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forasecondtherewedwon · 2 years

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Swimming the Sonoran

Fandom: Never Have I Ever Pairing: Devi Vishwakumar/Paxton Hall-Yoshida Rating: M Word Count: 5133

Summary: She’s here, taking her sweet-ass time meandering through every floor of every Arizona State dorm, because she’s too overachieving to permit loose ends in her decreasingly unravelling life. And because it’s hitting her that she really made Kamala drive nearly 400 miles for this and she might not be able to leave if she doesn’t get a chance to see his face.

You throw your mom one bone at the beginning of summer (basically promising not to abandon her by going to the Colorado Hippie School for Confident Dweebs), Devi thinks, and by the end of summer, she’ll let you do just about any goddamn thing you want. She wishes she’d figured this out years ago. She could’ve gotten a nose piercing way sooner! She could’ve gone to freakin’ Coachella or something, making flirty eye contact with drunk dudes with pretty contacts and scuzzy beards and swaying along to Rozzi with rich, bored, art-school burnouts on Molly.

At least she knows now—she knows the leash her mom’s had her on her whole life has the flexibility to stretch to multiple states if school’s involved. She knows that losing Kamala to the apartment complex from hell (indisputably filled with terrifying, convincingly demonic, child actors) has paid unexpected dividends. Who would’ve guessed a little bit of space would’ve made her mom trust Kamala that much more, and, more importantly, get her to entrust Kamala with Devi’s care for an entire week spent roaming the southwest?

With Mr. K along for the ride this weekend, flying into Phoenix to join them, the dynamic’s shifted, and though it’s disgusting to explore campuses while her cousin and teacher hold hands and probably make plans to befoul a hotel room later, it has its perks. With them focused on each other, Devi’s leash gets a little longer; they don’t hover as much as her mom would, instead allowing her to sit in on summer-term lectures and take residence tours by herself while they go off and stare at each other over iced coffee, or whatever passes for foreplay in Arizona.

Devi’s dream school is still Princeton, but ever since Shrubland, she’s tried to be more open to options she would either have dismissed or only fleetingly considered. These options include non-Ivies. They include remaining in states bordering the one in which her loveably overbearing relatives live. They include (and she thinks she’s being stealthy about it) visiting the colleges where her studly ex-boyfriends will be starting classes in about a week’s time.

…Ok, she only has one ex-boyf fitting that description (No shade, Des, she thinks, you were smokin’… just, like, on a level more familiar to humans) and she’s not even sure he’s moved into residence yet, and if they do bump into each other, she’s going to be bending over fucking backwards pretending it’s a funny coincidence, but still… she’s making the most of it. When in Arizona, check in on your ex to reassure yourself that he’s still hot and you once had the opportunity, though forever unseized, to hit that?

Though they are friends, or whatever. Maybe once upon a time they knew each other kinda carnally (Carnally LiteTM?), and maybe, in the extremely chill hours and hours she’s devoted to reflecting on it since the seniors’ graduation, she’s very casually come to the conclusion that Paxton shouting her out in a big way during his address to the graduating class was actually a huge goddamn deal. Like, there was a time when he didn’t want anyone to know he knew her, and he left Sherman Oaks announcing how important she is to him—announcing it to everyone. Even if they’re friends, which they are, that was sort of a masterclass, mic-drop, ball’s-in-your-court-Devi moment.

So she misses him! That’s allowed! There was an extended period of avoidance after their breakup, but with his best friend dating one of her best friends, they spent more and more time together over the summer. Always in a group, always exchanging quips that remained carefully on the safe side of flirting, but it was nice. It’s already not the same without him, and Devi expects the first week back at school to be hard, constantly remembering that she won’t run into him in the halls. They’ve come so far, gone through so much, and who’s to say that it’s totally over? Some stupid college? For Trent’s sake, she’s been smiling tightly and nodding along when he talks about the strength of his and Paxton’s friendship, how the distance can, respectfully, suck his dick (his turn of phrase). On the inside, she’s terrified that college is where high school friendships go to die. It’s like that fake farm parents tell their gullible kids their aging pets went to live on. Devi knows better. Devi knows nothing can replace proximity, especially when you haven’t said everything you could ever possibly want to say, or done everything you could ever possibly want to do.

She’s here, taking her sweet-ass time meandering through every floor of every Arizona State dorm, because she’s too overachieving to permit loose ends in her decreasingly unravelling life. And because it’s hitting her that she really made Kamala drive nearly 400 miles for this and she might not be able to leave if she doesn’t get a chance to see his face.

Devi doesn’t know his dorm or his floor, let alone his room number, and yet crazier things have happened to her than leaning against the wall for a breather (she’s been sitting in the car for a week—it’s not like she’s in marathon shape) and hearing her name said by just the right voice, in just the right way.

“Devi Vishwakumar?”

She springs away from the wall with wide eyes, turning to see Paxton striding up the hallway. She breaks into a smile, her eyebrows twitching upwards with hope and yearning and it’s-only-been-a-couple-weeks-and-we-texted-like-four-days-ago-but-hi. The way he moves has changed: his walk is a little less confident in this new school, but he holds his head high, knowing he deserves the chance to find his place here.

“Miss me already?” Paxton asks, his head cocking with the playfulness she’s missed and his own smile tugging up on one side.

The guess is so dead-on that it trips her up. Not knowing what to say, Devi just swallows and nods like she could be indulging him.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says. He looks stunned, but happy—really, genuinely happy.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have anything better to do.” She shrugs into the hug Paxton wraps her in, her hands light on the sloping shoulder blades she can feel through his t-shirt.

He steps back, brushing a hand over her shoulder in a gesture of above-average fondness, and Devi has to work not to grab it in hers. His hugs still fluster her. They’re friends, but he’ll always be the Paxton Hall-Yoshida. He’s a well-rounded volunteer and brother and former competitive swimmer and ASU freshman, but he’ll always be hot as fuck. Not everything changes.

“You touring the campus or…?” Paxton starts, squinting slightly as he tries to understand her. The hilarious thing is that he does, a hell of a lot better than most people.

Devi nods, again, agreeing to the spoken and unspoken assumptions. Or are you just here for me? Admitting that out loud would be… a lot. It’s not like that—that she’s pining for him in some romantic way. You can miss your friends! It’s super normal to have to repeatedly justify that fact to yourself, while staring at caring brown eyes and a mouth you used to kiss!

“I didn’t know you were looking at any Arizona colleges.”

“Might as well, right? It couldn’t hurt to apply.”

“Devi, come on.” His smile is criminally persuasive. “You’re getting into Princeton. How many backup schools do you need?”

She blushes and lowers her eyes sheepishly for a second. When she glances back up, she catches Paxton staring at her, his mouth held in this way that makes her think he was about to say something else, something unrelated to her overcautious approach to post-secondary education. But he presses his lips together and smiles and she dismisses the urge to anxiously tuck her hair behind her ear.

“You know what?” he says. “You know what you’re doing. Trust your own judgement.”

Devi grins.

“Thanks.” Her eyes dart to a sign on the nearest door, a sign that says his name. How the heck did she miss that? “So, you been here long?”

“Two days since my family dropped me off. Rebecca spent the whole trip telling me how she’s going to turn my bedroom into fabric storage.”

“Damn. That girl does not wait a minute. Respect.”

Paxton laughs, then his face softens into something more vulnerable.

“Maybe you guys could hang out when you have time. I mean, she’s busy, and she’s great at making friends when she isn’t insulting someone’s fashion designs to their face, but she likes you, and I…” He takes a second and then finishes, “I like knowing you’re there for each other when I can’t be.”

“Can’t be?” Devi yanks her head back, face scrunched with doubt. “We’re literally a text away. I can’t believe you’re making me of all people say this, but don’t be so dramatic.”

When he laughs again, the laugh is gentle with her, not critical or cruel. It’s another way to say that he knows her. It’s a promise that her more emotionally intense moments are not too much, like the recurring fear she confessed to her mom. For a moment, she gets lost in a way she hasn’t on this campus, ASU map pulled up on her phone: lost in the safety of him. She’s come 400 miles to feel like she’s home.

She jerks her chin towards the other name on the sign: Ethan.

“How’s the roommate?”

“Nonexistent.”

“Huh?”

“Turns out he withdrew,” Paxton explains. “The housing people have already got somebody else assigned to the spot that was his, but they’re only coming up from Tucson, so they don’t care about moving in early.”

“Nobody’s… home then?” Devi wonders, voice drifting high as she rocks up on the toes of her sneakers.

“You wanna see my room?” he teases.

“Yes.”

She says it bluntly because she’s had this guy on top of her, felt the press of his interest against her thigh even though he did his polite best to keep his hips at a hovering distance when they made out; she’s not gonna faint at the sight of his rumpled bedspread and a pair of boxers hanging over the side of a laundry hamper.

“If that’s ok,” Devi adds. “And if you don’t have to be somewhere.”

Paxton smiles and shakes his head.

“I have nowhere to be,” he promises.

“Great,” she says, the word sounding nervous to her, though hopefully not to Paxton. It’s not nervous like I’ve seen some horrible statistics about the things that happen to female college students in the dorm rooms of their male peers. It’s nervous like oh right, we haven’t been alone together in a while. Was the last time that night in her room? That opportunity for him to consider her lamp-scarf seduction tactics silly when he praised them instead? That minute or two that didn’t feel stolen until Des stepped into the doorway, face frosty with suspicion? If Devi’s voice is shaky, if her hands are twisting together and her face is getting warm, it’s because she remembers seeing the glow of candles through the tears Paxton tenderly swept from her lower lashes—and it’s not the tears she’s remembering so much as the touch.

“It’s kind of a mess,” Paxton warns with an apologetic smile, using his key card to swipe them into the room.

The room turns out to be a mini-suite, combo stove-less kitchen and living room when she steps through the door he holds open for her. There’s a door on either side of the personality-devoid couch that’s pushed against the opposite wall, and another one at the end. Devi assumes that’s the bathroom, and she excuses herself to use it when Paxton swipes open the door to his bedroom and she catches a sliver of the interior through the widening crack.

Inside, she pees, breathes, and checks her cheeks for mascara flakes. She looks at Paxton’s new tube of toothpaste and the disheveled, though coordinated, towels hung over the rail. This is different than waiting for him to climb through her window at home, or meeting him after school in his garage bedroom. Until his roommate arrives, this space is only his. Anyone who wants to come in has to knock, and he’s under no obligation to let them in. The wild freakin’ concept of total privacy!

“Friends,” Devi insists to her reflection. She walks out to meet Paxton in his bedroom.

Now that they’re in here, he looks about the same amount of nervous as she probably does (hella), standing awkwardly between the desk and the bed, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans with his thumbs hooked out. She tries not to stare at his hands, then realizes she’s forced her gaze to his bed instead. In a panic, Devi blinks and looks at Paxton’s face. Only his face.

“You wanna sit?” he offers.

They both make for the desk chair, then lurch away, making for the bed instead. When that happens, they retreat again, both headed back to the chair, until Paxton releases a short laugh and grabs Devi lightly by the upper arms, steering her towards the end of the bed and backing into the chair himself. He lets out a laboured breath when he drops into it and, yeah, she knows. There shouldn’t be this much tension.

He sits across from her and laces his fingers together, then clamps his joined hands between his knees, leaning slightly towards her. He doesn’t actually prompt her to speak, but the words fly out of Devi’s mouth—the very un-thought-out words that immediately make her want to go sit in his closet and wait for death by embarrassment.

“I almost had sex with Ben in June,” is her kneejerk overshare. “I never, uh, told you that.”

Paxton’s face flinches with alarm.

“Shit. Are you ok?”

“Yep. It wasn’t, like, bad or anything,” Devi hastily backtracks, waving her hands as though she can wipe the first attempt out of the air. “I’m not traumatized by the near-miss. Or, no more traumatized than usual.”

She gives him a self-deprecating smile that he doesn’t return, looking even warier thanks to her brush-off reaction.

“You said you almost did?” he checks.

“We don’t have to talk about this! It’s weird! Forget I said anything!”

“We don’t if you don’t want to,” he agrees slowly, “but it’s not weird. If you need to talk to someone about this, it’s ok if it’s me.”

“Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes, “but you’re my…” She trails off.

“I’m just…” Paxton smirks and plants his feet, then pushes off, rolling his wheely desk chair in her direction. “…someone who cares about you.”

She offers an uncertain smile, sitting up straighter at his proximity. He watches her with an open, patient expression. Devi huffs out a big sigh. She hasn’t had a chance (she hasn’t made the effort) to talk this out with Dr. Ryan first, and maybe it’s not fair that she’s bringing this to Paxton, but she’s not asking him to be her therapist. She’s just telling him because… because when she was with him, he was the one to stop things when she was uncomfortable and, honestly, fearful of the potential pain of losing her virginity. It could be thanks to the example he set her then that she was able to stop things with Ben before they went beyond kissing. With Ben, she wasn’t afraid of being physically harmed—she was afraid of harming herself. Like, emotionally. In both situations, sex wasn’t the right call. Devi thinks for a minute, then tries to put it into words for Paxton.

“I think I just went over there because I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” he asks.

Devi shrugs.

“Come on,” Paxton presses, giving her knee a gentle shove.

A smile creeps up her face, which is a complete fucking mismatch for her words when she says, “Nobody ever loving me for who I am. Not like my dad did.”

“You thought having sex with Ben Gross would make him love you like your dad did? That’s really messed up, Devi,” he jokes.

“It’s just… Ben and I are friends now, and he obviously knows all my flaws and vulnerabilities because we’ve traded insults for years.”

“You know that’s messed up too, right? If you really thought he was a good choice because he’s been a dick to you.”

His expression is concerned, not judgy.

“But a perceptive dick,” she defends breezily, making Paxton release a light laugh. She grimaces. “Don’t make me say ‘dick’ when I’m trying to tell you my sex story. You’re muddying the narrative.”

“Sorry.”

“The point is, I didn’t do it, and I’m fine. I know I made the right decision.”

“So what do you need me for?” he asks. The question’s light-hearted, but the look on his face says he honestly wonders. Devi thinks that’s reasonable, since she introduced the topic. And yet… she hasn’t spoken to Dr. Ryan. No one’s made clear to her why she feels what she feels about aborting the almost-boink with Ben, why she would loop Paxton in at all when she truly is fine and, aside from being her friend, he isn’t connected to the incident—besides being the person she’s willing to drive (to get Kamala to drive) 400 miles to go see, only to fail to come to any real point, even if she tries to sound like she has. From Paxton’s semi-earnest question, she hasn’t fooled him. Damn.

Her mouth opens. I need the person who maybe, almost loved me, she has the wherewithal not to say.

“I guess I just need… you,” she says, wincing because maybe this watered-down version of her initial thought wasn’t less mushy or pathetic or intense. On top of that, she’s on the freaking debate team; was that seriously the most convincing response she could’ve come up with?

But Paxton says, “Devi, I’m here. I’m glad you came all this way.” And then he holds her hand, uncurling her fingers from the anxious fist she’s unwittingly made on her thigh. She gets goosebumps when his fingers accidentally skim her bare skin below the hem of her skirt. Maybe that’s why she does what she does.

Devi springs forward and stamps her mouth to his.

Paxton’s lips part in surprise, breaking from hers, but then he’s back and she’s keeping the whimpers inside because he cradles her cheek and kisses her. Like Ben “One Free Boink” Gross couldn’t manage. Like Des never quite cared enough to. This is that first kiss in Paxton’s car times ten, and it might actually be the first time since they broke up that she knows she’s grown; the girl she was then would’ve worried this was a pity kiss. Now, she trusts them both enough to know it’s not.

Her hands find the back of his neck, his shoulders, tugging him forward. The wheely chair brings him close to her smoothly. Her palm slips to the front of his shirt and she feels his heart, fast and strong.

“He wasn’t you,” Devi mutters between pulls of their lips. “I kinda had my heart set on my first time being with you.”

“Devi…”

Paxton’s voice is gentle, but not ok-that’s-enough gentle like he’s letting her down easy, not I’m-coming-to-my-senses gentle like kissing is nice but he doesn’t really like her like that anymore. She blinks, daring to meet his eye.

He reaches out and glides a fingertip over the curve of her nose ring.

“I missed this,” he says, wearing a small, nostalgic smile.

And then his hand is in her hair, not delicate but determined, plunging into the wavy strands, and her fingers are wrapped around his wrist, pulling him into that grip, telling him yes, telling him get your ass over here, college boy. There’s a clunk as Paxton tips forward in the chair and lets its wheels slam back onto the floor, his weight no longer on the seat; he’s hunched over her now, one knee on the bed as he allows her to draw him down. Devi shuffles backwards in what would probably look like a flailing backstroke to such a talented swimmer—if he weren’t too busy to look, reacquainting their tongues with his eyes shut.

There’s a pause once Devi’s all stretched out, head on a pillow that smells like him, Paxton hovering over her high enough to stand a ruler up in between their bodies. They look at each other.

When they were together, his go-to move was giving her exactly what they were both aware she’d always wanted: Paxton Hall-Yoshida, the popular hunk. He’d trot out the sexy head-cock-and-self-assured-smirk combo, say all the right things to make her eyes go wide and her cheeks go pink, advance swiftly to the moment where he’d peel off his shirt and reveal his abs. There was no waiting, there was no doubt, but, in the end, that had never really worked. He couldn’t be her unattainable fantasy forever. She couldn’t spend every second with him feeling utterly undeserving, like him kissing her was some act of charity.

So this is different. It’s different because they’ve both become so much more themselves, and it’s different when he lowers himself on top of her, sinking all the way down until his hips touch her hips. Instead of keeping themselves out of alignment with a thigh slotted loosely between the other person’s, they’re lined up, and Devi can feel through her skirt what Paxton was always polite enough not to nudge demandingly against her.

“This ok?” he asks.

“Super ok,” she says.

It’s also different because it lacks the ever-present threat of her mom downstairs. This is the first time she’s gotten to kiss anyone without sneaking around to do it. Well, ok, she still lied to get here. Like, obviously the whole scoping-out-colleges thing was a pretty sneaky pretense, but she technically has parental permission to be on this campus, even inside these dorms. For her mom, that would ideally be during a residence tour, but it’s close enough to approval if Devi mentally squints. And, squinting, L.A. looks a long way from Tempe.

They kiss slowly, but it heats up, Paxton reflexively rocking his hips forward as their mouths slide achingly together and apart. Devi’s making noises she’s never made before—quiet ones, but high and pleading—and after he shoves his own shoes off, he skims a quick, light hand down her calves and removes hers too. She feels surprisingly sexy, and she hasn’t even sanitized her PTA with an old takeout wipe! Also, calm. This time, she didn’t over-plan the encounter (didn’t have any real, tangible clue that it would happen, like a ham-handed sext or a rifle through Kamala’s lingerie drawer), and nothing in her wants to tense up at the feeling of Paxton on top of her. When Devi sits up to pull her shirt over her head, it doesn’t snag on her earrings. She doesn’t even think about that, doesn’t get bogged down by lingering, leftover fears, because Paxton’s mouth is on her the whole time—on her mouth, on her shoulders, high on her chest above her lacy turquoise bra. And his hands always hold her.

“You’re not, like, seeing anyone, right?” Devi freezes to ask, out of breath as Paxton’s warm kisses descend towards her cleavage. She doesn’t think Paxton would ever commit the same relationship sins she did, but she can’t help wanting to know that they’re 100% in the clear.

“I’ve been here two days, Vishwakumar,” he reminds her, smile flicked up on one side. But then his expression changes and he confesses, “I haven’t actually been with anyone since Phoebe.”

“Wait, really?”

Paxton sits back on his heels as he shrugs, and damn, she’d rather he stay on top of her, but she doesn’t want to ruin this moment with her category-5 thirstiness.

“When she and I got together, it was because I thought she was exactly what I wanted. After you,” he clarifies, which hurts like a bitch, but, yeah, Devi clocked the fact that she and Phoebe weren’t that similar, like, immediately. “I started to understand myself better—or maybe let myself understand myself better?—and I ended it with Phoebe. Since then, I’ve just thought more about the kind of person I’d want to be with. Somebody who makes me better, and who feels like I make them better too.”

Would it be overeager to let her hand shoot up like they’re back in class? Probably. Thankfully, Devi is the master of playing it cool, so she purses her lips thoughtfully and nods, steadily acknowledging the validity of his sage soul-searching.

“Word,” she says sincerely, and he laughs.

“And maybe this isn’t—” Paxton motions between them, the gesture a little bit nervous in its haste. “—exactly how we thought this was gonna happen, you know, since we’re not dating and you’re going home and I’m staying here, but…”

“But we care about each other. Nothing’s changed that.”

“Exactly,” he says with a relieved sigh.

“So maybe it can still be the right call? I guess we always were a little unorthodox.”

“We pretty much met because you walked up to me and asked if I’d have sex with you.”

“Sooo, like I said,” Devi prods.

Paxton doesn’t attempt to hide his smile as he shakes his head in pretend exasperation; she knows he’s not really exasperated with her because he tenderly cups her knee and says, “Devi Vishwakumar, would you be interested in having sex with me?”

“I’m aware that I’m a virgin,” she points out. “You don’t have to make it a big deal by being, like, extra sweet to me.”

“I was always sweet to you,” he says plainly. “Maybe you forgot.”

His expression doesn’t display criticism or hurt, just a gently nudging reminder that, yeah, they were good together once upon a not-very-long-ago time. She wasn’t ready for what she now believes they could grow into, and Paxton might not’ve been either. Her persistent, painful jealousy of Hayley, his procrastination with the college application process she’s been taking way too seriously for as long as she can remember.

And they still might not be ready!

But they aren’t trying to start from there—they’re starting from here.

From Devi’s “Paxton Hall-Yoshida, I would be interested in having sex with you. I take it you still wanna hit this?”

“Devi.”

“My bad. Would you be interested in having sex with me?” she asks instead.

Paxton grins and it’s a little of the old, self-aware sexiness, a little of the smile they shared over the summer when their gazes would cross from opposite sides of their friend group, everyone laughing about something dumb and fleeting and precious. Devi also used to see that smile too late at night, Paxton risking a backwards glance as he left through her window. She can still recall the soft darkness around him, only him bright, illuminated by the glow of her lamp, trying to climb out without making a sound.

“I’d be honoured,” he says.

And they’re still starting. From Paxton crawling over her again, from her adjusting the space between her knees until he has room but the clamp of her thighs around his hips is still urgent, from his sure hand guiding Devi’s to the hem of his shirt so she can peel it off this time. None of it scares her, except maybe in a good way, and removing items of clothing feels natural, not like something she has to offer because of some offensive, ill-informed rumour that Paxton dumps girls who won’t put out.

“I’ve never done it in this room,” he offers generously, lightening the mood as Devi takes a breath and unzips her skirt.

She stiffens.

“Oh shit. Does that mean you don’t have condoms?!”

Paxton laughs.

“No. Thanks to a very awkward moment where I caught my dad slipping a box into my nightstand… we’re good.”

“Nice. Way to come through, Mr. Hall-Yoshida.”

“Are you talking about me or…?”

“Your dad. But you don’t have to relay that message,” Devi assures him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“I definitely wasn’t going to,” Paxton says.

Her skirt comes off, and then his jeans, and then, probably for the first time in her life, Devi forgets to talk for a while. What will stay with her later are the distinct moments when they help to strip each other of their final items of clothing. How she doesn’t feel inferior or inexperienced when he gets her bra undone on the first try. How he doesn’t tear his boxers off and start getting pushy now that they’re so close. She’s comfortable with his ease and he’s conscious of her need to take things slow—not out of dread, but because she’s savouring it all.

“Is this alright?” Paxton asks, before touching any part of her with his hands, his lips, his tongue. One time, it’s mumbled right up against someplace it makes her dizzy to see his face, but Devi hears him and forces out a verbal “yes” when the only thing she wants to do is nod and thrash her head back and forth on his pillow, dampening the pillowcase with sweat from her temples while his arms loop around her tremoring thighs so she can’t accidentally block her response from reaching his ears.

She’s thought about this. A lot. When he kisses up the center of her torso and murmurs the question again, she gives the same answer, clutching him close to her. Paxton sways forward and back, gasping into her neck, and Devi feels like one of those deep-space photographs. She feels like a windchime. She feels shattered yet glistening, silent yet musical, in tune with some very distant part of herself that’s almost been a stranger yet entirely present and susceptible to the environment: the light of an Arizona afternoon through Paxton’s half-drawn blackout curtains, the smack of a cheap headboard against a not-yet-decorated wall, the muffled sounds of doors closing somewhere out in the hall. Other people coming and going while Devi helps Paxton make dirty laundry of his clean, white sheets.

“Somebody,” Paxton pants, “is gonna love you exactly the way you want.”

Devi gets her eyelashes to quit fluttering; this is so much better than even what her horny brain imagined. She’s looking up at him through the wobbly shine of unshed tears—borne of overwhelmed intensity and pleasure and delight—when he suddenly meets her eye.

Oh, she thinks, as a tear slides down her temple and into her hair, you mean they already do.

#my writing #Devi Vishwakumar #Paxton Hall-Yoshida #Devi x Paxton #Never Have I Ever #Daxton #Never Have I Ever spoilers #Never Have I Ever season 3 #NHIE #NHIE spoilers #NHIE fanfiction

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weepingvoidpenguin · 3 years

Text

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU.

Word Count: 8.3k

“We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing.

You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

“And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

You blinked, “Wait, what?”

Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

“Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take.

“Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

“Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way.

“The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

“Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

“No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment.

“Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

“But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

“All the easier,”

The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

“How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

“She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

“Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

“She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

“I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear.

“The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same.

“And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

“Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

“You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

“Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

“This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

“Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

“The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

“Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up.

“Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

“Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

“Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

“Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,”

“Much better,” Wanda agreed.

You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

“We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,”

“You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck.

They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

“You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

“More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

“So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

“That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now.

You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

“Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

“Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

“Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way.

“Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

“I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

“Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

“Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

“All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife.

On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

Fuck.

“That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

“And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

“Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

“What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

“Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms.

“You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,”

You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

“If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

“I’m not hiding myself,”

“But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

“And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

“Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

“Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with.

You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

“So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

“Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

“Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

“What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

“I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each.

“Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

“If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

“Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them.

Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

“What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man.

“It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

“Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

“Brat?” You snarled.

Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it.

“Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in.

You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

“Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

“Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway.

“Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

“What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

“I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue.

“She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

Water.

You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

“Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could.

Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

“Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

Why? Steve asked again.

Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise.

Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

“Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

“I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

“I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

“You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him.

“What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

“And what were you expecting?”

Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

“What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

“And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

“But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Enjoying yourself?”

Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

“Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

“Thank you,”

You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

“Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

“I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

“Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound.

Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

“She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

You nodded fervently, “Yup!”

Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

“Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,”

You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

“I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

“Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

“What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

“You’ve had enough for tonight,”

“It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

“Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

“No,” he responded curtly.

“Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

“No,”

Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

“’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

Oh shit. Your job. The job.

If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

“How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

“Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

“You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

“Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

“Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

“They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out.

You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

“Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

“There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

“Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor.

“Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

“I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t.

“How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

“I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

“You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

“You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

“So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?”

You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

“You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

“We?”

He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

The shuffling started again.

Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

“Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

“Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

“I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire.

Fight. Move.

You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

“Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

“Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

“Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch.

“Wha-”

“Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

“Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

“We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,”

Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to.

Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

“Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

“That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

“You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

You nodded slowly, “I am,”

Then a few more seconds.

Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

“Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

“More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,”

He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

“You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

“Not to my face,”

“Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours.

“It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

“I see your hands are exposed,”

He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

“Stunning,”

“Smart?”

“Genius,”

“Good at her job?”

“Amongst the best,”

“Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

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valuedabovehoardedgold · 3 years

Text

Friction part 1

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Abduction, Groping, Non-consensual touching, imprisonment, Slight choking, Collar, Dry Humping

Word count: 1,225

Rating: Mature (minors DO NOT INTERACT)

Summary: Your friends and you make a massive mistake in your adventure. Deciding to rest at the inn located in the infamous village, you’re all captured and taken to the four lords. Where you unintentionally capture the attention of Lord Heisenberg. Who has plans for you.

(this is a darker fic, if that isn’t your cup of tea please feel free to ignore)

I want her.

The words that lead to your current predicament. Chained to the dirty factory floor of some backwoods plant, your friends scattered to the wind. Your hope of escaping diminishing second by precious second.

It's the sound of metal grinding against metal that rouses you. Besides a small overhead beam of light that blinds you, you can't make out much. Your throat hurts, and upon further inspection, your fingers brush against the cold rusted surface of a collar. You also find that your wrists are bound as well. A rusted chain reflecting dully in the light shackling you to the floor. It jolts you from your half-awake daze, and panic settles in.

Fuck.

Nothing is familiar, and the last thing you can recall is the musty-smelling bed you were about to sleep in for the night. But that's beside the point; now your focus is on your pounding head and aching body. Memories slowly fade back, going on a trip with friends, stopping at the creepy inn as the sun set behind the snow-capped mountains. Then-then, everything stops after the inn. Though, you're not able to place why.

Shadowing your eyes from light helps with the throbbing and makes the blurred room if only a little more focused. That's when your eyes catch it, movement. Miniscule amongst the darkness but your eyes latch onto it, someone is here with you, and that terrifies you more than the thought of being alone.

"Ah! Our guest is awake," the voice is familiar, and it sends a mixture of fear and curiosity coursing through you. A shadow, hunched over something, on a beat-up desk, the scattering of papers signals that whoever it is has turned to face you.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Bat got your tongue?"

Your tongue refuses to cooperate for a moment; your mouth feels like sandpaper, but you manage to croak out.

"Where am I?"

Your throat burns with every syllable, your lips crack with every word. It's been a while since you've had water.

How long had you been out?

The figure doesn't answer but draws closer to your light. You wish it wouldn't, it's a childish thought, but maybe in the light, you're safe. But no the figure enters the beam and it hits you. The inn, your friends' screams. Rushing out of your room to help, pain, and then darkness. The throb in your head makes sense now.

"Name's Heisenberg. But let's leave the questions to me, alright?"

He's massive standing before you his shadow engulfs you. He looks like some sort of doomsday prepper. Wearing a wrinkled hat the brim shadowing his face, sunglasses, and a tan trench coat. You feel yourself shrinking to the floor terrified of him, he hasn't made a hostile move toward you but he has the power to do whatever he wants with you. That sets your heart racing as he watches you in silence for a moment.

"Now, let's get a better look at you," he states and stands there for a few moments, and you're left confused.

"Do I have to spell it out, sweetheart?"

Again your blink up at the strange man before you, he's deranged, he must be... He huffs throwing his head back, like a child being denied something, before the metal collar around your throat tugs painfully up. The edge of it digs into the soft flesh as you're forced to stand. You panic like a wild dog in a trap, fighting the pull, but it does nothing to stop the collar forcing you to stand.

Your vision swims as the collar forces your head back; you feel like a trussed-up trophy. Left balancing on your tiptoes as he walks around you, appraising the body on display before him. You feel his eyes taking you in, shorts, and a ratty tank top the only barrier between your flesh and his hungry eyes. The clothing leaves nothing to the imagination as he stands behind you. You can feel the skin bruising where the collar cuts into flesh, biting your lip as he closes the distance between you two.

"Now I see why the super-bitch wanted you so badly."

It's rumbled into your ear another shiver races down your limbs, another memory surfaces, after the inn.

Waking up in a chapel the stone foundation freezing against your skin. Your friends bound, and someone--something argues for each of you. A towering woman sitting in a pastor’s chair. Arguing for all the women in the group to go to her. Her yellow eyes shining in the dim lighting as she takes in your whimpering friend.

You lean against your friend in a small attempt at comfort. She hides her face against your arm. Her sobs becoming louder, as the conversation continues. The group before you bickering about you and your friends as if you’re livestock to be doled out to the highest bidder.

I want her.

The memory fades as he presses himself to your back. Your heart stops your fingers grasping at the taunt chain holding you hostage.

How is he doing this?

Your panicked thoughts don't help as hands grasp at your hips, yanking you closer to him. You bite your cheek to stop a yelp from leaving you. You will not give him the satisfaction of hearing your fear. His nose presses into your hair. He takes a deep sniff nuzzling deep into your tresses; the growl he makes sends shivers creeping down your spine.

"Hmmm, it has been...awhile."

He mutters into your hair as his right hand slips forward cradling your abdomen, his left keeping your hips pinned against his. Grinding himself against you, and it feels... fuck it feels good. It had been too long since your last...You are seriously considering this? You got hit hard on the head, this must be some sort of trauma reaction.

It's how you try to rationalize the way your body reacts to him. Your core throbbing as warmth settles into your stomach. You close your eyes and another memory slithers its way to the forefront of your thoughts.

He kneels observing each of you, his scarred lip pulling into a smirk. The friend he's closest to squirms away, pulling on his bindings as he does so. As you feel his gaze land on you, a stupid part of you meets his gaze, daring him to do whatever his fucked up mind could think of. You're bruised, bloodied, and pissed. Right now you're hoping your bravado gets his attention off your friend shivering beside you, barely holding back her sobs. He stands heading back to his makeshift throne, but his gaze lingers on you the rest of the time. As his fingertips stroke along the handle of the wicked-looking hammer beside him. You've made a critical mistake, you just don't realize it yet.

You'd sealed your fate to him the second you'd challenged him. In your naivete, you all but condemned your friends to their demises, each one doled out to the different lords. Each one...mostly likely dead or being tortured in some horrid way. It feels like a sick cosmic joke, and yet here you are forgetting those very friends you tried to save in favor of the man who is dry humping you like a dog in heat...And you're enjoying it.

Heisenberg didn't want to end you though, no he liked the spark behind your eyes. Liked the way you refused to be caught, he'd even witnessed you take down a few of the lycans. You're a fighter.

"You're gonna be fun," he chuckles with a final grind against your backside. The sensation leaving you gasping as the collar goes lax and you drop to the floor. Biting back a whine of pain; knees scraping against the concrete floor, and your hands taking the brunt of the fall.

Heisenberg smirks above you, fingers tilting your chin up to face him.

"Be good now sweetheart, I've got some...things to work on."

With that, he's disappearing into the dark. Leaving you to consider your options...Make nice with him. Or figure a way out.

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg x you #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 imagine #resident evil village imagine #karl heisenberg x female reader #this is a dark fic so please feel free to ignore #just trying my hand at writing him #let me know what you think!

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

Note

Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read.

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

#writing advice #longform writing

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years

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Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #contemplative writing #vampire! geralt

194 notes · View notes

wheelsup · 3 years

Text

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date.

Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body.

It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup.

You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours.

You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

“Yes.”

One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose.

_____

Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

“You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible.

Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

“I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

“And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.”

Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had.

_____

After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer.

The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops.

Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this.

It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones.

You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him.

He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known.

Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth.

You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.

But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #fluff #my fic #criminal minds self insert

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kkusuka · 3 years

Text

Anatomy lessons <3

ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre: smut

synopsis: ushijima is helplessly devoted to volleyball, and his grades reflect that.

cw: anatomically fem reader, vaginal fingering, blowjob (i think that’s it, if anything seems left out let me know!)

a/n: all i could think about is that ushiwaka is canonically stupid and i love that.

based o this request: Studying anatomy and using your body as a physical map- Ushijima ((smut)) I’ve had this imagine suck in my head about Ushijima but like just picture this, Ushijima and Y/N studying together and they both like each other but Ushi doesn’t know how to act on his emotions and Y/N can’t tell if he likes them so they are just running around in circles pinning for each other, but anyways Ushi is studying for anatomy but he just can’t get the female anatomy to stick into his head and he’s getting a bit frustrated and so Y/N is like well I’m a female, you can practice on me and he’s like well shit. Y/N lays down Ushi is gliding his hands over their body as he names the muscles and whatnot, they both get a bit hot and bothered and when Ushi finishes “studying”he’s got an awkward boner and Y/N is like “now it’s my turn to study your anatomy” and they push ushi down and 🤪🤪🤪 please give this to me I’ve been thinking about it ALL DAY!!! -✨Puppy🤩

Shiratorizawa’s reputation was built upon intelligence and elegance.

The students are of the highest degree in not only book-smarts but also athletics. Only the most talented and were persons were allowed in the walls of the academy. Hell, the entrance exam resembled an AP college exam.

“I do not understand.”

Of course, there are always loopholes.

The first being an athletic scholarship. One of the more annoying ways to make it into the school, according to the students. You don't mean to sound mean but, it was blatantly obvious when someone is on athletic help.

But that wasn't what you were dealing with right now. No, it was something the students found way worse.

A recommendation.

Actually, it was an athletic recommendation.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was known before he had even appeared.

You had been the lucky one to sit next to him first, and second, and somehow third year. And through that, you’ve learned more than a few things about him.

Firstly, he was the most amazing volleyball player you have ever seen. He also had so much passion for the sport that it had seemed to rub off on you. By the end of first-year gym class, you knew how to receive a light spike of his.

Second, he was extremely easy to fall in love with. For being constantly aloof and oblivious, he had this pull to him that just roped you in. at first you weren't sure what you felt for the bot, then he had helped you with a project ending the night with a smile and you were done for.

He was also incredibly easy to stay in love with. Once he had your attention he was almost the only person you thought of. Plaguing your mind with fluffy fake dates and worries that he would never like you back.

But he hasn’t said anything for you to believe either of those situations so you sit at a constant stalemate.

And thirdly, he was not only dense but utterly stupid. How was someone so sought after so completely unaware of admiration? Not only his social unawareness, but he was also not the smartest when it came to school.

Then you swooped in, raised his grades a few points, and became his official homework helper. You thought it was a blessing, more time with the man who had your heart, but you underestimated just how much help he needed.

You had no idea how many times you would have to explain the Pythagorean theorem to someone before they understood. (you're sure now that he didn't really understand and he just didn't want to hear it again.)

And anatomy was no exception.

“That’s alright Toshi, do you want to try looking at a different diagram? That might help!”

Opening a new book, you spent another ten minutes staring at the page just looking at it, before staring back up at you. And that's your cue. No more diagrams, he was never going to learn like that.

This was what you called plan visual. somethings, namely science, were better learned but seeing and not memorization.

Letting out a sigh, you closed all of the books and told him to do the same.

“Ok, here’s what’s going to happen.” placing yourself directly in front of the cross-legged man, garnering his full attention, “I'm going to give you an arm and a leg and, let's start with the skeletal system, so just tell me all the bones you can remember.”

Lending your hand you took it in his and gave you a nod. Going up the length of your arm finishing at your shoulder blade, he moved to run a hand along your un-bending leg. Starting at your ankle he kept a constant hand on the back of your knee, keeping your leg hanging in the air.

A few mixed up bones later you finally moved on to muscles. Not only did it take far longer but you could tell he was getting frustrated, if the hand gripping your thigh as he tried to name all the muscles there was any telling.

On his fifth try, you gave him some help and just decided to move on, seeing that it wasn't needed for him to know blood vessels just yet, there was only one other thing he had to do.

Male and female anatomy.

You had tried to avoid the topic but that seemed almost impossible at the moment.

“Is something wrong Y/n?” As he spoke you became all too aware of his hand still on your thigh and how he was staring right at you like he could tell exactly what you were thinking, “the next topic is the reproductive system correct?”

“Erm, ye-yeah, but we don’t have to-”

“Don't be silly, we have to get through all the material that will be on the test. May I have the textbook to reference from?” he spoke as if he was ordering food, completely nonchalant. As if his hand wasn't reaching into your skirt and sliding your panties to the side.

“This unit does not require the breasts so you can keep your shirt on.” he continued to slide your underwear from your legs flipping your skirt, pushing you onto your back. Maneuvering you to how he wanted, you holding your legs spread open and close to your chest, he got to work.

“The outer lips, formally known as the labia majora,” he spoke as he ran a finger down, spreading them open to e your hole clench around nothing. He let out a breath and intently stared at your core.

“Labia minora, inner lips.” running another finger along your lips he collected the wetness that had collected on them, bringing it to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he licked it clean. “A woman creates a natural lubrication to aid in intercourse.”

Deliberately avoiding your clit, he moved to the urethral opening, passing it quickly. Moving to run a hand along your stomach placing where he thought your cervix and womb lay.

“The clitoris, an organ that is completely dedicated to pleasure.” his thumb rubbing small circles around your bud was the final opus for you to let out all the soft whimpers you had so desperately wanted to let out.

Eye’s shooting to meet yours his thumb moved quicker, drawing more pants and wanton moans from your throat.

“Please Toshi, I wanna-”

Your beg must've ripped him away from whatever daydream he lost himself in, roping his thumb away from your clit, a whine escaping you, he moved to his final destination.

“The vaginal hole, where a man enters a woman and makes her his own. It leads straight through the cervix into the womb.” right as he finished two fingers shoved their way into your pussy.

Reattaching his thumb to your clit, he coaxed moan after moan out of you.

Hitting a spot somewhere deep in you, cunt spasming as he rode out you high with slow strokes, “the g-spot, a small area that aids with the female orgasm.”

Taking his fingers to his mouth once more, he watched you let your legs down and close your eyes to help calm your roaring heart. In your bliss, you felt two lips connect to yours, a soft dance between new lovers.

A forehead rested on your hands and ran up and down your sides placing you back into a sitting position.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“We still have one more thing to do.”

Oh right, this lesson was a two-way street.

Crawling to kneel between his crossed legs you palmed his bulge as he leaned back on the chair, bringing his hands behind his head. He watched you take his cock out of its restraints, wrapping your lips around the tip leaning his pre-cum.

He let you pace yourself, don't complain when you came up to explain what you were doing to what.

On the contrary, you could tell all he wanted to do was push your head down and keep it there until his load stuffed your throat. Realizing this was probably the last time you would have control over the boy.

But all seems worth it when he shows you the A+ on the anatomy test.

Maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi is a good student after all.

#ushijima x reader #ushjima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader smut #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader

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silkylious · 3 years

Text

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.” (Lucifer x Reader)

fandom: obey me! shall we date?

pairing: lucifer x gn reader

warnings: angst, fluff (mildly lol), suggestive (nothing explicit though!), bittersweet, ambiguous ending (??), unedited

wc: 2.1k

“Lucifer?” you called out to him on a whim, eyes trailing the seconds ticking away on his grandfather-clock.

“Yes?” he didn’t spare you a glance as he worked methodically through his second hill of paperwork; a heaping stack of duties assigned to him by Diavolo, endless bills–a consequence of Mammon’s latest spending spree, you ought to talk to him about those soon–and the sort piled neatly on his pristine desk, slowly but surely decreasing in size as Lucifer burned through the tedious task with unwavering efficiency. You felt exhausted just watching him work. Lucifer? He hadn’t so much as blinked more than three times in the past five minutes (yes, you counted). Obsidian sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, hair perfectly framing his face with one strand slightly out of place–hot–and a gentle crease between his brows (the only observable hint alluding to the mounting stress on his shoulders). He looked positively delectable, nothing like someone who’s been working diligently for hours without any breaks. But that just served as a testament to the fundamental difference between the two of you, you supposed.

“I’m in love with you,”

That made his meticulous fingers pause in their tracks.

“Pardon?”

As it turned out, his ears hadn’t, in fact, deceived him. You repeated the confession as if it weighed nothing on your tongue. You were strangely calm given the words you’d just blurted out; he almost didn’t recognize you. An unfamiliar shade of desperation painted all over your face, and yet your voice bared to him a serene conviction, one he’d never heard from you before. Lucifer’s heartbeat stumbled in your wake.

Basking in your courageous display just a second longer, he sighed. Too bad he’d have to mutilate such a pretty sight so soon.

That didn’t go exactly as he’d planned. The harsh rejection barely deterred you, leaving only a petulant pout on your lips and a promise that you’d come talk to him later.

Lucifer was anything but stupid. He knew that he let things stray too far between you, knew it was his fault for not pulling away from your kisses and instead indulging you (and himself) to the fullest. His fault for ignoring the guilt that settled deep in his gut like hunks of steel when you looked at him like he’d never experienced before. Lucifer had lived for many millennia, had relished the warmth of countless passionate lovers and faceless hookups, none of which had ever set him alight from the inside out like your adoring gaze had. It terrified him how after all these years, watching humans thrive and collapse over and over again, he thought he’d seen everything there is to see, all that humans had to offer. And then you come along, reinventing what love meant right before his eyes, with a simple look no less.

He never intended for you to fall in love with him, and he never intended to reciprocate. Had he been mortal, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. But life dealt a cruel hand, and he wasn’t. A relationship like yours was doomed to crumble in heartache from the start, it was best to stop it before things went too far. That was the plan anyway.

You didn’t share the same sentiment.

With one last exasperated sigh, Lucifer focused his attention back on his duties. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against your persistence, and honestly he preferred not to dwell on it. Whatever outcome lied for the both of you in the near future, itching one step closer with each tick on the clock, he’d face it head on when it was time.

Meanwhile, you laid wide awake, in your bed, rethinking every decision that led you here. You didn’t regret your confession, nor were you keen on giving up, but Lucifer’s ruthless rejection, his vehement claim that a relationship between a human and a demon is destined to end in tragedy festered a bud of doubt in you. You noted pettily that he hadn’t outright denied any feelings for you. How could he? Lucifer was many, ugly things but a liar’s not one of them; you wouldn’t believe him even if he did lie, not with how delicately he holds your hand in his gloved one, not with how heartbreakingly beautiful he was when he lets you in at his lowest, stripped completely of his pride.

You knew though, that as much as Lucifer was a creature of the past, he was a creature of regrets.

Somehow, you’d managed to reach the heart of the Avatar of Pride himself, bestowing a porcelain touch on it and subsequently rocking the monotony of his endless life. Despite the acknowledgment of both your feelings, you weren’t naïve enough to dismiss how his heart drums thousands of years apart from yours and would continue to do so long after yours gave its last valiant pump.

He was a creature of the past you realized; humans intently watch minutes, hours, years approach because there’s only so much of them live out, there’s only so much to do in a lifetime. Naturally it would be counterintuitive to waste scarce time on the past. The immortal have no such concern. When time is limitless, and life is all but a blur of recycled events, its only instinctive to lose interest in what’s to come. And you guessed, maybe there was a strange comfort in the predictability of eternity, maybe that’s why Lucifer was so offput by the notion of something serious yet temporary, especially romance.

You decided. You wouldn’t let him look back and ponder what ifs in that stubborn head of his, not while you were still breathing. With regained determination, you glanced one last time at your countertop alarm and entered a dreamless slumber.

Not even two days later, three consecutive raps on his door made Lucifer rub at his temples for the nth time and begrudgingly called for you to enter. Piled on his desk were several stacks of papers (as was the usual), though, that night he was in a particularly sour mood. Ever since your confession, he’d been feeling uneasy, Diavolo hurling more work at him last minute was only pushing him to his wit’s end.

“Lucifer,” he hummed in response, not bothering to conceal his growing agitation. “we need to talk,”

Ah, there it was. He was wondering when you’d confront him again.

“I believe I made myself quite clear last time,” he sighed, dropping his pen and finally meeting your eyes. “If this is about your feelings again then I’m sorry but I can’t–”

“But why? Can you really say that what we have isn’t special at all?” your lower lip quivered just a bit and Lucifer had to fight the immediate reflex of holding you close and hushing your worries. His impassiveness quickly arose frustration out of you. “God Damnit, Lucifer! All I want is to be with you while I still can! To die with no regrets, knowing you’ll be there with me, but it’s very fucking hard to do that when you’re too scared of the future to do something about–about us!”

It was a low blow to go after his pride, you knew that, but he wasn’t giving you much to work with.. Rubbing salt in a ghastly wound had certainly done the trick, the dimmed crimson that pooled just below his pupil began to shine scarlet. You would have found it gorgeous had it not been imbued with near murderous intent. Lucifer’s poker face was rapidly breaking, a horrid mix of anger and melancholy sat heavy in his throat. He was looking straight at you, but his eyes were somewhere else, some time else. He was staring hundreds of years behind you at an unhealed, poorly bandaged cut. An everlasting guilt he carried with him everywhere.

“What would you know about regret?” he breathed out the words like they’re bullets, whatever restraint he’d managed to scarp together deteriorating. He stepped closer, each stride bigger than the last as he closed the distance between you, a perfect diamond manifesting on his forehead and you could see the beginnings of black feathers sprouting from his back. “Do you have the slightest clue what a blessing mortality is? Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to live with your regrets and not be able to die with them?”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you stood your ground. “But, do you really want to live with one more regret to bear?”

He kissed you. He kissed you like he hated you, animosity and anger and pain and, most prominently, pining spilling from his lips. Lucifer parted from you just as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss, taking the time to let his irritation bleed out of him, until he was left grappling with (frankly terrifying) longing and adoration. Just this once, he’d take a leap of faith, he’d break his own rigorous code and take the risk of undying heartache in the future to be with you in the now.

One kiss turned into many, and soon you found yourselves stumbling your way from his office to his bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of you, the thought that some day he would be deprived of you broke him and made him yearn to cherish you just as much. Precious things aren’t meant for longevity, he learned. All the more reason to treasure them when given the chance. You were pushed onto his bed and not once did his hands and mouth and breath leave your skin; he couldn’t bear sever that connection.

Before long, your hands were pined to the mattress, fingers tightly laced with his as if he was petrified the moment will break and a thousand years would pass you by the instant he let go.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

Neither of you heard the clock strike midnight.

Lucifer was well-acquainted with sleepless nights. He was no stranger to the prick at the corner of his eye, excruciatingly familiar with midnight’s cold, lonely touch. But this one was different. Where usually lied a cool emptiness in his sheets, your warm, inviting body was just in reach. Where the corners of his mind were usually plagued by past mistakes and sorrowful repentance, you were all he could think about. He reflected on your words now that the high of emotions had worn off. He still disagreed with you on many things and, if he was being true to himself, it would take more than one night to abandon his reluctance, much more. But he was willing to put in his fair share of effort. He was willing to do many things for you, he mused. You were right about one thing though, regardless of whether or not he acted on his feelings, your parting would hurt all the same. Part of him was still resentful that he let himself fall so deeply in love with you, and a part of him knew it couldn’t be helped. You’d carved a home for yourself out of his heart, invited yourself in and declared pompously you’d be there to stay, and he’d be damned to hell all over again if he said he didn’t like that.

Pulling you closer to leech off your warmth, for the first time in forever, he dreamt of the future, a future with you.

Snapping out his reverie, Lucifer refocused his vision on the framed picture before him. It’s been a couple dozen years, the pain dulled into a hollow longing, and yet not a single regret weighed on his back. He was astonished, how you, who had lived but a fraction of his own lifetime, had such impeccable foresight. He lays in bed every night and morning thanking you for not giving up, knowing that if you had, he’d be spending the rest of his infinite days in self-loathing regret.

All Lucifer could ask for now is a little guidance. What was he to do now? Was he even capable of falling in love again after you? Would he allow it? All questions that began frequenting his head since you’re no longer there to occupy it. He only knew is that he’d love you, and love you, and love you until this world fell apart. He toyed with the idea of reincarnation. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he saw you in everything he did. Strange how you’d taught him more about appreciating every day’s mundanities than he had in the many eons he’s been alive. Lucifer wonders about the possibility of you donning the same white wings he once had back in the Celestial Realm. If you ever did, he wonders about the complications that would arise from that, he wonders if you’d even remember him. All Lucifer was left with was a simple truth. If you ever came back, whichever form you may take, he’d welcome you back into the adobe of his heart without a second thought.

He ran his thumb over your smile, a bittersweet acceptance in his own.

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.”

Obey me! taglist: @katsucookie @strwbry-m1lk (you wanted to be tagged in this one lol) join my taglist here! <3

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sepia-mahogany · 3 years

Text

Platonic Hanahaki

The stories are just as widely known, of loving and losing, of yearning and forgetting, common in present time as they were years ago, of loving someone so deeply, without desire but not without passion, of kings and warriors, of lovers and brothers, of people not kin not lovers, growing in their lungs the flowers with thorns that cut deep, and drank away their blood without leaving any survivors.

Of course the tales are many, as tragic as they are, of how a man who killed his beloved for making him feel what he deemed unnecessary, his beloved who offered him a little white carnation, covered red in blood, but he held up his sword and cut through flesh, only to follow few days later in his grief.

Or of how a woman travelled across seas, in search of her soulmate, for the agony of her blood kept her comfort, for the heartbeat that echoed along with the garden she grew inside her lungs, because it meant her beloved was well, until one day, she coughed up a black rose and sank to her knees, disappearing from the world.

Of course, there were the ones who lived and got their happy ends, filled with their beloved ones caress or tears of guilt, and so was recorded, the flowers turning to dust and fading away, for their love had been acknowledged, so why the need for the reminder in their veins? Only marks appear on their skin, the place where they first made contact, sometimes the cheek, sometimes the hand, sometimes unseen under the clothes from when they rough-housed as kids.

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Jiang Fengmian closed the book that he read, the pain blossoming sharp in his lungs, since that night when he sat, staring at the lotuses under the moonlight, his mind drifting to moments of the past, of longing of what once was, Lotus Pier once his home, felt more like a shackle around his wrists, yet this was his responsibility and he would bear the weight.

He thought to the day he waved away his dearest friend, the one by his side since they were young and grown into the men they were today, and as life went on, it was natural and it was expected, so Fengmian had not been forlorn but rather joyfully wished them well with sincerity and hoped they could visit some time in the future.

He was happy for Changze, for he had found his One, he’d seen the way he looked at her and she at him, he may have held affections for one of them but his love for their friendship outweighed it, and he would be content if they were healthy and successful in the path they chose, but even he knew with their own busy lives, it would be difficult to meet for a long time, so he bid them farewell and cherished their memories.

He didn’t feel as disappointed over his marriage as he originally did, it might have been arranged because of Meishan Yu Sect’s pressuring and his mother’s continuous desire for wanting one of theirs to be his bride, ‘to be the stern hand to his mellowness’ she had said, and what kind of a filial son would he be if he broke the betrothal off now?

And it was not as if he knew the Third Lady of Meishan Yu personally, seeing his brother-in arm’s relationship, his heart could not help but swell with hope, perhaps they could come to understand one another? He looked at his flowers, the ones he had grown with them, and the purple lotuses blooming near the entrance and thought, would she notice how the the colour reflected her eyes? Maybe a boat ride would help? Making future plans with anticipation, he felt a smile blooming on his face.

The day of the wedding came and went, except the chambers of the first night of the married couple remained empty, for his wife had requested for separate quarters in the privacy of their room, he agreed, perhaps she was nervous? Knowing each other better was better than consummation with a stranger, he nodded to himself, he should probably help make her comfortable as her husband.

He approached her room after he finished dressing and knocked lightly, and hesitantly called out “Third-lady?” The door opened, by one of the two girl’s Yu Ziyuan had brought over, and he saw his heart skip a beat when he saw her sitting clothed in Yunmeng Jiang’s purple, her violet eyes staring at him, her lips pursed in a line.

“What is it?” she asked, annoyance clear by her expression, he hesitated yet again, perhaps he had come too early? Yesterday had been a busy banquet. “Would you like to come to the pavilion with me today?” her eyes narrowed and he thought he saw a brief anger flash on her face, was she misunderstanding his intentions?? “The flowers are quite beautiful and the weather is quite good today, tea outside seems a calming time, doesn’t it?” he added, trying to make sure his tone did not seem too hurried, except she became even more angry.

Just when he expected her to refuse, she nodded curtly, “What time?” He let out a breath he did not even realise that he was holding, “Whatever seems comfortable.” He smiled at her gently, her eyes roamed over his face once again before she looked away, knowing full well she meant for him to leave, he got up.

He was happy throughout the day and it must have shown on his face, because his right-hand man told him to leave the Sect work to him for today and ‘just go Sect Leader!”, he had prepared the afternoon snacks himself, the place polished and ready for a wonderful evening, despite that, he still could not help but anxiously look over everything as he waited for her arrival, and she arrived, wearing the same robes as she was in the morning.

He got up to extend her seat. “Good Evening, Third-Lady” She had been looking around the garden since she had entered, he thought it out of appreciation, since these were the flowers they cultivated for years, until her eyes landed on him, which held the same anger as they did earlier in the morning. He served her the tea which she held tightly in her hands, and he found himself worrying, “Is something wrong?”

He expected her to say that the tea was not up to her taste at best, he expected her to criticise the garden’s decor at worse, what he had not expected were the words that left her mouth. “So this is the garden you cultivated with that woman? And you dared to bring me, your wife, here on the first day after our marriage?” She hissed, her words crisp and cutting, he felt confusion, followed by horrified upon realisation of the implications.

“Third-Lady! What are you saying??”

“What am I saying?! Do you deny it? Do you take me for a fool? You married me once you were rejected by her, everyone knows that and you think that I will sit here calmly while being disrespected!? What do you take me for??” She yelled at him, slamming the cup down, he was truly shocked and frozen in his spot looking at her in bewilderment, had that really been what everyone was saying?

However, she took his shocked silence for agreement and got up to leave, “Third-Lady wait! It isn’t as you think, at all! Let me explain, we were friends and nothing else” He saw her pause, her back towards him so he hurried to explain.

“Changze brought her over once, to show her the garden we had cultivated since we were kids.” He paused to take a breath, “The only thing that was planted upon her suggestion were the purple lotuses-” He saw her head tilt as she looked the flowers, with a hopeful heart he thought, ‘maybe..?’ But before he could finish, Yu Ziyuan had turned around, a sneer upon her lips as she trampled upon the flowers next to her.

‘...to be the first thing you see, when you enter the garden.’

She left him staring at the trampled flowers, the tea cup tipped all over the table from when she smashed it in anger, and he sat there, processing what had happened, until a disciple knocked at the door, “Sect Leader?” The disciple peeked inside to catch his eye and stammered, “The meeting is about to begin, some urgent things came up and-” he smiled and replied “Of course, I’ll be on my way.” He sent the disciple off, grabbed a few napkins to clean up the table, and picked up the trampled flowers from the ground.

The days that followed went on without much words spoken between them, he did not dare to make the first move, because if she could misunderstand him in ways to such high extents, he was not sure what she would think if her sent over gifts, even if the thought of sending some crossed his mind, her scowling face and the violet of her eyes reminded him of that day, leading him to stay away.

He entered the garden, as months went by, the flowers that were once blooming wilted, just like everything in life had its end, some more sooner than the others, some caused by another, he thought as his eyes lingered on the place where once the purple lotus flowers stood.

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“She’ll love them!” Cangse Sanren had said with that confident smile of hers, giving him thumbs up with both hands covered in dirt from where she planted her side of the lotuses with Changze, who nodded as well when he looked at him. “The ones on the right are from us, the ones to left were planted by her were own future-husband.” She grinned as he could feel flush creeping up his cheeks, he cleared his throat accompanied by Changze’s fond sigh.

“She’ll probably melt, Sect Leader Jiang, down on his hands and knees in dirt, planting flowers in her-” Jiang Fengmian cut her off “Okay, enough! Enough!” he muttered, wiping his hands clean and looking at Changze, who only looked the other way as his wife cackled, the traitor. “Besides I plant flowers anyway, so does Changze, it’s not anything special like that.” He said defensively, Cangse Sanren had the audacity to roll her eyes, at Sect Leader, and his own home at that. “Sureee, Fengmian, sure.”

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When he began to plant new fresh seeds, it took him much longer without Changze doing the other half, now, the thought of even considering Yu Ziyuan to plant the other half seemed laughable, he had been wrong in thinking they could come to understand one another, but now what was done was done, he could not exactly with separate her just within a few months of marriage, so he took a deep breath and decided upon a peace offering.

She was the Violet Spider, with a harsh temper and equally cutting words, what would be a gift that would be to her liking? He did not need to ponder over it for long, because to his surprise, he was approached by her during the evening, when he was alone. “I want to handle the training of the disciples.” She stated more than asked, Jiang Fengmian hesitated, that was a mistake, “What? Don’t think I’m good enough to train Yunmeng Jiangs disciples? Not good enough as your-” he cut her off,

“No! That’s not what I was thinking-” the original instructor had been hand picked and carried the legacy of his forefathers, how could he alter what was passed down for generations- “Did you speak over me!? Trying to silence me, are you? With how you married me as a substitute for her? Is that not it?? Is that why you’re so hesitant?? Or perhaps is it that I’m a woman and you’re scared-” what?? “My Lady! That’s not it at all! I-”

“Then prove it, or else it's not believable at all, what other reason would you have then, to think that I am somehow inferior in your mind?” Her words dripped with poison, her eyes locking onto him, eyes of a venomous spider, he raised up his hand to massage his forehead. “Its not that simple! The instructing handlers have been passed down through generations, I cannot just change it on a whim.”

And she leaned back, smug as if she had won the argument, “Then perhaps it is not I who is lacking.” He felt cold all over, the anger he felt giving him no warmth, insulting his friends, insulting him, and now his sect. “Third-Lady, please be careful of what you speak, careless words aren’t able to be taken back easily.” Her smile remained, “Who says these are careless words? I mean every one of them, your Sect teachings haven’t produced any excelling disciple for the past years, while other Sect’s flourish, give me the reigns and I’ll show you how its done.”

Not only accepting all her words as intentional, but also implying she could do better than the Jiang Sect’s teachings over hundreds of years, he realised more and more what sort of a person he had been tied down to, would it not be better to just end the marriage? He instead looked over her smug expression and took a deep breath, “Fine, but give me time.” She nodded and left at that, a means to an end, giving her the benefit of the doubt, he did not know at the time, would turn out to be one of his worst mistakes.

It took him months but he managed to get some disciples under Yu Ziyuan, but his concerns were not simply over the teachings, if Yu Ziyuan could act the way she did with him, well with disciples? So he supervised the training lessons, but again to his surprise, other than some curt words, she did not verbally attack them the way she had attacked him, so it wasn’t her behaviour in general, just with him.

Of course he had called over one of the disciples randomly, although nervous and stuttering, the boy had answered that the training was going quite well, and with no reports or complaints in the following months, he could not do anything but let the matter drop, with this however, the matter of their distance remained as it was.

Soon he found that she relocated the aides he had, he had been angry of course, and immediately gone to her. “Where did you send Li Feng and the rest? And with what authority, you have no right-” she cut him off slamming her hands on top of the table. “With authority as your wife!? Or have you forgotten who your wife is?? So what? Can’t I move around servants here??” the anger churned his insides more so than anything else.

“Those people aren’t servants, Li Feng is my right-hand man, please refer to them respectfully.” He tried to speak as calmly as possible, she glared at him “As the Madam of this house, I can do however I want.” he pinched the bridge of his nose, looked at her, her violet eyes, and exhaled. “Every action I do is met with anger, scorn or contempt,” He began, voice devoid of previous anger, “Then perhaps we should part ways.” He finished and her expression changed.

Out went the anger from her glare, instead for the first time she looked at him with shock instead of rage, and it was the first time he heard her stutter. “F-Fengmian, you can’t…” He looked at her, much relaxed with his mind made up, “Third-Lady, we clearly aren’t meant to be, we are completely different.” He turned his back and made to leave, with his hand on the door handle, “How dare you do this to me?”

Still the same, he closed his eyes, “How dare you, when I work day and night to train your disciples, how dare you, when you agreed to marry me in the first place, if anything, it's all your fault these things happen!” She yelled and he turned to look at her in disbelief, she cried “Why did you marry me if you were going to abandon me later?? How dare you!” she grabbed the nearest object, a cup and threw it at him, but he caught it before it broke.

‘Your fault’ she said, how was it his fault with any of it?? With how she behaved- “Have I caused problems in your Sect?? Have I gone out of my way to harm your people? All I did was rearrange the schedule setting but you seem to think I have committed treason?!”

She looked at him with anger “Did you not approach me first on that day? I was fine in my own quarters but you had to approach me.” He did but it was for purpose of getting to know each other better!

“Then all I asked was to train your disciples, only to get your suspicion” She huffed angrily “Do you think think me blind? That I would not if you called them to check if I was abusing them?? What do you take me for exactly!?” She saw him staring wide-eyed and nodded “You don’t get to ask for separation when I’m one who has suffered, after I’ve worked so hard, you could make some efforts too, if you weren’t so obsessed with that woman, and hate me unreasonably for not being her, then perhaps you would know!” She left, slamming the door behind her.

Her words repeated over and over in his head, ‘your fault’, true he had approached her first that day...but..and again the thing with disciples, he felt guilt creeping up in his heart, he should have tried harder if she misunderstood him, he should have explained it better, in a few days he saw his aides once again under him, but instead of greeting him like they usually did, they looked at him as if a stranger.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, Li Feng answered “Of course, Sect Leader.” He nodded, not noticing anything odd, except over the next month, he realised they were treating him distantly, he couldn’t share with them what was on his mind, nor any of his opinions, being met with “As Sect Leader wishes.” Was Yu Ziyuan right? Was he the one lacking in communication? But he never had Changze misunderstand him...

In his state, he did not notice rumours spreading about how Jiang Fengmian did not like Yu Ziyuan because he was ‘still in love with another woman’.

Most of time was spent busy with his work, not knowing how to face her again, days became months, he would sometimes reminisce over his past times, feeling guilt weighing him down and pain in his chest, there no reason for him to feel anything out of the ordinary, until one day, when he was sitting in his room while looking down at his garden, the flowers did not bloom, he thought, and he felt a wave of coldness wash over him

Thinking how the once lively Lotus Pier turned into a place of coldness for him, his wife refused to talk to him, his aides and friends looked at him with judgement in their eyes, and then the pain increased unnaturally, until he couldn’t help but take in deep breaths helping to no avail, and then he coughed.

He coughed and coughed until he could feel his lungs bleed and he tasted metal on his tongue, until he could feel thorns scratching his throat as he choked with panic overtaking him, barely able to breath he vomited, instead of feeling his blanket get wet from what he thought was bile, he opened his eyes to be greeted by flowers, lots of carnations, stargazer lilies and purple hyacinths mixed together, covered in blood and vines.

He laughed, he had not laughed since the day he got married to Yu Ziyuan, he laughed and laughed bitterly, tears forming in his eyes, he felt so alone, he thought ‘how good would it be if I could just leave?’, at least, he thought between breaths, at least they are alright, it had been a long time since he had heard from his friends.

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

A year had passed just like that, Yu Ziyuan’s angry scornful comments continued any time he so much as tried to speak to her that he gave up trying, his aides while weren’t exactly the same with him anymore, he did catch them staring at him with concern sometimes, few reassurances had them going back to work.

Hearing knocking at the door, with Yu Ziyuan’s “It’s me”, exhaustion filled him, and his heart skipped a beat with fear, of course it wasn’t that he was afraid of her, but her reaction, her words if she knew, he glanced once at the hiding place of the book and got up to open the door, tired as he did not want to face more of her tirades or whatever she wanted from him.

She walked in, eyes roaming over his room and sat on the edge of his bed, “Fengmian” she began, and he took a deep breath, she wanted to ask for something when she spoke like that, “What is it Third-Lady?” he asked, a bit resigned.

“The people have been talking.” She said a bit curtly, that phrase always sent his thoughts back to when they first talked, and since whenever she uttered it, it was almost always followed by anger, he did not like it at all.

Though reluctant, he still asked weakly “About what, Third-Lady?” she looked away. “Heirs” With that one word, he felt a surge of that unpleasant coldness forming in the pit of his stomach. “‘Heirs?’” he repeated, he had known that one day he would have to consummate their relationship, and he had foolishly avoided it being brought up, with what reason could he deny this?

“Make up your mind, people have been talking, how Fengmian has not touched his wife since her arrival.” She said, turning to look at her, the violet of her eyes made him sick, his thoughts filled with the purple hyacinths covered in blood, he felt breath come short to his lungs. “Give me time, Third-Lady.” He whispered weakly, and winced when he realised it was the wrong thing to say as her expression twisted.

“Do you hear yourself? Always ‘give me time’ whenever I ask you for something, haven’t I given you enough time to come to yourself? Always dazed nowadays!” She snapped and he flinched, “Third-Lady no! I-” She interrupted “Don’t speak over me!” She got up, and walked closer to him, prompting him to take a step back.

“You, always yearning for your beloved it it?” She sniffed and he felt his heart drop, she couldn’t possibly have known, he went alone and- “You...you had people following me??” He whispered, angered, afraid, he did not know what he was feeling, except that he wanted to be far far away from her. Were it the people he once called his aides?

“Does it matter? Who knows when you’d meet up with that wh-” He slammed his hand on the door “Third-Lady, please leave.” He said taking in deep breaths to keep the pain at bay, “Just go” He added when a look of anger overcame her yet again “Fengmian you-” he didn’t let her speak. “You want heirs? Heirs right? Let's talk about that later, out” He pointed to the door, she bit her lips but ultimately left, knowing her words wouldn’t be needed any more having accomplished what she came for.

He closed the door and tried to move to the inside of the room, where he coughed, coughed until blood poured down his mouth, blood until the purple flowers fell from his mouth, it was getting worse than before, he huffed and washed clean the blood, washed cleaned the flowers, a drawer he opened, entirely filled with violet flowers, a reminder of the fool he had been.

He sat on his knees as he stared them, despair heavy on his face, “Ah Changze, what am I supposed to do?”

So, they shared the moment of what should have been their wedding night, he left as soon as morning came, with the urge to vomit yet again at his throat, and it was not entirely due to the diseases spike, he would hope that was the one and only moment time they would ever have to take part in matrimonial duties, for her cutting words didn’t ever seem to hold back, no matter the occasion.

Months passed and confirmation came that she was with child, it was a relief to him, less about acquiring an heir and more not having to deal with the woman, except in her state she was more unbearable than ever but he couldn’t say anything, for he would be met with her rant of “You did this to me!” From her, he fulfilled her every wish, but he couldn’t think to be with her in the same room for more than a few minutes, without bile rising to his throat.

But when the day of the birth came, he sat as she held his arm, as she screamed in pain, that was the least he could do as her husband, suppressing all moments of disgust he felt upon her touch, and after hours and hours, he got to hold his daughter while her mother took rest, and his heart filled with love, his little one, she was his dearest child, Jiang Yanli.

For a few days, things seemed better, Yu Ziyuan seemed to hold back on her anger, he assumed she had been happy as well, how wrong he had been, when she came to him and spoke about betrothal with her Sworn Sister, Madam Jin of Jin Sect, and he felt disbelief coursing his veins and it was the first time he truly raised his voice at her. “No.” he said firmly, no matter how much she yelled or screamed, he refused.

He had said, “Her marriage will done with her own choice, no matter what.” he thought later that had been a mistake, because Yu Ziyuan started to arrange play-dates between Yanli and the Jin heirs son, he still refused, until Jiang Yanli herself came to him, claiming she loved the boy she saw but barely knew anything of, if she did, she would have seen the disdain the boy held for prospect of marriage, the same disdain he saw in Yu Ziyuan.

The woman came to him again, “A-Li likes him, or are you going to deny what you had said?” He wanted to argue, Yanli was barely old enough to understand but knowing Yu Ziyuan, he knew there was no way she would give up, so he agreed, hoping to break it off later in the future, when Yanli was old enough to understand, his daughter would know that there was no love lost between her and the boy.

Until her 3rd birthday, when it became more and more obvious that Yanli could not form a core, and Yu Ziyuan’s anger burned again, he tried to keep Yanli around him more than her, but when she came asking to talk to her daughter, as her mother, he could not refuse, his daughter usually looked down instead of looking at her.

One of those days, when Yu Ziyuan had come to ask, Jiang Yanli held tightly on his clothes and looked at him with her light coloured eyes, Ziyuan’s purple reminded him of poison, of those hyacinths in his lungs, and Yanli’s reminded him of those purple lotuses, that he had grown with love, he made an excuse, and the woman huffed away, “Fine, send her over later then.” He did not, “She was tired.” He said calmly, when Yu Ziyuan later yelled at him.

They had to share the bed once more when the question of heirs was brought up, and he had spent the rest of the day in his room, vomiting, sick to his stomach, both the blood and the food, for the first time since Yanli’s birth. As usual, he cleaned up without letting anyone know.

Nearing the evening, he heard a light knock at his door. “Father?” He heard, Yanli call out, he got up to open the door, and invited his little daughter in, “Father’s not well?” she questioned as she climbed up onto his lap, he patted her head lovingly. “Father is okay. A-Li does not have to worry, but he wonders what has she been doing? I saw her go to the kitchen earlier today.” He pretended to be puzzled.

“A-Li learnt how to make soup from Old Fa!” She said excitedly, holding her hands together. “But Mother says its a servant’s job, she doesn’t like it.” She wilted and he looked at her directly. “Father would love to eat a-li’s soup.” She looked at him hopefully, “I know it’d taste delicious!” She cheered up.

“I made it for father today.” She ran out and came back with a bowl filled with what was..the soup. He drank it anyway and gave a strained smile, “Could use a little less salt” He choked out, and her smile was worth it.

Weeks passed peacefully, he was with Yanli in the kitchen, watching as Old Fa taught her how to knead, cooking was one of the few things that brought a smile to her face, seeing her so excited, he relaxed as well, until Yu Ziyuan joined them, he hadn’t expected her to, given her mindset of it being a servants job, “A-Li you’re doing it wrong.” She said after watching her for a moment, in the same tone of voice as she used when training disciples.

“A-Xuan won’t like it if all you can do is cook, come with me to the training grounds.” She said, he cut her off “A-Li doesn’t have to do everything for him.” And Yu Ziyuan turned to him “If you want her to do a servant job then that's on you, she’s my daughter too, and as the daughter of Violet Spider, she should be able to fight! Not partaking in these weak acts-” He cut her off “Third Lady! Control your words!”

Before he could say more, soft sniffles cut him off, he looked at his daughter, her hands still inside the dough, tears she was trying to wipe on her shoulder, “Third-Lady is not allowed in the kitchen anymore.” He said and watched Old Fa escort her out, not before Yu Ziyuan shouted, “You cannot keep me from training my daughter!” She yelled as if he had ordered her banishment instead.

“No one is keeping you, if you have nothing good to say to a-li, it's better if you stay away from her, Third-Lady, take the day to cool off” He nodded towards the door, “Fine! If you want your daughter to be a weak-” he cut her off “Third-Lady! Leave.” She threw one last look at them and left fuming.

He knelt next to his daughter, pulled her into a hug. “A-Li is sorry Father!” She sobbed, and rubbed her back “A-Li doesn’t have to be sorry, a-li’s mother should be saying sorry.”

“Mother says father doesn’t like a-li” She said after calming down a bit “Because a-li looks like her mother-” he pulled back to look at her in the eye and enunciated his every word, “A-Li is not her mother, a-li is my beloved daughter, and I love everything a-li does” He told her comfortingly.

“A-Li is not weak, a-li is peaceful, there is strength in nurturing and kindness.” Yanli finally seemed to calm down, hiccuping but not sobbing anymore, he wiped her tears away and smiled “Father loves a-li a lot.” he said as he kissed the top of her head.

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And then the day came when Yanli’s little sibling came into the world, accompanied by just as much of screaming, but less hours lost, Yanli cooed over her little brother, a tiny little thing in her mother’s arms, she reached out and lightly pressed his cheek, “So small.” Her father chuckled and said “A-Li was also this small when she was born.” Yu Ziyuan showed a rare smile as well, “His name will be Jiang Cheng.” She said.

Things went a bit smoothly after that, even though Ziyuan was the same as always Yanli his beloved daughter was eight years old, and his son, Jiang Cheng was four, his core formed well and he thought Yu Ziyuan had been happy, so he had not expected when she was walked into his room and started yelling,

“Why are you ostracising your son!? Yanli’s going to be married into Jin Sect and yet you spend time coddling her! And you don’t spend the same amount of time with your son?”

He really hadn’t expected her random onslaught, nor where she was coming from, his son was working hard, and he had overlooked his training personally, teaching him the Jiang teachings along with Yu Ziyuan’s own training. “Oh is it because I’m his mother? Because you cannot handle seeing your own son when you want to see a son with her-” Where was she coming from, he felt horrified, “Third-Lady! What’re you saying!?”

The door swung open and their son, Jiang Cheng stood shocked, scared at being caught and tears in his eyes, before he ran away. He turned to her disgust forming heavy, before leaving her where she stood spluttering how she didn’t mean for him to hear her.

He found his son sobbing as Yanli comforted him in his room. “Mother doesn’t mean it.” Yanli told him as she rubbed his back, “She loves you.” He only sobbed louder, “But she’s right, Father likes you more because he hates me. He likes that boy more-” Yanli looked as if she didn’t know what to say, and Fengmian felt confused, who were they talking about?

“No, I absolutely, do not.” He said and his children froze and turned to him, “You do! Why do you make me work more than everyone else!?” His son got up, and lightly started punching him from where he reached his knees while he sobbed, Jiang Fengmian, placed a hand on his shoulder, suppressing the pain in his heart and lungs.

“Because A-Cheng is going to be the Sect Leader, A-Cheng needs to be strong.” He said evenly as his son shook his head. “That’s not what you said to Jie!” and ran to his bed, “A-Cheng listen-” His son turned to look at him with anger “If you did then you wouldn’t have that disease!”

Jiang Fengmian stared at him, too shocked to feel anything. How? Or Why? Did she tell them that?! How did she even- his thoughts cut off as he thought back, if she could send people tailing him, what couldn’t she do?

He looked at his daughter who avoided his gaze, “A-Li?” she answered silently “Mother said Father would replace him for-” She frowned, trying to remember a name, “‘Wei Ying’, the son of your-” She sneaked a peak at him “Your ‘beloved’.” And looked away, as if feeling guilt.

“A-Li, no, I love you both, how can she-” Yanli nodded, “I know that you love us, but A-Cheng thinks Father doesn’t like him because of Mother…” she hesitated. “And that you regret it wasn’t someone else, instead.”

He regretted, he regretted letting his children near Yu Ziyuan’s poisonous words, but the only regret was Yu Ziyuan, not his love for his children, it was not something he would ever regret, he didn’t even know Wei Changze had a son.

“A-Li” He began gently, knowing A-Cheng was listening when his shaking under the blanket stopped, “They were my friends, like you and-” He thought for a second, “-like you and A-Cheng, we grew up together but they were my friends, and you’re my children, I love you both.” He kissed the top of her head and her shoulders dropped in what could only be relief, and reached up to pat Jiang Cheng’s head under the blanket, and left them for a moment.

He knocked on Yu Ziyuan’s door, only to find it open and empty, he walked inside and opened the cabinets and drawers until he found what he was looking for, for her to know she must have- and there they were.

Pages over pages, written in a familiar writing, ranging from containing details of travels, requesting permission to visit, to mentions of ‘Wei Ying’s’ birth, he felt tears form in his own eyes, with his heart filled with overwhelming pain and indignation, he now understood her random bursts, they were each time a letter was received, over jealousy-

Before he could go out and confront her, the pain in his lungs became unbearable, he choked and coughed, no matter how much he tried to restrain it, he coughed until he collapsed to his knees, why now? His body heated up feeling thorns tear at this lungs and throat.

He could barely breath as he vomited, vision fading from the corner of his eyes, he was confused until he caught a look of the flowers he coughed, pure black roses mixed with the hyacinths, the rose thorns dripping with blood, no sign of lilies and carnations, his heart and soul filled with agony and he cried, and then he knew nothing more.

When he woke up, he felt nothing, he knew he hated Yu Ziyuan, but he felt nothing but blank emptiness, when he stared at the woman standing at the door, his children on either side of his bed. “Oh good, that you’re awake.” She hissed as if he was an inconvenience and he found no rage, and he nodded calmly instead.

He knew his friends had passed but he did not, could not feel grief, he knew he loved his children, so he reached out with both his hands, patting them as they muttered apologies while sobbing. “It wasn’t your fault, father was a bit sad, and was already sick, but he’s well now.” He said gently, and once the children left, he looked at the woman who was his wife and said “I’ll bring A-Ying back.”

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

Authors note

Jfm knew he cared for Wei Ying, yet he felt nothing.

He knew he loved his children, he felt nothing,

He knew he hated his wife, yet he felt, nothing.

---------

So yesterday i was looking through @angstymdzsthoughts and came across platonic hanahaki and thought hey sounds angsty, and thought ‘hey what if jfm had platonic hanahaki for cangse sanren and wei changze?’ i deliberately tried to keep it ambiguous which one he was in love with XD Madam Yu kept assuming and he didn’t give a fuk about correcting her, also like i couldnt bring myself to even write them spending the night together idk y, took a lot of effort lol. Started out with thinking hanaki, got more of JFM’s descent to feeling nothing oof.

Also like it turned out more focus on the fact that even before wwx was brought to lp, there would still be yzy biching and making everyone miserable so-

#mdzs #jiang fengmian #yu ziyuan #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #platonic hanahaki #wei wuxian #worked on typos yet again #wei changze #cangse sanren #my writing #prompted by angstymdzsthoughts post

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bokettochild · 3 years

Note

We need more Time and Wild bonding

For you, Anon! And also for @1142 who requested the same thing!

Summary: Time sees his family, friends and other loved ones in his boys, but Wild especially is reminding him of himself this morning, and he wants to offer some encouragement to the poor kid.

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It's quiet to read alone, listen to this!

Epona’s song drifted through the cool morning air.

The sound brought a smile to Time’s lips as he snuggled closer to the warmth pressed beside him, breathing in the clean morning air and tugging the blanket up higher on his shoulder.

He really didn’t want to wake up.

Although, he didn’t remember opening the bedroom window last-

Wait. They weren’t on the farm! They’d gone to sleep in the forest last night! There was no window to leave open, and no Malon singing or lying beside him. He shoots awake, pulling himself up with the intent of looking around camp, only to have something pull him back down towards the ground.

Looking down, he feels his scarred heart melt. Twilight twitches in his sleep, arms locking around his shoulders, sleepily groans sounding as the lad hangs off him, cold nose pressed to his neck. Tiny, whuffling snores sound from his pup as the younger man nuzzles closer, and he can only chuckle softly and rub his protégé's back lightly as he settled back down to let Twilight sleep.

He is curious who had been singing though.

A single blue eye takes in the camp as he props himself up slightly on his bedroll, careful not to disturb Twilight as he takes in where each of his boys lay.

Legend and Hyrule lay curled into each other, Legend clinging to his protégé while Hyrule’s hands lay buried in his mentor’s silky hair, a smile on the face of the younger and drool on the face of the elder*. Warriors lies close by, sprawled across his bedroll and snoring fit to wake the dead, utterly content and comfortable in the safety of his brothers and proving it with his noise. Opposite the three, Wind and Sky curl close, Sky’s sailcloth and their blankets thrown over the two leaving only Four’s left foot visible from between them.

His pup curls close to his side, one leg thrown over his waist and arms locked tight around his shoulders, holding him in place and preventing him from rising, but the bedroll on his left...

Epona’s song continues to dance through the camp, and Time’s single eye finally falls on Wild, the cook busily scrubbing out his favorite cooking pot on the very edge of camp, the familiar tune dancing off of the young one’s lips, suds rising halfway up his arms and hair thrown back in a messy bun that reminds Time strongly of Lullaby’s own hair when the woman loses patience with it. Decorum be shot, the queen will throw her own hair back with a simple hair tie in front of the whole court, ignoring how it makes her appear and continuing her duties without hair hanging in her face and her neck free from the oppressing heat of its constant curtain.

If ever he doubted that Lullaby and Shiek were the same person, each time he sees his princess behave in such a way, he’s reminded that, different time lines or no, there is still the same fiery spirit and passion for change in his friend that there had always been, and it is something he is happy to see reflected in some of his boys, along with Malon’s stubborn personality and incredible strength and kindness.

Maybe he is looking for the traits of those dearest to his heart in the boys that had pushed their way in. Be it by force or by accident as the hero might be, but it brings him no small joy to see Lullaby in Legend’s sharp glares or in Warriors’ brisk manner when planning. In Hyrule’s swift fingers or Wild’s sharp and calculating eyes. To see her in Four’s dark eyes, always thoughtful, always knowing, or in Sky’s burning passion.

It’s a wonder to see Malon in Wind’s boisterous cheer, and in Twilight’s rolling laughter. To see his wife’s mischief reflected in Wild’s luminescent gaze or her love of life in the way Legend cares for his orchard and animal friends. And the glimpse of unbelievable strength in Four’s easy lifting of weapons as big as himself, or the echo of her in the firm set of Warriors’ shoulders always makes him smile to himself.

There are others at times. Saria in Hyrule’s smile. Kafai in Wild’s laugh. Romani in Wind’s eccentric ideas, Nabooru in Legend’s firm stance and heavily lidded gaze, Navi in Sky’s light scolding and Tatl in Four’s acerbic wit. Glimpses of home and family echo around him, pulling close what reflected it and making them home and safety themselves. And over it all he can hear the winding of tunes that both tore apart and hold together the memories of his youth.

And now, one such tune, one especially close to his heart, one meant only for the Lon family and their famous steeds, dances over the edges of the camp and past the ears of the sleeping heroes as Wild lifts his cooking pot and carries it over to the fire, singing softly with faint and muddled words, many of them wrong, mumbled or tripped over, but sung all the same as food winks into being from the champion’s slate.

“-ne-ver far from home. Epona, Epona, can you hear hmm hmm, singing from in my heart, hmm-hmm-hmm.” Mumbled hums break the words as the champion works over the fire, measuring and stirring. “Something if you’re wandering far away hmm-hmm, listen for this melody calling you! Re-mem-ber that you have something-or-other to complete! I trust hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hm!”

The muddled version of the song makes him chuckle softly, startling the younger hero into spinning around, the spoon that Sky carved him brandished like a weapon as the champion prepares to defend himself against whatever he thinks may have startled him. Face beet red and growing redder.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

Wild looks instants away from combusting on the spot. “hOW- How long were you awake?” Gone are the stumbling yet melodious trills of the cook’s voice, instead replaced with a panicked squeak only made worse by his age.

It was like the first time he’d successfully startled Shiek, both of them both still so young that their voices broke under pressure, and the thought makes him smile as he meets the startled child’s gaze.

“Long enough.”

Wild’s ears droop, quivering with shame and embarrassment as the kid’s shoulders hunch up to brush against them, eyes darting down and refusing to meet Time’s as boot scuffs the dirt softly. “I thought you guys- that is- I thought it was-” Cornflower blue glances up, meeting his own for only a second before darting away again. “I thought it was safe.”

Safe? What does the cub- Understanding dawns and he finds himself chuckling low and soft. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“It’s not that.” The champion whispers. “I just- I don’t like people...hearing.”

Oh.

Also familiar, also so very familiar. Only this time he doesn’t see his wife or sisters and brothers, or mother or friends in the flushed face of the hero before him.

A squeaky voiced young hero, who’d pulled his cap over his face more times than anyone would guess when looking at his scarred face now, had time and again been encouraged by a darting blue fairy.

“You’ve got a lovely voice Link. No shame, come on!”

Of course, fairies always like hero their Chosen sing, but Time himself had, admittedly, stumbled over notes and keys nearly as badly as his pup still does, but he’d lacked any of Twilight’s playful self-confidence to be able to own up to the harsh squeaks and shrieking chirps that erupted out of him whenever someone else tried to get him to sing, or caught him singing.

He was fine, when Navi was fast asleep or the Kolkiri were half a forest away, or when it had just been himself and Epona, trailing through the dark woods in search of a light he’d have given anything to hear encouraging him to keep trying to raise his voice. It’d been the first time he’d really tried to Sing for his fairy, but it hadn’t done anything but tempt over two fairies who already had their own Chosen, a skullkid who’d pulled him along into a world where his voice had hidden with his face behind mask after mask.

It took Malon catching him singing while at work in the barn before he’d been able to et the guts up to actually try for her, but it’d been worth it when he hadn’t had to fumble with fancy words to ask her to marry him, not when there was a song and a dance just for that that he’d learned for Kafai while in Termina. Malon made his heart sing, but she also made him sing, and while her voice far outdid his own, it always made him happy to hear the two ringing together.

He’d once hoped, once he found out, that he’d one day hear Twilight’s voice rise up with theirs on some starlit evening, but after hearing his pup sing...

He loves Twilight like a son, but heaven forbid he ever force his wife to listen to that tone deaf mess!

Wild though, oh, Malon would love to tempt Wild into singing and guide him along until his voice could ring with hers. The child had the voice of a fairy, ethereal and inhuman, but in a way that made him feel light and airy and almost like he could fly.

“Well...” He wants very much to stand and walk over to Wild, but he was still trapped and Twilight was both a brick and incredibly strong, leaving him trapped until his pup is good and ready to wake up, something he fully believed Wild would prefer to prevent happening for the time being. “I can’t not hear it, Wild.”

“Try?” The kid pleads, eyes wide and face nearly purple from embarrassment.

“It’d be an insult to whoever created the voice to do so!” The words spilled out before he could stop them. He was supposed to reassure the kid, not make him panic more by pressuring him! “That is- Wild, you have the voice of an... I suppose Legend would say “an angel” whatever those really are. To be frank, I wouldn’t choose to forget it if I could.”

“I’m not a good singer.”

“Bullshit.”

The newest hero’s gaze shoots up to meet his own, shock written across scarred features at hearing him swear. “You-”

“Don’t tell Warriors.” He whispers with a wink- blink- whatever, it was meant as a wink, and hopefully Wild would read it as one.

“You swore.” Wild breathes

“And you lied.” He returns. “You’re a good singer. Confident, maybe not, but I thought I heard Maon when I first woke up, and unless you want to tell me that my wife has a poor singing voise-”

“No! Of course not!”

“Settled then.” He smiled. “You’re a good singer.”

The champion stares at him, ears twitching slowly and eyes blinking as he processes the words, before a light scowl pulls at the kid’s scars as he crosses his arms. “It- no!” At the grin he shoots at the kid, Wild whines softly. “Dad!”

Both freeze at that. Or rather, Time blinks repeatedly, shocked, and Wild’s hands fly up to his mouth, eyes wide and horrified.

“I’m sorry!” Wild blurts out, still hiding behind his hands. “I slipped I-”

Laughter, deep and rumbling enough that Twilight is happy grumbling against him in response, sounds through the camp as Time throws his head back. He can’t stop it, but he will embrace it. This is the best morning he’s had in ages and Hylia have him if he doesn’t take a moment to enjoy it! “You’re fine, Cub. I’ve been called much worse than that more than once. Unless of course,” He grins at the young hero, brows pulling down in a mock stare, even if he can’t hold his smile back to be convincing. “You think I’d be a bad one?”

“No! You’re an awesome- You’re going to be-” Wild is somehow redder than he was before and he stomps his foot almost petulantly as he catches on to the laughter that still rumbles in Time’s chest. “Time!”

“I don’t mind.” He rumbles out, and more than anything he wants to walk over and ruffle the kids hair, or wrap him in a hug, but he’s trapped by Twilight, and instead can only lift his free arm in an offer that Wild hesitates to take. He’s almost considering lowering his arm and rescinding his invitation when the champion barrels into his side, face buried in his shoulder as Golden hair fills his vision.

“I hate you.”

“Such disrespect to your father.” Time scolds playfully, gently pinching Wild’s ear and making the champion giggle at the touch. “What will your Mamalon say?”

“Ma-” Wild sits up again, staring down at him in confusion. “Mamalon?”

His lips pull into a smile again, something he’s done more this morning than he has nearly all week. “Something Legend calls her, which I’m stealing because she and I both like it.”

The champion’s eyes trail down to where scarred fingers still tangle into his tunic. “Can I call her that too?”

“Well,” He chuckles. “If I’m your Father Time, I think it’s only fair she’s you Mamalon.” At Wild’s smile he smirks. “Ad she’ll be delighted to learn you already know the family song, if only in part. Her mother wrote that for her you know, and I’m sure she’d love to teach you the rest of it. She taught it to me after all, and I used to sing as poorly as Twilight!”

Wild’s mouth opens and closes a few times as a light blush colors the kid’s cheeks before he shyly nods. “I’d- I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” And breakfast or no, Time thinks the others can wait for a half of a minute to eat after waking up, because if Twilight’s going to pin him down than he’s going to return the favor with his other son.

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 2

“——This is, the twentieth!”

Announcing the number of glasses he’d drained, Moran set his empty wine glass on the table with a thud.

He was still clear-headed, and able to hold a conversation. But those wild features of his were now flushed, as red as the copious amounts of wine that had entered his stomach.

“Ready to give up now, Albert?”

In his tipsy, trembly vision, Moran beheld his opponent before him.

But far from giving up, Albert was completely sober. There was no discernible change in his complexion; as if he’d started drinking right there and then, he tipped back his glass, and downed his wine with ease.

With that, they were now tied at 20 glasses each. Ignoring the man staring at him with twitching eyes, Albert called out to Louis, who was still serving as their waiter.

“No matter how many glasses I drink, this profound flavour never ceases to delight. To have procured such an excellent vintage — your selections are exquisite as always, Louis.”

“Thank you very much. As I recall, this is an import from America.”

“Ah: I’ve heard that the French vineyards are still afflicted with blight. [1] It’s a pity we won’t be able to enjoy their splendid red wines for some time to come; but it’s also our good fortune to have learned about the quality of wines from the New World.” [2]

“…………”

Albert was being much too relaxed, and had even started to digress into areas completely unrelated to the match; hearing that, Moran shot him a look of displeasure.

Incidentally, the challenge had been much too great for Fred: he’d been the first to pass out, flopping onto the table with his glass in hand. Immediately after, they’d covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold, and the man was presently fast asleep.

“Well then, both sides have managed to consume twenty glasses. It seems both of you still have room for more, but…… if I were to speak from an impartial standpoint, you appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Moran.”

Having observed their match, William leisurely shared his views.

Moran knew his analysis was unbiased, and that was precisely why he let out a groan of frustration. His face flushed, he grabbed the bottle of wine, intending to pour his next drink; but when he realised that not a single drop had trickled out, he waved the bottle in the air.

“Sorry, Louis. It’s empty, so could you bring a new one?”

“Understood.”

Louis promptly retrieved a fresh bottle, and with brisk efficiency, filled both their glasses.

“This’ll be, the twenty-first.”

As soon as his glass was full, without any intention of savouring the wine, Moran chugged it all in one breath.

But the next moment, he was swamped by an intense wave of vertigo: somehow, it seemed he was much nearer his limit than he’d thought.

In contrast, Albert merely tilted his glass, observing the colours and clarity of the freshly-poured wine. Then he swirled it once, bringing it near his nose to savour its aroma, and took a sip to taste.

“Is this a Madeira?” [3]

Standing beside them, Louis revealed the bottle label with a smile.

“Indeed — your wine tasting is accurate as always, nii-sama. Would you like some salted cheese to complement it?”

“I’d prefer to pair such cheeses with a sweet port. [4] Or perhaps we could have a chicken with that, like Sir John Falstaff.” [5]

“In exchange for one’s soul, indeed.” [6]

Watching the two brothers quote Shakespeare as they chatted, Moran was incredulous.

“……Y’know, this is a drinking match on which I’ve staked my dignity as a man — not some wine-guessing quiz at a party,” he protested.

However, in a long-suffering gesture, Albert merely shrugged.

“Although this is an earnest match, Colonel, it’ll become a dreary affair if you leave no room for entertainment. Moreover, this wine was used to toast the American Declaration of Independence, making it perfect for tonight’s celebration.” [7]

At that bit of trivia from Albert, Moran looked positively fed up.

“Oooh, if you have so much time to share your vast knowledge, then why don’t you hurry up and drink already?”

But far from being put out, an elegant smile rose to Albert’s lips.

“Oh dear; you’re in an awful rush, Colonel. Could it be a sign that you’re nearing your limit?”

“Wha……! N-No way. I can still continue.”

Albert had hit right where it hurt, and Moran uttered a groan that was rather different from before. It seemed his opponent had observed his giddy spell from earlier.

Although the match was far from over, Moran was now consumed by a crushing sense of defeat. Seeing that, Albert made a show of draining his glass at a leisurely pace.

Even after downing a substantial amount of wine, the eldest son of the Moriarty family was unruffled, and Moran shot him a complaint.

“You’re not actually drinking some deep red tea instead of wine, are ya?”

Perhaps it was because the liquor had addled his brain, for Moran put forth a suspicion that he wouldn’t normally have entertained.

To that, both William and Louis burst into laughter.

“That’s a very unique deduction, Moran,” said William, as he struggled to rein in his mirth. “But even I can’t devise a magic trick like that.”

Louis was also trying very hard to suppress his amusement. “I filled both your glasses from the same bottle: how could it be that alcohol came out one time, and tea the next? It’s so unlike you to even consider such a ridiculous idea, Mr Moran. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s time to cut back on the liquor?”

“S-Shut it. I was just saying. And I’m not giving up now.”

Their teasing had completely soured his mood. Glancing to the side, he saw Fred, who was sound asleep.

“Somehow, I think he might’ve just laughed at that too……”

Moran gazed at the man he thought of as a younger brother, dead to the world with a peaceful look on his face. Then he fixed his blanket, which had slipped a little out of place.

When his two brothers had finally managed to regain their composure, Albert spoke up.

“In fact, Colonel: it would better protect your good name if we were to pretend that outlandish trick was true. Or perhaps we could give you a handicap, and allow you to alternate between wine and tea.”

“You don’t say. Then I’ll have two drinks the next round.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, coming from you. If you’re the one to set up the cause of your own defeat, then it’ll make a convincing excuse to others, I see.”

“Urgh……”

No matter what he said, Albert had a ready riposte. As such, Moran swallowed his frustration, and returned his focus to the match.

“Anyway: Louis, keep it comin’, please.”

Seeing Moran try his utmost to put on a brave front, Louis was even beginning to find that a little cute; muttering his acknowledgement, he proceeded to fill Moran’s glass once more. Then, with great force, the man poured its entire contents down his throat.

“…………”

The alcohol burned like fire as it flowed into his stomach — all of a sudden, Moran came to his senses. Placing his glass on the table, he pondered.

His vexation at the Moriarty brothers’ teasing. His alcohol-induced befuddlement. And above all, Albert’s ability to hold his liquor, which had far outstripped his expectations.

His irritation at those three things had wound up completely flustering him. But once Moran calmed down and took stock of his situation, he realised William was right: he was clearly on the back foot.

Until now, he’d been unconsciously averting his eyes from his predicament by being oddly stubborn. But this pickle wouldn’t resolve itself if he just kept running away. If he continued to drink without a scheme in mind, then in his mind’s eye, he could see the outcome plain as day: he’d be out like a light in no time.

However, if he lost, then he’d have to listen to anything the victor said. Moran had originally set that rule as a way to spur himself on, thinking that there’d be no way he would lose. But now, it had lost virtually all effect in rousing his will to fight — all that remained, was the dread of what Albert would make him do upon his defeat.

He absolutely had to win. But the way things were going, it was all but certain that he’d lose.

In that case, the only option left would be——.

Within him, that conflict crystallised into a single decision.

“William,” he said. “Won’t you join in the match? Or rather: please, join.”

“Me? But why?”

Up to this point, William had been serving as an impartial judge, and he asked that with curiosity. But Moran did not answer; instead, his expression twisted into a bitter one as he continued.

“That’s not all. On top of you joining in…… If you’re agreeable, Albert, let’s ignore the count thus far and start afresh……. This is, truly a personal…… request from me.”

That faltering reply was very much unlike him, and William broke into a meaningful smile.

Moran’s decision — was to request that they increase the number of participants, and restart the game.

Despite his frustrations, Moran was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat Albert alone. Hence, he thought he’d bring in more opponents to counter him: even if it was just one more person.

The other part of his plan was to reset the match. If Albert agreed to that, then compared to the two existing players, someone joining in halfway would naturally have the advantage. But from Moran’s point of view, even if he was defeated, it would still be better than having Albert directly exercise his “winner’s privilege” on him — such were his complicated emotions. It was an absurd request, to be sure; but at least he hadn’t proposed having Albert compete against the combined total of both his and the other participant’s tally: perhaps that was a reflection of whatever faint scraps of self-respect Moran still had within him.

Perceiving Moran’s complex tangle of emotions, William placed a hand under his chin and pondered.

It’d also be fun to take on his suggestion. Although he did have his role as the judge, it wasn’t as if the match had any strict rules to begin with — they could easily do without one.

However, if he were to join in, and the match were to be restarted, then both Moran and Albert would be at a disadvantage. When it came to wine, he knew his elder brother’s stomach for it was bottomless; but still, it was clearly unfair to have a new and virtually-sober participant waltz into an honest drinking match. And yet, then again, he didn’t want to dismiss Moran’s “request” out of hand.

In this situation, the best option would be——.

But the instant William made his decision, and tried to voice his answer, Louis quietly raised a hand.

“Hold on a minute. Could it be that you were thinking of taking up his suggestion, nii-san?”

“……Yes, I was just about to say that. Seeing as Albert nii-san doesn’t appear to have any issue with that.”

William looked at his older brother, seated across from Moran. Then, Albert flashed them both a slight smile. Although it would mean that he would gain a new opponent, and the contest would start again from the top, it seemed he didn’t mind one bit.

Registering Albert’s generosity, Louis pointed at himself.

“In that case, may I participate?”

“……You, Louis?” Moran asked.

Louis proceeded to explain himself briefly. “I cannot countenance the possibility — however slight — that after joining the match, my brother will end up drinking too much and impacting his health. Hence, I believe that issue will be negated if I were to join the match in his stead.”

“But in that case, I would end up worrying for your health, Louis,” said William, furrowing his brows slightly.

At his brother’s kindness, Louis unwittingly cracked a smile.

“It makes me very happy to hear that. But it’s rare to hear Mr Moran make such a serious request, and so I can understand how you’d want to help him out. Of course, as Mr Moran said: this is only if you’re agreeable, Albert nii-sama.”

“Alright. Having heard that much, I shan’t object,” replied William. “What about you, nii-san?”

His elegant smile unfaltering as ever, the eldest son of the Moriarty family nodded.

“I don’t mind. If you’re certain, Louis, then I shall respect your decision.” Then, Albert’s expression turned solemn. “However, as you mentioned yourself, you absolutely must not reach the point of destroying your own health. Even though the colonel can’t help it, Louis, my condition is that you cannot drink recklessly. Is that alright?”

“Understood, nii-sama. ——Well then, it’s settled.”

Nodding in assent, Louis quietly took a seat beside Moran. Absorbing how his ridiculous request had been granted, more than gratitude, Moran’s expression was one of astonishment.

“Is this really alright, Louis? I know I was the one who asked, but Albert’s no pushover. If we lose, then you’ll have to suffer the forfeit too……”

However, Louis smiled wryly as he replied.

“I already knew that when I asked to join, didn’t I? To be honest, I don’t want to stand opposed to either you or Albert nii-sama. But now that I’ve made my decision, I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

“……Louis.”

That resolve had shaken Moran, so much so that he began to tremble. Watching him out the corner of his eye, Louis filled both their glasses; then Albert too filled his glass by himself, and raised it toward the two of them.

“Well then, once again, let’s give it our all.”

“I won’t be holding back either, you two.”

“Oh, both of you will be sorry real soon.”

Having gained a dependable ally, Moran’s enthusiasm was now back in full force.

Looking at the three of them, William spoke.

“So with Louis’s entry, the contest shall start again from scratch. But for both Moran and Albert nii-san, the next glass will be your twenty-third: please take care not to injure your health.”

With that word of caution from William, the drinking contest had resumed.

Footnotes:

[1] French vineyards had been devastated by aphids in the mid-19th century, and then fungal diseases after that. (Wikipedia)

[2] The “New World” refers to the Americas, in contrast to the Old World, or Eastern Hemisphere of the Earth. (Wikipedia)

[3] Madeira is a fortified wine made on the Madeira Islands, off the African coast. (Wikipedia)

[4] Port is a fortified wine produced in the Douro Valley in Portugal. (Wikipedia)

[5] Sir John Falstaff is a character featured in several of Shakespeare’s plays. (Wikipedia) He is renowned as a drunkard and glutton, whose favourite food is capons — roosters reared specially for their meat. (BBC article)

[6] A reference to Faust, who traded his soul with the Devil in exchange for worldly pleasures. (Wikipedia)

Aside: As far as I can tell, this line doesn’t actually appear in Shakespeare’s works. But in the legend of Faust, Faust makes his pact with the Devil via the demon Mephistopheles — who is mentioned in Shakespeare’s play The Merry Wives of Windsor (Wikipedia), which stars Sir John Falstaff as its main character.

[7] This is apparently true: Wikipedia

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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blackwidow-bby · 3 years

Text

A Case of You -Alcina Dimitrescu x Maiden!Reader

I’ve been wanting to write something based on the song ‘A Case of You’ by Joni Mitchell. Alternatively the K.D. Lang version is also very good and meaningful to me. Also who better to write with than really tall vampire mommy 😭

As always feedback is appreciated highly! Thank you for reading 💙

Warnings: blood, and smut (18+) little babies

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You had been polishing the silverware reflecting on the years that you had been in Castle Dimitrescu. 3 short but eventful years. At the beginning it was hectic, bouncing between all of the orders from the daughters and those of the Lady herself. Cleaning up countless messes left around as if they were guests in their own home. Clothes here, blood stains there, broken plates and cups everywhere. It had been as if your birth in the village was a curse, born to feel ashamed of poor class. A majority of the women that lived in the village knew that the only fate of their futures was to be sent to work for Castle Dimitrescu until the end of their days. Once the fair young women reached 18 that was where they were sent. Of course not all of them were so “lucky”. The rest of the women and all of the men were left to the struggles of the small village left to the devices of the surrounding lycans of the other lords. Or worse, kidnapped never to be seen again.

Most of the villagers rumored that those that disappeared were taken by the holy Mother herself and experimented on. Everyone knew what she could do, but for all of the bad sometimes holy Mother Miranda brought some good. One time before sweet Imelda lost her leg to a lycan attack, she saw the fainted mark on the side of its face. The same mark her husband had upon his face on the same side, before his disappearance traveling back to town. As she was dragged back safely by a couple farmers who managed to kill the sickly beast, the only sounds that all of the inhabitants could hear were her screams of her husbands name. Utterly distraught that she could become so unrecognizable enough to his dead eyes that in his transformation could still cause her deadly harm. He never had an angry bone in his body, but if that rumor was true, the experiment had created a monster of a once calm man.

All of your years weren’t as hectic as the first year. Eventually the lady of the house had taken a liking to your work. Always quick to come and cater to any mundane request her and her daughters had demanded of you. Actually now that you think, you can’t remember the last time any of your orders came from the daughters. They only came from the head maid or Lady Dimitrescu herself. A small quirk of your lips found it’s way thinking of your Lady.

Shortly into your second year she began to request you privately into her bed chamber. The first time she asked for you, you had been scared that your end had found it’s way sooner than you would have liked. Your heart was racing in your chest, begging your feet to be just as erratic on the way to her room. Somehow you managed to compose your pace but your heart insisted on faltering you. You knocked three times on her door upon arrival. You were unsure if she had heard, the doors of the castle were solid wood and although your hands were not soft due to the amount of work you were asked to do, your knuckles certainly weren’t hard enough to evade a slight throb from the hefty door.

Her voice crooned from with in, “Come in, my dear.” You opened the door to her chambers carefully as to not slam the wood open and not damage whatever might be on the other side of its radius. She smiled down on you very sweetly. There was something in here eyes. It felt almost like an admiration. You wiped that thought from your mind as quickly as it came. Why on earth would she ever admire you.

She sauntered toward where you stood and slowly lifted her hand. The fear you harbored for the Lady caused you to flinch at her movement. She had never laid a hand upon your person but that did not mean your time would not come.

Your flinching halted her movements. Her expression changed but only slightly. “My dear, I am not going to harm you in such a way.” She had lowered her voice in the close proximity of your bodies. You opened your eyes once more to see her gently place her soft gloved hand upon your head. Gently she moved it down by your ear and caressed the side. “Come to me little one.”

You followed her to her vanity. The space was tidy with neatly placed powders and lipsticks and other make up you had never seen any of the women of the village actually own. She sat down on her chair in front of the vanity. All of the furniture you noticed was made to her size in this dim room. None of the maids were ever called to clean this space, it made you wonder if she even used it at all. Maybe the Lady chose to take care of her own space in a way she knew no one could ever recreate or perfect to her liking. She hummed and pulled your hand to her. In her glorious size, she picked you up and placed you on her lap facing the large mirror. Your eyes shifted between her and your own height. Even perched on her Lady’s lap, your height was still shorter than her own.

Her eyes never met yours even as she slightly moved about to gather a soft brush and place it closer within reach. Your heart was still bounding in your chest trying to make sense of what was perspiring at this moment. The Lady removed her gloves by pulling one finger at a time until they could slip off smoothly. She then reached up and began to undo the clean French braid your hair was done in. She was being so kind and so soft with you, you were baffled. She started to unwork the three strands until she reached your scalp. You moved in tandem with the Lady as she reached again to grab the brush and began at the bottom of where your hair reached. Her ministrations were so soft it allowed your heart to calm. You kept your hands in your own lap, not daring to speak before being spoken to or move before being asked to move. Your Lady focusing solely on brushing the tangles from your hair allowed your own eyes to look about the space you sat. Her only task to groom your tresses, allowed you to get a good look at her face. Her lips and cheeks looked so soft. Her face wasn’t stoic but content in the space. She certainly didn’t look as nervous to have you here as you did to be here. Occasionally her hand would come around the underside and her knuckles would gently brush against your clothes back.

Everything she did was so calm and planned and relaxing. You took the rest of the opportunity to admire her further. Her raven dark locks meticulously curled in their places. Her hat always cocked to the side on her head, you wondered if it ever got in the way. She certainly never let it bother her if it did. The sudden speaking of her voice caused you to jump due to how silent it was seconds before, “I had been admiring you from afar for a while now. I’m sure you have an idea of why you had been called to my chambers after not being asked to before.”

Your voice betrayed you, you had been silent for too long. “Y-yes my Lady. I think I know why I’m here.” She hummed again. You felt the brush finally make its way to your scalp. The bristles were so soft and comforting they made your eye lids heavy. Seeing that she was done with her work on your hair, she placed the brush back in its spot and made eye contact with you through the mirror. She looked at you for a couple minutes more until she spoke again. “You’re always so quiet and kind around everyone here. My daughters can have a way with making the maids end up with either tougher skin or breaking their calm façade.” She was now running her fingers down the length of your back over your uniform. “But not you. You are still the same as you were when you showed up. Quiet and composed.” You weren’t sure if you should thank her for the compliment or be offended by being told that you haven’t changed. You felt like you could handle anything after the tortures her daughters could put maids through.

You could feel her hands moving back up your back and over your shoulders. Her cold slender fingers found your collar while the other hand swayed your hair over your left shoulder no doubt to expose your neck to her. This is it. This is how you end. What a lovely way to die. Her faced inched closer to your exposed neck and you could feel her breath inches away from the space. Your eyes couldn’t seem to move away from her though. You watched the whole thing and how her face never changed emotion. Everything she had done with you was in admiration. Like she longed for what you could offer her as if she didn’t have everything she could want in this castle.

Her face inched closer until you felt her lips press against the spot she was just eyeing. She lightly kissed you and reveled in the sounds you let escape. A chill ran down your body and found purchase in your stomach. You could feel the butterflies going crazy. Yes truly what a lovely way to die. You braced yourself when you saw her go to bite. Braced yourself for the white hot pain to shoot across your whole body but it never came. Instead the only thing you felt was pleasure. She continued to suck in the same spot for moments more. It all made you feel a growing knot down lower. Her strong arms encircled around your waist to hold you tightly as if you could slip away at any moment. You felt them hugging you tightly. The embrace soothed every part of you. You had never felt so cared for.

Unconsciously you noticed that your hands found purchase upon her own. Her face lifted from the crook of your neck, not a smudge to be seen or hair out of place. You could feel her lips by your ear. “I could drink a case of you, and still I would be on my feet.” She whispered and it made you visibly shudder in need. What kind of affect was she having on you?

“You must never speak of this with anyone”

🩸🩸

She requested you many more times and each one was just as delicate and sweet as the last one.

“You’ve been polishing that spoon for an awfully long time, dear.”

Your head whipped around at the Lady’s sultry voice. Your Lady, you thought. “What is it that has your mind occupied?” She questioned.

“Nothing my Lady. I was simply thinking of you.”

She smiled a genuine smile at you and reached her hand toward you. You walked up to her and laced your fingers with hers. Every moment you spent with her you cherished since the first. She reserved so much kindness for you. Internally she ached for the next time she would request you again. Thinking of the way your blood tasted on her lips. So bitter and so sweet. She couldn’t help but want something slightly different this time.

You both made your way to her private chambers once more like clockwork. She allowed you to enter before bending her way inside. You immediately walked over to her vanity as that was where she always fed from you right after brushing out your hair. You turned to her and smiled but she stopped next to her own bed. “Come here to me, my little love.” You walked up slight confusion on your face. “If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I want you to stop me. Can you do that for me, draga mea?” You nodded slightly. She sat down on the edge of her bed and reached her hand to wipe the wrinkle that etched on your forehead in your confusion.

“My little doe, you mean more to me than you could ever know.” She pulled your hand to her and moved both of you to the head of the bed. Gently she cupped your chin in her large hand. You closed your eyes and suddenly you felt her lips press against yours. Gods they were so soft but so cold. You reciprocated her kiss. Alcina had craved this for too long but she needed to pace herself. She has the rest of the afternoon until the night to indulge in anything your freely gave to her. You didn’t move to stop her and she took this as invitation to continue further. Keeping your lips pressed to hers, her hands roamed your body lower than just your back. She relished in the soft skin of your thighs and the way you felt under material that had softened from years of wear and wash. She couldn’t help but think of how your bare skin would feel under her own hands.

Your own arms snaked their way to her face as you cupped the sides with both hands. Your lips continued to move in tandem with her own letting soft whimpers escape here and there. Her hands grabbed the hem of your dress and slowly made her way up to removing the garment. You whined when she separated the kiss to completely remove the dress. “Are you still okay, little doe?” You answered with a small yes and moved to undo the buttons behind her own dress. Once the buttons were undone enough to slide her dress down you moved the sleeves down her muscular arms. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of looking how small your body was compared to hers. How soft and unblemished your skin was. All she wanted was to kiss every soft inch. Even the one side of your neck that she fed from ceased a single indent. She always made sure to feed carefully as to not rise suspicions.

She pulled you back into her slightly laying over you and began to kiss you once more as her hands roamed to your chest. She wrapped her hand around to undo your bra carefully to free your soft tissue from their confines. She separated once more to look at all of you that was exposed. The gods certainly took their time in creating such a spectacular woman she had thought. Her whole hand moved down to palm your breast lightly. She could feel the bumps raise and your nipple harder under her touch. You let out a little moan under her touch. She could spend eternity doing anything to hear your little sounds. Little sounds only she could make you release. She looked into your eyes creating the distraction for her hand to move to your underwear. You stared deep into her golden orbs never breaking as she sought out your core with her finger. Your breath hitched when you felt her slide down your soft folds and move back up to your clit. You were warm and wet and all for her. Alcina’s sweet little doe. She pressed a small peck to your lips then moved her mouth down to your breast that her hand had just been. She began to suck as she teased the entrance to your tight hole. She relished in the feeling of your most intimate parts and the sounds she could draw out from your delicious mouth. You were arching your back into her wanting nothing more than to be so close to her.

Your hands gripped anywhere the could. Her arms, shoulders, neck, hair. Everything she was doing made your brain go crazy. You did everything you could to find where your hands fit best. Her soft tongue swirled around your nipple while the tip of her finger pressed deeper into you. She was losing patience in having more of you and it was taking everything in her body not to devour before she was content you felt as good as she did all those times she tasted your blood. But damn did she want all of it. He finger pressed deeper until she was down to her knuckle. Your soft panting didn’t give any indication that you were in pain. She started to move her finger in and out at a slow pace to get your body use to the intrusion. Your panting grew louder and so did your moans. You wish you could feel this way everyday from this moment on. So cared for, so deeply wanted. Alcina kissed her way up from your breast to your neck. Leaving light nips and soft kisses near where she could feel your pulse quicken. He finger moved faster inside of you, pressing at your soft walls until she found that spongey spot that would surely get more sounds out. She had to take her time though.

‘Ohs’ and ‘ahs’ were all you could really get out along with all of your sickeningly sweet moans. Alcina never expressed out loud but she wanted you to say her name. Moan her name out from your lips, cry to the gods or whoever would listen that she could make you feel bliss like you’ve never felt before. No one ever got this much want out of her. She never wanted anyone the way she wants you right now. The way she’s been wanting you since you came to the castle. Her little doe unraveling under her half naked body. You were finding it harder to contain any noises and began to moan louder the faster her finger moved. All of a sudden curled her fingers, hitting that one spot. “My Lady!” It made Alcina hummm. “Tell me little doe, do you know my true name?” It took every fiber of your being to come up with an answer for your Lady. “N-no my Lady. T-the maids, they d-don’t talk.”

It was amazing you could come up with that through your haze. The Lady was sucking on your neck while she curled her finger more to get you to come undone the way she wanted. “It’s Alcina little one. I want to hear my name fall from your lips.” The knot in your stomach grew. You were getting very close from her sinful fingers buried inside your tight hole. Alcina could feel your Wales tightening around her. As she felt you get closer she bit down on your neck to drink from you the way she had truly craved. The knot broke and you came hard on her fingers, screaming her name to the high heavens. She continued to feed through your orgasm and once she felt your walls stop pulsing she lid her finger out and detached away from your neck.

You were sweating at this point. Utterly spent wrapped up with your Lady holding you tight. She wiped the little droplets that formed on your neck and pulled you onto her as close as she could get you. Your head rested there on her chest still panting. She would go to the farthest parts of the world for you. Hopefully she would have all of the time to prove it to you now.

“I could drink a case of you.” She whispered into your hair before placing a kiss to your crown. You mumbled a little getting more comfortable and sinking into Alcina’s chest.

Sleep began to take over you. “I would still be on my feet.” Was the last thing you said before slumbering in your Lady’s arms.

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#alcina dimitrescu #alcina x maiden #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x maiden #alcina fic #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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