#but not ONE of them (from what we know) has had circumstances any where near rhine's | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haunted-xander · 3 months

Text

I think one of the (several) reason for why Shadowbringers is so good is because the narrative is more about the individual characters than it is the Greater Conflict.

Like, the Greater Conflict is definitely there, obviously, it's what keeps the story going, but the focus is always on the people, much more so than the other expacs. HW and STB also have some level of character focus ofc, but it's very selective and even then the focus is based on them in the specific context of the current conflict.

But in SHB, the story bends around the characters' narratives, rather than the other way around. The story forms to put them in situations that challenges their flaws and limitations, by forcing them to confront it and actually deal with it. Even just at the very beginning, you see the twins being dealt a terrible hand that very neatly clashes against their faults.

Alisaie is confronted with a situation that she can and could never do anything about. She has no means to help the patients (at the time at least). The only way for her to help them is by eradicating the source of the affliction itself: the Light. But the Light isn't just some Big Bad she can kill and be done with. Even when all the lightwardens are down the Light is still there, it's just more manageable. Alisaie learns to not only see the bigger picture, but to care for it for her own reasons. For all that she has participated in Big Operations, it has always been because that's what others were doing, what others cared for to be done. She feels for the people of Doma and Ala Mhigo, but she didn't set out to liberate their homelands because she has any personal investment in it. But other people do, and she cares about what other people- be they strangers or friends- care about.

Caring about other peoples feelings and opinions isn't a flaw by itself of course, but doing things without any sense of personal purpose, is. This is what SHB helps her fix and confront, because it is personal now, she does it because she cares.

Alphinaud is forced into a situation where diplomacy and negotiations does and would never work. He can't talk himself into Eulemore, and he sure as hell can't convince Vauthry or the free citizens to let go of their life of ignorant luxury. The problem here also isn't as straightforward as a corrupt ruler, because even after Vauthry is revealed for the bastard he is, it takes considerable effort and convincing to get them to get off their asses and get to work. It's one thing to change the minds of people who wanted the same outcome just in a different way (like Ishgard- they rejected unity with the dragons, but they still wanted an end to the war), but it's another thing entirely to convince people that another way of life is even worth it.

And this is what SHB teaches Alphinaud, that words and deeds can achieve much, but that there is much more to diplomacy than appealing to their wants and/or sensibilities to convince them of an alternative outcome. His development may not be as immediately noticable as some of the others (largely bc he had a lot of it already from HW), but it is still very much there.

Urianger's development had already been build up and sort-of started already, but we don't really get to see it until it near explodes in his face after we kill Vauthry. Even after he swore off secrecy, he's forced to confront his morals when the Exarch bids his assistance. Urianger has always been looking at the greater picture, to the point he'd almost lose himself in it if it wasn't for the overwhelming guilt he feels. He works with the Exarch, because he knows he's the only one capable of it, and he hates the very fact that he is. When the climax of the plan is about to be executed, he is pained to the point that even he can't mask it anymore. He has betrayed their trust once more and once more it will result in the death of a friend.

But it doesn't, and that's what's needed for him to confront himself. As terrible and unexpected as the circumstances around it was, it did show him that there are other ways. There is no one way to solve a problem, the first choice doesn't need to be the only one. And he would find those other ones of he had just talked to the others.

The pay-off doesn't quite come until EW, where we see him actively make the choice to go against his first instinct of acquiesing to the Loporrits' plans, and instead chooses to consult us, but that scene wouldn't have made sense or even happened had it not been for his development in SHB.

Now, Y'shtola is a bit of an odd one because while she does get her due focus, she doesn't quite get the same amount of development as the others. Rather, it shows how she thrives when not held back by others interests and (often somewhat needless) bounderies. Her intelligence and charisma have the chance to shine, her independence and confidence now rewarded rather than punished. In ARR, she is constantly annoyed by the Maelstroms way of dealing with things, and how no one bothers to actually listen to her. Her advice and reprimands are almost entirely ignored until the problem blows up in their faces and they have no choice but to concede that she was right.

Being independent and confident aren't flaws by themselves, but her sometimes aggressive approaches to telling others off does her few favors. In SHB, she has the Night's Blessed who actually heed her word and respect her, they listen to her and actually take what she says- be it advise or reprimand- to heart.

She does also, however, have to deal with Thancred who, much like the Maelstrom, ignores her reprimands and doesn't listen to her. The difference here is that her bluntness actually serves a purpose. In ARR, her bluntness lacks tact and meaning, simply a result of frustration. The Maelstrom won't listen to someone who doesn't come up with fleshed-out arguments and solutions, but Y'shtola doesn't bother giving them any until she knows they'll listen. But with Thancred, she does give him the solution. It's just that the solution is him. His words, to be precise, and his acceptance. And he needs to be reminded of that, and she does. It doesn't automatically solve anything, but that's simply how it is with complicated situations like that.

Speaking of Thancred, his narrative is probably the most important of all for SHB. He's always been shown as a capable, but ultimately self-destructive man who genuinely does not know how to deal with himself in a healthy manner. Theoretically speaking he knows, he recognizes that he is self-destructive, but he still has no idea how to actually fix it. It's been shown as early as ARR when it results in him getting possessed, but it's not really made a point of until it almost ruins his relationship with Ryne. Up until now he could just ignore his problems, but with Ryne he can't because now The Problem(s) aren't just his anymore. Anything that would hurt him now would also hurt her, meaning that if he wants to continue doing the one thing he actually cares about (protecting his loved ones) then he needs to get his shit together.

But Thancred doesn't know how to. And for all that his friends try and try to help him, he doesn't know how to. He's paralyzed. Thancred is so deep into his self-destructive habits that it takes the threat of both his and the person(s) he loves the most in the worlds deaths to get him into action. He doesn't know if it's Minfilia or Ryne who will return, and I'm not sure he expected to survive Ran'jit. He only has this chance, and if he wants to die without (as many) regrets he has to do something now.

And he does. He does and what it is he does is tell Ryne that whatever happens, it has to be her own choice. That he will accept any outcome, that he will still care about her no matter what, that as long as she lives or dies as she wants to, that he still loves her. He still loves her. And it works, because that's what he's needed to do all this time, to be able to just tell her that she matters. That he cares.

He tells her to live her own life, and he learns to live his own too.

404 notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 1 year

Text

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you’re unexpectedly appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers (really, he’s not a softie here, he dark); manipulation; blackmail; threats; power imbalance; specific warnings will be added for each chapter separately

warnings for this chapter: none

Be patient, please, this first part is only an introduction and setting the scene.

Chapter 1. Storm on the horizon

~ * ~

A stream of dark cars, which slowly pulled up to the curb, distorted the innocent image of pristine sidewalk with raised flower bed pots soaked in early summer sunlight, immediately drawing Felix’s attention from the plants he’s been watering in his office.

The center had a large parking lot on the other side of the property, where clients could leave their cars without interrupting the usual street flow at the front side. No one ever pulled up to the very front; beside that one evening a few years ago when the official opening ceremony turned into a gala with VIPs coming in their fancy limousines.

Felix narrowed his eyes, watching through the window as three big, black cars stopped right in front of the steps leading to the building. Expensive models. They looked reinforced, too, meaning they were probably more expensive than a line of limousines.

Two men stepped out of the first car, both of them doing a subtle sweep around before approaching the middle car. They stood on both sides of the backdoor, watchful of anything changing in their surroundings.

A man slipped out of the front passenger’s side - big and bulky, with dark hair pulled into a bun, and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He was wearing all black, from the heavy military boots to leather jacket and leather gloves.

He walked around the car to the backseat guarded by two other men and pulled the door open.

When yet another man stepped out, slowly stretching to his full height, Felix’s heart dropped to his stomach.

That man he recognized.

That man should not be anywhere near here.

The watering-can almost fell out of Felix’s hand, his fingers spasming in a tremble of panic. Water spilled on the windowsill as he dropped it down with a thud, before running out of his office.

The center has been quiet for the past few days, only slowly getting back to life after its short period of mourning. At this early time of day there weren’t many people inside, most patients coming in a bit later.

Felix rushed down the corridor, shaken with the unexpected arrival and not knowing how to proceed.

He should be doing something, he thought. Warn the right people. Having things not go smoothly was a novelty with which he had trouble dealing, especially in those circumstances.

Not so long ago he boasted about having things under control, gaining even more confidence when you turned out to be kind and inexperienced in the nuances of the city’s complex socio-political wires. He could work with you without a hitch, Felix convinced himself - and others - of that fact.

Three black cars pulling up in the early morning hours wrecked that simple plan.

Almost at your door, Felix ran straight into Natalie, your assistant. She was smaller than him, a filigree silhouette with a sharp bob and a murderous look. With a calendar in one hand and a traveling mug with hot coffee in the other, Natalie glared at him.

“Felix, what the hell?” It was too early in the morning, for her at least, to be dealing with any crap.

“Rogers is here! S-Steve Rogers is here!”

He was breathless, air in his lungs burning not from the pace with which he ran, but the fear of that man about to enter the place.

Natalie frowned, looking above Felix’s shoulder at the still quiet and empty hall. Rogers’ name was recognized by many people in the city, even the lucky ones who had absolutely no connection to the dark tentacles of his criminal empire.

Though, some whispers suggested that somehow everyone was tied to him. Some people just didn’t know it, living in sweet oblivion.

“Well, then,” she took a sip of her coffee, “shouldn’t you be greeting him at the door and asking what exactly is he here for?”

“He’s not here for me, you know that.” Felix nearly shrunk in on himself, scared of the prospect of facing Rogers.

He definitely didn’t want to be on his radar, even as someone simply pointing directions. They said Rogers never forgot a face. Oh no, it was better to be completely out of sight. Hide in a closet and wait for the storm to pass.

“Of course.” Natalie rolled her eyes. “It’s obvious he’s here for the new boss.”

That moment the door to your office opened and you stepped out, almost bumping into Natalie - your newly acquired, or inherited, assistant.

“I was actually about to go look for you.” You smiled at her.

Natalie, though she could be sour like a lemon, provided you a sense of security in the wicked waters you were treading through as of a few days.

“I went through the outlines for the group classes last night.” You informed her.

“I’d like to schedule a meeting with the therapists and construction manager. It would be better if they explained to him which changes in the project they need to be done.”

“I’ll arrange it.” She nodded, balancing the mug in the crook of her elbow and flipping the calendar open.

You’ve met some well organized people in your life, but Natalie was like the highest functioning computer in a tiny human flesh. She included everything in the schedules she made, with traffic jam and bathroom breaks.

Why she kept a paper calendar as well as a digital one in her phone, you had no idea. As long as it worked for her, and she worked for you, you weren’t going to judge her methods.

“I’ll reschedule today’s meeting with the lawyers, too.” Natalie added casually.

“Isn’t that in-” you checked your watch- “half an hour? Why do we need to reschedule?”

“Another meeting came up.” Natalie answered with a shrug, her gaze flicking to the end of the corridor from where heavy footsteps of someone approaching were gaining in volume. “A rather important one.”

“With whom?” You frowned.

Beside the lawyers, or your grandmother, there wasn’t anyone you expected to be calling you on a whim demanding immediate attention. No one that you were aware of, at least.

“Steve Rogers.” Felix squeaked.

“Who is that?” Your frown remained, only deepened.

You didn’t recognize that name from any legal papers in which you were swarmed for the past couple of days.

Felix’s eyes grew big, even Natalie seemed surprised that you didn’t immediately react at the sound of his name.

Working at the center since its beginnings, they were probably used to all the people from elites and various organizations with whom Howard Stark used to work while running this place.

You were barely familiar with some of the institutions. You knew you had to broaden your knowledge now, but it couldn’t be done in a week. You doubted it could be done in a year.

You were simply a neuropsychologist who spent two days every week for the past year helping Howard Stark after his stroke. A pawn on the full board of other specialists, who all tended to Howard.

And yet, it was you with whom he grew a certain bond, maybe fondness, that led you to the overbearing mess of a situation.

When Howard passed a few weeks ago, your mourning over a friendly patient was disrupted by an unexpected summoning. To the will reading.

Among all of his wealth and companies, which were all inherited by his son Tony and his family (the sweetest woman you ever met, Pepper, and their daughter), the little chunk - a drop in the ocean really - was signed over to you.

The health and therapy center which Howard founded after his first stroke. Back then he bounced back to health quickly, but his road to recovery taught him how little help there is for people with neurological damages and impairments of any kind.

It was a very narrow field. Getting appointments with specialists was hard, and mostly not covered by the insurance companies.

So Howard founded this center - in a huge building that once upon a time was a palace, then a private school, then a library before that one got a new, modern building in the heart of the city.

You visited the place with him a few times, using very well equipped rooms and strolling through the vast inner garden. During one of your visits, you briefly mentioned how the place could also open for kids and teens after appropriate adjustments.

Was it then that Howard decided to leave the center to you after his death?

Was a single sentence enough to make such a drastic change in his will?

Then again, Howard was eccentric. Tony was too, from what you learned. He also wasn’t at all annoyed that his father included you in his will.

Since the will reading, your life flipped upside down. You had no idea how to run a place like that, there was so much to learn. But it also was like a spark of courage to reach for dreams you never hoped to achieve. With the right people at your side, you could maintain the place and even expand it in the right direction.

For now, however, you were a green little sprout in a huge field of unknown. And the name Steve Rogers rang no bells.

“He’s-” Natalie paused, searching for the right word- “influential.”

He was more.

He had power and control.

Not only over the city’s streets, which he was ready to drown in blood if needed. Over hundreds of rats running in the wheel of the underworld’s crime machine, as well over people in pristine places and on high stools in the capitol.

And he conquered it in brutal ways; paved his road with bodies and fear.

It was safe to assume that if someone had any influence - be it political, or in the media - Rogers had that person on a string. No, not a string, a heavy chain with immediate suffering at the end if they stepped out of line.

One could assume Stark knew Rogers in some capacity, though the man not once stepped anywhere near the center. Whether he had Howard in his pocket, or if they had a different relation, they were never seen together here.

“I’ve been meeting influential people for the past week.” You scoffed. “Each of them had a scheduled meeting. Mr Rogers can schedule one too.”

You wanted to maintain a good relationship with donors and patrons, but you weren’t going to bend your back for any of them. People needed to learn boundaries. Rich people especially.

“It would be better-” Natalie began.

A male voice, deep and cool as a mountain brook, interrupted her:

“I do have a scheduled meeting.”

His voice carried over through the corridor easily, without him having to shout. In a few, long strides he was standing right behind Felix. Another man kept a step behind him.

He walked with the prowess of someone who owned the place (and anyone in it). For a split of a second you felt like taking a step back and bowing your head. Then you remembered that he did not, in fact, own the place.

Nor did he own you.

Rogers was tall, Felix’s head barely reaching above his shoulder. With golden blond hair, shorter at the sides and slightly longer strands coiffed back. You saw a glimpse of your own stunned reflection in his dark aviators before he took them off, revealing stunningly blue eyes.

Broad shoulders seemed to stretch the black leather of his jacket and when he put his hands on his hips his frame appeared to double in size.

His gaze briefly slid from you to Natalie, who was now taut like a string, quickly returning to you with a mocking glimmer in his eyes.

“Don’t I, Miss Stendhal?” He addressed Natalie. Somehow, it sounded as if he knew her, and it wasn’t a good thing at all.

“Yes.” She replied immediately, astonishingly calm and stoic. “Mr Rogers had scheduled this meeting a week ago, but I made a mistake writing it in the calendar. It’s my fault there was a mishap. I’m sorry.”

You turned to stare at her, disbelieving every single word.

You may have known her for less than two weeks, but you already learned she makes no mistakes of that kind. Her organization skills were better than the army’s.

Natalie’s face betrayed nothing. She was as poised as every day, admitting to the supposed mistake with cool professionalism.

“That’s okay. I’m sure you corrected the issue.” Rogers smiled.

It was charming at first glance. Reminded you of a chivalrous sweetheart from the romances you occasionally liked to read. But there was an edge to it, like a shark’s grin a second before making you his dinner.

“Of course.” Natalie tilted her chin, as if offended that someone dared to doubt her efficiency. “Like I said, I’ve rescheduled the lawyers to clear this hour for you, Mr Rogers.”

Then she took two graceful steps to the side, clearing the entrance to your office. She sent a glare Felix’s way - who was nearly shaking like a leaf having Rogers at his back. He shuffled quickly to her side, not once glancing at Rogers or his bodyguard.

Natalie gave him her coffee mug, so he could focus his trembling hands on something. His thoughts scattering, Felix mindlessly lifted the mug to his lips and took a nervous sip. Natalie would undoubtedly tear his head off for it in different circumstances.

The moment his path was clear, Rogers took a single step forward. It was enough to find himself toe to toe with you.

A waft of spicy, woody scent of his cologne swirled around you; a teasing tendril as much part of him with its dangerous allure. He towered over you and the expanse of his chest seemed to cut off your vision of anything else around.

The fact you had to crane your neck to look up at him seemed to amuse him. Or please him.

Perhaps both.

Whatever kind of benefactor he was, you suspected you wouldn't like him a single bit. There were no idle threats made, not even any pompous comments a spoiled prick with money could make.

Yet he made the hair on your nape stand, your pulse quickening as adrenaline poured into your system at the instinct’s suggestion that this was a dangerous predator.

You weren’t sure if you’d fight or flight, though usually you chose the former.

Unknown to you yet, he wouldn’t allow you either.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #dark!mafia steve rogers x reader #dark!mafia steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #dark!mafia steve rogers #touch the darkness #my fic

1K notes · View notes

blacckdiamondposts · 1 year

Text

Daydreaming & Reality

Pairing: Tendō Satori x Reader x Ushijima Wakatoshi

Plot: Honestly, just a fucking threesome with these guys

Your eyes roamed around the room, lingering on a specific person as you watched him talk to some stranger. Which, at least to you, was one of the downsides of being a pro athlete.

His jacket wasn't holding you back from making out his muscles, imagining how they were flexing with each movement.

You didn't need to see his bare skin because you've seen it plenty of times.

You got startled as an arm snaked around you, as Tendō placed it on your shoulder. He leaned down, leveling his head with yours.

His lip brushed against your ear, "are we daydreaming about Wakatoshi?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine when his hot breath hit your skin.

It took a second to process his question, "what do you mean?"

"Don't you think I noticed how you look at him," he chuckled against your ear.

He sounded neutral, almost amused, letting you wonder why he wasn't affected by it.

"Satori, what are you talking about," you turned your face enough to face him.

"(Y/N), you can tell me," he searched your face for a reaction.

"I-" you let out a breath, "I don't know-,"

He interfered, "just look at him,"

You reluctantly turned your face towards Ushijima, who was still in the midst of a conversation.

"You ever imagined how he would manhandle you," he asked, "cause he definitely could,"

You felt your cheeks heat up, flustered, as you didn't know what the redhead had in mind.

"He could literally split you in two," he still had an amused look on his face as his temple leaned against yours.

"Do you think you could handle him," he asked.

"I would love to see you try," he lowered his head as he kissed your neck.

Ushijima turned toward you, and the redhead waved at him with a wide smile. Ushijima smiled at the two of you before your eyes locked.

He started walking towards you, and you tried to gulp down the clump forming in your throat.

"And he would too," Tendō finished his sentence.

"W-what," you quickly turned your head.

"We know, (Y/N)," he laughed, "I just know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours,"

"Hey," Ushijima said as he was now standing in front of you.

You were rooted to the ground as you shifted your gaze to the latter, "Hi,"

Tendō had to laugh at the way you greeted him, "(Y/N), don't act shy now,"

Ushijima cocked his head to the side as his gaze roamed your body before it settled on the redhead.

"Let's go home," Tendō announced cheerfully as he wrapped his hand around your wrist.

The three of you left the party, taking one of the cabs near the location. You followed them because you were sure you had a concussion or were in a dream.

Be it the alcohol or the circumstances of your previous conversation - you couldn't process any of the happenings.

You sat in the middle of the cab, and Tendō placed his hand on your thigh.

His hand felt hot to the touch as he slowly moved his hand to your inner thigh.

You turned your head to the right, looking at Ushijima, who cocked his head to the side as he smiled softly at you.

Then you turned your head to the left, locking eyes with Tendō, who had a sly expression on his face.

He noted your confused expression and brought his head closer to yours, "I know you want him to fuck you,"

"And I want to watch you get fucked by him," he stated calmly.

You could've sworn that your face caught on fire because your cheeks and ears felt as if they were burning.

Ushijima didn't seem phased by the redhead's statement, which made you wonder.

"Or am I wrong, (Y/N)," he asked.

"I lov-," you wanted to argue.

"I know that you love me, that wasn't my question," he cut you off, "I wanted to know if my assumption was wrong,"

You gulped down as your gaze shifted between the two males. Before you can continue your conversation, you've already arrived at your apartment complex.

The three of you were headed to your shared apartment, where Ushijima has already been plenty of times, just not for that stuff.

The three of you sat down on your couch before Tendō got back up again.

"I thought our little (Y/N), could use some more," he chuckled as he returned with wine.

He filled up the three glasses as you were sitting there silently.

Tendō brought his hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him and making you look at Ushijima.

"You know," he started, his head right at your neck, "I had my suspicions for a while now,"

"And then," he had to hold back a chuckle, "you confessed it to me when you were drunk,"

"What," you exclaimed as you yanked at his arm and turned towards him.

You watched one of Ushijima's matches before you went out with your girls. Let's say you had your fair share of drinks and were completely wasted.

Tendō picked you up after, and you were gushing about how badass Ushijima looked on your way home.

The redhead was chuckling at how you talked about his best friend, finding some amusement within that.

"He's so fucking big," you mumbled, "I bet he could split me in half,"

"Oh my," Tendō chuckled, "do I have to be jealous?"

He knew there was no reason for him to be jealous. The attraction you felt towards Ushijima was sexual, nothing more. The redhead was secure with your relationship and confident to know that there was nothing he had to fear.

A smirk crept onto his face as he realized that his suspicions came out to be true.

He already knew how to turn your daydreaming into reality. But he knew that you wouldn't simply confess your dirty little thoughts.

Realization hit you hard as you remembered it. You opened your mouth, but somehow you were at a loss for words.

Your brows were drawn together as you slowly averted your gaze to turn toward Ushijima.

"And you know that too," you looked at Ushijima in disbelief, wanting to disappear into thin air.

"He told me about it," Ushijima nodded.

You turned back to the redhead, "why did you tell him,"

"I wanted to know if he'd be in on it,"

"In on what,"

"You know," his lips tugged into a smirk.

You felt a heat spread within yourself as you slowly but surely faced the little situation you were in.

You turned back to Ushijima, "and you're,"

You paused, "you're okay with this? You want this too?"

"At first, I was against it," Ushijima started, "but he assured me that he's fine with it,"

You turned back to the redhead, "are you really?"

He nodded his head, "why wouldn't I?"

"I trust you, and I know that you love me," he smiled reassuringly, "besides, I want it just as much as you want,"

Tendō's arm moved up, running it lightly over your arm. He brought your hair to one side, freeing the side of your neck.

He brought his head closer, placing a couple of soft kisses before teasingly biting down on your flesh.

His hands found their way to your waist, holding you in place as his fingers dug into your skin.

A soft moan spilled over your lips as your gaze shifted to the male before you. Ushijima had a stern look, but his eyes held some darkness. They were filled with desire and want.

Tendō brushed his lips against your ear, "Are you going to be a good girl for us?"

You gulped down before you nodded.

"Yeah, gonna show him how good you are?"

Again, you nodded as you didn't trust your words.

His lips tugged into a smirk, "say it,"

"I'll be a good girl for him,"

"Go ahead then," he commanded.

You crawled towards the latter, biting your eyes as your gaze fell onto the more visible tent in his pants.

"Come on," Ushijima said as he pulled you into his lap.

You were straddling his lap, and he leaned against the armrest. He placed his hands on your hips, letting them roam over your sides before he pulled you down onto his bulge.

You let out a moan as you felt the sheer size of it, and he wasn't even fully erect.

You slowly leaned down as Ushijima closed the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours.

Tendō watched how Ushijima deepened the kiss, urging his tongue into your mouth. His hands were guiding your hips as you were grinding against his cock.

Although the latter wanted to enjoy his session with you, his needs took over.

He snaked his hands lower to your thighs, letting his hands run over your soft skin before he snaked your dress up.

It came off flying with a swift pull, and Ushijima watched as your breasts bounced from the movement.

Tendo leaned against the back of the couch, resting his head in the palm of his hand as he felt his pants get uncomfortably tight. He kept his gaze on you, taking note of every little change in your expression.

You tugged at the hem of his shirt, wanting it gone, to which he happily complied.

Ushijima brought his hands up to your breasts, cupping and kneading them until he was pleased with your moans. He pinched your buds and rolling them ever so lightly was enough to send shockwaves through your body.

Your nails raked over his chest, earning yourself a low growl. He brought his left hand up to cup your cheek. Pulling you closer, he kissed you hungrily.

Ushijima left a trail of kisses from your lips down to your neck, where he sucked on your sweet spot.

The moans that spilled over your lips were music to their ears. However, it made them go crazy as their pants became ridiculously tight.

"More," you moaned, pulling at Ushijima's hair.

Ushijima groaned against your skin as you pushed yourself harder against his bulge. He placed his hand on the small of your back before he maneuvered you over.

You were pinned between him and the couch while your head rested in Tendō's lap. The redhead let his fingers run through your hair, giving you a reassuring smile as he caught your gaze.

Ushijima stood up briefly to remove his trousers, letting them pile up with the rest of your clothes.

Your gaze was fixed on the huge bulge, pressing your legs together as you bit your lower lip.

"Look how much she wants to feel your cock inside her," Tendō cooed.

"You want that," Ushijima smirked at you.

You nodded, wanting to know what it felt like to have his massive cock inside you.

Ushijima placed soft butterfly kisses all along your stomach as he moved south. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties before he yanked them off, throwing them over his shoulders.

"So pretty," Ushijima breathed as he moved his head closer to your wet heat.

"I know, right," Tendō replied, "the prettiest little cunt you'll ever see,"

Ushijima kissed your inner thigh before teasingly letting his tongue slide over your slit.

You let out a strangled moan as your hands moved to the back of his head, tangling in his hair. He repeated his ministrations before he started to suck on your clit.

Tendō quickly undid his belt before opening his pants as he needed to free his cock out of its tight confines.

You looked up at the redhead, giving him a specific look that he knew too well. He brought his hand to your mouth, and you let him insert two fingers.

You almost had to gag when he pushed them deeper, wanting to collect some saliva before he started to pump his cock.

You threw your head back as Ushijima inserted two of his digits into your wanting heat and slowly started to pump them in and out of you.

"Does he make you feel good," Tendō purred.

You nodded, closing your eyes shut as pleasure took over.

"You're close, aren't you," he chuckled, knowing you like the back of his hand.

It only took a few more pumps, and you came all over Ushijima's fingers. The latter raised his head, wiping your arousal off as he had a smug expression.

"Doesn't she look pretty when she cums like that," Tendō asked before he let out an approving hum.

"She does," Ushijima replied, and you noted how his cock was twitching inside his boxer briefs.

The redhead followed your gaze, smirking, "you think you're ready for his cock?"

"Yeah," you panted, still coming down from your high.

Ushijima removed his boxer briefs, letting them pool around his ankles before he kicked them off. You clenched your jaw as your eyes lingered on his huge cock.

"He's big, isn't he," Tendō asked amusedly.

"Massive," you muttered as you watched Ushijima move to the space between your legs.

"Can I," Ushijima looked at you with a soft expression.

You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to stifle a moan as he started to push his tip in. He gave you a moment to adjust once he was halfway in.

He sank into your wet cunt, feeling your walls tighten around his length.

"So fucking tight," he groaned as he was sheathed inside you.

Your legs were trembling, much to the redhead's amusement.

"How does he feel," Tendō cooed.

"So big," you purred as you locked eyes with the redhead.

"Is he stretching your little cunt?"

You nodded, "yeah,"

Your hands wrapped around his forearm as he thrust in and out of your cunt. He moved his hips back until only his tip was inside of you before he rammed his cock back inside of you.

A mixture of curse words and moans were spilling over your lips as you threw your head back. Tendō watched Ushijima's cock disappear into your wet cunt with every thrust.

"Look at you take his cock like a good girl," Tendō praised you as he brought his free hand down to your breast, pinching your nips and rolling them.

Your nails dug into his skin as you felt yourself near your edge. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he lowered his upper body, placing hungry kisses on your shoulder.

You snaked your hands around his shoulders, where your nails dragged over his skin, letting red marks behind.

"I'm- I'm," you mumbled incoherently.

"Yeah, cum on Ushijima's cock," Tendō said, "cum all over his cock,"

His words and how Ushijima was drilling into you were enough to push you over the edge for another time. Your legs shook uncontrollably, your body jerking as your orgasm washed over you.

Ushijima slowed his movements as he let you catch your breath. However, the redhead wasn't having any of that.

"Turn her around," he commanded.

Ushijima removed himself, leaving you feel empty at the sudden loss. He helped you turn around until you were on all fours.

"Let's put that pretty mouth of yours to work," Tendō chirped, watching you reach for his cock.

You brought your lips closer, letting some spit dribble on it, which you used as lube. The redhead threw his head back as his face contorted in pleasure.

"Fuck her," Tendō turned to the latter, "fill her up again,"

Ushijima didn't need to get told twice as he aligned himself with your entrance. He pushed himself into your wet heat, hitting his tip against your cervix as he reached much deeper in this position.

You moaned around Tendō's cock as tears formed in the corners of your eyes. He set a steady pace as he started to fuck you. Tendō's cock moved deeper down your throat with each of Ushijima's thrusts.

"Fuck her harder," Tendō groaned, relishing the feeling of your moans around his cock.

Ushijima tightened his grip on your hips as he picked his pace up, thrusting harder into your cunt as he felt himself nearing his edge. Beads of sweat were trickling down his temples while the skin on his chest glistened.

Tendō's hands tangled in your head as he started to push his hips against you, making you gag around his hard cock.

You couldn't hold yourself up anymore, letting your upper body sink against the couch, deepening your arch and giving Ushijima a deeper reach.

Your whole body was trembling as both of them had their way with you. Your mind grew hazy, and your vision blurry as tears rolled down your cheeks. It didn't take long for your overstimulated self to approach the next orgasm.

"Fuck, you gonna cum again," Ushijima groaned as he felt your walls clamp down against his cock.

Tendō was dragging his orgasm out, knowing you were slowly getting overstimulated. He pushed his cock down your throat as he came with a low groan.

He jerked when he felt you swallow around his length, removing himself slowly.

You were breathing heavily as moans were spilling over your lips. Your fingers dug into Tendō's thighs as your third orgasm approached you. Your whole body started to jerk as you came completely undone.

Your moans and the way you tightened around Ushijima were enough to push him over the edge. After a couple of unsteady thrusts, he came deep inside you, painting your insides white.

He leaned over you, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder blade before he slowly removed himself. You felt a mixture of your juices, and Ushijima's cum trickle down the insides of your thighs.

You were panting, resting your head in Tendō's lap as the latter put his finger under your chin. He tilted your head up until your eyes locked, "we're not done yet,"

"what," you mumbled.

"I told you," he smirked, "I want to watch him destroy that little cunt,"

#haikyuu #haikyū!!#tendō satori #tendou satori #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou satori x reader #tendō satori x reader #Tendō satori x reader x ushijima wakatoshi #shiratorizawa #ushijima smut #tendou smut

677 notes · View notes

nyimasu · 1 year

Text

───── 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝑁𝑇 𝐼𝑇 𝐵𝐿𝐴𝐶𝐾

PAIRING — yoshida hirofumi x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS — it just so happens that you and yoshida have been crushing on each other for some time and now it's time to take it up a notch.

CW — reader is a civilian, aki is really salty here y'all but deep down he's a cinnamon roll <3, canon universe (slight differences), mutual pining, wet dreams, blindfolds, multiple orgasms, creampie, monsterfucking at the end but nothing serious yet

WC — 4.9k ;; cross-posted on ao3

ANYA'S CORNER — all characters are aged up here and well, this might as well be the first of other fics about yoshida *sighs* time will tell but i hope you enjoy this in the meantime!

"Oh, God. What the fuck did you do to your hair now?"

"And good morning to you too, Aki. Today you are bitchier than usual. Did the Fox Devil pee in your bed this morning?"

He gives you the finger, then unties your hair just to let out a frustrated grunt two seconds later. Despite what everyone thinks, you and the boy by your side are just best friends. Actually, more like platonic soulmates. Sometimes you wonder where you end and he begins and vice versa.

What led most of them to think so is Aki's antics. He's quite physical with you: kisses on the cheek, hugs, casual ass honking, you name it.

No matter the circumstance, you are always within reach for him to tease.

But this time around he does so much more than that.

"I get it: you wanted a fresh start after what that bastard did to you. You should’ve let me beat some sense into them, as I suggested to you when you were sobbing in my lap, and save your scalp from a mental breakdown at 3 AM in our bathroom. I would've never imagined it was this bad.

Just- do you smell it? Ugh. The chemicals are burning my nose.

I’m about to barf."

"Come on, don’t be such a baby. It’s not that bad."

Aki catches a strand of your hair between his fingers and tugs at it, annoyed. Its white-silvery hue is glossy, and unbeknownst to you both, the texture isn't so frizzy, either. But the stink of bleach is still here, haunting your best friend’s nostrils.

"After the shift you better go home and wash your hair again. I won’t come near you a minute longer if you ignore me."

"Will you stop patronising me if I say yes, you Karen?"

He eyes you, expression blank. He gives nothing away as he deadpans, "Probably."

"Still better than hearing you ramble like a grumpy old man, anyway." you walk past him hiding your smile before he can reply and go in the back, getting ready to start another day.

You both work as bartenders/waiters in a cute cafeteria nearby the college you and him go to. The paycheck is good and combined, you and the boy are able to make ends meet smoothly.

The only downside is the total lack of spare time: the moment your shift ends, Hayakawa has to hurry up and start his. Most of the time, you two have to work side by side during the busiest hours of the day, all due to your boss’ laziness in scheduling decent shifts.

The only moments you can talk a bit without worries are the ones outside the flat, college and in front of the lockers in the back of the cafeteria.

However, that day you feel good.Really good. You haven’t felt that way since your partner — now ex-partner — dumped you right in front of your family’s house three months earlier.

“My family doesn’t think you’re the one for me. You know what they say about those who don’t meet their standards, don't you? And you're so... weird. Yeah, you'll never be good enough for them.

We should stop our relationship before it gets any further.”

The idiot had the audacity to use their own relatives to cover their ass behind such blame excuses to justify cowardice. They didn’t want to commit, you could see that in those eyes you once found difficult to look away from.

When you did, it was too late. Your heart had already been broken.

On top of that, you are going to see them for the rest of the year; they are two years ahead of you and Aki, but they still attend some of your classes, as well. Moreover, you always see each other at the entrance every morning.

It's torture, looking at them living their best life whereas yours is still drowning in nostalgic waters.

Your hand closes around the uniform you have in the locker. The thin fabric of the plain black shirt cracks as you wear it, soon after joined by a tight pair of white jeans.

Then your eyes fixates on the shoes you're supposed to wear and let scoff, "Hell no, I won’t wear these infernal devices today."

The polished high-heels in the cabinet stare right back at you as you finish to dress up, even as you close the locker and head back to the counter. No need for them today.

Aki is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting. The moment you brush past him, his big hand takes one of yours to place them on his heart.

His pretty eyes scanned your figure once more, searching for any sign of distress as he breathes, "Are you really okay?"

Your gaze softened. "I’m more than okay, Aki. Stop worrying about me."

"How can I? It’s what best friends do: looking out for each other."

"And your best friend is telling you that she’s fine." you yank at the ends of his topknot with your free hand and smile, "Besides, today is a new day. From now on, I want to be a better version of myself.

They won’t have anything of mine anymore."

You both walk back but before any of you can do another step, the boy corners your body with his. Your back collides with the cold surface of the counter, yet the warmth in the eyes of your best friend makes up for it. His height engulfs yours by a lot, so it's no big deal for him to tower - no, hover - over you.

He stretches out a hand, fingers lightly grazing your cheeks. "Promise?"

"Yes, I promise. Let's get to work, now."

Your hand covers his for a split second and he finally nods, planting a kiss on your forehead as he lets you circle him to take position by his side.

There is no way he would give up so easily. He's up to something.

You want to investigate some more but it's not the right moment for it. Being it is almost opening time, and there are a lot of people already behind the glassy doors, students, mostly, you decide to postpone. If he's going behind your back-

The doors open right at that moment, and the momentum cuts off your thoughts. For now.

You are smiling a lot that morning and it doesn't go unnoticed.

The rings on your hands don't, either.

Some regular customers even dare to slip their phone numbers in the cash they hand you over to pay, grazing your slender fingers to catch a glimpse of the shiny bands wrapped around them, but you always turn them down with a shy smile.

The stares you can handle, but nothing more.

You make small chats with everyone passing by the register and at some point you must’ve gone to tie your hair into the usual bun because Aki’s slaps on your thigh stops you halfway.

Turning, you look at him, puzzled. "What?"

The boy looks at you up and down twice before replying, "That colour looks gorgeous on you. Keep your hair down."

"You should do the same, Pineapple Head." you reply, genuinely confused because to be honest, he is prettier than you with his hair that way.

The look your best friend gives you is murderous before nodding at the next client who walks to you you. And with that, the conversation hangs over your heads again.

That day, lots of students and teachers come to grab something to eat before rushing back to classes. But what surprises you the most is to see a familiar face among the group who just walked in, settling in a table not far from the bar counter.

Aaand goodbye good vibes.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Aki, don’t." you hiss, hand already reaching for the boy's. His knuckles turn white as his eyes melts your ex's chair, the idiot looking up right then. Seeing you and Aki, however, has them immediately bend their head forward and avoid your gaze. Pathetic.

Already feeling what's about to happen, you grab Aki by his bare arm and hiss, "Don’t do anything stupid."

"I won’t," his blue eyes pierce right through you and clarifies with a short, "Not in public, anyway. The same goes for you.»

"As much as I hate to admit it, they're a client. They must be respected even if they’re in the wrong.

But that won't stop me from being salty."

You leave without looking back, heading towards the rather noisy group. As soon as they see you coming their way, everyone stops whatever they're doing and stare at your silhouette. The one who doesn’t even flinch is the one who should’ve hidden behind the table, on their knees.

Their eyes lock with yours while one of their hands strokes a girl’s thigh right beside them.

So they were already with someone else, uh? Judging by looks alone, she's a far more “normal” fit than you've ever ever been.

Do they really think something like that would hurt you, after everything they said to you?

"Hello, eveyone. Are you ready to order?"

The friends who snap out of their minds first order straightway, while the person you thought you loved till some months before take their time, talking with the short brunette whose hand is now an inch away from their thigh. Then, acting as if you just arrived there, your ex turn to tell you what they both want.

You write it down quickly, adding ‘spit in their hamburger ♡’ right next to the order.

"I see you dyed your hair and got a new tattoo. Seems like I dodged a fucking oddball, after all."

You put down the digital pen and shoot your ex a customer smile. Finally the other shoe has dropped.

"You know what’s funny about oddballs? You never know where they’ll hit next. Next time it might be your face, how about that?"

You feel one of their friends trying to trip you. The reason why they do it? No idea… until you step on the foot that almost have you face-first on the floor, pushing on it with your whole weight.

"Hey, you stepped on my foot!"

You pin the boy next to your ex with your gaze, "I could do so much worse than this, but I won’t. You know why?» you lean closer and sigh. "You’re a client. I can’t do anything tangible now, but wait until my shift is over. I’ll shove my leg so far down your throat you’ll suff-"

"I’m taking it from here.

Go."

Aki’s chest crashing against your back cuts you off. Turning, you see him looking at the group with a customer smile. A real one.

Then his fingers take a hold of the tablet still in your hands with one, smooth move. You go to snap back at him, but you know better than being too petty.

If he hadn’t stepped in, you would’ve ended up picking a fight that would cost you the job and a demerit note.

The implications in his tone snap you out of it. Your eyes set on him as you smile, just as you apply more pressure on the boy's foor.

"Of course. I’ll be at the bar if you need me."

The blonde-haired stranger curses you out but does nothing else to stop you again. You don't look back, not even when you hear the chick next to your ex speak ill of you. It should’ve hurt your feelings, but that girl looks so naive that you actually feel bad for her. She's too caught up in your ex's spell to understand that they are just using her for sex.

What a disappointment your ex turned out to be.

The moment your best friend comes back to the counter, any sense of anger and annoyance has left you.

Clients keep you busy until you manage to push your ex’s presence in the darkest corner of your mind. Saying you are grateful to them is an understatement.

Time goes by pretty quickly and before you know it, it's almost lunch time. Meaning you are about to end your shift.

Despite this, once you have some time to talk, the tall boy next to you turns on his heels so abruptly you swear you hear his bones crack.

Aki is speaking through his teeth when he whispers, "What the hell was that? Are you trying to get fired or what?"

Your hand reaches Aki’s to press it against your chest. "I could never leave you and your pretty face all alone in a place like this, Hayakawa. But that bastard still has the power to push my buttons all at once and I just can’t stand the sight of them. And that poor girl… I feel sorry for her."

"Your ex is not your problem any longer, remember? You finally get to live your life away from that shithead."

All of a sudden, Aki isn't looking at you anymore. His attention shifts on a group of people that is walking in now, and you look at them too from above your shoulder. The five of them are so beautiful that the people still in the cafeteria turn to stare at them.

But most importantly, they are deadly.

You recognise their uniforms, how could you not? Devil Hunters are a big deal, especially around colleges and other crowded places. Most of the devils’ attacks affect those ones, so at least a couple of them are always around to patrol the area and call the police in case of need.

Something in your best friend’s gaze set off all your alarms and you push him away. "You know them."

"Oh, we both do." he deadpans, fingers itching to grab the cigarette pack in his pocket. He still have three hours left before he can go on break, so he can't really sit out this one.

You snap your fingers in front of him to get his attention and when you do, he raises an eyebrow, unfazed. The one who's boiling is you and you alone, and you implode with an esasperate sigh.

"So this is what you’ve been up to, uhm?"

Aki cracks his fingers. "I don’t like the accusations you’re trying to make."

"Oh, bite me. Don’t tell me I wouldn’t notice you looking at the door like a teenager in love waiting for their sweetheart to show up.

Come on, what is it?"

Aki leans against the counter, bringing you closer to him. "If I promise to tell you this, will you do something for me in return?"

Oh-oh. Every time he asks you to do him a favour, you end up tangled in things bigger than you.

As if he reads your mind, Aki rolls his eyes. "Nothing complicated, I promise."

You fold with a scoff, arms crossed on the chest. "Fine. What do you want?"

He tries to fight back a smile. Unusual, for Aki Hayakawa rarely holds back on his happiness. Not anymore.

When he first met you, five years ago, his perception of life turned upside down. Including his view on showing emotions.

"I have this friend… hey, listen to me before saying anything, okay?" his thumb draws little doodles on the counter's space close to you.

"Like I was saying, I have this friend who’s always been kinda into you. I wouldn’t mingle if I wasn’t sure he might be a good influence in your life.

You know how protective I am of you."

This time you're the one to raise an eyebrow, suddenly feeling self-aware. "So you want me to go on a date with him or something?"

His eyes widens in shock. You fear he might have a heart attack if he keeps staring at you like a lunatic on stereoids.

"Woah. You’re the one who suggested it, not me. I was going to ask you if you could do me the courtesy of grabbing a coffee with him, just to chat, but you went all in by yourself. I won’t be the one to change your mind, now."

You say nothing for a while. Rather, you glance at the table the Devil Hunters are at to see what all the fuss is about.

Three girls and two boys are chatting, and the closest to the counter are a boy with sandy hair and a girl with strawberry locks. Her horns look so cute but on a second glance, their pointed edges look very sharp. A Fiend, you correct yourself.

Another young woman with pitch-black locks that descend on her face like silk curtains sits across them, right next to the tallest girl out of the three. She wears her long, blonde hair in a ponytail and out of the bunch, she seems to be the most stoic one. An eye patch covers her right eye, but that doesn't mean she has her guard down.

As for the rest, you can tell they are quite unique: the boy with red hair is stunning, achingly so. He looks like an angel- Wait.

"No-"

Aki nods, suddenly serious. "Yes. They are part of the same division I was in a few years ago. The one you convinced me to step back from when we got into college.

If you look closely, I’m sure you’ll recognise some."

Aside from Chainsaw Man — you got the chills just thinking about his true devil form — the Blood Fiend, Quanxi, the Angel and War Devil there is another person in the group. One you came across many times when you went to Public Safety’s Headquarters to hang out with Aki.

His dark eyes land on you just as you smack away your best friend's hand. By the time you regain your posture and finish staring at Aki, you turn and a scream build up in your throat.

The woman with the eye patch is now sitting at the bar counter, legs crossed and her gorgeous face resting on a hand.

She's fast.

Shitty human reflexes.

Her voice tone is quiet yet adamatine as she says, "Hello there. So you’re the one who convinced Aki to quit Public Safety."

You gulp and wonder if she hears it. Probably yes.

"H-hello, Lady Quanxi. I never thought I’d have the pleasure to make your acquaintance. And well, I wouldn’t say I forced him or something.

I just gave him a little push, that’s all."

She waves a hand in your direction, then looks at the tall boy next to you. "She’s cute, Hayakawa. Too cute for this world, I might say. Are you sure that she is your best friend? You seem too grumpy to have someone this cheerful around that can suck up with your dry sense of humour."

Your best friend exhales sharply, staring back at The First Devil Hunter without blinking. You don't dare to laugh, but a small snicker escapes you nonetheless.

It's as if you are watching an older sister scold her younger brother.

"Of course she is. And she's too cute for you, Quanxi. Hands off her, please."

The woman raises her hands, then returns to the table at human speed. After she does so, your eyes almost escape your skull when Aki pinches you. Out of surprise, you slap him across the face.

"Oh! What the fuck was that for?!"

"You startled me, you idiot. Were you trying to set me up with her? With Quanxi?" you start to sweat profusely. "Man, I don't know if I’m in for that type of thing. I mean, she’s the embodiment of ride or die — literally. I don't think I'm ready for that kind of carousel yet-"

Aki stops your rambling by shaking his head. Then he takes his hand into yours once more and points a finger towards the table.

"Look closer."

Dark, lush hair frame a slim face now turned in your direction, his beauty mark under the lips unforgettable. His eyes, despite being so piercing, carry the same warmth his smile radiates.

Yoshida Hirofumi.

Pretty sure the chemical burning Aki warned you about is eating your brain, you stare at the Devil Hunter in awe. "Nah, that can’t be. I must be dreaming. Pinch me."

Hayakawa does so again. Harder this time.

You punch his arm in retaliation and he simply huffs at your little tantrum. However, he drags you in a bone-crushing hug shortly after. Accepting it amidst laughs, you laugh in the crook of his neck and wait for your nerves to calm on their own.

So the person you had a crush on for the longest time ever feels the same about you. The fear of being rejected by him is what kept you from acting upon your feelings. Rather, you locked them away in a corner of your heart.

After all that time, after every heartbreak you went through, he's still there waiting for you?

An idiot. That's what you are.

Still looking at Yoshida, you dare to smile and your heart is filled with joy when he does the same. You whip your head towards Aki to look at him through the corner of the eye.

"Okay, I’ll go on a date with him. Let’s see how it goes."

The one to take the group's orders and bring them everything is your best friend. You prefer to watch the scene unfolding from afar. Hayakawa stays behind for a while, chatting with your crush.

Right before coming back he leans closer to Yoshida, whispering something along the lines of 'hey man, she wants to go on a date with you or whatever', but the group overhears it all the same and Hell breaks loose.

Not literally, but you fear for the well-being of the cafè for a good second.

Denji and Power are still howling, feet on the table and head thrown back in amusement, when Aki heads back to the counter with a satisfied grin; Quanxi and Yoru looked at one another for a moment, then each of them grab the kids by the legs and they facepalm on the table.

Angel is having none of it, and keep eating his ice cream as if nothing happened.

You and Yoshida seem to have the same thought because when you turn to look at him again, the dark-haired Devil Hunter is doing the same from above his shoulder. His smile reaches his pierced ears and something in your stomach stirs. Probably butterflies. Or hunger.

"He’s literally breaking his neck to get a better view of you. Goddammit, come here. Why am I doing all of this by myself?

Listen: now that we're settled, go and ask him when you two can go on a date."

Your heart drops at your feet. "Uhm excuse me, where you not there talking to him a minute ago? Hell no. You go."

Blood escapes Aki’s body, leaving him staring at you dead in the eye.

He acts as if you just said you killed his cat.

"I wouldn’t go on a date with Yoshida Hirofumi even if he was the last person on Earth. He’s your boo, not mine."

You stomp a foot, pointing a finger at him. "Stop it. I hate when you say “boo”. It's cringe.

Also, you were the one to set me up with him in the first place. Take the fall for it."

If looks could kill, you'd be burning amidst the flames of Hell by now. "No, I won't. And guess what? You're two adults perfectly able of talking to each other but neither of you was bold enough to confess, so I had to step in and set you two up. He never stopped asking about you, even after I left. And you talk in your sleep, don't you?"

His tone is steady, but there is a hint of amusement in his voice when he whispers:

"I’m tired of hearing you calling out his name in the middle of the night while you squeeze a pillow between your thighs. Fuck him and get over with it."

A shocked gasp falls past your lips and when you look back at the table, fearing the Devil Hunter heard you. They haven't, except one.

The man of the hour is gone. Oh, no. No.

NO.

Horrified, your gaze lands in front of you. More specifically, on the chair Quanxi was previosuly sitting on. Now Yoshida is sitting there for God knows how long, and a sly smirk is painted all over his face.

Aki follows your gaze, pinching your arm again. But you have no will or strength left in you to strike back.

Damn it. Your crush had just heard your best friend say out loud you have been dreaming about him for years. Wet dreams, at that.

Every night.

Hirofumi perches himself on the wooden surface, leaning so close to you that breath gets stuck in your throat.

"Have you now? Care to walk me through some of them over a coffee? Or dinner, maybe?"

Actually, you did more acting than talking. In fact, you showed Yoshida pretty soon some of the best bits of your wet dreams with him. Date after date, week after week.

Now six months had gone by since Aki set you two up and that night, right after you came home from a dinner out with the Special Division, you both had gone insane.

It all started as a joke: you under him on the bed, riled up because of all the teasing at the table, with the blue scarf around his neck dangling between your faces with every kiss Yoshida left on your cheeks, your neck.

Then one thing have led to another, and you eventually started the fire with a simple smile. Hirofumi have come to know you pretty well over time.

He was damn sure it wasn’t an innocent one. “Time for another round, isn't it? Come here.”

Yoshida had giggled in your ear and just like that, you relaxed and returned to the present.

His hands graze your trembling ones for a split-second. The soft fabric of the scarf he used to cover your eyes smells like him and you take in the scent as he continues to worship your body, so tensed and ready to snap under his.

Even after you have come three times, once while your lips are wrapped around his cock with a hand shoved in your drenched panties and twice under the relentless attack of his mouth and fingers, sensory overload still hasn't overcome your body. Stamina is one of your strongest suits, and so is Yoshida's.

He wraps a hand around his dick, coating it in your release to pump it two, three times as his words reaches you.

"Think you got another one for me? Uhm?"

"Y-yes."

Your ragged breath fans over his face as he leaned down to kiss you again. His tongue came out to play with yours as you sense the head of his cock breaching past the entrance of your pussy — he is huge. You barely have time to moan and arch against him before Yoshida straightens his back and placs your hands on his waist.

"Hiro', you feel so good- Fuck."»"

His fingernails bury themselves in the tender flesh of your thighs as he bottoms out inside you, cock pulsing and twitching against your walls. Another desperate whimper leave you right after, because he isn't moving.

Is he really throwing a gauntlet? When he's balls-deep inside you?

Fire begins to boil in your veins and it feel amazing. Pouting, you brace yourself on your elbows. Even blindfolded, you can almost see his eyes transfixed on your boobs. But when you pout again, his gaze shifts to your lips.

Yoshida always make sure to reward you when you beg for his cock.

"Please, baby. I can’t take it any longer. Please, move.

I need you." your voice is feeble, tears already pooling in your eyes. You are at your limit.

He tries to control himself, yet another shiver runs across your skin when he suddenly pulls you flush against his chest. With the new position, his cock goes even deeper and you writhe in ectasy. He is dangerously close to hit your cervix.

Again.

"Of course. You asked me so nicely, princess."

His hips start to move against yours slowly and you sigh, relieved.

But now, his pace changes. You should’ve expected it, but nonetheless you find yourself resting your forehead on his collarbone as he fucks you stupid.

The bed creaked under his movements and Yoshida urges you to lay on your back once more; when you comply, he slips out of your pussy just to slam back in. His eyes fall onto your face.

"Come on. Cum for me one last time."

You let yourself go with a strangled moan, breathing heavily against Yoshida as he draws a fourth orgasm out of you, fucking you through it as his own has him curse under his breath.

You milk him dry, but he still thrusted a few times more to pump his cum back into you. Only when you twitch in overstimulation does he stop and as soon as the softness of his scarf leave your eyes, the dim light shed by the moonlight help you see Hirofumi’s proud grin.

"You did so well." he whispers in the dark, caressing your hair as you both calm down. His heartbeat follows yours for a while but once you are stable enough to speak again, your fingernails trace his cheekbones and he tilts his head.

"Box checked for 'Wet dream n° 52'. You're even crazier than me for following through with them." you chuckle.

"Oh, shush. How many are there again?"

"Roughly around a hundred but who's counting?"

His gaze darkens but doesn't move a muscle. Tonight, you've done enough exercise for a week.

"Poor Aki. He’s not going to be happy about it."

"He’s a big boy, he’ll manage. It’s not like we never had sex while he’s in another room, remember?"

His hips snap against yours, teasing you, and a whimper builds up in your lower abdomen. "Yoshida."

He whispers against your lips, unbothered, "I didn't do it."

"I did."

You try to scream, you really do, but your partner is holding you so tightly against him that you eventually muster up enough courage to train your attention towards the place where the voice came from. To your shock, it did come from Yoshida.

No, from behind him.

And a gush of lust escapes down your thighs, excitement dripping down the already ruined sheets.

It's really happening.

All you do is watch and whimper in anticipation as a tentacle climbs up your leg, its head reaching the strings of your and Yoshida’s mixed releases. Hesitating at first, the tentacle then lapped up the juices and poked at your clit. Your hips buck into its touch and after you do, it vanishes again.

It only lasted a moment but it left you craving for more and Hirofumi's lust-blown gaze shows he has enjoyed it, too.

"Well, it looks like the Octopus Devil likes you enough to come out and play."

"I figured. Let it be from now on. I want to try something out."

The dark-haired boy’s grin now reflects yours. "Is this a spoiler for the next wet dream we're going to reenact?"

You kiss his beauty mark, beaming with mischief. "Oh, yes. Wet dream n° 53: 'Paint it, black'.

Fitting, right?"

#voice of cassandra #yoshida smut #yoshida x reader #yoshida x you #csm smut #csm x reader #csm x you #chainsaw man smut

407 notes · View notes

staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

Text

Identity Pt 6 (Extra Scene)

Part (6) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

There are two people in particular to blame for this chapter. You know who are are, and I love you for it.

Warnings: Big emotions in this - rage, guilt, blame, and the like. There do be a bit of fighting, but it's not gory. Brief description of water torture. Profanity

WC: 2,032

No one moved, breath nearly trapped in their chests as they watched the pair steadily make their way out of the hanger. Crosshair noted the stiffness in her movements, the slight hitch in her step, and his teeth ground at the certainty that her shoulder was only a small part of what she’d suffered.

“What the kriff did you do?!” He snarled at the group of regs still staring toward the now empty hallway. He’d half-expected Hunter or Echo to growl some half-hearted warning for him to back down, but they seemed just as eager for answers as he was, and the unspoken permission that granted him, the justification in loosing his rage on the remaining members of the 104th left him near shaking, face twisted with the full display of his fury.

“We followed our orders; just like she did… Things just… got complicated.” The one with the double oval on his forehead replied, and the dejection in his voice only worsened Crosshair’s anger.

“The hell does that mean?” His voice ground between gritted teeth, body innately taking a half-step forward.

“It means there were unforeseen circumstances that caused problems, and that you lot aren’t cleared to know anything more.” The clone bearing a wolf-head emblem said, not shying from the very real threat in the sniper’s posture as he tread forward to place himself pointedly between his men and the enraged squad before him.

“I don’t give a Sith’s tit about your mission. The kriff happened to her, and why didn’t any of you stop it?!” He spat, shoulders pulling back as he towered over the Sergent.

“No time.” Another reg replied gruffly from behind the telltale helm of a pilot. “When everythin’ went down, we were all too far away to do anything, an’ they had her whisked off to the other side of planet before we could reach her.”

“She was alone?!” Echo nearly shouted from behind him. Crosshair didn’t question Hunter’s silence thus far, assured that his brother was listening, calculating; that he could smell the cocktail of adrenaline filling each of them and was comparing their heart rates, their body language, the tension in their every taut muscle to figure out just how far they could be pushed before snapping, how much information they might glean from tongues loosened by shame and guilt.

“There wasn’t supposed to be any combat where she was.” The last one sighed, his head dropping toward his chest.

“Can’t help but notice not one of you has a damn scratch, so how’d she end up like that in a non-combat zone with you lot still looking like damn shinies?!” Cross shot back, disdain dripping from every word.

“That’s enough!” The pilot barked, moving stiffly forward to stand beside his brother. “Think you’re something special? That you’re all high and mighty just ‘cause you’ve got some damn crush? Well, how ‘bout we compare how many times she’s been hurt working with you than with us?!”

He nearly ignored the subtle shift of Hunter’s hand signaling him to back off, but caught himself mere heartbeats before throwing himself forward, fists clenched hard enough to shake.

“If you’re referring to combat ops, given the general nature of your missions, which tend toward community outreach and long-distance support, in addition to the fact that her most grievous injuries were caused directly by your commander’s intentional actions, statistically speaking, that comparison wouldn’t do much to support your argument.” The subtle note of annoyance in Tech’s retort was just enough to draw a huff of something too dark to be likened to laughter from Crosshair.

“Still haven’t given a reason why she was alone.” Wrecker’s voice was quiet, and that alone left Crosshair leaning slightly to the side lest he find himself between them should the massive clone decide he was done listening. “She’s a medic – can’t really do that if she’s not with you.”

“She wasn’t there as a medic.” The first reg explained wearily.

“Then why was she there? Why pull her from our unit at all?” Hunter asked, carefully masking his own anger with a feigned gentleness.

“Comet.” The Sergent called, helm shifting to stare pointedly at his brother. The silence that followed that warning only sought to fuel Crosshair’s ire while worsening the 104th’s collective remorse.

“We needed someone who could blend in with the Separatists.”

“Boost!”

The man who’d spoken drew a sharp breath at the reprimand in his brother’s tone, head snapping up to stare him down as he wrenched his helmet free.

“No! Dammit, Sinker, they should know what happened! You think needing to keep it a secret is going to do her any good?! Hell, that one’s clearly read plenty of our old mission briefs already!” Boost roared, hand snapping toward Tech. “Why the hell wouldn’t he read this one? The only difference between us telling them now and him reading about it later is how much time they’ll have to get their shebs ready to help her when she’s back.”

Despite his lingering urge to lash out, Crosshair found himself both quieted and unnerved anew at the man’s words, torn between wanting to berate them for their carelessness and appreciating Boost’s argument.

“I know…” Sinker replied, voice nearly breaking beneath the weight of remorse threatening to overwhelm him, “but that’s not our call to make.” Comet and the other one, the pilot, had both turned their attention from Crosshair and their brothers, as though waiting to see who’d cede first that they might be granted permission to speak freely.

“Then you go right ahead and report me, Sergent.” Boost spat.

“Our contact chose the location.” Sinker’s shoulders fell at Comet’s quiet whisper, but he offered no further dispute. “It was a gathering for high-ranking Separatists. The plan was her to get in, get a datachip, and monitor security while we broke into the gala’s database to get more info… get a little something extra for the effort. Apparently, our contact had ulterior motives, too. He planted a bomb. She got caught in the blast, and then she was blamed for it.”

Air hissed through Crosshair’s teeth; dread twisted through his chest at the knowledge of what a Separatist interrogation entailed.

“We got to her as quick as we could.” The pilot continued, arms crossing over his chest at the guilt clearly sown through his own words. “Beat up some guards, tracked all the outbound ships… finally had to hunt down the damn contact himself to figure out where they took her.” He didn’t need to look back to know his brothers stood as stiff as he did, waiting for that final blow of what exactly had happened.

“They had her for about eight hours.” Resigned, Sinker finally turned back to face him, movements weary as he also reached up to remove his helmet, and Cross couldn’t help but be slightly surprised to find that the man shared his silver hair color, a fact that instantly annoyed him further, but he held his tongue as he waited for the reg to continue. “We know she was unconscious most of that time, but when she woke up…”

“Enough with all the kriffin’ stalling. Just tell us wha’ happened.” Wrecker growled impatiently.

“She was drowned.” Comet stated bluntly, and Crosshair’s blood went cold. “They drowned her, brought her back, and waterboarded her trying to find out who was behind the explosion.”

He could feel his heart racing, felt his breath quicken, every thought screaming at him to fight, to forgo all fear of reprimand or consequence for the relief of even a moment’s outburst, because that was something he knew. He knew how to deal with the pain of raw knuckles and split lips. He knew the taste of disappointment his brothers would harbor in the aftermath of his rashness. He knew the sting of defeat and the empty pride of victory, and, in that moment, held no preference for either. He merely needed the distraction; that familiarity, because the ache in his chest, the way it threatened to cripple him and rend him into a frenzy too overcome with grief and guilt to think straight was something he didn’t know how to deal with, and that terrified him.

“I assume she’s been given appropriate treatment to prevent lung infections?” The emptiness in Tech’s voice robbed Crosshair of that lingering rage to which he’d been clinging, leaving him cold and void of the will to drag himself back to the forefront of a confrontation that no longer promised anything of the respite he’d longed for.

“Yeah.” Boost answered quietly. “She also has a burn on her calf… wrists and ankles got torn up from fighting the restraints… pretty sure that’s how she dislocated her shoulder, too. We got it all cleaned and bandaged, but… just keep an eye on it.” There. That last comment was all it took to rekindle his anger, and he grasped it like the fleeting lifeline it was.

“Think it’s pretty clear we don’t need your advice on how to keep her safe.” He drawled, head tilting just enough to portray the depth of his contempt.

“That’s it.” The pilot growled, throwing himself forward without further thought or warning. In that split second before they collided, Crosshair felt the very edge of his lips twitch up into a broken smile born of relief and ruined by a guilt he’d deal with later.

In an instant, everyone was shouting, and he thrived in that moment of chaos as the man’s fist crashed into his jaw. Already, several hands were grabbing for him, straining to wrench him back, but not before he landed his own strike, knee plowing into his stomach with enough force to wrench the air from his lungs despite the plates of heavy armor. Crosshair just managed a final punch to his assailant’s head before Wrecker forced himself between them, iron grip locked around the reg’s shoulder in a threat even the haughty pilot couldn’t feign ignorance to.

In the brief fray, he’d failed to notice the split second of distraction tear Hunter’s attention away from them, but he instantly froze as his brother hauled him near enough to whisper harshly into his ear.

“Cody commed me. It’s Doc.” Already, Hunter was pulling away from him, torn between ending the fight and answering the summons. “Don’t make things worse.” He added with a snarl forced into barely audible growl. Expression faltering into horrified dread, Cross merely nodded. Hunter didn’t hesitate before turning and dashing from the hanger, and then all Crosshair could hear was the heaviness of his own breathing, the way his heart pounded in chest beneath that rush of emotions resurging mercilessly in the wake of his vain attempt to escape them.

He glanced back to find his brothers studying him carefully, confusion clear in their eyes as they waited for some explanation, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak, not when the other squad stood watching him with that same attentiveness. Without a word, he merely nodded toward the hallway leading to their temporary bunkroom, sparing not so much as a glare back to the men he still sought to blame for all of this; for calling her away, for letting her get hurt, for reminding him just how easily he might lose her because of this Force-forsaken war.

He didn’t listen to the hushed voices of the 104th as he began walking away; barely let himself note the sets of footsteps voicing his own squad belatedly falling in line behind him. He couldn’t think beyond the fruitless need to know why Cody had called Hunter, what had happened in the debrief; mind demanding he find some means to force his way into that kriffing office in his brother’s stead, and his rage grew at the knowledge that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do but wait. All his training as a sniper, years of drilling the importance of patience into him, of forming that patience into a weapon honed to perfection; it was all useless against this, and he couldn’t keep himself from slamming his fist into the wall in a final fit of frustration as they neared the still foreign barracks.

Next Chapter

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @kixs-husband @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @isthereanechoinhere96 @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @wanderneverlost @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89 @waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose

77 notes · View notes

maraschinomerry · 1 year

Note

Hi! Ive really enjoyed your Lockwood and Co fic’s so far, especially how you incorporate gn-readers! As for a prompt to give: A George Karin X GN Reader fic where George works himself sick on researching a case and no one else really notices he’s sick other than Reader, and Reader makes him stop and takes care of him for the night. A quote to go along with this maybe: “No one ever cared about me like you.” There’s really not enough George fics out there, so thank you for rectifying that!

Chicken Soup

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Content: literally just 99% fluff, the other 1% is reader misunderstanding when George tries to confess his feelings

A/N: this fic takes me to less than 1000 words off having posted 30,000 words in 4 weeks 🤯 will have to see if I can post another later!

Word count: 2.1k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear

George looked tired.

He usually looked at least a little worn out, so you weren't overly surprised, but this time it was more distinctive. Plus, his exhaustion was always paradoxically frantic, brought about by rushing to prepare for a case that needed solving yesterday, but this time Lockwood had specifically said nobody was going anywhere near the site until you and George were confident there was no more research to be done. You'd hoped that would mean George would take his time, but it seemed his brain had forgotten how to function in any way that wasn't cramming 3 days' worth of research into 3 hours.

"Let's call it a day," you prompted. The two of you had been glued to your seats around a stack of papers in the Archives all day and your back was getting horrendously stiff. George couldn't be faring much better, hunched so far over his book he practically disappeared into his orange plaid shirt.

"You head back, I just need a bit longer to finish off," he replied, not even glancing up. Under normal circumstances, you'd be able to use his frustration at the impossible deadline to lure him away, but what on earth were you supposed to say when it was self-inflicted?

"Are you sure? Lockwood did say to take as long as we need, so it can wait until morning."

George looked up then, only to shake his head. You knew what he was thinking: by tomorrow, the book he needed could have been borrowed by someone else; by tomorrow, Kipps' crew could have swanned in and solved the whole case; by tomorrow, there may not be anyone at the site left to employ them. You sighed.

"Sorry, I know it's a pain. Will you be okay getting home alone?" Trust him to be worrying about you when you were worrying about him. You assured him you'd be fine, and promised to have a cup of tea ready when he got home.

"You're the best," he said with a weary smile. Secretly he didn't want you to leave, he enjoyed your company, but it was unfair to make you stay just because he wanted to. As you walked away, you heard him sniff, which built into a sneeze. Hmm.

—

Less than ten minutes after you returned to Portland Row, the heavens opened. Rain hammered against the front door like it was begging to be let in, and wind whistled through every corner it could find from the attic downwards.

You, Lucy and Lockwood sat around the dining table, soaking in every ounce of the warmth that seeped from the oven while dinner cooked (a steak pie you'd made when you got back, to distract yourself from the anxious knot in your stomach).

"How did it go at the Archives?" Lucy asked over a steaming cup of coffee.

"We're making progress, but I'm worried George is overworking himself."

Lockwood gave a wry chuckle. "Trust me, if George has a limit, I haven't seen him hit it in all the time I've known him."

That wasn't overly convincing - having bursts of intense hard work followed by a couple of days to recover was one thing, but working flat out for this long was another, especially when you knew from hearing the way the house shifted that he hadn't been sleeping.

"He was sneezing when I left," you pointed out. If Lockwood knew him so well, he'd know he wasn't much of a sneezer, even in the height of pollen season.

"This case dates back decades," Lucy countered. "Imagine how much dust is on some of those files." Just thinking about it made her nose crinkle. You could only hope they were both right.

—

A long-cold cup of tea and the remaining quarter of the pie awaited George when he returned, the last embers of daylight being snuffed out by the heavy rainclouds above. The second the key rattled in the front door, you sprang from where you'd been falling asleep on the Thinking Cloth and clicked the kettle on.

"You didn't wait up for me, did you?" George croaked from the kitchen doorway. Something had happened to his voice in the hours since you'd left him.

"I promised you tea!" As you turned in mock outrage you noticed something else wrong. He was shivering and pale. Instinctively, you stepped closer, brushing a hand across the droplets on his shoulders and spotting more in his hair. Had he walked home in this weather? No. There wasn't enough water for that. This was just from the cab to the door. He wasn't shivering from the cold. You suddenly remembered the sneeze earlier.

George was ill.

This was a disaster, and it was all your fault. You should have forced him to come home with you. Should have noticed sooner and never let him out today in the first place.

"Oh Georgie," you murmured, almost as much to yourself as him. "Give me one minute with that tea and then you need to get to bed."

"I'm f-fine," he stammered around chattering teeth. "It's nothing."

As if he'd been summoned as backup, Lockwood sauntered in on his way to the basement. "Glad to see you missed the rain," he joked. George gave another sneeze, a spray of said rain flying from his curls with the force of it. "Bathroom's free if you want a bath to warm up." Misguided as Lockwood was in his reason for the advice, it wasn't a bad idea actually.

"I'm just heading up," you shot him a grateful look before George could object, "I can set it running." Lockwood grinned and disappeared. Today was not one of his observant days, it seemed.

"I can run my own bath," George grumbled, still in the doorway, but his cheeks flushed a little and he made no move to stop you. Probably because his hands were shaking so much he would have struggled to even turn the taps. You took his freshly brewed tea in one hand and his arm in the other and guided him to the library to cosy up until the bath was ready.

—

Half an hour later, you were debating whether to go and make sure George hadn't fallen asleep in the tub when he emerged. His dark curls were damp yet fluffy from the towel, a slight glow had returned to his skin and he was dressed in the clean pyjamas you'd looked out for him. He frowned at you as best his tired muscles would allow, pondering the fact you'd clearly spent the entire time sitting on the bottom step outside the bathroom. Before he could comment, however, the warmth of the bath began to wear off and the tremble returned to his bones. You reached behind you and sheepishly held out a fuzzy forest green bundle.

"I, um… I couldn't find any of your jumpers, I think they're all in the wash, so you can borrow this one. It should fit."

George took hold of it and unfolded what turned out to be the softest hoodie he'd ever felt in his life. He wriggled into it, his one working nostril breathing in the way the smell of you lingered in the fabric. It was so comfy that he found himself burrowing into it, bringing it up under his chin and tucking his hands into the sleeves.

You caught yourself staring at him, marvelling over how he could look so adorable in such an unfortunate situation, and gave him a soft smile. "Better?"

He nodded and mumbled out a "thanks" which ended up somewhat drowned in the hoodie as he shuffled away. Halfway through his bedroom door, he stopped and turned back to you. "What's that?"

You went to see what he was referring to, hands on his shoulders to support yourself as you pressed close on tiptoes to peer past him. Suddenly very aware of how close you were, you focused your attention on the flask on his bedside table.

"Oh. It's chicken soup. I wasn't sure if you'd want it just yet, so I used a flask which should keep it warm for the next few hours."

If you hadn't been aware of how much you were in George's personal space before, you certainly were now as he practically melted against you.

"That's so thoughtful." He sounded shocked. Not at you being thoughtful towards him, at anyone being so. Unsure of what to say, you gave his shoulders a supportive squeeze and then used them to steer him towards his bed.

His room was a little chilly, so you checked that his window was properly closed before drawing the curtains. George, energy almost completely drained, flopped onto the bed. You helped him tuck his legs under the duvet, bringing it up around his chest. He sniffled again, and without a word you nudged the box of tissues you'd found and set out for him. His eyes grew wide and incredulous, suddenly scrunching shut with another bout of sneezing.

"Do you need anything else?"

The sneezing paused. "I think I left my book in the library…"

"Georgie, no." Your voice became stern even as you used his nickname affectionately. "No more research until you're feeling better." He began to protest. "Think about it. The more you rest, the sooner you'll recover and the quicker you can get back to it." He couldn't argue with logic, and you both knew it.

You ended up fetching him a glass of water, some paracetamol and a couple of contraband biscuits. When you returned, you found him sipping the soup, and his face lit up at your last offering.

"You're too nice," he sighed, insisting on splitting the first biscuit with you. "I love you."

You almost choked on your half of the biscuit, bursting into a coughing fit you'd expect from the actual ill person in the room. George immediately rose from the pillows to pat your back as you tried to remember how to breathe. "Are you okay?" His hand stopped patting as your coughing subsided but it didn't leave your back, instead rubbing gentle circles.

"I…" you spluttered, finally dislodging the rogue crumb. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do! No one ever cared about me like you."

His words were kind, tender, yet your heart still sank. He'd just said it because you were looking after him. You couldn't believe you'd actually thought for a moment that he loved you. There was nothing more you wanted than for the ground to swallow you up, but when George kept talking you stayed and listened. "Lockwood and Lucy do so much for me, don't get me wrong, and my parents did their best, but I'd be lost without you. I mean, all this…" he gestured around at the flask, the hoodie, you still sitting on his bed, "nobody else even noticed there was anything wrong. But you did. You see me, and I love you for it."

Tears welled in your eyes. You blinked them away, refusing to obscure your view of the beautiful boy beside you. His hand stilled on your back, twitching away, afraid he'd said the wrong thing. You leaned into his side, strengthening the touch. "I love you too."

His eyelids fluttered, a mixture of exhaustion and adoration. His free hand linked with yours. "Remind me to kiss you once I'm better."

"Why can't you kiss me now?"

"Because I'll make you ill, if I haven't already!"

"I'll take that risk." You leaned in.

"Nooo," he whined, a hand on your chest to keep you at a distance, "I'd feel bad. But lucky for you, I have a fantastic doctor, so I'll be better in no time."

"Oh yes, I hear they're exceptional and very committed. Now lie down."

George did as he was told, gasping at the rush of cold air as the duvet was lifted behind him. You eased yourself into the bed, legs tangling in his and pulling you closer until his back leant against your chest and your face was buried in his hair.

"What did I just say?!"

You shushed him. "It's fine, if I catch it you can look after me." You pressed a kiss to his temple as you reached over to click the lamp off. He groaned in the darkness.

"You're impossible."

"You love me, though."

His hand found yours again, bringing your arm to wrap round his stomach. Your fingers traced the warm, soft skin underneath the hem of your hoodie. He sighed contentedly, the rise and fall of your chest behind him lulling him closer to sleep. "I do."

You sneezed.

Damn it.

#lockwood & co x reader #george karim x reader #george karim #gn!reader #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co

265 notes · View notes

dear-mrs-otome · 11 months

Text

Silvio Ricci - Engagement Event - Another Terrible Summary

(Silvio: "W-what the?")

Standard Disclaimer: I do this for fun. I don’t, and never would, claim to be proficient at JP. There will be mistakes herein. There will be dialogue I choose to smooth out or change, because it feels choppy just straight translating. There will be the occasional snarky aside and irreverence and just plain summarizing. If you’re looking for 100% pure accuracy, without commentary or localizing, this is not for you. If you don’t mind that…then proceed, and I hope you enjoy! And please, support your local localizer (they make this stuff look easy) and Cybird by playing the games and routes when they come to English.

Things to know before this (THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SILVIO’S MAIN STORY):

It follows the romantic (or ‘canon’) ending to Silvio’s route, which means that he and Emma are already engaged seeing as how they were at the end of his route. It also references the circumstances surrounding that - how Emma posed as a disgraced noblewoman and rescued Silvio from his father and prison by demanding Silvio take responsibility for ‘debauching’ and rescue her honor via marriage. Silvio has also been officially named the king’s successor, and will be the next king of Benitoite when his fathers steps down. It also references the epilogue where Emma works herself ill, and how horrible of a person Silvio's mother was.

~~~~~~~~

The Jewel of the Ocean has been passed to Silvio - recently the news of this has begun to make the rounds through Benitoite, and the topic seems to be on everyone’s lips. The merchants especially are thrilled with this…but that’s not the only tea everyone’s spilling.

We open on a couple of merchants chattering away down by the docks about the approaching engagement ceremony for Prince Silvio where everything is made Official, and the two men are talking about the lucky lady in question. They say how rumors have it she’s a beautiful woman, on par with any national treasure - gifted too, and having had studied at Rhodolite’s court. She’s kind and dang near a saint.

One of them mentions too how he heard how crazy in love with her Silvio was, and how anytime the prince opens his mouth it’s to say something about her, and the other seems impressed and says how much he’s looking forward to the ceremony.

As they pass by and on their way, a figure darts into a nearby alley as if to make an escape…and we find Emma crouching down there, groaning about a stomachache and freaking out in her thoughts over why the heck everyone seems to think she’s some sort of PARAGON.

Silvio’s there, hand on her back and asking if she’s alright, and she confesses she might not be alright. Didn’t he hear all that?? Whose girlfriend are they talking about, this PARAGON OF BEAUTY AND GRACE AND TALENTS, this SAINTLY WOMAN.

Silvio says they’re talking about her, obviously, and Emma says is that really how I seem?!

She’s freaking out, clearly. She’d been super excited to come out on the town with Silvio when he’d asked, their first actual date in awhile, but she’d been totally unprepared for the rumors that are apparently going around about them.

“Doesn’t seem off to me,” Silvio says, matter of factly, and Emma’s over there like PRESS X TO DOUBT. Asking him how that’s so.

He kind of hems and haws a bit, awkward silence and he can’t look her in the eyes as he says she’s beautiful, and plenty capable, and other than being the whole being a bit sassy thing she’s got a pretty decent personality.

Emma’ stunned at actual legit compliments from Silvio, still processing as he points out that it’s better than them gossiping about things that aren’t true or are nasty isn’t it?

“But what about when I’m presented at the engagement ceremony and everyone’s got this sky-high expectations…” she frets. “Everyone will be disappointed when I don’t measure up, and they might say ‘She’s not good enough for Prince Silvio.’”

Of course she’s been giving it her all, ever since they decided to formally announce the engagement alongside the formal declaration of Silvio as the king’s successor. She’s been working her ass off from morning to night studying etiquette and everything else she might need to know as a princess, alongside getting her wardrobe ready and planning the details of the ceremony and the reception party…she’s exhausted, mentally and physically. But even so she wants to be woman worthy of Silvio, the next king.

She tackles him practically with a hug, setting Silvio spluttering and redfaced and reminding her for the umpteenth time she’s supposed to warn him before she does something like that - to which Emma rebuts that if she warns him he still sometimes tries to escape, so it’s best to surprise him.

Burying her face in those hella nice-smelling man tiddies, Emma takes a deep breath of Silvio-scent and is reenergized.

“Where’s your usual sass?” he asks. “Don’t let something like this intimidate you.” He tells her that if everyone’s saying good things about her, all she’s gotta do is be confident and stand tall. But he also chastizes her for being too stubborn and reminds her she doesn’t have to go so dang hard on all this.

“No, no,” Emma argues, saying that if she doesn’t work hard now when will she work hard?

“Not your whole life long,” Silvio counters. “I didn’t bring you here from Rhodolite to make you work yourself like a madwoman. I already told you what the gist of your most important job was, didn’t I?”

His words are a reminder of that day on the beach (at the end of his Romantic route) where he had told her what her most important duty was, as the woman of the next king: to dedicate all that she was to him, and in return he’d love her till she couldn’t stand it.

She's fluent enough in Silvio-ese to see those imperious words for what they really meant - he wants the kind of relationship where he can love and be loved in equal measure. And she realizes she must seem pretty exhausted if Silvio is worrying about her this much. He's bossy as all getup…but he's hella overprotective.

She lifts her head and there's those sea-blue eyes right in front of her - along with a suspicious Silvio. Who has right to be because she surprise kisses him. He's left wide eyed and surprised as she tells him she was thinking how she loves him.

He points out that came from left field and she’s just shrug - and then Silvio has his revenge by taking her chin in hand and laying a passionate kiss on her that has her scandalized. They’re still in public technically and all! He laughs at her hnnng face and she’s silently fuming over how only a few seconds ago it was him all embarrassed and now he’s Mr. Cocky, pouting as she looks away and he tousles her hair.

“Anyway, you get what I’m sayin’?” he asks.

She asks if he’s referring to her trying too hard, and he confirms - only to get angry again when she says she’ll accept his sentiment at least but she’s gotta be able to stand proudly beside him if he’s going to love her, and although he might worry about her she asks him to please let her do her best for now.

He’s glowering silently, and she tells him he’s got his scary face on.

He says it’s probably because she’s totally missing the point of what he’s trying to say, and she fires back that he’s too overprotective.

“Shaddup,” he scowls.

“But I love that about you too!” she declares, and he turns red and tells her not to get carried away. Clearly not disliking her claim - he’s just obviously embarrassed by it.

The whole situation might be literally making her feel ill, but she’s not about to back down from this challenge. If she’s gonna share a life with Silvio, she’s got to be able to handle something like this.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, Rio stops her in the hallway and asks if she’s doing alright. He’s gotten his memory back now and works as Silvio’s aide, but still never hesitates to show concern for her as well just as he always has.

He asks if she has a fever, and she’s dklsjfds HOW DID HE KNOW?? She had woken up that morning lethargic and unwell, but it’s nothing major - more like the bit of fever she’d come down with when she’d overworked herself when first coming to Benitoite.

She assures Rio she’s fine it’s nbd, but he’s not happy with that answer,worried it might get worse and urging her to take a day off or so - before he cuts himself off and realizes she can’t.

A fact she confirms, because she’s supposed to be hosting a party today to meet and greet many of the young noblewomen of the country before the engagement ceremony. It’s hella important for her to lay the groundwork of future relationships here, and to help her make friends and ease into Benitoite society better. So even if she has to push herself, she’s gotta make it through today at least.

“Rio, pleeeeaaase. Don’t say a word to Silvio,” she begs him.

“...If he finds out, he’ll lock you up for sure,” Rio agrees with chagrin. He’s clearly not thrilled with her request, but she knows he can’t deny her, and reluctantly he agrees to keep mum on this - but he tells her he’ll have medicine ready, and reminds her if she gets any worse to cancel things, consequences be damned. He and Silvio can more than handle the fallout, and it won’t reflect badly on her.

She thank him, glad that it was Rio who noticed she was sick. If it had been Silvio, she’s positive things wouldn’t have gone this smoothly…and she vows to herself to be sure to avoid him at all costs today.

~~~~~~~~

…Only for us to open the next scene aboard a ship, with a silently staring Silvio, and an oh shit Emma.

Given that she’s to be royalty, and given the traditions of Benitoite amongst the elite to throw parties not at mansions but on board ships, she’d asked Silvio to arrange one to host her party on. This particular vessel is one of Silvio’s own, and it wouldn’t be strange to see the owner aboard - if it had been a day without business meetings or other things on his agenda.

Why is he here?!?!

She’d been making the rounds, greeting all the ladies aboard before the ship was set to depart, when the tyrant himself had appeared all of a sudden and grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s go.”

She vehemently protests this idea, and he scowls over the fact that she can put up such an argument when she’s feverish - which has her now wondering how the eff does he know about her being sick?! No wait, more importantly, she KNOWS he’s got a packed schedule today!

She’s digging in her heels just as hard as he’s trying to drag her off, insisting all the while that he’s just imagining things.

“If you think I’m gonna buy that, you must have a flower garden for a brain,” he fires back. (Hello Motonari?)

“Flower garden or whatever, read the room!” she scolds him, At first, most people didn’t seem to know what to make of her as the next king’s fiancée…and now they’re all just looking on this scene in shock. The whole party is ruined!

He scoffs at the need to do anything of the sort, and as she keeps trying to resist he finally just picks her up and goes to make off with her.

“Knock it off,” Rio sighs. “Can’t you see she’s not having any of this?”

Now Emma’s stunned, realizing Rio is there too and blocking Silvio’s path, shaking his head. Silvio says he doesn’t give a shit if she doesn’t like it, and Rio reminds him he should and urges him to put Emma down.

“If I put her down, she’ll run away,” Silvio counters.

“If you know she’s gonna run away, then you clearly know you shouldn’t be forcing her,” Rio frowns.

“Shut up. I don’t need you telling me what to do,” Silvio argues.

Emma realizes it’s no use when Silvio’s gotten himself worked up like this, and if she throws a fit and ends up getting herself hurt it’ll just make him all depressed. She tries to shoot Rio a wink to say it’s alright, and seeing this Rio immediately goes into crisis-containment mode - apologizing to all the guests for the fuss his ‘idiot brother’ has made with his usual charm and charisma.

In moments he has all the ladies gathered there eating out of his hand, showing off his now-practiced socialite face, the one he’s been honing more now that he’s in the public eye as Silvio’s aide.

While a grateful Emma watches him charm them all, she suggests to Silvio they take this somewhere else to talk and he seems to agree. Still pissy though as he kicks in the door to a nearby room on the ship and carries her inside the space as luxurious as any fine room on land.

The silence though is so absolute you could hear a pin drop, only the sound of the wind and the waves, before Silvio finally speaks.

“Did you take any medicine?” he asks, taking a seat on a chair. Still holding Emma in his arms.

She tells him she did, before she came aboard, but realizes that if he doesn’t know whether she did or not he clearly must not have talked to Rio. Not to mention she highly doubts Rio would break his promise to her. “How did you know I was sick?”

He says she just doesn’t seem to have her usual vim and vigor, and that has her taken aback slightly to realize that Silvio’s been paying close enough attention to her to take note of such a minor change.

“When would you have noticed that?” she asks, baffled. There shouldn’t have been any occasion for him to see her that morning.

“When you were talking with everyone back at the port,” he explains.

“You’ve been watching me for awhile then, I take it?” she asks, but he refuses to answer that. “What about your work?”

“...It’s all finished,” he finally replies.

She’s still in disbelief at that, because the day is hardly even close to over, but Silvio waves it off as merely being damn good at his job. Emma’s not buying this though, and she points out that even if he IS hella capable it seems impossible he’d have the time to come by the port after his work was done.

Scowling he tells her to knock the line of questioning off - he’s clearly not interested in spending any more time on the topic, and he tells her once again they should leave.

There’s still a million things she wants to say, but she settles on this. “Do you really not trust me?” He wants to know why that’s even a question, and she goes on to elaborate. “Even if I say I’m fine, you seem to refuse to believe me at all.”

He lapses into a shocked silence at that.

It’s the same thing as yesterday, Emma thinks. Silvio worries about her more than anyone else in the world, and he’s trying to shelter and protect her as his fiancée…but that’s not what she wants. If she back down here, if she lets him have his way, he’ll spoil her for the rest of her life.

Meeting his displeased gaze, she cradles his cheeks in her hands. “Is your fiancée such a frail woman? Did I not once rescue a prince locked in prison?” His expression sobers as she goes on. “I love ‘Overprotective Silvio’ too, but…trust me now. And when it’s all over, you can tell me ‘good job’ all you want. I’m not marrying you to be cosseted - I want to be your betrothed so that we can stay by each other’s side and be there for each other in the hard times and the good.”

Silvio remains silent, and she can’t read his expression well enough to tell if he’s convinced or not. So, feeling as if she has no other choice…she takes him off guard with a swift kiss to the deep frown carved in his forehead and slips off his lap as he’s still stunned, racing out the door and back to freedom outside.

“Ah, damn it, she ran away.” Silvio curses aloud in the empty room…before he quietly states that she hasn’t said anything he doesn’t already know.

~~~~~~~~

PREMIUM END: HIS POV

Ever since I fell in love with that woman, I’ve been saying strange things. Even though I know it’s all just a burden on her…

From the shadows of the back alley, Silvio sneaks a peek at Emma chatting with the women at the port. The dress she’s wearing today is supposed to be a simple, refined design - but when Emma wears it she’s stunning, like a rose in bloom that charms everyone with its beauty. It’s a sight he could stare at forever….but he sighs when he feels the presence of someone else in the empty alley.

“Hey, don’t follow me, damn dog,” he grumbles at Rio.

Rio scoffs at that. “It’s my job to bring back the idiot prince who left his job.”

Silvio’s annoyed by that, as Rio comes to stand beside him and look over at him incredulously. Silvio defends his leaving by saying he’s done the essentials at least, but Rio points out there’s still a bunch of paperwork left to tackle.

“It’s fine if it waits until tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to do,” Silvio argues.

“You’re too overprotective, no two ways about it,” Rio sighs.

“Shut up,” Silvio retorts. “ She doesn’t exactly take very good care of herself, so better overprotective than not.”

Rio doesn’t say anything in reply to that, and Silvio lapses into musing to himself how Emma just casually does reckless things - she’d already worked herself into collapsing from fever once before. And when he’d taken her out on the town the other day, it was obvious the pressure and exhaustion were getting to her. Trying to reassure her about the rumors the merchants were spreading due to his own infatuation had only seemed to make things worse, and made him worry more. Hence his clandestine party watching.

He was right to come, though, he reasons as he clicks his tongue with irritation at the distant Emma and observes she’s def not feeling well.

“You noticed?” Rio asks, and Silvio points out to him how Emma’s lacking her usual spark. Rio seems surprised that Silvio can tell that from even this far away…but to himself, Silvio thinks how it’s not any wonder he could see that, given how much time he spends watching Emma.

But…can he really let her go to that party in such a state??

He takes a step forward as if to follow her onto the boat, only for Rio to stop him. “Hey! Don’t interrupt! You know Emma doesn’t want your help.”

That just pisses Silvio off, that Rio thinks he knows what Emma’s thinking. But most of all, he hates this - he can’t stand seeing Emma in pain or suffering.

~~~~~~~~

After the party, in the carriage he’s stuffed Emma into the moment it was over, the world’s longest and most awkward silence reigns until Emma’s finally fed up.

“Ahhhhrgh! What’s with the silence?!” she cries.

Silvio can’t think of what to say though, wracked with guilt as Emma’s words keep coming back to him.

“Do you really not trust me?”

It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in her, things just sort of ended up this way, and he’s frustrated trying to think of what else he should have done. Is she really trying to tell him that leaving her to her fever was the right thing to do?? He’s got things he wants to say to her, but he can’t seem to get his thoughts together well enough to articulate it no matter how desperately he wants to…and he only grows more frustrated with himself for not being able to put his feelings into words.

“If you have something to say, just say it!” she tells him.

“Sick people shouldn’t be shouting,” he scowls.

“I am not sick,” Emma argues.

He tells her not to lie, even as he concedes that her complexion’s improved at least. Putting a hand to her forehead to test her temperature, which seems normal now.

She suggests it might be due to her stress finally having ended, but to himself Silvio still vows to have a doctor take a look at her when they get home.

“You had a stomach ache the other day, and a fever today,” Silvio frowns.

“It’s fine to be a bit under the weather, as long as you get through it,” Emma counters. To himself he thinks that he’d do something about it long before it got to that point, but his train of thought is cut off when she prompts him again. “So, back to the subject -”

He’s still silent, unable to find the words, and feigns ignorance as he pointedly stares out the window to avoid her. The sea outside the carriage is calm, but his heart is in turmoil, as if struck by some great storm.

“The ocean is beautiful today, isn’t it?” Emma asks, seemingly having given up on the conversation as she looks out at the scenery as well.

“You wanna stop and see?” he offers, and she asks if that’s okay.

He tells her he’s got nothing else going on today…but he’s thinking how much he knows going to the beach makes her happy. And he’ll get this all straightened out, he’s determined.

With the sunset for a backdrop, he and Emma stroll along the beach - but he can’t stop the frown from creeping back onto his face, and Emma is too sharp to miss the expressions he makes.

“Are you angry?” she asks finally.

“Not with you,” he replies.

“Then, who are you angry with?” she presses.

“Myself of course, I guess,” he admits, and falls into his own thoughts again.

He knows the sort of woman Emma is, and yet he dared try and stomp all over her will. And worst of all, even though he was aware of it, all he could seem to do was annoy her.

Truth be told he, he’s really pissed at himself.

Emma comes to a stop, and he does as well a few steps later. The sound of the crashing waves seeming to chide the silence.

“I know it’s a selfish worry,” Silvio begins. He says that he knows being exhausted or anxious isn’t any sort of reason to shirk your role, and that he knows she wants to fulfill her duty as the king’s consort perfectly. Even though it’s not easy, he shouldn’t have thought trying to escape it was the right thing.

“You realize all that, and yet you still tried to take me away today?” Emma presses.

He admits that he does, he gets all of this and he knows all of it, but he still can’t help what he thinks. “I don’t want you to have to suffer because of me…” Silvio says, resigned. “I honestly don’t know how to make the woman I love happy.”

In the past, he was always surrounded by nothing but money. Never truly wishing to make someone else happy, so he’s clueless in this regard. But…Emma’s happiness is the only thing he ever wants. If money could buy it for her, he’d gladly spend every last penny he had…but that would never work.

He’s at a complete loss, fumbling like some kind of child. And that feeling has only grown stronger as the preparations for their engagement ceremony began and the burden fell harder on Emma. Working herself half to death like this, is she really happy?? True happiness should be her having the freedom to laugh, foolishly carefree, all the time.

He’s well aware that he’s hopelessly lost here, because he doesn’t understand the happiness of others.

“Sometimes, it occurs to me…” Emma begins, and he looks at her quizzically. “That you’re pretty adorable, aren’t you, Silvio!”

Scowling and redfaced, he asks if she’s trying to pick a fight - here he is, tying himself up into knots over this and she’s over there grinning?!

He grabs her head and musses it a bit, and she laughs out apologies.

“Quit grinning,” he grouses.

“People tend to do that when they’re happy,” she tells him, and he wonders aloud what exactly about what he just said made her feel happy. “All of it.”

He’s baffled, but Emma goes on to tell him she’s happy every day, actually.

“That’s coming from the woman who was on the ground with a stomachache yesterday?” he argues.

Emma says she was mostly joking around, and he was egging it on kind of too even, wasn't he? He’s still confused how that would make her happy, and she tells him it DOES, because it’s obvious how Silvio loves her with every bit of himself…a revelation that only leaves him stunned.

“I can do my very best every day because of you, and I want to work through it,” she explains. “You are my happiness.”

He’s unable to process this, reeling as he tries to puzzle it out. Emma is adored by so many people, unlike him - he never considered that something as simple as being loved would bring her happiness.

Aloud, he wonders if his worries seem stupid, and if something that simple is really enough to make her happy.

“It’s not that simple,” she assures him. “You’re the first person who makes me happy just by being there.”

He’d thought…that it was just him that felt like that. That surely Emma, who is used to being loved by everyone, would feel differently.

Or so he’d thought.

Without even realizing it, a smile comes to his face.

“Silvio…are you happy?” Emma asks.

He gives her crap about her eyes being blind, before admitting that he wouldn’t be smiling if he wasn’t happy right? She joyfully agrees, and offers him a smile brighter and more dazzling than the setting sun. The look of someone truly happy.

He does have something he wants to say to her - it’s finally hit him. Even with his worry for her, the overprotectiveness and being a burden on her, there’s just one feeling he wants to be sure she’s aware of.

“I’ll say this just one time,” he tells her, schooling his expression to seriousness. The midsummer sun shining on him, so hot he’s practically sweltering…but he wants to be sure he shares this with her before the ceremony. He takes a deep bracing breath of the sea breeze, and blows it out. “You’re the only one I’d ever be such a fool in love for.”

I can’t remember who I was before I met you, he thinks. That’s how crazy he is about her.

“I’m only going to say that once in my life,” he prompts her again, as she remains utterly silent. Vaguely affronted as her face remains turned down at the words he’d thrown away all his shame and pride to utter. “How can you not say anything?”

Now it’s just getting embarrassing, and he’s silently pleading with her to say something, anything at all. Grasping her chin and tilting her head up - only to find Emma’s face bright red, the deep blush covering even her ears and neck. Not a trace of her usual sass to be found.

“D-don’t look at me!” she sputters.

He’s blown away by her face, before he grins and tells her she’s 100% adorable, which only has her gasping that it’s a low blow to say something like that now.

He’ll take the cheater accusation though, gladly, he says…and to himself he’s thinking how gd frigging much he loves her as he steals those warm lips. Kissing her to keep her from realizing how head over heels he is too.

This moment, mesmerized and lost in her, with the sound of the waves crashing distantly - this is the most priceless of treasures. Something he could never ever buy, not with all the riches in the world.

~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the ceremony takes place to name Silvio heir and Emma his fiancee properly. Thanks to her efforts, the party goes off splendidly…

For some reason, the soon-to-abdicate king stops Silvio in an out of the way corner. He’s frustrated at being kept from Emma, but he bites back the urge to lash out over the waste of time.

“Hey, old geezer. If you don’t have shit to say, I’m gonna leave,” Silvio warns.

“Still talking like that? If you’re going to be king, you should at least clean up that filthy mouth,” the king warns.

Silvio says he only talks like that to the king, and he dismisses him, ready to leave, when the king stops him. He tells Silvio they’re not finished talking yet, and he offers the prince a drink. Practically shoving it into Silvio’s hand and filling it to the brim - a tradition for greeting and for blessing happy occasions in Benitoite.

Unhappy but unable to refuse, Silvio drains the glass in one go…and the old man does the same.

“You…” the old king begins. “Aren’t really like ‘her’ after all, I guess.”

The ‘her’ in question is his mother, Silvio knows. And just thinking of the woman who laughed as she tried to murder the current queen countless times makes him feel sick to his stomach. “Who’d wanna be like that bitch? I have no interest in being some kind of beast. Course, I’ve got no interest in being a nasty old codger like you either.”

The old king angrily says Silvio’s got a real gift for distracting him. “I thought I’d congratulate you even if it’s just a formality, but I guess that’s not necessary.”

“Ha, just now figuring that out?” Silvio scoffs.

The only one the king’s ever given a shit about was that fucking dog - it seems too late to try and be putting on an air of fatherly concern now, Silvio thinks. He slams the glass down on a nearby table and turns away.

“Do a good job, Silvio,” the king says to his back. “...It’s hard work making a woman happy in this position.”

He doesn’t need to be told something like that, he thinks. He already knows. The current queen has had her life threatened many times because of her position, and the king can’t keep her safe from everything. “Don’t worry, old man,” he tells the king as a parting shot. “Unlike you, I’m plenty capable.”

I’ll never make you unhappy, is his silent vow to Emma.

~~~~~~~~

Back in Silvio’s room, he’s got a new trial to deal with - the fact that by the time he escaped the old man and made it back to Emma, it was clearly too late. His fiancee is utterly obliterated after being toasted by so many well-wishers, and is uncharacteristically rather tipsy. Giggling at him and generally acting drunk now that they’re safely in private, although she’d managed to keep it together at the party and present a sober front.

She pleads with Silvio to acknowledge how well she did after drinking so much, and he grudgingly does - scowling though as he says how everyone in Benitoite is used to this sort of thing as a celebration but she’s from Rhodolite and not yet, so she shouldn’t overdo it.

“Okaaaaay,” she draws out.

“Can you drink some water?” he asks, and she proudly agrees she can manage that, downing a glass…but she’s getting as much of it on herself as she is in her mouth, spilling out around the edges.

“No, clearly you can’t. Are you doing that on purpose?” he asks suspiciously - it wouldn’t be the first time Emma has pretended to be drunk around him. (She does this in his route and forces him to carry her back to the carriage) But he’s pretty sure she’s not faking it this time…and he’s trying real hard not to be a perv and ogle the way she’s gotten the whole front of her dress wet.

He pushes the naughty thoughts aside and takes a nearby cloth to dry her off, which leads to her smiling up at him all dazedly and hugging him tightly.

“W-what the?” he asks, flustered.

“Silvio…tonight…is the first night since we got engaged,” she points out.

He’s still redfaced and silent as he notices the Benitoite gem winking on her ring finger, the one he’d given her as an engagement ring. An unmistakable reminder of the way their relationship had officially changed that leaves him reeling.

“I—I want to tell you that I love you a lot,” Emma goes on. “I love you so much Silvio!!”

And he’s left at an utter loss as to what he should do now…

TBC in epilogue!

~~~~~~~~

taglist: @violettduchess @just-simping-over-genshin @sakura-samsara

Want to be added to the taglist for summaries? Comment on this post!

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #spoiler #spoilers #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri spoilers #mrs o's translations of dubious quality #have i mentioned lately how much i love them as a couple #and i love his MC

253 notes · View notes

writer-in-theory · 2 years

Text

black box labels — steve harrington

summary: when something you have been trying desperately to hide from steve comes into light, you fear the worst, not knowing how wonderful steve could be. pairing: steve harrington x gn!reader category: hurt/comfort content warnings: language, heavy discussions of eating disorder recovery word count: 2.1k a/n: this is purely a self-indulgent fic because i just started thinking about how good steve would be in this kind of situation. also i couldn't resist the lil play on words there in the title with my area of study, so there we go. as always, a huge thank you to @lcvingprentjss for beta-ing and for writing the summary. i hope y'all enjoy <3

masterlistwant to join my taglist?

It wasn’t obvious, at first, but the moment Steve put it together he wondered how he’d never seen it before.

He thinks this should have been a more significant moment, the day he realizes that you were suffering from something much more severe than what a tiny town like Hawkins was equipped to deal with. He might’ve pictured you sitting him down one night after he snuck through your window (even when your parents kept telling him to just come through the front door). You would have sat him on your bed and held both of his hands, teary-eyed as you admitted it. Then Steve could have hugged you immediately and reassured you even when he had no idea what to say in that situation.

Instead, Steve found out because of a stupid question.

“Babe, I’m grabbing a snack. Do you want anything?” Steve asked as he stood from where the two of you were wrapped up in each other on the couch. You considered the question, searching his eyes for a moment before shaking your head.

“No, I’m okay. I’m gonna change though, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” you told him, pulling yourself from the couch and taking the steps two at a time to get to your bedroom. It wouldn’t have bothered him, it didn’t bother him at the time, but eventually, that near-sprint out of the room would replay in a loop in Steve’s head.

“Y/N’s not really a snacking person,” your sibling called out from where they were working on homework at the kitchen island.

“Doesn’t seem like any of you are,” Steve pointed out, already knowing the pantry would be minimally stocked with snack foods like usual. It was never a problem though, for all he knew Steve was just used to being able to pick out his own groceries since he was twelve. He barely had to look before he was grabbing a box of Cheez-Its and turning to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, no I just keep my snacks in my room.”

“What?” Steve nearly choked on the tiny handful of crackers he’d tossed in his mouth, eyeing your sibling with a strange look. He’d been dating you for several months now, so he knew your family and had been around to babysit your kid sibling the same way he’d babysit all the other kiddos in town, it seemed. He could normally feel comfortable enough to crack a joke with them, but this? This was weird. “What, scared of someone taking it?”

“No, dumbass, it’s because of Y/N’s, you know, eating thing,” your sibling answered coolly, as if that answered everything Steve could ever possibly need to know about the situation. Except, it really didn’t because what the hell did that mean? “I’m trying not to stress them out too much.”

“What eating thing?”

Steve witnessed the moment your sibling realized they messed up, or it was more so a look of pity that he was having to find out this way, from someone who wasn’t you. “Shit, I thought you knew.” In any other circumstance, he might’ve scolded them for cursing but instead, all Steve could do was stare at them with blank horror, hands fumbling as he fought to smack the Cheez-It box behind him on the counter. “Y/N has an eating disorder. Or they did. Still do. They’re doing better but, it’s...it’s still hard, you know?”

Eating disorder.

It was the one-time Steve was glad he’d paid attention in health class last year. Mr. Turner had talked about eating disorders once, talked about how some people didn’t see their bodies as they were. All the words from that lesson flashed through Steve’s brain at once, all the possible diagnoses and the signs, what to do if you thought someone you knew was doing that.

And shit, it all made sense, didn’t it?

The signs were plastered everywhere for him to read, even on that box he’d been holding moments before. Steve picked it up then, allowing his fingers to run over the dark black rectangle of permanent marker where he knew the nutrition facts rested. Steve knew the other boxes and bags in the pantry were like that too. He’d always assumed your family just didn’t care about what was in the food, but he never once considered, not this.

And fuck, has he ever actually seen you eat? Any time he suggests a dinner date, you’re making a new suggestion for a movie night or a day at the park. You’re always working on homework in the cafeteria, a lunchbox in front of you but now that Steve thinks about it he doesn’t think you’ve ever actually opened it in front of him.

“I—how long has this, I mean how long have they...?” Steve managed to get out around the knot tying itself in his throat. He hated to think of you suffering all this time, right under his nose. He could have been helping you, and fuck if he knew what to do but he could’ve been there. He wouldn’t have been suggesting dinner dates or offering to get you snacks if it only upset you and made you run out of the room. He could have known.

“Y/N won’t tell us how long they, you know, but they’ve been working on it for like a year now.”

“I need to talk to them,” Steve rushed out, pushing off from the counter and practically sprinting up the stairs. His heart hadn’t raced this fast since he’d fought off a full-sized Demogorgon with nothing but a nail bat. The hallway felt ten times longer than normal and he just had to get to you, to see you and tell you how much he loved you.

When he nearly skidded past your bedroom, he noticed that your door was already open. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, arms wrapped around your middle and head tilted down.

“Did you hear...?” Steve asked gently, stepping just inside the doorway but not wanting to scare you. The tiny shrug you gave in response made Steve want to cry, made his brown eyes well up with the tears, and made his lip quiver a little as he fought to control the response. “Y/N.”

“It’s fine, Steve, I get it,” you answered, confusing him more.

“What do you mean?”

“I know this is too much,” you whispered, but the words smacked him like they had been sent through a concert-grade amplifier. “You don’t have to stay.”

Steve’s expression crumbled then, as did his resolve. He rushed over to you then, knees rubbing against the carpet as he kneeled in front of you, hands reaching out for yours and head tilting down so he could get a glimpse of your tear-stained face. “Sweetheart, please look at me, please,” he practically begged, “I miss that sweet face of yours.”

You lifted your head then, eyes still swimming with tears that fell down your cheeks but there it was, a tiny hint of the smile that could break through even the heaviest of cloud covers.

“There you are,” he whispered like you were the very person who hung the sun in the sky. And, well, maybe you were because life was simply better with you around. Steve thought he’d loved his past partners, but no one could ever compare to how right you made him feel. “Y/N, you will never be too much for me. I just wish I knew.”

“I didn’t want to make you deal with that. Steve, it’s, it’s not fucking pretty, okay? It’s not just being hungry,” you stammered out through the wobbly tears, hands squeezing him as you fought to make him understand. “It’s pretty fucking ugly, is what it is.”

“I don’t care if it’s not pretty, Sweetheart. I love you and I want to be there for you no matter what that looks like,” Steve told you, thumbs rubbing over the skin of your hands.

“Oh yeah?” you challenged, a bit of fire sparking in your eyes at the promise. “You really want to come over for a dinner date and watch me fucking sob into my pasta because I can’t stand the thought of eating it? You want to have to treat me like one of those middle schoolers’ you mom around, want to have to remind me every day to have something for lunch? How about being the one to grocery shop and making sure I’m not around while you scratch out all the labels because I can’t handle even seeing them anymore? I’m so much work, Steve, you don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand what you’re going through,” he admitted, pulling one of your hands closer to him so he could press a kiss gently to it. “But I’m here for when you want to let me in. I’ll be right there through all the tears, telling you how proud I am that you went on that dinner date. And I’ll go home and get rid of every last scale in my house, and I’ll scratch out all the labels there too because I want to be there for you, no matter what that looks like. I’m not just here for your stunning face, you know, I want to see every part of you.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, simply watching the way your hands entwined with his, eyes following his thumb trace its pattern back and forth along the back of your hand. Then, shockingly, you let out a laugh, still shaky through the residual tears but real. “That’ll take forever, Stevie. You have so many snacks.”

“And I’ll do it,” Steve promised, unable to stifle the bright smile that washed over his face at the sign of happiness in yours. It was infectious, your joy. “Every last one, Y/N. You don’t have to hide any part of yourself from me just because you think it’s something I won’t want to see, okay? Dustin really likes you; you know, I think he’d kill me himself if I ever let you go.”

“Oh, as long as you’re only in it to keep Dustin happy,” you teased, sliding off your bed onto the floor where you could wrap your arms around Steve. It was like taking that first breath after waking up, like remembering you’re alive and feeling so grateful for it. Steve never wanted to let you go, wanted to keep you wrapped up in his arms where you were safe from whatever had made all this start in the first place.

“Yeah, it’s only because of Dustin. Not because of that laugh I love so much, or your jokes that come outta nowhere. It’s not the way you just get me, or the way you always grab my sleeve when we’re walking the hallways, so you don’t lose me. And don’t even get me started about the way y—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you laughed, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth for only a moment. “I get it, you like me a little.”

“I love you a whole bunch, Y/N,” Steve corrected, planting a kiss on your hairline.

It felt like the two of you stayed right there on your bedroom floor for hours, just wrapped up in one another. And the next morning, Steve found breakfast for himself as usual and gently slid you a little cup of fruit he’d cut up. He held your hand when you just stared at it for a while, he sat there at the dining room table far past when he’d finished his own breakfast, talking about silly anecdotes about all the babysitting he’d done recently and how Coach was on his ass at practice until, eventually, you picked up a piece of strawberry and let it slip between your lips.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N,” he told you, after each bite until eventually, it got a little easier, until the entire cup was gone, and he was beaming that brilliant smile that made your entire chest warm.

“Thanks for staying, Steve,” you would whisper, and Steve would shake his head because it would become his new life mission to make sure that someday you’d never question your worthiness of his love.

“Always, Sweetheart, always.”

TAGLIST @hargvroves @eddieussy @alessiamargaux @misha-the-mild @minispice-1 @shadetea @emily19990 @alexxavicry @raven2008

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington self insert #stranger jays #jay writes in theory

913 notes · View notes

crossdressingdeath · 2 years

Text

A thing that I find really fascinating about Alistair and the Warden's dynamic is how for Alistair becoming a Warden was the best thing that could have ever happened to him, but it's very easy to have a Warden for whom it ruined their life.

Like, the only Warden who absolutely had to become a Warden or they would die is Mahariel, because the Joining was the only thing that would stop the Blight from killing them. Some of the others needed rescue, but Duncan could've "conscripted" them and then let them go free once they were away from the people threatening them. Some of them would've been in trouble if left on their own, but the Wardens weren't the only group that could've helped them! It's possible to play a Warden who absolutely wants to be a Grey Warden, but it's just as easy to portray them as a frightened, desperate victim of circumstance getting press-ganged into the Wardens by the man who in that moment has a huge amount of power over them. The Warden can say no... but they don't really have a choice.

Meanwhile for Alistair, Duncan absolutely saved him. He hated the Templars and the Wardens were a dream come true for him. But that creates a situation where you can have this massive disconnect between him and the Warden, because for him the Wardens were his salvation but it's very easy for the Warden to view it as a fate worse than death, and we never really get a chance to get into that conversation with him. Which is like... I would've loved to really get into that with Alistair! It would've been fascinating to hear Alistair's near-worship of Duncan and respond to it with "He ruined my life, I didn't want to be a Warden and he made me do it anyway". And I do wonder if sparing Loghain might have been gone over somewhat better if we were able to have that conversation with Alistair before that point? Because Alistair has this very firm image of the Wardens as heroes because he views Duncan as a hero, and the image of joining the Wardens as a reward when... yeah, for most people being dragged into a secretive society that worships self-sacrifice and that will ultimately kill them is very much not a reward. It is better than the Templars! But it's not something most people would want. So Alistair is looking at you sparing Loghain and going "You're rewarding him for what he did", but for any Warden who wasn't super into joining the Wardens it's more... this is a punishment for Loghain. This isn't something he wants. He's being sentenced to serve the organization he betrayed until the day he dies, and from the way Riordan talks about it it seems pretty clear to me that his intent was basically "If I can't kill the Archdemon, these two young adults should not be the ones to die for the world"? The intent in putting Loghain through the Joining is to have a convenient sacrifice to throw onto the fire, not to spare him or reward him. From what people have said Alistair is less angry with you if you sacrifice Loghain, which suggests that in hindsight and with the knowledge of how killing the Archdemon works he does understand that joining the Wardens was not a reward for Loghain? But it's a little sad that there's no equivalent realization if you don't sacrifice anyone, so if you choose to go through with the ritual after sparing Loghain Alistair just... continues to be angry with the Warden for keeping Loghain alive. I don't know if it's ever even confirmed that he was told about how the Warden who lands the final blow dies. Although he does seem to have relaxed about it by the time of Awakening.

I wonder if a Warden who was forced into the Wardens by Duncan ever explained that to Alistair, though. Because the disconnect between Alistair worshipping Duncan for saving him and a Warden who loathes the man for forcing them into a situation they never wanted to be in against their will on pain of death is fascinating to me.

#dragon age origins #hero of ferelden #alistair theirin

576 notes · View notes

sarcasmandships · 2 years

Text

red strings of fate ~ iii

the two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. this magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break

word count: 2.9k

paul lahote x imprint!reader

content warnings: very smutty

part one. part two.

Paul kisses me back like a man starved.

I shift my body as our lips remain locked so I am hovering over him, my hair, still damp, forms a curtain around my face and blocks out the glow of light that I can still sense through closed eyes. His hands slide down my body to rest on my hips, and I feel his large hands pressing against my bones as he pulls me over his body, so I am straddling him.

His lips are surprisingly soft for someone who always looks so harsh and angry, I run my fingers up his neck without stopping to draw breath. His jaw his sharp under my fingertips. He lets out a low moan as I inadvertently roll my hips into him and I freeze, the noise seems to remind me of the reality of what we are doing, of what we might be about to do.

“You okay?” he asks breathily as I draw back a few inches from his face.

I nod and move to reconnect our lips, but he grips my hips tighter and rolls us over, so now he is on top of me. He doesn’t rest his full body weight on me, which I am grateful for because I know his defined muscle mass must put him at least 200 pounds. He kisses me again, this time with more force and desperation, and his hands begin to roam over my body, eventually resting on the waist band of my pyjamas.

My breath hitches in my throat and he pulls back his lips again, I almost protest but he beats me to it.

“Is this okay?” he asks, “we don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to.”

“No,” I say desperately, “I want to.”

His fingers trace along the waistband, tickling the skin of my lower abdomen and sending tingles down my body.

“Have you done this before?” he asks.

I nod, thinking back to the few other times I had been in this position with a boy. With their unskilled and clumsy hands trailing my body, grabbing, and squeezing at their favourite parts. My face must reflect my distain for my prior sexual experiences because he smirks down at me.

“Did you like it?” he whispers in my ear, and I shiver.

“Not really,” I answer honestly, because what’s the point of lying, “they never made me feel anything, or if they did it was just uncomfortable.”

I reflect on their sharp and uncoordinated thrusts, their impatience when their blind fingers of tongues were taking too long to make me finish, when they eventually got bored and moved on to fulfilling their own pleasure.

His lips brush my neck, then my jaw, and finally rest at my ear as he speaks again in a low whisper, “do I make you feel something?”

I unconsciously clench my thighs together, “yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

He grins cheekily at me, and I would scowl at how pleased he looks with himself if I wasn’t so desperate for him to continue, I don’t want him to stop now.

“Well, this is only the beginning.”

His lips attach themselves to my neck, kissing just under my left ear and he gently begins to trail kisses along my neck, resting at a spot near my collarbone as his actions elicit a desperate and breathy moan from me. He continues like this for a few painfully slow moments, kissing at my neck and tickling along the waistband of my pyjamas until I buck my hips, wanting, needing, more from him.

I can feel him smile against my neck and I want to let out a snarky comment, but he has submitted to my wordless command and his hand has moved down into my pyjamas. His fingers still move painfully slow, teasing me as they creep lower and lower, and closer to the area where I need them most.

I can’t suppress the moan that slips from my lips when he pushes two skilled fingers inside of me. He goes slow at first, moving in and out, curling upwards, he responds well to my moans, silently figuring out which movements bring me the most pleasure. All whilst skilfully kissing and sucking at the skin on my neck, I secretly hope that they leave a mark.

With two fingers still buried inside of me, his thumb moves up to slowly circle my clit, and my hips buck upwards again. I moan loudly, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care that Paul is hearing the embarrassing sounds that fall from lips as he continues to work me with his fingers.

“Do you like that?” he whispers in my ear.

“Yes,” I gasp, “please don’t stop.”

“I don’t plan on it, darling.”

I almost want him to detach his lips from my neck and move them further down to replace his thumb, but I am enjoying the closeness of our bodies as his expert fingers continue to bring me relentless pleasure. I’m not used to this kind of intimacy, other boys have never cared about make me feel good too, and they usually never allow us to stay in this close position for too long, with our chests just centimetres apart. Most boys seem to prefer fucking me from behind, and I almost never object because it’s easier if I can’t see their faces.

But I want to see Paul’s, I want to see his golden-flecked eyes and soft lips. So, I use one of the hands that had been gripping his muscular bicep to pull his face away from my neck and up so his face is hovering an inch from mine. His lips are pinker than usual, and I look into his eyes as he thrust a finger particularly deep into me, he smirks, and I kiss him again, so I don’t have to see his smug face.

He's moving faster now, as I have adjusted to his long fingers and grown more and more aroused. I’m close now, I can feel it growing in the pit of my stomach, my breaths are shallow and fast as I grip his soft, dark hair in my hand and tug on it lightly. He groans slightly at this and now it’s my turn to grin smugly.

“Do you like that?” I ask, mocking his earlier question.

He is sincere when he answers me, “I like it any time you touch me.”

His fingers are faster than ever now, and I moan embarrassingly loudly and desperately, but I no longer have the capacity to care as the pleasure he is bringing me is overwhelming. It feels strange to come undone from someone else’s fingers, no other boy has ever been able to make me finish, but Paul does. I come around his fingers, my legs clenching, I try to screw my eyes shut but Paul protests.

“No, keep them open,” he commands, “I want to see your eyes.”

Of course, I comply. How am I going to object to the man who is giving me this amazing orgasm? I look into his eyes, and he stares back at me, hungrily. When the final waves of pleasure begin to subside, I relax my body, and he acknowledges this cue by withdrawing his fingers from my body and licking them clean, without ever breaking eye contact. I blush scarlet.

We are both breathlessly silent for a few moments, he moves his body, so he is lying on his side next to me, and he uses a strong arm to hook me in and press me against his chest. I snake my arms around him, and he squeezes me gently, then presses a soft kiss against my forehead. I am beginning to regain my breath again and I choose to speak first.

“Thank you,” I mumble, “that was…that was good.”

I can’t see the smirk I know must be creeping over his face, “what? Never had an orgasm before?”

“Obviously I have,” I snap, “just never from someone else…”

“Ah, flying solo. That’s hot,” he chuckles.

I punch him playfully on the shoulder.

“What about you?” I whisper.

“What about me?” he asks, dumbly.

I look at him and roll my eyes, “you just finger-fucked me to an orgasm, don’t you want something in return?”

He shakes his head and I feel like I’ve made a mistake. Maybe he doesn’t want me in that way, he must see the doubt an uncertainty creeping across my face because he speaks quickly.

“I-I just mean that I don’t expect anything from you, you don’t need to feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to,” he is uncharacteristically flustered, but then regains his cocky demeanour as he adds, “just because I gave you a mind-blowing orgasm.”

“I don’t feel obligated,” I answer honestly, “I want to.”

“Okay then,” he swallows, “go ahead.”

I straddle him again and grab a hair-tie from the bedside table and sweep my half-wet hair up into a messy bun, I don’t need it getting in the way now. I kiss him slowly and mimic his earlier teasing by gently kissing down his neck. He doesn’t moan like I did, but his breathing grows ragged so I know I must be doing something right.

I begin to tug at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he understands what I want as he pulls it over his head, revealing his toned, muscular chest. His flat muscles ripple slightly, and I am almost sure he is flexing them, not that he needs it. His body is impressive enough when he is relaxed.

“Like what you see?” he smirks.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

I don’t answer, I just crash my lips against his again. I can feel how hard he already is under my body, and I grind my hips against him again, this elicits the deep, throaty moan I was looking for. I lift my hips up from his slightly, just enough to slip one of my hands under my body so I can palm him through his sweatpants. I waver slightly with only one hand pressed into my mattress to support myself and Paul’s hands grip my hips to keep me upright. He groans against my lips as I press harder into his erection.

“Please,” he whines, “do something.”

“I am doing something,” I tease.

“Well do something more,” he growls.

Teasing him is fun, but I know I will need to give him some more action if I want to hear more of his moans and grunts. I kiss down his neck again, but this time I don’t stop at his collarbone, I continue down his flat, hard ab muscles till I reach the waistband of his sweatpants. He helps me remove them, and his boxers, pulling them to his ankles and when my eyes flicker back up I see his erection right above my face. Like everything else about him, it’s big and I swallow hard, wondering how that would ever fit inside me when even his fingers left me feeling full to the brim.

He is propped up on his elbows as he looks down at me, desperation clear across his face.

I spit onto my hand and begin to slowly run it up and down his length, he throws his head back against my pillows and I apply extra pressure to the tip. Just like he did, I move slowly at first but begin to increase my speed as he responds to my touch, quiet moans escaping his lips.

He bucks his hips, just I had done, and I know this means he needs more. I open my mouth and slowly slide his cock into my mouth, one of his hands flies down to grip my hair but he doesn’t push my head down, and he doesn’t thrust up into my mouth either and I am grateful. Unlike other boys, he at least seems to have enough patience and respect to let me move at my own face.

Again, I move slowly at first. Bobbing my head up and down and using my hand to move up and down the remaining length that I cannot take into my mouth without gagging. I use my tongue to flick at the sensitive spot I know rests on the underside of his tip. He groans harder than ever now, his hands snaking through my hair to tug at the roots. His low, deep moans become higher and more frequent, I know he must be close because I can feel him twitching beneath my tongue and I begin to work up the nerve to take him further and further back into my mouth.

But he tugs on my hair harshly, pulling my mouth off him.

“Not like this,” he says breathlessly, “I want to be inside you first.”

I don’t resit when he pulls me back up towards him and removes my clothes, so I am just as naked as him, his eyes scan over my body and he grins as he takes in the sight, and then his calloused hands are roaming over my skin again, leaving it burning where his fingertips brush.

I’m beneath him again.

“Are you sure you’re good with this?” he asks again.

And the look on his face tells me he wouldn’t be angry in the slightest if I said no, but I want this, want him, more than anything.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

The groan Paul lets out as he slides inside of me is almost enough to drive me over the edge again, he does feel big inside of me, but surprisingly I feel no pain or discomfort as he begins to slowly thrust into me. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and pull him even closer to me, I wrap a leg around his waist and shift my hips upwards to allow him to reach a deeper angle.

This feels right, in a way that it never did with any other boy. I don’t know if it is the imprint bond, or some other inexplicable, force of nature but the feeling of him inside of me is like nothing I’ve experienced before. It’s not just bodily pleasure, there is something else that I can’t explain, some primal urge to never not be this close to him.Our moans harmonise together in a medley of ecstatic pleasure, his name slips from my lips and he almost growls at me.

“Do that again,” he demands, “say my name.”

The second time he speaks there is a hint of desperation in his voice, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t resist his name falling from my lips again as he slips a hand between our bodies to circle my clit again.

“Paul, don’t stop,” I groan into his neck., clawing at his back.

Not that I thought there was any danger of him doing that, but I like the effect my words have on him because he pounds into me faster. My bed frame creaks and rattles against the wall as my legs shake, his fingers are rubbing against me faster now and I am still so sensitive from my last orgasm that I come around him, every muscle clenching.

He is breathless now, his forehead slick with sweat and his hair plastered to it. I carefully brush some of the hair out of his eyes and kiss him soft on the lips, it is a gentle gesture contrasted against his relentless and rapid thrusts.

His hips are less controlled now, his thrust going sloppy and desperate.

“Come on,” I whisper in his ear, “you’ve made me finish twice, it’s your turn now.”

He thrusts into me again a few more times before he pulls out and uses his hand to help himself finish; he lets out the loudest moan yet as he finishes on my stomach. He hovers above me before a few more breathless moments before kissing me gently on the forehead.

“Hold on, I’ll go get a towel,” he says softly.

I catch my breath as he shuffles into the ensuite and comes back with a towel and begins to clean me up. He pulls his boxers back on and throws me my pyjamas and I redress quickly. I am curled up against my pillows, but he sits on the edge of the bed, looking unsure of his next move.

“D-do you want me to go?” he asks, not making eye contact with me.

“No,” I say, almost too quickly for my liking, “no, I want you to stay. Only if you want too though….”

He grins, “move over” he says, nudging me playfully as he crawls up the bed to settle down next to me.

I pull the duvet over both of us and roll over onto my side, facing away from him. Just as I hope, he pulls me into his arms, his chest pressed against my back and his large arms keeping me securely against his body.

“There’s a bonfire, tomorrow night, down at the beach,” he whispers into my hair, “it’s for the pack, and the tribe elders…but imprints are always invited too, and you should come…I-I want you to come.”

I smile because I know he can’t see me, “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he says sounding relieved and squeezed me again.

I fall asleep in his arms before he even flicks off the light.

tags: @evanstanwrites @secondratecomplaint @fatiguing-thoughts @batmanunicorns523 @cole22ann @chloeinlondon2021 @imaginingmanyfandoms @britty443 @husherstan @rigbystrashboat @stvrrysprout @reallykosborne @fandoms4ever97 @carnationhcs @geminidas @rosefreckles06 @destanimnowland @dillybuggg @gbaabyyyy @philsloveycacti @xxx-wounded-angel-xxx @cherrywinepoison @didntpayattentioninclimbing-blog @lendeluxe @lilmowmkw @mynerdself15 @angelxfics @littleblackspider @zealouspursecowboydeputy @rinthewriter @cevans-winchester @asherrenwrites @leonardzapit @sonnensplitter @cassandraevans @sorrow-and-bliss @ladiadia @the7thheroine @can-this-be-a-fanfic @rottenstyx

#paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote imprint #paul lahote smut #twilight imagine #Twilight wolf pack #twilight smut

743 notes · View notes

doshmanziari · 4 months

Text

Without a doubt, and by far, the most marginalizing development I've seen within media analysis over the past decade is a shift towards the production of long, flashy videos which tend to require the same for a dialogue to occur. Literally nothing which has been written about Elden Ring, for example, since its release has enjoyed even a fraction of the visibility as a one-hour-and-forty-minutes video by Joseph Smith, or another of similar length by NeverKnowsBest. I don't know when exactly the shift started to happen most obviously -- maybe 2016 or 2017 -- but, today, circumstances are such that pretty much the only way to get real discursive traction on your thoughts about a piece of media is to make a colossus of a video.

Although worried and worrying discourse has complemented the unveiling of newer public A.I. technologies, we've already done a perfectly fine job of out-dating other forms of media communication by way of the aforementioned analytic format; just as, of course, earlier methods of industrial production rendered a whole variety of professions or emphases as outmoded. If you don't have the relevant editing tools at your disposal and/or don't want to spend hundreds of hours cropping footage and making it fit with music and your own narration, well -- too bad! And even then, of course, there's no guarantee that your video will reach your desired scale of an audience. I've found dozens of such videos on YT channels with only a few thousand views, if that; and on each channel it's clear that the people finally gave up after the monumental task of assembling these videos had no equivalent payoff.

Personally, I do still believe in the primacy of the text (or the spoken word, with no competing stimuli); in text as the primary form of critical engagement. More than that -- if I'm going to read a non-fiction work, I want the paged book, and not a digital version. Now, this preference is just that: a preference. And it surely is a preference a good number of people share. I find that a paged book lends itself better to my own retention of the material; and I really enjoy making my notes on the book's paper with a pen. But I don't believe that the construction of multimedia behemoths should be a baseline requirement for discourse.

I wonder if we will, in the near future, start to see some resurgence of the valuation of unembellished textual analysis complementing a more general fatigue with Internet-derived overstimulation. I've already run across numerous channels with fairly sizable communities where there is an appreciation for the "simplicity" of the formats: a person in a room just talking to the camera. I think a lot of people like engaging analysis where the only barrier of significance is devising a good script. To be sure, this is a formidable barrier in itself. I find writing long-form pieces to be the most difficult of any of my creative practices (which include drawing, painting, and music composition). But if writing on media were my main passion or goal in life, I'd feel fairly crushed to know that these projects now required me to put in perhaps quadruple the amount of time to make a blip on the radar of engagement.

EDIT: Thinking on this -- I wonder if there's a parallel to be found in the realm of supplementing one's work with excess-entertainment via social media engagement; e.g., daily Instagram videos. "Excess-entertainment" refers to material that's being made not because everyone who's making it wants to make it, but because each person is now beholden to an abstractly instituted algorithm of engagement -- an algorithm reinforced by audiences who, also under algorithmic influence, will wonder what's going on if a week goes by without something from a Content Creator.

Most artists who I've talked to regarding their Instagram videos say they would be only too happy if they never had to do another upload showing them adding paint or linework to a work-in-progress with lo-fi beats. Similarly, I wonder how many people making these mega-videos actually want to make them, and if we're not rather seeing the production of this material under a mutual, and mutually untrue, assumption of necessity, and the demands of a largely imaginary audience; and how long they'll be able to keep the act up, given the certainly enormous time investments they require (while noting that I am sure the more successful people hire others to do most of the editing for them).

#multimedia #media criticism #technology #communications technology

46 notes · View notes

a-local-idiots-shitpost · 1 year

Note

Uh, idk if you do requests, but the dateables reacting to MC having glasses??? I wear them, and never see things with MC needing them in any posts. You are amazing 💕

nope my request are currently closed but as someone that also wears glasses I wanted to do it, also sorry it took so long and hope it´s what you imagined, I just remembered isn´t Diavolo like the only one who we never saw wearing Glasses?

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

Diavolo:

so you need Glasses to help you see? they suit you wonderfully! he can´t believe you could look even better than you usually do

definitely the type of person who would try them on and then say he can´t imagine how you can even see anything with them

I can also see him just breaking them on accident especially if you put them near your alarm clock or fall asleep with your Glasses still on

but at least he´ll buy you a new, no matter how expensive if you like he´ll get it

and secretly made a Glasses stash so you won´t find out how many times he accidentaly broke them

Barbatos:

Barbatos seems like the type of person to constantly carries something around to clean Glasses with, either for his own or your Glasses

he even tries to condition you into cleaning them because he refuses to compliment you until they are cleaned

he fails every time and just cleans them himself before giving you a kiss and telling you you look great

you´re actually wondering why he sometimes has to wear Glasses? he can move so smoothly without them it makes you Orange with Envy

but when you tried his Glasses you nearly fell over, who would have thought Barbatos had such a bad sight?

Solomon:

Glasses buddies

both of you definitely switched Glasses at least once and both of you got dizzy from that one

he would also be part of the Club never cleans their Glasses under any circumstance

also thinks your Glasses make you look even better, he might even use the fact that both of you wear Glasses to somehow one up the Brothers seems like a Solomon thing to do

it was also really funny when both of you lost your Glasses and were just stumbling around without knowing where you were going

as much as it sucked, it was also kinda funny

he also hide your Glasses once so he can keep you on his arm, very rude of him

Simeon:

Glasses buddies Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

you also accidentally said this one out loud and tried to explain Simeon where this came from, he did not get it

he thinks your Glasses suit you well and compliment your appearance wonderfully

but he does not like that you constantly refuse to clean them, how can you even see anything?

will probably clean your Glasses for you when he sees how they look, I can definitely see him being that person who always complains about how dirty someone´s Glasses are

you also switched Glasses once he was floored on how much you need and you could see nothing than some blurry lines

#local does requests #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me!#obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon

193 notes · View notes

kerubimcrepin · 1 month

Text

Live-read: "Les Dessous de Dofus" - part 2

And this is how it starts.

Yes Lilotte. Yes he does.

Pupuces drink blood, as we know from Waven and the Dofus movie. Just because Joris and Kerubim's Pupuce likes to eat kibbles doesn't mean she isn't an obligate uhh hemovore (i made this word up). She wants to drink Lilotte's blood so fucking bad.

We can't really see if this thing Lilotte found is just a piece of fabric, or a dress. It doesn't look very dress-like, but it might be because it lacks any shoulder straps or belts. Keke does like to wear green a lot!

Considering the fact that she, uh, found high heels somewhere, I do think this is a dress. Kerubim has bad taste in clothes.

Joris is just pogging, while Kerubim is so worried about her being bitten everywhere by pupuce... gjsfgsf. (that and the fact that she found one of his drag things. But mostly her being bitten by pupuce)

I think Kerubim's game plan, if Julith hadn't showed up, was to hide knowing who Joris's parents were literally forever. Otherwise, this would be a pretty cruel thing to say, knowing that one day, he would have to reveal to Joris that that's his mom.

The Bakara bits of this comic make me so fucking sad, you have no idea. Just no idea. And her boyfriend is helping her get drunk, constantly.

I had spoken to some select people (in my dms) a lot on the parallels between Ivory Dofus's dragon, Jahash, and Kerubim, as well as Ebony Dofus, Julith, and Atcham. Joris has always been a person associated with neither light nor dark.

As well as parallels between Bakara (who I assume is around 10, in this design) and Joris (who is 10 at this time canonically). Makes me want to to believe that, in the Julith et Jahash comic, Bakara was 7. It'd be cute if they're similar like that.

Now, onto something more topical: Jahash and Kerubim are both idealists, who can make fun of themselves a little bit, but the idealistic view of their career as a hero differs for the two of them.

For Jahash, it is defending Bonta and its innocents.

While for Kerubim, it's about new experiences and sightseeing. It's about defending those who have nobody else, like widows and orphans.

And god, by now you probably know what Kerubim saying that he likes to defend orphans out loud does to my brain chemistry.

He doesn't want any orphan to suffer in life like he did.

Keke, a boomer, thinks that selling weed and catnip is illegal, but considering the fact that this guy went to the guards, — I think it isn't. Also, on the topic of funky plants that exist in the Krosmoz universe:

This is how my headcanon that Joris, Kerubim and Atcham smoke together can still win.

Like, there's a lot of weed near Bonta. Like a Lot of it.

They both haunt one another at night.

Julith having a stuffed doll of Jahash is just... so sad. Kerubim took everything from her, minutes after her husband has died.

And even if Kerubim thinks that she was an evil person, — he wants to protect the widow and the orphan. What happened here is the opposite of everything he stands for.

No wonder he's so protective over Joris, considering the guilt he must feel about killing his mother. He lost his parents too. He knows that, if he doesn't raise Joris himself, Joris has nobody.

My hot take, is that Bakara hates Joris, — and by proxy, Kerubim. Because the man took Joris in and loves him.

Sure, she couldn't have raised him, being a child herself, — but not having him in her life is a decision she makes on purpose, until the circumstances force her to interact with Joris.

Even as an 18-20 year old woman, she never contacts her nephew, despite knowing Kerubim and where they live. Even while crossing them on the street.

Think about it this way: She hates Julith. She thinks that she took advantage of her brother. That Julith had a child with him, for some perverted, monstrous reason, while lying about loving him, before destroying Bonta and causing the man to die.

While she probably knows that Joris isn't to blame for anything, her desire to never speak to him is... quite understandable. And probably for the best, for the sake of both of them, and their mental health.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #dessdofus #kerubim crepin #bakara jurgen

38 notes · View notes

irregularbillcipher · 10 months

Text

The best example of how Flatland is a piece of fiction where A Square, the author, literally does not know what the hell he's talking about half the time is all the stuff about the Universal Color Bill, because as it is presented the segment on the Color Bill is one of the most biased and propaganda filled things I've ever seen spouted from a narrator who claims he Knows What's Up with the world he lives in.

Like ooooh, gee, so the only reason the Universal Color Bill got so widespread was because a Mean Traitorous Circle with an Irregularity that he should have been killed for but wasn't due to Circumstances that nobody actually knows or remembers (but in A's opinion was definitely pity because we all know how CHARITABLE the Circles are) came up with it, and used his tricky cunning Irregularity mind powers to make the Bill so foolproof and amazing that if it had gone through it would have toppled all of society and allowed all the icky women and disableds and lower classes to have something close to equal rights.

(And it had to have been an Irregular Circle because yes the Irregular Circle is also icky and cunning but at least he's a Circle and any Isosceles would have simply been too brain dead to have come up with such an evil cunning Bill and THIS is why eugenics are good, so those mean old disabled people that we allow to live don't stab us in the back for our charity.)

And wow, you're really telling me that right when the more upper-class women of Flatland, those who care about their standing and who are most supportive of eugenics because of the privilege they're afforded by their marriages and lineages, started to agree that this society-destroying Color Bill was a good idea, (because it would actually give them a bit of respect, authority and safety if they were regarded as being as precious as their husbands,) the Circles just happened to hear about this poor orphaned daughter of a Polygon who was accosted by a very very real and scary and uncouth lower class Shape and tricked so thoroughly into believing he was a higher class Shape by employing the very evil colors that these poor Lines were starting to come around to?

(Not to mention that even in the story itself the Isosceles is framed as both a vile, duplicitous mastermind tricking a poor innocent upper-class girl into marrying him, but also an idiot who "accidentally" dabbled in paints from a Tradesman he'd definitely just robbed, and either painted himself or coincidentally "caused himself to be painted" with the exact same color pattern as a Dodecagon. Because for this story to work, he has to be an absolute monstrous brute, an Isosceles of the "low sort" with hardly any brains, while also being cunning, clever and cruel enough to pull off a marriage ruse and take advantage of a poor orphaned maiden. Stupid enough to be looked down upon but smart enough to come up with this plan like the perfect boogeyman.)

And man, it sure is unfortunate that this marriage, which A Square admits only happened because of a wild amount of near impossible accidents and an "almost inconceivable" lack of research on the part of the bride's remaining family, in a society where lineage is checked thoroughly before marriage, just happened to be consummated despite all the odds being stacked against it. Did he pretend to be a member of a high ranking family? Did he make up a name and family history? If nobody can decide if he even painted himself on purpose, I doubt him creating a whole persona convincing enough to fool the daughter of a Polygon and any family members would be part of the story... that would frame him as far too intelligent for an Isosceles with a brain of four degrees, and we can't have anyone thinking that sort is intelligent.

So then are we to believe that the daughter and her remaining family were stupid enough to just accept a supposed Dodecagon with no family ties or history? That seems unlikely. With no family history, his sides may not even matter-- maybe he has an Irregularity in his line. Maybe he was disowned for failing his Sight Recognition exam. No respectable girl in her right mind would marry a Dodecagon with no family history! And it's so, so convenient that this woman, who already knew this Isosceles, because he had already tried to court her in the past, never recognized him once throughout their new courtship, until the marriage was consummated.

And it's so convenient for the Circles that her reaction upon discovering what was very clearly a near astronomical feat of deception was to kill herself, in a society where we already know the Circles are really cool with killing its citizens if it helps to maintain the status quo. But there really isn't anything suspicious about that, of course, because the only way that a daughter of a Polygon would ever wed a lowly Isosceles is if she were tricked into it, even if the process of being tricked was so lengthy and complex that it would be near impossible for anyone to pull off without either the bride or the bride's family being in on the deception, and the only reaction any decent girl would have upon realizing she'd been tricked would be suicide.

And the fact that she was orphaned and this man apparently tried to court her in "former days." So how former? And who was the one rejecting the marriages? How did she feel about this attempted courtship in "former days?" As a daughter of a Polygon, she surely had no say in who she married, so her opinions on this man are completely up in the air, and the idea that she would at no point during this new proposal, recognize this man who had tried to seek her affections before is... implausible, I would say. What the Circles would want you to think, of course, is that the Isosceles tried again once she was orphaned because she was vulnerable then. That's possible, of course, but got necessarily the given that it would seem like.

But the idea that a Line and an Isosceles may have come up with a plot using color to be allowed to be married despite their class differences is Absurd, of course! They're too stupid for that! And that the Circles may have picked up on what had happened and taken the woman out of the picture and then twisted the story to suit their needs is preposterous, of course, just ignore how often they twist history and kill citizens to keep the status quo. The fact that this specific version of the story is the exact type of thing that would tug at the heartstrings of upper-class women who love eugenics and classism and their own nebulous purity more than they actually love themselves, enough to literally militarize a great number of the more reactionary ladies? A coincidence, I'm sure, but one that was oh so good for crushing the Color Bill and using those scared, privileged women to help murder Chromatistes and the rest of the rebels in a political set up.

... And of course, all those holes in the story, all that propaganda even assumes it was a real story to begin with. Because it very well may be completely fabricated.

Before telling the story, A Square straight up admits that this is the perfect type of story for someone in power to make up to scare a portion of the populace, but he absolutely refuses to actually, legitimately entertain the prospect. Instead, he just barrels ahead and tells the story of the Evil, Cunning Irregular Circle, and the Poor Orphaned Polygonal Maiden and the Brutish, Tricky Isosceles and how that Completely True and Real Tragic occurrence definitely, positively happened, and also definitely happened exactly the way all the Circles said it did. The fact that this is all completely absurd and reads like literal propaganda and was literally used as propaganda to scare upper-class women into falling back in line does not matter to A, because this was the story he was told and he Understands The World He Lives In, and the Circles are always right except for the whole Third Dimension thing.

TL;DR: A Square is a stoodge who will fall for anything the Circles tell him, no matter how absurd, and every single thing he says that is not him literally laying out laws should be taken with ten bowls of salt, because he has no critical thinking skills.

#flatland #flatland: a romance of many dimensions #edwin abbott abbott #a square will be like i am so aware of the fact that the circles have lied to me i am so smart and then spout more propaganda #it would be funny if it didn't make me wanna punt him #this is a long ass post but the color bill section makes me foam at the mouth #also there is a reason that i had bill and kryptos first connect over hearing this story and going “... what?” in my fic #because it's absolutely insane and so clearly not what Actually Happened and it drives me wild that nobody talks about it #like even if we wanna be super charitable and say like say... idk... 75% of it happened the way the circles said #that 25% still leaves some INSANE gaps and is too perfect for scaring upperclass lines

81 notes · View notes