrible at hiding your interest in him.

That was the main reason why he flirted with you; not plain out making you compliments but rather subtle. Occasionally, he brushed your skin with his hand when reaching for something, just like the other night. In response, you would swat his hand away with a cheeky smile, playfully scolding him. He liked how you got more and more comfortable around him, being more playful and more open in general. It confirmed his assumptions.

“Y/n, have you seen Rayleigh?” you heard the voice of your captain from behind you, his deep base making you jump a little. Your head turned around to look at the man, a somewhat lost expression on your face. “No, I haven’t. Why? Maybe he’s somewhere inside.” You suggested, looking around, your eyes trying to find said mam but not being successful.

“Hm, might be…Could you go check? I have something important to discuss with him.” He asked. Of course, you obliged, feeling a little bit worried due to the serious tone resonating in his voice. You went inside to the common area, the kitchen, the bedrooms – nothing. So, the only place left was the shower.

You stood in front of the wooden door, hearing the faint sound of running water. You were sure it was him but just to ascertain yourself you knocked slightly on the door, waiting for the person inside to answer. After a short wait you heard the familiar sound of Rayleigh’s voice from inside.

“Occupied!” he called. Well, you found him. “Rayleigh?! Roger wants to see you! He sounded quite serious!” You informed him through the door. There was another short pause before the man answered. “Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes!”

You went back to the captain who was waiting inside his personal room, sitting at a table, a small booklet in front of him. “He said he’ll be here in a few.” You informed him, already turning around to leave the room.

When you were about to leave the room you bumped into something hard – a person. “Be careful there, Y/n.” Rayleigh chuckled, his still wet hair slightly clinging to his face, small drops of water running down his bare chest. You gulped at the sight, biting your lips. The smell of the soap flooded your senses, mixed with his personal scent.

“Sorry.” You pressed out, pushing past him rather quickly. Rayleigh watched you leave with a slightly confused expression on his face but left it at this.

“You seemed to be in a hurry back then. Everything alright?” you heard his voice before you saw him. “I just forgot that I had to go help Toki with the kids.” You lied, not looking up from your journal, scribbling down the last words. Rayleigh chuckled, sitting down on the bed next to you, leaning against the wall behind him. “Help Toki with the kids, huh? Funny, cause I could swear Oden was playing with them when I went to see Roger…” a smug smile was on his lips, watching how your face heated up due to being caught lying.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me. We’re anchoring soon. Are you planning on leaving the ship?” he changed topics, much to your relief. “I don’t know yet but probably. How about you?” you peered over to where he was sitting, closing your journal and storing it away in a drawer. There was no key but nobody would dare touch someone else’s personal stuff. Not that you wrote anything spicy inside your journal but it was reassuring to know nobody would read it.

“I want to buy some fruit. Would you like to join me?” he asked, folding his arms behind his head, watching you with attentive eyes. His invitation caught you off guard and you needed to be careful not to choke on your own spit. Your shocked expression gave off the wrong impression because Rayleigh laughed out loud, making his whole body shake.

“A simple no would’ve been enough!” he shook his head in slight disbelief, already leaning forward in an attempt to get up from the bed. “No! I was just caught off guard! I’d love to go out with you!” you yelled in a panic, feeling bad for giving him the wrong idea.

Rayleigh’s eyes changed from amused to almost predatory, the grin on his face turning dangerously sexy.

“Oh, you want to go out with me?” he asked, resting his arms on his thighs, his eyes noticing every slight move you made. When confusion turned into realization, you wanted nothing more than to just run out of this room and hide. God, why did you say that?!

“T-that’s not what I meant!” you defended yourself, holding your hands up in defense and apology. “So? What did you mean?” he insisted, the grin never leaving his lips.

“I…I don’t know. It just…slipped out.” You averted your eyes, feeling embarrassed at your sudden lack of self-confidence. “So, you meant it.” The man concluded, his hand reaching up to your chin and turning your face to look at him. “Wow, your face is burning…are you sick?” his voice was quiet, his touch feeling almost too hot on your skin and his intense stare made you squirm in your seat.

The air around you suddenly felt heavy, his presence alone made it difficult to breath. His thumb made slow and gentle circles on your skin, brushing your bottom lip from time to time, your skin tingling and the sensation only getting stronger.

Rayleigh knew he shouldn’t be doing this; he shouldn’t be touching you like this. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t see you like this. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it with his warm palm. “Y/n.” said in his low voice, watching how you looked at him like a deer in headlight, seemingly too afraid or too shocked to look away. Were you scared? Was he moving too fast?

“Are you okay? You know I’m just teasing you, right?” he asked, slowly pulling his hand away. He was surprised when you took his hand into yours, holding it in place. You breath was unsteady, your hand slightly shaking. He smiled at you, gently pulling your face closer and closer, until your noses were almost touching.

The heat radiated from his body and it felt like he was burning you. You let him pull your closer, feeling his other hand come up and rest on your thigh before his lips sealed yours. You closed your eyes at this warm feeling, his firm lips only resting against yours before they started to move, capturing your bottom lip between his, slightly sucking on it before letting go. He opened his eyes, looking at you with a certain gleam in them that had you drawn to him even more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

#one piece #op #silvers rayleigh #op imagine #silvers rayleigh imagine #rayleigh x reader #female reader #a little fluff #older man x younger woman #everyone's an adult #roger pirates #op x reader #op x you #Rayleigh x you #x reader #x you

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