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#he can’t see those kind eyes he remembered -clenches fist-
earthtooz · 3 months
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x : MY DILUC, MY EVERYTHING :*+゚
in which: you tell diluc that klee finds him 'too boring' to be your boyfriend. he can't help but feel like she's right.
warnings: 1.3k words, insecure diluc who needs a little reassurance, mostly dialogue, klee being cute but also a menace, so much fluff with a dash of angst.
a/n: i have not posted anything in so long, but i wanted this to be my first fic of 2024 because i love diluc <3 i hope you all enjoy this little fic!
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“What do you mean Mr Diluc is your boyfriend?” Klee asks, tilting her head to the side with an inquisitive look in her eyes as you bend down to her height.
“I mean that Mr Diluc is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together for years now.” 
“You mean that Mr Diluc, right?” She raises a tiny hand in the direction where the red-haired in question stands. He’s immersed in conversation with Kaeya and Jean, but from one glance you can tell the estranged brothers are up to no good. Or rather, that Kaeya is having the time of his life provoking your partner.
“That’s the one. I think he’s the only one, Klee.”
Her pointer finger then comes up to her chin in contemplation, and her breath of contemplation materialises as a small cloud, condensating in the winter chill. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why is he your boyfriend?”
“Well, why wouldn’t he be?”
“No offence to Mr Diluc, but he’s so cold and boring!” She cries, clenching her fists to her chest, as if being ‘boring’ was a crime to humanity. “And he never smiles. He should smile more but I would find him scarier like that… so maybe he should stay the way he is: a total gloomy bum bum!”
You can’t help but laugh at her honest statement, muffling the noise with your hand. She blinks at you and wonders what she said that made you laugh, but you simply tell her that it’s nothing.
“Maybe, but I love that ‘gloomy bum bum’ just the way he is.”
“But… why? Y/n is so kind and knows how to smile! Mr Diluc is too sad and boring for you.”
Over the course of your relationship with the wine monopolist, you were met with resistance from various people who believed they wanted ‘the best’ for him. These were including, butand not limited to, businessmen, his admirers, and old aristocrats with wealth on the brink of collapsing. You never let their passive aggressiveness get to you, their comments burned to ashes by the way Diluc lights the way for you with his undying flames. 
Yet hearing a child, who has no real grip of the world beyond explosions and how not to blow up Monstadt, explain that Diluc shouldn’t be with you because he doesn’t know how to smile is… unbelievable. Her intentions are nothing but pure for her knowledge of the world has not yet been tainted by the nuance of human behaviour. As refreshing as it feels to have her support, any insults you hear about Diluc are unpleasant to hear. Though she may not hold any malice, perhaps her judge of character needs to be deepened.
“Sometimes, the coldest people are really the warmest,” you begin, gently wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Mr Diluc is one of those people.”
“Really?”
“Warmer than a fireplace, or a Pyro Crystalfly, or Jumpty Dumpty.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes, but please don’t go blowing one up just to see how warm it can be. Jean already told you about the animals hibernating during winter, you shouldn’t go disturbing them.”
She tucks her hands behind her back, eyes downcast and ears flopped.
“Do you remember when Albedo took you to Dragonspine and when you melted a chunk of ice, crystalflies flew out of it?”
“They were so pretty and became super warm! I wish I caught one of them, but they flew away too quickly.”
“Mr Diluc is just like that ice with the fireflies. You just need to warm up to him and when you do, he can be one of the best people you’ll ever meet.”
“Will he fly away too?”
“You could keep an eye on him and find out.”
She nods, determination alighting in her eyes with the new task you assign her. Although you’re pretty positive she won’t ever succeed with it, you’re just happy you’ve found a way to show Klee that your lover isn’t as terrible as she deems. A flash of familiar red hair appears in your periphery.
“Dear?” He calls, capturing your attention. “Shall we head into the tavern now? It’s too cold to stay out here.”
Sparing one last glance at Klee who regards your partner with fire in her eyes, you can’t help but smile at the pure innocence in her heart. With a ruffle of her hair as goodbye, you take Diluc’s hand and stand, waving goodbye to the rest of the group before heading in the direction of Angel’s Share. Shuddering, you sink deeper into the wool of your coat and the warmth of his Pyro Vision, a perfect combat to the winter frost that’s covered Monstadt.
“You know,” you begin when both of you have arrived at the empty tavern and the red-haired has a fire started in the corner. He urges you to continue with a soft ‘hum’. “The conversation I had with Klee just won’t leave my head.”
“Oh? What’d she say?”
Sitting down on a cold stool, you keep your gaze on him as he walks behind the counter. It seems like he’s preparing drinks and snacks for you: some cheese, crackers, and grapes.
“First of all, she only found out today that I was dating you.”
“Oh? Jean or Albedo haven’t told her before?”
“I guess neither of us appear that much in conversation together. But she refused to believe it at first, being like ‘you mean that Mr Diluc?’, ‘why is he your boyfriend?’,” you laugh. “She thought that you were too gloomy to be with me and that I should be with someone who knows how to smile.”
His cheese knife halts, the sound of metal meeting wood slicing through the atmosphere. However, you’re too engrossed in retelling the story to notice the way he freezes.
“How silly. Kids really have the wildest presumptions and thoughts to match.”
Diluc continues preparing the food, stiff hands moving along the counter. You don’t say more than that, saving further conversation for when he’s done. As he sets the arrangement of crackers, cheese, and grapes down, it’s accompanied by a heavy sigh.
“What if… she’s right?” Asks the winery owner, voice no louder than a whisper.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I did, but I don’t understand why you think that way too.”
“Well, smiling isn’t my strong suit anymore and I’ve been told by the knights that the children find my expression too scary.”
“You know anyone can smile, right?” You ask jovially. “It’s not like a statistical impossibility-“
“It’s not just that,” he interjects sharply. Your smile fades, acknowledging Diluc’s sombre expression that clarified he wasn’t joking around like you thought. However, seeing the change in your attitude sobered him and that sharp glance fades, turning into something remorseful and softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
“No no, it’s my fault for not taking you seriously. Please, go on.”
“I’m quite boring, you know.” He fiddles with the ends of his leather gloves. “Did you never think that maybe what Klee said could be correct?”
“Never because she’s not correct. Honestly, Diluc, after all these years of being together and hearing what some people have to say about us, I never thought you’d think like this.” 
He casts his gaze downwards. “Because those people don’t know me like you do.” 
Two hands come up to cup his cheeks, gently directing him to look up at you and meet your kind expression. All inhibitions he had melt away at the sight of your smile.
“I can only hope they never do,” you reply simply, confidence lacing your words. 
Being with him is not easy. He is a busy man, one who manages the entirety of Monstadt’s wine business during the day and takes to the shadows to look after your beloved city at night. Yet, despite working with the sun and moon, he still gives all of him to you. For as long as Diluc will allow it, you hope to be the only person he’ll pick baskets of grapes with, play slow games of chess with, and freely lay out his convictions to. 
You’ll be damned to give up your spot beside him without a fight.
Diluc doesn’t believe he deserves the same. “You’re too patient with me. I’ve let you down too much for you to be this forgiving,” he grabs your wrists and gently knocks his forehead against yours. “I can’t give you everything you want.”
“You’re my Diluc, you already are everything.”
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© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
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crystalflygeo · 9 months
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Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Slave!Omega!Dragoness!Reader-
cw/tags: mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics, mating bites, fingering, scenting, pet names, zhongli has a knot and alpha fangs and is not afraid to use them lmao, some nip and clit stimulation ig?? emotional roller coaster ngl.
notes: So remember a loooong time ago when I held a poll and one of the options was "dragon" and it WON?? well actually it was this, (dragon READER heh) it just got WAY out of control. 5.6k words and now I wanna make it into a whole series //head in hands// anyway ye have this weird lil funky AU I poured my sweat blood and tears into (also my heart and soul) idk why I am just so attached I love it so much plsss I have ideas fot other scenes with them already aaaaaaaaa &lt;3
Partially inspired by some of @silentmoths' fics holy shIT I LOVE DRAGON READER AND I LOVE OMEGAVERSE NOD IF YOU AGREE!!
Last but not least if y'all wanna be part of my pinglist uhh I'm making one now so :3c
Part 2 ->
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Strange yellow leaves fall around you all over the courtyard…
“Fix your clothes, you have to look appealing… well, as appealing as a creature like you can be.” The voice of your Master calls out harshly, pulling and tugging at details in your outfit. It was a flimsy and silky thing, mostly see-through, rather elegant, but very revealing.
You’re used to it.
“And stop looking so miserable! You better smile and please this Alpha. He’s not just anyone, you know?”
You nod meekly, trying to hide the slight trembling on your body. This will be just another bonding attempt. Nothing else.
It will fail. Just like all the others before.
Silver chains clink and tug the collar at your neck, it shakes you back to the present as you stumble forward.
Master guides you through a maze of corridors, with sleek surfaces of dark wood, decorative lanterns and paper screens. They’re strange, covered in even stranger symbols that look nothing like the ones back in the desert. Your bare feet, used to rough hot sand, now walk along polished wood with your draconic tail dragging behind. Everything looks so lavish…
You’ve been brought all the way to Li- Liu-… Li-yue? A foreign country, to meet a potential client. Well, a client to your Master. You are just the merchandise: a dragonblood Omega. Rare, unique even, “exotic”.
But defective.
Your fists clench in nervousness. How rough will this Alpha be with you? You dread to find the answer. Alphas were cruel, ever since you remember you’ve been taught to please, be gentle, obedient and look pretty, but they were never any of those things. Alphas just took their pleasure and used your body as they wanted, usually until you were crying and screaming, begging for mercy. You just hope this Alpha would give you some pity and be quick… or give you time to rest in between attempts.
Though you had learned since long that your wishes don’t tend to come true.
What a disappointment. After I spent so much money and resources on you.
Such a waste of time, what use is there in an Omega that can’t bond?
Why do I even bother with you? You’re just good for the reproduction camp. Maybe that way you can produce another dragonblood.
This is your last chance, mutt. If you fail again, I won’t be bothering with you anymore.
You feel anxiety creeping on your chest, heart jumping to your throat as the dark thoughts invade your mind. Last chance… your last chance at bonding. At proving you’re not useless and stupid. At serving your purpose as Omega. What was happening to you was fair. You deserve to be punished and you should be grateful you have one last chance after all your failures.
You just want to… to…
Tears prickle at your eyes and you breathe in deeply, trying to contain your distress and hugging your own tail, rubbing your face on the fluffy tip.
Whatever happens today, your fate is going to be sealed.
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The nest room is nice.
Like the rest of the place, it is rather elegant, dimly lit with neutral colors and wooden walls, filled with pillows and blankets that had a very subtle flowery aroma to them. Small cabinets to one side with some decorative objects on top and a full-length mirror on the other side. So much different from the barren cold stone walls and tents from the desert camps.
“Hm, pretty fancy.” Master says taking off your collar, your soft unblemished neck now on display, free from any claim. “Now…” He pulls at your hair and you wince, whining and lowering your ears on a submissive display. He wouldn’t hurt you right? You have to look pretty. “The emperor will be here shortly. Make sure to do anything and everything he wants. And you better smile, I told you.”
“E-Emperor?” You pale, eyes widening.
He scoffs and pushes you back, you stumble back into the mess of pillows. “That’s right. I don’t know why but he was very adamant to see you it seems. Perhaps he just wants the prestige of owning the last known dragonblood, hm? Another novelty for his collection, I’m sure. You should consider yourself really lucky. So…” He flashes his Alpha fangs at you with a growl and you whimper again, cowering. “I would suggest you do your best and don’t disappoint this time, he’ll pay a pretty penny for you.”
And with that he leaves, muttering something and almost slamming the strange sliding door.
And so, you’re alone.
Immediately your brain goes into overdrive. An emperor? You had been presented to various Alphas of high status before, wealthy merchants and high-ranking tribe members, but this… this was probably a whole other level.
An emperor had to have an empress, right? Someone of noble birth and high status such as himself, not a lowly sand lizard like you, with weird ears, scales, horns and a tail. Why would he want to see an Omega like you? Perhaps Master was right, he intended to keep you as a trophy in his collection, another pretty thing.
It was humiliating.
But anything was better than being doomed to the reproduction camp…
Maybe the emperor had a harem? You’ve heard of them before, some Alphas liked to boast having many Omegas bound to them. Living in this luxury, not having to worry about much anything except looking pretty and pleasing him once a while. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even pay attention to you, you’d be just a glorified pet.
You could… do that.
Without noticing, your tail starts swaying after you, this could be a chance. Your chance. You just had to make him like you. Forget the bond. Don’t think about it. All you have to do is please him.
You start frantically arranging the sheets and pillows around, building the comfiest nest you ever had with all the extra material, scenting it with excited happy pheromones. You could do it, this was your chance.
You won’t fail this time. You’ll be pretty, obedient, submissive, the ideal Omega. You’ll let him use you to his heart’s content, sure you may be a little sore but it’ll be worth it if he chooses you. He won’t even care about the bond.
…Right?
You jolt when you hear the door slide slightly open again, your heart leaps to your throat as someone walks in.
Oh.
Is… he the emperor? … He’s handsome.
To be fully honest, you expected some fat pompous middle-aged man not this… perfect specimen of an Alpha.
Your tail sways a little with curiosity.
He looks only slightly older than you, tall, wearing elegant robes in brown and golden hues. His eyes are like a sunset: golden, warm, almost glowing. A red liner accentuating them. Long chocolate hair faded to amber at the tips. His scent was earthy and pleasant, subtle unlike most Alpha musk. Almost comforting and… familiar?
He seems to stare back at you with the same surprise, frozen for a moment, eyes slightly wide, he says something you can’t quite hear and it shakes you out of the spell. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, curling your tail around you, ears down and resisting the urge to brush (hide) the scales at the corners of your eyes.
It occurs to you that you’ve been just staring like an idiot, you don’t know very well how to address him, nor know his foreign tongue. So, you simply lower your head in respect. “My Lord…”
You suddenly feel nervous. This is it.
You turn around, following the motions ingrained in your brain. Body splayed on the nest, arms tucked in, head down. Submissive, obedient. Your hands are shaking, you feel dizzy, heart thrumming in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.
You lift your butt just slightly, tail curling elegantly over your back, out of the way to expose the flimsy fabric covering your privates, properly presenting to the Alpha. You focus on trying to control your pheromones, letting out just whiffs of a needy sensual scent, worried of mixing in your anxiety and fear and displeasing the emperor.
You had to be pretty, enticing, compliant, and he would, h-he would…
A rather awkward cough has you tense. “There is… no need for that.”
You blink for a moment, taken aback at the rich deep baritone of his voice, so hypnotizing you almost don’t register his words. He speaks common tongue, but still, what does he mean? Isn’t this just… standard protocol for bonding? Isn’t he going to mount you?
You dare peek over your shoulder and see him sitting elegantly over his knees at the floor. He’s outside of the nest range.
He’s also slightly pink at the cheeks and pointedly avoiding looking at you.
Is this a trap? Is he testing you to see if you’ll misbehave? Your hands clench, nails digging at your palms, your breathing and heart increasing pace.
“I just want to talk, I promise.” He tries.
You hold the position.
He sighs, and then-
“Omega, relax.”
You almost squeak at the Alpha command. His voice, his will, seeps into your skin, your nerves, your very bones. You feel your muscles loosen up, tension leaving your body like a bowstring snapping and you lie on the sheets sideways.
Right right right, you’re tense, you have to be soft and pliant-
You look over at him and he’s… heading over to the little cabinets. He picks up a kettle of some kind and little cups that sit on the top, moving around calmly and elegantly as he seems to prepare something. Your head tilts and you gingerly sit up straight. Tail and ears down, curled up not unlike a wounded animal.
“Do you speak the common tongue?”
“Y-Yes!” You nod. “A little…”
“Good.”
The emperor seems… pleasant, he is calm and unguarded, so different from the cold intimidating Alphas you’ve met who like to show off, who immediately order you around. He even used an Alpha command on you but it felt… grounding. There is something equally eerie and entrancing about him and you feel yourself as much drawn to him as terrified of his imposing aura, and you couldn’t explain why. It’s a bit unsettling but also comforting at the same time.
He pours two cups and turns to you. You stiffen and he offers you one.
“Qixing tea is one of the most refined Liyue teas. It tends to be very bitter but this blend has a more pleasant taste, a little floral even. It is also said to help relax one’s mind.”
You carefully take the cup, not wanting to insult such gracious offer, though you’re utterly confused, shouldn’t you be the one serving him?
The cup is warm.
You stare at the golden liquid, small black dots sit at the bottom. This has no alcohol… right? It can’t be worse than snake wine at least.
You carefully take a sip, trying to imitate how the emperor is holding his.
It is… nice, a strong sharp taste but not bad, and very aromatic.
He’s looking at you expectantly and your tail and ears twitch. “I-It’s very good. Thank you, my Lord.”
He smiles and your heart skips a beat. “I am glad. Some say Qixing tea is for older people, but it’s frankly one of my favorites.” He stares at his cup with a somewhat nostalgic gaze, as if it brings him fond memories. “Ah, you can address me as Morax.”
You nod quietly and take another sip. Past the tea’s powerful flowery scent, you can now sense his Alpha pheromones, with him being so close and the air less tense. They’re strong but not overwhelmingly so, sharp and tantalizing, a refined foreign scent you can almost taste in the back of your throat. It stirs something in you, something warm and alluring.
“Do you know where were you born? Who are your parents?”
The question takes you by surprise for a moment as you shake out of your thoughts. Ah, he must be inquiring about your dragonblood. “I-I’m…. I’m not sure, my Lo- um… L-Lord Morax. As far as I know my mother worked at a-a heat house… no one knew who my father was and she passed away when I was very young.”
“I see… so you have no idea where you got your dragon traits from.” It was a sentence rather than a question and you shake your head meekly, taking another sip from the tea, ears lowering back.
“Apparently it could be due to recessive genes.” You once again repeat the same words you’ve heard all your life. You hate bringing attention to your dragon features, people either treat you like a rare exotic creature or a dangerous one. You didn’t know which was worse.
“Hmmm…” Lord Morax seems pensive for a moment, also drinking some of the tea. “Have you been with your caretaker for long?”
You look down. “Master has been in charge of me ever since I… p-presented as an Omega.”
“Does he treat you well?”
Your eyes widen, the question catching you completely by surprise. T-Treat you well? You are… treated like any other slave omega, if only being singled out by your draconic traits. He feeds you, he gives you clothing and education, he arranges the best matches he can for bonding, he even got you here in the first place. You owe him everything, you’re nothing without him.
So then… Why do you find yourself thinking back on all the harsh words, all the punishments, all the screaming and crying, all the… t-touches…
You gulp. “M-Master ensures I have the best living conditions and opportunities I can.” Is what you settle for.
He hums.
There is silence for a moment and lord Morax settles down his cup.
“I don’t think you’re aware of how special you are.”
Just when you thought he couldn’t surprise you anymore, he utters those words and makes your heart speed up.
Is this anxiety? Fear?
“Judging from what your Master has told me, you’re treated like quite the novelty, an exotic half-blood not unlike the Valuka Shuna or Kätzlein. Here in Liyue however those with traits like yours are called Xiānshòu.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue. His golden eyes fix on you and you freeze. “Also known as illuminated beasts. With immense power and longevity, even the half-bloods. They’re well respected and looked up to, why, some are even revered as deities...”
You? Such a fantastic creature? That can’t be…
“Seems to me like things are different in the deserts of Sumeru, however.” His eyes narrow and for the first time you notice his diamond pupils. They look like a snake’s. The same eerie glint he had a few minutes ago is back darkening the bright golden eyes. Yet, for some strange reason you don’t feel scared this time.
A shiver travels down your spine as you feel your instincts purr in delight. Protective… for some reason lord Morax is being protective of you. You don’t know why or how but you can feel it and it made your inner Omega preen inside. An Alpha wanted to protect you, care for you.
“Such a shame.” He adds, sounding almost disappointed but there is something darker underneath. Word simmering with… frustration? “You are such a lovely dragoness, worthy of every praise and prayer they’d sign in your name here.”
You’re very glad your cup rests at your lap, blushing furiously with trembling hands.
For the next few moments, he continued to ask some more questions. What you like or dislike, what you do in your free time, even something as innocuous as your favorite color. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as you grew a little more comfortable with your answers and the whole situation, as though you weren’t talking to an emperor, or even a potential master or Alpha but rather… someone who saw you for who you are.
You liked that. You liked him.
You wanted to stay with him.
You wished to-
“Alright, I think that’s enough. I will have a talk with your Master and we’ll settle things.” He stands up and dusts his attire a little.
Your breath stops.
He is leaving.
He is leaving.
Did you do something wrong? Didn’t he say he liked your appearance? Are you such a failed disgraceful omega? Your last chance at bonding. You didn’t even get to impress him. You want to call out to him, do something, anything. Panic rises in your chest, drowning you, freezing you. You can barely think, instincts screaming, begging, wailing in despair for him. This kind Alpha, this gentle, patient, imposing, majestic Alpha who’s too good for you and yet something deep inside you yearns for him…!
“I am very glad to have met you little xiānshòu.” A small smile tugs at his lips. Then, he turns and heads for the sliding doors.
So, you do the first thing that comes to your mind.
The empty cup falls from your hands, your footsteps thump loudly on the wooden floors, soft fabric clenches between your fingers.
As soft as the lips you crash yours onto.
It only lasts a few seconds but when you back just a little, ears low and tail curled up in apprehension, you realize what you did.
You’d kissed him, you’d kissed the emperor.
You’re shaking like a leaf, clinging to him for dear life. He stares at you with wide surprised eyes but you’d rather die right here for your insolence than live the rest of your days in regret.
His scent takes on an alluring hint to it and your inner Omega is overjoyed. Up so close it is almost irresistible. His face remains impassive, if a little tense, but you can see in his eyes something you identify very well… hunger, desire.
“Lord Morax… t-the nest… please.”
“Y-You don’t have to-”
“Please! Allow me to please you, allow me to show you…how…” You whisper against his lips, leaning in again as your eyes flutter close.
And suddenly his hands wrap around you and pull you close, cupping your face, curling at your waist, there’s something possessive in it and you feel slight vibrations as he growls deep from his chest against your mouth. But there is also something sweet, something delicate…
And for once, you want more. You want this.
How did you end up here? In the most beautiful nest you’d ever constructed, with the most handsome, kind, caring Alpha you’d ever met?
His kisses are deep and slow, completely unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You lie on the soft sheets as he looms over you, exploring your mouth with an unhurried pace, hungry yet not forceful, letting you timidly do the same at your own pace.
This is nice…
His hands run along your body, caressing your skin through your flimsy attire. His touch curious but gentle.
“May I?” He asks, tugging at the fabric off your shoulder.
You shiver, at his voice, as the pure want in it, in his eyes, in his scent.
“Y-yes my lord…”
“Hmm…” His kisses trail down your jaw down to your neck as he starts pulling the garments off. Careful, instead of simply ripping them apart, your heart skips a beat. “If we’re going to do this, you can use my name and not just titles…”
Your top falls off and goosebumps litter your skin, nipples pebbled as one of his hands cups your breast.
“M-Morax…” You try, shakily, as if testing out the word alone on your lips.
“No, little one. Zhongli. That is my name.” He kisses down your shoulders, nipping at the skin.
“Ah!” Your tail flickers around and you purr.
You take the initiative to kiss him this time, and your hands start roaming his foreign clothes, fumbling with knots and pawing at the fabric. He chuckles at your frustrated whine. You want more, more of this feeling, more of him. To touch his skin, cover him in kisses, worship him.
(Show him what a good Omega you can be.)
No…
You want to make him feel good and please him.
Elegant fabric falls down discarded as he shakes off the layers of his top and you blink surprised. The fabric was bulky and covered up his figure. Lean but muscled, tantalizing like honey. You immediately latch onto him, nosing, scenting, nipping and kissing, feeling the faint outline of his abs and muscles twitch under your touch. He smells so good, he feels so good…
Your Omega instincts are starting to cloud your senses more and more.
Suddenly one of his hands gently squeezes a soft breast and you moan at the sudden touch “O-Oh!”
“You’re sensitive here, do you like this?” He asks, massaging your chest.
You whimper and nod frantically, tail wagging behind you. You had never been this responsive to having your chest played with, though then again, it was rare… but his sensual touches were quickly undoing you. Wetness pools at your gut and you rub your legs together.
Lord Mor- Zhongli… leans down then and something wet flicks over your nipple making you gasp, before warmth surrounds your nub. You cry out even louder. He sucks and laps at it and you instinctively tangle your hands on his hard dark hair, your legs wrapping around his waist.
You groan again, too many layers on the way.
“C-clothes… off, please!”
“As you wish, my dear dragoness.”
He continues squeezing, kissing, caressing and lapping at your skin, leaving a couple of hickeys along the way and teasing his Alpha fangs against you as his attention descends through your body once more, continuing his trail of kisses along your hip. His fingers dip down the waistband of your mesh pants and when you raise your hips to help, he pulls them down.
You’ve been naked in front of others more times than you’d like to count. But there’s something oddly intimate and special about this situation right now.
Your ears lower in apprehension, and your tail flicks by your side, resisting the urge to cover up. Lying down with your legs slightly spread around him. Already flushed, sweaty and panting.
“…You’re gorgeous.”
Huh?!
“I’m so lucky to have found you.” Zhongli nips at your hip. “So lucky that you want me too.” He kisses at your inner thigh.
Your breath hitches.
You’re the lucky one. Completely overjoyed that this Alpha likes you, desires you.
The first touch at your core has you mewling.
Zhongli strokes at your folds, still gentle, finding you soaked as your slick coats his fingers. Your body jolts and you moan “A-Ah!” He smirks against your thigh and nips there again as his fingers move in circles, teasing, testing, before moving to your clit. A finger pad stroking it just so, making your whole frame tremble, like every nerve in your body is being stimulated.
“Mngh- please!”
His fingers travel between your folds. First one sliding in rather easily, pumping steadily as you shudder in pleasure, and then two, making you writhe, bucking your hips against the touch, pushing them deeper, chasing that feeling.
Your body feels hot, too hot. Every sensation blocked except that warm wet feeling down there, in your new heaven. Your hands claw at the sheets, a pleasant fog setting in and you can feel yourself slipping into your most primal needs. But oh, oh, not like this.
You want him. Need him.
“You- y-you! please my lord!”
Something snaps in the Alpha’s eyes and Zhongli growls. Golden eyes dark, swallowed by lust and need and you whine when his fingers leave you. You vaguely hear rustling noises and before you can protest again, he pulls you up back on his lap and oh…
He’s big.
His erection stands proud between your bodies, rubbing against you and you shuffle impatiently, nuzzling against him.
Yes, yes…
Zhongli helps positioning you, gives himself a few strokes, and you feel his cockhead kiss at your entrance, you whine and stare at him rather confused. “L-Like this? B-But I have never- This is n-not how-”
He kisses your forehead, your nose, and pecks at your lips. “I can imagine this is very different from how they’ve taught you Alphas mount Omegas, but I my dear, intend to make love to you.” He whispers, hot breath fanning your cheeks as he nuzzles you, so close, so intimate. Your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Like this you will have more control. I want you to relax, enjoy, my sweet dragoness.” He kisses at your cheek, down your jaw to your neck. “May I?”
You can feel your eyes water. No one had ever told you that. No Alpha had ever been this patient or even asked your permission before. Words die on your throat as you stare mesmerized at Zhongli. Grateful. Incredulous. Completely enamored.
You nod, and he guides you down.
It’s different like this. So much different.
You bite your lip and whine a little once you start to move, his hands hold your hips as you raise them and sink back down on his cock, inch by delicious inch. You feel… full, but warm, good. Your insides clench around him and he groans.
Oh… you could get used to this…
“Hah… ah! … m-my lord... I’m…” You feel dizzy but in a good way, your body tingles all over and it’s exhilarating, addicting.
He leans forward a bit, nosing at your collarbone, soft kisses tickle your skin and he… he’s almost purring in delight, inhaling your scent. “I told you, you can just call me by my name... Would you let me hear it?”
You buck languidly on his embrace, enjoying this…sensual experience, these new feelings and sensations. His tender closeness, his intoxicating pheromones, his deep baritone.
Him.
“Zhongli…”
His name comes out as a needy cry and he growls, Alpha pride clearly satisfied. His hands roam your body just enough to shift position and pull you even closer, hips rolling in tandem, picking up speed, his fangs grazing your shoulder.
Your head is swimming in pleasure, fuzzy like stuffed with cotton, small little “Ah… ah… ah!” moans punched out of you. You’re vaguely aware of your nails digging onto his skin but you can’t even stop yourself, you need to hold onto something, anything.  
Even your tail subconsciously curls around his ankle (and he doesn’t even seem to mind), like every cell of your body is screaming at you to hold onto him and never let go.
Zhongli’s own breathing comes out in harsh puffs and satisfied groans as he buries himself in you over and over, the sound of skin slapping on skin becomes more prominent.
And then, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars.
Your eyes snap open (when had you closed them?) Back arching as if struck by lightning and letting out a high-pitched moan. H-How did he do that?! What was that? You don’t remember ever feeling like this in previous bonding attempts.
“M-more?” You mewl in delight.
Zhongli looks at you with a satisfied smirk and it only fuels the fire in your belly.
“Gladly.”
That same wonderful feeling travels up and down your body again and again as your moans and whimpers rise in volume, calling his name over and over. Zhongli kisses you, deep and passionate. Whispers praises and sweet nothings on your flickering dragon ears. Touches you so soft and reverently. Your body feels so hot, your mind going blank, you can feel the base of his cock swelling with his knot and the familiar coil of pleasure tightening as you anticipate it, crave it, more intense and satisfying than ever before.
And just as you reach that high, his fangs sink into you.
You come with a squeal, body tensing, clinging onto him, clenching on him as he lets out a deep satisfied groan, knotting you. Wet stickiness coats your insides and thighs. And everything feels right, just right. Perfect even.
It takes a moment to come back to your senses, and it’s to Zhongli’s hands rubbing circles at your back comfortingly, while he laps and kisses at the bonding mark he left on you.
And then the high comes crashing down.
The bonding mark.
Tears well up in your eyes and start rolling down your cheeks, your tail uncoiling from him and curling around yourself protectively, ears down.
Please no… this can’t be…
Please stay…
Please.
Zhongli immediately notices your distress, in your actions and your scent, completely different altogether. His own instincts going wild at the lack of a happy sated mate scent. “Darling, what’s wrong? I’m sorry did it hurt that much? Did I… harm you in some way or did something wrong?” Oh, he sounds so genuinely concerned.
You shake your head desperately. Of course he hasn’t.
But you will.
Your body will. Betray you as always.
No bonding mark has stayed in your neck for longer than a few minutes. They all fade.
Just like the alphas that place them in you.
And then comes the anger, the guilt, the disappointment, the despair, the loneliness…
You can’t take it. Not this time.
“S-stay… please…” You sob.
Your voice sounds so broken, so weak and tiny, absolutely heart wrenching.
And Zhongli embraces you.
“I will, my dearest dragoness. I promise you.” He kisses one of your horns.
You want to believe him but you can only cry harder…
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The room is dark as your eyes flutter open. It takes a few minutes to adjust and for your mind to catch up. Where are you…? You look around at the wooden walls, nestled in comfy sheets, you see some wooden cabinets and a tea set-
…!!!
You jolt awake, tumbling some pillows from your fancy nest. Your last chance at bonding. The emperor. He was leaving, and then…!
You slap a hand against the junction between neck and shoulder and feel something there, a bandage… you try to stare at it confused, though it’s impossible from the angle. And then fear consumes you. What if… it’s not there…?
Your body is still naked, though you have been covered with a thick fabric while sleeping, as it now pools at your lap, your Omega scent and that of an Alpha mixed together pleasantly, you turn around.
The Emperor. Lord Morax. Zhongli.
He sleeps peacefully by your side, on your nest, after having mated you.
He stayed.
You stare at his handsome features, fair skin, dark long hair, strong jaw, muscled arms. His lips slightly parted as he breathes evenly. So at ease.
You want to reach out and brush at his hair, touch his face, kiss him.
You want this moment to last forever.
Looking up slightly you see the large mirror, see yourself. A tiny thing, with freaky ears, horns and a tail.
It was… good, while it lasted. Almost like a dream.
Tears start falling down your cheeks again and you try to be as silent as possible as you pull and lift at the bandage in your shoulder. And there underneath it is… something?
Your fingers trace a mark, a wound, it stings and you hiss.
No way. There is no way.
Hope flutters in your chest, your stomach flips and you feel dizzy, nervous. A bonding mark? Is it real? Is it still there?
You shuffle out of the nest as fast and stealthily as you can, standing in front of the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes wide, pale in fear.
And there it is. The clear mark of an Alpha bite, still rather tender. A claim. A bond.
You start sobbing as you trace it, touch it, feel it. It must have been hours, there is no way…
It’s there, it’s there, for real. You want to laugh, to cry, you’re still nervous, scared, hopeful, happy, a million things at once.
But how? Why now?
“Hnng… darling? Are you crying again?” You stiffen as you hear the voice, deep and hoarse, laced with drowsiness. You turn and see him sit up and yawn carelessly like a rishboland tiger. Elegant and intimidating like one too with his bright golden eyes, Alpha fangs and muscled figure. Still naked as well, you note.
“T-the bonding mark… it’s still there!” You exclaim to him, gesturing to it.
“You should let it heal nicely.”
“Y-You don’t get it!” You huff. “My Lord… it’s still there! I’m bonded, I’m yours!”
He chuckles. “Rather, I would say we belong to each other, now.”
Belong to each other.
That sounds nice.
You turn back to the mirror, still staring at it, poking it with a finger softly, as if afraid it’ll disappear, as if it was an illusion, a dream.
But it’s there.
“For years… for years I thought I was doing s-something wrong, that there was something… wrong… with me…” You cry softly. “No Alpha had even bonded me…”
Suddenly you feel strong arms curl around your frame, a chin resting at your shoulder where it kisses your skin, and then brushes over the mark. It stings but you welcome it.
It means it’s real, all of this is.
Zhongli inhales, taking in your scent. “Well you see my dear, a dragonblood… a xiānshòu like you, can only be truly bonded by one of its own kind.”
The words take a moment to process, to sit on your brain, and you frown confused, staring at him from the mirror. And then your eyes widen.
Golden antlers crown his head, majestic and almost glowing, small scales appear under his striking amber eyes, the color of burnt ocher. A large tail, even bigger than yours in golden and brown hues, sways lazily behind him, before finding yours and intertwining with it, the feel is foreign but not unwelcome. Like holding hands.
You turn around so fast you almost trip if it weren’t for his hold. The dragonblood features are still there, in plain sight.
Your throat feels dry.
“You… you’re…”
He raises a finger to his lips and shushes you, then smiles. “I am yours my dear. Just as you are now mine.”
You cling to him and hide your face on his chest as you cry. Overwhelmed, relieved.
Yes, this is where you belong.
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mrsackermannx · 3 months
Text
chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.
so, he does just that.
he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.
sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.
it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“
sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”
a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.
“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”
“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.
he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.
he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.
it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.
“oh…him? think they’re married?”
“i don’t think so.”
that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”
you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”
sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.
no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.
“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“
“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”
the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.
sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.
“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“
“miss-“
“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”
your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.
now you see him, huh?
your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”
your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.
sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.
you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“
the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.
he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”
his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.
you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”
“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.
“oh?”
“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”
“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”
“seafood special last month?”
“yes, and your name?”
for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”
“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”
545 notes · View notes
heich0e · 8 months
Text
[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical traits, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]
And a week after that terrible storm, Megumi pulls on his coat, locks up the clinic for the night, and heads to the nearby izakaya.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know her.”
Megumi deflates a little, leaning forward onto his elbows atop the service counter at the izakaya. The young man behind the bar looks sincerely apologetic that he can’t be of more help to him, a remorseful frown tugging at the corner of his lips.
“That’s fine,” Megumi says, smothering his burgeoning disappointment as best he can—blanketing it in a familiar air of indifference. “It was years ago.”
He’d asked for you when he arrived at the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, having weaselled your family name out of Yuuji who’d in turn pressed Nanami for it—the elder man deeming a simple name suitably fair to share since it wasn’t particularly personal information, not least of all because he’s seemingly incapable of denying Yuuji anything he asks for. But the server who Megumi approached when he first arrived at the neighbourhood izakaya, the same establishment he’d visited with the old man all those years ago that hasn’t changed a bit since that day, didn’t seem to have any knowledge of you ever working there.
“I’ve only been here for a year,” the young man says, ruffling the back of his cropped hair sheepishly and glancing down the bar in the direction of the busy kitchen. “I could ask around, though? See if someone—”
“No, that’s alright,” Megumi cuts him off, bowing stiffly in his direction with his arms pinned down at his sides. “You’ve done more than enough. Thank you for your time.”
Megumi swiftly turns and heads in the direction of the door, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The izakaya is noisy around him as he crosses the restaurant towards the exit, full of people unwinding after a long day of work, sharing food and drinks and talking too loudly just to be heard over the cacophonous din. He’s never really liked the overly-boisterous atmosphere of these kinds of places, which is why he’s always preferred to drink at home—but every so often Yuuji or Nobara manages to draw him into an evening out at bars just like this one.
The man just wants to get back to his little apartment where he can enjoy some peace and quiet, and nurse the nagging feeling of disappointment he feels prickling in his hollow chest.
He’s only a few doors up the road from the building, making his way back in the direction of home, when he hears a ruckus behind him.
“Excuse me!… Excuse me, sir!”
Megumi pauses in his stride and glances back over his shoulder in the direction of the shouting, only to see the young man from behind the bar racing up the sidewalk towards him with his apron strings flapping in his haste. He’s a little winded by the time he reaches Megumi, hunching forward with his hands braced on his thighs atop the overhang of his apron as he struggles to catch his breath.
“The cook… said…” 
Megumi can barely understand what the boy is trying to say to him. He’s a little concerned by how out of breath he is, too. After a few more seconds of panting heavily, the young man looks up. 
“The cook said he knew her. The girl you’re looking for.”
Megumi’s eyes widen, his stomach doing an unpleasant little somersault in his core.
The server stands up straight, swallowing thickly. He’s more composed now after his sprint. He gives Megumi your name, your full name—both given and family—and Megumi recognizes it. “He said a student with that name worked here a few years ago, but she left when she got pregnant.”
Megumi’s hands clench into fists in the pockets of his coat.
The young man looks a bit sheepish. “I hope this helps. I don’t know if you remember, but you took good care of my family’s dog a few years ago at your clinic. I… wanted to repay you.” He bows earnestly in the vets direction, a full bend at his waist.
Megumi thinks he might vaguely remember him, though his hair was longer, he didn’t have the piercings in his ears, and his cheeks were rounder with baby fat back then. “Shino-kun?”
The boy lifts his head and nods eagerly, perking up at the recognition. 
His family had an inordinately rotund dachshund named Vienna. Like the sausage. 
“Thank you for your help,” Megumi says to him, and he means it. 
Shino nods in recognition of the thanks.
Megumi moves to leave, but pauses. “The cook… does he have her contact info?” 
The boy shakes his head, and Megumi feels that same flare of disappointment swell with renewed vigour, staring down at his feet on the pavement as he tries not to let it show. He supposes it would be strange to get that kind of information from him anyway. For all intents and purposes, he’s just some stranger trying to track a woman down, who in their right mind would—
“He said the last he heard she was working at the family restaurant a few blocks away, near the park—”
Megumi’s eyes snap up towards the server again.
“—do you know the one?” 
Yes. He does.
The old man used to take him there sometimes for lunch when he was still working at the clinic, because Megumi had a tendency to skip his midday meal. The waitresses all knew the old man by name, and he’d told Megumi that he and his wife had their first date in that very restaurant decades prior. It’s an ancient little spot that’s been there for far longer than Megumi’s lived in the neighbourhood. 
And he just so happens to have to pass it on his way back home.
The neon sign that hangs over the old family restaurant paints the evening street in its glow as Megumi stands outside the diner.
It’s late; encroaching on an hour that Nobara would affectionately call ‘past his bedtime’ since Megumi tends as a matter of habit to be a man who’s early to bed and early to rise. But regardless of the hour, Megumi can’t seem to make his feet carry him any further. Neither back to his home, nor through the business’s door.
Through one of the windows, past the reflective fluorescence from the lights outside, he sees you.
You’re standing at a table by the window, chatting with a couple whose meal you’ve just served. You have a smile on your face, but it’s not quite the smile that Megumi remembers—neither as bright, nor as carefree as the one in his memory. You don’t look the same either.
You’re older than you were back then—though certainly still not old by any means—but he supposes that’s only natural given how much time has passed since that first night he met you. He didn’t look at you properly that night you came to the clinic. Didn’t take the time to really observe you. All he can really remember is how soaking wet you were, and how you didn’t want to meet his gaze.
You meet it now.
You catch sight of him through the window just before you leave your patrons to enjoy their meal, and even from a distance Megumi can see the way your expression changes. He can see how startled you look as you catch sight of him.
You’re not wrong to look surprised, and he can’t help but blame you. He’s some man you’ve met twice now, the instances half a decade apart, who’s managed to track down your place of employment. But at the same time, Megumi can’t help but think that there’s a greater anxiety that underlies your wide-eyed expression—a more considerable fear that’s palpable, even from so far away.
You appear outside, wrapped up in a puffy jacket, a few minutes later.
“Hello, Fushiguro-san,” you greet him quietly, bowing a bit awkwardly in his direction.
He returns the greeting with your own name, and you look surprised that he knows it.
“What brings you here at this time of night?”
“Where’s Kota?” Megumi ignores your question in favour of one of his own.
Your lips pull into a thin line at the mention of your son.
“The obaachan who lives next door to us watches Kota when I work nights,” you say, and your tone is colder now. Sharpened like a blade you wield in defence.
An unpleasant silence wraps around you both, the discomfort and the tension of it nipping at your heels and urging you to run.
“That’s a lot of work for an old woman.”
“She’s happy to do it. Her children have all moved away,” you seem to only very narrowly be keeping resentment from your shaking voice.
“Why doesn’t Kota’s father watch him?” Megumi asks, and his gaze is level and unyielding as it meets your own.
Your jaw sets, and a flare of something white-hot and protective kindles behind your eyes. 
“He can’t.”
A car passes on the street behind Megumi, but neither of you pay it any mind.
“Why?"
“He’s busy.”
“Too busy to take care of his own child?” Megumi isn’t trying to sound so angry, but the emotion makes itself known in his voice without even trying. He doesn’t mean to antagonize you like this. It’s not what he came here to do. But he can’t seem to force himself to be direct with you.
“Yes.”
“Doing what?” Megumi presses again, unrelenting in his pursuit.
“Drop it,” you tell him warningly, hissing the caution through your teeth.
He doesn’t heed your words.
“Where is Kota’s father?” he asks one final time, and it’s the question that makes the fraying thread of your patience finally snap.
“Bothering me outside my place of work,” you hiss, your eyes narrowed and resentful. “Is that what you came here for? Are you happy now?”
Happy?
Megumi feels sick to his stomach, an almighty fwoosh wracking through him that makes him go week at the knees and threatens to make him heave up the meagre contents of his stomach in front of you, and this street, and anyone who has the misfortune of a window seat in the diner behind you. But he feels worse still when he sees the way tears are welling quickly in your eyes. When he spots the way you’re trembling.
You’re frightened.
Of him.
“Please,” you soften noticeably before his eyes, like he watches all your will to fight with him abandon you in real time. The deflation leaves you desperate when you speak again, crumpling in on yourself. You step up to him slightly, grabbing the sleeve of his coat as you plead to him. “Just go. Forget this ever happened. I don’t want anything from you. We don’t want anything from you. I-I take good care of him; he’s happy and healthy and we’re fine. I’m sorry that you found out like this, but I promise if you just leave now you don’t ever have to think of him—things can go back to how they were, and I’ll make sure we never cross paths again.”
Megumi tastes bile creeping up at the back of his too-tight throat, and his vision has gone fuzzy at the edges like he’s watching everything unfold through a tunnel.
All he can think about it the little boy with the bunny hidden under his raincoat. The racoon on his sweatshirt. The way he clung to him in his sleep.
“He’s my son?”
You pause, still holding tight to Megumi’s coat sleeve.
“Yes,” you reply quietly. “He is.”
He searches your face for any sign of duplicity, but he knows the truth. He knew it before you said it. Knew it from the moment he woke up in that cold sweat.
“You’re certain?”
He doesn’t pose the question with any ill-intent. Hardly conscious of the fact he’s asking it at all, or what the implications of such a question might be.
You flinch anyway.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Another car passes.
“He’s my son.” This time it’s not a question, but the words are brittle and breathless as Megumi speaks them. His chest aches, his head is pounding.
You’re still clutching his sleeve.
From behind you, at the corner of the building that leads to a narrow alley, a man in a stained apron with a cigarette in his hand calls your name. You whirl around in surprise.
“Break’s over!” he calls to you with a hand clasped around his mouth. He eyes you and Megumi warily, as though assessing whether or not he needs to intervene.
“Coming!” you call back to him with a blatantly forced chipper tone, waving at him with a strained smile on your face.
You turn back to Megumi, and let his sleeve slip from your grasp. The fake smile withers slowly until it disappears altogether.
“Please,” you repeat to him one last time, quieter now that the line cook is still lingering nearby, but no less desperate. “Just forget about this. About us.”
You turn to head back towards the restaurant, and Megumi lets you go.
Until he doesn’t.
“Wait.”
You freeze, but you don’t turn to face him again. He can see the way you hold yourself around your midsection, your shoulders slightly hunched forward like you’re bracing yourself for something.
“Come to the clinic tomorrow.”
“I work tomorrow.”
“Then come before you work. Or after,” Megumi can’t help but sound irritated at your refusal. He has a right to ask you more questions. To get more answers.
You glance at him over your shoulder, and you look wary.
“Kota goes to daycare at 8. It’s not far,” you say, though your tone is reluctant. “I can come just after that.”
The clinic doesn’t open until 9, so that works for him.
He nods curtly in agreement, and then you do the same.
The cook calls your name again.
You step towards the restaurant.
“The bunny’s doing well.”
You pause in your stride and turn back to Megumi with a look of surprise on your face—the most open, and least defensive expression he’s seen since the two of you began speaking.
Megumi struggles to meet your gaze now, and looks away briefly. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“You can… tell Kota that. If you want.” He glances fleetingly towards you, just in time to see the ghost of a smile flicker at he corner of your lips.
“I will,” you reply quietly. “He’ll be happy to hear that. Thank you, Fushiguro-san.”
Megumi watches as you skitter back towards the restaurant, bowing apologetically to the cook as you head quickly down the alley towards what Megumi can only assume is the staff entrance.
He turns on his heel on the sidewalk and heads in the direction of home, ignoring the gaze of your colleague as he walks away.
A son.
He has a son.
A little boy who looks just like him.
A little boy named Kota.
Megumi still feels sick, and his head is spiralling with a hundred questions he can’t begin to understand how to parse through in a coherent way. A hundred things he never dreamed he’d need to know. Never wanted to.
But he’ll see you tomorrow at 8AM, so as long as he makes sense of at least a few of the unintelligible questions running through his mind by then, he’ll finally have the chance to get some answers.
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whatifyoulivelikethat · 10 months
Text
limbo, m | myg
pairing(s): yoongi x reader
summary: A movie night turns into a happening that wasn't planned. You wake up and see Min Yoongi trapped in the limbo of his nightmares, his fist clenched in your blankets. You had given up on this feeling everyone called love. And yet, you reach over.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sex with feelings, classic wiyllt; smut (fem reader, flashbacks of fucking, rough sex, mutual erotic choking, m-receiving oral, scratching / marking, many descriptions of hand placements can you tell I have a forearm kink, penetrative sex, choking during orgasm, giving a handjob while being choked, cum-eating / licking cum off your ass); non-idol!AU; fwb but actually lovers who refuse to admit it
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He was asleep and you could feel his nightmares.
It was achingly quiet when you opened your eyes. Happened all the time, all your life, either due to your inexplicably outlandish dreams or from the crawling parasites everyone liked to call emotions. You would wake up, be irritated that it wasn’t because of your alarm, and then close your eyes again to start the lengthy torturous cycle of falling asleep once more. Always took your time falling asleep, unless you exhausted yourself first.
You could feel his nightmares.
That was why this waking was different this time. The curtains were still open, letting in a wash of moonlight. You glanced down, seeing that the television was still on. Not a big black rectangle mounted to the wall as usual, but instead showing the display screen of the DVD inserted. You picked up the remote beside you and turned it off. The screen went black.
You saw the blurred outline of yourself, ensnared in blankets and pillows.
Beside you, a man.
The paleness of his face stood out even in the imperfect reflection. A whiteish smear surrounded by tresses of black locks. His clothes and surroundings were also black, shades of darkness highlighted by the moon. He was pitched to one side, creating a crease in the shape of his body into the pillows stacked around him.
You turned your head to the left.
He was asleep. His right arm was sticking out of the blankets, his forearm fair and thin against the maroon of the soft cotton. There was a thin silver chain around his wrist, along with a band of black leather, stamped shut with a skull-shaped clasp.
The collide.
You remembered all the details. His face against your face. Your eyelids lowered, seeing nothing but his shaking lips. Body to body, his charcoal grey shirt pressed up to your tight mesh dress with the red slip. You hand was on his forearm, fingertips against his wrist. Tangling the tips of your red-and-black nails on a thin silver chain and black leather, and his hand on your shoulder tightened as you touched his cheek, pulling his lips closer, and there was a whisper between him and you, something about how red your lipstick was, and you felt yourself smile.
“Would you rather I kiss you in places others can’t see, Yoongi?” you murmured.
A scoff of disbelief.
“Just warning you.”
You raised your lashes, staring into eyes that matched the color of dark roast coffee. They burned with the same kind of concentrated, potent energy.
“You don’t find smeared lipstick sexy?”
Rather than giving you an answer, those liquid orbs rippled with pleasure at the challenge.
He had closed the distance.
On this night, now, you looked down and saw that Min Yoongi’s hand was clenched into a fist.
You didn’t know if they were nightmares. It was a guess from the tension fuzzing up the edges of his demeanor. From the furrowed cease in his brow to the splay of his black hair over his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. The tendons of his neck stood out. A strange noise fluttered in his chest and his head ticked, as if to push aside his hair obstructing the dream view, but the movement only made it worse.
In some ways, you knew Yoongi, but in some ways you were ignorant.
That was how you liked to keep it.
As far as you could tell, Yoongi also played by this rulebook.
You could throw him off sometimes, such as the time you reached up and wrapped your hand around his neck, walking the fingers of your other hand up the white jersey of his loose t-shirt. Curious surprise had flitted over his features, but he hadn’t objected. Instead, he had reached over and experimentally placed his own hand around your neck. You had twisted your body slightly, adjusting the placement of his palm so it matched yours. Fingers on one side, thumb on the other.
You looked into his eyes and clamped down.
Yoongi mirrored you.
There was a sudden gasp in unison and you could see the arousal flood into his eyes.
He was not learned like you, but he had common sense. Followed the same pressure you were doing to him. You were both still fully clothed, the black pleather corset top feeling a little too tight, but there was something better about the discomfort. It amplified the moment. Your hand around his neck, his hand around yours, your impulse leading to his, and your fingers traced over his shirt, fingernails pressing into the thin fabric, erotic patterns cultivating the fruitful tension. Your legs scooting forward between his as you choked each other. Your miniskirt hiking up, but Yoongi was staring at your face, pink lips parted, breathing shallow, dark roast coffee eyes burning, and his tongue flicked the edge of his smirk, enticing you.
You had closed the distance and kissed him, losing yourself in his scent and his tongue.
On this night, you reached down and traced his white knuckles.
Hooking up. That was what it was, but also wasn’t. It felt like an unrefined, crass way to put it, but it was what it was. Impulsive, addictive, intense. It wasn’t planned, at least not by you or Yoongi. The plans were to grab food occasionally, maybe run the same errand if it just so happened that you both needed something from the grocery store on the way, or perhaps the strange coincidence of buying tickets to the same band showcase. Might as well go together, right?
It wasn’t planned.
The first time your fingertips ran down his forearm was an accident, but you saw him shudder. Yoongi had snapped his gaze to you and he immediately knew that you had seen.
There was a warning crossed deep in those dark liquid orbs.
You had touched him again, resting your hand on his wrist, staring into his eyes.
You didn’t push it too far that night. It was just that moment. Neither of you talked about it. Talked about everything else that wasn’t that. Unsophisticated. But the next time it was him standing closer to you, and you had looked up at him. You didn’t shudder, but you didn’t need to. Sparks raced over your skin from the point of clothed contact. A moment, and you didn’t bring it up and neither did he. But after that, it was different.
On this night, as the moonlight washed over the tousled blankets, you reached down and gently relaxed each of those clenched fingers. The tension lessened from his forearm. Yoongi breathed in deep, out of vision, and you could feel his nightmares drift away or, at the very least, not have such a cold grip on him.
You placed your hand over his.
It was cold.
You rubbed his knuckles.
Leaned back against the pillows, which were not ergonomic for optimal rest, but were optimal for movie watching, which was what you had been doing before you both fell asleep. Strange, because the only times Yoongi had ever fallen asleep in your bed was after fucking and that was rare. Only when it was very late and simply ridiculous to drive home to sleep for two hours before driving back to work. Better to simply snooze.
Sometimes the impulse would last all night.
But it would eventually be over.
He would go back to his life and you would go back to yours. That was what it was and that was how you liked to keep it. Human relationships were complicated. Convoluted. It was easy to follow the plot points fabricated by society, easy to get lost in labels and definitions, easy to become frustrated when one doesn’t fit in that narrow coffin-box of the conventional consensus. Harder to thrive in the limbo. It took a certain kind of person to walk that line between heaven and hell.
Your hand on top of Yoongi’s and you closed your eyes.
You had given up a long ago.
Given up on finding that feeling called love.
Lived in the limbo. There was enjoyment in the discomfort, honestly. Maybe that was a result of a lot of things, but it didn’t matter. You had already spent your younger years trying to fit into all these different boxes, thinking you could be as cozy as a cat, and it never worked. You thought you had simply lacked understanding, so you spent your time learning. Still didn’t work. If anything, it was an even emptier feeling, feeling as if you were always playing a role instead of being. In the end, you chose the limbo.
In limbo, you felt the most honest.
And so it was things like this, not quite heaven and not quite hell. Things like Min Yoongi and dark nights of pulling him to you, shedding his jeans and framing his hips with your crowned fingers. Tongue to skin, and you could feel him shudder, his hands circling your head. You drew creative patterns with saliva, up his hips and abdomen, pushing his shirt aside, and glancing up at him.
Yoongi would look down at you with those dark liquid eyes.
It was like drinking in that concentrated, potent energy.
Strong, and your tongue would dance. Your breath hot, washing over his fair skin. Your grip sinking into his body, closer. You could tell Yoongi liked it better when you didn’t use your hands. He liked your caress on his ass as your tongue curled around his hard length. Warm, pulsing, dripping sin in your wake, and you would tilt your head to swallow him deep. No fear. Only rawness. The base of your tongue lowering so the thick head could slip in deeper to the back of your throat. Your tongue sliding out from the confines of your mouth and scooping around his balls, one and then the other, all while pulling in and exhaling from the back of your throat. Pressure. Isolation.
His moan, low and deep, hanging above you like smoke.
Yoongi especially liked it when you became more serious. When you looked up at him cockily and moved your head back and forth, lips parted, jaw slack, the true suction created by the roof of your mouth and your tongue pushing up from below, forcibly rubbing the bottom of the head as you sucked him deep in your throat. Stimulating that thin sensitive skin, precise, gazing at him with fierce intensity and acting as if this was so easy.
Well, it was.
The side of his mouth would always tick up, and Yoongi would always say, “Fuck, you’re so good at sucking dick and you know it.”
Then you would close your lips around his shaft and create that fuckable wet sleeve that would give him that high he had been chasing. The girth filling your mouth and cheeks, your tongue sliding up and down his throbbing length, your hands gripping his hips or even simply resting in your lap to drive the point home further. Relaxed, in contrast to the overwhelming lewd pleasure shooting into the back of your throat, flooding your mouth with the salty, heady taste of cum, swallowing, savoring the thickness and quantity, licking him all over, insistently soft and arcing over his shivering balls, breathing in the scent of sex and familiar cologne.
Sometimes, Yoongi threw you off too.
Once you leaned up against him and stuck your tongue out.
He had licked it before kissing you with a smirk.
Maybe he learned it from you or maybe it was simply his nature revealing himself. Or both. It was hard to know, but such things didn’t matter in the grand scheme of thigs. Better to live in the moment.
This? This between you and Min Yoongi was careful.
You opened your eyes and found Yoongi looking down at your hand over his.
He sensed your movement and his eyes shifted, rising, and now liquid energy was burning into you.
You didn’t move your hand.
His breathing was irregular, but not with the shallow shake of fear.
As far as you could tell, Yoongi also played by a certain rulebook. There were rumors but, more importantly, there was your instinct. There was in the wounded way he spoke about relationships, not just romantic, but all of them. He had friends, but there was a certain depth he avoided with all of them. He didn’t mind their depth of vulnerability and he didn’t avoid his own.
But he never talked to people on his bad days.
In the wash of moonlight, Yoongi breathed out, choppy and rough.
“I missed the last half of the movie.”
You still hadn’t moved your hand and he hadn’t pulled his hand away either.
“It’s a long movie. Maybe we should have gone with John Wick.”
Something curtained over his expression and it wasn’t his long black hair.
“No. You’ve talked about Mr. Nobody before. I wanted to watch it.”
He lifted his body from the dent he had created in the pillows.
“Process it,” he murmured.
It wasn’t fake. Yoongi fucked with his whole body and mind. He didn’t waste his time and it was obvious by the way he seized the opportunities he got. Obvious by the way he was caught up in the moment, trapped in the heat between heated breath, consumed by the thought of your red lipstick smeared over his lips. He knew all the things people said about him. He knew all the things people said about you. But he had cast it all aside to make his own judgement. Society tried to impose dishonest promises of heaven and hell and he cut all the strings that tried to hold him back to slip into this, this between you and Min Yoongi, and there were certain things he didn’t talk about, certain things he didn’t hold on to.
On this night, when he awoke from his nightmares, his hand turned under yours.
Traced his middle finger down your palm, leaving a trail of tingling skin.
His fingers closed around your wrist.
The rush of heat and the sting of lust, rippling, rippling up your arm and across your ribs, burning your blood, and you looked into those coffee eyes, burning liquid energy, people whispering that it was bad for you, people warning that he will stain the bone white of your heart, and your other hand lifted, pushing against the mattress, turning, sliding out of the blankets, interrupting the wash of moonlight over Min Yoongi.
Limbo.
Between heaven and hell.
Yoongi gripped your wrist once it had turned, tightening as you lowered your body over his, your hair tumbling down your shoulders to create shadows, wisps of walls for this limbo, the rules of this rulebook created only by you and Yoongi, his free hand sliding between your bodies, closing in around your jaw and pulling you closer, closer.
“What if I never made the choice to kiss you back then?” Yoongi breathed against your lips, husky and dream-like, still processing the surrealness of the movie hours before.
“Would it be different if I kissed you instead?” you wondered out loud in a whisper.
Maybe, because it might have felt more like playing a role rather than truly being. You wondered and then the wonder washed away when Yoongi kissed you, breathing in your now-familiar scent, deepening the kiss with intense pressure and the way his thumb gently rubbed against your wrist. Contrast. Your blood simmered, aroused by his being.
But this was limbo, not heaven or hell.
You gasped as you broke the kiss and his hand left your wrist, gripping your waist instead.
Your hand on his chin, pushing his head back to expose his neck, and you spied the sly smirk blossoming over Yoongi’s lips, his dark eyes shining, and you dived down, your tongue against his throat.
You felt the vibration of his moan with your lips.
This was not the right answer to your limbo. This was caught up in the moment, burning in the impulse, racing in the intensity, and you could feel it, under your teeth, under your kiss, under your possessive lick up to his ear, breathing hot, his earrings against your lips, and Yoongi’s long fingers were curling into your shirt, lifting it up, up, as your teeth nicked the curve of his ear, kissing that delicate skin as he listened to your whispers in the dark.
“Should I ride you?”
A light scoff, disbelieving. “I can fuck you the way you like.”
He seemed to think you had doubted him in some way. You didn’t fight his renewed energy. Rather than responding, you squirmed against him, pressing your body in all the right places, kissing down his neck, and Yoongi dragged his nails down your back in wanton aggression, sending flares of pain across your body to mix with the fire of pleasure deep within.
This wasn’t planned.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Before you knew it, it had become a compilation of happenings and moments and dreams and then you could feel his nightmares beside you and it had felt so wrong that you couldn’t sleep. Trapped by ghosts lingering in his head, torturing him in his sleep, a feeling you knew all too well, and it had made you reach over and straighten out his fist, taking away the tension in his fingers, resting the warmth of your palm on his cold knuckles.
You had given up on finding that feeling called love.
Not because someone had burned you too deep, but because people had begged you to feel this feeling you just couldn’t seem to feel and it felt so unfair, so unfair to not feel this thing that made people cry in joy, in sadness, in pain. And maybe it was because you had chosen this limbo, this neither heaven nor hell, but you couldn’t leave them like that, so you let them go.
That was you being honest.
You breathed in now, woods and citrus and skin.
Tangled your fingers in his long black hair, adding more darkness to the darkness, and found his lips again. Kisses after dark. Yoongi never said things like I need you. He didn’t even say things like I want you. There was a certain kind of pressure behind words like that. No, instead, there was his kiss. His touch, closing in around your waist, his long fingers fanning over your back, like laces of a corset, pulling your body closer, hardness beneath the blankets and confines of his pants.
In some ways you knew Yoongi and those were his rules.
But it was different than with his friends. Obviously. He didn’t fuck his friends, as far as you knew. It was different because you could feel him in the way he touched you. In the way he yanked your shirt off and threw it to the floor, the way he closed around you with only his arms and hands, touching everything, calm in teasing but intense in tension, rubbing his thumbs over your hard nipples but holding you solidly, in gaze and palms, not letting go.
You opened your eyes.
Liquid orbs, dark roast.
Simmering.
Burning under his gaze and you let Yoongi lift you and push you onto your back, pulling himself out of the blankets, stripping off his clothes and laying claim to your bedroom floor with his discarding.
Everyone else you let go because it had felt so unfair that you didn’t feel.
He climbed over you, condom from your nightstand in his hand, already knowing where it was. Moonlight washing over his skin and shadows over his face. Messy hair from your hands. Scorching hot gaze, and he closed the distance, locking lips possessively, one hand sliding under your back and pulling you up, body to body, your thigh against his erection.
Smearing pre-cum on your skin.
You didn’t believe there was a right answer.
Human relationships were too complicated for that.
But maybe Yoongi was the most special wrong answer.
You kissed him more and he got harder. Breathing in your breath, sucking on your tongue, your arm around his neck, the other hand tucking his hair back behind his ear, flicking his earrings, and the desire vibrated within you, desperate to be fulfilled, but you ignored it for lips and tongue and Yoongi’s delicate moan slipping into your throat.
He rolled the condom down and knocked more pillows to the ground, positioning himself with one hand and spreading out the fingers of the other on the mattress. Your legs on his shoulders.
“Bet you’re tight.”
The corner of your lips ticked upwards. “Find out.”
He pushed in with force, tipping his head back with a groan, and you felt it too, the rising fullness and desire coiling around him, pulsing, your walls pulling him in deeper. Fingers twisting the sheets, tension up your arms, pushing your hips up and squeezing around his girth. The wave, crashing into you, upon feeling his hardness at that depth, and then he bottomed out, gasping as his hand hit the bed, pinning your thighs between your chests.
Staring down at you with those potent eyes.
Saying nothing, but it was written all over Yoongi’s face.
Suddenly you, too, didn’t want to give up any more.
You breathed out with shaking lips.
Yoongi slid out slightly and pushed in with all his force. The sheets beside your head crumpled and so did the ones under your palms. Fingers clenched into fists, and you pushed back, deeper, gasping, building the rhythm. Full. Hard. Intense. The heat of his breath. The tension over his collarbones and chest, his arms locked. The swarming, sublime sensation compacted by the position. His name slipping from your lips, Yoongi, and his eyes flickered to you, dark roast boiling, and your name in his rough, breathless voice, dream-like.
Surreal.
Your hand snapped up and gripped his forearm.
Panting hard, struggling to breathe.
Tightening around his cock and ramming your hips up, igniting the furious pace. Your nails digging into his muscle, but he set his jaw and fucked you through it, the sharp pain only fuel to the fire, caught up in the moment, bated breath, pleasure radiating through you and to him, drowning in lust, heaven and hell bleeding into the limbo, fucking like demons, your other arm pressed into the mattress for leverage. Harder. The taste of his skin lingering on your lips. His dark eyes slashed in shadows of his lashes, layered darkness that made you burn and clench around him, feeling him fill you up again and again, hard and thick and carnal.
You had fucked many times in your bedroom.
Against the wall. On the floor. Against the bed. On the bed. Your nails down his chest, raking lines of pain. Your nails down his back, crossing the lines, X’s in his eyes when he turned his head to gaze into the mirror, the one witness to your brutal red art on his pale skin. His tongue on your chest, curling around your nipples, sucking hard with his fingers stuffed into your dripping, shivering pussy. His palms pushing your head to his crotch, groaning as you took him deep and tight. Fistfuls of his hair in your hands as his hips slapped into your hips, gasping for air, all of it intense.
So many times.
And none of it like this.
Your clenched around him and Yoongi fucked you harder.
Growling in his throat.
Dark brown orbs simmering, a liquid quality about them despite the hardness of his demeanor and the bite behind his sharp words. Simmering, a calm within despite the mounting lust and wet vicious sound of slapping hips, sensual in the rawness of the rhythm.
In the plethora of choice and timelines, Yoongi had chosen to kiss you back then.
In the limbo of in-between, you had kept going, cultivating those happenings and moments and dark nights of Yoongi’s fingers wrapped around your wrists, staring down at you with those dark roast coffee eyes, too caught up in the moment to speak, resorting to kissing you, not just kiss you but not think about anything else but kissing you. That was his honesty. Human relationships were complicated.
Yoongi never talked to people on his bad days.
But, tonight, he found out that you had felt his nightmares and opened his hand so you could give him your warmth.
He tightened his jaw and pressed your thighs between your torso and his chest, the tendons on his neck standing out, using gravity and lust and physical power to fuck you into your mattress, making the pleasure race in your veins, straining your muscles, the searing heat pooling down, down, wrapping around him in a violent squeeze, your walls shuddering and spilling, sloppy and wet and erotic, involuntary flinches seizing your hips, and you threw your head back, vulnerable throat exposed, scalding moan escaping your trembling lips, heavy and sweet viscous juices sticking to his crotch and thighs.
You let them all go, but Yoongi did not let you go.
You felt his hips buck and the low groan tear out from his lungs, his cock twitching inside you, filling the condom, pressing into you as deep as possible to feel the quiver of your inner walls pulsating around him, and you tightened even more, making him hiss and snarl in warning.
The arm you weren’t gripping moved up and knocked your leg aside.
Yoongi wrapped his hand around your neck and choked you as he orgasmed inside you, savoring the ripples of the aftershocks from your high. Immediate. Forcing you to a bloodless lightheadedness, surging pleasure that electrified, shuddering and clenching around his jerking length, thrown into another high, not as strong but just as euphoric, your moan thin and pinched by his hold.
Yoongi tipped his head back and moaned with you, his black hair falling back, his striking face illuminated by moonlight.
His grip lessening a little and the rush of oxygen make your hips jolt and your pussy convulse, again, tingling sparks racing in your veins and sore muscles. Your hand slipped from his forearm, your body ransacked by narrow inhales of stinging air.
His head arced back, leaning down, down, his hand slipping from your neck, his fingers spreading over your chest. Wisps of black strands brushing against your hot cheeks, and Yoongi kissed you like he was thinking of nothing else.
Impulse.
He breathed in, your scent and sex, deepening the kiss with pressure.
When Yoongi broke the kiss, you opened your eyes to dark liquid orbs, leaving you airless and mute.
“You... Your heart is beating so fast…”
Rough pants, his solid palm to carnal drumbeat.
You stared up at him.
I don’t want to give up any more.
Half-smirk.
“Maybe I like you,” you exhaled with a shudder.
He smiled slyly too.
“Hope so.”
The way he held your face after.
You were looking in the mirror after cleaning up. Wondering what you had done, saying something like that. Not dishonest, but surely complicating this human relationship. Did you mean it or was it all because you were too caught up in the moment? Not a lie and yet…
A shadow came up behind you.
Pale hands sliding over your shoulders, long fingers splayed over your neck, and then they rested, like petals of a lotus flower, framing your jaw and lips. Cool skin, pink knuckles, the scent of familiar woody cologne and sex. Bodies in shadow backlit by the wash of moonlight. Black hair against your ear. Dark roast coffee orbs gazing at your reflection. No, the reflection of your eyes. You understood. You could see it too. Your eyes were guarded.
Barbed wire fence in your stare.
Yoongi lifted his head, flushed pink lips against your ear.
There were a lot of things he could have said to turn this into a drama.
Instead, he just closed his eyes and kissed the curve of your ear.
He pulled you back into the bedroom.
You stopped him, wrapping your fingers around his forearm, and you felt his body shudder against you. A ripple. Tangible, distinct, but you turned your head away from his, not willing to be caught by those liquid eyes. He didn’t have a very strong hold on you. You could break away.
You leaned back against him.
“It seemed like… Seemed like you weren’t having good dreams,” you said to the ceiling.
You held on tight, tangling your pinky in the thin silver chain on his wrist.
For a moment, Yoongi said nothing at all.
Then.
“It’s why I prefer to snooze over sleeping over. You can’t control things like that,” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’ve tried.”
“That’s why you work so much.”
“Well, I would like to make money to follow you to those cool places you want to go.”
“I don’t really like traveling.”
A light push away.
He pulled back.
“I thought so too,” he confessed quietly.
Your other hand rested on his bare hip. You were still staring at the ceiling and holding his forearm as his fingers fanned out over your neck and jaw. Soft, petal-like touches, his palms caressing your collarbones, and you were sure that Yoongi hadn’t intended to fall asleep. Honestly, you thought you would hate this conversation about this feeling you couldn’t feel. Hate it because how unfair it was that people could feel this feeling so truly and genuinely, heaven at their fingertips, and all you had was this honest limbo.
You dug your nails into his hip.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” you whispered.
The hands around your neck tightened.
“It always hurts. That’s how you know you’re alive,” Yoongi murmured into your ear.
Your hand fell from his arm.
Flexed the muscles in your neck, and his grip tightened as your fingers trailed back and down, down, feeling his shivers caused by your nails raking over his ass and your fingertips grazing his skin. It hurt. Of course, it hurt, the thinning of blood and tightness all over. It hurt and still you forced your hand between your bodies, moving the hardness that had been pressing against your ass, and of course it hurt but it also made you feel alive.
“Careful,” he meant to hiss but it came out in a half-gasp when your hand encased him.
Grasped him tight and slid up and down the length, taut and velvety but too dry, and Yoongi jerked behind you, one hand leaving your neck.
“Fuck, stop, wait–”
It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.
Yoongi grabbed your wrist and pulled you off him. Brought your palm to his hot mouth.
He licked your hand, slathering it with his saliva.
You sucked in a breath, feeling his tongue on the lines of sensitive skin, across and all over, drenching, flexible warm muscle painting messy patterns. Memories of that tongue rippled through you – on your neck, on your breasts, on your pussy – but then it stopped when he pushed your hand back down, and you wrapped your slippery grip around his hard cock once more, hearing his groan reverberate in your ear.
You wasted no precious breath nor time.
His hand returned to around your neck.
Your head tipped back, resting against his temple, staring at the ceiling, his hands choking you as you jacked him off, rising heat dancing across your skin and in your veins even without looking into those liquid eyes, and there was nothing else you wanted to think about, just the precise pressure and constant wet slapping sound melding with Yoongi’s vulnerable, contained moans, the sound perfectly audible due to your closeness, and you felt your lips tremble, your thin exhale like hot smoke drifting to the ceiling.
You closed your eyes and you could feel him.
Taut and tense and wanton pleasure burning, searing you and searing him, locking his hips to be at the mercy of your ferocious pace, trusting your instinct as you trusted his hands around your neck. Trickles of oxygen when his grip lessened with every wave of heightened bliss when the pocket of your forefinger and thumb rubbed against the swollen head. Pressing against you, your other hand still gripping his hip, harder, as if he was asking for the bruises. Chosen marks to turn into chosen scars. Your name in his husky, hushed voice, trailing off and losing his thought, not that it mattered because you could feel his body and could tell when he wanted more, faster, tighter, his cock twitching, hot and hard, twisting his body towards you more, his lips in your hair.
Hot breath suspended in overwhelming lust.
“Don’t stop,” he growled lowly, words only for you.
You didn’t.
He clenched his jaw with a grinding of teeth and shoved his hips into your ass. Hot and thick, streaming cum onto the soft curve, down your hip and trickling down. Flinch and sharp jerk, more painting in a smear, his drawn-out moan at the crown of your head, all strength lost from his hands and simply adorning your jaw with his hands, pressing his thumb to your lip to open your mouth, all to feel the warmth of your gasping exhale. Blood shot up to your brain and then you were thrown into that starry lightheaded daze, clutching his half-hard cock still leaking onto your hip.
You couldn’t see anything.
Only felt Yoongi surrounding you, his rough fingertips sliding up to your ear and temple.
Your lips parted.
Shaking.
“L… Lick it… off…”
Your voice on the cusp of fallen autumn leaves, fragile and crumbling.
Heavy.
Inhale.
Exhale right into your hair.
Hands gliding from your neck.
Trembling lips down your shoulder blade. Ghosts of kisses dotting your spine. Boiling blood in your veins, sparks all over from his trailing fingertips, and Yoongi got on his knees next to you. You heard them hit the hardwood. You didn’t move, eyes closed, suspended and entranced by anticipation, and then you felt the tip of his tongue draw an arc on your hip.
You opened your eyes as he drew another arc against your skin.
Warm breath and then the flat of his tongue. Uncontrollable quiver and you gasped softly, feeling and hearing him lick across your skin. Sucking up the cooling cum and replacing it with hot clinging saliva, an addictive prickling sensation racing over your ass and back. Your thigh in his hands, those deft fingers spread out to encircle it in his grasp, holding you still.
You looked down.
Yoongi looked up at you, cocking an eyebrow as he licked his own orgasm off your ass.
Black strands over his forehead and you reached up to brush them away, the tip of your tongue grazing your lower lip, caught by those dark coffee eyes and drinking in that potent feeling, admiring the way the moonlight lit up his fair cheekbones. Held breath. He didn’t look away. Burned the memory into your mind. Up, his kisses hovering over your side and ribs, up, and then you were in Min Yoongi’s shadow, his face tilted down to admire you.
You raised your hand.
He gently covered it with his, bringing it to his chest.
Closer and you breathed in his thin gasp, tasting the strong traces of his orgasm.
“Your heart is… beating so fast…” you mumbled to his shaking lips.
Those liquid eyes.
He closed the distance and kissed you.
Some choices were made by chance, such as falling asleep in the middle of Mr. Nobody. Millions of outcomes from both doing something and doing nothing. Your fingers spread out over his back, adorning his frame with your touch, his strong salty taste slipping onto your tangled tongues, and your eyes closed, maybe afraid to look into those liquid orbs that everyone claimed had a hardness in them, but on this night you knew better.
You broke the kiss.
Yoongi’s hand was twisted into your hair, pulling your head back, trailing swollen lips against your throat.
Gentle kisses to amplify the ache.
“Let’s not fall asleep,” you sighed, digging your nails into his shoulders.
His hand rose and he placed it over one of yours, rubbing your white knuckles. Not pulling your hand away. Rather, pressing it closer, weighted, as if he wanted your hold to stay there.
Yoongi’s lips moved against your skin.
You held onto him firmly, not letting go.
He didn’t make any sound.
You held onto him and then pulled him to the bed, not knowing what he said but knowing all the same, for these rules in this limbo were made by you and Min Yoongi, heaven and hell bleeding into each other to create something new. It took a certain kind of person to walk this thin line. On this night of moonlight washing over tangled bodies, Yoongi made it clear that he was not going to let you walk it alone and he didn’t want to give up any more.
And you.
You, too, didn’t want to give up any more.
--
masterpost
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eyelessfog · 1 year
Text
“You love me,” says a voice Joel doesn’t remember.
He’s alone in this dream, lying down on a cloud and staring up at a bright blue sky. His cloud is the only one he can see, though that may not say much, as he doesn’t think he can manage to sit up and look around.
“I do,” he says aloud. It’s the truth, even if he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. The statement feels right. That’s what matters.
Something brushes against his cheek, and he flinches. He can’t see it, and he doesn’t like things he can’t see, but it’s soft and sweet and gentle with him in a way he doesn’t remember.
“You love me,” the voice says again. “You love me. Why can’t you remember me?”
“I don’t know,” Joel says. He reaches a hand up to press against the face of the voice. He can’t see it, but he can feel the smooth skin under the palm of his hand, cool in a way that humans aren’t, lines and divots along the cheek that remind him of scales.
He has a ring on his finger, he notices.
It’s silver and thin, carved with intricate swirls that remind him almost of waves and whirlpools. He turns his hand to stare at it, and then pauses as his hand is grabbed. The sky itself has taken form, and holds him kindly. A golden ring, less intricate, sits upon its finger.
She, whoever she is, is formless. He can see something like her outline, but he can only focus on certain things at a time, like her hands, or her hair, or the familiar smile that plays on her lips. He can’t remember anything about her, if he tries to think about it, but she is so there, and he’s quite sure he loves her.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I can’t remember you. I’m sorry.”
She smiles, and her teeth are sharp, but she’s so kind anyway, and those teeth will never harm his skin.
“We were never meant to remember, Joel.” She kneels just beside him, and leans against his side. “I was never going to. You know how easy it is for me to forget.” She presses a kiss to his lips, and it tastes like seasalt. “I could never hate you for forgetting me.”
Joel feels something in his chest break. “You forgot me?” He asks. He can hear the crack in his voice, but the idea of her having forgotten - the idea that they might find each other and neither of then would know - it terrifies him.
“Oh, Joel,” she says. She has been a little smaller than him for the duration of their conversation, and it’s so strange to him, who has been at least double the height of nearly everyone he knows for a long, long time.
But then she grows.
She is double his height now, and he breathes in a shaky gasp, because this is how it’s supposed to be. She holds his face in steady hands, and presses a kiss to his forehead, then pulls him up to rest against her.
He’s crying. He can’t see her, but he can feel her, and he’s clenching at the fabric of her dress in fists. She brushes through his hair, and he shudders.
“I should remember you. I have to. I love you.”
“You love me,” she agrees. “That’s what matters. You’ve forgotten me, and you haven’t seen me in all this time, and you love me still. Don’t you think that counts for something?” She squeezes him closer.
“I’m sorry,” Joel says again. And then again, and again, and again, shutting his eyes tight, and continuing on, apologizing over and over.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
And something feels different. Another apology sits heavy on his tongue, but he opens his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom, and he stays silent.
The dream is fading from his memory. But he remembers the sky, and a cloud under his back, and he remembers an apology on his lips. Another phrase waits at the back of his mind, but he doesn’t know what it is.
That’s alright. He’s used to not remembering things.
(Something whispers to him “I love you.”)
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pineapple on pizza
yhhmsgm epilogue
Word Count: 1.3k
series masterlist
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New Year's Day
The pizza shop in your old college town isn’t exactly as you remember it. 
The old movie posters on the exposed-brick walls haven’t changed, and neither has the menu. The steady flow of hungover college students passing through is familiar, as long as you don’t look closely enough to try to recognize any faces. The scratched laminate tables, the vinyl bench seats held together by duct tape and a prayer— all of those, you remember. 
But the girl behind the counter is new. The owner was nearing retirement age when you were a regular here, and when you ask, the girl tells you he only comes in a few times a week these days. It’s not necessarily a bad change; Mr. Esposito was a hard-ass, but when Bucky passes this girl his credit card, she takes a long look at his left hand and throws in an order of breadsticks, on the house. 
This man standing beside you— he’s new, too.
In the back of the restaurant, you and Bucky squeeze into a tiny booth to wait for your food. He hides his hands under the table, but you don’t worry; keeping his hands hidden is more about shyness than shame now. The pizza shop girl isn’t the first to recognize him since you left the compound late last night.
There was the overnight gas station clerk, and the woman behind the front desk of the hotel. Both of them had been completely unaware until Bucky took his hands out of his pockets to pay— and although they offered nothing more than a kind smile and a respectful nod, the recognition made Bucky so tense that he immediately stuffed his hands back in his jacket pockets. After, when he reassured you that he was fine, his tense jaw and the faint electronic whir of his clenched fist told the truth. 
Free breadsticks are great, but they aren’t worth this discomfort that comes from being recognized. If Bucky wants to keep his hands hidden, you understand— and with his hands under the table, no one else in the shop gives him a second look. His face is still all over every cable news channel in the country, but people don’t seem to recognize him when they can’t see that telltale metallic glint. You can’t blame them; who would expect to see the former Winter Soldier on a pizza date in some sleepy college town? Six months ago, you wouldn’t have believed it. 
Hell, you can hardly believe it now. You half expect to wake up any minute now, tangled in your bedsheets with nothing but a hollow ache in your heart to remind you of this dream you’ve conjured. It would be easy enough to imagine him here; you’ve sat at this table hundreds of times before. There were study groups and dinners with friends. A couple of dates, a couple of heartbreaks. Late nights when you didn’t want to be alone, so you would put on your coat and trek a few blocks through the frigid Vermont winter, just to bask in the warmth of strangers’ laughter. 
You sat here alone a few days after you graduated. All of your friends had already left town, ready to move on to their next adventures, but too late, you realized you had nowhere to go. You had no plan. No goals. 
You ate your pizza in tears that night, afraid of what the future held, unsure of what would come next. Mr. Esposito himself brought you free refills all evening, and just before he clocked out for the night, he set an oversized serving of your favorite dessert on the table. The unexpected kindness only made you cry harder; if your hopelessness was so overwhelming that even that cantankerous old man felt sorry for you, you must have been even worse off than you thought. 
Bucky’s knee bumps against yours under the table. It’s a tight fit in that booth, so it was probably an accident— but when you catch his eye, he offers you a sheepish grin.
Things have a funny way of working out.
Bringing his hands above the table, Bucky leans forward and rests his weight on his elbows. You smile; even in public, he’s always trying to be closer to you. He absentmindedly folds and unfolds a straw wrapper, worrying the thin paper in his hands until it begins to fray— his nervous energy is palpable, even though he tries to hide it. It’s only been sixteen hours since the two of you left the compound, and after spending so long stuck in one place, even the most mundane experiences feel brand new. 
Some of them are brand new, of course. 
Bucky adapts so quickly that most of the time it’s easy to forget his experience in the twenty-first century has been anything but ordinary. Filling up the gas tank is nothing new, but it took him a few moments to figure out how to pay with his card— he had only ever used cash while on the run, he explained. And when you asked him to pull into a drive-thru for coffee as the sun came up, he froze while he stared at the bright LED menu, struggling to process the seemingly infinite options. Eventually his uncertain, overwhelmed eyes met yours, and you climbed over his lap to order at the speaker for both of you. 
You got your usual, and two drinks for Bucky— a normal coffee, like you would make him at home, and one of those signature sugary concoctions the chain was famous for. Bucky shook his head while you ordered, staring at you in that exasperated way that you loved, but after trying the drinks he admitted he liked both. 
Maybe if you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t notice those quick moments of anxiety when he comes across something he doesn’t understand. You wouldn’t recognize the panic in his eyes, only there for a moment before he manages to hide it and soldier on. Bucky’s ability to take this changing world in stride never fails to impress you, but deep down, you hope he always looks at you like that. 
You hope he always trusts you enough to show you his weaknesses, no matter how big or small. You hope he never feels like he has to hide things from you. You hope he knows you’re with him, no matter what.
All you want is to take care of him as much as he takes care of you, from now until forever.
You should tell him, you realize. You think he knows, but you should tell him, just in case. 
You open your mouth, but before you can get the words out, Bucky flicks the crumpled-up straw wrapper across the table and hits you square in the jaw. 
You gasp, but when you see his face you can’t even pretend to be outraged, because that grin. Crooked and cocky and trouble if you’ve ever seen it, you love everything about that grin. Especially how easily it comes to him now— because that wasn’t always the case. 
“Oh, you dickhead,” you grumble, too loudly, though you can’t keep the smile off your own face. A few patrons turn to look at the two of you, but Bucky doesn’t mind; he’s still snickering when a waiter appears with your food. Breadsticks and two pizzas to share— one with your favorite toppings, the other with pineapple.
He doesn't know how controversial his choice of toppings is, and you aren’t going to tell him. There are very few things in this world that you’re able to protect him from, but this is one of them.
Bucky Barnes deserves every small joy the world has to offer him, pineapple on pizza included.
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annoyinglandmagazine · 8 months
Text
The Definition of Kinslaying
Summary: In which Celegorm is Absolutely Fine And Not At All Traumatised.
He’s used to it at this point. The dirty looks, the spitting at his feet, the way parents grab their children when they see him coming, the way merchants and barmen refuse to serve him, it’s a blow to the pride of a once loved prince but he accepts it with no retort no matter how much it stings. He would have fought back once, he would have been furious but that flame seems to have finally been quenched, he had just been re embodied for reasons he didn’t fully understand and he didn’t want to jeopardise it so soon. These imbeciles didn’t understand, they couldn’t possibly but he must stay here for those that did. That’s what Amme kept telling him anyway. The imbeciles comment had been an addition of Curvo’s.
So that’s what he said to himself as he walked through the streets of Valinor with his head held up without a hood to cover his silver hair, refusing to hide even if deep down he wanted to. Oh but he wanted to. But he didn’t think he’d be able to look his Atya in the eyes when he got back if he’d finally succumbed to the desire to pretend he wasn’t a son of Feanor, what was meant to be their greatest source of pride. He got the usual murmurs and jeers of ‘kinslayer’ as he tried to get through the crowd that had gathered to reach the one shop that still sold them their essentials.
But as he pushed past one of the elves he met their eyes. A Sindar. He recognised him from Doriath. A rational person would have assumed he had more of a right to that insult than any but Celegorm wasn’t the rational sort. He also never forgot a face and certainly could never forget this one. So he spoke back with a low dangerous tone that hushed the crowd and a wild grin that hadn’t graced his face in many a year, ‘You fucking hypocrite. You go throwing that word around like you didn’t earn it as well. Like I wouldn’t fucking remember what you did.’
The elf laughed mockingly ‘What I did? You can’t actually be serious, you came there to slaughter the lot of us and you have the nerve to try and criticise us for fighting back? You monsters got what you deserved.’ Celegorm clenched and unclenched his fists before replying. ‘When you killed us we deserved it. We brought it onto ourselves and you were justified in killing us. But you still drove your swords spears and arrows into our chests, you still killed us and though we killed more than you and we initiated the conflict I want to hear you admit it was kinslaying.’
The elf spat at his feet and glared at him ‘You aren’t people. Not after all you did. Killing a group of murderous orcs isn’t kinslaying. It was in self defence anyways.’ And that’s it. That’s when the fire that had begun stirring in his veins the minute he’d seen that elf’s face, clean and no longer smeared with blood but the same face and it was all too much but he was not going to get away with that. ‘Self defence. Was it self defence when you drove your sword through my brother’s back? He wasn’t armed, what kind of self defence was that? It wasn’t even defending someone else, he wasn’t fighting. Do you remember what Caranthir was doing? DO YOU?! Or did you not bother remembering the details? After all why would a monster’s death be worth remembering, staying up at night over?’
‘He was cradling Curufin’s corpse! He was wounded but he crawled his way across the floor so he could sooth our little brother’s passage to Mandos! He was a person! He may not have been a good one but he still was one and his death counted! It counted to us! You still fucking killed him!’ It had been the last thing Celegorm had seen before his death other than his assailant. He’d been in the throes of blood lust like he’d never experienced before, his desire for vengeance stronger than it had been at any point in his life the moment he’d seen his Curufin fall back with a clatter that shouldn’t have been audible in the struggle but seemed to ring clear in his head. Because Curufin was his, he always had been, they connected in a way no one really understood since the days of youth when he was a solemn little child who’d only be lifted by Tyelko and Atya.
But while his grief had instantly transferred to rage even in that state he’d glimpsed an image that would be imprinted in his mind from that moment on. Moryo, drenched in blood, breath coming harshly, easing Curvo onto his lap and leaning down to stroke his raven hair back with little repetitive Quenya phrases murmured and gently rocking him in his arms. And it was almost a familiar scene, it could have been the Moryo who used to embroider little flowers onto his tunics as apologies, thank yous or just to say ‘I love you’. The Curvo who’d sit at the foot of his bed to read and offer the occasional sarcastic remark for whole days. Except.
Except, Caranthir’s fingers left streaks of blood smeared on Curufin’s face with every caress, the murmurs were broken off by fits of bloody coughing, Caranthir was sobbing and Curufin’s eyes were glazing over. And then he’d seen him, he’d heard Moryo’s breath stop and seen the expression of shock on his face as his head fell onto Curufin’s breastplate. But he hadn’t had time to get his vengeance because his vision had gone black and he was finally able to join them. He turned on his heel sharply and walked back to Formenos, angrily pushing tears off his cheeks. When did he start crying? They’d probably all seen it to, in a public space with every eye on him. Well never mind his dignity, he needed to go see his brothers. Maybe he wasn’t quite as healed as he’d thought.
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courtingchaos · 6 months
Text
Life Is Good Blues
Professor Munson x Fem Reader
@carolmunson So the old man finally had something to say to me and I think you might find it a little cathartic too maybe?
Life is Good Blues
“There she is.”
You don’t even have the door all the way open before you hear his voice. Normally it’s a welcome surprise when he gets home before you but today you’re talked out. A deep breath and a millisecond pep talk to get yourself through the door without snapping at him when he’s just happy to see you.
“Did you get out early today?” You can’t hide the strain in your voice and you hope you can pass it off on full hands. Ed is already rounding the corner and reaching out for at least one fistful of bags.
“We lost power like six times today so they told us to vacate.” He loops the handles over his forearm and takes the others off you too, turning to head back into the kitchen. He hasn’t caught on yet to your sour mood or the fact that your teeth have been clenched for six solid hours. All you can muster is a little hum and a terse nod, the strain along your neck not easing up like you thought it would when you finally made it back home.
He picks out the bags with groceries in them and peers at you over his glasses when you come into the kitchen behind him. Head bowed and eyes following the wood grain of the flooring you can barely even thinking about making eye contact.
“You okay?” He doesn’t fly into worry mode like everyone else in your life would upon seeing you turn into an automaton.
Are you okay? There’s just…so much to go over. There’s the humming of your brain in the background of every thought process and the god damn job search that rolls through your every waking thought and there’s just the thought of what you need to make for dinner because you’ve just remembered you haven’t eaten a thing today. A grimace accompanied by a short, sharp tap to your forehead. “Just uh, bad brain day.” You suddenly remember you forgot to rinse off the shower after you started cleaning it this morning and those tears that have been hovering in your lash line all day are that much closer to spilling.
“You wanna talk about it?” A simple question asked simply. Ed gets the cold stuff put away and stacks all the dry on the corner of the island so he can turn to look at you, all of you, in your overstimulated glory.
“N-not really.” The tears burn and you really can’t look up at him now.
He slides along the countertop slowly and holds out his hand to you. “You want me to shut up?” He doesn’t touch, finally catching on to where you’re currently teetering. He holds his hand out like an olive branch, a peace offering for you to take so you can ask for help.
“No.” You don’t want him to, you just don’t want to talk anymore. It took you four hours to get out of bed and another four to get any kind of clothes on your body and then two more to finally drag yourself out of the house to run your errands. Food shopping and a quick run to the pharmacy and you’re effectively rendered useless by your brain trying to outsmart itself.
“How’s this sound.” He keeps his hand open but moves in closer, close enough you can feel the heat radiate off of him and suddenly nothing sounds better than letting him prop you up and guide you around. “You let me take care of you and you get to reboot your brain for the evening.” Your hand slides into his seamlessly just like your face that presses into the crook of his neck. If there’s a sob hidden there he ignores it, arms wrapping around your shoulders when you sag into his chest.
“Have you eaten today?”
“No.” You peel off your clothes that you haven’t been able to stand all day and he runs his hand under the spray of the shower head. “I just forgot.”
He doesn’t reprimand you or scoff or laugh, just hums and leans out from the glass partition. “It’s a lobster shower, I hope that’s what you wanted.” The steam rolls up to the ceiling and you can almost feel your neck starting to relax before the water has even hit it. He holds the door open for you with a flourish and a little bow and it makes you smile.
“You want me to leave you alone?”
“No.” The silence would be deafening.
“Okay.” The door clicks shut behind you and his hand pops over the top to hand you one of the rose shower melts he bought you. “I’ll be right back.”
The drone and the heat of the water lull you into something akin to peace and when Ed turns back up it only startles you a little.
“I know you should eat first but I’ll make sure you don’t drown.” The smile is evident in his voice when his hand appears over the door again, this time a wineglass half full being handed down to you. “Go easy, tiger.”
“Thank you Ed.”
“I also brought you a snack.” Another hand, this time holding a few grapes.
“Did you bring me a shower lunchable?”
“Maybe.”
You giggle at him periodically handing you fistfuls of cheese and fruit, making sure to keep your distance from the shower head. He starts talking softly about a new D&D thing he found on Kickstarter, something he thinks you might find interesting.
“It’s Halloween themed, but like D&D Halloween. I backed it, and I got the biggest tier of course, so more dice for you to find around here.”
“At least they’re pretty.”
“And Halloween themed.”
“You’ve mentioned.” You grin at him through the frosted glass and finish off your wine. He takes the glass from you and when the water cuts off he’s ready with a towel held up for you to walk into.
“You feel better?”
“A little bit.” Still quiet when you lean on him, droplets soaking into his grey t-shirt while he dries you off softly. He rubs the towel along your back and finally up to the ends of your hair to scrunch lightly and wring out any extra water.
“Look at me.”
Chin tilted up so he can see your faint smile and tired eyes. He looks so soft in the bathroom lighting, the streaks of grey in his hair glittering warmly. He didn’t put it up and the ends of his curls tickle your cheek where they begin drying, plastered to your skin.
“God you’re pretty.” He pinches your chin between his fingers when you roll your eyes and try to scoff.
“You don’t have to butter me up, Ed. I feel better.”
“I’m doing no such thing.” A finger runs down your temple and pushes back a few strands of wet hair behind your ear. That same finger glides down under the corner of your jaw and he cradles the back of your neck so he can give you kiss. Nothing hurried or tinted with anything other than his simple intent. “I just don’t think I tell you enough.”
“You tell me all the time.” It comes out in a whisper that ghosts over his lips.
“Well it’s still not enough.” Another soft press against your mouth. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Mm.”
“My pretty baby.”
God those tears burn a trail down your freshly washed face. Hotter than the steam that beat against your back, like they’ve been trapped in the tumultuous core of you all day. You didn’t want to have this breakdown but it seems it’s going to have you no matter what you wish. Ed’s voice soothes in your ear when he feels that first shudder rumble through you and he pulls you in closer.
“I’m sorry baby.”
Nothing but half formed sobs answer him while you finally let the pressure valve of the past however many weeks or months release.
“I know, I know.”
He gathers you up so you’re fully covered in the extra long towel, angling you towards the bedroom so he can sit you down on the edge of the bed. You cling to his shirt and to his arms and babble against his chest about ruining the night. You try to explain to him what the chaos in your head feels like when you slide into these moods. A blank slate for the world to see so you can have your whitecaps to yourself, the churning grey waters that try to pull you all the way down.
“Eddie I’m tired.” You hiccup when the tears finally slow. “I’m tired and I don’t know why.” You can hear the whine in your voice and it makes your skin crawl. “I don’t know if there’s enough sleep for this.”
He’s silent now when you want him to fill the void so desperately. You need him to talk about his job or his music or one of his hobbies, anything to keep you from thinking-
His slippers hit the ground with a smack that jolts you out of the dread spiral, his hands under your arms pulling you up the bed also pull you out of those crashing waves.
“I see you.” He says while he pulls the duvet up over the two of you.
“The bathroom light is still on.”
He shushes you. “I see you struggling all the time and I try so hard to let you do stuff on your own.”
“Eddie I need to do my face stuff-”
He cuts you off when he drops the bedding over your heads and yanks you in close. “And I think I’m pretty good at that.” He settles on his side of the bed and makes sure you’re anchored to him. “But you really need to understand something.”
“What.” Muffled into his chest and you can feel the short laugh rumble under your lips.
“I’m gonna help you when I can because I want to, not because I have to. I see you trying and I see you trying hard and you’re gonna have days like this.”
You huff to try and fight back against the new onslaught of tears.
“And I’m gonna hold out my hand and you’re gonna take the damn thing and let me feed you in the shower.”
“Ed, I can’t-“
“I know you can’t and that’s okay.” He hooks his leg over one of yours to tuck you even closer. “It’s okay.” His hands run over your back and calm you down so your tears only trickle instead of stream. “It’s okay.”
It’s dark under the covers, warm and a little damp only because of your hair and towel. He doesn’t mind so you don’t mind, especially when he tucks you up under his jaw like this.
“You mean it?” Still quiet when you ask. He means it like he always does but still you have to ask, have to make sure.
And he knows, of course he does. Another kiss to your hair and a whisper only for you.
“Of course I do.”
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poursomesunaonme · 2 years
Text
savor (sequel to friends, just friends)
pairing: eren x fem!reader
summary: eren struggles to keep his feelings for you under control, but your seemingly new relationship makes it impossible.
wc: 4.3k
cw: nsfw, minors dni (only 18+ allowed to interact, please have age in your bio/easily accessible on your blog), jealous eren misreads a situation of course, incredibly emo simpage coming from an angry jealous man child, heavy sprinkle of angst, a little verbal fight, a foot fetish by accident ?, a little biting, oral (fem receiving), marking, use of “baby,” vaginal fingering, teasing, pussyjob, sex without condom, the L word, creampie, incredibly soft sex <333
a/n: been in the works a little too long, but i hope u lovely people enjoy <33 as always, reblogs/comments/asks are always appreciated. shoutout to my lovely @mitsuyuhhh and @bimboboobafina for being the best betas and making me giggle with ur comments <333
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the stream of people push past eren as they exit the classroom. his eyes search the crowd, only focused on finding you despite the bodies winding around him. earlier that day, he had agreed to walk you home since mikasa was home sick and she would usually accompany you back to your shared apartment. just a favor. isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?
the events that occurred earlier in the day quickly made him regret his decision, however. he can’t help but clench his fists as he remembers. since he didn’t have class, eren’s plan was to study in a coffee shop for the morning before meeting you. he had even decided to pick you up a treat before he left. it wasn’t very often that he would do things like that for you, but he had been feeling a bit nicer lately. after all, isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?
maybe you weren’t friends after all; because if anything, that morning, eren came to realize that what friends don’t do is keep secrets from each other. surely, that guy that you had been with in the café when he arrived was just some other friend that you had completely forgotten to tell him about. surely, eren was just overthinking a meeting between two acquaintances.
a meeting between two acquaintances that touch each other so familiarly. he remembers how you spoke with him. how you laughed almost every time his lips moved. how your eyes sparkled like you were in love. it was so obvious, even through the tinted window.
no, it couldn’t have been just a friend. eren tries to swallow past the lump in his throat to no avail.
no matter how hard eren tries to convince himself, it was blatantly obvious that you had acquired some kind of friend, just from what he had see . your touch had lingered on his arm. that sight lingers still in eren’s mind. it was the kind of touch you used to give him.
he refuses to admit it to himself, refuses to accept the reality that your relationship is on the verge of switching into another phase of the cycle, the one where you don’t hook up for a few weeks because you’re seeing other people. the one where you choke down the pill that your meetings are finite, that your feelings aren’t as strong as you want them to be.
however, both of you know that it isn’t true. your feelings are strong enough. it’s the lack of courage that buries those feelings so deep that you suffer as you watch the other find another hookup.
eren thinks that maybe he could text his previous girl, the one that he was seeing before the two of you left the movie night at jean’s to get together. yeah, he could find solace between her legs like he usually does, pretending that some mediocre hookup is as good as something with you that could basically make him cum on the spot just thinking about it.
no.
because eren dwells on how you looked with that other guy. and if he hates to admit that you were seeing him romantically, there’s something about it that he hates to admit infinitely more.
that he wants it to be him.
he hears you call his name and you meet his gaze with a bright smile, jogging up to him. he can’t help the soft smile that rises to his lips when you greet him cheerfully, hair falling from the style you had put it in to keep it out of your face while you paid attention during lecture.
however, when you adjust your bag on your shoulder and mention the fact that you’re craving a treat even though you already had one when you went to the cafe that morning, he can’t stop himself from picturing the scene that boils his blood. he doesn’t want to seem like a dick, but he can’t exactly forget it either. so he turns away and starts to walk briskly towards your apartment, ignoring your teasing about how mad he looks.
he wants to be kind, he really does, but he knows that until he can own up to his feelings, he’s just gonna be a jealous bystander for the rest of his miserable existence.
you seemed so happy with that other guy.
you look miserable when he shifts his gaze over to you.
maybe it’s for the best. but only for you.
because unfortunately for him, you’re on eren’s mind constantly. you’re all he can think and breathe. every night, he’s rolled over on his stomach, scrolling through your social media like he’s absolutely fucking whipped. he knows he is.
every thought has some tie to you, always leads to you. every conversation that he has with anyone else ends up with your name in it. every time he passes a store, he always finds something that he thinks you would like. everything reminds him of you. it’s only a matter of time that he can ignore it, let it go unspoken.
what he braces for more, however, is the next time he sees that guy, maybe even in the pictures on your social media that he’s constantly looking at.
thankfully, for the next two weeks, it doesn’t come.
but the feelings that he has for you stay the same. in fact, they swell up bigger and bigger with each passing day.
you shouldn’t have such a hold on him when he was the one that insisted on staying friends with benefits. he knows that it’s basically impossible for such a relationship to evolve into something more. but he can’t exactly admit to himself that made a home in his heart the second he laid eyes on you.
he knows that trying to prolong a shallow relationship is a mistake. he knows he’s scared.
and that’s exactly why he breaks, why he’s banging on your door, why there’s an outgoing call from his phone to yours in case you’re not home. but you hear him like he’s someone trying to break into your house.
you open the door, eyes wide with fear, but you soften when you see him. “eren, what the fuck is going on with you?”
“i… uh…” his mouth goes dry when the opportunity to confess to you is finally granted. you still, seeing a strange expression on his face, one that you’ve seen before but don’t quite understand. eren shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath before leaning to the side to peer around the door to see if anyone else is around.
his heart falls when he sees that guy sitting in your living room, watching the scene unfold from behind his laptop.
eren’s whole world whirls upside down. his heart shatters.
you watch it happen - watch his face fall, the corners of his mouth turn into a frown, his eyes shimmer.
eren knows that it should be him. he should be the one lounging on your couch, the one that stays in your bed till the morning. it should be eren’s hands holding yours, eren’s lips on yours, eren’s body entangled with yours. it should be eren’s heart in your hands.
“eren, we’re just studying,” you say preemptively, taking a step forward to push him out of the door, to isolate him, before he does something he’ll regret. but he puts a hand on your shoulder, stilling you.
“get out.”
the man on the couch hesitates, closing his laptop in case he needs to defend himself or even you from the crazy man in the doorway.
“get out.” eren’s repetition doesn’t go unanswered this time.
the man gets up, starting to put his laptop in his backpack, ever so slowly as to not incense eren further. “look man, i don’t want any trouble.”
“did you hear me?” eren shoves past you, shoulder hitting you like a brick wall. your mouth is dry and you try to ignore the pounding in your heart as eren towers over your poor friend.
“sorry,” he murmurs, packing the rest of his things and dashing out of the door before eren can utter another syllable.
“who’s that?” eren turns to you. your fists ball at your sides. anger boils up within you. his demeanor had changed so quickly when he had faced you. his entire body had relaxed.
“what’s your fucking problem, eren?” you yell, pushing against his chest with your hands. you barely move him an inch. “he’s a friend from one of my classes. i’ve been falling behind recently and he’s been helping me study to catch up.”
his heart skips a beat, the realization of the misread situation hitting him like a bag of bricks. the adrenaline racing through his veins begins to wane, leaving him embarrassed and ashamed. he lowers his head, avoiding your gaze.
“so…” eren trails off awkwardly, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “he’s not your boyfriend?”
you laugh past the frustrated tears that gather in the corners of your eyes. “no, dummy.”
the two of you stand together for a moment, in silence. your gazes find each other easily. he wants to ask if you can feel the industrial grade magnet that draws him to gravitate towards you.
instead, he doesn’t say anything, as usual. you take him by the hand and lead him to the couch. you sit down, patting the seat. eren doesn’t make a move to join you. he tucks his chin to his chest, hiding his face.
“are you okay?” you ask.
no, eren is not okay. he feels so dumb, like he’s never had a thought in his life. he wants to tell you that everything he’s ever wanted has been right in front of him the entire time. he wants to tell you how much of a coward he’s been since he’s known you, ever since mikasa invited you to the friend group from one of her classes. he wants to tell you that it’s always been you, no matter how many times he tried to drown his feelings in between other girls’ legs.
the man who stands so tall suddenly feels smaller than an ant. his knees buckle and he crumbles down in tears at how deplorable he seems. the feelings overwhelm him in too great a number, spurred by something he can’t fathom. if it’s anything, it’s you. he can’t help but soften into a pool of mush when it’s just you. you make him feel so much no matter how hard he tries to stifle those emotions. but even so, it happens often, how he lets his heart get the best of him when he’s ruminating by himself. but here, all that negativity gets beaten away by your soft hands.
it’s not just helplessness and guilt over cowardice - it’s how the fury at that other guy fades at an alarming rate when eren clutches at your thighs to steady himself. he needs something to blame his inactiveness for, but there’s something about you that brings brutal honesty and clarity to his tumultuous emotions. sure, he can be mad on his own, but he can’t ever stay mad when he’s with you. his hands may itch to beat in the face of whatever guy you choose to associate with, but he couldn’t ever think of hurting you. even though that’s all he’s ever done. maybe that would be the next excuse he makes up for not asking to make you his.
seeing him fall apart, you lift yourself off the couch, settling down on the floor next to him. he basically falls into your chest, hands grasping at your arms as you wrap him into a tender embrace. he shakes against you. it’s almost scary to see him like this. so helpless.
eren allows himself to melt into you.
your body is warm. you smell like you always do. he can hear your heartbeat directly in his ear and he wishes with all his might that it beats for him and only him.
he buries his head in your chest, pulling you closer and closer before he gets so intoxicated on the contact that he can’t help the words from spilling out of his mouth.
“i don’t want to see you with anyone else anymore.”
your heart skips a beat. you know he feels it. your hands begin to shake. but you steel your resolve and bite back a laugh when you take his cheeks in your palms and lift his head to face you. “eren, what’re you-”
“i can’t fucking do this anymore!,” he nearly shouts. “i want you. i want to be with you. please.”
you think you might catch flies with how your jaw hangs slack. but there’s a tenderness in which you suddenly feel you need to treat him. you brush a stray strand of hair out of his face, gently trailing a finger down his cheek. he shudders at the contact. “eren, i-”
he holds up a hand to stop you. “just - don’t say anything. it’s okay if you don’t agree. i’ve just felt this way for a while. i - god - it’s been unbearable seeing you around with him and i just-”
your lips cut him off. the kiss is like magic. you’re soft and warm and he smiles when your arms wrap around him again. you pull him closer and closer until your bodies may as well be considered conjoined.
the next thing you know, his arms tangle around you. he lifts you up, stumbling over couches to fumble for the door handle to your room.
the two of you don’t even make it to the bed before a knock rings out.
“a little warning would be nice next time!” mikasa yells through the door. you and eren pull back and share a laugh as you listen to her and armin’s retreating footsteps. you sigh with relief when the front door closes, leaving the two of you alone for some long-awaited privacy.
eren doesn’t hesitate to meet your lips again. the kisses are soft, but you can feel the desperation behind them. you feel the desire that eren has for you, all those emotions that had been pent up for so long that he’s kept bottled down for months and months upon end.
when he undresses you, it’s slow, deliberate. he gently pushes you onto the bed with a sly smile, one that says “i’ve finally got what i want and i’m going to savor it.” his lips trail over your hands, your forearms, your biceps, your shoulders. he takes off your shirt and unclasps your bra. he kisses your neck, your collarbones, your décollatage. he takes off your shorts and kisses down your stomach, your legs, all the way to your feet.
trailing his lips back up your legs, he spreads them, marveling at how the feast is laid out just for him. he presses a long, tender kiss to your clit.
you shudder before pulling yourself away and scrambling over the bed to lay yourself across the pillows, allowing eren to join you on the bed instead of kneeling on the floor. he smiles up at you, tying his hair up into a bun before wrapping his arms around your thighs. his lips ghost along the sensitive skin, pressing soft kisses and gentle nips to it like he owns it.
he takes his sweet time, letting his mouth cover every inch of your inner thighs before marveling at your cunt. he nearly busts in his pants when his tongue trails over your leaking slit, drooling over just how delicious you are. he groans at the taste of you.
your legs close around his head. the bottoms of your feet skim over the muscles of his back. he doesn’t move an inch closer and it drives you insane, his breath is hot and heavy against your pussy.
“i want you, eren,” you whisper, tangling your fingers in his hair. it’s maddening, how the only pressure you feel is hot air when all you want is him. “i want you and only you.”
“say it again.”
“what?” your heart skips a beat.
“my name.”
“er-eren!” the one whispered syllable becomes a desperate plea when his lips close around your clit. he sucks on the throbbing bud, right where you need him. you melt on his tongue like a pad of butter.
while eren gorges himself on the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, you pull him closer by the hair. the smooth locks easily tumble from the elastic and leave you to brush them back out of his face so they don’t get in the way of him pleasuring you.
when they aren’t rounding to accommodate your pulsating bundle of nerves, his lips curl into a sly grin at his name pouring from your lips. as if he was the one receiving, deep, throaty moans rumble through your core and across your sensitive inner thighs.
a few times, he comes up for air. at the sight of you toying with your perky nipples, his green eyes light with a carnal flame of desire. he’s determined to touch, to kiss, to nip every inch of your skin - so by the time he catches his breath before diving face first into your pussy again, your upper thighs are covered in sweet little bite marks and hickeys.
before you can utter another syllable of his name, two fingers slide into your soaking cunt. your thighs thrash around his head, threatening to crush it before you can experience the fulfilling high of being with someone who finally knows how you feel, and vice versa. eren merely laughs, encircling a thigh with a free hand and gently prying it off of him so that he has more free range to ravish your cunt.
his breath is hot, lips sticky, a shimmery sheen adorning the lower half of his face. you can never, ever get accustomed to the sight of him nestled so comfortably between your legs. it’s so natural, it’s like he’s born to do it.
after fumbling around your tongue that had become lead in the approach of climax, you finally whine out his name as those blissful waves of pleasure take over your body. eren groans into your pussy, exponentially increasing your high. your legs tremble against his shoulders, toes curling as you press your feet into his back to bring him closer. he’s mumbling something you can’t quite understand with his mouth full; you can only imagine that it’s the sweetest praise for his sweetest love.
when he finally eats his fill, he flashes you a bright smile before slinking up your body to reach your lips. trailing kisses all the way up your stomach, your breasts, your collarbones, your neck, your jaw, you think you might die before he reaches your mouth. the sweet taste of you is still on his lips when he finally presses them to yours.
you moan against him, at the feeling of him lining himself up with you. he teases you relentlessly, sliding the tip in between your folds to lube him up before he truly makes love to you. your name falls off his lips like a prayer, having him nearly shaking when he hadn’t even pushed in yet.
his hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek as he beholds your face, your mouth ajar in anticipation of moaning when he sinks into you.
“you ready?” he breathes. you nod, biting your lip before he shifts forward. the stretch of the tight ring of muscles begs your eyes rolling back into your head, but you’re too entranced by eren to obey. his jaw muscles tighten before his mouth hangs open in a shaky breath, eyebrows furrowing. you’re sure that your face mirrors his. you gaze at each other for the first few initial thrusts before your lips collide.
there’s nothing that beats the feeling of him softly groaning into your mouth, his slow, deep strokes reaching places that they previously never had. your legs wrap around him almost immediately, locking him in close proximity so that he won’t leave too soon. something deep in you reminds you that he won’t, however.
every few moments, eren pulls back to take in the sight of you, hair splayed across the pillows, lips throbbing and covered in spit - and he finds that you’re the most beautiful creature that has ever graced the earth. he can’t help but smile back at your gentle grins before diving in to taste you once again.
“tell me…” he starts after hesitating for a moment. one of his hands cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek before it travels down your body, slowly tracing a pattern that draws gooseflesh on your skin. his lustful eyes grow lucid, just for a second. “tell me that nobody touches you like me.”
“‘ren, c’mon,” you tease, but after finding that his serious expression doesn’t fade, you give in. it’s your turn to cup his face, to brush back the strands of hair that fall into it. “nobody touches me like you, eren.”
“now - fuck - now…” his thrusts falter for a moment, but continue. “tell me that nobody fucks you like i do.”
you let out a slight grin, starting to trail your nails over his biceps, his chest. “nobody, not a single person, fucks me like you do, eren.”
as if to emphasize your point, you pull him in, pull him impossibly deeper. sparked by your validation, he picks up the pace faster than he had gone the entire night, hammering into your hips. he doesn’t lean down to your lips, entranced by the way your tits bounce in response to his hips slamming into yours. your moans are music to his ears and have gotten him impossibly hard.
“talk to me,” he whimpers, stooping to close his lips around the soft skin of your neck. you recoil against the low, ticklish vibrations scattering along your nerves.
there are so many things to say, so many events, feelings to process, facts to establish. but if there’s anything that you’re sure of in this moment, in the moment where eren’s thrusts hit deeper and deeper with each rotation, in the moment where there is literally no other place you would rather be, all you can say is
“i want you.” your exhale is just barely enunciated. the infinite thoughts dedicated to the man plowing into your hips are just too much to bear, too much to articulate, besides
“i need you.” it’s deprived, desperate, punctuated by your fingers tangling into his hair, by his twitching in your gushing warmth. it’s lewd, the moans that follow, the ones that he swallows as his lips meet yours, before
“i love you.”
he gasps in the minute pause that he had allowed you before his lips meet yours again. if there’s anything about eren, it’s that he seems so vast to you. he had already surrounded you, was everything you tasted, touched, smelled - and now, he seems to have expanded infinitely. he envelopes your entire heart, your entire being.
it’s as if god himself reached down and touched your heart, igniting it into a brilliant blaze. his fingers laced with yours on either side of your head, effectively pinning you under his love.
the darkness hums around the both of you with an unspoken energy, waiting for eren to acknowledge verbally what you had just unleashed onto him. he doesn’t say anything, at least for a few seconds that drag onto years.
maybe it’s a mistake ruining the relationship that you pursue with him. is it sustainable? absolutely not. will it last forever? as is, no.
could you go on another second without telling him? you prefer death.
in the midst of your dissonance, eren’s kiss on your searing forehead is the cooling rag that breaks your fever.
“i love you.” the whisper is shaky, scared, but you understand. there’s a dark pit of unknown splayed out in front of the two of you, something that you hadn’t been able to come to terms with over the last countless months.
however, as his thrusts change in accord with his expression, becoming more passionate, traveling deeper, as his hands envelop and tighten around your own, your fear dissipates. there’s nothing to worry about, nothing standing in the way of your and eren’s happiness. it’s stupid, really, how long it took for the two of you to swallow your pride and confess. but now that the words have been spoken, there’s no doubt in your minds that you hold each other's hearts.
in the flurry before the sex began, eren didn’t have the brainpower to consider a condom. you had known that he wasn’t wearing one. you find it funny that it seems like an afterthought now. the conversation you had with him at the last hookup rang in your mind.
“cum inside,” you whimper, holding eren’s face in the crook of your shoulder. he moans at the phrase, nearly finishes at the thought of filling you up, the white substance leaking out of you. “make me yours… cum inside. please, ‘ren.”
he fumbles with his words, head so hazy that he can barely think straight. “c’mon baby, be mine. be my girl. love you so much ‘n want you to be mine.”
“‘mkay,” you whisper, smiling at him as he pulls back to kiss you again. each thrust earns a heavy groan as the two of you draw closer and closer to finishing.
when his cock twitches a final time and you begin to feel double the warmth from his climax and your own bliss, those three words leave your mouth only to be immediately devoured by eren’s and returned tenfold.
the exchange of “i love you” continues further and further into the night, past each high, past each rest, past each kiss, touch, breath.
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lucienarcheron · 9 months
Text
My Remedy [Nessian]
Prompt: Cassian helping Nesta overcome her fear of the bathtub. | Soft Nessian is my favorite kind of Nessian. | Originally posted on 01.31.2018
Genre: Fluff Rating: SFW
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Nesta stared down grimly at the empty bathtub. She did not want to take a bath. She was perfectly fine with her damn bucket but someone wouldn’t stop nagging her about it.
“Time to face those fears, young lady.”
She rolled her eyes and then glowered at him.
“I don’t want to.”
“You were able to sit in there for a little bit every day this past week.” Cassian replied. “Let’s try that with more water this time.”
Nesta frowned, her fingertips tracing the edge of the tub. “I don’t want to.” she mumbled again and Cassian gave her a look.
“Nes.” he started, pulling her against him and interlacing their fingers. “You need to push those fears. You can’t let it control you. You told me to help you. I’m here to help you. You can do this. You’ve been doing it. It’s going to be fine.”
Her eyes locked on their interlaced fingers and she pursed her lips. He was right, of course.
She just had to have those eight shots of vodka and just had to open her big fat mouth about the damn bathtub thing. She just had to make him promise to help her get over it. Her eyes followed the matching tattoos that laced both their hands down to their forearms. What an idiotic way to seal a bargain. And it wouldn’t go away until they fulfilled it. So here they were.
“I’ll have to be naked.”
“That is generally how one takes a bath, yes.” Cassian said and the smirk that followed had her glaring at him. “But seeing as you’ve been wearing something each time you sat in here, I didn’t think you remembered that.”
“I don’t want to be naked with you.”
“Now now, no need to lie, sweetheart. You said very different things on that eventful drunken night of yours.”
She groaned and he laughed, bringing a hand up to lift her chin and meet her gaze.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll wait outside. We’ll only put a little bit more water than last time and I’ll wait until you need me.”
Nesta’s face paled and the grip on his hand tightened. “No. I don’t want you to be outside.”
“Then I’ll be here with you and you can wear something you don’t mind getting wet.”
Nesta swallowed then frowned. She loved him. Getting naked shouldn’t be a problem, right? She actually hated sitting in wet clothing but the prospect of being completely bare in front of him…
There had been a lot of touching here and there, hands had slipped under dresses and shirts. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what would be underneath her clothes. He’d certainly felt her up enough.
But this was too many vulnerabilities in one situation.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” he said quietly and she met his gaze.
“Why are you so nosy?”
He snorted. “You are my business. It’s not being nosy when it’s my business.”
“You think everything is your business.” she grumbled and he grinned.
“Everything about you is definitely my business. Mate.”
She squinted at him even though her heart leaped at the word. Nesta had been very hesitant about the mating bond even though they both knew it was there. They had talked about it at length and had reached a point they were both comfortable with....but still. Mates or not, they had chosen each other.
“Nesta.”
She hated when he said her name like that. All soft and caring and loving. It always made her melt for him. She glanced at him and he gave her an encouraging smile in return.
“I’m thinking...that I love you.” she mumbled. “And getting naked shouldn’t be a problem.”
He gave her a soft smile. “I love you too. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Nes. Get one of your sleeping gowns. That should work fine.”
“I was in a sleeping gown when I went into that stupid cauldron.” she grumbled and her fists clenched. Cassian leaned in and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.
“That may be true but there is no cauldron here. It’s just you and me and some water in a bathtub.” he said slowly, reassuringly. “Nice, calm, safe water. You will be fine.”
Nesta scowled though her heart was thundering. She felt so weak and she hated it. She hated this fear. She hated that it was taking so long to get over it.
“Are you going to start petting the bathtub and telling me how nice and calm that is too?” she asked with a quirked brow. Cassian grinned then on cue, let his hand pet the edge of the tub.
“Nice bathtub. Safe bathtub.”
Nesta shook her head, trying but failing to hold back a chuckle. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet, you wouldn’t have me any other way.” he said with a wink and Nesta snorted, despite the small smile on her lips. He planted a kiss on her cheek then moved around her, wings tucked in tight so as not to knock anything over, and he opened the water to start filling the tub. She watched him, her heart warming incredibly as he moved about.
Sometimes, when he slept beside her at night, she marveled at how they had gotten this far. At how this annoying, bat-like person had wormed his way into her icy-cold heart. Gods, it terrified her at times. But then he smiled at her and her stupid heart did flip-flops, making it all okay. She used to think that love was such an idiotic concept and yet, it was the best thing she had ever felt.
“Nes?”
He was waving a bottle in her face and Nesta blinked, realizing he had been talking to her.
“Hm?”
“You alright?” he asked, brows furrowed and she nodded.
“I was just thinking.”
“I know it’s hard to resist thinking about me naked, Nes but keep your dress on. I feel like I need to call Az for protection.” Cassian scoffed dramatically and Nesta rolled her eyes.
“I’m going to kick you out if you don’t stop.”
“I don’t think you can resist how magnificent my ass is going to look when I casually bend down to close the water.” he replied with a grin and did exactly so. “Are you watching, Nesta? I’m casually bending.”
Her lips twitched and Nesta tried so hard not laugh when he looked over his shoulder, exaggerating his pose but she failed, her laughter ringing throughout the room. Cassian chuckled as he straightened then leaned in for a kiss, back to holding a bottle up.
“Want to add bubbles? It’ll make it relaxing.”
Her eyes finally flickered back to the tub, momentarily forgotten in their conversation and the laugh died in her throat.
“I don’t know.”
“Hey...look at me.” Cassian said softly, gently guiding her chin so that their eyes met. “I am right here.”
Nesta swallowed and then she asked him a question she had been very hesitant to ask before. “Will you sit in there with me?” she asked quietly and Cassian blinked, then gave her a soft smile.
“Of course.”
She watched him slip off his shirt and her anxiety calmed. He was here, she could do this. Nesta turned and slipped off her dress, a little slowly, hesitantly.  During these previous bathing sessions, Feyre had given her a swimsuit and so she didn’t feel as self-conscious as before. But today, she hadn’t anticipated this forced bathing session so she was wearing a matching bralette and panties set that were very different to the swimsuit.
Judging by the noise that had escaped from Cassian, he seemed to agree and Nesta flushed.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“A warning would’ve been nice.”
“It isn’t any different.” she insisted which was a lie, she knew it was different. Which was why Nesta refused to face him.
“Forget how nice my ass looks, your ass is the magnificent one, Nes.”
She turned to find him smirking and she glared at him. “You’re a pig.”
“That you love.”
“I hate pigs.”
“Impossible since I’m your favorite.”
“Cassian.”
“Nesta.”
“You’re being irritating.”
“I could do this all day.” he replied, giving her a grin and Nesta was ready to launch herself at him. “But, the water is going to get cold and while you were giving me a strip tease, I remembered to add the bubbles. Let’s not waste this nice opportunity.”
She finally noticed how he was standing in nothing but his boxer shorts and Nesta was satisfied to see that indeed, she was leaving more of an impact on him than she had anticipated.
“You go in first.” she said, her eyes on the steaming water filled way past what she was used to and with bubbles covering most of it. Cassian slowly stepped in and sank down with an exaggerated enough sigh that Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She watched him settle back, resting against the tub and then he gave her a smile that made her fight against the hesitation she felt.
“Come on, Nes. I’m fine. You’ll be fine too.”
“It’s deeper than before.” she mumbled, nearing the tub. She knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She trusted him enough. It was a matter of getting it over with at this point.
“That’s true. But you can do it. I’m right here if you need me.” he replied with a smile.
Nesta slowly let her fingers dip into the hot water and she watched the bubbles spread around. It couldn’t be so bad. This was different. She was different. Nesta hesitated once more and her eyes flickered to Cassian. His nod was all she needed, he was right there. Nothing bad would happen to her.
Biting her lip, Nesta slowly climbed into the tub and stood for a few minutes, watching the bubbles move gently. Of course, Rhys would make tubs this huge just so he and Feyre could fuck around in them. She scowled then swallowed. It was fine. It was completely fine that the water reached this high while she was standing.
“How high will the water reach when I sit down?” she asked, her voice strained and Cassian immediately moved forward, reaching out his hand.
“Doesn’t matter, your head is always above the water. Look at me.”
Nesta turned her head to meet his gaze and he gave her an encouraging smile.
“See where the water reaches me? It won’t go past there. You’ll always be above the water.”
“Above the water.” she repeated quietly, her hands locked at her sides.
“Yes.” Cassian confirmed again then reached out and gently tugged on her hand. “Come, sit down with me. I won’t let go of your hand.”
Nesta swallowed again then slowly, clenching Cassian’s hand as tightly as she could manage, she sank down into the tub.
“Cassian.” she choked out, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip. This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t have listened to him. This was going to be a terrible, terrible thing —
“I am right here.” he said calmly, pulling her body against his in the water. She had sat, braced on her knees, one hand still gripping his and the other gripping the edge of the bathtub. “Take a deep breath, Nesta. Everything’s fine.”
Nesta did as she was told, taking a deep breath and then blinked, glancing around her at the pool of water with bubbles surrounding them. The water was steady. Nothing was pulling her down and she felt the firm bottom of the tub. The water reached a little bit below her shoulder. She was fine.
“I’m fine.” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“The water is fine.”
“Feels quite nice, actually.” Cassian replied, his tone humorous but his eyes never wavered off her for a moment. Nesta’s gaze flickered to her hand that was firmly locked in his and then to the other, firmly gripping the tub. Slowly, very hesitantly, she moved the hand gripping the edge of the tub closer to where it met Cassian’s shoulder and then she let go, quickly moving her hand to grip his shoulder instead, feeling his warmth.
She felt Cassian watching her as she pursed her lips, her eyes firmly on the hand gripping his shoulder. Her heart was still beating wildly despite the reassurance of having him there. But here she was, sitting in a tub filled with water and bubbles and a large Illyrian.
“You’re right here.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You won’t go?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Not unless you want me to.”
“I don’t.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.”
Nesta met Cassian’s gaze as his hand reached out to brush her hair to the side and he leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her shoulder.  She flushed. And Nesta Archeron didn’t flush.
“Are you using your Fae magic on me?” she asked quietly, taking a jab at that one moment between them long ago when his lips had first gotten a taste of her neck.
Cassian chuckled as Nesta slowly let go of his hand and placed it on his other shoulder instead.
“You tell me, Nesta. Am I?” he replied, his hands coming to firmly grip her waist and pull her closer to him. She settled on his lap, straddling him, less scandalized to be in this position than she expected. Nesta leaned in to rest against his chest, her head tilting up slightly so her eyes would find his.
“I should be able to do this on my own.” she whispered to him but Cassian only curled a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
“You can do it on your own. Doesn’t mean you have to.” he replied simply.
“You can’t always be here to do this with me.” she argued and Cassian only gave her a smile as his finger slid up her arm to her bralette strap and he gently pushed it down.
“Actually, I can. We can make it a thing we do. Take bubble baths together.” he said and leaned in, kissing her shoulder again and she let him. She let him and let her eyes flutter shut when his kisses moved from her shoulder to her neck. Nesta let him, as his tongue darted out to taste the sweet spot higher up on her neck. She let him, as he sucked gently, causing her fingers to dig into his shoulder and a rush of air to escape her lips.
“You’re doing it again.” she whispered when his hands slid up from her waist, gently massaging her sides and back.
“Doing what?” he asked quietly, his fingers sliding just underneath the bralette she was really despising at the moment.
“Using your Fae magic to distract me.” Nesta replied and he laughed, his lips finally coming up to place a kiss on hers.
“I must be so powerful to be able to use any kind of magic on the mighty Nesta Archeron.” he teased and she chuckled, leaning her head back to place a soft kiss on his neck.
“Are you going to tell me it’s some magic called love next?” Nesta replied, wrinkling her nose, feigning disgust and Cassian laughed again, leaning in to kiss said nose.
“No magic needed to get you to fall for my charms, sweetheart.” he replied with a grin and she rolled her eyes.
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
“Does putting bubbles on your head count as ruining the moment?”
Nesta paused. She had almost forgotten that she’d been sitting in the bathtub for this long. Her hands weren’t gripping him as tightly as before. Her body felt relaxed.
She was okay. She was safe.
Nesta locked eyes with Cassian and her heart felt so full. This was only a start but it was something she could work with. She’d found a remedy.
“As long as I get to give you a bubble beard in return.”
Cassian laughed then leaned in, his lips locking on hers and she returned the kiss with as much fever as she could muster.
If this was how her baths were going to be from now on, Nesta found that she didn’t mind sitting in a bathtub at all. In fact, as Cassian deepened their kiss and his arm wrapped around her waist, Nesta was looking forward to spending more time in the water with him.
Maybe next time, they wouldn’t have any clothes between them.
Maybe.
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glitchtricks94 · 7 months
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Ache
Gyokko x Reader
I feel like crying, so I made him cry too. This is an angst post, hurt/no comfort I am wanting to make him bleed right now and since I can't sort my other fic, this is how we're doing it. Yes, I know I'm just having a bad day but if I'm gonna be sad, I might as well put it to use! Anyways, kick back, relax and enjoy the pain~ -Glitchtricks
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He didn't think the ache would be this strong.
He never thought that humans could hold so tightly to a feeling, he thought them to be as fleeting as the clouds in the sky on a warm summer's night. Never once did he expect to miss you so dearly. Gyokko sat at the foot of the lake he found all those nights ago, strange, honeyed eyes staring at the water’s glasslike surface, sorrow washing over him as he looked on. Where he would normally be thinking of ways to cloud the liquid in a myriad of colors, his mind only focused on  the being that had enchanted him so many moons ago, how he had found them on their knees simply gathering water for their own needs. The Upper Moon remembers how wide you smiled at him, kindness blinding you. He remembered how excited you were to simply meet a demon like him, explaining how his kind fascinated you. You were unusual, but not quite unappealing.  He liked that. Your warmth stuck to his mind so annoyingly well, like an ink stain that cannot be removed. Gyokko didn’t think he’d long for it after you were gone. He recalls how for ages, each night, you’d be here, waiting, even calling out for a demon to approach you. Strange, but he supposed your tactics worked as less then a moment later, the Upper Moon Five found himself before you again, a delighted squeal leaving your lips. Gyokko was at a loss when you threw your arms around him, cheering about him coming back to you. He swiftly moved out of your arms, glaring at you. “Don’t touch me like that!” He spat. If only he knew how much he’d miss that familiarity.
Gyokko shook his head when he realized that tears were dripping down his chin, spattering on the vase that held his usual form. No, no he can’t think of you, he can’t lose himself like this, not over a human. He was a being of divinity, of talent and breathtaking skill, a being that…felt empty. So very empty since he saw you last. He clenched his fists, trying to shove away the pain, the agony in favor of rage, resentment. No, he can’t mourn you, you and him were far too different! So why did the bittersweet memory of you guiding him to your home come to mind? That affectionate smile of your beaming at him the entire way as you nattered on about your own life, your own form of art that took shape in the words you scribbled down in empty books and scraps of paper was all he could see, all he could hear. He couldn’t forget that, especially not the joy that you exuded from just showing him the meager poems you wrote. He didn’t know when he had shown up at your abandoned home, looking up at the sad structure from his pot. He knew you weren’t inside, so why did he cruelly hope you’d come out, greet him like you always did? He’d always found himself drawn to your presence after you began discussing a hopeful romantic novel of star crossed lovers, your inspirations being the Shakespearian tragedy of Romeo and Juilet. You had many inspiring ideas, ones Gyokko would take back to his own sanctuary to create his own art from. The way your eyes lit up when he first presented a vase to you, painted with the silhouettes of the lovers from your story was etched into his demonic heart. You were practically screaming with utter delight at the gift, being the most enthusiastic person to ever accept such a thing from him. Not even the ever so carefree Douma had ever come close to emulating such joy, however, yours could never be emulated, you were far too genuine for such a thing. Your scent still clung to each corner of your home, despite months having passed. Gyokko felt a pain in his chest as he wandered through your home, the memories of your sweetness tormenting his brain wherever he looked, the lights that used to illuminate the halls and rooms now like that of a fleeting dream. Changing to his true form, Gyokko found it easier for himself to get lost in everything that was encasing his senses. Looking to the ground, he saw one of the many bits of scrap paper you used to write your poems of love and infatuation upon, still stained with splotches of ink. He couldn’t resist, he was always weak for you. Plucking it from the floor, he began to read. “Stepping through the mist, like midnight’s spell
He afforded no opportunities to fleeHer mind was encapsulated by him, her heart his to control
Fate so harsh on the pair, he was ripped away
The tides of time carried the maiden far As night always intertwined with day.” Tears settled on the paper in his webbed hands, sorrow crashing into him at full force. Was this how you viewed him and yourself? He wished he could ask such a thing, he wished he could just hear that sweet, fluttery voice of yours just one more time, to hear you prattle on about why you chose the words you did, how you planned your tales. He just wanted you back. Gyokko carefully traced the kanji of your handwriting, your name falling from his lips in a whisper, soft and desperate. Part of him wished you’d appear before him, lovingly wrapping your arms around his large frame with a joyous titter. Wishful thinking. Slithering deeper into your home, your scent grew stronger as he reached your bedroom, which remained empty, and well kept, thanks to the care he found himself putting into the place. It was almost like a monument to you now, a tribute of sorts, perhaps even a way to say sorry despite you having vanished out of his life forever. Another wave of agonizing sadness filled the demon’s chest as he moved to your large, western style bed, a stack of old journals laying at its side. Gyokko got onto the bed, coiling around himself as the smell of you flooded his senses, new tears cascading down his face as the more painful memories began replaying in his mind like they always did on nights like this. The cruel words he spewed at you, the tears that flooded down your soft cheeks, the look of utter betrayal in your eyes as he brought down the hammer of his misguided wrath upon you, tearing away at everything you loved, everything you cherished. He remembers ripping up your pride and joy that was your novel, screaming at you about how you were nothing but a sniveling worm, how he couldn’t understand why he wasted his time with someone like you, and overall just ripping your heart to ribbons. Your pain screams still rang in his ears as you cried out, yelling at him to leave, leave and never come back, how cruel he was to you after you simply wanted to connect, how you thought you had connected with him, forging a friendship of sorts. All of it filled Gyokko with so much sorrow and regret. He never meant any of what he said, he truly would even go as far to say he didn’t wish to break your spirit like that, not when you managed to become so much to him, not even batting an eye whenever he’d appear after feeding, fresh blood staining both sets of teeth. No, you always welcomed him with open arms, telling him your stories, speaking to him enthusiastically and listening to him so intently. And he just drove you away after everything. He couldn’t stop himself from beginning to sob as everything replayed in his mind, bowing his head in shame and regret. “My sweet muse, I’m sorry…” He wept, shoulders shaking, chest aching in his remorse. “I never meant to say such things to you, you were never a worm, you were a goddess, something as divine as I…And yet, I ripped you apart…My heart, please let me apologize, please come back, please. Every moment without you is pure agony.” He pleaded, voice now breaking as he sobbed harder, knowing that you would never hear his pleas, knowing that you had vanished from his world. Gyokko was left alone, aching for you, longing for your sweet touches and honeyed praises. All he saw when he closed his eyes was your smile, and it burned him like fire. All he heard in the silence were the memories of your voice, which stung like a slice of a sword. Everything about you that was left behind tormented him mercilessly. Deep down, he knew he had earned this, he had earned such a drastic loss. Everything was dreary for him, nothing truly sparked his enthrall anymore, nothing that didn’t feel like you would have liked. The ache in his chest would never leave, for you had carved a hole in his heart, leaving a chasm that can never be filled.
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ainyan · 8 months
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She moved too swiftly for sight. One moment, she stood there glaring at him, the next she stood before him, the front of his robe clenched in her fist as she drew his face down to hers. “I am the Warrior of Light, G’raha Tia. Such a sacrifice is my most likely fate. But I will be damned if I see anyone else I care about sacrificed in my stead. I am so damn tired,” she rasped, “of losing those I love because they judge me more important.”
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He gazed at her across the ilm separating them, his allegan red eyes anguished. “You are more important, Ainyan,” he said. “You are the most important person in the world.”
She scoffed. “It’s not like Hydaelyn can’t find another Warrior of Light.”
He hesitated, then, “I didn’t mean because of that.”
She stiffened. “Oh.” Her fingers loosened in the folds of his robe as she searched his face, her brow wrinkling with her slight frown. “Oh,” she repeated, and he started to pull away. Her fingers tightened, preventing his escape, and her lips curved in a curious smile. “‘Tis good to see you awake, G’raha Tia.”
The same words she’d spoken to him after the defeat of Emet-Selch, when he’d first proffered his apologies. Now, as then, he felt his eyes fill, spill over down his cheeks. “‘Tis good to be awake,” he whispered.
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She searched his face a moment longer, then leaned in. He felt his breath still in his breast as her mouth touched his, a testing brush of lips against lips. At the spark that speared down his spine, he sucked in his breath and heard her gasp in kind. As he reached for her, she released him, only to slide her arms around his neck and draw him in, body to body.
His arms wrapped around her waist; it was difficult to remember to be cautious of his crystal arm, to ensure that he did not bruise her - especially as her mouth fastened on his, hot and hungry. As he responded in kind, he felt her lips part, her tongue flicking out testingly, and he closed his eyes and let himself go.
Let himself fall.
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WolG'rahaWeek2023 1 - First Kiss
OC: Ainyan Dreamweaver
NPC: G'raha Tia, Crystal Exarch
For the whole tale of their first kiss, see the story here on Ao3.
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Byakuya Kuchiki (Bleach) Short Story: Chapter 5
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It’s become apparent that the only thing you can do is avoid Byakuya. You can’t deal with anything. Not his confession or your own feelings. In theory, this is your dream. He literally said that he wants to be your lover.
“I should be happy that our feelings are mutual.”
Although that is the case, you can’t help but think about what it means. Not just his position as a captain, but his status as a noble. You aren’t naive. You’ve heard about his late wife. Rukia’s sister.
Hisana.
His family hated him for marrying someone who wasn’t what they viewed as important, but he did anyway.
“What’ll happen if they find out he’s interested in someone as plain as me.”
Surely he’ll lose the respect of his clan.
You let out another sigh as you try to stay focused on restocking the gauze. Hanataro has noticed your worried expressions.
“Is everything alright (Y/N)-chan?”
“Hai.”
You work up a smile on your face as you finish up. Byakuya seems to have gotten quite busy. Rukia had told you that he was appointed a mission in the world of the living. Which gave you a little time to work through your thoughts.
Standing, you turn.
“I’ll be turning in.”
You bow and Hanataro watches as you walk out.
As you’re making your way through the squad barracks you try to settle your mind. But it’s no use. 
All you can think about is him.
His words.
His face.
Why did he have to be so perfect? Just a few months ago the both of you barely acknowledged each other.
Except maybe that’s not the whole truth. That first mission you did together. He said that he remembered you. Back when Aizen had everyone deceived. When you were just trying to be a good healer. Back then, just the thought of defeating a hollow was so out of the realm of possibility for you.
“Has he..always thought about me since then..”
You can’t help but wonder now. Because these feelings seem to have come out of nowhere and that seems so unlikely.
“(L/N)-san.”
The voice startles you, and standing right in front of your quarters is Byakuya. You almost bite your tongue.
How are you supposed to get out of this? It’s easy when he’s not around. But how do you explain all the other times that you’d literally disappeared when he showed up.
“K-Kuchiki-taicho, you’re back.”
You bow.
Maybe if you feign obliviousness, he won’t figure it out.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
Your body grows stiff and you rise slowly. Your eyes are sheltered by your hair. Just the thought of looking at him would be too much.
The silence speaks for itself.
“Is the thought of us together that unsettling to you?”
You press your hand to your chest at his question.
“I..I..”
You feel like crying.
“I see. I apologize. I won’t force you to do anything that you aren’t comfortable with. I should have been more considerate. I made feelings known, but I never asked how you felt. If those feelings were even returned.”
This is your chance to speak. Explain why this is so hard, but no words will leave your lips.
“Please excuse me.”
He turns in the opposite direction, walking away. With each step, there’s a tug at your heart. A subtle pull that hurts more than you expected. You clench your fists tighter.
“Coward…I’m a coward..”
Why can’t you just say the words.
Say the words.
SAY IT!
“I-I LIKE YOU!!”
Byakuya froze in his spot. He turns, and his expression shows obvious shock.
“I..I like you so much b-but… but we’re different. What if you end up in pain..fighting with your family because of me..”
“So that’s it.”
It’s not a matter of unrequited feelings.
You mean to say more, but in a matter of seconds he's standing right in front of you.
“K-Kuchiki-”
“My family’s views on who I pursue do not concern me.”
You’re a bit speechless.
“I have done my part. I once placed my pride before my integrity and I made a vow to never do that again. The ones that I hold dear, they are the only ones whose opinions hold any kind of weight. The rest of them believe that status is the most important.”
When he reaches out and takes your hand, it slowly lowers from the protective position against your chest.
“If you return these feelings, then nothing else should matter.”
You might actually start crying. Byakuya brings your hand up to his lips, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles. Your cheeks heat up, and you can only gape. His stoic gaze that has always given off a sense of nonchalance is so much more tender.
“Do you truly feel the same?”
You nod, cheeks still a heated red.
“H-Hai!”
It’s one of the rare times that he smiles, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen.
You never want to forget this. 
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Hurts like hell
Rhett Abbott x reader
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Summary: When your sister ends up nearly overdosing again, you run to Rhett hoping for some kind of comfort.
Warnings: mentions of overdosing, drug use, and alcoholism. This is a very self-indulgent fic based on my own experience as my sister was a drug addict and an alcoholic for a very long time and slightly my own issues with addiction.
A/n: felt more comfortable putting this here because of the subject matter discussed, my sister has been sober for over a year now and is doing way better! This is mainly about feelings that I struggled with and still do struggle with. Also, my first time writing for Rhett-
When Rhett opened the door he didn't know what to expect. The last thing was to see you, drenched from the rain with tears streaming down your cheeks. Your hands shook and you couldn't meet his gaze. In an instant, he knew, and he slowly pulled you inside the house.
“Happened again, didn't it?” you couldn't make eye contact, only starting at the plate of food he'd made you. You nodded, holding back more tears. Rhett sat next to you, your body still trembling.
“Why does it keep happening?” Your meek voice finally said something. Your fists clenched as you tried to hold back sobs. Rhett delicately placed his hand on your back, rubbing small circles, “No matter how hard I hope she gets better, no matter how hard I pray it happens all over again,” you finally sob into your hands.
“She’ll be fine; she comes back each time” Rhett’s voice was soft and low, and he gently rubbed along your back. You only sobbed more and more, he had heard the sounds of sirens earlier, and now he knew what those were for.
“It’s the second time this year,” your voice broke slightly, lip quivering as you tried not to cry, “I can’t be strong again, can’t be strong for my parents or any more” Rhett pulled you close to him. Your face ended up against his shoulder as you sobbed against it.
“What did I do wrong? She said she’d stop, stopped putting pills in her drinks, but she won’t stop…drinking” Rhett says nothing and gently strokes your back, watching as your heart bursts in two.
“You did nothing wrong” He kissed the top of your head, your body shaking now. Rhett could remember the first time it happened, freshman year of high school.
“Then why isn't she getting better!” you pull your face away, tears streaming down your face, nose full of snot as you sniffle. He puts his hand on your tear-stained cheek, “It's my fault she's like this! I let her sneak out! I let her get hurt!” you could barely breathe now.
“It's not your fault. Look at me,” Rhett cupped your face. Your eyes were still filled with tears, “it's never been your fault” His eyes bore into yours, and you tried your best not to cry anymore.
“But-”
“Not your fault, sunshine” You couldn't help but smile at the nickname, even if it was a sad one. You still didn't say anything, the words caught in your throat.
“I could've stopped her, could've stopped all of this from happening, stopped all the pain for her, Ma and Pa” Rhett took notice you were leaving someone out, and he pulled your face so your forehead was touching his.
“What bout you?” you hadn't realized what he meant for a moment. You just glanced away for a bit.
“They're hurting way more than I am” You only looked at the plate of food he gave, now most likely cold. Rhett knew what it was like to give everything to his family, but he never got anything out of it. He never wanted that to happen to you.
“You're still hurting. Gotta leave room for you, too” He was right, and you didn't want to admit it. You were never good at putting yourself first, and Rhett knew that too well.
“Okay,” was all you said, Rhett’s arms wrapping around your body like a warm blanket. Your body began to ease, tears slowly fading away as you took in his embrace. You both stayed like that for a long while, only pulling away when you had to blow your nose, “Can we...skip out on the bar for a bit? Hard to watch people drink, and I don't wanna do something stupid” Rhett nodded as he looked up at you.
“Wanna stay the night?” you smiled and nodded your head a bit too enthusiastically.
“If you'd let me” Your voice was small as you looked at him shyly. He chuckled before kissing your forehead.
“Not gonna let you walk out in the pouring rain” he laughed, he could easily drive you home but he knew you didn't want that, “could use the company anyways” He placed the plate of food he gave you on the counter, arm wrapping around your waist as you walked up to Rhett’s room.
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hermanunworthy · 4 months
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writer anon from a couple months ago here… fuck man. it’s the day the music died.
(idk what this is and it’s not very good)
but when you go to meet god, you know, you wanna look nice
hermie’s had those dreams before, the kind where he can feel that his eyes are closed and he tries to open them while he’s asleep but he can’t. this is like that- except there’s no body attached to it. he feels out for… nothing. not even an ache over his heart, where the blood was just staining a moment ago. a year ago? he feels heavy. he’s not sure where he feels it. there’s no body anymore. there’s no him.
“well hello there, darling.” his father. he looks up. there’s no one here. scam’s voice is all around. “did you have fun?”
did you have fun? two years of high school theatre, that’s what it added up to, more or less, and then a few insane months with the teens. was it fun? he can’t remember now.
in this space, he sees it. it really was only two years. there was nothing before that. his memories of growing up are so two-dimensional, it feels like he could print them right out of his head and fold them up into a little paper person and be looking at his twin.
“it was just a joke, you know, all in good fun. oh, they’re wrapping it up now, story’s almost over. ‘that’s all, folks!’ and all that, you know. shame, we’ve only got so much time left.” scam didn’t sound sad. “I kept thinking your father would come after me at some point. it was good fun, messing with the king-of-hell demon-cop. pretty shitty guy, I gotta say.”
a scene materializes in front of hermie. a wooden stage, classic red curtains to frame it, and a styrofoam grave marker in the center. two actors bearing a comically-grotesque resemblance to his adoptive parents were badly stage-crying over it.
at the top, à-la-phantom of the opera, jodie peered down at the actors. he watched for a moment, then turned away to fix his attention on someone else.
did you have fun?
“I was wondering though. were you lying?”
hermie paused. “what?” his voice sounded strange.
“your last words to normal. he wasn’t conscious to hear them, you know. but were they genuine?” he could hear the rubber stretch of scam’s smile splitting far wider than a mouth should go. “did you mean it?”
“I can’t die,” hermie said slowly. “can I.”
“well, you weren’t exactly alive, so it’s hard for you to be dead.” scam sounded more distant now. “no place in heaven or hell for a puppet, just ask jigsaw.”
hermie’s jaw clenched. “I wasn’t a puppet. I wasn’t… anything.”
“right, so you get the point. I’m asking what you were teeing up for with that last line, hermie. obviously you won’t be around to deliver the payoff. were you just planning on ditching them without a punchline?”
“it’s what you did.”
“the ditch was the punchline, worthless, that’s the crux of the whole thing.” scam’s voice had taken on an edge. “I died once too. got shot off a dragon, actually. it was a lot like this.”
“was it?”
a pause. “I don’t remember.”
the curtains closed. somewhere, the sound of a gigantic clock started up, or maybe a metronome. “well, this has been fun, if ultimately unsatisfying, but I’m afraid this is where I must leave you. show’s over.”
“are you sure?”
“you’re the one who stopped dancing. oh.” scam was smiling again; he could hear it. “oh. I see it now, the prestige. you were the set-up for something truly… oh. wow. now this is a show.”
normal. hermie tried to take a deep breath. “what’s he doing?”
“making your whole life part of his own villain origin story. so sorry you aren’t around to see this, I know how you always liked the villains, but, well.”
“you can’t bring me back?” hermie clenched his fists. “you can’t do one thing for me, after…?”
scam scoffed. “oh, now he wants to live.”
crack! hermie was a five-year-old watching the big kids win the speedrun. crack! hermie was a cat in a garbage can being jumped by the pussywagon. crack! hermie was sitting in a car in hell, and normal was kissing his cheek. crack! hermie was a voice on the phone, hermie was saying “this is john.” crack! hermie was the dying papa john, hot cheese coursing through his veins. crack! hermie was dying, hermie was lying on the ground with blood spilling from his…
“your father and I were similar in one regard, actually. when our lives were threatened, when there was only one way to be free, we took it. we split, you could say, we…” scam hesitated. hermie thought about a demon and a highway patrol officer, a mustache and a fedora. “sometimes you get a card. sometimes you get a court order. but you always get a choice. you don’t get to be yourself. that’s what the world taught both of us. no matter your power, your influence, if the world doesn’t want you to be yourself, and you still want to live, well…”
he saw the joker, keira knightley, risky click, a whole parade of shifting faces flickering between his reflection and his performances. he heard his words to normal in goof’s realm- you don’t like me, you idiot.
“do you want to live? you never get to go back, you know, not to what you were. even if you’re able to reconcile the memories, once you’ve been something you never fully stop being it. and that saves you a little, the first you, but it’ll damn you just as surely.
“unless.” one giant eye in front of hermie. “was there anyone, hermie? anyone who wanted you to be yourself?”
what did he honestly believe, about what normal wanted?
he didn’t know if his last words were a lie. he didn’t know if his next ones would be either.
do you want to live?
IM SO SORRY FOR LEAVING U HANGING FOR A WHILE WRITER ANON IVE BEEN AT WORK BUT IM BACK. I WOULD SAY WE ARE SO BACK BUT NO ITS SO OAKWOVER. HERMAN UNWOVER.
I AM INSANE ABOUT THIS DO U UNDERSTAND HOW CRAZY THIS IS TO DROP IN MY INBOX. THIS IS SO WELL DONE IM GONNA EXPLODE THE FUCKING. AAUAUAUAGAHHHH
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