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adrift-in-thyme · 8 months

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Febuwhump Day 7: Suffering in Silence

Ao3

CW for PTSD, referenced injury, and unresolved interpersonal conflict

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He needs sleep.

Warriors stares into the water-speckled restroom mirror and sees nothing. Blurred shapes are all that are there, forms and colors he knows make up his visage. But his sandpaper eyes have turned them all indistinct.

He is borderless now, as shifting and immaterial as he feels. Brush against him and he will simply float away.

Or sink into the depths that call him.

Taking a deep breath, he scoops a palmful of water onto his face. Its icy frigidity does little to awaken him. He is too far gone for that now.

Movement. Thought. They are nearly impossible. Have been all day.

Perhaps, that is why he had lost it earlier. Perhaps, that is why, the infallible, optimistic captain had simply…snapped.

His breath hitches unexpectedly. Trembling legs give way, depositing him on the tiled floor. Warriors brings his hands up and digs his palms into his eyes, fighting against the searing bite of oncoming tears.

Damn it. Keep it together, captain. You already fell apart once, don’t do it again…

His hands curl into fists. Fingernails dig mercilessly into calloused flesh.

Wild’s words still echo in his mind, a terrible weight he is almost certain he lacks the strength to shoulder.

Even a spirit of courage isn’t mighty enough for things like this.

Hurl him into hoards of squealing beasts. Send him hurtling through time and space. Drop him in the midst of situations he struggles to even comprehend. Take those he loves to a place he cannot go himself. Tear his body apart until there is nothing left.

He can handle all that. He was built to handle all of that.

But to strive so hard, so long only to hear that cursed shout…

“I hate you!”

The deathly chill that has gripped him since the fight (the one that had closed him off from the hero shouting in his face, that had turned his gaze dull, his expression stony, filled his mind with cotton so he could neither think nor feel…and had ignited Wild’s ire further) cracks and shatters into one million pieces. Pain cleaves through the exhausted numbness. A sob rips through his throat.

He’s heard worse. Far greater accusations, far worse insults have been spewed at him with fury and revulsion. Screamed at him as fists and feet connected with bone and muscle; shouted as blades ate away at flesh and cloth.

His own men had called him a traitor to Hyrule. The people he fought to protect had dubbed him a murderer.

It hadn’t hurt as badly as this.

Warriors lets his head fall back against the wall. Hot tears glide down his cheeks, streaming down his neck to skitter beneath his collar.

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He hadn’t meant to break. But the sleepless nights had only continued since Twilight’s brush with death. The tasks hadn’t stopped piling up. The troubles hadn’t stopped parading through.

(The memories had kept coming, hounding at his every step, haunting his dreams, stealing the breath from his lungs. Memories of death and loss. Of betrayal and heartbreak.)

The latest battle had just been too much. Especially, when Wild had disobeyed orders yet again, hoping to catch the Shadow before he could streak through another gateway.

Normally, Warriors would have held his tongue until he found the best wording for a rebuke. Normally, he would’ve dealt with the situation calmly, firmly…kindly.

But he had been so, so tired.

Even now, he longs to fall into the plush embrace of a heap of blankets. But sleep was impossible out there where he could feel their eyes on him, hear their murmured conversations. He couldn’t-couldn’t see their faces a moment longer.

Warriors hadn’t even allowed himself to dwell on their expressions. Sorrow, shock, judgement, pity — he had identified them all in the split seconds he’d had to look over his friends.

His brothers.

The lump in his throat burns. Warriors swallows against it.

He will have to come out soon, stone-faced and determined. He will have to face the repercussions of everything that has happened with a brave front.

He will have to force down the emotions churning within him, the hurt boiling up.

He has suffered in silence for a close to a week now. And it’s not as though he isn’t skilled at the art of constructing facades by now. At times, the mask feels realer than his true face.

So, really, what’s a little longer for the sake of tentative peace?

Though, what kind of peace can be struck when one person despises the other?

He chuckles, harsh and wet. The sound is hardly audible over the never-ending rush of the water that cascades from the faucet.

Shut it off, the soldier within him shouts. Resources must be preserved.

Warriors doesn’t budge from his place on the floor.

If he had obeyed his instincts, however, he might have heard the sound of a hand on the doorknob, a pick in the lock.

Wind shimmies into the bathroom with shocking stealth. At the sound of the door clicking closed, Warriors startles. Instantly, his hand flies to his boot, seeking the dagger nestled against his leg. But then, his gaze lands on the sailor, standing mere feet from him, expression screwed up in worry. And he lets his hand drop to the floor.

“Goddesses, sailor,” he breathes, “you almost gave me a heartattack. Trying to put me in an early grave?”

Wind slips down beside him, shoulder pressed to the captain’s.

“Sorry! I just…” He looks down at his hands, clasped atop his lap. “...I didn’t think you were actually taking a bath in here. That would’ve been a really long one if you were.”

Warriors chokes out a chuckle. “Wouldn’t be out of character for me though, would it?”

Wind shrugs. “People don’t go bathe after a fight. I know I never do when Aryll and me argue.”

The ceiling smears further into combined shades of emerald-blue. Warriors clears his throat. The suffocating tightness doesn’t lessen.

“‘M sorry you had to hear all that, sailor,” he croaks. “I shouldn't have snapped.”

Wind is quiet for a long thread of moments. When he speaks again, his voice is small. His words, however, are firm, confident.

“Wild didn’t mean what he said, you know.”

The ache in Warriors’ chest pierces deeper and spreads like a blot of ink on silken cloth.

Right when he thought this day couldn’t get any worse, now the sailor is trying to comfort him.

…as he mopes on the bathroom floor.

How far can you fall in one day?

Pretty far, it seems.

He shakes his head, hoping the sound of his hair brushing the wall behind him will cloak that of his shuddering breaths.

“Wind, you don’t have to — ”

Wind scoots closer and wraps his two arms around Warriors’ one.

“It’s true! Wild said some really bad stuff but…he was just angry at the Shadow. And…scared.” Large orbs the color of the Great Sea gaze into Warriors’. “Like you.”

The captain is quiet, allowing that a moment to sink in. Or, perhaps, to merely settle on the tower of wavering feelings stacked within him.

He’s so tired. (How many times has he thought that now?) If he closes his eyes, the weight hovering atop him will plummet, dragging him down with it.

More tracks of salty water scurry down his cheeks, bringing warmth to his chilled flesh.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him, you know,” the sailor continues, voice just audible over the continued downpour. “Wild can be an idiot sometimes, especially when he feels bad. He’s gonna wanna talk about what happened but…he probably thinks you hate him now.”

That hardly makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. But Warriors knows he’s got a point.

Some people reach outward when regret has them by the throat. Wild has already lashed out. Now, his only option is to go in.

And when that happens, even the rancher can hardly drag him out.

Good to know luck is on my side, snarks the spiral of self-pity.

Warriors drags in a breath and swallows a mouthful of tears.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he hums. He coaxes his arm out of Wind’s grasp and wraps it around his slight shoulders, pulling him close. “You’re a smart kid, you know that?”

Wind giggles, softly. “Yeah, I know.” He pauses. “And I know you and Wild are gonna be okay. You’re brothers! Siblings always make up, trust me!”

“You’ve got a lot of optimism, sailor,” Warriors whispers.

Silence glides in on the tail of his words. It settles, heavy and hyptonizing over the small space. Warriors allows it to reign for a while.

The days of stress and exhaustion have fully caught up to him now. Frazzled, devastated thoughts slow, bumping lazily against one another. He stares ahead of him and lets everything disappear behind a film of sorrow and fatigue.

“Hey, Wars?” Wind’s voice is a bit louder now, but hesitant. Gentle. “I love you.”

Warriors’ eyes slide closed of their own accord. He doesn’t bother to drag them open again.

“Love you too, sailor,” he murmurs and every word is laborious to utter. “Love you too.”

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 7 #referenced injury #ptsd #linked universe #linkeduniverse fic #lu warriors #lu wind #trin writes #angst #hurt/comfort #i had another fic planned for today originally #but then lu updated and i got the idea for this one instead #what can i say?#i never pass up an oppurtunity to angst wars >:)#he and wild will be ok though #they just need time to calm down

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dailyanarchistposts · 2 months

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Would industrial society not simply re-emerge?

Ishkah: I’m sceptical of Kaczynskis’ confidence that a new industrial revolution wouldn’t simply re-emerge, especially with people passing down memories and books of all the benefits to modern life.

My concerns are that firstly, the harm to the environment would be much worse than us simply transitioning to renewable energy and rewilding areas as we depopulate, as is the trend in advanced countries. Secondly, I would argue the probability that we will achieve a long-lasting, mostly peaceful, technologically advanced, left-anarchist society is far more valuable to me than returning to an either never ending series of warring feudal societies or feudal societies that repeats the industrial revolution and has another series of world wars for resources.

Primitive life is more appealing to me personally than feudalism in that I could be born into a fairly egalitarian tribe like the Penan or even if I wasn’t I wouldn’t know any different life, or if I had some of the egalitarian ideals I have now, the possibility would be there to strike out on my own and form an egalitarian tribe. But, bar convincing everyone to be hunter gatherers, or the provision of technological incentives to have fair and democratic communication among societies who trade with each other – you just are going to recreate feudal era societies where you’d have to be very lucky to escape from conscription and tyrants, and where the environmental destruction in the long term could be far worse.

Zerzan: What is happening in terms of social movements? Perhaps Kaczynski’s forgotten. And to me his rigidly anti-tech focus kind of loses its steam. As you know, I’m anti-civilization and if you’re just stuck with only the anti-tech thing you get to this wooden position where you you lose a lot of potential it seems because the rest of it just flows.

I noticed in the notes you were saying well you don’t want to be stuck in some medieval deal without industry, well that’s right, there you get the problem, right? I mean there was a piece – not to go too far along with this, but there was a piece – in the American magazine ‘The New Yorker’ back in the 90s when the trial was still going on I believe, it was simply called ‘E Pluribus Unabomber’, it was kind of a funny little one page piece. And it posed that question precisely, precisely that, okay so you’re against modern technology? Does that mean you want the middle ages? And he never answered that question.

I don’t want the middle ages, hell no. You know, you’ve got to look back to see what this crisis is all about what has brought us to this stage. Otherwise you’re kind of stuck with this one note deal that’s really rather limited. He’s insisted over and over and over that he has no interest in anything but modern technology, I mean that’s almost silly, the crisis shows that it’s much bigger and much deeper than that.

It comes to a head with the technological society, and by the way he told me he got his ideas from Elull, it’s an American vernacular version of the technological society, that’s his great gift, that’s his great plus, he made it very readable, you know the original or the original translation in English is hard to read, it has that abstract classical mode of the way French are taught to write and it’s very off-putting I think in the rest of the world, the rest of the west anyway, the rest of say America. [6]

Ishkah: Yeah, and it’s interesting Ellul is a kind of classical Christian anarchist, who likes the anabaptist tradition of creating small communities within a federated society, so he’s very critical of this concept of technique, but he still wants to make accommodations for technology if we can view it as a tool.

But, yeah I think for most of the people who identify with Kaczynski’s philosophy, calling themselves anti-industrialists rather than primitivists is an optics move, in that they don’t want to be seen to be striving for something that most people see as impossible to achieve. Because an anti-industrial revolution is achievable if you can destroy the electricity grids and keep them from being rebuilt, and once it is thoroughly destroyed it will be harder to rebuild and easier to stop than at least other pre-industrial oppressive conditions like feudal tyrants.

Zerzan: Well sure, it’s less abstract, here we are so totally immersed in the technology and the alienation it’s brought is just frightful, it’s so palpable, it’s just you know utterly impossible to ignore.

So, yeah there’s the technology on all sides at every moment, so sure it’s obviously part of the problem of course it’s right up there, but that’s just part of it. To me it’s like the leftists who are only limited to talking about capitalism, well of course one’s against capitalism, but it goes much deeper than that, right? Look at the rest of it, look at how it emerges and why?

Ishkah: Yeah and I definitely like a lot of Bookchin & eco-feminist philosophy who write about the priestly classes throughout history, who even before there was capitalism were trying to keep people ignorant and regimented into hierarchies.

But, in terms of getting this global shift is it that you just don’t have kids and within a hundred years you’ve only got a very small population and obviously using some direct action to encourage people and show them the way?

Zerzan: Well yeah, it’s kind of hard to answer, I mean that’s the challenge, what would that look like? How fast could that happen if you change directions and start to imagine things so differently? I mean who can say? Whether it happens at all that is obviously an open question, we may not get anywhere with this, I’m not clear about that and no one can be I don’t think.

So, but you start to think about the emerging directions and the transition and so forth, but only when you get to that place can you start to pose those questions and think about specific practical parts of the picture, it’s difficult to speculate there and I have to some degree, but that’s a further question it seems to me.

Ishkah: Yeah it’s interesting, I like the critique in a lot of ways, like I talk about this concept of minimum viable use. Like we have a really nice culture in Europe of punk post, where if you want to talk to someone who’s on a camp across the country and someone’s going that way, then you write them a letter and that person takes it to them. So, rather than calling them you put the effort into the creativity of the writing to them and then that’s the minimum viable use technology needed for that task and then in doing that you’ve fulfilled yourself more than just a quick phone call. [7]

Zerzan: Yeah exactly, something technology is erasing. Now we just text, don’t even want to hear the human voice. I mean it’s just getting so monstrous, so fast, and maybe that’s of course the strangely silver lining in the whole thing, it’s just impossible to ignore the effects. And people are so miserable, I mean the immiseration is just almost unimaginable, but there it is, it’s the alienation, the isolation, there’s suicide among the young, deaths of despair, opioid crisis, on and on, and on, it’s just huge estrangement.

Ishkah: Yeah so that’s a good Segway to the next topic…

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lilaconion · 1 year

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Both Can’t Stand Not Fighting

Crosshair x reader on Pabu

Crosshair, having agreed to return to Pabu with his brothers, didn't realise how incompatible he truly was with civilian life. He knew it would be hard but he'd at least expected to finally be able to sleep well. His new bed was a lot comfier than the bunks he'd lived in from birth and certainly a lot comfier than sleeping on whatever they could get their hands on out in the field. He finally broke and, instead of trying to sleep, he went on a night walk. He hadn't been expecting to hear faint music as he got closer to the docks. "If 'I love you' was a promise, would you break it, if you're honest?" A woman's voice sang from the speaker that the music came from. As he descended the steps, he saw the silhouette of someone and something in their hand that moved too fast for him to identify. He made sure to stay quiet, wanting to observe what the person was doing.

As he got the the bottom of the steps and sunk into the cover provided by the giant imposing walls. That was when he realised that he did actually recognise the person. Most of the people on Pabu had blended together but the woman was one he recognised without even being properly introduced to. The movements slowed and he finally saw that the thing she was handling was a stick around the same length as her height. She made it turn slowly in a clockwise direction on an open palm above her head whilst turning her entire body 180 in the anti-clockwise direction. She suddenly clenched the stick and slowly passed it down from her head to hips with intricate movements and bold flourishes. The more it passed between hands, the faster the stick got until it went back to the speed he'd seen it go before. The moon and its reflection on the ocean. The beautiful dock and the way the small amount of light lit everything perfectly. They were just little bonuses that Crosshair didn't care about much compared to watching the beautiful movements the woman made with the stick.

(Y/N) had a strange feeling for a moment that she was being watched. It being night made her ignore the feeling until she considered it might be the clone that had only been brought to the island some days prior. She paused and turned to the pillars and steps. She squinted for a moment before saying, "You can't adjust either, can you?" She hoped that it really was the new clone and not just empty space or, even worse, someone else. "Perceptive." A slow, cold voice teased. She laughed to herself a little. "Well, it'll be nice to have company for once." She walked to her speaker, turning it off and placing her stick next to it. "Crosshair, right?" He confirmed and took a couple of steps into the moonlight. She could finally see his face properly and looked into his eyes. They were tired like hers. "Well, Crosshair, let's sit." She made a point to enunciate his name fully.

They sat next to the water and after a while of silence (Y/N) started. “It was the separatists with me. Getting the people to cooperate was the only thing convincing them not to slaughter us all.” She looked away from the ocean and toward Crosshair. Upon seeing his questioning look, she continued. “I was the head of my planet’s honour guard. The separatists overthrew our republic loving leader and were ready to kill the rest of us to take our weapons technology. So I betrayed everything I stood for to save my people. I lied and supported them and all my people are dead anyway now. I became a traitor and they still died.” She moved a little closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know what it’s like to be a piece in their game.”

The tears that had already been brimming in Crosshair’s eyes overflowed with her last words. He wanted to talk to his brothers about it. He truly did, but every time he opened his mouth it felt wrong. Finally having someone that understood more than his brothers ever could, made him let the broken shards of his former-self fall. As soon as he started crying, he was embraced. He flinched a little at first before letting it out.

Over the following month, they’d spent most nights together. They’d talk, cry and simply be comforted by the presence of the other. They’d both even fallen asleep on the dock. Despite it being uncomfortable rock, the comfort of Crosshair’s arms and general presence had made it the best sleep she’d had in years.

One night, she finally had the confidence to go through with an idea she’d had. As Crosshair arrived at the dock, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her. He let out a confused grunt. “We’re going to fall asleep anyway. So we’re doing it on my bed.” She could’ve worded it better but the nerves didn’t allow her the full function of her brain. She was a little surprised when he didn’t even question it.

When they entered her home, she led him straight to her bed. Despite the initial slight awkwardness, they settled quickly as they had together for the past month. She let out a little contented sigh at having both her comfy bed and Crosshair. She felt his long, trained and deadly fingers gently stroke the side of her face. They pushed back some hair and she looked up at him. He looked down at her and something came over her. She pushed herself up and stole a quick kiss from the man in her bed. Before she could apologise, she felt his hands hold her face as if she was the most precious material in the entire galaxy. He slowly brought his head down and gave her a similarly innocent and soft kiss. The only difference was Crosshair’s kiss lasting longer. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” She giggled a little, mostly excited. He moved in close and let his fingers gently dance across her cheek. “I’m going to kiss you again.” He warned and she brought herself closer to him, ready to be kissed again. She finally had her crush holding her on her bed.

From that night forward, Crosshair would sleep in (Y/N)’s bed and they would both finally be able to sleep well again.

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psychogirlfriendandsupervillain · 3 years

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Leading Question

One shot (ish)

Benny Watts x Reader*

(* Reader wears a skirt, has hair long enough to pull (like anything longer than a buzzcut) and a vagina, so anyone who identifies with that: it’s free real estate. I am considering writing a copy that is fully gender-neutral, so if anyone wants that let me know (although I’m likely to do it anyway).)

Content/warning tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut (but it’s the slowest pacing smut, talking slow-burn but they’re both already in the bed, no joke), fluff?, friends to lovers, mention of alcohol, swearing, oral (male receiving), making out, heavy petting, really a whole lotta kissing, porn with no plot?, the porn is the plot, foreplay more like half the fucking play, hair pulling kink, mention of knife kink, sex, plotted during a figurative and literal fever, edited during a figurative and literal heat wave, we love it here.

Summary: Benny half-confesses to his attraction to the reader during a night at the bar and reader takes his clumsily put question and turns it into a homerun.

Word Count: 7k (this is what happens when you give me THAT and then take it away)

A/N: Entirely self-indulgent piece of smut thought out during two hours at 4 AM (and then throughout the rest of the day) the day after watching Fork, because I was frustrated and Benny is hot, whoopsie.

@go-catch-a-chickn showed some interest in what I was writing, but I bet you regret that now! Nonetheless, here’s your tag, have fun!

I’m open to criticism, just shoot me a message or an ask. Let me know if I’ve got errors or missed a warning.

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You and Benny were friends since high school. Not because you also played chess, but because you had been making out with your boyfriend in the back of the library and Benny had come looking for a chess book that was on the shelf you were leaning on. You two paused, moved to the side so that he could pull out the book and then he was on his way.

A few days later Benny was in the cafeteria and came up a few cents short, when a voice next to him told the woman at the register that they would pay for his meal as well as their own. He looked over at you as the cashier added your things to the total and you smiled.

“Now you have money over for other things.”

It continued like that for the rest of both of your high school stays. You would catch him in the corridor and strike up conversations before heading off for you next class. When your relationship with your boyfriend ended (mutually, it should be said; he was interested in another girl, you felt the spark wasn’t there anymore), you told Benny after he asked why you looked a little glum. He was supportive but didn’t bring it up again.

Now the two of you are sat at a bar counter, a bottle in front of each of you, as the day is winding down. You meet up like this between his tournaments and whatever else is going on your lives, touchdowns in the well-known amidst it all. The buzz of patrons has calmed down and outside the curtained windows the street is black, broken up by spots of the streetlights.

“Do you-“ Benny stops. He’s half turned towards you, left hand around his beer on the counter, legs facing you, but his eyes are currently at the bottles lined up against the back wall where the bartender is pouring a drink for someone down the line.

You put down your bottle after a sip, resting your hand on it just like he is. Benny starts again.

“What do you do when your dick tells you to sleep with your friend, but your brain tells you it’s not a good idea?” He’s still not looking at you. It’s almost a hypothetical, almost a thought about someone else.

You shrug, taking a last sip before turning forward.

“I don’t know, I follow what my pussy says.” With that you get up and put money on the counter to close your tab, seeing Benny jump in the corner of your eye at your answer. You’re pulling on your coat as you start for the door, slow enough that he’ll catch up no problem.

“Wait.” He’s at your side in no time. “I’ll walk you to your place.” Even in the slight shade of his hat you can see that he’s a bit flustered.

“You sure?” Benny nods. “Otherwise I could walk you to yours. It’s farther.” You push up the inner set of doors and Benny follows you into the dark airlock entryway.

“Why would you want to walk where it’s farther?” He asks behind you, a frown audible in his voice, and you hold up your hand to signal for him to wait as you push up the second set of doors.

The air rushes against you and the hum of a road somewhere off campus reaches your ears. There’s no one on the walk path running between fields of grass and lines of trees. It’s still too early for the streets to be filled with people getting home from the bars, too late for any overtime workers dragging their feet.

“Honestly?” You turn to Benny, who’s standing with his coat still unbuttoned and arms hanging at his sides, like he isn’t sure what to do with them. “Because I’m hoping to get invited up, and if I’m going to get fucked, I want to be in your bed, surrounded by the scent of you.”

It takes a second. Then he’s a little bit closer. Not that he was far away before, but he’s close enough that when he leans a little forward you don’t have to take a step to close the gap. Your lips run against his, soft and slow, with the slight scratch of his mustache against your skin, warm cotton and leather so close now, and then you step back, absentmindedly swiping your tongue over your own lips to chase his taste. His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips.

“Your place or mine?” Benny’s voice is a little rough; maybe it’s the drinking, maybe it’s the kiss.

“Again, yours.” You quirk your lip and reach to catch Benny’s hand, warm in yours. Pulling him into motion you start walking in the direction of his apartment, shoes echoing against the asphalt.

“I’m not sure I will make it that far.” He sounds a bit tortured, and you laugh, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you make it. And if you don’t, I’ll help you clean up and wait for you.”

Benny makes a noise.

“Tell me about Open Sicilian.” You look forward at the empty road as you walk.

“What?” He looks at you.

“To distract you, explain Open Sicilian to me.” He has explained that particular tactic to you several times before, not that it necessarily stuck too well.

“That’s not going to help!” Benny throws head back with a frustrated laugh. The sound makes your stomach flutter. “You’re going to make me tell you about chess, and then ask questions, to keep me distracted? Like you showing sincere interest in it isn’t going to just make it harder to focus.” He shakes his head, looking out over the empty street. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You would have gotten there quicker if Benny hadn’t stopped at every tree, stone wall, and doorway to push you against it and kiss you. He even sat down on a bench when you were halfway and pulled you down into his lap. You let yourself be pulled down but wouldn’t go along with his attempts to make you straddle him, despite his hand on your inner thigh through your skirt and his insistent, chasing kisses.

As you reach the building you let go off Benny’s hand so he can punch in the code for the door. He leads you up the hollow stairwell to his door, noisily unlocks it and lets you in before him.

It’s a short hallway with doors leading off to the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, lit by some cool light falling in from the open doorway to the kitchen. There are hooks for jackets with a pile of shoes beneath it to one side, and a table holding a phone and newspapers further in.

The lock clicks behind you and Benny turns around, dropping his keys back down in his coat pocket. Just as he faces you, you push him back against the door. Shock flashes in his eyes and his lips part but when you place your against his he quickly responds, pushing back against you, his tongue running against your bottom lip, inviting you to taste it. It’s with difficulty that you pull back.

“Okay, I lied.” You admit as you get onto your knees, looking back up at him. “Can I?”

Benny’s breaths are unsteady, and you have to ask him to repeat it before you can clearly hear him consent.

You hum, pushing aside his leather coat to hold his hips back against the door, pulling his belt out from its loops so you can undo the buckle. Benny closes his eyes and groans as you let the belt with his knife still attached fall back against his legs and undo his button and zipper.

“Don’t be too loud, you don’t want the neighbors to hear you, do you? Even solid wood doors are thinner than walls.” You wink up at him and he repeats the sound, head leaning back against the door and hips pushing forward. If you didn’t believe Benny before, you definitely would now, as you feel how hard he is through the barriers of fabric. He’s solid and warm against your hands.

Pushing his jeans down, you move his boxers carefully until you can pull them down as well. Precum is leaking down the underside of his erect cock and his hips push forward again, impatiently this time. You circle your hand around him, the other resting against his hip so that maybe he’ll stay in place, not having the patience to start stroking before you take him in your mouth.

The sound Benny makes when your lips close around his cock is far too loud and not loud enough. His breathing audibly speeds up, encouraging you to run your tongue along the underside each time you pull back. Sucking down his cock, you match your movements with those of your hand, creating just the perfect rhythm that has his hips pushing against your other hand. You look up at him, meeting his eyes as you circle his tip with your tongue and he pinches his eyes closed, turning his head back up and cutting off the whine escaping his throat. You swallow around him, and the whine comes back, ending in a high pitch. You do it again. His hand pushes lightly against your shoulder, and you pull off him, sitting back and licking your lips as he meets your eyes.

“I don’t want to finish before we’ve even started.” His words are low, his hand falling back against the side of his coat. You shift your legs on the floor.

“Shame, I want you to.” You smile and bite your lip. “I told you I’d help clean you up and wait after. I’m in no rush.” Benny’s hips jerk forward again.

“Fuck” His eyes flutter shut.

“Can I?” You wait for the sound of his yes before you lick a line from the base to the head, reveling in how little he is holding back this time. Pushing his hips back a little rougher against the door to keep him in his place you earn a moan of your name which has your stomach fluttering and head spinning. One of his hands rest on your shoulder again but isn’t pushing away this time. He lets you decide the speed, albeit with the occasional jerk of his hips as he hisses and braces against the door.

“Fuck, I’-” You feel Benny tensing and look up to see him looking down on you, breathing heavily and clenching his jaw. “Fuck” He slams his head back against the door, hips pushing him further in, and you can feel the vibrations emitting from his chest all the way in the back of your throat as he releases into your mouth. You swallow it down, catching the whimper Benny makes at the feeling it gives his cock.

When you get to your feet, Benny head is hanging so the brim of his hat casts his face in shadow and he’s leaning so heavily against the door you’re not sure he’ll be standing much longer. His breathing is loud in the quiet apartment, and you can’t help the pride growing in the back of your mind. Still breathing heavily, Benny finally lifts his head enough to look at you. You meet his eyes and swipe your tongue over your lips.

His eyes flicker down to follow the movement and he groans, slumping back against the door. You smile triumphantly.

“Let’s get your clothes back on and then I’ll get water.” You help Benny get his pants back on, refastening the buckle. He’s not standing entirely stable, but enough that you can slide his coat down his arms and hang it up, followed by his hat, before you sit him down on a stool right by the door. Having hung up your own coat and switched on the lights you gesture to the kitchen door. “Do you mind?” Benny shakes his head, blond hair falling in his eyes.

You fill two glasses from the tap, throwing a glance at your watch, before returning to him. Handing one to Benny you drink the other, both of you listening to him regaining control over his breathing while you empty the glasses. As you take your last sip you place both on the hallway table and toe off your shoes.

“Want to move out of the hallway?” You hold your hand out to Benny and he’s standing before you’ve had a chance to blink.

You get precisely two steps into Benny’s bedroom before he’s kissing you again. His tongue runs softly against yours, contrasting with the scratch of his beard. He won’t even let you move forward, blocking you with his body until his hands have found their place on your hips, and even then standing stronger than you’d expect from how he looked a minute ago.

Every kiss he chases after you, when you move to the side so does he, when your tongue touches his lips his tongue comes to greet it. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating, his body heat rising and seeping through his button up and your shirt, the warm scent of leather still lingering in the air around him.

Then Benny moves backwards, pulling you with him three quick steps, refusing to let your lips part for even a second, and lets you fall on top of him on his bed.

You pull back, insisting despite his protests. He managed to switch some light on before getting lost in you, letting you full appreciate the shine in his dark eyes when he looks up at you as you brush blond strands out of his eyes. Flittering over you above him, they keep coming back to meet yours, a playful smile on his lips. You lean back down and let him capture your lips again, his hands splaying one on your back, one running up and down your side. Chasing his smile you kiss the corners of his mouth, dipping your tongue in to meet his. It’s like you’ll never run out of places to taste him.

Straightening back up and moving so you’re straddling him, you undo the first buttons of your shirt, but Benny’s hands stop yours, taking over their work with slow precision. He pulls you back down so he can continue kissing you even if it makes it harder for him to get the buttons undone, not that that seems his top priority. Sitting up and sliding the fabric down your arms Benny throws it in some corner of the room, pulling you closer against him by your hips.

“Easy, tiger.” You hum against his lips and Benny laughs a little, shifting further back on the bed and letting you both fall back against the mattress again, arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His necklaces are cool against your skin, but his hands are on fire. They run over your back and sides, up one down the other, and leave nothing but further fires under your skin. Even his rings don’t feel cold as Benny brushes his fingers up your arm to cup your head, tongue skimming your lip but withdrawing whenever you try to catch it.

Pulling back for the first time, Benny looks up at you with a mischievous smile.

“If I had known telling you I like you would lead to this, I would’ve told you already five years ago.”

Not that you’d really been open to anything at that time. Five years ago, and the five that followed, you had been entirely focused on your academics, and the only person you really hung out with had been Benny. He brought his chess books and sat with you in the library while you read up for exams. You’d chat about everything while trying to cram every bit of knowledge into your tired brains. That really only slowed down once you graduated, the hyper-focus on reading every book and spending hours writing notes over bad coffee.

“Do you want to like” You look up at the head pillows laying vertically to your bodies, and Benny starts laughing, luring you into doing the same. “move up?”

“Sure” He lets go of you so you can both get higher on the bed, but the second you’re close enough Benny pulls you back over him. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You smile and lean down halfway. Amused you watch Benny push up to meet you, hungry lips convincing you to push him back down into the mattress.

You can’t help the occasional shifting of your hips against his, underwear pushing against the friction of jeans below your skirt. His hands skim the hem of it, but never ventures below it, favoring to run up to your hips and draw you closer.

Running his hands up your back to hold you against him, Benny rolls you over onto your back. Settling between your legs, he braces one arm above you while the other cups the side of your head, lifting just enough for your lips to reach his.

“You know, for later, we’re still on your bed.” You remind him before kissing the corner of his mouth. Benny’s lips quirk and he follows you back down against the pillow.

“I know.” He runs his nose along the side of your neck, the chains around his sliding against your skin. Warm cotton and leather surround you, and this might actually be heaven.

Pushing back a bit Benny reaches up to undo his green button up but stops when you give him a look.

“Isn’t it my turn now?”

Benny lets go off the button and shows his hands, dropping them to your hips as you reach up, undoing the first button before pulling him down by his collar. His smile meets yours, and it only gets bigger for every button, as the release of each is met with the same celebration.

When there are no more buttons to open you slide the fabric out from his pants and down his bare arms. Holding the shirt out in one hand you look at Benny, whose eyes are locked on yours, his lips kiss-bruised.

“Does this have to be folded on a chair” You tilt your head. “or can I just throw it?”

“Throw it.” His eyes sparkle, his voice hitting a little lower and sending vibrations where your body is touching his.

The green fabric flutters to rest at the far end corner of the bed in your peripheral vision. You weren’t really looking where you were throwing.

“It didn’t even get off the bed.” You speak very seriously, as if it was a grave matter, but you’re absorbed by Benny, whose eyes are as stuck in yours as yours are in his. “If you want it off, you’ll have to throw it yourself.”

His arms shift above you, and without moving away from you or breaking eye contact Benny kicks the shirt, sending it tumbling of the edge with a soft thud as it hits the floor. You push your hips up against his, the hilt of the knife at his belt pressing against the inside of your thigh. Benny’s hips thrust back against yours and he lowers down to brush his lips against yours before devouring you again. Your thighs slide against his bare skin, and he reaches back to hook them further over his hips, swiping his tongue along yours. When Benny pulls back slightly the sound he makes fills the room, bouncing off the walls. The end of it mixes with the sigh of his name pulled from your lips as he dips the tip of his tongue into the corner of your mouth.

“Think we’ll wake the neighbors?” You lift off the bed to chase after him, not giving him a chance to reply, pushing him over onto his back. His hips shift against yours as he settles into the mattress.

“The walls are thicker than the door.” He looks up at you straddling him, his lips quirking up into a smile, blond hair falling over his eyes again. Satisfied with his answer you lower your body back down over his, occupying his mouth with yours again.

From slow, insistent kisses where Benny’s tongue runs against yours, you move to kiss the corners of his lips, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and his eyelids as he closes his eyes. Continuing down his chin, alternatingly placing kisses on either side of his neck, and one at the dip at the base of his throat, passing over his chains, you shift back to trail down the right side of his chest. As your lips touch between navel and the top of his jeans, brushing along the fabric, Benny touches the side of your head.

“Don’t you dare do it again.” His tone is light and teasing, with just an edge of breathlessness and seriousness.

You move up to kiss his left hip and his hand falls back onto the mattress.

“I won’t.”

You trail back up Benny’s irregularly moving chest, out his right upper arm, and lift his hand. Pressing two more soft kisses to his inner forearm, you place one in the middle of his palm and one to the tip of each finger, before beginning again at his sternum and doing the same to his left arm.

Raising back up you push Benny’s hair from his eyes, inviting the light to dance with the sparks already in them.

“Benny Watts, you are a drug.” You smile a little breathlessly and shake your head down at him. The corners of Benny’s mouth start to raise, and he quickly swipes his tongue up to pull down his upper lip and bites down on his lower.

His attempts fail and when you kiss Benny, he’s beaming, a satisfied sound emitting from the chest pressed against yours. His heartbeats translate through your ribcage and your sentiment is repeated in your mind with a flutter in your stomach.

Ringed hands shift from your hips to your back to hold you closer against him. Somehow, you’ve forgotten Benny’s knife because you can’t even feel it at this point. You only feel the friction of his body against your, the pull of his lips.

“You should be in prison.” His tongue swipes into your mouth at that, stalling your continuation with a dizzying taste. “You should be in jail, and I should be in the same cell with you.” The vibrations of Benny’s laugh and twist of his lips reach your senses at the same time as the push of his hips. Combined they’re enough to make you say his name against his lips, repeating it when he does it again.

Lifting off the mattress Benny’s hands holds your hips down against his as he sits up, lips running down the side of your neck when they slip from yours. The scratches against your skin turn into fire running through your veins, out into your arms and fingertips as you run them over his bare shoulders, along the chains around his neck. You barely hear the sound of your name slip from his tongue against the crook of your shoulder, before Benny turns to make you fall first back into the mattress.

Benny’s hands run from your hips to the hem of your skirt, warm fingers tracing bare skin. You lift your hips against his and he pulls back, but only after sucking your lip into his mouth, swiping it with his tongue.

“Want me to get it off?”

“It’s mostly in the way at this point.” Having gotten his answer, Benny eases the skirt down, letting you lift your hips and moving so he’s not in the way. When it’s all the way off he throws the fabric the same way as your shirt, or maybe the opposite. You can’t remember.

Leaning back over you Benny brushes his lips against yours, meeting you when you arch up against him, then lets himself kiss you fully again. His hips push yours down into the mattress before he pulls them back up towards him. You roll back against him, crossing your legs behind Benny’s back, and he hisses against your lips. The sound of you saying his name causes the grind of his hips to stutter, restart, a low sound resonating in his chest, sending its aftershocks through your body as his hands squeeze your thighs a little harder.

One moves to skim the inside of your knee, hot fingers with warm rings running over equally heated skin. When it reaches the junction of your thigh and hip it slides up along the edge of your underwear and then drops beside your side to support his weight as Benny brings his other hand to hover between your legs and pulls away from your lips.

“Can I?” His dark eyes shimmer.

“Yes.” Since you can’t hear your own voice over the increased speed of your heartbeat you repeat it twice, catching the way Benny’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip as his eyes flicker down.

He runs his knuckles down the slick, wet fabric. You think you hear a breathed-out curse but are distracted when fingertips retrace the same path with just enough pressure to make your hips roll against them. The feeling is dizzying, your breathing skips. Benny’s dark eyes flick back up to yours. Then he does it again, sending sparks where the pads of his fingers almost touch you. Your eyes almost flutter at the way he looks at you when your breathing stops again to become what might have been a curse, or his name, or the curse of his name. The last one in particular feels likely as the sound twists and grows louder, and Benny’s eyes are locked on yours.

Pressing back into his bed you roll your hips against his, his hands planted back on either side of you as he lowers back down to press starved kisses to your mouth. Hips lift off yours, only to change their mind and push back down, accompanied by a curse against the corner of your lips. When Benny’s bottom lip slides against yours, you pull it into your mouth and lightly push down your teeth into it. His left arm buckles as you swallow the sound of his groan.

With little effort you coax Benny onto his back. He willingly falls down onto the pillow, rings sliding against your back as he tries to entice you into press against him. His fingers trail down, skimming along the edge of your underwear until they reach the front, barely touching the waistband, eyes flicking up to yours.

You give permission before Benny even has a chance to open his mouth.

The pads of his fingers push past the fabric, running softly your body until your breathing hitches as they lightly slip over your clit. You resist the urge to close your legs around his hand but can’t help the way your breathing audibly increases when it moves further down. Bare skin slides against your wet folds, stroking up and down; the movement slow and deliberate, and far too good for you hold it out for much longer.

You make a sound.

“Explain Closed Sicilian to me.” Your voice is strained, and you are trying very hard to not focus on every slight change in pressure Benny is subjecting you to right now. Another noise slips out and you bury your face against his chest, rolling your hips involuntarily against his hand. “Please, please explain it to me.”

“Now?” Benny’s other hand pushes against your hip.

“If you don’t, I’m going to come, and I’ve waited this long so I’d rather you didn’t do that before you’re actually inside me.” You lift your head to look up at him, quickly adding “Then again, you talking about that is just going to make it worse, so maybe don’t.” You did not need his eyes lighting up and his confidence going thrice its size because he was talking about something he really, really liked. That was bound to make your situation become much better and much worse really quick.

Benny looks like he’s about to protest before making a face and withdrawing his hand.

“Alright, fine.” He rolls you onto your back and kisses you hard, raising his hips as much as possible but keeping you down with his chest.

Letting you up to breathe Benny’s hands go to his belt, pulling it fully out of the loops this time. He catches the handle off his knife as it slides off the leather and off-handedly places it down on your stomach so he can roll the leather around his hand.

You must have done something as the sheath fell flat or as your eyes shifted up and back down again because Benny’s eyes flick from the belt in his hands to your eyes and then he smiles.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for knives too.” He teases.

“Listen” You’re a little too breathless for any type of denying being at all believable and it’s visible in Benny’s eyes how little he would actually believe you if you tried. “Messing with that takes practice and discussions, so let’s put a pin in that. I like seeing you get off, let’s leave it at that for now.”

He tilts his head like ‘fair enough’, finishes rolling up his belt and puts both that and the knife out of view to your left.

You reach up to brush Benny’s hair to the side where it’s over his eyes again, letting your fingers linger just above his ear. There’s something very recognizable about the slight way his eyes move at the gesture.

“Do you- like having your hair pulled?” You ask tentatively, and when Benny doesn’t answer right away you continue “You don’t have to say yes.”

It takes a second longer, and you start to pull your hand away before he shifts his eyes away and rolls his shoulders.

“So what if I do?” Benny glances back at you.

“I’ll tell you what” You smile encouraging, guiding the topic to focus on yourself instead to make him more comfortable. “you’d be in good hands; I like it both ways.” Benny visibly relaxes but you don’t move your hand back, favoring to slide it along his jaw to stop below his lower lip.

Softly tilting his head down, you give the slightest pressure. He follows down to peck your lips before drawing back to meet look at you again, hands rubbing reassuringly over your thighs. The pad of your thumb rests against Benny’s bottom lip, and you tilt your head, trying to read out the thoughts that form and disperse behind his eyes. The corner of his lip quirks up and he dips his head down to catch the finger in his mouth. The flat of his tongue maps your fingerprint, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You make a noise, shooting him a glare as he looks far too smug when you pull your hand back to press it against his back instead. The expression doesn’t leave his lips when you push his side to get him down, as a matter of fact he looks offensively at home against his pillow, shuffling further into it before beaming up at you again. Unable to stop yourself you scoff, trying to look annoyed but failing spectacularly.

“Think you’re ready to go again, if you want to?” You look at your watch, pinching the face of the clock to keep it so you can read the time. “It’s been an hour.”

“You still have your watch on?” Benny reaches up to pull your arm down so he can look at it.

You laugh.

“Well, you didn’t take it off me.” You let him turn your hand over, undoing the watch and looking at it for a second before handing it to you. Leaning over him you put it on the empty nightstand to your left.

“I’m so glad you’ve got two nightstands.” You hum, leaning back to resettle over his hips.

Thinking for a second, Benny makes a face, a mixture between a frown and scrunching up his face.

“It doesn’t make sense to only have one nightstand.” He states, eyes flicking back to yours. Smiling at his answer you bend down to peck his lips.

“That’s what I like about you, Benny Watts. Things can’t just be for you; they have to make sense.” Continuing in the same light tone you add “I might even go as far as to say I love you.”

“Woah, you’re just gonna show your hand like that?” Benny mimics shock, before smiling, his hands rubbing your hips reassuringly. “Throw the whole game?” You snort a little, moving your eyes to the wall, schooling your expression to be serious.

“As if you didn’t show your hand back at the bar.” You tilt your head exaggerated, pretend thought. “And earlier, now that you mention it.”

“I said liked.” Just like you, Benny is pressing his lips together to prevent himself from laughing, and even then, a smile cracks through.

“I’ll give you that, you did say like.”

Benny pulls you down, kissing you with a smile. Letting yourself sink into it you push down against him, swallowing the sound he makes and feeling his heart beating through his chest. His hands pull your hips closer to his to repeat the motion. His breathing increases as you do it infinitely slower this time, feeling you press against him, although you can’t say you are doing any better.

“Ready?” You laugh breathlessly and Benny groans, pushing his head back into the pillows.

“I was ready half an hour ago.”

“Well, good sex takes preparation. And this is going to be good.” Straightening up you putting the base of your hand on Benny’s chest, holding your index in front of his face to shush him. “No, no, it’s going to be, because I’ll make it so.”

Instead of arguing, with sparkling eyes Benny favors to bend his head forward and close his mouth around your finger, sucking while you talk. His tongue swirls around the digit and the corner of his lips quirk up when you make a sound, mind drifting before you catch it.

“Asshole.” Benny’s eyes light up mischievously at that, and when you pull your hand back, he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh you wan-?”

You cut him off.

“Shut up.” The bed shakes with Benny’s laughter, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head at him. He’s really having too much fun.

When his laughter calms down, Benny looks at you for a second before sitting up.

“Come on”

He nudges you sideways until you get the hint and get off him, letting him get off the bed. Benny offers his hand to pull you up after him. When you’re both on your feet he turns back and in one quick motion rips off the covers, throwing the corner to the middle so the bed is folded half-open diagonally but not all the way down.

You’re just letting your underwear drop onto the floor when Benny turns back around, and he catches up with you in the time it takes you to blink. He holds his hand out again, pulling you with him backwards.

Jut before his legs hit the bed Benny sidesteps, pulling you down first onto the bed and following, catching himself on his arm so he doesn’t fall directly on top of you.

Settling between your legs, Benny tilts his head with a cheeky smile.

“Comfortable now?”

You make a show of settling into the pillow, trying to divert his attention from the way you pull air deep into your lungs. It’s in the pillow, the sheets, the air vibrating around you with tension, but most of all it’s above you, radiating from him. The warm, slightly sweet, smell of clean cotton shirts pulled from the tumbler, a bed slept in until well past noon, and sun-heated leather in the first days of summer.

“Yes.” You smile up at him.

“Good.” Benny lowers down over you and presses his lips to yours, tongue running over your lip once before slipping into your mouth. You hum while he pulls protection from a drawer of one of the nightstands above your field of vision and pulls it on.

Fingers skim lightly over the wetness gathered between your legs, and then Benny pushes into you. It sends lightning through your stomach, sliding slowly, almost torturously, against sensitive nerve endings. His breath is slow and controlled, albeit a bit wavering. Solid warmth spreads from his body into yours and your body clenches involuntarily around him when he stills, breath warming the side of your neck. Your hands run up his sides to find purchase.

“You’re gonna mark me?” You ask the ceiling and Benny shifts, running his nose against your throat and giving you chills.

“You want me to?” His hips pull back slightly, and you close your eyes at the slow drag of his cock against your inner walls. As Benny pushes back in, one hand disappears from beside you, moving your hand from his back to his hair. Sparks dance up your spine when he thrusts a little quicker, igniting you both like a match against a striking surface. Benny makes a sound in the back of his throat before kissing you again.

Carding your fingers through his hair near his scalp you pull lightly. The way his hips jerk forward has you arching against him, moan mixing with his. Tension builds in your stomach and if the room was hot before it is blazing now. Benny presses against you, overwhelming and perfect, filling you. Your hips lift off the bed to meet his, legs crossed behind his back to pull him closer. The drag of his abdomen against you in just the right place has you whining against his lips. His next thrust is faster, causing your body to clench down, approaching the edge fast.

“I’ve waited this long to fuck a master; you better not make this be over quick.” Your hips arch against his despite your breathless words.

“You call an hour and a half quick?” Benny asks in disbelief, but the roll of his hips slows to delightfully slow, burning pulls. He closes his eyes, breathing becomes deliberately slowed. “I’m not going to last long no matter how slow I go.”

“That’s okay, neither am I.” You quirk the corner of your lip as Benny opens his eyes again and pull him back down to your lips. Trying to starve of your orgasm you focus on tasting every corner of his mouth. It seems to have the opposite effect on Benny, as he whines and his hips stutter. One of his arms buckle and you pull your hand free to direct his to your hair before going back to his.

The first slow drag releases a satisfied noise from you, and the slight sting of the next sends a thrill down your body, connecting with where Benny’s cock pushes into you. He slides his tongue against yours, pulling your head close to his.

“Fuck” The word falls from both of your mouths as your fingers pulls the blond strands they’re tangled in, and Benny’s hips jerk forward. You push your hand against his lower back to push him down, deeper, and he pulls your hips up with his free hand, grinding against you. His eyes glitter with pride when you arch, pressing your head into the pillow, mouth falling open.

Unsatisfied, Benny slows even further, changing thrusts for slow grinds, watching you trying to make a sound with a smile, heels pressing into his lower back. Your eyes flutter, trying desperately to stay open, pleasure coursing through you in unrelenting waves. Meeting his eyes, you jerk your hand a little harder in Benny’s hair, and the sound he produces almost has you falling.

His hand pushes between your bodies as he moves faster again. The pleasure is hot and fast, and as Benny pulls your lips to his it explodes, fire shooting through your veins in search of oxygen and shaking your entire body. He swallows the cries of his name falling from your lips, but then his hips stutter and slipping from your lips he repays the praise. It’s loud, it’s messy, and it’s so fucking hot.

Benny drops his head in the crook of your neck, weakly trying to hold himself up. Your chest pushes against his until both your accelerated breathing reaches the same rhythm. There is pleasant ache starting to make itself known, one you’re sure you’ll be feeling tomorrow, and perhaps the day after that.

Softly you push Benny over and he lets himself be rolled onto his back, still inside you. Head landing on the pillow he takes a few more breaths before his eyes pop open. When they meet yours there is a content smile on his lips, with only a hint of unsedated hunger still visible in his dark eyes. He reaches forward to meet your smiling kiss and lets you pull off him and roll onto the mattress beside him.

After a few seconds of just the sound for your breathing your voice comes alive again.

“I hope we didn’t wake anyone.”

Benny starts laughing, breathlessly and beautifully, and you scrunch your nose playfully at him.

“I hope we did.” He looks at you, eyes brilliant, and adds in a more serious tone. “I think they’re all asleep so they can get up at a reasonable hour tomorrow.”

You reach over and pull your watch from the nightstand.

“Two isn’t a reasonable hour to be up?” Benny snorts a laugh at your fake naiveté as you settle back into the bed.

There’s a few more seconds of silence before he talks again.

“I still only made you come once.” Benny looks at you, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up; the hunger more than unsated now.

“That’s okay” You smile teasingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to, you did all the hard work.”

Benny doesn’t find an answer to that, but you have a feeling neither of you think two is very late at all.

#I fucking called the watch thing I'm so proud!#I'm glad the internet agrees that Benny has both bi and switch energy #benny watts #benny watts x reader #the queen's gambit

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Out With the Old. Yan Childe x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Brief mentions of injury and blood, typical yandere undertones. Word count: 3.2k. Notes: i absolutely loved writing this!! i never realized how badly i needed a yandere childe that’s so obviously whipped for his darling. :’))

“Dearest [First],

I can only imagine the look that must be on your face as you read this. Don’t be too harsh on me for saying so, but I promise not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of you. Now stop scowling at the letter, it won’t do any good, after all; it’s just a piece of paper. I’d hate to come back home to see that you’ve aged from all that frowning at parchment.

Somedays I wake and fail to notice I’m in Inazuma instead of Snezhnaya. The scenery has its differences, of course, but it’s only when I realize I can’t see you that it truly sinks in. Writing this, I realize your judgment about my honesty only appearing in written form rather than in person is true. You’ve always had a penchant for keeping me in line, haven’t you?

Not that I can blame you.

You’ll be relieved to hear that the reason for my being here turned out to be a simple misunderstanding. There’s no grand coup d'état waiting to unfold amongst the lower ranks, so, unfortunately for me, it turned out to be a waste of time. On the bright side, that means I’ll get to come back home all the faster.

Tonia tells me that you’re doing well and I’m glad to hear it. I know your parents aren’t that fond of me, which is a smart call all things considered, but I hope they’re both in good health. Let me know if they need any help with their shop and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t let them know it was from me, or they might blow a gasket.

When I come home, I wonder if I’ll see your face among the crowd on the pier this time.

At the very least… consider not discarding this letter like the others. Really, I can’t tell who is more stubborn, me or you.

-Yours eternally, Tartaglia”

This is the first letter of his that you’ve bothered reading in some time, as he made a point of mentioning. It’s difficult to identify the exact feelings his handwriting and characteristic word choice inflicts upon you, ranging from relief to exasperation. He has some audacity, refusing to see you in person for months on end, only to carry on as if nothing happened between you.

With the letter in hand, your mind wanders back, hoping to find some hints of where it all went wrong.

You remember the words said to you on that late, fateful winter evening. The confident timbre of his voice then still resonates in your head at random, never muffling despite the years that have passed, ringing as clearly as a bell. Does he ever think about it? It’s hard to say.

“One day,” Ajax, or Tartaglia as he claimed his new identity to be, had told you, “I’m going to conquer this world.”

His breath materialized in front of him as white, vaporous wisps. There’s something about that particularly frigid season that felt like magic, more so than the Cryo Vision wrapped snug around your neck. You bit back a scathing remark and instead focused your energy elsewhere. Your gloved hand raised and hovered just above his split lip, a prominent frown etched onto your face at the fresh wound. Likely the first of many to come, you lamented.

Your Vision pulsated with life and light blue shone through at your command. The tender, bruised flesh on his lip began to close, before it faded away altogether. Tartaglia raised his hand to gently touch where it had been, now nothing but a faint memory.

With that out of the way, you placed your hands onto your hips and gave him a stern look. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that. It’s going to get you into trouble one day.”

He laughed and waved off your concern.

“If only. Things have been so dull lately, I wouldn’t mind stirring up a little trouble.” Tartaglia hummed, much to your displeasure. It was no secret in your quaint hometown of Morepesok that this boy had been spiraling down a dangerous path. Your parents said as much and even encouraged you to break off ties with him. This just won’t do, you thought.

“Ouch!”

You flicked his forehead and offered up your most intimidating glare. “So you are capable of feeling pain, huh? Good. If it keeps you out of fights, then I won’t heal you anymore.”

Tartaglia rubbed the spot and smiled sheepishly.

“You say that, but I’m sure you’d change your mind if I came to you all bloodied and battered. You’re just that kind of person.” When he paused to reflect, you raised an eyebrow and challenged him.

“Now what’s this? I’m what kind of person, Ajax?” You pinched his cheek, much to his vocal displeasure, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “Say it loud and clear this time.”

“The kind that always looks out for others, even those who don’t deserve it.”

Your arms fell limp by your side. At that moment, your heart twisted in a way it never had before. It could only compare to how it felt when Ajax had stumbled back home after missing for three, long days. You weren’t sure if you had heard him right — his eyes widened as did yours like he felt equally surprised — and he rushed to save himself. The flush that dusted over his face was most certainly not from the cold weather.

Tartaglia shot up and made way for the door at a record speed. “I told my old man that I’d be home before dark. He already worries about me enough as is, so... I’ll be on my way. See ya around.”

Your rebuttal was slow as your tongue felt frozen. Tartaglia waved to you over his shoulder and took off, leaving you to wallow in your muddled thoughts. What exactly had he meant by that? Why did his gaze soften and his usually boisterous voice drop in volume?

Questions flooded your mind, questions that wouldn’t be answered for years to come.

ii.

You’ve always found this area of Morepesok to be serene. There’s no buzz of the community gathering, chattering about the latest gossip and notable news, no vendors vying for people passing by to purchase their fresh early morning catch. The surroundings are nothing but peaceful, and most importantly, silent. In the summer, there’d only have been the sound of the rushing rivers that are now frozen over and humming insects.

Twigs and dry leaves crunch behind the tree stump you’re hanging out at, signaling an approaching figure.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Tartaglia sits down next to you, blades of grass rustling against him as he did so. You don’t bother to look up, instead feigning interest in your fingernails, staring at them intently. Anywhere other than his face, which most likely than not would be boasting his trademark grin. Seeing the fake expression that he plasters on daily would only add fuel to the fire that rages inside.

Your lips part after an uncomfortable silence settles in, the atmosphere growing tenser by the second. “So you’re a Harbinger now, huh?”

“You don’t look impressed like everyone else,” He notes, his language notably more tentative than usual. It strikes through your heart, piercing flesh and blood, your fingers curling painfully tight. If he notices, he decides not to comment. Tartaglia gives you the time to process your overwhelming thoughts as if it’d make any of this easier on you.

“How could I possibly be happy about that?” You snap your head, catching how he’s momentarily caught off guard before it’s covered up just as fast. “This… this is going to be the death of you, Ajax. And Archons, the worst part is, I know me saying that won’t matter in the slightest. That death would just be the result of a fulfilling fight to you.”

Your breathing grows erratic, to the point you’re forced to stop speaking to regain yourself. He doesn’t dare utter a single word — uncharacteristically silent — watching your every movement with calculating precision. It’s taking all your strength to keep yourself together, not wanting to come undone in front of him, feeling weak just for showing this much. This is why you were hoping to avoid him, but figures he’d go out of to seek you out.

“And if I don’t die? Would that make a difference in how you feel?” He challenges, tilting his head, voice dipping in volume. “You can be honest with me, [First]. It’s not just that you’re upset about. No, there’s something else.”

He knows you too well and it’s beyond frustrating. Your body language might be difficult for others to read, but not Tartaglia, who picks up on every little nuance with ease.

Your lower lip trembles. “I hate that this is what you’ve become.”

“So that’s it then,” Tartaglia nods his head, once, coming to terms with it as soon as the words left your lips; like he already knew it all along. “I figured as much, but to hear you say it… haven’t you heard of mincing your words before?”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you internally plead with yourself not to let the nonchalant words get to you. It’s his way of dealing with strife to act unbothered, you know this, and still, it strikes deep. What if this isn’t a façade, but who he really is now? That boy you knew and grew up with — Ajax, your dearest friend — he may be physically sitting next to you, but his soul is gone. Whatever happened in those hellish three days changed him forever. Now his flesh and bones are nothing but a vessel urged on by bloodlust.

How ironic, you think. That your Vision lets you heal physical wounds, but not the unseen kind, which runs deeper than any gash could hope to. Maybe you were a fool for thinking you could fix him, revert him to how he used to be like nothing ever happened. Or maybe he let you try just to earn more time together for whatever twisted reason. Knowing that once reality settles in, you’ll go someplace far out of his reach, where he can never get you back. Sitting here, you realize that it won’t just be you losing him. He’ll also be losing you.

Is that why he is sticking around? To prolong the inevitable?

“When I look into your eyes,” you clear your tightening throat, not willing to let yourself cry. “There’s… there’s no light, no humanity, and you know it. That has to be why you chase all those stupid fights, all so that you can feel alive again.”

Tartaglia allows you the room to ramble without interruption, your venomous feelings that have long festered gushing out. When you work up the courage to look up, you find Tartaglia frowning, staring far off but at nothing in particular. So even he can sometimes be rendered to a loss for words, huh?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the chilly air invading his lungs. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

Another cautious pause. He’s giving this a lot of thought.

“My fighting is not for the sole sake of the adrenaline rush, as enjoyable as that is,” he scratches the back of his neck and forces a laugh. “It’s so that I can get stronger. I told you, didn’t I? That I intend on conquering the world. To do that, I need to be the strongest, or else I can’t fulfill my promise.”

Your lips part, eyebrows furrowing together in irritation, but he places a finger to your lips before you can tear into him. The leather feels cool against your skin, and it’s just now that you realize how close he is to you. Having been so absorbed in your emotions, you failed to notice his stealthy movements, the two of you now shoulder to shoulder. Your heart thrums, reminiscent of that day ages ago.

“When the entire world lays defeated at my feet, what I want is to have you by my side. Until that dream of mine comes true, I’m afraid I’ll have to continue making you sad, but know that it’s for a reason.”

Tartaglia pulls his hand back, his finger lingering just a second over your bottom lip, finally allowing you to speak your piece.

You’re drawn like a moth to a flame to his lifeless eyes, which have seen more bloodshed in the past few months than you could ever fathom. Murmuring, you find it within yourself to respond, albeit so quietly he has to cant forward to hear. “If you accomplish just that… who’s to say I’d want to be by your side? The side of a killer?”

“Hm? Did I ever say you had a choice in the matter?” Tartaglia returns your inquiry with a bold one of his own, one that sends you recoiling in astonishment. He lets the words settle like fresh snow on the ground before laughing them off. You cross your arms over your chest, making your displeasure over his comment evident.

“Please, I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that,” he puts his hands up in mock defense. “Ah, it’s suddenly feeling colder than usual. You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? I never thought that humble [First], the child of the town’s apothecary at that, would be so bold as to freeze me to death.”

Your nose wrinkles up and you hold back a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “Yeah, right. Like I could ever stand a chance against you in battle.”

“You might be surprised! I could make a warrior out of you yet. Think about it, Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa saw fit to bestow a Vision upon you, didn’t she?” He accents his words by pointing to your neck, where you prefer to keep your Vision. Subconsciously, your hand raises, delicately touching the icy gem.

“I’m not like you,” you shake your head at his jest. “Hurting others is the last thing I’d ever want to do, trust me.”

He hums, your words taking him back, memories flashing in his mind. “I know, that’s why I’ve always done it in your stead.”

“Whoever would’ve thought fending off bored kids with a wooden sword would escalate into you climbing the ranks of the Fatui.” Had it not been for the final part of the sentence, you would’ve found it endearing to reminiscence back to your early childhood together. Still, the frost around your heart melts at the sweet memory, despite your attempts to keep it hardened. This goes to show how much I cherished it, you muse.

Lips curling into a smile, you take him by surprise and lay your head onto his shoulder. His muscles go tense, body unresponsive to the affection you used to bestow upon him in heaps. It’d been so long that he forgot the warmth you radiate like you were the sun incarnate. He had once commented that he expected a Cryo user to be cold, only to be delightfully surprised by how warm you were.

“Maybe I was always terrible, and you just didn’t notice?” He proposes, to which you snort.

“That most certainly is not the case. I’m a better judge of character than that.” You scoff at the mere idea. No, little Ajax had been nothing but a darling, there’s no doubting it. Wherever you’d go, he’d follow as if his life depended on it. There was hardly ever a time where the two of you wouldn’t be seen paired together.

“You’ll get no argument out of me there,” Tartaglia rests his head on top of yours like he used to. The circumstances have undoubtedly changed, but it’s nice to feign ignorance for a few minutes. “Say, you remember when we used to sneak off and meet here, right?”

“How could I forget?”

Tartaglia nods his head in agreement. “I was always dragging you into trouble, even then. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but I guess it’s hard not to when we’re here.”

Now that he mentions it, it wasn’t an immediate shift into his now unhinged personality; like all things, it began as a gradual descent. You should’ve noticed something was awry with how frequently he’d come to you, boasting injuries of all sorts. Each was accompanied by a rehearsed explanation as not to alarm you. Unfortunately for him, in a small town such as this, word travels quickly. It was inevitable that you’d find out the bitter truth behind his wounds.

Maybe you always knew but didn’t want to face reality.

“There was this one time in particular that always stuck out to me,” he closes his eyes, reflecting. “When I said I intended to marry you when we got older, or whenever you’d have me.”

You’re amazed at how Tartaglia recounts it without so much as stuttering, the humiliating memory sending your head spinning. There were so many memories he could’ve mentioned and that’s the one he decides to go with? You’re certain he’s messing with you at this point.

“I-I thought we swore never to mention that again!” You exclaim, blood rushing to your cheeks.

He blinks when you abruptly lift your head and shrugs off your concern. “I don’t remember ever agreeing to that. It was you who kept insisting to take a vow of silence on it, for whatever reason. Personally, I find it cute, you were so eager to accept my proposal then.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This irksome teasing quality had reared its head alongside his other new shortcomings. The best way to deal with it, you’ve learned, is to keep the conversation going. Dwelling on it for too long never ends well.

“So, Liyue, huh?” You recall the gossip from the marketplace earlier. Some locals were fussing over the news that the Fatui’s latest Harbinger, Tartaglia, would be sent abroad for more work. There were murmurs of excitement over how a child from this seaside town managed to make it so far up the ranks. And to think they used to bemoan Ajax’s violent streak, you remember. Now that it’s beneficial to them, they sure have changed their tune.

“I wonder what it’ll be like,” he muses. “Anthon seems to think the people there eat rocks, for whatever reason.”

“Kids always say the craziest things unprompted.”

He seems agreeable to that statement. Neither of you utters another word for some time, instead thinking of both the past and the future. It’s not a comfortable position to remain seated in, yet neither you nor he complains about it. For a few brief, glorious seconds, everything almost seems normal again.

“Hey, [First].”

You hum in response. Tartaglia’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. In the silence that follows, you swear you hear a sound akin to electricity crackling, the hairs on the back of your neck standing from the drastic shift in atmosphere.

“I meant what I said. Someday, you will be by my side. I don’t care what it takes, I’ll make it happen; even if you come to hate me.”

“Because once you make a promise… you keep it.”

And he intended to do just that.

#childe #yandere childe x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia #yandere tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions

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winchesterxxi · 4 years

Text

Gentle Pathways (Din Djarin x Reader)

Rating: M (Mature)

Type: Fluff & Smut

Summary: “all these people keep posting how rough a horny Mando can be but I mean, come on, that man probably hasn't been touched as in skin-to-skin contact since he put the helmet on - we all saw his reaction to Grogu touching his face. So how do you think a touch starved Din would react to reader getting close to him?”

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: No clear time frame except that it’s between S1 and S2; Blindfolding; Smut (Virgin!Din, loss of virginity, blowjob, vaginal penetration, swearing, unprotected but consensual sex)

A/N: Vanilla!Din and Soft!Din GIVE IT TO ME, WE NEED MORE and yes I know the gif is of Kylo and Ren leave me alone.

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

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It was late at night inside the Razor Crest, although no one could tell if it were otherwise because, as you could see through the front of the cockpit, the cold gloom of hyperspace engulfed the ship on all sides.

The Child was fast asleep and had been for a while now, and you were just finishing inserting some coordinates on the navigation panel as Mando asked you to, before leaving you alone and walking to his makeshift chamber. After doing as instructed your hand brushes against something that falls to the floor of the cockpit with a clatter.

Looking down, you notice that it’s Mando’s e-comm, easily identifiable by the big silver-colored scratch across one of its buttons. He never leaves it out of his sight, even when sleeping, that thing is always at arm’s length so you assume that he probably forgot it.

Standing up with the device in hand, you turn off any unnecessary light in the cockpit before heading towards the direction Mando went just a few minutes ago.

After you reach the steel door, you let your knuckles hit it about three times, before hearing a muffled Come in coming from the other side.

Sliding the doors open you step inside of his room, as he stands in front of you, back facing you, still fully clothed. His helmet rotates slightly over his shoulder as he directs his voice to you.

“What is it?”

“You left your e-comm on top of the navigation panel.” you tell him, extending your hand as your feet follow and you get close to him “I know you always have it on you no matter what, so I brought it to you.” your hand softly lays the device on the table against which he was leaning.

Your face comes dangerously close with the beskar on his shoulder blades and you swear that despite everything in you telling otherwise and that beskar is cold, that you could feel warmth irradiating from it.

Mando strangles a little thank you that you acknowledge with a nod of your head before awkwardly walking back and away from him.

What there was no way of you to be aware of was that the device was left back in the cockpit on purpose. Not in the sex bait type of way, but in the Will she notice this and hence confirm that she also bears some feelings for me for noticing such small things and being attentive enough to come and return it.

A fairly explicit and complex thought, he knew, but that’s exactly what you did to him. Or have been doing for the past year to his head. Although he might not be very skilled in articulating more than one single-worded phrase at a time, his mind is constantly racing. Constantly formulating this extremely clear ways of disclosing his true feeling for you that get stuck in his throat making it shake with anxiety and instead making him opt for the safer options of a simple thank you or You didn’t have to.

Like what he just did. He wanted to facepalm himself right there and then, weren’t it for your presence.

But he’s had enough. This man has fought virtually every deadly creature in this planet and sure enough this little crush as he tried to convince himself so many times was the scariest of them all for him to face. But enough is enough.

“Y/N.” He croaks out, turning to face you.

You hum and turn around almost instantly, surprising yourself at how easily you reacted to him.

“I - ..... I,...” he tries. He really tries.

“You what, Mando?” you question, brows furrowed while taking slow steps towards him, worried that there is something wrong.

“I ... have...feelings for you.” Your cheeks heat up but you look down avoiding getting overly excited, as this could go one of two directions.

“What type of feelings?” you ask cautiously.

“Feelings.” The padding inside of his helmet feel like fire right this moment, and the urge to curse himself has never been this strong.

But you understand. And he sees that you understand by the way your eyes almost pop out of your sockets and your mouth hangs open.

“Oh.” you manage to voice before being struck by utter and absolute confusion “Me? You’re sure about that?.... I’m an absolute trainwreck of a person!”

The tension that he was holding in his body due to the confession suddenly left him in the form of a low chuckle, making you even more embarrassed. “I love you just the way you are.”

“You what?!” your heart stops.

“I...” that’s when it dawns on him what it just said. This man spent months hiding his feelings from you and, just like that, under a minute he goes from saying that he has feelings for you to telling you that he loves you.

“... I love you.” he says, this time more sure of himself.

You pause a moment and look at him, eyes surely meeting something behind his darkened visor and your expression softens.

“I... I think I love you to.” you finally admit, finally letting go of your own months of repressed feelings, that now so easily slipped out to the man in beskar in front of you.

Mando slowly walks up to you, praying that you don’t run away, all the while pulling at a piece of fabric that he had wrapped around his elbow. Your eyes follow his movements before looking up at him and nodding, knowing exactly what he is about to do.

His hands disappear behind your head and then you’re surrounded by darkness.

Being deprived of your vision heightens all of your senses and you can now very clearly hear his breathing. His unfiltered breathing.

“Did you...?” you ask, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Yes.”

His ungloved hand slowly finds your own, bringing your knuckles to meet his lips. You shiver at the contact. Slowly, he brings up his other hand to cradle your cheek, delicately replacing your knuckles with your lips.

You thoroughly melt against his touch, resting your hands upon his chest plate for some balance as he pulls you in closer, ever so gently. The kiss wasn’t too sloppy, but you could feel his inexpertness, but his lips were so soft that everything else was forgotten. And oh how you loved the tickle of his facial hair against you.

What began as a sweet kiss quickly escalates and the both walking into the nearest wall as his hands explore your clothed body, months of previously undiscovered sexual tension arising to the occasion and you could feel how excited he was getting.

The only pleasure Mando had even known had been at his own hand. And even that, he took care of as a chore, a release of pressure, just getting himself off for the day so that he wouldn’t get distracted.

“Wait.” he pulls away, out of breath “I know that you want to take this further, but I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you query “Disappointed how?”

“I don’t know how to do this... I’ve never done this.” he says, and by the tone of his voice, you can imagine how he is motioning with his hands between the both of you.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yeah.” he shyly admits, rubbing the back of his head.

“No, that’s - that’s completely fine. I just... wasn’t expecting it?”

“Why?”

“You’re a bounty hunter and, well, word runs on the streets. Besides, the way Xi’an spoke to you back when we went to that prison or the things she said, I thought-”

“Nothing ever happened. Not with her, not with anyone ever. She did try, several times, but I always pushed her away.” he couldn’t bear to have you think that there was ever anyone before you.

“Oh.”

“But I want to do it with you. Here, now.” he confesses, resting his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure? I mean, having sex means that you’ll have to -” you begin, knowing fully well the implications

“I’m sure. I trust you.” he assures you with a gentle stroke on your cheek.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

With your eyes still closed, you feel the knot in the back of your head loosen, and the pressure around your temples dissipating, slowly bating your eyes open. It was extremely dark in the room, but you could still make out some shapes, the disheveled curls and the prominent nose and his eyes. His eyes. You couldn’t make out what color they were but they were as dark as the sky outside this ship, with a slight glimmer as he looks down at you.

Haltingly, you lift your hand to his right cheek, stopping right next to it.

“Can I?” he nods and your rest your hand where you intended, and he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply and leaning into your touch, a pitiful look washing your face. “How long haven’t you been touched like this?”

“Since I swore to the Creed.” he confides, in a soft voice.

“That’s a long time.”

“I know.” he agrees and you bring your face close to his.

“Is this okay?” you question, not wanting to go to hard and break any boundaries.

“Yeah” Smiling up at him, you lean up and press your lips to the skin on the side of his neck, tugging down at his collar. Shuddering next to your ear, Din lets out a soft moan.

Your hands roam the front of his body, before tapping against his chest plate.

“Can i take this off?”

“Please” he almost begs.

One by one, you remove the pieces of beskar that adorn his body, letting him discard of your own clothes after, and finally having you take off his last layer of clothing. This alternate game, painfully slow eased the nervousness out of the both of you - even though he was the inexperienced one, you were more nervous to be with him than you had with any other man.

The others were just quick affairs or one night stands, no one ever sticking around long enough to tell you the things he told you a few minutes ago. Always using you as a quick fix for whatever was wrong with their lives. But he was different. He was special, and you wanted to make this special for him, in return.

Once you both stood bare-skinned in front of each other, his hands sneak around your waist, cold skin making you hiss.

“Your hands are cold.” you whisper against his lips, that curiously explore your face.

“Sorry.” he mumbles

“It’s okay.”

You push the both of you in the bed, until the back of his knees hits its edge, and he sits down with you standing in between his legs.

“Y/N, I …um…I-I…I-I d-don’t know how to…”

“Shhh,” you mumble against his lips “It’s okay, I’ll start and when or if you feel comfortable you can take over. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Returning to kiss his lips, you kneel down, breaking the kiss only when your skin hits the floor beneath you. You place one of your hands on his toned stomach, gently pushing it so that he gets the hint and lays down on the bed. Running your hands up his legs, you feel his every muscle harden under your palms.

“Try and relax. I’m not going anywhere.” Din leans his head back and moans softly as your hands work their way up and down his length. You can feel the way his body tenses up when your fingers wrap around his girth.

His fingers unconsciously find their way into your hair, gripping at it as you lick up and down the length of his cock. Every wet trail your tongue leaves pulling another pornographic moan from the man, each louder than the previous one.

You look up at him before opening your mouth and finally sinking onto him fully, earning a grunt of approval.

“How does that feel?” you ask one time, bringing your lips to the top of his head, before popping away.

“Bloody great...”

When you feel that he is starting to get close, you pull away and quickly step onto the bed to straddle him and he instinctively sits up, face close to yours.

Taking the tip of his cock, you line it up with your entrance eager to work on your own pleasure “Can I?”

Looking down at him, he nods and you slowly sink down onto him, moaning at the way he agonizingly stretches you.

“Maker,” Din moans as you settle on his cock, all of his length buried deep inside of you. “Move, please.” He practically begs you.

“Give me your hands” you instruct and he obeys, you guiding his hands so that they are gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

You start slowly moving your hips up and down, grinding against his pelvis every time you come down on him. At first he doesn’t move, just letting you get used to your own rhythm but as soon as he gets more eager, his own hips start thrusting up to meet yours, joining you in perfect synchrony.

The hands that previously rested on your hips part ways in different directions, one of them coming up to cradle the back of you head and the other slides to rest on your bottom. Instinctively, you throw your arms against his shoulder, one hand finding the back of his head as you both keep thrusting. There was no getting closer than this - him buried balls deep inside of you all the while hugging you against his body.

Groaning, he lifts his hips causing you to buckle your legs around his waist as he manages to flip you over, so that now he was the one on top. You refrain from a moan to come out of your mouth.

“Seems like you’re getting the hang of it.”

He only chuckles against the curve of your neck, before resuming the rhythm at which he was working before.

“Y/N...Fuck”

“Mando...”

“It’s Din.” he lets out between breaths.

“What?” you pant.

“The name. It’s Din.”

The knot in your stomach begins to tighten, and your walls squeezing around his cock. Your moans become more frequent as you feel your high growing. You grab one of Din’s hands and guide it down to where your bodies are connected.

“Feel this?” you pant and he hums in response “The hard bud, it’s the clit. Rub it in circles. It feels good.” You guide his fingers a few times circling your clit and once you feel like he has the hang of it, you let him do it on his own.

“Like this?” he pants, stroking it fast causing you to see stars.

“Exactly like that.”

You can feel your orgasm getting closer and by the way he is tensing, you can tell he is about to cum too, the only sounds in the room being those of your breathings and sloppy kisses, and your skin slapping together.

Your hips connect one last time before your back arches off the bed, pressing your nipples against his soft chest and Din’s body tenses, groaning in pleasure as his hot cum dashes your insides.

But he doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until you come down from your own high as he pulls out, rolling to your side, and you let out a soft whimper at the emptiness.

You’re sprawled out next to him and looking over at you, he chuckles adoringly and wipes a bead of sweat from the side of your forehead before placing a kiss to it. You manage a soft smile, eyes meeting his.

His eyes then trace the shape of your body, glazing over the red handprints your hips and waist.

You roll over onto your side, draping one hand over his chest as he wraps his arms around you gently, pulling you to him, and burying his face in your hair. You close your eyes and inhale his scent.

“I love you.” You smile a bit but don’t open your eyes only whispering the same words as he smiles against your forehead, leaning down to kiss it before resting his chin on the top of your head as he holds you against his body for the rest of the night.

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#winchesterxxi #mine #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #smut #fluff #pedro pascal

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yoshkeii · 3 years

Text

"𝙵𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚜"

࿐ character(s): Daichi Sawamura, Asahi Azumane

࿐ genre: sfw, soft/fluff

࿐ type: (au) headcanons

࿐ requested by: anon

⌦ boyfriend male!reader (he/him)

⌦ genshin impact x haikyuu!!, modern settings

⌦ ‘can i request an au headcanon (basically genshin impact x haikyuu!!, modern settings, but the vision bearers are rarer than post traveler time and there's still spiral abyss where vision bearers help discovering new information and artifacts, and getting paid from their country for that) So, daichi and asahi's boyfriend(a vision bearer, which element is up to you to decide.)(also separetly) reacts that their boyfriend just give them an old flower artifact that he found that reminds male!reader of his boyfriend‘

A/N: an interesting concept !! thank you for requesting, im not good with reactions but- ihopethisisokay,, i dont think i did well on this,, khai writes hcs weirdly pt. who fucking knows.

asahi azumane’s give flower: wanderer’s troupe or viridescent venerer

𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚒:

》 staring at the rosy-red petaled flower that was supposedly made into a brooch, a piece missing that would make the item stay on the wearer. your eyes glossed over the item, identifying cracks and scratches on the metallic bronze pieces that accompanied the ordinary looking flower, that somehow was in one piece. just... slightly off-colored. before jumping as your name was called by another vision-bearer with two others by the way towards the exit of the Abyss floor, you began to hurry over to them as you gently slid the “Gladiator’s Nostalgia” into your pouch. the name you had read before within a dusty journal, remembering it so clearly with a much vibrant image than the real one you had now. but it oh, so reminded you of your beloved boyfriend, the one waiting for you at your shared home. 《

→ Daichi didn’t know he would be dating a vision-bearer, no one would’ve thought of a thing really. they were such a rare sight to see out in public- especially in the modern days. but that only just added to the many surprises you came home with after your days of working in the “Spiral Abyss” is what they call it.

→ giving him the faded-out red flower as soon as you walked through the front door, a bright smile across your face, was a sight he would never get tired of. except the slight worriedness would built up seeing scratches n bruises along your skin the more he stared...

→ eventually leading him to treating your injuries properly, maybe a slight scold or lecture here and there-

→ “Love, you know you have to be careful. Especially with fire! I know you have a Pyro vision, but that doesn’t mean mess around- and play with fire itself- You aren’t immune to it.” “..even worse that you tried using your abilities to cook..”

→ “He-hey it was a one time thing-!! and I was really curious ‘Muraaa..” you whined, wincing and pulling your face away with a pout as Daichi pressed a cotton swab onto the cut along your cheek.

→ “Yeah yeah, lil’ember.” He muttered the nickname, swiping a thumb over the bandaid to cover the cut. “..there you are done, now go get a change of clothes dirty boy- I have to put the first aid stuff away.”

→ seeing you disappear pass the door frame of your shared room, he went back to pack and close the first aid kit. before his eyes wandered towards the flower you had given him earlier, which was just idly sitting there on the counter. Daichi picked up the flower holding it gently in his palms, feeling the petals with his free hand.

→ he stared at the flower for a long moment, observing the petals before noticing the scratches on the metal pieces attached to the brooch. he smile gently, beginning to realize this was a gift to him, a gift that you gave and probably risked your life to nag.

→ sighing deeply at the thought of you getting hurt, knowing how clumsy you can be, he went off to the shared room where you would be. just to make sure you dont... do something stupid.

→ “Y/N?” Daichi had softly called out, seeing your head peek out from the closet as you slid a shirt on. he motioned his hands upwards a little, still holding the faded-brooch in his palms.

→ “Oh! The Gladiator’s Nostalgia? The flower, do you like it??” the way you had ecstatically replied, he could imagine a puppy’s tail wagging so fast. your eyes shimmering as you awaited his answer.

→ “I love it, ember, it was really nice of you to give it to me.” “..although I hope you didn’t get hurt too much... to achieve it. I bet this was hard to get-” He spoke softly, genuine about the words slipping through his lips.

→ “Well actually... not really-” seeing Daichi look at you in confusion, “..I’ve seen that artifact set a lot on my runs with my team, but are often- broken’n’damaged. So I- I could never give you one-” “There’s also different ones apart of the same set for yours!! I might try to collect the others for you... or more.. flowers..”

→ “Wa-wait-,, there’s more-?” he longed on his question, before he could let out another word he noticed how you started to ramble. talking about interesting details of the items you could get him on your adventures and battles, and all he did was listen. settling down on the edge of the bed while you went on.

→ you were so passionate with your job, what you were doing as a vision-bearer. it’s what he liked about you, or well... loved about you. although he wonder if every Vision-bearer were the same, he’d still take you, . date you, just as who you are. with, or without a vision. and ofc he will keep an eye on what gifts you decide to give him in the mere future.

𝙰𝚜𝚊𝚑𝚒:

》 being an Anemo Vision bearer, your able to adapt and flow with whatever could come your way. making elements spread across the battlefield with one set of moves or to crowd-control them into one spot for the others to strike the unfortunate foes. time to time you would stumble upon the “Viridescent Venerer” set in the fallen loot of opponents or the scuffed chests that were stashed at the end of battles. they looked so different than most artifacts, especially the flowers. common artifacts were genuine real flowers, making them have the same aspect as any other flower, withering and fading into nothing but dull-bland colors. but the Viridescent Venerer’s flower did not, it was just a white wild flower that used to cover the earth. and it has not withered one bit, and still gives off an exquisite fragrance you noticed as the times you ran by it... and well of course noticed it as the scent was what you usually smelled since you had one as part of your outfit. 《

→ Asahi had always pointed out the flower on your outfit, the “In Remembrance of Viridescent Fields“ is what the books would title it, but in short you just called it the Viridescent Venerer flower or just... Viridescent for Asahi’s sake.

→ he had always complimented on how it looked beautiful and pretty, especially when his beloved boyfriend is wearing it.

→ as days of works and floors of the Spiral Abyss, you managed to find a new piece of the Viridescent to use. unlike discarding the one you currently you had, you had an idea that came into mind, finding you sliding the newer artifact into your bag before leaving off to home. a smile brought onto your face.

→ now cuddling in each others presence, you both chatted about your days. already cleaned yourself up from your days works. hand in hand with soft laughter erupting from both of you, before it died off into comfortable silence.

→ “Azumane, love?” you simply called out, knowing you caught his attention instantly as you felt movement from him. “You certainly like the flower on my fit.”

→ “Well it really is- pretty. Like knowing how regular and most flowers wilt and wither- That one hasn’t! An-And I believe its the same one you wore the day we met too-” he noted.

→ to only be surprised at his memory of these types of things, you laughed- making him startled and a bit embarrassed.

→ “You sure have quite the memory, to even remember that image? I’m impressed, so I assume... it has caught your eye since the start? Just like I was to your own vision~” you cooed, getting up from his grasps before disappearing pass a corner of a wall.

→ confusion expressed on Asahi’s face, sitting up from his position on the couch before his eyes caught the glimpse of the Viridescent in your hand.

→ sitting on the edge of the couch, you motioned the flower towards him, a gentle smile across your face.

→ “I would simply like you to have mine then, it is quite old- and worn from the times I’ve had it through my lifetime. But I think it’ll be a nice gift from me to you.”

→ hearing the words being slipped passed your mouth, he felt tears daring to fall from his eyes- Asahi did not know why. but imagining keeping the Viridescent you had for who knew how long-

→ it would be something he would cherish, something he wouldnt let go.

→ exchanging gentle kisses across your face in exchange, trying his best not to cry the joy. because it was so touching- so simple yet so poetic to give. he didn’t think he deserved one.

→ and from that afternoon, Asahi had kept it. he had kept it safe and sound, bringing it with him whenever you were never there. so he had something to calm him down in anxious moments. he had a memory of you in a flower that would never wither.

#at-dusk;- 🌆#folder 📁;- 𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚔𝚢𝚞𝚞 #daichi x male reader #asahi x male reader #daichi sawamura x male reader #asahi azumane x male reader #haikyuu x male reader #hq x male reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #x male reader #x reader

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phantomwarrior12 · 3 years

Text

Old Wounds

How long has it been since she's been home?

Lord Shaxx watches as the Young Wolf materializes mid-stride, her ship battered from the floating wreckage of the Glykon. A rifle he hadn't seen before slung across her shoulders doesn't go unnoticed and the Warlord smiles behind his helmet.

Of course she'd return with a new gun - what actually surprises him is that her vault can still hold the litany of weaponry she's recovered over the years. His amusement ebbs after a moment, gaze drifting along her frame for any semblance of damage as the Young Wolf pauses beside the Tower's chief mechanic. As she allows her Ghost to relay the extensive damage to Holliday, Shaxx takes note of a few singe marks that hadn't been there before, a few new dings to her armor. Altogether, she seems fine - humoring the playful chiding from the mechanic before she finally turns to face him. The air around them shifts, sparking with Arc and Solar Light as their eyes connect.

How long had it been since she's been home?

He strides toward her and he swears it's relief that washes over her frame. She moves - albeit slower - toward him. She must be exhausted. All the more reason for Shaxx to scoop her up in his arms, her smaller frame weighing next to nothing for the Titan.

"Welcome home, Guardian," he says softly, clinking his helmet gently against hers.

Her only response is wrapping her arm around his neck and clinging to him. It's then that he realizes her Ghost had transmatted the weapon from her back and he is grateful for its foresight.

Over her head, Shaxx notes the nod of approval from Holliday, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she turns and sets to work on identifying which part of the list Ghost had given her warranted the most attention.

"Time for bed, I think," he chuckles and he can see more than feel the shift of her hood against his chin. She'd nodded, of that he is certain. Sometimes he wishes she'd speak, utter a single word of confirmation here and there. But he understands why she doesn't. Ever since Cayde-6, she...well, words are sparse. He does miss the sound of her voice - it's been so long since he's heard it. Even before Cayde's death, she hadn't spoken often, but it was often enough when they were alone.

Many things have changed since then, the Young Wolf, especially.

But there is a constant in all of this. Something he has no doubts of even after all this time. Something he clings to: her feelings for him. They are apparent in every interaction; every touch, every kiss, she cares for him deeply and that is all the Titan requires. He can survive without her words because her actions, her touch, every subtle movement of her lean frame tells him the same: she loves him and that has not changed.

It doesn't take long before he's carried her back to his quarters, setting her down and she gives him an appreciative pat on the chest. He watches her move off to go shower away the spore residue and Hive fluid while the Titan gets changed for bed. His helmet is set on the desk in the corner of the room before shutting off the light and sliding beneath the blankets just as the water shuts off.

He listens to the rustling from the bathroom before the door slides open and he looks over. With the moonlight streaming into the room, he can make out an oversized tshirt - that is no doubt from his top drawer - hanging over her frame like dress. His eyes follow her as she deposits her helmet beside his on the desk. Her back is to him and yet, he can see her head is turned toward the window that faces the hanger.

He knows where her thoughts lie on nights like these. Post-missions are always the most difficult. She'd grown used to giving reports directly to Cayde. They'd been close friends after all, and dare the Titan suggest, like family. Without him, there's a void in her heart, like a key piece of who she'd been is gone.

But then again, she tries to suppress it. Tries to power through because it's what he would've wanted. There's so much Shaxx wishes she'd tell him, starting with what it is he can do to ease that ache. Vengeance had only done so much - in fact, the only time the Warlord had been even remotely wary of the Young Wolf was the night she brought Cayde's body back to the Tower.

The chasm in her eyes, the silent determination. It wasn't the Young Wolf he'd fallen in love with and what came back still has a tendency to toe that darkened line. But she holds on, if not for him, then for Cayde.

It's then that he realizes how long it's been. A matter of minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity. At last, he finds his words, lifting the blankets as he does so. "Come to bed, dearest."

She jolts as if he'd broken a trance and she pivots. Soft rays of moonlight cast across her features and the sadness she's trying so damned hard to conceal glints in emerald eyes.

"Come on," he beckons softly and she shuffles slowly across the small room toward the bed. Usually it's only a few strides and she's there but there's a reluctance to her gait. Slow and measured and meandering all at once.

It's unlike her.

Perhaps some discussion of her mission will calm her, give her the sense of giving a report to someone she trusts deeply without actually having to do so. Or perhaps it will simply give him some insight into what jarred her on that mission.

"Your ship looks to have been damaged." He begins awkwardly, his eyes watching her every movement.

She manages a slight shrug and a vague gesture of the hand to signify dismissal.

"I suppose it was a wreckage, that's to be expected."

She nods her agreement as she climbs onto the massive mattress and slips beneath the covers he'd held up for her. But she doesn't move close to him like she usually does, just lays on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling above her.

What had gone through her mind in that shower that caused such a stark contrast from the hanger?

Lord Shaxx lays down beside her, resting on his side. "What are you thinking about?"

She shrugs again, tugging the blankets up to her chin.

"You can talk to me, my little Hunter. I'm right here," he props himself up on his elbow, studying her intently.

She appears to hesitate, take a deep breath as her eyes flicker to and fro on the ceiling before she can finally find the words.

"Found the Guardian onboard. Torn to pieces, strung up." She says softly.

"That must have been a gruesome sight." He rests his hand over her forearm beneath the blankets. He can feel the tremor of her muscles beneath his fingers, feel the subtle flare of solar energy cascading against calloused skin. She's barely keeping it together and now he needs to know why.

She nods after a moment.

"...there was something else, wasn't there?" He pries softly.

She shakes her head, gathering herself to speak. "No, just - I was too late. Always too late, Shaxx. I couldn't save him like I couldn't save--" she trails off and he can see the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

So, there was more to it.

He shifts closer, slowly leaning his head down to press a kiss to her forehead, "I know. I know it feels that way. But you made it in time to save Osiris and Crow. You aren't always too late--"

She looks up at him for the first time. She doesn't believe a word he's just said, he can see it in her eyes. But there's something else, relief, perhaps? Appreciation? No. It's tired but acknowledging all at once. She gets his point but doesn't believe it in that moment.

It's a look he rarely sees, especially from her.

There is nothing he can say to correct that voice in her head - nothing she'll believe anyway. So, he settles for the only thing he knows will bring her comfort: cuddles.

He gathers her against him; strong, solid arms wound tight around her small frame as he holds her close. "It'll be alright," he assures her softly and she clings to him. He can feel her nails digging into his shoulders, the pain dull but there - he doesn't say anything. She breaks down and still, he holds her. Waves of solar energy cascade in soft waves against his frame and still, he holds her.

What she saw took her back to that fateful day in the Prison of Elders. Of that, he is certain. The powerless feeling must have been overwhelming and he wonders for a moment if the slow gait in the hanger hadn't been exhaustion, but grief. Now that he thinks back, she had seemed to stare past Holliday, not responding when the mechanic had looked toward her.

It doesn't matter now.

She's begun to drift off in his arms, sniffling softly as her forehead rests against his chest and there is no Light washing over him. Sleep will do her good, just as those tears had done the same. She's a long way from recovering entirely, but this is a step. She's reopened an old wound and perhaps - perhaps this time she'll face those demons rather than suppress them.

Perhaps she'll speak again, maybe even smile that playful grin he hasn't seen in three years. He can hope but he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he will be at her side through all of this.

The Crucible doesn't have time to consider loss. The only way is forward. But, perhaps, just this one time - loss must be the focus.

For her sake.

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

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @genken64 @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 Shaxx's Guardians: @ataraxia101 @squirrel-stars @rain-wolfe

#lord shaxx x guardian #shaxx x guardian #shaxx #lord shaxx #the young wolf #solar subclass #solar hunter #gunslinger hunter #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #phantom writes

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 1

~ Next Part ~

“Maybe stealing from an interdimensional diplomat wasn’t my greatest idea,” Gavin thought to himself from his current position in a jail cell.

He’d been hesitant about the job right away. Stealing from humans was one thing, but stealing from alteons was on a whole new level. However, the payment the client had offered Gavin had been too tantalizing to refuse. Who knew it was bad to be greedy?

“Shit,” he grumbled under his breath. How was he supposed to know the diplomat would have some weird magical artifact thing that could detect and identify trespassers? That was just unfair. Gavin was a good thief, so good that he’d managed to make a career out of it. If he had been caught due to his own ineptitude maybe he wouldn’t be so peeved. But this was just a matter of not having enough information. Thus making it unfair.

Prison was something every criminal feared, but it was also something every criminal prepared for in some sense. If Gavin was headed for prison, he might not be so worried. Sure it would suck, but at least he felt sure his undeniable charms would make him friends in no time. But Gavin wasn’t headed for prison--no, he was being extradited to the alteon dimension.

Gavin shivered at the thought. Despite having stolen from one, he had never actually seen an alteon in person. Pictures and videos could only do so much, at least that’s what people said. Apparently the true gravity of an alteon’s massive size couldn’t be understood until you saw one in real life.

Not only would Gavin quite literally be put in the hands of an alteon, but he would also be getting taken to a completely different dimension that only a few very important humans had ever visited before. Maybe he should’ve felt special.

Were the circumstances different, Gavin might’ve even felt excited for the adventure. His work had taken him all over the world, it would be thrilling to get to see a whole new one. However, he had a feeling he wouldn’t exactly be getting the grand tour.

It was at that moment that Gavin began to hear footsteps approaching his cell. A few moments later, two business-suit clad federal agents appeared. Gavin scrambled to his feet and took several unconscious steps towards the back wall. The key jangling in one of the agents’ hands told him exactly what time it was.

“Your ride is here,” the female agent announced, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Gavin scowled.

The key carrying agent swiftly unlocked the door and beckoned for Gavin to exit the cell. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he stated impatiently.

“Aren’t you going to cuff me or something?” Gavin questioned, taking note of the fact that neither agent had brought handcuffs with them.

The woman’s smirk grew but she remained silent. “The alteon won’t need cuffs to restrain you,” the man responded.

Gavin instantly felt the pit of fear in his stomach grow. Horrible images of himself trapped in gigantic hands were invading his mind. Being given over to the alteons meant that his civil rights would be essentially irrelevant. Unless alteons had laws protecting humans, which he doubted, then they could do pretty much whatever they wanted with him. Gavin swallowed hard.

“A-actually, I’m okay staying here…” he stammered. God, he hated how pathetic he sounded. Gavin’s line of work required a lot of guts, and while a healthy dose of caution was always good, he had never considered himself to be cowardly in any sense of the word. But now...well now he felt like the biggest fraidy cat in the whole world.

The male agent gave Gavin what almost seemed like a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but that’s not an option,” he said, once again making a beckoning motion with his hand.

“Dad was right. I should’ve become a doctor,” Gavin thought miserably to himself as he very reluctantly exited his cell.

The trip up from the cell block to the roof of the building pretty much felt like a march to death. Federal employees stared unabashedly at the man practically being sacrificed to giants. Some wore looks of pity, while others had smug expressions on their faces, as if to say “serves him right.” Were Gavin in a better mood he probably would have scowled at the nosy jerks, or at least stuck his tongue out at them. But as things were, he was in no mood.

Rael sighed as he shifted his feet impatiently. It didn’t elude him that every human in the vicinity stiffened at his movement. He refrained from rolling his eyes. It was irritating how the humans constantly acted so skittish all the time, as if he would suddenly go on some sort of rampage.

“Why did they have to give me this assignment?” Rael mentally groaned.

Unlike many of the members of the Imperial Guard, he hadn’t joined with some idiotic fantasy of glorious duels and honorable battlescars. Rael joined because he knew it was the easiest way to elevate his station. Plus standing guard at the palace was easy work that he was perfectly content with. That’s why he had been less than pleased when he'd been informed he would have to venture to the human dimension to retrieve some human criminal.

Prior to today, Rael had only seen a human once, it had been from a distance and only for a second as they were being escorted into the palace. Therefore, he’d had no personal reason to dislike humans. It was just that from everything he had heard about them, they sounded so...annoying. And so far, his experiences with them today had proven that to be fairly accurate.

Rael suppressed a sigh as he glanced around. Thankfully the building he’d been told to go to was at the edge of a human city, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with civilians gawking at him. The federal agents gathered on the roof in front of him were bad enough.

The stories about how giant being in the human realm would make you feel rang true. Rael felt positively colossal next to people who looked to be barely taller than his fingers. Not to mention the building he was standing beside, which appeared to be three stories, reached no higher than his knees. “Humans are lucky our imperialistic urges died a century ago,” Rael thought. Taking over the human realm would no doubt be a piece of cake, even with their supposed technological advancements.

“Sir!” Rael’s attention was caught by the shout of one of the humans standing on the roof below. He looked down to see the speaker was the woman who appeared to be in charge. “We apologize for the wait, the prisoner is being brought up now,” she announced. It was almost amusing, the way they had to yell for their tiny voices to even be perceived by him.

“Good,” Rael responded simply, electing not to mention the fact that the prisoner should’ve been ready and waiting for him when he arrived.

After a few minutes, Rael caught sight of the door on the roof entrance swing open. Three humans stepped out. The two dressed similarly to all the other federal agents practically had to drag the third one out. It was difficult for Rael to see from so far away, but the odd one out appeared to be a young man. He had light skin, a crop of messy brown hair, and appeared to be quite slim.

Rael raised a single eyebrow. “This is the prisoner?” he questioned as he eyed the man. He didn’t look like much, which was applicable to pretty much all humans, but Rael found it hard to believe that this one could’ve successfully stolen from an alteon.

“Yes, sir!” replied the woman in charge. “His name is Gavin Stone, he’s believed to be associated with many high profile robberies,” she explained.

Rael spared the human called “Gavin Stone” one last look before giving a shrug and reaching for the miniature iron cage attached to his belt.

The cage, which had been especially made for this occasion, was quite simple in its construction. The thing didn’t even have a lock because the latch to open the door was too big for a human’s miniscule hands to manage. It would do perfectly for keeping the criminal contained throughout the duration of the trip back to the palace.

The moment Gavin had laid eyes on the alteon, his body had practically separated from his mind. Physically, he was moving forward with the guidance of his two escorts, but his mind was still struggling to process the impossibly large person looming above him.

If the alteon’s size wasn’t strange enough, the guy looked like he’d stepped right out of a Renaissance Fair or something. His skin was a soft brown color, and he had long black hair that was tied into a loose ponytail behind him. His eyes were a striking teal color that stood out against his angular features. As for his clothing, he looked to be wearing what appeared to be some kind of light leather armor over top of a forest green tunic. Oh yeah, and then there was the fact that he had pointy elf ears.

Gavin had known the alteon dimension was almost medieval in nature, and he’d known the alteons had pointy ears, but it was still so damn bizarre to see in person.

As Gavin was in the middle of gaping, the giant began to move. He flinched at the action, and he noticed everyone else on the rooftop tense up as well. Clearly nobody was comfortable around this--this thing! “How can they hand me over to that?!”

It wasn’t until he had been practically shoved to the edge of the roof that Gavin’s brain caught up with what his body had been doing. Frantically he looked around him. All of the agents, including his former escorts, had backed away from the edge of the building closest to the alteon. This left Gavin stranded, with a giant man a mere few feet away.

With a hard gulp, Gavin tilted his head back to look up at the creature who was about to snatch him away. Those teal eyes were glancing down at him, and in his hand was a cage the perfect size for holding a stupid human who really should’ve just become a damn doctor.

#so yeah...i've got some new ocs #get ready for some juicy fearplay in this sucker #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #g/t story #g/t community #my writing #oc: Gavin Stone #oc: Rael #g/t fearplay

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lizanathon · 3 years

Text

Foolish (Lan & Nynaeve Fanfiction)

Disclaimer: Wheel of Time is a Robert Jordan world, and I just write about it. This headcannon is based on the TV adaptation of the series. I had feelings about the last few episodes and needed to write about them.

I am so thrilled to see this series come to life on screen. I had a thought while watching 1x06 about what could’ve happened if a chance encounter occurred between the two episode. Slight deviation from canon but all ends the same.

*TW mentions of Stephins suicide

The sound of fists slamming against flesh grows distant as the guttural caw of grief fades to a somber silence. Mourners trickle from the room until but a few white clothed figures remain. Nynaeve still feels the echo of his screams resonating off the walls. She stares at the man with his head bowed over the body of a friend. Moraine turns to her, and to Nynaeve’s surprise, the ordinarily stony-faced women has tears in her eyes. Moiraine’s curious look remind Nynaeve that she is the intruder here. With a quick glance to the pale body laid out on the table, Nynaeve leaves the Warder and his Aeis Sedai to their grief.

…

Later, once Lan has donned his sword and the traditional brown and greens that enable him the blend into the shadows, he finds her. She sits at a window in the main hall of the Warder’s quarters. Lan knows immediately that it overlooks the green dedicated to the burial of any Aes Sedai or Warder whose body returns to Tar Valon. Stephin will have been laid in the ground today. Few Warders are to be found there. Warders do not die in peace. They do not grow old and their bodies are not laid to rest in pretty green pastures.

Lan approached the Wisdom cautiously as if she were a wild animal set to flee at any sudden movement.

“It’s a bit cruel don’t you think? Losing someone you love is hard enough, and yet…” Nynaeve pauses, collecting her thoughts. “And yet, you Warders and your Aes Sedai, you choose to enter into this bond… what happened to Stephin, it’s not like that for an Aes Sedai is it? When they lose a Warder?

Lan follows the young channelers gaze. He sees the freshly upturned dirt. There is a stone identifying its location, but nothing more than that. Humble beginnings and humble endings, he thinks. A bitter twinge of anger rocks his nerves as he acknowledges how unbefitting the scene is. “It’s different.” He begins softly. “The bond, it makes you feel something greater than whole. This person, they become an extension of yourself, an extra limb. Losing it is the same thing as losing a piece of yourself. Warders are responsible for the protection of their Aes Sedai. To lose them is to fail your oaths and more so, your best friend. Most die seeking revenge. Those who don’t, live in anger, guilt ridden and reckless until it consumes them. An Aes Sedai have their duty, their power. It keeps them focused. But many refuse to take new Warders in hopes to avoid the pain. Some do, they say that a new bond cannot fill the hole left in their soul but that it can create a spark elsewhere.”

Nynaeve is quiet for a short while before her nose scrunches up in a way that has Lan’s focus returning to her face. “It doesn’t make sense. I’ve used the one power and It just left me feeling angry. Angry and more confused than I was. I don’t see how that could chase away that kind of pain. I had woman… sisters I suppose they’re called; ask me how it felt. Asking me to describe the exhilaration. It reminds of the time Arnie Stickle ingested the Mill-flower pollen that was growing in his field.” He fought for days, itching to chase the high it brought. If that what touching the one power is supposed to feel like, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

With effort Lan let his gaze drop to his hands “Power can be addicting, perhaps that why the Aes Sedai have built the system they have; the training, the rules, the observant eyes behind every corner and under every staircase.”

Nynaeve glances subconsciously to the hall leading from the Warders Quarters. “They say that the Aes Sedai serve the people, the ordinary citizens, but from what I’ve seen, they’ve no idea what happens beyond this tower. They fight for power, for validation and prestige. And they bind a person they claim to love knowing that the consequences may drive them to madness, to a slow agonizing death.”

He’s heard these criticisms before and its rarely ever fazed him. He knows the strength of his bond and is proud of his decision. But for some reason the words hurt coming from Nynaeve. A part of him had assumed she’d understand. Maybe it’s the way she came after her friends without hesitation. Not once flinching at the presence of the power within these walls. Surely, she understands what it means to love unequivocable, to need your loved ones to be safe at any cost.

Nynaeve turned to face him for the first time since the conversation began. Redness coloring the edges of her eyes. “I talked to Maksim Ihvona today. They told me that they found the Goats Tongue that I gave to Stephin. They figured he’d used it to knock you out for the night while he… he…”

The urge to reach out to her was overwhelming, but knowing that it would not help he fought it. Crossing his arms across his chest he steels himself and tries to reassure her, “This was not your fault Nynaeve. Nothing could’ve prevented this. He made up his mind. He would have found a way around it sometime.”

“No, no! I was foolish. I knew how much pain he was in. I shouldn’t have... I shouldn’t have ever let him walk out that door.”

He wished he had the words to convince her, but in truth he too was drowning in guilt. “If you were foolish, than so was I.”

Nynaeve’s eyes bulged in anger as she hurried to defend him. “For lights sake you were unconscious! You may be strong Lan but the stuff I gave him would put a horse to sleep!”

Her outrage nearly made him lose his balance. He’d gotten used to seeing a blankness in her eyes as she went out of her way to avoid him for the last month of their journey. It took him a moment to remind himself of how passionate she could be. He felt the corner of his mouth shoot up slightly, but this moment was far from amusing. Steeling his features again, he continued. “But I took the cup. I… it’s done. But you, you helped him home. Were friend to a stranger. Made him smile and laugh his grief. You helped give him the strength to see Kerenes journey through. To return her ring to well it came from. He would thank you… in the next life maybe.”

A tear escapes Nynaeve’s attempt at a steely composure and she angrily wipes a sleeve across her eyes. With an inhale she says, “A Wisdom chases death with everything she has. But sometimes her duty is to welcome it was as much peace as she can offer.”

Lan contemplates the women in front of him and sees not for the first how much the world has taken from her. His stomach churns as he realizes that the hardships are far from over for her. Nynaeve straightens suddenly and wipes again at her eyes, though there is no trace of tears remaining “You trust Moraine?” She asks and Lan is not sure if its really a question, but his nod is sincere nevertheless.

“She has a plan for my friends, me too I suppose. I suspect there’s no way around that now.”

Lan tries not to look caught off guard. She intelligent, he knew. Not much would escape her notice. “All of you have abilities that are greater than you know. Moraine sees that.” Lan looks away solemn. “You knew not what this world had in store for you. But I swear to you it is in Moraine mind to prepare you all as best she can for what awaits.”

“I hope you’re right.” Nynaeve stands and Lan fights the urge to step back. “You know the tea house Emerald Brew?” And without waiting for a reply, Nynaeve straightens her skirts and promptly continues. “Have Moraine there mid-day tomorrow. It’s time for her to prove her interests.” Lan can’t help but nod even though she’s already turned and walked away. Faintly, he considers what it would be like in a world where he wouldn’t have to watch her retreating form.

…

A flash of yellow and green, followed by the unconcealable form of an Ogier pass along the balcony in direct view of the tea shop. Moiraine finds herself lost in thought as she lifts the delicate cup to her lips. She reflects on her appreciation for the brooding man she bonded as her Warder. It been far too long since she’s had the pleasure of a warm cup of tea. Lan seems to believe that the wilder girl has found their charges. Loathe as she is to admit it, Moraine is a bit grateful for the girl’s tenacity. She’s been a bit distracted with her return to the Tower after such an extended absence. She met her irritation with pursed lips. The politics of the Tower never really interested her. How Siuan managed all these years is beyond her. She returns the cup to the saucer when she notices the door nob spin. “We’ve got them.”

…

Moiraine flashes a glance at Lan when she sees the wilder standing at the door as they approach. Almost more surprising was the towering frame of the Ogier at her side. The builder held a stack of books that would make a normal man buckle under the pressure.

Lan and Moiraine have barely started on the walkway when the girl opens her mouth, “You promised to keep us safe?” not seeming to be looking for an answer she continues, “If you even consider for a moment doing them any harm, I swear to you I will make you and the whole of Tar Valon know the consequences of messing with Two Rivers folk!”

Lan shifts his stance next to Moraine but keeps his features unchanged. “Are you through?” Moiraine replies. This impulsive child will make Moiraines ageless face show its age before long she thinks. With narrowed eyes the girl opens the door, reveiling the dark interior of a musty inn. Moiraine thinks she ought to be surprised by the lack of people inside, even for the middle of the day. One more glance at Nynaeve’s stern face leads Moiraine to believe that their may be more to the story. “Loial, will you wait here? If all goes well, I’ll return shortly, and we can go these books you brought.” The Ogier looked as if he had much to say but the girl did not give him a chance.

As Lan and Moiraine were led the group to the stairs, she thinks again to the Warder at her side. How long had he known of these whereabouts? The thought was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Lan turns to look at her with concern and if her eyes don’t deceive her, maybe a touch of shame. Good, she thinks. He must remind himself the importance of this mission. There is little room to be distracted by fondness. These children have a long, dangerous road ahead of them. It would be foolish to become attached now. The memory of the dog she hid in her quarters came unbidden to her mind. She was too young at the time to realize how ridiculous it had been to name him, to let him distract her from her studies. It had only caused pain in the end. When she’d lost him.

Moiraine came back to the present when she saw Rand reach for his sword. Lan was in his face before the blade was pulled from its scabbard. “Don’t be stupid!” To Moiraines surprise, the normally intimidating presence of such a skilled Warder did little to quell the boys determination. “I not going to let you hurt him!”

“Rand!” Nynaeve slipped past Lan, causing the Warder to twitch. “I brought them. I think…” Nynaeve purses her lips as if she taken a bit out of an underripe persimmon. “I think, she can help. Save your fight. If anything happens, I’ll be right at your side.”

Moiraine approaches Mat who begins to fight. Both Lan and Rand’s attention jumped quickly to the thrashing boy as each held down a side. The darkness had soaked into his bones. Moiraine felt the rush of Saidar like electricity in her veins as she reached out to grasp it. Nynaeve maneuvered to hold his head where he tried to bite out at anything he could sink his teeth into. The three watched in stunned silence as the weaves appeared to travel up Moiraines sleeve searching for a place to seep into the soul of another. “Oh, you stupid boy!” And with a clang the dagger hit the floor.

…

Nynaeve kneels over the bed with her hand clasped around Mat’s. Rand takes up residence on his other side. The scene makes Lan feel ill. He knew only some of what Moiraine had in store for these children, but what he did know that this would not be the last of their heartache. He watches as Nynaeve looks up from the now resting boy, glancing towards the balcancy Moiraine had vacated to after the performance. He almost wishes he could stop her as she stands and follows after his Aes Sedai. Moiraine was still fuming. He felt the spines digging into his brain through the bond.

Moiraine senses the girl’s presence, and before she has time to reconsider Moraine launches into her. “Why didn’t you find me as soon as you saw the darkness in Mat? Your pride could’ve killed your friend.” Moiraine turns to stand face to face with Nynaeve, “If Wisdom is the title you claim, I suggest you start using some.” Nynaeve stays silent as Moiraine passes. By the time she returns to the room both her and Lan are gone.

…

#nynaeve al'meara #lan mandragoran #nynaeve x lan #wheel of time #the wheel of time #tv wot #wot #moiraine damodred #siuan sanche #matrim cauthon #rand al'thor #lanaeve #fanfic #wheel of time 1x06 #persimmon

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genshin-scenarios · 3 years

Text

A/N: Tysm @ramannnn for commissioning me!! I had a fun time writing this ＞︿＜

CW: Angst - this is set in the past when Xiao was still working under his cruel master, way before Zhongli freed him. The reader is a male servant working for the same boss.

The sky was gray that evening. Alatus might’ve described it as murky, even, if his body was in a state to observe the scenery around him.

It hurts; moving hurt, but the yaksha knew that if he didn’t, he’d be subjected to even worse later on. He needed something to soothe his body, he can’t remember the last time he’s eaten--

It was only when Alatus leaned against his polearm for support that his eyes focused on the ground. Something in his mind clicked.

...Snow.

Water.

Even if it was only like this, it was better than nothing. He wasn’t sure when he’d let his knees give way, but a moment later Alatus found himself closer to the snow. It was the closest thing he could get to sustenance right now, thus he dug into it and raised a handful to his mouth.

The cold bite of it stung his teeth at first, delivering a shock to his system as his mind gradually began to clear. Alatus kept shovelling at the snow, vaguely recognising his own state within the numbness of his body.

This was fine. It wasn't the first time.

When you were little, you used to think that snowflakes were pretty; you heard stories of how they were woven in unique patterns so that no two were alike. It was a charming notion, one that filled winters with a serene light, especially in mornings when daybreak would touch the snow.

But right now, with your current position… Appreciating the weather was the last thing on your mind. Rather, you were occupied with doing your job to a satisfactory level, where like any good servant, your presence would be barely noticed. You’d do well to stay away from the eyes of your master.

You were an oddity amongst the staff; a male servant without a trace of divine energy. Generally, the master liked recruiting those that used to thrive with promising power; a cruel habit where he enjoyed seeing warriors become his puppets, and scholars nothing more than servants doing mundane chores.

A few of your co-workers used to have visions, even. But their blessings are nowhere to be seen now. This knowledge sets an unpleasant feeling in your chest, but you pushed onward with what you could do; survive. And hope that one day, you may all be freed.

Over-optimistic as the thought may be, it’s the same idea that’s helped you through hard times throughout your service; that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Exiting the back door of the building to gather firewood, you almost dropped your axe when you noticed a movement out of the corner of your eye - was it an animal? Surely one wouldn’t approach the base, which was kept lit with lamps all around?

You cautiously took a few steps in its general direction, ready to lunge back if whatever it was decided to leap at you. You weren’t vulnerable, sure, but who knew what might be lurking in the darkness?

The first sound you registered is shovelling. Was an animal digging into the snow? But its silhouette seemed too large to be…

You swore as a twig snapped under your feet. It’s the faintest noise, but the creature snapped its head toward you, and you froze at the sight of golden irises.

Those… Are not the eyes of a beast. Your gaze trailed to the rest of their body to identify that this was instead a man. Now that you were closer and your sight adjusted to the darkness, you were able to make out a spear laid next to him as he stared you down, gaze seeming to pierce through you.

Yet… You weren’t as afraid as you should’ve been. What was he doing here, right as the moon raised itself into the sky? It was dark out, and there wasn’t a fire around…

“Do you want to come with me?” You asked, lowering your axe. “You’re going to get sick if you stay out here in the cold.”

He didn’t answer, though the man did get up - swinging his spear in a casual, deadly motion. His eyes stared you down for a few moments before he began to turn and leave.

Not even a ‘no thanks’? You smiled wryly to yourself. You could let him escape now, but something tells you that he might not be that disagreeable if you tried a little harder.

“I need to collect some wood.” You partly called out, though you had a feeling he could hear you just fine without that. He didn’t feel mortal, exactly. “If you help me do it quickly, I can heat up the leftovers we have in exchange.”

Would he accept the deal? You smiled at him as he sighed, fixing you with an unreadable look. It was as close to an agreement you could muster out of the stranger, you guessed.

Walking a little ways to pick up stray branches and cut down smaller pieces of wood, you might’ve been tricked into thinking you were alone - yet one glance behind and you’d see the man a few feet away. The both of you proceed to collect the material until you deemed it was enough, rounding back with renewed energy as you trekked back to the base.

He still hasn't talked so far. When you open the back door to enter the building, the man stood in the doorway as if unsure what to do with himself.

“You can put the wood away with me,” you smiled as he followed, nudging the door close behind him.

It shut with a rough thump. You winced a little, hoping that no one would come down to check on the noise; you weren’t normally this loud, but they’d likely assume it was you since there were only so many servants here.

The others… They were moved somewhere else. Some were with the master, but you did not know about the rest.

Shaking away the thought, you dusted off your hands as you stoked the kitchen fire. The rest of the wood was stored safely in storage, which means…

“Here,” you pushed a bowl of soup toward him. “Take this first. The rest will take a bit more to cook.”

“I thought you said they were leftovers.” Under the light, you noticed his dark hair had a hint of teal to it.

Definitely not mortal.

You tried to ignore the surprise from finally hearing his voice, tilting your head in the guise of offhandedness. “I got a little hungry, so I’m adding some ingredients to make more. You don’t mind, right?” The question was answered by the purse of his lips, and it seemed that he would speak no more, until--

“You are a servant of the Master.” The man finally said after you’re done with your food. You’d gestured for him to take the rest, and so he helped himself to seconds reluctantly.

You finally recognised who he was, after a while. As someone that was limited to working indoors most of the time, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet the warriors under the master’s command. Though Alatus was infamous for being the ‘favourite’, you held more pity than envy for him. Even as a mortal, you were well-aware of just how cruel the god could be, and with his sadistic tendencies…

Alatus was said to be a ruthless battle-machine, one that even devoured dreams.

But the person before you… Mostly seemed like someone that needed an ally. It was clear that fate had not dealt him a fair hand. Though that could be applicable to all that was under the master’s authority, it was even more true for his case.

“That I am.” You returned, the curve of your mouth becoming a regretful one. “Though I am luckier than others, I think.”

You weren’t sure what Alatus thought of that; his expressions were quite mild and subtle, though you suppose you couldn’t blame him.

“You’ll get in trouble if they find out.” He was done with his food, putting the chopsticks down quietly, as if he wasn’t to leave a trace of himself here.

“It’ll be fine.”

“You could die.”

“I assure you, I won’t. Because this’ll be our little secret.”

Your brightened expression earns the raise of a brow from him. Alatus’ apprehension is only slightly quelled when you raise a finger to your lips.

“I won’t tell a soul about you being here. And I can start leaving leftovers on the roof if you’d like.” You reached to grab your drink, motioning to tap it against his. It was only water, but it’d have to do. “Please take care of me in return, Sir. It seems we’re partners in crime now.”

When he frowns at the title, you let out a laugh.

He was kind of funny, you considered as you observed him. Getting to know him wouldn’t be so bad.

#alatus #genshin alatus #genshin xiao x reader #xiao x reader #xiao genshin impact #gi xiao #gi alatus #xiao genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact xiao #genshin reader insert #traveler wishes #commission snippets!#heavy tales #commission complete #commission done!

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laurensprentiss · 3 years

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 11:

Gif Credit: @dudeitiskarev

A/N: I told you shit was going to kick tf off! Poor Hotch is not having a good day today.

Warnings: Explicit details of injury, strong language.

———

“Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives.” - Nadia Scrieva

———

‘Fitzgerald House’ sits in white letters on an antique black board at the gateway entrance. Hotch turns over the engine and peers over at the notebook in McCall’s hand, squinting at the gated estate in front of him.

They’re buzzed in by a security guard, and as they drive up, the estate expands. A pillared terrace is framed by dark brick, neatly trimmed shrubs line the circle driveway and encase a grand fountain. Behind it, a set of antique double doors are framed by more huge pillars and blossom trees umbrella the pathway.

“Are you sure this is the right address, Aaron?” Mccall asks.

He nods. “Fitzgerald House. This is it.”

They step out of the car simultaneously, looking around them, the estate more intimidating up close. There’s something cold about this place, a familiarity he identifies with all too well.

“This seem like the kind of place a twenty-something lives in?” McCall asks in disbelief.

Hotch scoffs, air leaving his nose in an exhale. “Senator Fitzgerald’s twenty-something.”

Hotch is light on his feet, feels as though he’s dirtying the kept tile pathway just by walking on it. Truth is, he’d grown up in a home like this - or spent his summers there at least. He’d felt just as uncomfortable then as he does now. He knows what kind of people are on the other side of those doors, and knows the kind of people that live here. Cold, calculating, drenched in privilege, toxicity and unbearable expectations.

Borderline abusive.

He was raised by them.

He pulls his credentials from his inside pocket and reaches for the doorbell. They take a minute or so and when there’s no answer, he makes a fist and bangs on the door with the side of it.

“Open up, FBI.”

A woman finally pulls open one of the double doors, straining almost with the weight of it, the oak creaking. She’s around 40 years old, stands at 5’4 and she’s thin, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, greying slightly towards her hairline. A black and white apron completes her uniform.

“FBI? Can I help you?” She speaks with an accent, a thick lilt to her words. Eastern European, maybe, Hotch thinks.

“I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent McCall. We’re with the FBI.” They flip their credentials to show the lady, her eyes squint to read the writing on them. “And you are?”

“I’m the housekeeper. Carolina.” She says.

“Hello, Carolina. We’re looking for a Jordan Fitzgerald?” Hotch inquires with a smile.

“Oh.” She stutters and glances behind her, frozen in place.

“May we come in?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Please, come in, I think Mr. Fitzgerald is still in bed. Just a second.”

They step into the foyer of the home, taking in the room - it’s bright and airy, a white marble staircase leading up and off into both directions sits in the middle, framed by a dark bannister. The refined marble floor, and white walls make the both of them feel uncomfortable, uneasy. Tight-lipped family portraits and oil paintings of numerous well to do ancestors line the walls, casting a disapproving eye.

To the right, is a drawing room, where Carolina seats the two men, plush leather sofas are carefully placed in front of a massive window with a view of the front garden. An oversized antique ceramic vase sits in the corner of the room, perfectly polished and buffed.

Hotch swallows uneasily, his eyes scanning the room.

They both sit tentatively, careful not to scuff the antique rug that lays below them. McCall glances at his watch and mutters to Hotch, taking care to look around so nobody hears him.

“Bed? It’s noon.”

Hotch scoffs, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sees some missed calls from Haley that he skips over, shooting off a quick text to you.

Hey. Good luck with your dad today.

Talking to you is fast becoming one of the best parts of his day - he feels a little like a teenager again. His phone buzzes and he hopes it’s your name on the screen, he has a spring in his step whenever he’s on duty and he doesn’t have as much trouble waking up in the morning, knowing that you’re waiting for him.

He’s suddenly ripped from his thoughts when giggles erupt from the top of the stairs, and two sets of footsteps approach. Hotch cranes his head in unison with McCall as a blonde woman with dishevelled blonde hair and smudged eyeliner stumbles down the stairs, shirt buttons done unevenly and skirt askew.

She carries her shoes in her hands and has a purse tucked under her arm - Hotch concludes that she was probably drunk last night, the effects of which she’s still feeling now if her stumbling is any indication.

Who he assumes is Jordan, trails behind her with a grin on his face. He’s undressed with only a pair of boxer shorts covering him and a dressing gown that lays open. Hotch and McCall shoot each other a wordless look and Aaron has to fight to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Jordan surprisingly has the decency to walk his unnamed friend to the front door, who turns and plants what looks like a messy and unpleasant kiss on his mouth.

This is Jordan?

Nice.

He’s tall but still stands a couple of inches shorter than Hotch, he’s broad with brown hair and matching eyes and has a tattoo across his clavicle, which he covers up when he pulls his dressing gown closed. McCall clears his throat when the unnamed friend releases herself from Jordan’s grip and turns to leaves after having Jordan swat her ass crudely.

Jordan turns his attention then to the agents in his drawing room, padding towards them as they both stand in unison to introduce themselves. He glances at Hotch, eyes narrow, a miniscule flash of recognition appearing on his face. He subconsciously squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter, gaze falling to the FBI badge Hotch has pinned on his lapel.

“Mr. Fitzgerald? We’re with the FBI.” McCall tells him with an outstretched hand.

Jordan takes it warmly, plastering a smile on his face. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

McCall tells him that they’re here in connection with an ongoing case regarding you, to which Jordan has surprisingly little reaction, Hotch notes.

Instead, he turns his attention to Hotch. “FBI huh?” He places his hands in his hips, an obvious attempt at trying to assert his dominance, and Hotch sees right through him. “Impressive,” he continues. “How old are you anyway, man?” His words drip with sarcasm and do nothing to veil the obvious insecurity he feels.

He unsuccessfully tries to level with Hotch, subtly tiptoeing.

Hotch’s jaw clenches as he looks down at Jordan. “24.”

He repeats Hotch’s words slowly, ignoring McCall - who finds himself frozen in place, uneasy with the almost confrontational atmosphere between his partner and Jordan.

“Wow. Someone’s ambitious. Got a lot to prove-” he flicks his badge. “Hotchner?”

Hotch finds the words on the tip of his tongue, wants to chew this asshole out for being a sleazy piece of shit, difficult and lazy. But the thing that really bothers him, the thing that makes Hotch want to give him a black eye, is the fact that at one point, you were his - and his own actions sent you running back into Jordan’s arms.

That thought makes his stomach drop, because it’s a feeling he’s wholly unfamiliar with.

Jealousy.

And he finds that most disconcerting of all.

He’s used to being able to do his job with a degree of separation and compartmentalisation, to keep his emotions in check - but he finds himself in a predicament now, one that’s becoming alarmingly clear. The lines are blurred and he knows it, no matter how hard he tries to push it down.

But he tries anyway.

He takes a deep breath and goes on. “You mind putting some clothes on, bud? We have some questions for you?” His tone is biting, condescension masked with amiability, similar to the way he would speak to a child. He tacks on the ‘Bud’ to purposely get a rise out of Jordan.

If there’s one thing he learned from his parents growing up, it was how to get under people’s skin with a smile plastered on his face, and he knew people like Jordan.

He used to be a Jordan.

Jordan steps towards Hotch, his eyes narrow, a slew of expletives on the tip of his tongue no doubt until McCall subtly steps between them. He stops in his tracks, eyes still focused on Hotch standing behind McCall.

His demeanour changes completely and suddenly, the animosity melting away to make way for his initial warm manner.

He takes a deep breath and plasters an unnerving smile on his face.

With a tilt of his head, he says, “I actually have back to back appointments today, may I come into your offices tomorrow?” His cadence sounds eloquent, polite, the way Hotch knows he was probably raised to speak.

He frowns at the rapid 180.

McCall subsequently agrees to let Jordan come into the office to keep the peace but Hotch knows better. The only appointments he would have would be with a few lines of coke and a bottle of scotch if his jaw movements and body odour were anything to go by.

Still, Ben hands him a business card and tells him to come by at around 3pm for a few questions and bids him a quick goodbye.

Hotch’s phone buzzes on his way out, a message from you telling him that you’re on your way to your father’s with Emily.

‘Oh and like three MPD officers.’’ You add. ‘One’s new I think? How’s it going with Jordan?’

A small smile creeps its way onto his face while his attention is diverted and his eyes are glued to his phone.

Jordan watches Hotch and McCall walk back down the pathway and into the car. His eyes narrow from the doorway as he gives a cursory glance to the business card he holds between his index and middle finger, and he flicks it onto the ground outside.

McCall clears his throat once they’re in the car, but Hotch’s attention is still directed at his phone. He clears his throat again, a little louder this time.

Hotch’s eyes dart up as he looks at McCall. “What?” He asks innocently, slipping the phone into the centre console.

“That who I think it is?”

“Yeah, I just checked in to see if everything was alright.” He rubs the back of his neck, a dead giveaway gesture to anyone who knew him well enough.

“Yeah? Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what-”

Without warning, McCall reaches over and pulls down the driver’s seat visor, sliding the mirror cover over. Hotch’s face is flushed, a ghost of a smile on his face, akin to a smug teenager. His guilty reflection stares back at him and stops him in his tracks. He didn’t realise he looked like that when he was thinking about you and he’s alarmed at how transparent he is.

No, he thinks. So what? It’s warm, it’s even warmer in this car.

It’s fine.

Still, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “What?” Hotch says, insistent as he turns a little in his seat.

McCall sighs deeply next to him, hesitant. “Just. Be careful.” He says, head tilting to motion to his phone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Aaron.” He says, his voice low. “I see the way you look at her. And what about that little display inside? Why were you so confrontational with Fitzgerald?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh come on. You gotta be kidding me! You saw the way he was antagonising me-”

“-Yeah and your job is to stay calm no matter what. You’re not supposed to let people get a rise out of you, especially not if you want a place at the BAU one day. Gideon got word of you, he thinks you’re good. Prove him right.”

He sounds like an older brother lecturing him, but he has a point, Hotch thinks. Why was he so bothered by Jordan?

He knows why. He doesn’t know how much longer he can deny it.

The feelings he’d tried so hard to bury deep inside were quickly rising to the surface, faster than even he could get a handle on them. Maybe all he could do at this point was to relax his body and let the water carry him - sink or swim. The possibility of what could be, maybe it was too big to keep fighting.

He has feelings for you.

He has feelings for you despite the numerous conflicts of interest, despite the moral implications and the danger to your investigation.

He swallows dryly.

“You have feelings for her.” McCall says, mirroring his conscience.

He doesn’t know what to say back, but he certainly can’t bring himself to deny it. He’s not that good of a liar. Yet.

He just stares back at McCall whose face is etched in concern for his partner.

He has feelings for you.

———

It’s dark when you hug your father goodbye. You hadn’t realised just how homesick you’d been for him until you’d visited today, more so now as you’re about to leave.

You stand in the dreary rain and apologise again for not telling him about the restaurant incident, reassuringly rubbing his hand as you tell him you’re going to be okay.

“Really, truly.” You tell him over the patter of the rain. “I’m going to be absolutely fine. I have Emily watching over me now.”

He nods and places a kiss on your forehead. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still worry.” He sighs. “Bye, baby.”

You wave to him one last time, pulling your coat closer to your body before you and Emily drive away, MPD leading the way. You glare at her, watching her avoid your looks. She grips the wheel a little tighter, and keeps glancing in the rear view mirror despite there being nothing there.

After a minute or so, she grits between her teeth, “What? I can feel you staring at me.”

“You told Dad?” You hiss. “I specifically told you not to, and you still told him?”

“I’m sorry! He asked me outright if anything had happened, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“Yes!” You squeal. “Yes! You’re supposed to lie if I ask you to!”

“Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it. He deserves to know that you’re okay. Think about it, what if it had been him? You’d wanna know.”

In your attempts to not worry him, you’d forgotten that you were all he had, too. Maybe he was right for holding on so tight.

“I am sorry, though. I should’ve let you tell him.” Emily whispers, glancing at you.

“No.” You shake your head and apologise too. “You were right.”

“Does he fly out tomorrow?”

“Uh, no. Tonight. Some trip that’s been scheduled for months,” you reply distracted, watching the officers in front of you.

The MPD car turns its hazard lights on, signalling to pull over on the side of the quiet road. You peer at the vehicle in front of you, confused, checking with Emily who shrugs. A text from one of the officers reads,

‘Reports of a disturbance ahead, assessing alternate route.’

“Better settle in.” You show Emily the text and relax into your seat a little better now, leaning your head against the headrest and resting your eyes as the heater runs in the background. The rain slows to a drizzle now.

She unbuckles her seatbelt to turn her seat. “Can I ask you a question?” Emily says after a while.

“Sure.” You reply, eyes remaining closed.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” She whispers.

“Who?” You frown.

“Hotch.”

You all but jump out of your skin. “What?!” You squeak.

Emily rolls her eyes now, embarrassed that you’re even trying to deny it. “Come on. It’s me. Don’t lie.”

Your mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words but your cheeks burn. It’s not entirely unexpected, Emily’s always been somewhat of an inner voice, a mirror that holds you accountable but you’d been quietly trying to work out your issues, the feelings you’d been having for Hotch, internally.

Had you made it that obvious? Had you made yourself look stupid and naive, pining after a guy who was so much older and settled in life?

“No of course I don’t, where is this coming from?” Your cheeks grow even hotter and you try to keep your voice even.

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone can see it.”

“See what? There’s nothing to see!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands in mortification. If everyone could see it, that meant that Hotch could too, he was on his way to being a profiler for God’s sake. He was probably just humouring you, sparing your feelings.

Oh God.

“I mean the way you look at him?” Emily says.

“-Please stop, this is so embarrassing-”

“-The way he looks at you?”

You freeze. “What?” You turn to look at her now and you find her smirking.

“Come on, you’re seriously telling me you haven’t noticed? I noticed the day I met him, so you’re either blind or in denial, and I know you’re not blind. Even McCall knows it.”

“What? No. He has a girlfriend and he wouldn’t-”

“Yeah that might be true, and I can’t speak to that. But it doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Even the way he held you that day? You don’t hold a friend like that.”

Your chest feels fuzzy, warmth spreading to your bones, stomach flipping.

“So?” Emily laughs next to you as she watches your expression. You try your best to stop the smile making its way onto your face. “I’ll take that as a yes,” She pauses. “He does too, y’know?”

“What?”

“Have feelings for you.” She replies coyly.

“Shut up.” You reply, rolling your eyes.

Your smile reaches your ears now, cheeks aching from the strain. Still, you shake your head, and blow her off, instead turning your attention to the other side of the road. You chew on the inside of your lip, mulling over whether to let what you just heard go ignored or if you wanted to act on it.

You turn back to confide in Emily but before you can, you see her squinting in the rear view mirror.

“What the hell?” She mutters. You follow her gaze and see a car with beaming headlights, driving towards you, showing no signs of slowing down as it approaches. She sits up straight in her seat suddenly, as the car increases its speed and barrels towards you.

The colour on her face drains as she fumbles with the gear stick and pedal, panic taking over as she attempts to move out of the way. You both flinch when the MPD car’s tail lights switch on, the engine revving and reversing.

Both of your faces fall. “Emily...” You pant.

“Oh God.”

It’s over in a couple of seconds.

The headlights get closer and brighter, both cars barrelling towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourselves for impact, your hand clasping hers as both cars ram into you, the seatbelt searing the neck of your skin. The airbags pummel your body from the front and side and your insides feel like they're turning upside down.

Your neck snaps forward with the impact, glass shattering and piercing the skin on your face and arms as the blood pools slowly from your forehead. A high-pitched whine penetrates your skull as you look over to a barely conscious Emily, and then to the side mirror, a dark silhouette approaching the car. Your breathing is rapid, chest rising and falling as you hyperventilate before you finally black out with the taste of metal in your mouth.

———

Hotch throws his keys haphazardly on to the table that sits next to the front door, loosens his tie and shrugs his blazer off. He finally breathes a sigh of semi-relief, feeling exhausted. He doesn’t bother calling out to the empty space to let Haley know he’s home, instead decides to just make his way upstairs and get a shower before turning in for the night.

His shirt is unbuttoned and his socks are in his hands when he turns his attention towards the laundry basket in the corner of their bedroom. He goes to throw them in the hamper when he frowns, some stray fabric catching his attention behind the basket.

Haley strolls into the room then, rubbing lotion into her hands as Hotch moves the basket to get a better view of the fabric behind it. She double takes when her eyes fall to what he’s doing, spotting what he’s reaching for. The colour drains from her face.

She’s too late.

Hotch pinches the fabric between his index finger and thumb and inspects it in front of him, frowning, Haley swallows dryly, going lightheaded.

A pair of boxers.

He frowns. They’re not his, but he swears he’s seen some like them before.

“Hey, where did these-”

He barely gets through the whole sentence before Haley’s face gives her away entirely. Her lips are pursed and she’s breathing hard, wringing her hands.

His face falls and he blinks at her, stuck in denial.

Surely not. She couldn’t have-

She averts her gaze, looking instead at the carpet on the floor, cheeks hot when the boxers are thrown at her feet. She flinches.

“Explain.” He demands.

She opens her mouth but no words come, her head hangs in shame.

“How long?” He asks. “How. Long?!” His voice booms.

“It happened when I left for those two weeks.” Her voice barely registers above a whisper.

Anger bubbles in his chest when he does the math, “You’ve been cheating on me for two months? Two months?! Was that him this morning?” His nostrils are flared and he knows he’s getting louder now, but he doesn’t care.

She nods.

“Use your words, was it him?” He hisses.

She sobs, “Yes.”

His mind runs rampant with fury and humiliation, he’d spent the last four months trying to make sure he put her first, had tried to balance his personal and work life and instead of meeting him in the middle, she had betrayed him in such a humiliating way.

He paces the length of their bedroom now, head scrambling at the proverbial slap he’s just received . The cold familiarity of where he’d seen the fabric before suddenly dawns on him, creeping up his spine.

He stops dead in his tracks, turning to face her, asking the question he doesn’t want the answer to. “What’s his name?” He asks evenly.

“Jordan - Fitzgerald.”

He’d always thought the phrase, blood turning to ice, was just a saying but when Haley says those two words, he feels as though the floor has been pulled out from under him and his stomach sinks. He tries to piece together all of the moving parts, tries to connect the dots - he knows what this is, but his brain is still playing catch up.

He’s in a daze when he answers a call from McCall, his voice even. “I’m on my way to you, there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?” That pulls him out of his daze, a cold harsh push back into reality. Haley’s head whips up when she hears the words, tears streaming down her face. “Where?” He asks.

McCall pauses. “It’s her.”

Hotch can already feel what’s coming next, dread settling into his bones, his stomach churning when he remembers you’d planned to have dinner with your father. A violent shiver runs down his spine and he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill out.

“Status?” He whispers.

“Missing.”

———

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Tags: @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy @archiveofadragon @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch fluff #hotch smut #cm fanfic #cm fic #cm fic rec #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds

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hope-to-hell · 4 years

Text

Tumblr has eaten my asks but @its--fandom--darling requested Sy and ass play, and hopefully I have delivered. Nova. Syverson x Reader. Smut, anal, anal fingering, toys. Sy has something new to play with. If you’re curious what toy I was thinking of when writing, it’s this.

———

Sure you can handle it?

Course I can. It’s like anything else. Decide on a goal, identify the steps you need to get there. How to overcome the challenges. And I’ve been practicing.

Practicing, mmm? Huh. Good boy.

The toy’s got ridges, a knot, a nice wide base and he turns it over in his hands, assessing. Admiring the heft of it, the thickness. Licking his lips just a little as he runs a thumb over the knot near the base. Sy, sweetheart, I wanna see you take it to the hilt. Can you do that for me? Peel yourself open and feel it so fucking far inside you can almost taste it? You’re so gorgeous when you let yourself go for me; I want to see you fall all to pieces.

And yeah, the praise is still hard for him; it washes up against him like a river running over stone but sooner or later it wears him down, carves him open, and that shell of his is thinning; already the warm beating heart of him pulses so close to the surface; already there’s that half smile when he hears it.

And it might’ve taken him a while to think it over, to come to the conclusion that yeah, he really wanted all of this, but fuck if it wasn’t worth the wait because all that mountainous thick muscle is at your mercy; that fine sharp mind is attuned so closely to your every movement and your every need. And when you say show me there’s just that half second of hesitation before he strips off, before he folds his clothes neatly and sets them aside, before he stands with his hands clasped loosely behind and waits on your word.

Elbows and knees, gorgeous. Open up, I wanna see inside you. And listen. Listen. Christ would you look at that, at the way he angles his body to show you everything, at the way he slicks his fingers up so nice, at the way a little shiver ripples down his spine when he slides the first one in.

And it’s just too tempting to drape yourself across his back, to join your hands together and slide a slick and shining finger in beside his. He’s so fucking hot inside, hot and tight like he could crush your finger and burn it to ash, and it’s you, it’s you inside him and when he feels the base of your finger brushing up against him he groans, low and deep.

That toy’s gonna be a lot to take. How many fingers do you think you need? Four? Yeah, okay. He’s got the thick fingers but you have the angle and together you work him open, slip-sliding against one another, knuckles catching at his rim and making him bite back a whine— hey. Let me hear you. Wanna know when it’s good— reaching your other hand around to fist at his cock, feeling it slick with precome and lube, to feel it jump in your hand when your fingers move in him just right. And when he’s ready, when you withdraw your fingers and still see that gape, when you can catch that barest glimpse into the deepest part of him—

Okay, Captain. At your leisure.

Sy makes a show of it; he goes slow because he’s learning the value of this act, of the pleasure of taking his time to feel all of it. He’s all white-knuckle anticipation, all tension, till the toy’s head breaches his hole and slips inside. The long line of his spine is slick with sweat as he drops himself onto the side of his face and the front of his shoulder, getting both hands up and back, gripping tight.

Spread your knees a little. There. One of these days I’m gonna strap in and fuck you good and hard like you deserve. But today— today I want to watch you.

And what a sight he is, shaking and jerking with every ridge that disappears inside him til at last he’s at the knot— at that thick bulb of silicone that’s gonna be a beast to get past. But he breathes in and buckles down, so slick with sweat and lube that he has to take a moment to adjust his grip, and with a thick wet gasp he slips the last of it inside.

Talk to me, as you’re tapping on the flared base. Tell me all about it as you’re twisting the toy to rotate it just a little, to make him feel every last inch of it inside him. You like being full? Like showing me how strong you are, how beautifully you take it? His hands have dropped away, giving control of the toy over to you; he has one hand around his cock and the other fisted in the sheets, fingers clenching and grasping.

Darlin, I— I can’t move, can’t think. Feels like I’ll fall apart. That last part, Christ. It’s like being pinned down from the inside, like I’m filled up and held open and—

And you’ll be so loose for me after. I’ll be able to pet your insides with no trouble at all. I’ll just slide my fingers into you nice and easy to feel you still trying to clench down, still trying to close, but for all your strength you’ll still be lax and open for me for a while, won’t you? Do you like that, feeling the evidence of all your hard work?

Because it is work, isn’t it; it’s the culmination of talk and trial and error, of him opening your ass so carefully to see your pleasure, of the way he fucked inside with his cock playing counterpoint to the toy buzzing and pulsing in your cunt. It’s the overcoming of the thoughts that first he couldn’t and then he shouldn’t. It’s the way he saw that it was good, and that maybe, maybe he could have it too.

And Sy is climbing higher up his tightly-wound coil of pleasure; he is so close he’s shaking, sweating and panting with a dark spot forming on the sheet where he can’t help but drool, and his hand is flying on his cock; he is helpless as you press the toy deeper and deeper, til the base is flush against his skin, and with just the slightest shift you find the perfect angle: the one that makes him howl with the pressure against that spot. And

That’s good, that’s good, let go. Feel it all. I’ve got you.

He comes flying apart; semen hits him sticky under the chin with the force of it. It’s smeared all in his beard when he collapses to the mattress, and are those tears? They are, but darlin, I’m alright. It’s just so much. And he shudders through the letting-go; all the vast thick bulk of him is vibrating with it as you remove the toy and press a kiss to his twitching hole, as you slither up to hold him from behind and stroke the fine fuzz of his cropped hair.

And as you hold him, Sy’s shivers give way to a soft hum, to contentment that rumbles up from somewhere deep in his chest. He’s slow and lazy with it but still he turns to nuzzle at your cheek and raise a brow in question; he asks can I and he slips inside, slow like syrup with his thumb steady on your clit. He won’t get off again like this, but you will; he will breathe hard through the feel of your rippling flesh and he will be as close to you as it is possible to get. And like this, connected, you will drift together into sleep.

#henry cavill #captain Syverson #my fic #captain Syverson fic #captain syverson smut #sand castle #sand castle fic #sand castle smut #captain syverson x reader

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suspiciouslypinkrosegarden · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Suit Saeran x Non Gendered Reader

Description: A little fic based on that gorgeous Suit birthday title screen CG we got this year. Go on, put on that dazzling outfit. There is one problem here with Suit’s plan though…you don’t know ballet to perform for him. Guess you’ll just have to dance together </3

Little note for readers who don’t identify as female: On stage, EVERYONE wears makeup (lipstick, eyebrows, all of it) in order to emphasize features for the audience to see. And costumes are also very important, including ones with glitter! Suity here doesn’t discriminate, everything here is following performing arts rules. Feel free to think of the costume in any way you like as it isn’t referred to as a dress! It’s anything! Local theater kid here isn’t a lier promise.

I wrote this pretty much exactly after the CG was revealed :3 so it’s older

————————————————————

“Perfect...what a well behaved doll~”

Saeran crossed his arms in front of him, showing you his signature smirk in a smug look of victory. He studied you, traveling down from your face to the outfit you so graciously modeled for him, admiring the way it hugged your waist and fell with such a poof at the bottom, black feathers adorning the soft silky material. He coughed upon noting the exposed bit of skin the outfit left in your chest area, and he made it painfully obvious that where his glance landed up was the cause of the tiny loss of composure.

You couldn’t help but feel rather flustered under his gaze, relief washing over you as his eyes finally met yours again.

“So...it took it being a special day for you to finally listen to me? Well? Did you enjoy the show at least, toy? Wasn’t it cute? The little dolly made of my little doll finally doing what you’re supposed to do. Entertaining me! That is your purpose! And today…,” he huffed through his nose with laughter. “You’re finally going to do that properly! That wasn’t just any old puppet show...but a demonstration of how today is going to go. You’re going to dance for me as I sit back and enjoy my cake in front of you...and if the performance is good enough, you can have a bite. Aren’t I generous today?”

He snickered as you tried your hardest not to sigh tiredly, not necessarily completely annoyed by him but…needless to say this wasn't something you’d have planned. There was a short pause as he tapped his foot a few times impatiently. Clearly you weren’t getting his message.

“So then, toy? Dance for me! And dance for this sugary treat~”, he cackled, sliding the small plate in your direction before pulling it back, taunting you much like a toddler. Perhaps waving a reward in front of your face would light a fire under you.

It was moments like these where you found yourself wondering what good you initially thought you’d get from blindly following a complete stranger to a hidden location in the mountains. Truth be told, today you were mainly humoring his whims because of the sheer amount of detail and effort he put into this charade, and because you were curious to try on that exquisite costume. Birthday boy or not...this couldn’t become a regular thing of his.

“Oh..oh oh oh and one more thing.”

Saeran rather excitedly crouched down for the blue present box underneath the table, easily popping its lid off and pulling out the final piece of your outfit; the same feathers and golden crown worn by your doll.

“Aren’t you excited? You get to be royalty for the day...my prince(ss)..my birthday present to play with! Why else did you think I’d instruct you to wear your hair like that before I came?”

Sending someone in to do your hair for you that evening and pamper you was the proper explanation for what actually went on. It wasn’t like it would be an easy feat to add such a lovely jeweled hair piece to your do alone. The timid believer who assisted you even brought you a perfume sent by him...so you, according to the note attached, “wouldn’t smell so awful”. On the bright side, you really did feel dazzling, the pearls in your hair matching the ones on your new attire.

“Well...come closer so I can put it on you. I won’t bite...as long as you listen,” he teased, bringing himself forward to close up more of the gap between you two.

You bowed your head slightly in response as he fiddled with how the headpiece sat, occasionally feeling his hands smooth down and readjust little parts of your hair. Once he was confident the job was done, he took a step back to admire his work of art. He seemed proud of his accomplishments; his ability to get you to play dress up for him and how the puppet show went so perfectly after so much practice...and now was the time for his hard work to pay off. He expected you to make every bit his birthday fantasy come true, which was evident in everything from his expressions to body language. But there was a problem. You didn’t know ballet.

Saeran took his birthday hat and placed it upon his head grumpily before plopping in the seat you once previously enjoyed his performance in. He sat with a slouch, bringing his plate of cake to him, noming down on a small bite before speaking again with his mouth a bit full.

“Come on, toy! I’m waiting now that you’re all ready!”

He tapped his foot impatiently again.

You decided to address your concerns slowly.

“Uhm...Saeran..? The dance you made the puppet do was ballet…”

“Yes, aren’t you clever? So do some ballet for me.”

“That’s the thing...I haven’t done ballet since I was practically a baby. I’m not sure how to...and you’d have to turn on the music-”

Rational thinking interrupted your nervous attempt to reason a proper way to do this. “And hey...why am I dancing for you anyways?”

He tilted his head, raising a brow in disapproval.

“Because I say so, and because you value your life and your stomach. Remember? I can toss you out at any time,” he puffed, “and this cake will save you from your misery of having an empty belly. You will work for your food and convince me you deserve it!”

“...Ok..? But again...I don’t know how to do ballet anymore-”

Saeran cut you off with the sharp screeching of his chair’s legs dragging backwards against the ground, standing swiftly.

“Did I ask for excuses..? Hahaha...most people would be more pleasant on their birthdays..”, he stepped towards you. “...Is that what you’re expecting from me? Hmm? To be all sweet and sappy because it’s my big day? Extra nice to you? I still won’t tolerate disobedience...in fact, I have less patience today!”

He finished his march to you until he could make certain his dominance was well established through a face-to-face threatening scowl, towering over you best he could. He cupped your chin, tilting it up so you were forced to meet him in all his fury.

“You’re going to dance today. You’re going to dance today because I ordered you to do so, little airhead. Even if I have to force you!”

Releasing his hold on your face, he then grasped your left hand, intertwining your fingers, giving you a good yank forward into him. He caught you on his chest as you gasped in slight shock, the feeling of his hand making its way to the side of your waist; the unexpected cold touch making you shiver as you felt it through the fabric of your outfit.

There was an awkward pause as the two of you stood together in silence for a moment, Saeran just watching you with bated breath. The quiet was eating at you, feeling your heart clamoring against your ribs as you waited for him to initiate something. Your stare drifted down to his chain which sat within your outfit’s front feathers before moving back up. It was cute that he’d pick out a gold one for his birthday. You piped up as you heard him finally swallow saliva.

“We uh...need music..if you want to dance together. I think this is a good solution, actually.”

You gave him a smile, the same gentle look he’d cursed dozens of times before for making him feel so gross in the stomach. He kept quiet this time, but your expression made him feel no different than usual, if not more so.

“I knew that. Obviously we can’t dance to nothing. Tch, don’t get smart with me…”

Sure he knew that.

He let go of your hand to reach out and press play on the little radio he’d tucked away behind the little stage, contorting himself to stay close to you before returning to your old ready to dance position. He pulled you to the right with a shuffle together away from the set to a clear space in the room, closer to the window, the glow of the soft moonlight catching on the intricate glittery details of your costume.

Saeran stared for a mere moment, stiff as a statue as you placed your free hand on his shoulder. You could tell from the shifting of his eyes he was trying his best not to gawk now that he was getting a solid look at you up against him, clearing his throat with an “akhem” to collect himself. He’d never admit the tips of his ears felt hot to the touch.

Finally, with your prompting, the inviting melody which drifted through the room allowed the two of you to begin swaying together; Saeran watching your feet to understand the 1-2-3 step movements you did. He got the hang of it pretty quickly, grinning confidently as he took more lead and a firmer hold on your waist. It was a simple dance, rocking a tad and moving in a circle, the expression you showed him sweet and caring as he peered into your reflective (e/c) pools, (and perhaps it was flustered and nervous too). He, on the other hand, wouldn’t allow his mask of cocky satisfaction to be taken off so easily, despite the rosy hue his pale cheeks took on.

“My my...such a warbled little smile I’m receiving from you~ are you enjoying this, doll? Don’t lie, I can see just how red you are..pfft- is dancing with your prince something you’ve day dreamed about before? You and your delusions-”

You decided to outright call him out. He can’t just tease you like this when he came up with this whole plan in the first place, now can he?

“Says the one who made a detailed puppet set of the building we’re in. And two dolls of us. And got me a costume. And got me ballet shoes, which my whole outfit matches the doll’s exactly, by the way. And you even put on a whole show, plus made me do my hair the way you like...who’s day dream are we actually living out? Oh and don’t forget...you’re the one who took my hand to dance too~”.

You winked at him, eliciting a low growl which rumbled in his throat. His face grew redder, perhaps with rage.

“Hey...I never said I didn’t like it. The detail is incredible, and I’m being honest. I’m not sure how much work you put into it all...but I can tell it was a lot. You, sir, have a hidden talent. I’d like to see what else you can do with more free time for yourself….”

He sneered, “I’m not going to keep humoring you with more stuff like this, if that’s what you’re implying. Maybe with more free time, I’ll only find myself coming up with new ways to make you bend and break! But, I will take your compliment as you can at least appreciate this all as a work of my geniusness. I’m a busy busy man, but I found free time to set up a playdate with my toy. So stop pushing my buttons! You should feel lucky I graced you with my presence! It’s my birthday...and I’m stuck looking at your stupid face!”

“Hmm...again, with all that planning I think someone wanted to see ‘my stupid face’. And I do feel lucky, because I get to spend your birthday with you, although I wish I could have organized something myself. And what I meant was...Saeran this is a work of art. The dolls look hand crafted and painted, including the outfits which must’ve been sown for today in order to match perfectly. I also noticed the pearls on my costume match the ones on your birthday hat. And the set...some of the paint even appears as if its liquid leaf...which it might not be but still. Once we’re finished dancing, I want to go and admire your efforts. Especially the cute little replica of yourself you made~!”

Saeran sputtered angrily.

“You….are certainly an A grade weirdo. Don’t you hate this, even a little? Isn’t it sucky for you? Having to be my puppet today!”

“I’m no one’s puppet. I’m enjoying myself because I get to dress up, dance with you, and learn about a new skill of yours.”

He stopped your swaying with a halt, and you could feel his once icy hand in yours growing hotter by the second. His grip tightened as if to warn you he might hurt you with a squeeze, but within a second, it softened, and he let go momentarily to run it through his poofy locks. He grumbled.

“I don’t know why I even bother with an airhead like yourself. You didn’t even use the stamps I left so clearly out in front of you.”

You grinned at the opportunity suddenly presented to you. You hadn’t given him a birthday gift yet, and here was the chance to give him something small, but memorable.

“Hey Saeran...do you like the shade of lipstick I’m wearing today? It’s kind of purpleish..you know, a combination of red and blue. Like your stamps if the ink is mixed.”

He gulped, furrowing his brows.

“What are you getting at? I don’t care about your silly stage makeup I instructed the believer to do...”

You faked a sigh, “Sorry, sorry. I’ll make sure to get on that last bit right now about the stamps, since we’re no longer dancing.”

Without hesitation, you took him by the open sides of his striking suit jacket, pulling him to you to turn and plant a quick but firm kiss on his cheek. You then let him go, drinking in his wide eyed blushy appearance, raising his hand to touch the prominent lipstick mark you left on him. He wiped the area as if to show he didn’t like it, only to look down at the swipe of purple on his fingertips.

“See there? A stamp! And there’s more where that came from~”

#suit saeran #ray mystic messenger #saeran x mc #saeran choi #unknown saeran #saeran x reader

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