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lordprettyflackotara · 26 days

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if u think i’m pretty || matt sturniolo || part two

MINORS DNI, SMUT, 18+. no threesome in this one sorry guys, but there may or may not be in part three ;). tw:overstimulation. ty to all of the love from the sturniolo community yall are crazy asf <3

part one w/ chris is here

Matt Sturniolo couldn’t deny his infatuation with you.

He could pinpoint exactly when his crush on you started, all the way back in middle school. In the awkward puberty years you all shared together you tried out many styles. Some were objectively hideous, but Matt realized by your ‘punk’ era, that he found you gorgeous in every single one.

As years went by he imagined all the ways he could be a gentleman and ask you out. To bring you flowers or chocolate, to flatter you with compliments. When you were around Matt, you were as sweet as honey. You were relaxed, giggly, and complete with a bubbly personality.

Whenever you were around Chris, however, it revealed a completely different side of you. You were feisty, head strong, and aggressive. This puzzled him at first, his stomach beginning to stir with an unknown feeling of attraction. His thoughts about you became utter filth, his mind clouded with fantasies of all the ways he would tame you. The endless positions he would put you in, making you submissive to him.

But those were only fantasies, leading him to where he was now:

Stroking his cock at the sound of Chris railing you.

Matt was pleasantly surprised that your affair with Chris continued, the two of you fucking out every argument. Sometimes he swore you’d pick a fight with Chris just to be mercilessly fucked in the end. Your situationship with Chris never bothered Matt, the delicious sound of your moans enough to satisfy him.

He purposefully would sit in the office next to Chris’s room, the shared wall providing him with more than enough of your erotic noises. He’d jerk himself off as Chris degraded you, humiliated you. Often times you’d fight back, the two of you going at it like savage animals. Matt would screw his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. All he could think of was being in Chris’s place, taming the brat out of you. Forcing you to fully submit to him and only him.

Matt knew if he got the chance he’d overstimulate you into oblivion, leaving your cunt puffy and throbbing. As mesmerizing as the sounds of you pleading for Chris to make you cum were, Matt wanted to hear nothing but whines and whimpers escape your lips. His high was approaching, your moans coming to abrupt halt.

“Shit, I have to go,” Chris said suddenly. Matt could hear the shuffling of him getting dressed. “What? You didn’t even make me finish, the fuck?” You barked. Matt’s hand came to a stop, listening intently. His ear was practically against the wall. “There’s something else I gotta do, just make yourself finish,” Chris said dryly. His bedroom door swung open, his footsteps descending down the stairs.

Matt had never dressed himself faster, pulling down his shirt quickly. He ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to make himself look presentable. With his filthy fantasies aside, you were still his best friend. He walked out of his room, casually strolling past Chris’s doorway. His bedroom door was open, your face buried in your new phone as you were leaving, Walking straight into Matt you gasped. “Oh shit sorry, I didn’t see you there,” You say. Your hair was wild and unkept, your face still flushed.

Outside of your flusteredness, you looked like a wounded puppy. “Everything okay?” Matt asked, tilting his head to the side. You laughed nervously. “Yeah it’s just Chris, you know how annoying Chris can be,” You say. You brushed past Matt, trying to hide your visible embarrassment. Rather than taking the hint Matt trailed right behind you. “Yeah? What’d he do this time?” The brunette asked. You beelined to the houses office, not wanting the entire household to hear your conversation.

Matt shut the door behind him, his heart beginning to race. He could tell you were still wet, your thighs rubbing together as you sat down on the offices couch. “Well Matt, I know this is unexpected but…” You began, awkwardly. Matt sat beside you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“I’ve been fucking your brother.”

Matt refrained from laughing, forcing himself to nod. “Wow really? I would’ve never guessed,” He replied. You teasingly elbowed him, giggling. “Was it really that obvious?” You asked. Matt chuckled. “I do share a wall with him you know,” He replied, gesturing at said shared wall. You could feel your face turning red with embarrassment.

You sighed, “Oh Matty i’m so sorry I didn’t realize.”

Out of the thousand scenarios Matt had imagined in his mind, this wasn’t one of them. This was an actual chance. One that wasn’t unrealistic or unobtainable.

Matt braced himself, speaking his mind, “Don’t be, I don’t mind.”

Matt. Oh sweet Matt. The same guy who brushes your hair for you and makes you pancakes was hitting on you. He was so nice to you, there was no way he could fuck you the way you wanted. Or the way you needed.

You blushed, “You’re so sweet but I don’t think we’d be compatible in that sort of way.”

Matt met your eyes, placing one hand on your cheek. His touch was nice, full of care and warmth. “I can be anything you need me to be,” He said softly. His hand slithered down to your thigh, gripping the flesh gently, “I can do anything you need me to do,” Matt continued. He watched your eyes glaze over with lust, the brunette realizing this was his shot. He slowly shifted onto the floor in front of you, his knees hitting the carpet.

“I can and will always make you cum,” Matt admitted. He nudged open your thighs, your breath becoming shaky as he kissed up your clothed thighs. Your jeans had never felt more constricting, his eyes never straying from yours as he kissed upwards. “I know exactly how you like it,” Matt continued. He kissed over your clothed cunt, grinning as your hips bucked upwards. “I can give you all of that and more. Whatever you want, it’s yours,” Matt offered. The sweet goody two shoes Matt was gone, his gaze darkening as he pulled down your jeans zipper with his teeth.

“Words baby, need you to hear you say it,” Matt cooed. You swallowed, your panties growing damper by the second. “I want you Matty, fucking please,” You whined. Your wish was his command. He undressed you quickly, tugging his shirt over his head before resuming his place back between your thighs. Teasingly he kissed up your thighs against, enjoying the sight of your exposed skin. Your fingers found his hair, tugging at it in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Something wrong?”

“Don’t tease, just make me cum, I really need it, please!” You pleaded. Matt smirked, admiringly your slick for a brief moment.

“As you wish.”

Matt’s tongue was a gift from the heavens, his face buried into your cunt before you could process it. His large hands pried your thighs apart, firmly keeping you into place as his tongue swirled around your clit. You became a moaning mess, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Teasingly he brought his tongue to your entrance, pushing it inside, just to watch you squirm in desperation. Chris had already pushed your body to the brink, it wasn’t going to take much longer of Matt’s tongue before you came.

You could feel the cord inside of you tighten, your thighs beginning to tremble under Matt’s grip. His lips began to suck violently at your sensitive bud, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m gonna- fucking hell, i’m cumming,” You cried, your vision becoming dazed as you came on Matt’s face. He eagerly lapped up your juices, emerging between your thighs with your cum coating his chin. A cocky smile danced across his lips, before meeting yours. You could taste your juices on your tongue, Matt’s hands pushing you back further onto the couch.

“I need you to fuck me,” You panted in between kisses, his lips refusing to stray from yours.

“Thats not the correct way to ask, is it?” Matt asked. A wave of butterflies swirled around in your stomach. You shook your head no, Matt pulling away. You watched as he walked over to the desk, pulling open his desk drawer. He held up a small pink vibrator that could be controlled by your phone. He dangled it mockingly. It had disappeared from your bag weeks ago, leading you to believe you had left it at home.

“You know what this is, right?” Matt taunted. He flicked open his phone, before handing the toy to you. You nodded yes, the brunette grinning. “Smart girl. Now use it like you normally would,” He ordered. He grabbed the desk chair, sitting down in it. Mockingly he spread his legs, watching you. “Go on, play with yourself like you normally would. This’ll teach you how to ask for my cock properly,” Matt grinned sadistically. You could feel the heat dash across your cheeks, slowly pushing the toy inside of you.

“Spread those thighs for me baby, don’t be shy. You do want my cock, don’t you?” Matt asked. An agreement and pleas escaped your throat, spreading your legs for Matt to see. He couldn’t help but palm himself through his pants, the sight of your dripping cunt enough to get him off. Unsurely you brought two fingers to your sensitive clit, softly whining as you began to draw slow circles. Matt opened his phone, turning up the vibrator of the toy inside of you. You gasped, moaning at the sudden sensation.

You watched as Matt shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles, stroking his cock at the sight of you. “Does that feel good?” Matt asked. You babbled a ‘yes’, speeding up the circles around your clit. Matt ran his thumb over his tip, whimpering quietly as he did so. He turned the vibrator up higher, your legs shaking. You slowed down your fingers, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. “I didn’t tell you to slow down, did I?” Matt barked. You shook your head no as you resumed drawing fast circles around your clit.

Trembling, you could feel your second orgasm approaching. “Matty, fucking- I need to cum. Can I cum? Please please-” You babbled. Matt could feel his face flush pink just at the sight of you falling apart for him. You were completely at his mercy and he wasn’t even touching you. “Cum for me you greedy slut,” Matt panted. Your body trembled as you came, your spare hand squeezing the nearby couch pillow for support. Matt was quick to take the toy out of you, your cunt already turning red from overstimulation.

“You poor thing. Tsk tsk tsk,” Matt said mockingly. You pulled him closer, desperate to feel him on top of you. Your back hit the couch cushion, Matt’s lips attacking your neck. You could feel him purposefully sucking at the skin, littering your neck with marks you knew Chris was going to see and question. “Matttt,” You whined, reaching down and grabbing his cock. He shuttered as you pumped his length, his lips releasing your neck.

“I know my greedy girl, I know,” Matt chuckled. He rubbed his shaft up and down your slick, watching you shake when he brushed against your clit. Matt slipped inside of you with ease, your walls clenching around him as he moaned your name. This was all Matt had ever wanted since he had met you. To have you under him like this, watching as he bottomed out into you.

Whether it was true love or a crush or lust, or somewhere in between, Matt never wanted to pull out.

He often found himself jealous of Chris. Jealous of the way he got to fuck you. Matt’s name sounded better rolling off of your tongue than his brothers. And that’s why in that moment, that’s all he wanted to hear. He picked up the pace, snapping his hips into yours. His cock continuously pounded into your g spot, your sinful moans ones Matt hoped the household would get an ear of. “You wanted to cum right? Congratulations whore, you’re going to cum all over my cock,” Matt huffed. His rings dug into your hips, fucking you ruthlessly.

“Matt, so good, so fucking deep-” You babbled. Matt leaned forward, grabbing one of your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. He pushed both of your hands tied together against the couch, balancing himself as he destroyed your cunt. “Awe I know baby. You’re doing so good for me, being my little whore,” Matt panted. He could feel himself getting close, all of this build up driving his body mad. After jerking off alone in his room all of this time, he finally had you right where he wanted you.

Your orgasm came first, your thighs tightening around Matt’s waist as you processed the unexpected euphoria. You squeezed Matt’s hand, your walls spasming around his cock. The brunette couldn’t hold himself back any longer even if he wanted to. Quickly he pulled out, moving towards you. He pumped his cock, painting your breast with his seed. It was satisfying to him, to see his cum covering you.

Reluctantly he released your hand, lying down beside you as best as he could on the tiny couch. “Holy fuck,” Matt panted, running his fingers through his messy hair. You chuckled as you glanced over at him. “You really are a good listener huh?” You asked. Matt rolled his eyes playfully, sitting up and grabbing a few tissues from a nearby box. “You mean besides the fact you’ve explicitly told me every single kink of yours? I guess so,” He teased, wiping his cum off of your chest.

As Matt cleaned you up, you closed your eyes relaxing under the feeling of his touch.

Matt cleared his throat, admiring your curves, “So, now what? This won’t affect our friendship right?”

You laughed, looking over at him, “Of course not and now we don’t let Chris find out.”

A loud banging sound came from the other side of the wall, making both of you jump.

“Little too fuckin late for that, we share a fuckin wall!”

tag list ;) (hope i did this right):

@st7rnioioss @yourmother-69 @hesvoid34 @cammie4298 @sturnsva @somegirlfromasgard @ribread03 @nickgetsmewetter

#matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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lanabuckybarnes · 2 months

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Fucking you (literally)

18+ Minors DNI

(I don’t own any of the photos, credits to their original owners)

No thoughts just thinking about the different Bucky’s and the many ways they’d fuck.

Warnings: a few kinks mentioned in there: spanking, face sitting, hair pulling, phone sex, the winter soldier (he’s mean)

If I’ve missed any more warnings let me know

40s Bucky is service top 98% of the time, he loves seeing you become immersed in pleasure, you’d think it was him feeling the way he touches you whenever you’d looked at his bliss-filled face. He just absolutely wants and needs you to be completely fucked out and slurring your words with how well he’s satisfied you. That other 2% of the time though, he’s a fucking tease. You want a kiss, he’s pulling away with a tut, that wide grin getting impossibly wider as you whine to him.

If you’re like that with just a kiss imagine how you’d react if he had you flat on your back, dress and underwear thrown somewhere in the room, at this point you didn’t give a fuck. His lips ghost over your stomach, leaving chaste kisses and hot breaths in their wake. Just when he gets to that spot you so desperately want him, he’s away- your thighs needed more marks he’d say. The way only one of his hands would be able to hold you down while he relentlessly teased you, the other either gripping your breast or holding your hand.

Also, breeding kink??

The Winter Soldier. I honestly don’t think this man would fuck at all but, in this scenario let’s say he partook in it. He is the only Bucky Barnes that I genuinely think would be fully rough, you need mean? You’ve got it. He doesn’t care about your pleasure, he uses you as a release (consensually of course), pushing your face down into the covers and ploughing you. He’d smack your ass so hard as well and leave you sore for weeks because of them, people would normally ask if you were ok but they hear the way he destroys you, they don’t need an explanation as to why you can’t sit down.

I don’t think he’d be entirely heartless, he’d probably feel quite horrible about the huge red marks blooming on your cheeks but you’d reassure him that you loved it, loved the way he used you.

Civil War Bucky needs someone to take the wheel. He’s so used to having someone control him and it’s hard to shake that immediately. He just needs soft words in his ears while you ride him slowly, sometimes he’s just happy to let you sit there with his cock in you. Civil War Bucky is so whiny, I just imagine him constantly with a veiny hand over his mouth to hide his pitiful moans, his deep blue eyes wet with tears, never leaving you as you suck his thick length nice and good.

On some occasions, Civil War Bucky will try to take the lead but more often than not he’ll flunk out halfway through, flip you over so you’re sitting on top of him and beg you to ride his face until you make a mess of him. Lives for eating pussy, almost cums in his pants when you pull on his hair.

I skipped 3 eras because they’re the same as Civil War Bucky but FATWS Bucky is like a mix of them all.

When he’s in a foul mood he either needs you to ruin him or he needs to ruin you.

He likes it when you dress all pretty for him when you put on a nice outfit and some pretty silk undies so he can unwrap you, godddd damn.

Since he’s on missions a lot you came to him with the idea of phone sex, or sending videos and pics of each other. To begin with, he was very apprehensive of the whole idea but one long mission later and his cock was hard and his hand wasn’t cutting it. He’d sigh and pick up the phone, noting the late hour over where you were staying. He knew you probably wouldn’t be awake but his finger had pressed call before he even knew it.

Surprisingly you picked up with a cute lil “hey baby” and a soft smile he could hear in your words. His cheeks were beet red when he began to talk about the whole phone sex thing, you helped calm him down though. Suddenly with your sultry voice in his ear, his thrusts into his hand felt so much better. He came hard that night and after saying his Goodnights to you he took a mental note to do that every mission.

I’m ovulating can you tell?

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #marvel #beefy bucky fluff #40s bucky smut #40s bucky #mcu bucky barnes #james bucky barnes

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d1xonss · 4 months

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Older

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Suggestive (oop)

✧ Word Count : 5k

AN ~ …This one might need a part two, that’s all I’m going to say.

“Stop.”

Your mouth parted a little in shock that he had interrupted you, embarrassment filling your entire being as you could feel the heat rising up to your cheeks, no doubt leaving a red hue on your skin. You attempted to read him, trying to figure out what he was thinking just by his face and body language, but you were left with nothing. His expression was neutral, his arms were crossed over his chest as they always were, and his eyes didn’t even give you a flash of indication of what he planned to say next. Though somehow you had a feeling you knew it was something you would dread.

It had been years now that you had been crushing on the older man, from Atlanta to all the way here in your new homes in Alexandria, you had always felt these very strong feelings for him. And though you knew the age gap was definitely something to recognize, you never cared in the slightest as your fondness for him over the years only seemed to grow.

Daryl Dixon was a very serious man, though he mostly kept to himself, no one could deny that he was also a very kindhearted person. He was constantly putting others before himself, protecting nearly everyone in the group even if that meant his life was on the line instead, he did it as if it was just second nature to him. Like he didn’t even have to think before he acted. That’s what you admired most about him, only causing you to fall deeper than you already were, digging yourself further into the hole you couldn’t seem to escape.

It was hard for some to believe, but you truly tried to push these feelings aside, mostly because you thought there was no way in hell he would ever feel the same way about you. But it was growing to be unbearable, the secret you had been keeping to yourself for so long beginning to eat you up inside.

So you finally decided to bite the bullet and just tell him. You didn’t know what exactly compelled you to do so since you had such a huge fear of rejection from him and didn’t want him to see you differently, but still you just threw yourself into the lion’s den it seemed like. But there was a little hope you had when you approached him to confess. The soft smile playing on his lips was enough for you to spill everything, seeing that there was a small chance he might’ve felt something similar. It wasn’t a secret that he had grown to care for you too, so you guessed you could really take that chance.

But now all your hope diminished instantly when he interrupted your sentence with just one word. One single word that caused your stomach to flip. You felt yourself begin to panic a little as you stood there, seconds after pouring your heart out and laying everything out on the table, and he wanted you to stop. You suddenly wished you could take everything back in that split second, tell him you were joking or make something else up on the spot. Anything to escape from this sudden situation.

He then sighed heavily as he raised his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Look…yer a really sweet girl and I care bout ya…but…ya can’t be sayin all this. M’ way too old for ya.”

Your heart seemed to drop upon hearing that, knowing in the back of your mind, that little aspect would be the thing he brought all his attention to. You had to admit however that it was a pretty big difference, twenty years to be exact where you stood at twenty-four while he was already pushing forty-five. But still, you were an adult and felt that you could make your own choices when it came to something like this, something that he wasn’t willing to listen to any longer.

Daryl noticed your silence, seeing the look you had on your face and he grew almost sympathetic as he looked at you. “Look ya can’t be…fallin for me. It ain’t right.”

That sentence seemed to break you out of your trance. Annoyance began to brew inside you as he was now starting to almost talk down on you as if you were a kid, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration. “Who are you to tell me what isn’t right?” you asked with furrowed brows.

He noticed your change in mood and only sighed to himself again, “I just mean that…” he trailed off as he never wanted to hurt you or deny you, but honesty was more important to him. And this was something he knew he needed to be blunt about. “I ain’t the guy for ya, no matter how ya feel. We’re just too far apart.”

“That’s not true.” you were quick to defend.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed the smallest bit, “It is true.” he said a bit more sternly, “Yer so young and m’ a lot older…besides I ain’t what they call boyfriend material…it would never work.” he claimed.

Your eyes narrowed even further, “I’m not just some kid Daryl, how old do you even think I am?”

He scoffed to himself as he looked at you a little longer, “I dunno…” he spoke as he didn’t want you to really know the age that popped up in his head. If you were really as young as he thought, it would be disgusting to even think about being with you.

“I’m twenty four.”

His eyes widened slightly as he thought about your words for only a moment, before he went back to scoffing to himself, “Well if I didn’t know any better I’d say yer lyin.”

Your frustration only began to build up further as he didn’t believe you. Though maybe he did. Maybe he did believe you, he just didn’t want to believe you. He didn’t want to admit or accept that your age wasn’t as bad as he originally thought, he just put up a wall to defend himself like he always seemed to.

But you were prepared to call him out on his bullshit. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were scared.”

“Scared?” he repeated, his lip turning up into an amused smile, “And what am I scared of?”

“Scared of your own feelings.” you said with little to no hesitation at all, stating the obvious and seeing right through him.

The man’s expression remained the same, but something in his eyes flickered with something more, and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself once you caught it. He stayed silent for what felt like an eternity, pondering over your words as he desperately didn’t want you to see his hesitance as he stood there with a straight face. But you had clearly caught on.

After almost minutes of deafening silence, he finally spoke again in a sarcastic tone, “So ya think ya got me all figured out then, huh?”

You could see his exterior cracking the smallest bit and decided to take a chance. You began to move forward slowly, closing the remaining space between the two of you from the opposite sides of where you stood in his living room. His eyes widened ever so slightly as you got almost uncomfortably close to him, your chests nearly touching as you looked up to him with big doe eyes.

“Yeah…yeah I do.” you answered barely above a whisper.

Daryl subtly sucked in a soft breath at your words, your close proximity, everything that just seemed to draw him in. He desperately wanted to take a few steps away, wanting to tell you something harsh so you would stop being so damn persistent, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength. He stood there almost completely frozen as his heart began beating rapidly, questioning if you could hear it in the silence with how close you were to him.

You could feel yourself smirk slightly as he grew completely silent again, nodding to yourself as you decided to stop tormenting him. At least for now. “Well…since you made your intentions clear…I guess I’ll just see you around then…” you said quietly before turning on your heel to leave his house, to leave him to his now racing thoughts.

His tongue seemed to be tied into a knot as all he could do was watch you leave through the front door, a heat blooming on his cheeks. He began questioning to himself if all of that really just happened, if he was really as transparent as you claimed he was. His mind began to spiral with thousands of thoughts, but not even he could deny that small spark he felt in his chest, one that he had never felt before.

The next day wasn’t any better for him, his mind constantly flooding with the thoughts of that small interaction, not stopping himself from thinking back to your confession as a whole. There was no way he could feel such a thing for someone as young as you…could he? It all felt very wrong and twisted in a way, but he couldn’t stop thinking of you constantly throughout the entire day, how complicated everything seemed to be. He didn’t pull away. Why the hell didn’t he pull away? It was almost as if he liked your closeness, being able to almost feel the warmth of your body…almost as if he craved it more than he realized.

Over the few years he had gotten to know you, he couldn’t deny that he thought you were very beautiful from the start, but he didn’t dare let his mind linger there for long. There was no way he could be with you, it all seemed so wrong to him in his mind and he had to put a stop to those thoughts immediately once they entered his mind. But with everything that went down yesterday, he couldn’t help but be reminded of those familiar feelings he once seemed to have long ago, seeing them rise back up to the surface before his very eyes.

He needed to see you. He couldn’t help but think about you throughout the entire day as if you had somehow put him under a spell, compelling him to eventually crawl back. He didn’t know what he planned to say, he didn’t even know if he should even try to speak about this hovering matter anymore. But he physically needed to see you again. Even if it was just for a few minutes. He needed to feel that spark again.

So after his long patrol, he found himself heading straight towards your house the second he was finished, walking at a fast pace down the streets all the way up until he could see your familiar house just around the corner. His breathing was almost heavy in anticipation as he got closer, hopping up the porch steps in a flash before he hesitated when he was face to face with your front door. He hesitated for a long moment, longer than he was willing to admit, before he finally gave it a heavy knock.

You were inside cooking yourself some dinner when you heard a loud knock coming from your front door, your brows furrowing in confusion at who it could be as you quickly cleaned your hands off with a towel. You made your way closer towards the entrance with a little anticipation weighing in your heart, the sound of the firm knock sounding like it was something urgent. But the moment you looked through the peephole and saw who was standing on the other side, you immediately smirked to yourself. You almost couldn't believe he was actually seeking you out.

You opened the door after a moment or two, leaning against the frame with a smile as you looked at him with a smile, “Hi Daryl.” you greeted with a hint of flirtation to your voice.

Your tone surprised him slightly as he stopped for a moment to take you in, his nerves resurfacing the moment you looked him in the eye. But eventually he cleared his throat a little and sent you a small smile, “Hey.”

“Did you need something?” you asked sweetly.

You were playing with him now, both of you knew it too. He didn’t exactly know what he came over here for, almost as if he didn’t really know what he wanted, but all he could feel was that same feeling rushing over him again once more at the sound of your voice. It was almost comforting to him, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and his heart began to beat even faster once he realized just how much he needed more of it.

You tilted your head at him expectantly, and it was then and only then he realized he didn’t answer your question. He shook his head a little to rid of his loud thoughts before finally mustering up a response. “Nah…I don’t need anythin. Just…just wanted to see ya.”

He could see your eyes soften as you looked up at him through your long eyelashes, the sight bringing a warmth through his chest, settling at the bottom of his stomach as he looked at you. “Aw…that’s so sweet.” you said as you placed a hand over your chest.

His eyes widened ever so slightly as he heard just the smallest bit of praise from you, if you could even call it that. But he found he liked the sound of you calling him sweet, and he found he loved the idea of you calling him other things. He felt himself slip almost as your words seemed to affect him well, almost a little too well, feeling himself swallow thickly as he tried to figure out what to say to you next.

“Do…do you mind if I come in for a bit?” he mustered up.

Your face dropped a little bit upon hearing that, though mentally you almost felt yourself light up at the sudden opportunity to turn the tables around on him. “Oh…I don’t know…” you trailed off as you eventually let the smirk return to your face, “Wouldn’t that be…wrong?” I asked with a hinting tone.

The man was stunned a little as his only response to you was silence. He stood there almost completely still at the sound of you throwing his own words back up at his face like that, but then again you had a point. He did say those things to you, he made it very obvious and certain. Yet he couldn’t help but silently smirk to himself at the game you seemed to be playing now.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea…” you continued on.

He hears his own phrase being used against him again and damn did it feel better than it should’ve. He found himself growing a little excited as you continued on, leaning himself against the doorway a little as he looked down at you with almost hungry eyes.

“Well…maybe I like doin things that are wrong.” he stated.

You clicked your tongue in response as you shook your head, “That’s not what you said the other day, I heard you…I’m just following the rules.” you said as you moved to shut the door.

But his hand came up and quickly caught it before you could shut him out all the way, pushing it back open a little with a raised brow. “Now what’s with you and all these goddamn rules now, hm? Who even made em?” he asked as he felt himself falling right into your trap, flirting right back with you like you wanted.

“You did.” you said simply, watching his face drop a little at your response, “You made it very clear, and I understand...” you said simply before moving to shut the door right in his face.

The man was stunned to say the least seeing the door almost touching the tip of his nose, his expression flustered and his heart hammering. He groaned to himself in annoyance as he slowly turned on his heel to leave, his irritation not directed at you per say, but how you made him feel.

It was far too complicated, but you were playing him like a damn fiddle and he knew it. He supposed that maybe he deserved a little of the shit you were giving him seeing as he turned you down in the first place, but how much were you willing to drag this on for? He was growing attached, too attached, and now he was wrapped around your little finger instead of the other way around. He saw how desperate you looked in the beginning as you confessed everything to him, he saw that look in your eye. But now you had completely flipped the script and made him out to be the one growing desperate. It was frustrating…but in the most captivating way.

A week seemed to pass by in a flash just like that, the two of you going back and forth, leading to you teasing him to no end. He knew there were plenty of times where he could’ve just walked away from the situation, but he was so tempted to keep playing along in the game you entertained. And it was working more than he was willing to admit, his mind not being able to stop thinking about you and slowly feeling himself break. He didn’t want to cave and admit how much he had been thinking of you, how much he wanted you, but it was getting harder and harder every time he saw you. Every bat of your eyelashes, every flash of your small and perfect smile had him absolutely crumbling.

And what he seemed to be dreading the most now was a bonfire being hosted by a neighbor in the community, everyone being invited to the event.

At first Daryl debated on going at all, knowing that you would probably be there taunting him in the best way you knew how. But he couldn’t help but want to feed into that temptation, just looking for another excuse to see you again. Though in all honesty he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. How much longer he could hold out as you played with him until he would completely break right in front of your eyes for you to see. He hated to admit it even to himself, but he was growing more and more desperate for you, which he knew is exactly what you wanted. But he didn’t care at this point. He would let you do whatever you wanted to him if he knew he could finally have you.

You on the other hand however were looking forward to the event. You took your time picking out your outfit, settling on a shorter skirt and a black top that left just enough to the imagination, almost not being able to contain your excitement and mischief when thinking about seeing him again. In all honesty, you didn’t expect him to continue to feed into what was supposed to be just a little teasing, it surprised you beyond repair to see him playing along as much as he was. Though you knew he had grown to like it, he had grown to fall for you more than before. And you loved it.

Once the day was finally over and the stars just began to rise into the sky, the time came for everyone to attend the little get together as the bonfire was beginning to light up Alexandria with its orange glow. People began to arrive in pairs and groups to the get together, greeting one another politely with smiles and hugs, but Daryl found himself planted in the corner of the small party. His eyes kept scanning around for you subconsciously, his nerves only growing as he convinced himself not to fall apart for you, to not fall into his desires.

But then he caught sight of you finally arriving, seeing the things you were wearing, and he immediately seemed to lose his train of thought right then and there. He was now reminded why he so desperately wanted to give in, why he wanted to give away every part of himself to you as he watched you smile and greet a few people passing by. You knew how to get to him, how to make him nervous, knowing exactly which strings to pull to get him all hot and bothered. It’s all what made you so absolutely alluring.

He watched you from a distance for a while with his arms crossed over his chest, not being able to approach you as you always seemed to be speaking with someone. His patience was growing thin and his destress was building as all he wanted was to talk to you, to see you up close. The way you were dressed, the way you wore your hair up only to have a few stray pieces aligning your face, it was beginning to drive him crazy.

But then an opportunity seemed to open up right before his very eyes as he saw you walk away off by yourself, just close enough towards the fire to feel the warmth, yet far enough from everyone else so he could finally approach you. He swallowed thickly at the thought of the things he was easily getting himself into, but he couldn’t help it as it seemed like his feet had minds of their own, practically floating right over to you. His steps were quiet as he approached you from behind, not wanting to scare you, but wanting to catch you off guard for once.

When he was finally close enough just to hover over you, it was only then that he spoke, “Hey.” he said quietly.

But you hardly even flinched, as if you knew of his presence approaching the whole time as you turned to look at him with a smile, “Hi Daryl.”

God the way you said his name drove him almost to a point of insanity, wanting you to say it over and over again as you voice was sweet and warm like honey. It’s almost impossible to resist you in this moment in time, taking in your appearance up close and getting a whiff of your intoxicating perfume as a gust of wind blows by was enough to send him over the edge. Leading to a point of no return.

But still, he somehow managed to keep his composure, “You look nice.” he commented sweetly, a small smile crossing his lips.

Your eyes practically lit up at the compliment he gave you, subconsciously smoothing down your skirt as you looked up at him, “You think so?” you subtly flirted.

His mouth parted to respond, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words. But he does think so, in fact he’s thinking almost a little too much about how amazing you look in front of the glowing fire.

A smirk was brought to your face as he didn’t respond to your question, diverting his attention to your body once more as your voice quieted down to a whisper, “You don’t think my skirt’s too…short…right?”

His eyes seemed to trail back down just as you wanted them too, eyeing your legs for a dangerously long time at the brief question that fell from your lips. His mouth was agape as he found he couldn’t look away, the feeling bubbling inside him almost being too overbearing as he desperately tried to swallow and lubricate his dry throat.

Though he eventually found himself shaking his head as his gaze trailed back up to your eyes, “Nah…it’s fine.” he breathed.

“You sure?” you asked again playfully, “I can always go home and change if you think it’s too much-”

“N-No,” he interrupted quickly, “I kinda like it actually.” he blurted before his mind even had a chance to stop him. Though he feels the embarrassment wash over him the moment the words left his mouth, coming to the realization of what he had just said.

But much to his relief, he saw you smile a bit wider, “I’m glad you like it…” you admitted as you suddenly leaned in further to him to whisper in his ear, “...I wore it just for you.”

Daryl’s body went rigid and his mind seemed to go completely blank, his heart beating twice as fast as it was before. Just for him? You wore that pretty little thing just for him? His mouth became very dry once again, his knees feeling weaker, especially when you laughed lightly to yourself at his speechless state, pulling back a little to stand next to him normally before anyone could notice. Oh god, it hit him, what if anyone noticed.

His eyes then did a quick scan around the sea of people, but none of them seemed to catch onto the interactions he was having with such a young girl. That sent a wave of relief through him, bringing his attention back towards you as you hadn’t stopped staring at him the entire time it seemed like.

“So…are you enjoying yourself?” you ask him with a seductive tone to your voice.

The older man sucked in a breath at your tone, seeing that twinkle in your eye that was nearly impossible to resist, “Yeah…I am.” he finally responded.

You smile to yourself as you heard his confirmation, “Good.” you nodded.

He then quietly groaned to himself, almost as if he couldn’t take it anymore, turning to face you better as he collected himself and looked you in the eye, “Why ya always gotta tease me like that?”

You physically felt the wicked grin cross over your face, “Because it’s fun.” you said simply, slowly venturing out to tease him further as you reached out to trail your finger up and down his clothed, toned arm. “But if you don’t like it…I can stop.”

His breathing then became shaky as he nearly quivered under the small ounce of your touch, only imagining what it would be like if you touched him even more. But then it hit him that you threatened to stop playing with him as much as you were, breaking him out of his thoughts as he could still feel your touch burning through the fabric of his shirt.

“...Never said I didn’t like it…”

Your gaze looked back up at his face as your movements stopped completely, your faces only inches apart now it seemed like in such a public setting. “Are you sure…? You can be honest if you don’t want this anymore.” you teased again.

He almost caught himself groaning again as you stopped touching him, not even imagining any scenario where he could ever say no to you. In fact, all of this was just slowly feeding more into the desire and lust that continued to build.

“No, no…I want this.” he assured quickly, in fear that you would completely pull away if he didn’t answer you fast enough.

Seeing him near his breaking point, so close to dangling over the edge, you wondered if you could get him to admit it out loud. You fully took your hand away then, leaning in further to whisper. “Tell me what you want.”

Daryl’s mind goes on some kind of frenzy as he could only think of you. Your voice, your touch, everything. He only wanted you.

“I want you…” he finally broke.

Though upon hearing his answer, he saw your eyes forming into almost sympathy as you stared at him, similar in the way he looked at you when you confessed your feelings for him. “Oh…but you know that’s not allowed.” he hears you say with a sigh.

All logical reason leaves the man’s mind in an instant it seems like as he watched you deny him, feeling as if you were going to pull away fully and reject him for good. He felt defeated as all he wanted now was for you to give it up, stop toying with him and finally give in to let him have you. He learned his lesson, that much was certain, now all he needed to do was convince you somehow.

“Please…”

The moment you heard his plea, you nearly shivered in anticipation seeing how much he was falling apart now, not being able to handle it anymore. But still, you didn’t cave right away. “You said I was too young.” you gently reminded him.

“I don’t care.” he whispers without a second thought, his voice barely being able to come out at all. He found he didn’t care anymore, all he could think about was you. How much he wanted you, needed you. Now.

Your eyes widen in the smallest bit of surprise at his sudden desperateness, “But you do care. You told me so yourself.”

He shakes his head almost frantically, “No, no, that was then. This is now. Nobody even needs to know…we can keep it between us…”

Shock is evident on your features at his suggestion, something about it making you want to finally give it up and give into his requests. That is what you were trying to do since the beginning, making him realize how much he truly wanted you, and now you had it. All you had to do was say the word.

He sees the look of consideration on your face, a feeling of hope filling his chest as he leans closer to you, “Please…” he whispered once more.

You swallowed a bit thickly as your prepared to open your mouth to respond to him, but another voice quickly cut into the silence between you two, causing Daryl to practically jump away from you suddenly as if he was just burned.

“Y/N!” Carol’s voice called out as she approached, completely oblivious to what was just happening moments ago, “Come on, there’s some new people I want you to meet.” she said eagerly as she took you by the arm, and dragging you away from the man.

Daryl huffed in irritation as he watched you get pulled away, collecting himself quickly as he looked around and licked his lips in annoyance. The older man was now just stuck there alone as you were taken elsewhere, left to ponder over the things that was said between you two. It’s almost a painful fate he was placed in, but yet it’s the one he deserved for playing along with you in the first place.

~ Thanks for reading!

Part 2!

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generalsmemories · 8 months

Note

hiii for your event (CONGRATS BY THE WAY!!!) I'd like to request

"hey, no crying... I thought we said we wouldn't cry" with jing yuan please and thank you

Warmth of the living

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts used: "hey, no crying... I thought we said we wouldn't cry" || 1k event

✧ content: established relationship, hurt/comfort, spoilers for xianzhou storyline, we are still stuck in the jing yuan recovery era after phantylia fight

✧ a/n: istg if this man goes into the next patch half beat up and ready to intervene i'm actually sentencing him to a house arrest cause GODDAMN. in a way this can be seen as an alt version of my other fic 48 hours tbh. i just can't imagine any other scenario where that sentence specifically is used by itself than the recent events - so sorry for the same sorta events, i'll make sure it's the last one though!

NOT BETA-READ CAUSE I LITERALLY WROTE THIS ALL IN 30 MINUTES THE MOMENT I GOT SOME MOTIVATION FOR IT HAHA

"Lady Bailu is taking care of him as we speak, [Name]. Please excercise some patience and believe in her - she's not titled the best healer of Luofu for no reason," Fu Xuan tries to comfort as you pace back and forth at the Seat of Divine Foresight - a hand massaging her temples as she looks towards the mountains of unopened scrolls needing to be read through within the day, "... If it helps, I've also foreseen that he won't be in any immediate danger. He's fine and he's going to recover."

That diviner noticed that her assurance seemed to ease you to the point you let out a long shaky exhale before sitting down at one of the steps leading to the grand desk, combing a hand through your hair for the nth time, "You haven't rested either with helping both me and Qingzu arrange documents and various meetings with the Six Charioteers. Why don't you try to take a walk outside the Exalting Sanctum?" Fu Xuan suggests, but you merely shake your head with a chuckle.

"If I leave you'll be more overwhelmed than you already are. Qingzu is even starting to pity you, lady Fu Xuan," you start, taking a deep breath in before standing up again, "Besides, if I leave the Seat, I just know I'll go running to where he is, I don't think that would help any of us now, would it?" you say with a light-hearted chuckle.

Fu Xuan didn't comment on the fact that your voice was trembling slightly as you spoke.

You can visit the general now. Please bring me some tuskir wraps, I'm hungry.

The message was sent as you had just placed a plate of food in front of Yanqing, almost dropping the contents entirely over the table if the young lieutenant didn't notice the grip you had on it falter and catching it in time, "Woah- [Name] I was looking forward to eating your food today! What would I do if you just suddenly do something like... that..." Yanqing's words died down when he saw your widened eyes, but a quick look at the sender of the message made him let out a relived sigh, only leaning back and picking up his chopsticks, "Why not visit the general instead of staring at your screen like that? It's not like you will be able to be able to teleport yourself to his location by doing that."

Yanqing's words made you snap out of your surprise, rushing towards the entrance, "Lock up after me! And give-"

"Mimi her food, I know! Just go!"

You knew that your worry was not needed. You knew that no matter how much you worried and that no matter how many times you wished for things to go differently that day that none of it would happen, "What happens and what has happened will inevitably stay like that no matter how much you try to alter it. And if my life can ensure that the rest of Luofu can stay safe then that is ultimately the best outcome in the long run, don't you agree, dear?" is what Jing Yuan had told you after the both of you had gone through his initial plan to handle the crisis.

You knew that he was right, which was why you bit your tongue and confirmed his plan. As the general of Luofu and as an official handling the lives of the people - you both knew that his plan, although reckless would yield the best results instead of sacrificing lives where it was not needed.

You knew.

But as you stand before him in person and get a thorough look at him you can't help but wish things had gone differently that day when he came to you with a final plan - a final play.

You wished that you had let your selfish mind overtake your logical mind for a second and beg him to come up with something else. Anything that didn't involve setting himself in danger.

But you didn't, and now you're seeing the very consequences of not doing so in front of you.

His skin is paler than usual, there's bandages wrapped around his torso, his forearms and even a few of his fingers. The usual spark in his eyes are dimmed slighty. There's an air of exhaustion around him, like he's trying his best to stay awake even though he desperately wants to sleep, but his smile is still the same.

The same reassuring, convinning and gentle smile he gives you when you greet him at the Seat of Divine Foresight, when you return home after work and he's home before you and when you run into each other on the streets of Luofu. And yet you can't find yourself to smile back, your fingers tightly twisting the material of your garments while you struggle to let out a word, a sound or anything at all to even try to match his own effort to reach out to you.

But you can't, you can't bring yourself to speak, and every time you open your mouth you can only make a tiny sound that sounds like a wheeze. But before you can try to recollect yourself, your eyes widen when Jing Yuan forces himself to sit in an upright position, snapping back to reality when you hear his quiet grunt of pain.

However you're not able to tell him to lay back down again (as Bailu had instructed he does) before he grabs a hold of your hands and pulls you into his arms with quiet coos and a low chuckle, "No crying... I thought we said we wouldn't cry over things like this?" he whispers, pulling slightly back to instead cup your cheeks, thumbs caressing the few tears that had managed to fall down from your eyes with a gentle gaze.

It tears you utterly apart how your wellbeing is still his priority than his own recovery.

"That... was a different... situation," you manage to squeeze out, bringing your hands up to rub the tears away yourself.

You didn't know when the tears began to form, nor when they began to fall.

"I know I'll lose you one day to the mara, as much as you're aware that you might lose me to it as well - and that's what we promised not to cry over! We never agreed to this sort of situation!" you croak out, trying your best to stop the tears from flowing. You know it's a silly comparison - Jing Yuan would much rather die out in the battlefield protecting the Luofu and the alliance than fall victim to the curse. You know, but your selfish self won't accept that outcome - even though you know such an outcome is the best for the general of Luofu.

"I agreed to this plan of yours, yes. I also agreed knowing that you're essentially putting your own life at risk yes, but still!" you sob, raising a closed fist to lightly beat down on his already battered body, "Knowing that you still came back safe just made every possible scenario of things that could go wrong and knowing they didn't and that you're here right now- scolding me of all things for crying in relief just makes this seem more surreal so you out of everyone can't fault me for actually crying because I was preparing a starskiff for the soul-soothing ceremony in the background for aeons sake," you rasp out, ending the whole rant with a saddened chuckle.

Jing Yuan merely laughs in return, one arm wrapping around your waist while his free hand pushes your head into his chest while gently patting your head, his body shaking with his soft chuckles when he feels your tears wet his garments again, "I'm fine dear, I just need to be in bedrest for a while. I'm not leaving anytime soon, so stop those tears, okay? You know I can't handle it when you cry," he whispers, bending his head down slightly to kiss the crown of your head softly.

"Just let me cry this one out, I don't think I've cried for a good couple of years," you murmur, burying yourself further into his chest, the arms you have wrapped around him squeezing a tiny bit - making Jing Yuan let out a small yelp of surprise from the force.

He's warm, you notice. His heart is beating and you can feel his chest rise up and down with every breath he takes. You can feel his fingers run through your head, you can hear the his nonchalant commets of his observations of the room in the commission amidst the otherwise silent room. And you can feel his whole body when he shuffles a bit to rest his back to the wall while he himself tries to squeeze you a bit tighter to reassure you.

Everything indicating that he's alive for another day.

And only after that do you finally feel like you can breathe again.

another request that had the same scenario in it!

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail x you #jing yuan x reader #generalsmemories 1k event

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inkyajax · 1 year

Text

cut me rails of that fresh cherry pie

character: alhaitham

genre: modern university!AU, smut with a dusting of fluff

notes: whew! finally my TA!alhaitham piece is finished!! i worked for just over a month on this and i’m really happy with how it turned out, and i can’t wait to hear your thoughts on it! fun fact: this entire piece was inspired by that singular line about alhaitham taking you to the archives in his story quest ehehe. as always, please heed the warnings below and stay safe. | title credit: take a slice by glass animals

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon, rough sex, extremely bratty reader, minimal prep, semi-public sex, use of the word Sir, painful sex, one (1) instance of spanking, one (1) slap to the face, hints of implied trauma, biting, marking, blood, alhaitham is strong enough to lift reader up and fuck her against the shelves, praise, toxic relationship, student professor (TA) relationship (power imbalance), dom/sub power dynamics, undefined age gap between consenting adults, big size difference between alhaitham and reader, size kink, sex as punishment, sex as an emotional release, choking, reader is quite flexible, belly bulge, snowballing

words: 10.9k

synopsis:

“You have been exceptionally bratty today.”

“So?” you frown, insolence already beginning to bleed back into your tone. Your eyes narrow in assessment, head tilting slightly. This has never been a problem in the past, so why is it suddenly an issue now? “What? You can’t handle a bit of brattiness?”

The back of his hand collides with your cheek, stark and sudden, the sharp sound of skin slapping skin echoing down the vacant aisles.

It’s hard enough that it whips your head to the side, pins of pain lingering on your flesh. Salt stings your eyes, a reflexive albeit frustrating notion, and you blink with conviction, fury incinerating your tears.

The bite of betrayal hurts, and you keep your face pressed flush to the wood, chin jutting defiantly, refusing to look at him.

He grips it easily with a pinching thumb and forefinger and hauls it harshly back toward him. The rest of his fingers wreathe around your jaw, clinched so hard that your mouth puckers.

“Oh no,” he spits, words quietly seething. “I’m about to handle it, right now.”

Sunlight filters through the windows, casting slim strokes of gold across the lecture hall. Your pen taps lazily against your notebook as you watch the last few stragglers shoot their questions at your TA—and, subsequently, get shut down with a mere handful of words as a response—lingering, waiting.

It’s only after that heavy mahogany door closes behind the last student that you finally approach him.

One of the most infamous PhD Candidate students on campus, Alhaitham’s area of study specializes in semantics and pragmatics. He’s renowned for consistently achieving top-of-his-class status, working diligently and dedicatedly on his mammoth four-hundred-page dissertation, and being the hottest man and the hardest marker within the University of Sumeru’s small but robust linguistics department.

Spots in his intimate lectures are highly coveted and extremely limited, rendering them tough to get into, yet you’ve managed to snag a space in every single one.

He is, on all accounts, an exceptionally difficult man to get close to.

But you have been nothing if not persistent in your quest to get him to take notice of you.

And take notice of you, he has.

You had surprised him when proposing that the topic for your year-long research paper consist of studying the ways in which translations of the same piece of Middle Egyptian literature—throughout different time periods, and in conjunction with several different languages from each era—add and/or change the meanings of an individual text.

With it, you had raised several fascinating questions: how does the language chosen within each translation procure a different meaning within the text? How does the translator’s personal background and education play a role in their word choice and placement, and how does this affect meaning within the text? Are their certain syntactic patterns and sentence structures that contribute to this second layer or meaning that is imbued on the text by the translator, and if so, how?

But you always raise interesting questions, and with you he has learned to expect the unexpected.

“So,” you begin as you reach him, hopping onto the corner of his desk and linking your ankles together, limbs swaying slightly as he begins to tidy up. “I need to get into the Haravatat Rare Book Archives. For my final paper,” you clarify.

“Too bad it’s restricted to Undergrad students,” he quips, smugness pulling at the corners of his lips, teal eyes flashing up for a second before refocusing on his task of shuffling papers, the thrill of a potential challenge, of this game the two of you seem to play, glinting in his gaze.

Go ahead, give it your best shot, try and push him further, you might just get what you want.

“It is restricted to Undergrads,” you agree. “Unless they have a supervisor, like a professor, or, I don’t know, a PhD candidate student.”

His hands stop, eyes raising to meet yours again, slow, careful, searching. You hold his stare, bold, steady, egging, and finally, he bites, just as he always does, body straightening to his full height with a soft sigh, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Please, indulge me,” he says as he leans a hip against his desk chair, false exasperation not strong enough to hide the gentle tremor of genuine interest in his tone. “What could you possibly need in the Haravatat archives that’s absolutely, irrevocably necessary for you to complete your paper?”

“The original papyrus copy of the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor.”

An eyebrow raises, intrigued.

“I have already provided you with a copy of that piece in both its original Hieratic and with Hieroglyph transliteration, which, if I remember correctly, you begged and pleaded and cried for.”

“But it isn’t the same!” The protest leaves your lips in a stringy whine before you can stop it, expression quickly smoothing out your pout half a second later. “You know that isn’t the same as looking upon the original text with your own eyes, translating directly from the actual piece of literature. And—And besides,” you continue, voice speeding up in an effort to avoid being cut off. “The original papyrus copy is missing sections, is it not? I’m having trouble confirming which sections are truly missing; I keep running into conflicting information, so I can’t tell which parts of the copies you’ve given me are fabricated and which are not. That’s crucial information for me to possess!”

It’s flimsy and weak, this little excuse of yours, he knows it is—you both know it is—but that doesn’t stop him from sincerely contemplating it, a hum vibrating in his throat; nor does it stop you from pushing forward, an attempt to move your token piece in this game one space further.

“Please?” you press, notes of hope in your voice. Your fingers, resting on edge of his desk, curl around the wood in anticipation, body leaning forward. “This would really mean a lot to me, Sir. I’d love the opportunity to see the real thing, translate from the real thing.”

“Alright,” he finally agrees. “Tomorrow. Ten PM. Don’t be late.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Shivering outside of the Haravatat Rare Book Archives, you wrap your arms around yourself, idly hopping from foot to foot, gaze wandering across the building.

It’s a mammoth of a thing, made almost entirely of slate marble and ringed with an impressive number of stained glass masterpieces, each depicting a renowned scholar that has studied within the walls of the University of Sumeru.

Beams of silver shimmer among the mosaics, illuminating the teals and greens and glinting off the intricate gold piping, decorative windows almost glowing in the rays of the full moon. Warm yellow light leaks from the slivers of windows above the first floor, evidence of late-night research and study.

Eyes climbing, you dully note the way the light fades, less and less, dimmer and dimmer, which each floor until you hit the final level, entirely dark, your TA’s words drifting through your mind.

“Ten PM?” you had said when he finally agreed to meet you here, surprise evident in your breathy tone. “Isn’t that quite late?”

“I like visiting the archives during the times where I’m least likely to run into anyone else; early in the morning or late at night.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes. Typical of the antisocial scholar with a notorious reputation to actively avoid others as often as he possibly can.

“You’re early,” his voice pulls you from your thoughts and you turn to face him.

“You said not to be late.”

Smirking, he snorts with a nod, eyes regarding you with feeble amusement.

“Well, come on, then.”

✰ ✰ ✰

“Wow,” you breathe as he leads you towards the check-in desk, wondrous eyes sweeping across the interior, all smooth jade and shimmering gold, thick glass cases proudly displaying the artifacts they house, gleaming under the warm light.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” your TA tells you, smugness playing on his lips. “The upper floors aren’t nearly as awe-inspiring. They’re quite drab, actually.”

“Yeah, but still,” you brush him off, gaze gliding across the room again.

The University of Sumeru has the largest, most impressive collection of libraries among all of the universities in the world. Renowned for its remarkable breadth of literature on every topic imaginable, it invites scholars from all across the globe to visit and scuttle through its mazes of shelves, with the Haravatat Rare Book Archives being the most coveted of all.

You think you’re beginning to truly understand why.

It is a convoluted mess of systems, but lucky for you, you have one of the best guides there is to lead you through the tangled, snarled shelves.

Because Alhaitham knows these libraries inside out, upside down, spending way too much of his damn time here—and he knows how to get you into the most exclusive floors, too.

It is, technically speaking, unfair to grant you such special privileges.

Then again, none of his other students have pursued him as aggressively and avidly as you have, so he supposes they don’t really deserve it anyway.

He’d do the same for any other student who demonstrated such a vigorous interest in their studies, he tells himself, attempts to reason with himself. He’d do the same for any student who contained the same sheer determination and dedication to their research that you do, anyone who was as rabid and tireless in their eternal pursuit of knowledge as you are.

He’s sure he would—if any of them actually possessed these covetable qualities.

But the simple fact of the matter is, they don’t. And that’s what truly sets you apart from the rest, isn’t it?

Because you’re at the very top of his class.

Because you linger after each and every lecture, waiting around at your seat until all the other students have gone, to ask him thoughtful questions and spark intriguing debates with him, to show him new ways of thinking, new ways of seeing, and he finds himself pondering over you often, curious about what’s going on in that pretty head of yours today, curious about what your notions and opinions on a particular subject would be. He has yet to find a single student at this godforsaken university that can do what you do.

Because your papers are fucking exceptional—full of thought-provoking points and expertly backed by evidence—and it’s abundantly obvious that you’re a hardworking student, that you take your studies very seriously, despite your inherent playfulness—giggles you can’t quite seem to quell, quipping remarks that are so astonishingly out of place for the classroom that it takes him a moment to respond (no one student has ever succeeded in making him pause like that, either).

Because although Alhaitham can be bold and blunt, scary and supercilious in nature, none of it deters you in the slightest, unafraid to challenge him on his views, unafraid to sound ‘stupid’ in his presence. It’s admirable, how unapologetically yourself you are, how you can hold your own against him, how his brusque personality doesn’t perturb you the way it seems to perturb others; in fact, you seem almost fascinated by it.

And that’s what makes you his best student, his most engaging student, his favourite student.

But it’s still kind of surreal to him, in a ridiculous sort of way, that he’s leading you into the Haravatat Rare Book Archives, your toes on his heels, shuffling your ID and student card between your fingers, plastic scraping together.

The screening process is rigorous, ruthless, the clerk demanding two pieces of government-issued identification in addition to your student card—to verify you are who you say you are, of course, you understand—and requiring you to sign your name in the guest logbook before finally giving Alhaitham that ugly gold VISITOR sticker, which he promptly slaps on your chest, nimble fingers tracing the edges to ensure that it’s secure.

“There,” he says, stepping back a little, as if to admire his handiwork. “Now you’re ready.”

The Ancient and Middle Egyptian literature archives are kept on the top floor of the Haravatat, the dull aisles flickering to life the moment the two of you step from the elevator, fluorescent lights clicking on in slow succession, triggered by your motion, and humming softly to themselves.

“Come,” Alhaitham says, hand encircling your wrist and tugging. “The original pieces of literature are kept over this way, in specialized glass casings.”

“Of course,” you’re nodding to yourself, allowing him to lead you towards the preserved papyrus. “Can’t have humans putting their grubby hands on a piece that’s four thousand years old, even if they are scholars.”

“Exactly,” he smirks down at you.

Smart-ass.

“Alright,” he’s saying as you reach the desired case. “There’s a small writing desk here on the edge for you to make notes and do translations. While you work, I’ll be—What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture,” you say as if he’s stupid, not even bothering to glance away from your phone, hovering above the glass screen.

“Why?”

You frown, finally looking over at him. “So I can translate the text?”

His face falls, shock flattened by disappointment, and he fixes you with a look.

“Hold on a second,” he begins, sarcasm already heavy in his tone. “I brought you here so you could translate directly from the original material, and you’re just…taking a photo?”

At your responding nod, his molars grind, strong jaw flexing with the motion, a dense sigh exhaled shakily out his nose.

“Of the first section, yes, so I can zoom in and translate with better accuracy,” you say easily, and he can’t tell if you’re lying or not. “And then, when I’m done with this section, I’ll go take a picture of the next section, then the next, and the next, and so on, until I’ve finished the entire text.”

“The entire text?” he laughs, but it’s humourless, tainted with incredulity. “Do you have any idea how long that’s going to take you? The semester’s already half over; I thought you only wanted to translate the few key passages you’re analyzing in your paper?”

“I changed my mind,” you shrug, though now he can see it; the mischief tweaking at the corners of your lips and glittering in the irises of your eyes, barely contained.

And, for a moment, you’ve stunned him into silence, yet another first for you to add to your cherished collection.

But then the blood in his veins begins to boil, the heat wiring his body back to his brain, and then he’s snapping at you, tumultuous teal surging in his eyes, churning with fury, but his voice is cold with disappointment.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that? I should take you home right now—”

“No!” you gasp, phone forgotten in an instant. “No, Haitham, please, I didn’t mean to—”

Little hands paw at his sweater, desperate for his understanding, for his forgiveness, and just like that, all traces of mischief are eradicated from your features, devoured by pure honesty, and his blood calms, authority restored to its rightful place.

You’re too cute when you beg.

“Alright. Whatever. Sit down, do your work, and be quiet.” He casts a pointed glance at the independent study desks. “I’ll be working on my dissertation, and I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.”

Turning away with more vigour than strictly necessary, he stalks towards one of the desks, wholly expecting you to mimic his actions, to obey.

But you don’t.

Because, really, when do you ever?

His head lifts as you pull up a chair from a nearby desk and tuck it into his own, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your actions halt, a frown materializing on your face. “I wanna sit with you,”

“I should sit you at an entirely different table, alone, for such behaviour. Christ,” he shakes his head, muttering to himself as he bends back to his unfinished dissertation. “A picture. She has the whole piece in front of her, literally at her fingertips, and she’s taking pictures.”

A giggle bubbles up your throat, your lips automatically pressing together in an attempt to stifle it as you take a seat across from him, his jaw clenching once at the sound.

It’s cramped and uncomfortable, the two of you trying to work at a desk designed for a single person, pages overlapping and pens strewn across notes, your study materials leaking into his meticulously organized documents, the toes of your shoes consistently knocking against his as you fidget and fiddle around.

Yet somehow, you both manage, and for a moment it’s almost nice, a synergy of sorts forming between the continuous bumps of your sneakers and his routine shoving of your materials back onto your side of the desk.

But then you shatter the delicate, premature peace with a single question, all wriggling stilled as your voice grows serious.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mad? No, I’m just—Annoyed, that’s all. I didn’t get you into this place so you could just take a photo of the original text. I could’ve done that for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. Now concentrate on your work.”

It can’t be more than five minutes into your joint study session when he feels it again—a gentle yet distinct tap-tap-tap against the toe of his boot. It’s deliberate this time, methodical in the rhythm—one, two, three, breath, one, two, three, repeat.

Expelling a soft sigh, he looks up, searching your form. You’re still bent over your work, murmuring softly to yourself, seemingly oblivious.

“Stop that.”

You look up, a shock of genuine surprise across your face. “Stop what?”

“Stop squirming. You’re hitting my foot.”

“Oh? Am I? Sorry, I’ll stop.”

You don’t sound sorry, though, delinquency seeping through the cracks of the sugared sincerity coating your face.

It starts up again a mere few minutes later, just like he knew it would, except this time, he refrains from reprimanding.

You get this way sometimes, he’s come to learn—desperate for his attention and willing to do anything, including bothering him, to achieve it. He supposes he doesn’t necessarily mind it, doesn’t necessarily dislike it, sometimes even enjoys playing this game with you—this push and pull, this challenge and challenger, this predator and prey—however this is neither the time nor place for such trivialities.

And yet, despite his best efforts to entirely ignore you, to refuse you the attention you’re yearning for in an effort to encourage your productivity, he finds himself subconsciously hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours, engaging with your actions entirely without his own accord.

For the breath of a moment this seems to satiate you, the small repetitive action enough to fulfill your ever-growing needs, enabling the two of you to work in peaceful silence once again.

But something with sharp little teeth gnaws a hole in the pit of his stomach, bile oozing out slow and steady to embrace the surrounding organs in a tight, sticky film, and you’ve since kicked a shoe off, sock-clad foot curling around his calf, sliding up and down the muscle, giggling a little at the way it makes his thighs tense and twitch, the way it makes his hips spasm and shiver, and he can’t stay silent anymore.

“Stop playing around and do your work.”

“But I wanna know more about yours, Haitham.”

“You can know more about mine once you finish yours.”

“No fun,” you grumble, kicking at his shin, eyebrows pushing together as a pout scrunches your face. “No fun at all, you big stoic meanie.”

Nimble fingers rub at both of his eyes, a hefty sigh thick on the back of his tongue.

This is odd. You’ve always been chatty, always been bratty, but this—this is something different. This is something worse.

Something must’ve happened. Something must’ve set you off, triggered a response, awoken a deep-seated need for his attention, confusing it with affection. Something furls up in his throat, and he forces a strong swallow past it, voice grit and gravel when he speaks again.

“Hey,” he says, leg hooking forcefully around you own, halting its movement and garnering your attention with a cute little oh!. “What’s going on with you today? Did something happen?”

His eyes are startlingly sincere as they search your face for an answer, and you blink, floundering for a moment before your features harden again, expertly schooled into a carefully curated expression of carelessness.

“No,” you blow the word out your mouth, as if the idea is preposterous, but your smile is tight, small, stretched painfully across your lips.

There is a time where this might’ve fooled him, but not anymore.

He knows you too well now.

He knows you too well, because you’ve told him, secrets and sentiments spilled in the late-night hours at his office, terrors and traumas whispered in confidence under the dim gold of his desk light, veiled with tears.

Your leg tries to kick its way free, and his own tightens in response, shin pressed painfully to the edge of his seat.

“Are you sure?”

And, for a moment, he’s positive he’s got you, positive he’s broken through to you, crushed those heavy walls of protection to dust and is stumbling through the rubble towards your heart, towards the truth.

Your demeanour wavers, teetering on the edge of honesty, and he leans forward a little further, muscles loosening.

But then you haul it back from the ledge, countenance set firmly in place, leg slipping gracefully from his grasp, and you’re gone again.

“Of course I’m sure,” you say breezily, brushing off his concern as your roll your shoulders once, sitting up straighter.

“Just restless, then.”

“Just want to know more about you, actually.”

“You already know so much about me,” he says, a small jolt buzzing through his veins at the sheer validity of the statement.

“There’s always more to know when it comes to you,” you respond, words melting slightly, sagging under fondness.

Chuckling a little, he shakes his head. “We can talk more about me and my work once you finish yours, okay?” his voice has softened a little compared to the first time he offered this solution, tinged with the hope of compromise. “I promise.”

Your eyes search his own, hunting for shards of dishonesty and coming up empty.

“Now be a good girl, and finish up your translations.”

You grumble a little under your breath, too low for him to make out the content, but obey anyway, picking up your pen again, so he let’s it slide.

As it turns out, though, not even the enticement of future attention is enough to pacify your brattiness—and he was stupid to think it ever would be.

Because then you’re restless again, hungry again, craving again; because you want it now, like some sort of sick compulsion that compels you to act out; because no matter how much he promises you, it’ll never be enough.

Because too much is never enough for a greedy little girl like you, who takes those shards of notice he’s paid to you and chews them up, spits them out, demands more.

It was always only a matter of time.

And his few remaining vines of patience, weak and worn and withering in your presence, are about to decay.

He flinches when he feels it, the tip of your shoeless toe tracing up his calf, circling his kneecap and pushing up his strong thigh, then trailing back down his shin to repeat the process all over again.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you hum, eyes never straying from your work.

A hand snatches your foot just as it reaches his knee again, palm wrapped around the arch, squeezing hard enough to force a yelp from your throat. You look up suddenly, eyes wide and surprised, foot squirming in his grasp.

“Yeah? Is it nothing?”

“I was just…” you trail off, head shaking in short, quick motions. “I didn’t even realize, Sir, I swear—”

“I don’t believe you.”

The heel on his thigh squirms a little, the cap of your pen caught between your teeth oh-so-innocently as you shrug and lean forward, perky breasts swelling almost daintily as you draw in breath to respond, straining against your sweetheart neckline.

“I don’t know what to tell you, other than that I’m telling you the truth.”

Your actions contradict your words, toes pointed tightly and poking at his hipbone, foot trying to wiggle its way along the curve of his thigh, straight to his half-hard cock.

“Enough with the lies. I’ve tried to be strict, I’ve tried to be nice, but I’m at the end of my rope here.”

“Oh?” you giggle. “Can I give it a little tug?”

“Don’t play with me,” he warns, short nails digging into the arch of your foot.

“Or else, what?” you goad, curious to see how far you can take this, how far you can push and prod and pinch before he snaps; a fly teetering on the teeth of a venus flytrap, waiting.

“Or else I am going to move to another table if you don’t cut it out.”

“Why? Am I making it hard to concentrate?”

“No,” he says, defensive, too quickly, cock jumping at his lie. “You’re pissing me off. I have allowed this to go on for far too long.”

“Oh, you’ve allowed it, have you?” you snort, rolling your eyes. “What do you think? Just because you’re one of my teachers you’re suddenly the boss of me, or something?”

“I am—”

“You know what I think?” you reach across the table, two tiny hands clasping his large one, pen skittering from his fingers, leaving an ugly mark across his paper. “I think—”

And it’s the touch that does it, the shock of skin-against-skin, warm and soft and buzzing, that has him ripping himself from his chair in an instant, moving so quick that the metal legs teeter against the linoleum floor, a caustic growl in his words.

“I don’t really give a fuck what you think,”

A large hand clamps around your bicep and yanks, hard, pulling you unsteadily to your feet with such strength that it sends your seat clattering to the ground, legs kicking wildly as you struggle to find your footing.

A gasp catches in your throat, mangled and choked, your gaze snapping to his with a ring of shock tinging your irises, and the corners of his lips twitch.

Good. It’s about fucking time.

He says nothing as he shoves you towards the endless rows of shelves, all shrouded in darkness, keeping a firm grasp on your arm while he does so, his broad chest pushing against your shoulder and forcing you to move forward.

The harsh, pale lights overhead flicker to life one by one as he barges deeper into the stacks, fluorescent tubes creaking from disuse.

Your combined footsteps echo throughout the aisles—his steady, clear and cruel, yours stumbling, toe of your singular shoe catching on the tiles, sock slipping against the waxed floor.

“I—Are you taking me to see those books you promised to show me?” your voice trembles slightly, threads of terror sewn into your question.

He stays silent, his cool, even breaths forcing chills to erupt across your flesh, each exhale against your dampening neck sending another bout skittering up your spine.

“Well, Christ,” you snort, but it comes out as more of a snivel. “The least you could do is tell me where—”

The breath is kicked from your lungs suddenly, a sharp gasp lacerating your complaint as he slams you against a bookshelf, your head whacking against the wooden ledge, book spines vibrating against wood and pages rustling together.

“Ow,” you whine, features twisted in a wince, hand attempting to rub at the sore spot and colliding with his body, your own caged tightly between a wall of muscle and a wall of books.

His breath is coming quicker now, short little puffs that flare his nostrils and heave his chest, rising and falling against your own. His hands, planted on either side of your shoulders, curl around the edge of the shelf, blunt nails audibly digging into the wood.

A steel-toed boot kicks at your ankles, forcing them further apart, a strong thigh slotting between yours and keeping them spread wide.

Your mouth falls open, in shock or surprise or scare, he can’t tell, he doesn’t care, a pitiful little squeak—a poor imitation of what was once words, he’s sure—strangling itself in your throat.

“You have been exceptionally bratty today.”

The back of his hand collides with your cheek, stark and sudden, the sharp sound of skin slapping skin echoing down the vacant aisles.

The bite of betrayal hurts, and you keep your face pressed flush to the wood, chin jutting defiantly, refusing to look at him.

He grips it easily with a pinching thumb and forefinger and hauls it harshly back toward him. The rest of his fingers wreathe around your jaw, clinched so hard that your mouth puckers.

“Oh no,” he spits, words quietly seething. “I’m about to handle it, right now.”

“Fuck you,” you try to say, but it comes out jumbled, spit collecting in the divots of your lips.

Ignoring you, he continues, smooth and cold despite the sapphire flames licking at his pupils.

“You’re going to learn to respect your superiors tonight,”

“Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that, Haitham?”

Yanking again, he tilts your head up further, forcing your face to his, wood digging into your scalp. He’s so close you can feel his words waft across your face, can smell the musky cedar wood twining through them, lips nearly brushing yours as he speaks.

“I am going to fuck the brat out of you.”

His breathing is calm and controlled now, his voice low and even the way it gets when he’s made a definitive decision.

Yet despite the sheer severity of his words, sincere and serious, you can’t help the incredulity that bubbles up your throat, spilling past your lips in infuriating little giggles, and the rage in his eyes blazes.

“Something funny about that?” he’s growling as large hands slide up your thighs and under your dress, hem and excess material bunching around his wrists as he pushes up, up, up, until he hits delicate lace, pretty and pink and clinging to supple flesh.

Of course there is. You both know that’s impossible, both know that the brattiness is inherent, rooted so deeply within you that it’s woven into the fabric of your very soul itself, irremovable, irrevocable.

“Yeah,” you say, residual amusement still tickling your words. “I’d like to see you try.”

Rough fingertips sprout through delicate lace, invasive and uncontrollable like weeds as they ravage the fragile fabric and tear it from your body, elastics popping as they snap against your skin.

“You know what’s funny?” he’s murmuring into your neck, nose nuzzling the curve as nimble fingers massage the ruined garment in his palm. “How fucking wet you are.”

Using the thigh crammed between your legs, he keeps you steady, keeps you trapped as strong hands swoop beneath your ass and heft, your limbs automatically wrapping around his body; fingers lacing at the base of his skull, tufts of silver tickling your knuckles; ankles linking at the base of his spine, heels digging into the dimples engraved into smooth muscle.

There’s no romance to it, no kisses or caresses or tenderness at all. He doesn’t bother himself with such trivial matters, head ducking in an almost violent manner, nudging your jaw upward and forcing you to bare your neck to him. Sharp teeth sink into thin flesh, giggles dying to gurgles in your throat.

The hinges of his jaw flex, tightening the grip of his bite, teeth latched deep in muscles and arteries. A yelp cracks loudly in your throat, nails burrowing into his scalp and scraping, contriving a low moan from deep in his chest.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” A theatrical gasp falls from his lips, head pulling back enough to blink at you with feigned surprise. “Trying to get my attention so I’ll fuck you? Is this why you’ve been acting out so much today?”

“Maybe,” you breathe, little tongue darting out to lick at his lips, then the tip of his nose. “Maybe I just wanted to know how much I’m your favourite.”

He laughs at that, a dark, smooth sound vibrating against your neck, and you can feel his lips mold into a genuine smile.

Your desperation is precious, he’s mumbling into your skin, slick tongue sealing his words into the flesh in slow, fat, sticky strokes.

He sucks another claim of ownership into the flesh of your neck, signs his name in broken blood vessels and splats of violet ink, rapidly developing beneath your skin.

Your hips grind into his own, gyrating in quick little circles as he works at etching an impermanent masterpiece into your body, his teeth and tongue as his tools.

The denim of his jeans is caustic against your sensitive cunt, but that doesn’t deter you from grinding keenly on his bulging cock, a hoarse whine spilling from his throat as he looks down, webs of translucent slick stretched shimmering and sticky across the coarse material, shining almost iridescent in the harsh light of the library.

You’re struggling a little, restless in his arms as your hips rut and rock, almost as if you’re trying to fuck yourself on his cock through his clothing.

“Christ, I haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already soaking me right through,” he snorts, as if it’s pathetic, but his voice tapers off into an airy little wisp. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Jus’wanna—ugh—” you wail a bit, pitchy and petulant, hands squeezing their way between your pressed bodies to scratch at his waistband, fingers hooking in his belt loops and yanking. “S’not enough, Haitham. Need more, Haitham.”

So fucking greedy, so fucking needy, he’s huffing out to himself as he demands you get his cock out, hips drawing back just enough to allow you to shove his pants down, dainty fingers wrapping around the base and guiding it toward your glistening pussy, blunt head bumping against you.

You can’t help but play with it a little, gliding the head along your slippery slit and glazing it in your arousal. Because, oh, it’s so pretty, so perfect, straight and symmetrical and softer than velvet as you roll the shaft a little in your palm, feeling it thrum with simmering blood in response.

That feels good, has you mewling out melty versions of his name, spine arching reflexively as pleasure climbs the notches. But it doesn’t last long, he doesn’t allow it to, hips surging forward with impeccable precision and pushing the head into you.

It stings, thick cock splitting your ill-prepared hole wide open with each slow inch, fragile flesh aching as it stretches around him, stretches for him, a hiss spit from between your teeth as your features crunch in pain.

“Shut up,” Alhaitham snaps coldly. “Impatient little teases don’t deserve to be prepped, do they?”

No, you suppose they don’t, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

“I can take it,” you huff out stubbornly, brows knitted together, though your words wobble a little.

“Oh?” he asks, and he nearly sounds genuine, eyebrows raising in derisive astonishment. “Is that so?”

It only takes one sharp, swift thrust before he’s buried inside you, cunt stuffed full to the hilt, poor little hole spasming as it attempts to adjust to his girth.

It knocks a cry from your throat, eyes squeezed shut as your fingers tangle in the knit collar of his sweater and pull, tugging yourself closer.

Your head falls forward, face pressed tightly against the junction of his neck, trembling breath fractured by whimpers as your cunt pulses, tiny spears of agony slicing through your gut, flesh tearing into tiny fissures.

“Aw, what’s the matter, baby?” he murmurs mockingly into your hair, cheek grazing the crown of your head. “I thought you could take it. What happened?”

“I—I can,” you whine through gritted teeth.

“Yeah?” Alhaitham pulls back a little, shoulder gently nudging your face from it’s hiding place. “Prove it to me.”

A fire of determination sparks in your chest, catches on your heart and embraces it in its flames, the blaze doused in desperation to show how good you are, how good you can be for him.

“Start fucking me, and I will.”

And, for only a second, his true nature breaks through the hard annoyance coating his features—the smile he gives you is nothing short of fucking breathtaking, teal eyes glinting with something akin to pride, appreciation, approval, delighted that you’ve risen to meet his challenge, just like you always do—before that mask is back in place, expression expertly repositioned, and then his hips are drawing back, large hands flexing, fingers digging into your plush skin.

A few of the books fall from the shelves, knocked from their homes by the force of his immediate thrusts, hips snapping hard and fast and ruthless as he grips your body to his.

It hurts, the consistent slam of his cockhead against your cervix leaving it bruised and swollen, spikes of pain rippling through your gut. It only feels as though he’s ripping you open more, each drive of his massive cock into your cunt splitting your core further and further until reaches your soul, carving out a little space just for him, a mold where only he can snap into place, planting shards of himself within you, never to be removed.

“Ha—ah—Haitham!” you manage to breath out, stuttered from his rough movements, the name quivering on your tongue.

“What? Huh? What? I thought you could take it, sweetheart.”

And irrespective of the slamming of his hips and the shuddering of the shelves, he sounds almost entirely unaffected, his slight breathlessness the only indication this is having any impact on him at all.

“What’s the matter, my cock too big for you?”

And, oh, it’s so condescending, the question cooed out through an exaggerated pout, exhilaration shining in his eyes.

You don’t answer, won’t answer, can’t answer, the ramming of his cock smashing any semblance of a response to pieces, nothing more than shards of letters that dissolve into airy little mewls on your tongue.

“That’s cute,” he spits, though his voice fades into something softer, something sweeter, an insult rolled in icing sugar.

That fire, kindled from pride and a fierce need to prove yourself, flares in your chest, and you grit your teeth, resolve hardening.

The words are splintered and breathy as you force them from your mouth, the whole sentence cracked by the piston of his hips, letters flowing into one another, messy and slippery and soaked with saliva as you spit them out.

“C’mon, Sir, you said you were g—g—gonna really fuck me—fuck the brat right outta m—me, yeah? But you’re not doing—you, ah—you’re not doing a very good job, are you?”

A snarl rips from his chest, rattling his ribs against your own, and he surges forward, smashing his lips to yours—an easy way to shut you up—teeth gnawing on your lips.

It’s hardly a kiss, the edges of sharp ivory slicing into delicate flesh, procuring pretty ribbons of crimson that ooze slow and steady, mixing with your interspersed drool and turning it a sticky pale pink. The small gashes stain his mouth, scarlet gathering in the creases of his lips and the curves of his gums, painting him in strokes of you.

“You won’t be able to fucking walk when I’m through with you, you little bitch,” he hurls the words into your mouth, coated in venom so bitter it stings your tongue.

“You better—” you begin, cut off sharp and sudden as he sucks your tongue into his mouth and clamps his teeth around it, biting down hard enough to push a high little cry from your throat.

It’s already swelling, tiny bumps beginning to bulge and bloat beneath the rims of his teeth, still burrowed in wet muscle. You manage to yank it free, wincing as his teeth drag across it, harvesting rows of bloodied saliva.

There’s barely a moment to reflect on it, though, the consistent pounding of his hips keeping you from forming a coherent thought at all, ideas snapped like weak threads with each quick drag of his cock, senses dulled to everything but him.

Dull pain sprouts across your body, the sharp edges of the shelves tilling the beginnings of long, thin bruises into your skin. The wood grinds against the knobs of your spine as he fucks you, hard and brutal, your skull loose and heavy on your neck as it thwacks off the spines of the hardcovers behind you.

“How’s this for really fucking you, huh? You little brat,” he rasps out, eyes hard and eyebrows pinched, dewdrops of sweat decorating his temples, catching in the florescence and glittering like diamonds.

You’re rendered speechless yet again, the harsh, fast rub of his cock against your favourite spot causing your eyes to roll, lids drooping under the heavy weight of pleasure, mewls of his name flowing choppily from your mouth, half-finished and fading into pitchy moans.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” he taunts, though the question is panted out in hot huffs, strings of silver hanging in his eyes, trembling with each brush of his eyelashes. “Can’t speak?”

A sharp whine of frustration breaks to pieces in your throat, face scrunched and eyes clamped shut in concentration as your sloppy tongue attempts to mold wisps of fleeting thoughts into letters.

But it’s no use. Everything feels floaty, dreamy, almost, the edges of your vision gone hazy, softening all of the honed lines and harsh corners of the library.

He’s all you can see, his features the only thing in focus; aquamarine gems glimmering with a type of intoxicating rapture, a brilliant smile sprawled across his cheeks, salt-saturated tuffets of platinum and flint embellishing his forehead and cheeks.

He’s all you can feel; his large hands beneath your ass, grip tightening with the acceleration of his pace, fingertips sowing deep blotches of navy and amethyst into your cheeks; his smooth pubic bone, clit gliding over it with each of his thrusts, slick and sticky and so, so good.

He’s all you can smell, hear, taste—cedar wood and breathless grunts and blood-tinged mint.

“Are you going to fucking behave now?” he asks, pace never faltering. “Guess brats can’t be brats if they can’t talk, now, can they?”

Your head is nodding without your permission, automatic and instinctual, sharp mind and sharper tongue dulled down to one singular aim—to please him. His cock is the only thing you can focus on, now. His cock is the only thing you want to focus on, now, all of the tension and trepidation from the past few days—from the past few weeks—ebbing away, corroded by bliss.

The stress that’s been straining your face releases, expression fully relaxing for the first time tonight—pure, authentic—smoothed out by hedonistic ecstasy.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the softness of his tone contradicted by his merciless actions, the short legs of the bookshelf beginning to creak and wobble, oak scraping against linoleum. “Turns out all you need is a good, hard fuck to turn you into a respectful little girl, isn’t that right?”

“S’right, Sir, s’right,” you slur, words sloppy and stuffed with spit, letters loose and languid on your tongue. “I—It’s—ah!”

It’s so much, too much, emotion welling up in your chest and your eyes, pushed to the surface by his warm pleasure, his warm presence, submerging you in its enticing embrace.

Because it is only here, with your bodies knotted and your breaths twined, where you feel safest, where you find solace, where you are supported, in a way you never before have been, in a way no one else ever has.

It is only here, drowning in him, where you can let go, give in, give up, allowing yourself to be guided.

“I know, baby, I know,” he soothes. “Don’t worry, I’m here to handle it, I’m here to make it all better,”

The words are so fucking genuine, ringing with such sincerity, instinctual tears pricking and nibbling at your lashes as emotion roils in on itself in your throat, forming a hard lump, lodged in the column.

It renders any sort of response incapable, impossible, consciousness overwhelmed and overridden by the pleasure sprouting across your body, every new crop reaping another wave of undeniable relief, undefiable release.

It’s okay, though. It’s okay, because you don’t need to say anything at all, because he already fucking knows—can decipher it through the water glazing your eyes and the feathery little moans routinely fragmenting in your throat; can decipher it through the clutching fingers scouring and scuffing his skin, pressing him closer, holding him tighter.

Those initial spikes of pain have morphed into sparks of pleasure now, tiny little cinders wrapped in barbed wire, scraping against the walls of the capillaries as they rush through your veins, leaving your limbs tingling. Desire flares in your chest, stuffed full and scorching, as they collect at the core of your body, blossoming into a blaze of heat.

“Oh, oh, Sir,” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut before springing open again.

“That’s better,” he teases, though you can see it, the genuine pride shimmering in his eyes. “Look at that, look at how much of a good little girl my cock turns you into.”

“Uh-Uh-huh,” your head lolls dumbly before a stinging slap echoes throughout the vacant aisles, his hand colliding with your skin. A raised outline of his palm and all five fingers sears itself into your flesh, shocking some semblance of wakefulness back into your stunned stupid brain.

“I want you to cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he demands as his forehead falls forward, pressed to your own. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yes!” you nearly weep out in a high, stringy whine. “Yes, Sir, please, Sir, please!”

He placates you with a quiet hush, blunt nails digging deep crescents into your plush ass while he shuffles your weight, his knees bending slightly as he re-angles his hips, cock drilling fast and strong into your cunt, shaft jabbing against your favourite spot.

That fire he ignited furls in on itself, coiling into a firm, concentrated ball of ardor, twisted tighter and tighter and tighter with each grind of his cock until finally, it bursts, hot droves of ecstasy flooding your body.

It’s so potent that it whites your vision and wipes your brain, breath stalling in your throat as pleasure wrings your body, and you cum so hard, so much, more than you ever have before, warmth gushing out of you in heavy torrents.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it—just like that, make a mess for me,”

And he sounds almost as if he’s in awe, eyes drifting down to where you’re connected, watching as your cunt throbs and spasms around him, watching as streams of shimmering slick glisten on his cock, flowing down his balls and soaking the waistband of his jeans, stretched taut around his thighs. A thick but neatly trimmed sprout of dark curls mops up the remaining wetness, matted and glimmering with your essence.

Muttering, low and sharp, lures you back to reality, misty daze beginning to dissipate, still gauzing up the edges of your vision and encasing your brain in a soft cloud. It isn’t clear how long you’ve been drifting for, sweetheart neckline of your dress clinging to your body and sopping with sweat, apex of your thighs aching as Alhaitham jackhammers into you, jutting hipbones carving out the perfect place for themselves in supple flesh.

“Goddamn it,” he’s groaning, brow furrowed and hands slick with frustration as they attempt to readjust you again, hoisting you up further and tightening his grasp. “I can’t fuck you properly in this position.”

You’re not quite sure what he means, your cum still dribbling down his cock, cunt giving weak little pulses as he pounds into it, every drag of his cockhead against that plush spot procuring another pitiful gush of juices, filmy and sticky, shocks of overstimulation quivering your blood.

There isn’t a moment to ask, though, because then he’s hauling you away from the bookshelves and slamming you down onto the nearest independent study desk, flailing limbs knocking a small table lamp to the floor, skewed light casting crude shadows of your forms on the wall.

A loud cry lacerates your throat as you thwack against the surface, eyes shut tight and nose crinkling as spears of pain shoot up your spine, nestling into the base of your skull.

But he doesn’t seem to care, your discomfort hardly a nick in the fabric of his plan.

Large hands skim along your thighs, molding flesh as they go, hooking beneath your knees and tugging your languid legs from around his waist. A simple jab to each has them reflexively straightening, Alhaitham smirking at the soft whimper of surprise that slips from your lips as he places one ankle on his shoulder, then the other, sharp eyes holding your bleary gaze the entire time.

That’s the only reprieve you’re afforded from his brutal fucking, merciless hips picking up right where they left off the moment your ankles are hooked securely over his shoulders, feet curling around his neck, the tips of your toes routinely bumping together.

“Fuck,” he nearly whines, head rolling back, defined jaw and prominent Adam’s apple on full display.

The fingers burrowing into your hips twitch, grip relaxing then tightening, a feeble attempt to keep your body from sliding away from him, the pumping of his hips shoving you further up the desk, slick skin squealing as it rubs against lacquered wood.

A hand comes to collar your throat, long fingers curling carefully, one by one, as they cuff your neck, while the other stays clamped around your waist, stern and unyielding, fingertips submerged in plush tissue.

Impossibly, this position is so much deeper, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, a palm slapped flat between your hipbones to feel the bulging head pressing through your flesh with each rut of his hips.

Because he’s so fucking big, cute little hole still straining to swallow down his girth, raw cunt stretching in an attempt to take him, to be good for him.

His fucking has turned vicious, every ram of his cock jostling your entire frame, the hand latched firmly around your neck clutching in retaliation as his grip tightens, using this point as leverage to hold you down, to keep you still.

Your vision begins to blur at the edges as your air supply diminishes, precious little sounds strangled to pitiful little squeaks, wrung out by the palm flattening your windpipe.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his voice simultaneously close and far, wisps of words wavering in the atmosphere around you, caressing your flesh before they vanish. “Good girl, take my cock, such a good girl for her teacher,”

“Yours,” you babble out, the word tangled in threads of spit, muddled and sticky. “Yours, yours, yours, Sir, yours.”

“Mine,” he whimpers, the vice grip on your throat letting up for a moment, the tips of his fingers stroking the line of your jaw, possessive. “My good girl.”

Your entire backside is going to be scraped and slapped raw by the time he’s through with you, dainty hands wrapping around his wrist, holding onto him for stability. And, God, you’re so fucking gorgeous as you stare up at him with such unadulterated devotion, glimmers of admiration in your eyes as you beg him for more, more, more!

“Greedy,” he chastises, the scold nothing more than a huff, voice hoarse as it bows under pleasure. “You want more, huh?”

Christ, yes, please, yes, give me more, Sir, I need more!

And although you’re sure you’re saying them, boiling up your throat and brimming past your lips, the string of pleads is nothing more than indistinct noise to your ears, reverberations shaking your ribs.

His thighs are slamming into the edge of the desk, sharp wood leaving a crease in his skin, muscles flexing and shifting in a desperate attempt to stabilize himself. Rusting metal rakes against the linoleum, its creaky wail twining through the empty aisles, chased and promptly devoured by your cries and his groans.

But you’re barely paying it any attention at all, slushy brain turned amorphous, nebulous, evaporated into a tiny ecstatic galaxy of half-finished rhapsodies, full of him; clusters of his gorgeous noises burst into stars, supernovas of his name blooming across your flesh.

You must be begging for something, babbling on senselessly, nothing more than a cluster of indistinct shudders in your chest, because then he’s speaking to you, the contracting of his fingers nothing more than a blunt pressure.

“You want my cum, baby?” his voice breaks through the universe he’s birthed in your skull, clear and curt. “That what you want?”

Yes, your head is nodding in quick little movements, chin bumping against his forearm. Yes, yes, yes!

“Yeah? Yeah? Show me.”

“Oh, God, Sir,” you nearly sob, feet curling around his neck, gripping him closer, muscles in your legs pulled taut. “Please, please, gimme your cum, Sir, need you to stuff my tummy full of it, Sir, stuff my whole body full of it, Sir, I want it s-so bad!”

A sardonic little laugh huffs past spit-slicked lips, as if you attempt was downright pathetic, as if he knows you can do so much better than that.

“Aw, c’mon,” he scoffs. “That’s the best you got? Show me, baby, show me how badly you need it.”

Nothing more than a mass of pulsating pulp now, your mind can hardly comprehend what he’s saying, unable to stitch together any semblance of meaning from his words, but that’s alright, because it doesn’t have to.

Because your body knows. Your body knows exactly what he’s asking for.

And it gives it to him, almost instantly.

It’s so immediate, so intense that it strikes a scream from your throat, shatters the cosmos he had instilled within you and sends scorching glints of starstuff shooting through your veins, ripples of flesh quavering inward, towards your core, only to be dispelled yet again, forced back the way they came by the incessant snapping of his hips.

The hands curled around his wrist clamp, grip so strong it makes the bones in your fingers ache, stiffly frozen in tiny claws as your orgasm wracks your body, a sticky stream of unintelligible sobs flowing from your lips, hitching in time with his hips.

They’re so dense, so thick, so fucking heavy that they clog your throat, obstructing what little, narrow gaps for air you had left, and you feel like you’re drowning in them, in your desperate pleas for his cum, residual flares of starstuff melting your flesh from the inside out.

Clouds of bliss have formed at the corners of your vision again, and everything feels abraded, overexposed, hypersensitive, nerves gnawed raw to their frayed roots by the pleasure, sweet little cunt sore from such strenuous clenching.

And finally, finally he gives you what you want, the vicious throbbing of his cock the only thing your hazy mind can concentrate on, can grasp ahold of, shreds of focus melding together in an effort to pay attention to it.

Faintly, you can hear a moan fracture on his tongue, lips molding into an involuntary pout at the pleasure muffling your ears and misting your eyes that eclipse his gorgeous sights and sounds from you.

The pressure on your windpipe lets up, wheezy air rushing into your lungs in razored little breaths, Alhaitham’s big body suddenly blanketing your own, his elbows resting on either side of your head. Slim fingers caress your skin, brushing back sweat soaked strands of hair, teal eyes tender as they study your face, careful and courteous. His chest vibrates against yours—warm little tingles that zip through your flesh—and you struggle to listen, muted static fading in and out as your ears begin to tune into his frequency.

“...About, baby?”

“Hmm?”

He laughs, and it’s a fond little sound, mirth-infused breath wafting across your lips, nimble fingertips tracing the curve of your cheek.

“I said, what are you pouting about, baby?”

“Couldn’t see you,” your mumble out, forehead crumpling cutely with the distasted scrunch of your nose, lashes fluttering rapidly as if to accentuate your point. Drops of crystal escape the corners of your eyes, pushed forcefully from their home by your hard blinking and rolling into the hair at your temples. “W-Wanted’a see how pretty you look when you cum.”

“Well,” he begins softly, though there’s a self-satisfied smirk on his face, corners of his mouth twitching slightly, threatening to spread into a full-grown smile. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance soon.”

As your fucked out mind chews on his words, features still chiseled in a deep pout, he stands slowly, taking your rigid hands between his palms and smoothing out your crimped fingers one by one, massaging each joint as he goes.

He’s saying something else to you, something about how lucky you were to be on such a high, vacant floor, something about how you should both right yourselves before one of the monitors wanders on up and catches you, but none of that matters to you; not when his softening cock is slipping from your abused little hole, and thick dollops of his cream are drooling out with it, and if he doesn’t do something soon, it’s gonna be wasted!

“Haitham! Haitham!” you whimper loudly, body thrashing weakly beneath him.

“What?” he asks, sounding just as alarmed as you feel, fingers halting their ministrations as wide eyes scan your face.

“Your cum!” you practically weep out the word, features screwed up in in distress, as if the thought of wasting even a single drop physically pains you.

Head tilting, he frowns slightly. “What—”

“It’s leaking outta me!” you whine, lidded eyes springing open with some effort, beseeching him. “Don’wanna waste any of it! Do something, please, do something, make it stop!”

Another one of those fond chuckles pries past his lips, head shaking a little and muttering to himself about how you’re still his little fucking brat, aren’t you? as he kneels between your thighs, your knees still slung over his shoulder.

You’re still murmuring to yourself, wrecked little complaints that keep slurring together, and Alhaitham hushes you, a thumb stroking the silky skin of your inner thigh. A sharp gasp slices through your words as his tongue pushes into your cunt, tip curling in an attempt to scoop out his cum, the cutest little squeal mangling itself in your throat as your hips wiggle.

“Hey,” he says sternly, fingertips denting plush flesh as the grip on your thighs tightens, your squirming halted immediately. “Stop moving or I won’t give you any at all.”

“M’sorry, Sir,” you say as seriously as you can manage, ghosts of giggles still bubbling in your throat, haunting your words. “I promise I’ll behave, please gimme some.”

“That’s a first,” you hear him grumbling to himself, words slightly garbled by the cum he’s storing in his cheeks. “Maybe I should feed you my cum more often.”

You aren’t afforded a moment to respond to his musings, though, because then his tongue is plunging back into you, hollowing out your cum-stuffed cunt in an almost meticulous method, twisting and twirling and lapping up every last bit of the viscous substance.

You’re pushing yourself up eagerly as he rises, desperate to meet him, arms wobbling a little as you strain, legs falling off his shoulders to pillow his hips.

Large hands wrap around your shoulders, thumbs pressing into the dips of your collarbones as he stabilizes you, tugging you closer to his body and slotting his lips against your own, opened wide and waiting.

He practically shoves his cum into your mouth, tongue grinding in repetitive little rhythms against your own, each stroke depositing another coating of his cream, now diluted by your interspersed saliva, on the slick muscle.

It’s the closest thing to a real kiss that he’s given you all night.

And you can’t help but moan into him, sucking his tongue further into the heat of your mouth, lips puckering tightly around it in a feeble attempt to slurp and swallow down every last drop, bitter and tart and strong, just like his favourite blend of dark roast coffee. Your own tongue twines around his, starved and scrupulous and licking it clean, before the tip dips into the crevices near his molars, sopping up any remaining notes.

“Fucking greedy little girl I’ve got myself here,” he’s mumbling as he finally frees his tongue from your kiss, saliva shimmering on his chin.

“Can’t help it,” you shrug, suddenly feeling shy, cheek tucked into your shoulder and resting against his knuckles. “You just taste so good.”

His gaze softens, melting under your scalding sincerity, and his index finger crooks, tilting your chin up.

“You’re precious,” he admits after a beat of silence, eyes skimming your features in a way that feels light, faint, dainty, as if staring too hard, or observing too assiduously, might break you.

Blinking curiously, your head tilts in his grasp, a question written in the movement.

But he doesn’t answer.

“Here,” his arms hook beneath your own, hauling you off the desk and onto unsteady feet. “Let me fix you up a little. You look all...”

“Fucked out?”

“I was going to say dishevelled, but yes.”

“Your fault,” you say simply.

“It is my fault, which is why I’m fixing you up, brat,” teal eyes flick up from his motions, hands still fussing as he holds your stare, the satisfied little giggle spilling from your throat procuring a small grin from him.

He’s nearly finished righting you when the elevator dings, sending a startle through the both of you, combined gazes flicking towards the chrome doors just as they slide open to reveal a man.

“Uh,” the man begins dumbly, the patch sewn onto his shirt delegating him as library security. “The library’s closing in about ten minutes, so start wrapping up whatever it is you’re working on.”

Despite Alhaitham’s fussing, you still look absolutely fucking wrecked—lips swollen and stained with blood, cheeks and neck streaked with salt and sweat, sweetheart dress still damp and clinging to all your curves and contours—and he’s sure the guard can tell exactly what you were just doing, the man’s beady eyes busy glueing themselves to your body, pupils sucking up every fine detail, singeing them into the tissues of his brain for later use.

A thread of protectiveness surges through Alhaitham’s veins, and his arm curls around your front, shuffling you behind his shoulder; a shield of sorts, a nonverbal warning to the guard and his grubby gaze.

“We’ll be out before closing,” he promises, voice strong, stern, curt, snapping the guard from his perverted reverie.

The guard mutters some nondescript jumble of an approval and nods to himself, Alhaitham waiting until he’s shuffled back into the elevator before he turns towards you, tiny fingers burrowed in the hard muscle of his bicep, clinging to him as you totter on your rickety legs.

And he can’t help the adoring little snort that tickles the back of his tongue as he stares down at you, lashes clumped together in thick spikes and that shimmer as they flitter.

“What does he mean, the library closes in ten minutes?” you ask as Alhaitham finishes tidying up your combined study materials, hands still twisted in the fabric of his sweater, hindering his movements slightly.

“He means that the library closes in ten minutes,” your TA responds dryly, sardonic amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What? Wait!” you cry, voice streaked with high panic, fingers flexing against him and yanking him closer. “But I barely started my research! I—I’m not even close to finished!”

A strong arm twines itself around your hips, heavy palm curled in an almost possessive manner around the bone as he supports the majority of your faltering weight, exhausted body fusing into his touch and allowing him to guide you toward the exit.

“Well, then I guess we’ll have to come back, won’t we?” he responds coolly, smoothly, leaning down to murmur in your ear as the pair of you reach the elevator. “And you better not be such a fucking brat next time.”

“I mean,” you’re saying nonchalantly as you step through the chrome doors, mischief dancing on your lips and glittering in your eyes, both arms wrapped around his waist squeezing him closer, tighter. “If that will be my punishment again, then I can’t make any promises.”

It’s impossible to impede his head as it droops to plant a doting kiss to the crown of your head, pausing for a breath before sowing a few more along your hairline for good measure, doused in affection.

Because it’s then that he realizes that the brat that resides within you—inherent, instinctual, in a way—hasn’t actually been sated or tamed at all, but merely lulled into a sort of complacency; a sweet slumber that it’ll be snapped from the moment something doesn’t go your way, or you don’t get what you want.

It is untameable, insatiable, nearly uncontrollable, always ready to resurface at the best of times, the worst of times, the most unpredictable of times, to dare and challenge and defy, and that’s exactly why he loves you.

#alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham thirst #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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optimist-pine · 3 months

Text

Mercy

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Animal death

Summary: Daryl watches you hunt and he's left with a question he can't answer.

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: Haha this was supposed to be fluff under the title Archer. It's flangst now... Whoopsie.

Daryl doesn't know what drives him to do it. Maybe it's simply boredom. More likely though, it's his growing desire to learn - to study you, study your technique. Maybe he's already impressed and all that's left is to see you in action.

That's how he finds himself following you into the woods on this freshly arrived morning. He keeps his distance but it's not very difficult to keep track of you, your pace and direction consistent and reliable. When you do stop he finds himself watching with rapt attention.

The way you wait is as reverent as a prayer. Your stance never shifting, arms steady and strong, posture perfect. Images of those ancient marble sculptures cross his mind, their bodies crafted into fine-tuned instruments. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the forest has gone still; nothing - not even the breeze - makes a move. The world has gone quiet, like even the animals are holding their breath.

Then your arrow flies and the earth returns to life in full force, that is, everything except for one rabbit who has become quite still. Your arrow has pierced its eye with extreme precision, but he's not surprised. Every piece of game you've ever brought back has been taken down that exact same way.

You collect the rabbit, removing and cleaning your arrow before continuing on deeper into the woods. Daryl doesn't mean to follow, but something spurs him onward. He's never really cared much for art, but if that's what you are, call him a damn aficionado. He's fascinated.

It takes a little while, but you suddenly pause. He spots the reason why - a large gray squirrel clings to the bark of a nearby tree, tail twitching. You take aim, graceful and smooth. But then, like last time, you hold your stance for one breath, then a second, and suddenly the squirrel quirks its head and bolts. He expects you to show at least some disappointment, but you simply let down your bow and continue on.

This happens a few more times; you find your prey, ready your bow, and then wait. Sometimes you loose your arrow and other times you practically allow the animal to get away. This time you have your aim trained on a rather large rabbit, probably a buck. It turns, ready to run, and Daryl can tell you aren't going to shoot this one, so he does. As soon as his bolt hits its target your entire body pivots.

He immediately finds himself at the business end of your bow, but the sharpness of your glare currently feels like the larger threat. "Are you following me?" You ask, lowering your weapon. The glare remains, although it seems to be softening.

You'll know he's lying if he says he isn't, but he doesn't want to admit that he is. "Why d'yuh wait, when ya got'um in your sights?" He blurts out.

You place the arrow back in your quiver with a sigh. "You are following me."

"Jus' curious." He shrugs.

You look up to the sky. "Dunno... Don't like killing things." Your gaze lands on the dead rabbit laying a little ways away. "Figure I'll give 'em one last chance to keep on livin'."

He lets out a snort. Hunting is a way to secure a meal, not some moralistic nonsense. "So, yer like a damn fairytale princess or somethin'?" He asks. "Bes' friends wi'the woodland creatures an'all that?" He waves his hands around for emphasis.

Your face hardens. "It'd be different if we really needed the food." You say sternly, turning to stalk away, back towards the farm. He grabs the now-joined rabbit and bolt and jogs after you, but you're moving at a surprisingly quick clip, dodging branches and roots with ease.

When he's nearly caught up, you stop suddenly and he barely avoids plowing straight into you. You whip around to face him and he instinctively takes a step back. But you're not angry, at least not in the way that he was expecting. He'd been prepared for a slap in the face, not the deep sadness in your eyes. "Feels like some sorta mercy I guess." You say quietly.

He doesn't feel bad about what he said, but your answer catches him off guard. The world is as cruel and as harsh as it's ever been. It doesn't care who lives and who dies, and it sure as hell isn't handing out second chances. "Not much'a that goin' around righ' now." He replies solemnly.

"I don't wanna turn into someone who loses that." Your voice is soft and almost pleading and it pulls at something buried within him.

With a jolt he's thrown into his own past. He knows what that loss does to a person, how much of his life he's spent terrified of becoming that. You're beginning to make a little more sense now. "Yuh, won't." He assures.

---

As time passes, when you do desperately need the food and mercy is barely a reality, Daryl finds himself fighting to protect yours. When the two of you hunt, he insists you take point, that you stick to the way you did things that day at the farm. He'll be right behind you, your backup, he'll do what you shouldn't have to. That part of you - that's something that can't afford to ever be lost. He'll do everything in his power to see to that.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #optimist pine

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bisexual-thoughtss · 10 months

Text

Thomas Thorne x Reader

Maybe it was one too many shows you’d watched about flipping houses, but when Alison had called and asked if you wanted to help restore the historical house she’d inherited, you were on the next train.

It hasn’t been easy, with the countless setbacks you all seem to be encountering, but you all persist anyway. The biggest shock was after Alison came home from the hospital and started seeing ghosts, obviously you and Mike were a little lost at first, but it’s become a part of the routine at this point. Although you do both occasionally pout that you don’t get to see to them too. You still talk to them since you know they can hear you, you just can’t ever be sure if you’re taking in the right direction.

The ghosts will interact with you on occasion, usually Julian moving something next to you or typing on your laptop, the occasional cold gust of air or that prickly ‘something just brushed by you’ sensation.

But when you bring this up to Mike he seems confused.

“What d’you mean? Julian, yeah, but I’ve never had any of the other stuff happen,” he frowns.

“Huh, maybe I’m just imagining things,” you tell him, but you’re definitely going to ask Alison.

You find her in the kitchen on her laptop with papers spread around her, but she doesn’t seem to be getting much work done.

“Hey, quick ghost question?” You ask, settling down in the next chair. You don’t realize, but Kitty, Thomas, and Pat are gathered around behind you and they perk up at this. Alison gestures for you to go on so you explain what you’ve been feeling in the house.

“Huh, that’s strange,” she says slowly and you figure the ghosts must be talking when she stares past you, nodding. You wait while she has a brief conversation with the ghosts.

Unbeknownst to you, Thomas has been spouting poetry about you since the day you showed up, and today is no exception as he paces behind you, gesturing grandly as he goes. He doesn’t notice, but one of his hands grazes your neck and you shiver.

“See, there it was again!” You gasp, rubbing your neck where it tingles.

“Interesting,” she laughs as Thomas freezes, looking shocked.

“Oh I want to try!!” Kitty squeals, promptly trying to touch you. She shakes her head vehemently, hand over her mouth as the usual nauseous feeling occurs.

“Must just be you then, mate,” Pat tells Thomas who is still frozen in shock.

“Go on, try again,” Alison encourages the empty air behind you and you wait for the feeling again. Thomas reaches out with a shaking hand, fingers lightly brushing your arm.

“Can they all do that?” You ask, shivering again at the feeling of ghostly fingertips against your skin.

“No.. just Thomas,” Alison smirks as Thomas’ cheeks flame red.

“Huh,” you murmur, “interesting.”

This revelation doesn’t change much in your daily life, other than you giving the occasional “Hello, Thomas” with a smile when you feel him touch you. It’s always very polite, just a tap on your shoulder or a touch to your hand to let you know he’s there. Occasionally you talk to him even though you can’t see or hear him, just telling him about your day. One day Alison sees you doing this and she swears she’s never seen Thomas sit so still and calm, staring at you with rapt attention as you speak. She notices after this that Thomas’ insistent wooing towards her has entirely stopped, in favor of being in the same room as you. She’s certainly not going to question it, lest he start up on her again.

Thomas finds you in the library one day, eyes roaming the titles of different books. He watches as your fingers trace along the spines as you decide which to choose. He tells you his favorites even though he knows you can’t hear him, and his heart soars when you pick up a Regency era novel. One he’s read!

You’ve always had Pride and Prejudice on your list of books you wanted to read, you just hadn’t gotten to it yet. Suddenly you feel a rapid series of taps against your hand.

“Hello, Thomas,” you smile, looking towards where you think he must be.

“What was all that about? Is this a bad choice?” You ask, before you realize he can’t answer you.

“Hm.. how about you tap once for yes and twice for no?” You ask him, waiting for a response. A single tap against your hand makes you smile.

“Perfect! Is this a bad choice?” You ask, receiving two taps.

“Oh, so that was excitement then? Because it’s a good choice?” One tap. You laugh.

“Would you like the read it with me?” You ask and he responds with one tap.

He longs to be able to respond with more than just a yes or no. To tell you that he thinks it’s a marvelous choice, a book he’d liked very much when he was alive, and that he’d love nothing more than to read it with you, but he supposes a simple yes will have to do.

You settle into the plush couch, assuming that he’s sat beside you, and flip open the book.

“Let me know when I should flip the page,” you tell him, and he responds with a tap. You like this new little method of communication you’ve come up with, but you do wish you could actually talk to him.

Thomas spends his time watching you as you read, tapping your hand when it seems like you’re finished with the page. He can’t seem to focus on the words, instead watching your expressions when you read. The way your nose crinkles when something is funny, or how your eyes widen when you’re surprised.

“Mr. Bingley seems sweet,” you murmur, almost to yourself. This thrills Thomas, as he knows he’s much more like Bingley than Darcy. After all, aloof and stoic are certainly not words anyone would use to describe Thomas Thorne.

This becomes a ritual for the two of you, reading the book together a few chapters at a time whenever you get a chance. But the list of projects that need to get done sooner rather than later has certainly gotten longer, and it’s been a while since you’ve gotten to read with Thomas. Especially with the hopeful wedding bookings, you’ve all been busier than ever trying to quickly get the house in order. Today the ghosts are driving Alison mad while you and Mike are trying desperately to clear the garden for the potential wedding client that Martin is bringing back this afternoon. Alison has briefly distracted them with the laptop, buying you some time to get some work done before another ghost interruption.

This is short lived however, when Alison tells Mike to stop digging, clearly having a conversation with one of the ghosts. They go back and forth until she suggests clearing the other side of the garden. You both groan, knowing that’s definitely the worst side of the garden, but you head over there anyway. After an hour, both you and Mike are sweating up a storm and you decide to take a break. You both shed your layers that are starting to get too hot and Mike hands you a cola, making you laugh when he opens his and it explodes a bit.

Little do you know Fanny has been watching him the entire time, and tucked in a doorway (hidden even from Fanny) Thomas has been watching you, mouth agape. He runs away with a squeak when you lift up the hem of your shirt to wipe the sweat from your brow.

You all figure you’ll just pile up the waste to deal with later and continue to clear the garden now. After more of the branches are cleared, you discover a statue hidden amongst the brush.

“How are we going to move that?!” Alison gapes. Mike suggests breaking it up but none of you really like the idea and suddenly Alison starts talking to a ghost and from what you can hear, you’re pretty sure that’s out of the question now anyway. Alison’s conversation with the ghosts provides a bit of a rest before you have to figure out how to move the statue. All three of you try different ways of lifting it, but even with all of you it’s far too heavy. Mike kicks the stone in frustration and immediately falls over in pain. You laugh at their arguing before flopping down on the ground next to them in defeat. You all lay there in mutual misery for awhile before Alison breaks the silence you’re wallowing in.

“I’m so done with this,” she groans.

“No, you know what? We’ve cleared loads! I’ll get rid of the garden waste and we’ll make the best of it,” Mike rallies and you and Alison agree. You help her up off the ground before she’s promptly pulled into another ghost conversation. You watch as Mike lights the branches you’d cleared up into a bonfire to get rid of them and help him toss more on the pile. Suddenly Alison is shouting at you both to get back, and you see Mike running before it sinks in that you need to run as well. You’re slower than Mike, a small piece of debris hitting you in the head and knocking you down. Once you hit the ground you cover your head, just in case anything else might still be flying.

“Oh my god!” You hear Alison shout, her footsteps running toward you.

“Are you alright?!” She helps you off the ground, your other hand clutched to your head where it throbs.

“Brilliant,” you groan. You open your eyes but the light seems so blindingly bright, you’re instantly covering them with your hand.

“I’m alright, just take me inside. Get through this first, then we’ll worry about me, I’m okay I promise,” you tell her. She doesn’t sound convinced, but she leads you inside anyway.

“Somewhere dark,” you add, “my head is splitting.”

She sits you down on the sofa in the library, turning the lights off before she leaves. You crack an eye open and blessedly, the only light is from the dim rays of sun coming through the mostly closed curtains. Alison runs back in to hand you an ice pack before going to deal with Martin. You press the pack to your head and it relieves the worst of the throbbing quickly, but you still keep your eyes shut against the light. You briefly spare a thought to hope that Mike has figured out something to do in the garden before Alison returns, but you’re distracted by the feeling of a hand joining yours on the couch.

“Hello Thomas,” you murmur, turning your hand over so your palms press together. You know it must be him.

“My beloved, I sincerely hope you are not too greviously injured,” he laments and you freeze. Slowly you pull the ice pack away from your head and crack your eyes open and gape at the sight before you. The fact that there is anything in front of you to see at all is a wild change from what you’ve become used to. Thomas- your Thomas, sitting here in front of you.

“Thomas,” you breathe, speechless at actually seeing him.

“You- You can see me?” He gasps, eyes cartoonishly wide. You take in his features slowly, memorizing them in case this is something that might go away when your head clears up. The pretty brown of his eyes, the shape of his nose, the dimple in his chin, his curls that make you want to reach out and touch. Before you realize, you’re doing just that. His eyes slip closed as your fingers lightly card through his curls. He leans into the touch like an oversized cat and you can’t help but smile at his reaction. You continue to take in the sight of him, feeling the silky fabric of his cravat and tracing along the brocade pattern of his waistcoat before you catch sight of his wound. Your eyebrows furrow, eyes filling with sadness at the sight. He takes your hand, pulling your focus back to his face as he looks up at you from under his eyebrows, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

“I apologize, I know it is not a pleasant sight to behold,” he sighs, eyes averted.

“It really doesn’t bother me,” you tell him and he looks surprised, “I’m just sorry it happened to you.”

“If you’re sure,” he concedes, but you can see the hint of a smile on his face.

“Hey, we can finish our book together now,” you smile, and he flushes.

“O-oh, yes,” he stutters and you frown.

“I mean we don’t have to,” you backtrack, but he stops you.

“No! I mean yes, I would very much like to, but I must admit, having read the book and knowing it quite well, I find my attention straying to a more intriguing subject than words,” he confesses.

“Oh,” you bite your lip to hide your smile, cheeks coloring at his confession, “I distract you that much?”

“She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld,” he quotes Bingley and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your face.

“You’re different than I imagined,” you tell him and he starts to look nervous before you clarify, “Better.”

The shock of seeing him has worn off a bit and you can feel your head pounding again.

“Are you quite well?” He asks as you clench your eyes shut again.

“My head still hurts, can we- here,” you arrange his limbs so you can lay back against him and rest your head on his shoulder. He flounders with his hands for a moment before you take them in yours, wrapping his arms around your middle.

“Is this okay?” You ask, putting the ice pack back against your head.

“I- yes, I’ve just never been so… intimate with someone,“ he sounds embarrassed but it makes you smile.

“Do you like it?” You ask, “if it’s too much that’s okay.”

You go to move away but his arms tighten around you.

“No! No, it’s… nice,” he says and you smile.

“Nice,” you laugh, relaxing into him. You let your eyes flutter shut, the ice pack helping the now dull throbbing on your head immensely.

You know you’ll have lots of questions to answer when Alison finds the two of you, but for now you’re content to just relax in Thomas’ arms.

#thomas thorne #thomas thorne x reader #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts thomas

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fettuccin-e · 1 year

Text

The Encore Performance

hello gang,, i wrote this so fucking long ago,, and it is not my greatest work but every time i open up my google docs this piece stares at me judgementally, yelling and screaming to be released to the world (it was written during peak eddie munson era in a fit of horniness, so maybe july 2022) pls enjoy the pwp

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, oral sex (f!recieving), fem!reader, exhibitionism, eddie is kind of a perv in this sorry

Eddie’s eyes have been on you all night, fingers moving absentmindedly across the frets of his guitar. It’s like you want to drive him completely insane, your tits bouncing in your tiny little dress as you bang your head to the music, your glistening body bathed in the purple light of the club.

The air feels electric, charged and volatile; so different from the dingy yellow lighting of the Hideout. A new venue, a new crowd, and they’re fucking loving it. Eddie should be pandering to these new fans, trying to keep the band’s spot and maybe make these gigs a regular thing. Instead, his eyes are trained unwaveringly on you, his pretty, pretty girlfriend, supporting him and dancing to his music.

He has to spend the entire set rock hard under his jeans, grateful for the presence of his guitar over the obvious bulge of his cock.

The crowd still goes nuts after their last song, pleading for another encore, but Eddie’s frantic in trying to discreetly adjust himself before helping the guys put the stage equipment away. He knows how he must look, face sweaty and flushed, hair frazzled around his face. He hopes he can blame it on the adrenaline from the show and not how fucking horny he is.

He turns from placing an amp in Gareth’s truck to see you; giggling as you talk to one of the bartenders, your skin straining against the tight fabric of your dress. And though Eddie knows that you probably aren’t flirting, and that you’d definitely never cheat on him, he also sees how the bartender’s eyes are staring much lower on your body than where your eyes are, wiping off a glass slowly and deliberately. Eddie knows that you’d lay this guy out before he could try anything, but he also can’t help how his vision goes red as he stalks over.

“Eddie!” You smile when he finally gets to you, snuggling into his side while he puts a strong arm around your waist. “Jake,” you say, looking back at the bartender, “this is Eddie, my boyfriend. Eddie,” you look up at him with those big eyes he loves so much, “this is Jake.”

Eddie smiles at Jake, or tries to smile, it may come out more like a grimace, but doesn’t offer any kind of reply. Jake’s eyes widen minutely at the sight of him, and Eddie loves how he takes a small step back. Perks of being the Hawkins "devil worshipper" he guesses.

Jake’s eyes are suddenly anywhere but you, and Eddie struggles against the urge to snarl at him. He glances down at you to see your eyes furrow slightly in confusion, picking up on the fact that there’s definitely something wrong with your boyfriend.

“Baby,” Eddie says, squeezing the fat of your hip, “I gotta talk to you real quick, ‘s that alright?”

“Yeah, of course, Eds,” you say, and turn back to Jake. “Look, it was really nice meeting you, Jake. You have a good night, okay?” Jake mutters a quiet, "yeah, you too,” before turning away to wipe at a glass a little too harshly to be normal. But Eddie’s already dragging you away with the arm he has around your waist, bypassing the back door of the club to pull you down a long hallway.

“Eddie, what’s going o-” you try to say, but are swiftly cut off by Eddie’s lips on yours, his long body pressing you into the wall. You gasp into his mouth as his big hands slide from your hips down to the backs of your thighs, lifting them up to wrap around his waist.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you tryin’ to drive me insane out there?” he mutters into your mouth, pressing the obscene bulge in his jeans against the heat of your pussy through your thin panties. “Wearing this tight little dress, looking like a fucking whore, got everyone out there looking at you. But you’re mine, aren’t you baby? All fucking mine.”

All you can do is whimper softly in response, barely having the presence of mind to remember that there are people barely twenty feet away, people who could easily walk down this hallway and see what Eddie has reduced you to. Eddie pulls back from your plush lips to look at you, and then smirks like the bastard he is.

“You think you could stay quiet for me, pretty girl?” Eddie whispers, and doesn’t wait for a response before he’s gripping your thighs again while he drops to his knees, eye-level with your clothed cunt. He sets one of your feet on the ground to keep you standing while he hooks your other thigh over his shoulder, leaving you open and exposed, just for him.

“Eddie, I don’t-” you cut yourself off with a gasp when Eddie pulls your panties to the side and licks a long stripe up your dripping pussy. You clap a hand over your mouth as your eyes clench shut and your thighs tremble.

Eddie smiles up at you, his pretty girl, already wrecked from just the touch of his mouth. He keeps his fingers hooked into your panties, and finally allows himself to dive in, just like he’s been imagining since you walked out in your little dress.

You can’t hold back the whines echoing in the back of your throat as Eddie plunges his tongue deep into your pussy, the hardness of his nose pressing into your clit. Stay quiet stay quiet stay quiet. You’re trying to repeat the command in your head, but it’s so fucking difficult when Eddie shakes his head from side to side, starving for it. The movement makes his nose rub back and forth across your clit, and your hips jerk hard against his face, your free hand winding into Eddie’s thick hair.

“Eddie, Eddie, someone’s gonna hear baby, they’re gonna see, oh god,” you whisper softly, and you can feel the vibrations of Eddie’s quiet groans into your cunt.

You whimper softly when he pulls away from you to whisper, “then you better make yourself cum, pretty girl. The faster you cum, the faster I can take you home and fuck you properly.”

He dives in once again, this time wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit and sucking. You whine like a fucking animal, hips bucking and swiveling, trying to get away, trying to get closer. Eddie’s hands come up to grip tight onto your hips, his rings digging sharply into your flesh, and you relish in the idea of seeing harsh bruises in the shape of his fingertips tomorrow morning.

You can feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter, almost painful with the need to cum. Your head snaps to the end of the hallway, and you see all of the people walking through the club, dancing and drinking. People who have no idea that Eddie’s eating your pussy with your dress hitched up and your panties pulled to the side. People who have no idea that you’re always so desperate for Eddie, that you’d let him fuck you any time, any place. They have no idea that you’re going to cum all over his face, and he’s going to walk out there with his messy hair and pretty eyes and your juices still on his lips, oh god-

You desperately suck air into your lungs to stave off your scream as you cum, pussy clenching and dripping all over Eddie’s face, your hips shaking uncontrollably.

“Eddie, Eddie, oh my god, Eddie, I can’t, I can’t, ‘s too much,” you whisper into the quiet of the hallway, the obscene sounds of Eddie licking at your cunt thundering in your ears. You can tell Eddie doesn’t want to stop, he never does, but you think you’ll start crying if he keeps going. You tug his hair roughly, wrenching him away from your cunt.

“Please, please kiss me, baby,” you whine, and Eddie can only nod at you, his face flushed and his lips puffy and shiny. Your thigh falls off his shoulder as he stands up to capture your lips in a filthy kiss. He tastes like cigarettes, beer and your pussy.

Eddie keeps holding onto your hips as they twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your eyes feel heavy, your brain mushy and weak.

“My beautiful girl, shit, all mine, y’look so pretty like this baby,” Eddie’s whispering, sneaking little kisses onto your lips in between words. “You wanna get out of here baby? C’mon, let’s get home, yeah?” You nod blearily, going to step forward, but your knees stay locked.

“Eddie,” you whisper, your foggy eyes going wide. “I don’t think I can move my legs.”

You watch Eddie’s brows furrow, and his lips perk up. He stares at your face, all flushed and flustered, and a snort escapes his nose. Soon enough, little giggles are escaping his lips, delirious and endlessly smug.

“Don’t laugh!” You whine, nuzzling your red face into his chest.

Eddie runs a comforting hand down your back as he tamps down his giggles. “Sorry baby, I’m sorry. It’s just, y’know, not many guys can say they’ve literally made their girl cum so hard they couldn’t walk.” You whine again, but Eddie shushes you gently. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you home, sweet pea.”

You don’t have time to wonder what he means by that before Eddie reaches down to cup one hand under your knees, the other staying under your back, and lifts you into his arms with a soft grunt.

“Eddie!” You squeak, but your boyfriend is already walking out towards the club again, paying no mind to the throngs of people still moving around you both. You tuck your burning face into his neck, giggling nearly hysterically, as Eddie whisks you away. You think you’d let him take you anywhere.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson smut #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut

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darkscrossfire · 8 months

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𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄

PART ONE

Pairing: Dilf!Jake Sully x reader

Warnings: None for this chapter

Notes: Hiii, sorry for not posting part one for like 7 years <3 I’ve been super busy but i’m going to try and post more now that my writers block has been a bit better and I have the energy to write. Here’s part one, I hope you enjoy and let me know how it is :D

The concept of a crush was a foreign to my adolescent ears until the day it was uttered to me by the other younger Na’vi girls who suddenly became interested in the topic of boys when surveying the young men of the Omatikaya clan. The young men were preparing to leave for duty, their bodies clad in human equipment and their hands gripping human weaponry.

The girls fawned over their appearances, the way their muscles would flex when climbing upon their ikrans, their charming smiles bringing a rosy blush upon their cheeks. The girls would giggle, latching onto each other whenever one of these young soldiers would send a glance to their direction.

Yet I found myself not feeling anything for these young men, not even when they would gaze upon me with brooding eyes that spoke more than words could ever say. Their eyes trailing upon my figure and letting me know that I was now at a stage where I had become desirable. The age of seventeen had been an eye opening era. One that had made me more aware of men that I had ever been before.

All I felt was a strange discomfort and the need to step far away from wherever these sorts of men came from. I could not understand the appeal towards these immature, knuckle-headed boys. The ones who would purposefully cause fights due to their childish boredom. I did not crave their attention, I did not crave anything from them. They were far too immature for my liking.

These boys seemed to crave the more intimate things whilst I craved the deeper connection felt between several of the mates in the clan. I had seen the way they would gaze upon each other as if they were each others worlds. Their eyes unable to leave each other in fear that they would never be able to gaze upon each other again.

These young men did not crave that. Their desires did not go deeper than the surface. I had seen the way the young Na’vi girls had been heart broken, their tears staining their skin and leaving a permanent indent in their heart due to young men’s physical desire that ended the moment he received that he had wanted.

I refused to let myself be that girl. I did not want to shed tears over someone who I did not even desire truly. I had seen the way the mated pairs looked at each other and I did not want anything less.

My entire world seemed to be changed the moment I met Kiri, a soul who’s entire being seemed to be in tune with nature. The moment I saw her dancing along with the trees, I knew that I just had to be friends with her. Her deeper connection with the world around us made our friendship a powerful connection that I could not just let slip through my finger tips.

We first became friends after an incident where a viperwolf almost ripped my head off after I had fallen three branches from the home tree. It’s fangs were bared and it’s eyes bore into mine, it’s being aching to tear into mine. I could not defend myself for I was surrounded by mere sticks and leaves. I anticipated it to be the moment I died, but the sight of an arrow and a soft whimper escaping it’s jaws as the arrow pierced through its body quickly brought me back to reality.

The teenage Omatikaya girl’s figure hopped down from the branches to mine, where she stuck a hand out. The first thing I had noticed about her was her humanoid features, as if she were not fully Na’vi. Her hair was styled differently than those of other Na’vi I had met and her facial features were not quite completely Na’vi.

It wasn’t until later that I learned about her mother Grace and that she had been adopted by the Sully family. She was intriguing, her soul connection to nature made her someone I knew I immediately wanted to befriend. Her spunky attitude and care for her brothers was admirable, she was someone I envied.

We mourned the loss of the viperwolf but we knew it was either my life or his. The return to the home tree was filled with light hearted conversation and a quick forming friendship. She offered for us to spend more time together the following day where her and her family were all going on a hunting trip through the great forest. I had not been familiar with her family, which consisted of her two brothers, her younger sister and her father. I had not pried into what happened to her mother.

That following day I had not expected too much of the oncoming encounter with her family. I had met her brother first after she had run into him. His name was Lo’ak and was annoyed by her presence, seemingly trying to talk to another Na’vi girl when Kiri had interrupted their conversation. He didn’t say much to me, giving me a simple nod in acknowledgement before trailing after the girl again.

Her brother Neteyam had greeted me with a large smile, introducing himself before introducing his younger sister Tuk who also greeted me with a wide smile.

It wasn’t until I was faced with her cheek-reddening father, that I finally knew what a crush was.

He had stepped out from behind the leaves, his voice calling out for his family. The moment I saw him, an unexplainable redness bloomed in my cheeks, a warmth spreading across my face that was impossible to hide. The way he carried himself was noticeable. His whole demeanor spoke power and strength, a kind of strength I hadn’t seen from any of the young soldiers upon their ikrans.

When his eyes caught mine, a charming smile spread across his face and he spoke in the most ear-pleasing voice that has ever graced my ears. “Oh hey, you’re Kiri’s friend. Y/n right?” He asked, to which all I could muster was a simple nod and hum. “I’m Kiri’s father, but you can call me Jake.”

It took me a moment to register his outstretched hand which was beckoning to shake mine and I let out a soft noise before placing my hand in his, the size of his hand compared to mine an immediately noticeable difference. His touch was warm and his grip was strong. I gave him an small, slightly awkward smile in return, trying to hide the crimson stains across my cheeks.

“You okay?” He asked, pulling his hand away before motioning to his own face and across his cheeks with his finger. “You’re a little red.”

“Oh?- yeah, i’m okay.” I quickly said, pulling my gaze away from him to ensure that my blush wasn’t any more obvious, though I could feel his gaze piercing into the side of my face, emitting a soft chuckle as it lingered for a moment before he turned away and it felt like he had stepped off of my chest.

It did not help that I was already plunged into my late teenage years where my emotions seemed to be dictating my every single thought. I could not tell if I actually desired him or if I just desired to want someone, anyone who somewhat fit my tastes.

The Sully’s were all holding their bows in almost defensive stances and I felt like I knew nothing compared to them. Jake Sully had seemingly trained them very well, as if he was born from combat. I held the bow given to me by Neteyam with uncertainty, my grip uncomfortable and my stance stiff. My entire body was not used to this. I had never been taught to hunt or fight by my mother. She did not want me out fighting the sky people.

I glanced down at the bow, adjusting my fingers and loosely holding the arrow, feeling as though it were about to slip from my grasp at any moment. I softly furrow my brows but try to ignore my faults, telling myself I won’t be hunting anyways, I would just leave it to the Sully family and their expertise. I knew that wouldn’t be the case when I felt Jakes eyes watching me intently, his eyes trained on my unsteady hold on the bow.

“Oh no, sweet girl. You hold it like that and you’re not gonna hit anything.” Jake said with a soft chuckle, making his way over to me where he gently pried the bow from my hands and positioned it correctly in his hands to show me how to hold it.

He leaned down slightly as he spoke, “See? You gotta hold it like this so your aim is accurate. You hold it the way you did before and you’re aiming straight for the dirt.”

I give a soft nod even though my attention is squarely focused on him rather than on the actual demonstration. My eyes are trained on his face and I realized it became obvious when Jakes eyes shifted to mine and he softly furrowed his brows, a light expression across his face as he asks in amusement. “You paying attention?”

My eyes widen slightly and I quickly nod, turning my attention to the bow, watching it as if it was the most important item in the world. I knew I was screwed when he handed it to me and looked at me expectantly, waiting to see me hold it the way he showed. I hesitantly took it back, placing it in my grasp and trying to grab at the bits I had somewhat seen from his demonstration, yet I knew I wasn’t holding it right.

Jake let’s out a soft chuckle, gently shaking his head before murmuring, “Like this..”

The feel of his body moving behind mine, his hands placing on top of mine before readjusting the stance has a warm blush rushing to my cheeks. His hands are warm, so is the rest of his body. I can feel it radiating from his presence. His hands enveloped mine as he lifted my arms to demonstrate shooting, his mouth hovering next to my ear as he whispers, “Just like that..”

My limbs felt like they were going to fall off. Is this what every girl feels when she has a crush?

It was later on that trip after Jake had successfully hunted an creature we had come across that I couldn’t find my eyes able to pull away from him. I couldn’t help but compare him to the young men who the girls fawned over. They all seemed to meek and immature in comparison to him. The way Jake handled the creature showed a great physical strength within him.

Finding out that Jake had not always been Na’vi came very unexpected. He seems to be so one with the people and Pandora that you would think he was born in the clan. He was possibly even closer with the Omatikaya than I was. I had heard stories of his great deeds, the way he protected our people from the sky people.

I had been weaving with him and Kiri in their home, Kiri had just left to grab some more supplies, when he spoke out of the blue, “You know, I used to be part of the sky people.”

I looked at him with great confusion, not quite understanding what he meant, immediately thinking he had worked with them as a born Na’vi. He read the confusion across my face and immediately elaborated. “I used to be a sky person, a human. I didn’t expect to grow so fond of the Omatikaya people.. but after I met Neytiri, I couldn’t let them get hurt.” He set his basket down on the floor, turning his full attention towards me.

I lowered the basket in my hands, placing it in my lap as I kept my legs crossed. I thought for a moment before asking, “What was your life like?”

He let out a soft laugh, one that sent a tingle through my stomach. It was a sound I liked hearing. “Back on Earth? Shit. The place is polluted from the air to the water, people only care about themselves, they’re greedy for money and resources- which is why we came here- and.. I couldn’t walk.” His last words were sent in an almost hesitant thought.

I furrowed my brows in confusion and he quickly answered, picking up the woven basket once more to continue weaving. “I lost control my legs in Venezuela, a country back on Earth, while serving in the United States Marine Corps. The United States is where i’m from.”

“Explains the weird accent.” I said teasingly with a soft smile, lighting the mood.

He made a mock offended face, letting out another soft chuckle as he shook his head. “I guess you’re right, I do sound pretty weird to everyone here.”

There was a moment of silence as I hesitated for a moment before softly uttering. “Do you miss Earth?”

He hesitated for a moment in turn as he took a moment to think, his mind pondering the question over before he answered. “I don’t think so. There’s a lot I liked, but there was a lot I also hated. I mean, I miss burgers, movies, dogs… but the life I have here has brought me so much more peace and happiness than I ever felt there.”

My eyebrows softly furrowed at his small list of things, not understanding what any of those are. He could see the confusion across my face and softly laughed, “I guess that all sounds meaningless to you, huh?”

I softly shrugged with a smile.

He smiled, placing his basket down once more. “Let’s see.. a burger is where you would take two pieces of bread, sort of shaped like half circles and put stuff between them, like lettuce, meat, tomatoes. You can put whatever on ‘em, but I think you have to keep the meat on there to make it a burger.”

I softly nodded, beginning to understand. “It sounds.. good.”

His smile widened, “Trust me, it was. The ones you’d get from little restaurants that no one goes to are the best, not like the ones from fast food places where they’ve been stuck in the freezer and then heated up, the ones that you can taste have been made from scratch there and then.”

I could see his look across his face as if he had finally gotten a chance to speak about his life back home, something he had not done very often. It seemed like there was so much for him to say, so many memories that were flooding back. All I could do was watch him with a soft smile on my face, adoration in my eyes as I found a great fascination in everything he had to say, even if it meant nothing to me or if I barely understood. I just liked hearing him talk.

“And.. what’s a mow-vey?” I ask.

He softly chuckled, “A movie?”

I nodded.

“Well, you know those little stories that are put on every now and then by the fire? Where they act out the tales of different warriors? A movie is like that, except instead of it being done live like that, it’s recorded and distributed. Most of the time these movies would be in rooms called theaters, where it would play on a giant screen. You’d eat food called popcorn and have sugar infested drinks like Coke or a slushee.” He uttered.

I softly nodded, “Do these movies tell stories of warriors?”

He nodded, “Yeah, sometimes… but there were also movies about love, fantasy, drama, horror, thriller and a whole bunch of other things. Don’t tell anyone this, but my personal favorite were romcoms.” He said in a teasingly hushed voice and an almost cheeky smile.

I let out a soft chuckle, “I don’t even even know what that is.”

He smiled, “Maybe one day i’d be able to show you. There’s a lot of great classics like 10 Things I Hate About You, The Notebook, Love Actually… I feel like you’d like them. They’re all movies about people falling in love, sometimes when they’re not supposed to.”

He paused for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. “Forbidden love just seems to be the most interesting. Two people who know they shouldn’t be in love but they just can’t stay away from each other.”

I didn’t speak for a moment, my mind immediately wondering if there was a chance for something like that with us. That if it did ever happen, that there would be no way for us to be with one another the way the others do. It was unrealistic, mostly because I was sure he would never feel that way about me.

“You ever felt like that, Y/n?” He gently asked.

I held his gaze for a moment, not knowing if the way I felt about him was allowed to be mentionable. I decided to softly shake my head. He softly nodded, thinking for a moment before softly ask. “You ever had a mate?”

I had had a few opportunities now and then, but nothing ever came into fruition. Every guy I found myself getting involved with ended up being a disappointment or just ended things right as they seemed hopeful. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” He said lightly, tilting his head as if a bit amused. I softly smiled and shook my head.

His eyebrows raised, as if surprised that no one had ever made me their mate. I found myself surprised by this, wondering what he saw in me that others didn’t. A soft smile creeped upon my face as I uttered, “What?”

He softly shrugged, turning his attention away for a moment as he glanced down at the basket in his hands. “Nothing.. just surprised, is all.”

My eyebrows softly furrowed. “Why?”

He held my gaze for a moment, the expression upon his features sending a nervous shiver down my spine. He paused for a moment. He softly shrugged once more, “I thought some boy would have swept you off your feet by now. Most of the clan members are mated by your age. There has to be someone.”

I wish that I could have said that there was. That there was someone that I loved who I was going to spend my life with, but there wasn’t. The only person I wanted was him, and that entire thoughts was unrealistic and something that I should have erased from my brain. I held his gaze for a moment before softly shaking my head. His eyes which held mine displayed a certain intensity I couldn’t quite place.

Before he could utter anymore, Kiri returned, her arms filled with weaving material. She placed them down on the floor near us, letting out a small sigh as it seemed to be quite a mission to carry. I gave her a small smile.

She stepped around it, taking a seat next to me before glancing between her father and I. “I hope I didn’t leave you two in awkward silence while I was gone.”

Jake let out a soft chuckle. “You didn’t.”

Kiri’s eyebrows softly raised, as if surprised that Jake and I found a way to speak to one another in a way that wasn’t filled with silences and possibly awkward moments. She expected that her best friend and her father would find this moment alone a bit strange without her there as some sort of supporting bridge.

“Really? What’d you guys talk about?” She asked, curiosity all across her face.

Before I could speak, Jake raised and pointed towards his woven basket, as if to say that it was the only thing we spoke about. Weaving baskets.

I glanced over at him with a small look of confusion, not truly understanding why he didn’t tell her that we spoke about his life back on Earth. She definitely knew of many things about Earth, yet he seemed reluctant to tell her of everything he shared. He met my gaze but he seemed expressionless, as if it were nothing. I pulled my gaze away, not quite understanding but deciding to brush it off for now.

Kiri let out a scoff, singing out, “Boring.”

My gaze lingered back on Jake, watching the way he drew his attention back to the basket which he had now finished, placing it to the side where he grabbed more weaving materials. Our relationship suddenly felt more personal as I questioned if Kiri did know of everything he had told me. I wondered what made him decide to tell me and not her.

Perhaps it was just for us. Our little secret.

TAG LIST

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#jake sully #avatar #avatar the way of water #best friends dad #avatar 2 #dilf jake sully #dilf jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #dilf!jake sully #jakesully #atwow

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mikashisus · 1 month

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The Regula Solis Epoch: Masterlist

The Regula Solis Epoch takes place in a renaissance era— in a time where the golden age of the Remurian Empire loomed over the heads of the people of Teyvat.

Although each one includes the story of someone different, they all have one thing in common:

The Golden Age of Teyvat.

☀️

Volume I: Abandon Ship

(mermaid!neuvillette x fem!pirate!reader)

With one of the Remurian fleets hot on your tail and stolen treasure of the crown on your ship, you were ready to take to the Eastern Seas.

When one of your crewmates catches a mermaid of all things on the outskirts of the Dark Sea, you finally think you've hit the jackpot when it comes to treasure.

In the end, however, you come to a startling revelation: is all the treasure in the world really worth more than a life? And suddenly, you have to make a choice... either a huge sum of gold, or the man you've fallen head over heels in love with.

chapter 1

Volume II: Leaving London

(kazuha x gn!knight!reader)

The legendary pirate ship known as “The Alcor” has begun stirring up trouble in the Northern Seas. Although Queen Catalina does not see it as a threat, the General of the North Wind Knights thinks otherwise.

With the risk of angering the Queen on his hands, General Anton issues an order for all knights a part of the navy to seize every last one of The Alcor’s crew.

With no choice but to listen, you obediently set out to hunt down these pirates. However, it doesn’t exactly go according to plan when you cross blades with a foreigner to the Northern Winds.

Volume III: Flesh and Bone

(hunter!tartaglia x gn!werewolf!reader)

The bitter cold forests of Snezhnaya were not kind, nor welcoming to humans. Lurking in the darkness of the tundra were glowing eyes and warning growls.

After being ardently warned to never trespass farther than the outline of trees meeting the wastelands, Ajax takes the risk and crosses to the frozen tundra. With a bag slung over his shoulder and a determination to show his father that the wastelands were fit to be hunting grounds, he readied his bow.

Amidst the hunt, he finds a wounded wolf on the brink of death. Deciding to show it mercy and heal its wounds, Ajax soon finds that this “wolf” is not your normal run of the mill animal… and taking it back to the village was a grave mistake.

Volume IV: Kaleidoscope

(criminal!xiao x fem!adventurer!reader)

Being called to serve Lady Iris, you were expecting just about anything to be asked of you. However, being tasked to watch over a prisoner who stole from King Remus’ grand vault was something else entirely.

Amidst your journey to retrieve this item, you begin to wonder if the prisoner you were tasked to watch over is even a prisoner at all. He makes no move to escape, and it seems as if he does not plan on talking to you. Finding the exact item he stole was not easy either, and it appears that your journey will get worse as the truth slowly unravels.

In the end, you find yourself wondering who is to be trusted: the foreigner from the East, or Lady Iris, who bore no hesitation in sending your friends to their deaths.

Volume V: Masquerade

(lyney x fem!vampire!reader)

As a descendant of the noble Edana line, you grew up with an ardent belief that humans were entirely food and nothing more.

For centuries, you live holed up in your family’s manor, your boredom growing tenfold with each new decade that passes.

Eventually having enough of your boring, high class lifestyle, you step onto the streets for the first time in almost a millennia, looking for something to satiate your interest.

This comes in the form of a budding magician, who wants nothing more than to break down your walls and show you what the world looks like in blinding color. A world that wasn’t coated in gray, and a love that wasn’t forged in blood oaths.

Volume VI: From Blood and Ash

(dainsleif x gn!angel!reader)

For as far as the eye could see, the world was bathed in red, and the gray of ashes covered the ground like a blanket. The tang of blood and sharp stench of smoke permeated the air. The screams and cries of the people were deafening amidst the scorching flames of retribution.

Among the sea of corpses and ash stood a lone figure, covered head to toe in blood that did not belong to them. One of their ivory wings was singed from the fires, permanently scarred with the reminder of their betrayal towards the heavens.

Feet away stood a soldier. As they locked eyes, the world stopped for a moment, and the ticking of the doomsday clock echoed like a roar in the air of the blazing wasteland. The soldier collapsed to the ground, clawing at his throat as the angel of death approached him.

Within seconds, their jaws slacked and unhinged, revealing a terrifying set of sharp, gargantuan white teeth. Their talons reached out, grabbing ahold of his shoulder. Their tongue lolled out, drool dripping from the corners of their mouth. With a final cry for mercy, the soldier watched as the angel before him turned into a monstrosity.

Volume VII: Ambrosia

(venti x fem!dancer!reader)

It was time for the annual North Wind Festival in the western kingdom of Mondstadt.

Amidst the preparations for the festival, a wandering bard arrives in the bustling city. Without a clue on this bard's origin, the people of the city welcome him and his talent for music with open arms.

Venti soon finds himself in a predicament when a dancer from a foreign nation steals his audience time and time again. As one who would not back down from a challenge, Venti decides to entertain her and participate in her game.

However, when she mysteriously disappears the night before her performance at the festival, Venti realizes it is up to him to go find her. He doesn't realize that he would get himself wrapped up in a feud between an ex-soldier and the army of Snezhnaya.

author’s note: the “regula solis epoch” is a project i have been working on for literal months now. it takes place a few hundred years before the archon war and is completely canon divergent. i tried to incorporate as much remuria lore as i could. i hope that all of you enjoy reading these as much as i will writing them. each fic will be released in order, so “abandon ship” will be first on the list!

taglist — ; open!

**if you’d like to be added to the taglist for any and/or all of these upcoming fics, then leave a comment or send a msg to my inbox!

divider: @/cafekitsune

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bokettochild · 3 months

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Day 8 - "Why Won't It Stop?"

Took me forever, but this one is one that I am VERY pleased with. Part two will follow in later days

Wordcount: 4,847

Rating: Teen

Summary: An effect of abusing a god's power is that the soul of the deity is now bound to Time's own, and sometimes it has more power than he'd wish. usually, he can tame it, but learning the fate of the worlds he's left behind have made him slip, and the deity is intent on purging their legacy.

Written by request of @sweetlemonad

“It’s not like heroes can die anyways.”

The uncomfortable silence that follows those words is not something Time is particularly keen on learning the source of. The boys have all been in a rather good mood for most of the day, and currently Wind and Legend are trying to see who can outlast the other by remaining balanced on the rail fence that abuts the pathway on their right. He thinks Wind dared Legend or maybe the vet just got bored and Wind decided to follow. Either way, the elder is currently strolling along with his arms behind his head while Wind walks, precariously balanced and failing a bit here and there..

Balancing at sea and balancing on land are apparently exceedingly different.

He’s not particularly sure who’d started the conversation, but he thinks it was Warriors. The man has been a bit more stressed than he’d like these last few days, and the worry that something bad will happen to them definitely sounds like something the captain would express in order to keep the rest on their guard. The sudden way Legend falters, perfect balance suddenly failing and sending him flailing, is more telling than the silence that follows Wind’s words, and he finds it only right to offer a steadying hand to the younger man to stop him eating dirt.

Sky’s eyes settling on the sailor, confused, are just as telling.

“Right?” Wind looks between the vet, whose caught his balance and looks at the youngest with pricked back ears, gnawing his lip, and the chosen one who won’t meet their eyes. “Wait,” the kid glances back and forth again, as though to be sure, “they haven’t, right?”

The vet’s hand slips out of his own, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “Wind, did you receive an education?”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Hyrule asks, sounding a little miffed. They all know the boy’s lack of formal teaching is a bit of a sore spot considering the apparent circumstances of everyone else. Had he the right, Time would maybe let slip that the captain was entirely illiterate before his enlistment, but he’s not sure that exposing that would actually help anyone.

Their chosen hero and vet share a glance at the question though, some silent conversation slipping between them for a moment before Sky gives an encouraging look that seems to indicate Legend ought to be the one to handle this. It makes sense, he supposes, considering Legend is the one with purportedly the best education out of them, or at least the most up to date between himself and Sky.

“Alright,” the pink haired hero slips down to a seated position on the rail fence, and the rest of them take the cue to stop, themselves sitting or leaning against the railing as well, save the captain, who stands at something almost like parade rest as he listens. “So, I suppose it’s lost to time for most of you, but there was a hero- a couple actually, who fell to the enemy.”

“How?” Hyrule demands. “I thought our whole existence was based off some heavenly power calling us so evil was always stopped?”

Murmurs of agreement sound from the rest, but the vet shakes his head, although he’s also very clearly avoiding eye contact. “I wish it was that straight forwards. No, actually, there are two heroes, to my knowledge and as of my era, that are quite famous for dying in their efforts against evil.” Dark eyes lift to Sky. “One was the first hero, the one who fought beside Hylia herself.”

“Sky’s going to die?” Four breathes, utterly horrified.

The boys almost all turn to their skyloftian but are quickly assured by a sharp ‘no!’ from Legend and a soft “not me, guys” from the hero himself. “It was my predecessor,” Sky says once they’ve all stopped looking so horrified, “the one who crafted the Master Sword and sealed Demise away, ages before my time.”

“So you knew.” He finds himself asking, and his question is answered with a slow nod.

“I did.” He knew about fallen heroes. He knew that the only other hero to exist before him had died. Suddenly Sky seems all the more brave to the scar-faced leader; he couldn’t imagine going into his adventure knowing all the others who undertook it had died.

“The first hero,” Legend begins again, hesitantly, “is said to have sealed Demise away, but succumbed from his injuries shortly thereafter, leaving the heavens to call another hero after his passing: Sky.”

There are a few hums, and Twilight looks like he’s half a second from taking notes. No doubt, the rancher hasn't heard this bit of Hylian history before, and while his pup is certainly less interested in the history of the kingdom than he is in the workings of things and understanding the dark magics, the dear lad is, all the same, what Mido would call “a nerd”. He finds himself smiling at the thought, watching as his boy absorbs every bit of the knowledge the vet is sharing, and what little Sky uses to back him up.

“What about the second one?” Wild asks, staring at Legend oddly.

Abruptly, he finds himself realizing that the cub himself has also died at the hands of the enemy, and though revived through some magic he couldn’t explain, the fact that it happened at all means that he too belongs on Legend’s list. Would that mean that the vet follows after the champion in the course of things then? Good gracious, would that make Legend the same to Wild as Wild is to Twilight? As Twilight is to him?

The vet, unknowing of their leader’s thoughts, drops his gaze a bit, fiddling with the bracelet on his hand but eyes clearly on the mark of the triforce he still bears on his left hand, just as most of them do. “He was my predecessor.”

Deku Tree bless, is he right?

“A hero called from the forest and trained to the blade since childhood, only to fall when forced to face Ganon.” The vet’s face twists up in something between sorrow and frustration. “He was prepared the best anyone could try, but for nothing. Ganon ruled Hyrule for almost a decade before the rebellion that sent the fallen hero managed to amass enough power to strike again and seal him into the sacred realm.” There’s a pause where Legend takes a heavy breath that’s neither sigh nor resignation, but maybe just the slightest bit sorrow for their fallen brother, and the rest keep quiet for it too, as though in mourning for a hero they’ve never met. But that’s when the vet says it. “If not for the sages and Skeik, I’d never have gotten a chance to defeat the monster that killed my predecessor, but with the aid of the Hylian Knights, they managed to seal him away for nearly four-hundred years.”

Sheik.

He knows, from the war, from meeting Warriors and watching people of all eras amass, that Sheik isn’t especial to his own time. The captain’s own princess had taken on the disguise herself in order to take a more active role on the front lines, but even so, the name catches him off guard, as does the association with the sages, which he’s only ever heard Wind talk of before.

The sailor doesn’t miss the reference either, the sharp little whip that he is. “What were the sages called? Do you know?”

The vet blinks, staring and clearly confused, but rattles them off all the same. “Zelda, Impa, Nabooru, Saria, Ruto, Daruna, and Rauru?”

The sailor nods, but the ground feels like it’s being swept out from under Time’s feet as the words sink in and that sunshine bright gaze is turned to him. Wind already has some eager words on his lips before his face falls, horror written across it as the truth of the vet’s words sinks in fully. “Holy shit.”

By virtue of simply not wanting to be met with the captain’s ire, he keeps the loud cursing within his own head internal, rather than letting it escape and being fixed under The Look. Even so, he’s half a second from slipping and repeating the sailor’s words in far more colorful language.

“Time...” Wind’s eyes are growing somehow wider, as though they weren’t just a bit too big to begin with, “....oh crap.”

It’s Twilight that makes the connection first, he thinks. He knows his story is forgotten to the world he’d returned to, the one the rancher is a product of, but if there’s one thing his pup is, it’s clever. Picking up on the clues in the exchange as well as what Legend’s said up to now, he can see for himself as realization dawns in midnight blue eyes and Twilight’s face falls. “Sweet Ordonia.”

“What?” Legend asks, glancing about between them, just the same as the others, save Hyrule who looks like he’s rethinking some matter of his own, no doubt what little history has been passed to him now bears reviewing. That doesn’t matter to the rest of them however, because those who know are now gaping, those who don’t are demanding answers, and the captain, who’d met two of the sages for himself and heard their tales, is shaking his head with a sigh.

Time did not sign up for this. Learning that’s he’d split time is one thing, but knowing that somehow, in some way, he’d done so to the extent that not only are his fears about creating multiple timelines actually a reality, but apparently there’s one that spun so far off that not only had he failed, but he’d died at Ganon’s hand and left the burden of defeating the demon to someone else. Two timelines, each resulting in a child being called to do a man’s work, just the same as he had. How old was Legend? Was he the same age as both he and Wind had been? Older? Does he resent the man who left him behind as some people in the sailor’s time do? Like Wind, does he respect his predecessor? Despise him? Curse him? Praise him? His thoughts are spinning and despite not using it, his right eye throbs.

As though sensing his distress, the deity awakens.

It doesn’t happen often. Without the mask, it isn’t nearly as powerful as to accomplish what they can with the aid of the power of the thing. Since abusing its power as a youth though, their magics are enough interlocked, souls enough intertwined, that even removing the cursed thing does not fully displace the deity’s presence from his mind. It is a silent thing at most times, but much like the mask it is sourced from, it awakens when he is in greatest need or fear, and more than once he’s allowed the modicum of its power that now lies bound to his own soul to overtake him in order to escape one situation or another. Such power does not present itself now, but the rumbling voice and the accompanying pulsing pain is enough to shift his focus towards quieting both, attention slipping from his boys and inward to the deity.

Despite managing to gather himself and the boys, to start forwards again on the path, he does not manage to silence the deity. He does, however, manage to ignore it for the time being.

He can only ignore it for so long though.

Sitting on watch after the boys have all gone to sleep, the rumbling thunder of the deity becomes impossible to ignore in the stifling silence around him. The deity will not be silenced, and try as he might, he can’t block-out nor forget the words spoken within his own mind.

“Failure follows in your legacy.”

As though he doesn’t know. It’s been bothering him all day, and despite the rest who hadn't pieced it together asking, he couldn’t bring himself to look, to say anything it was hard enough just putting one foot in front of the other. Wind revealing the split in time had shaken him, but at least he’d known how such a timeline came to be. The vet comes from a world where he’d died. How many of the other boys come from a world, an era, split off from time by his actions? How many timelines did he create?

How many of them have such dark fates as that of Legend’s own?

“He is an heir to failure,” the deity growls, “a scion of death.”

Time shakes his head, voice soft so as to not wake his slumbering team-mates. “No. He’s a hero.”

“To a world that ought not be, that ought to have perished.”

No world ought to perish, especially not because of the actions of one person. Still as he watches the vet sleep, curled up tight around his sword, the voice of the deity continues to ring about in his head. Turning his eyes away to the others doesn’t help though. The deity is truly set off and harsh whispers and growls sound, wondering, just as he does, how many of their number are born of his mistakes, his actions, in a world separate from his own because of actions he hadn’t realized the truth depth of.

He’d turned back time so many times, in both his first and second adventures. Are there timelines born of each time? What of his time in Termina? How many timelines did he create there? How many had seen the moon fall and everyone perish?

Time groans, running a hand over his face, rubbing at the scars and markings left by the deity’s power. Warriors would be so disappointed if he started scratching again, and the scars on either side of his face have finally faded enough to not be as noticeable as when he was a child. There's no mask to tear off, even if the sensation of one lingers as the deity speaks. He doesn’t want to wake up to the captain’s worried stare in the morning at the sight of scars made fresh again. He doesn’t.

Still, he wishes the deity would stop talking.

It doesn’t though, because of course it doesn’t. It hisses in his dreams, whispering as he watches worlds fall and two little figures, he thinks are meant to be Wind and Legend running about, facing the monster he remembers, as well as dark, shapeless figures he doesn’t. They look so small, so young, and despite his heart crying one thing, the deity hisses another. Where he mourns their innocence, the demon screams for their end.

Come morning, he’s a wreck. He manages to go through the motions, washing up with the rest with water from a well on the roadside, shaving and running a hand through his hair enough that it’s not a total mess. The captain was always strict about hygiene and basic care of their appearances. They’re Hyrule’s finest, not to seen wandering around like vagabonds and scamps. Still, the motions feel hollow, like a puppet moving at the command of another, and it feels like a chore to get ready, to strap on his armor, to gird his sword, and to step out onto the path with the others.

Wind and Legend return to walking the fences, apparently determined to do so until the railings give way to open country again. Usually, he’d find that endearing, a proof that despite everything his boys have faced, there still remains a childlike whimsical side to them. Now though, it means that every time one slips or Wind fumbles and yelps, he can’t help but look up and the deity’s words start up all over again.

Failures.

Never intended to exist.

Ought never have come to be.

Proof of the cruelty of the goddesses.

It’s painful. They're good kids, bright young men and skillful, admirable, talented, smart, sharp, kind, and he hates that such dark thoughts invade his mind at the mere sight of them, at even the smallest sound of their voices. It's not their fault that they exist, nor their fault that their worlds are a product of his actions and his mistakes. They don’t deserve the deity’s ire for simply existing.

Yet the roaring of that horrible voice in his mind continues, pulsing through his head and aching at the eye that the demon controls.

He wishes it would stop. Why won’t it stop?

“Time, hey, Time!” He comes back to himself with a blink, head shaking slightly as he raises his good eye to find the captain staring at him. They’re still on the path, still just walking along, still with nothing and no one else in sight, although the rail fence is nowhere to be seen anymore and blessedly means that the two younger heroes are back on the path with the rest, back in their normal places behind him, out of sight and away from the ire of the deity.

“Yes?”

The captain’s face is creased with worry, lips pursed, and gaze guarded. “You blanked out.”

Not blacked out, not fainted, not lost consciousness. No, it’s something rather different, and based off the familiar expression of the other, the soldier is well aware of what it really was; a slip. When stress or pain or emotion are too much, it happens. It’s been less common since he’d put away the mask for the last time, but during the war it happened frequently from overuse of the thing, the deity exercising control in the absence of his own will to.

“I’m alright,” he tries to assure, careful not to look behind him, even though he can feel the worry from the rest, “just tired.”

“We can stop for a rest.”

The captain’s halfway towards turning towards the other, already drawing a breath to call a halt to the rest, but Time stops him with a hand to his arm and a shake of the head, eyes carefully closed to avoid the sight of bright blue or crimson. “Don’t. It won’t help.”

Sleeping isn’t the problem, it’s his mind running away with him in a thousand directions, he doesn’t want it too. Sitting still will only make it worse. Stil, the captain regards him with worry. “Tell me if you change your mind.”

He nods. He won’t, but if he did, he’d tell the other There’s no worry of that though because sitting still right now sounds like actual torture. Just sitting there, a prisoner to his thoughts, to the deity’s thoughts, to wonderings and fears he doesn’t wish to address now or ever; he wouldn’t wish such things on anyone.

Except maybe Ganon. Screw him and everything he’s done to them. He deserves to be tortured by guilt.

Warriors lets it go, but not without a final worried look, and every so often he can feel heavy blue eyes settling on him, reading him, watching for any tick or sign that e’s in need of a break. He appreciates it, and focusing on the captain’s worry is an escape, because the deity has nothing ill to say of the soldier, in fact, he thinks it might even respect the other man, not that it will ever admit to such a thing.

In some ways, it gets easier, but in others, it’s worse. Focusing on his pup, his cub, turns his attention away. He can laugh and tease and watch them tease each other. Having Warriors standing beside him, talking about this thing or that, about paths and courses of action, is almost soothing. Sky’s smile and warm laughter is a balm, and Four’s quiet presence an assurance.

The moment Legend or Wind come into view though, even if his focus isn’t on them, or even what they’re doing, the growl of the deity rises again, a splitting pain in his head.

They know too. Wind’s hurt expressions and confusion are clear, and while Legend doesn’t appear to care at first, after a few days of such treatment, the vet tries to pull him aside and demand what has him treating Wind like a plague. He's not even noticed that the treatment is extended to him, but they all know of the vet’s soft spot for the sailor. He won’t stand to see their leader, whom the kid respects and admires so much, treating the sight of the boy like it’s painful.

But it is. It’s a rush of thoughts and twitch of his hands. It’s the hiss of the deity demanding he purge his namesake of all the dark twists it’s taken due to his actions. It’s images of children fighting demons and worlds falling due to his own failures.

He can’t bring himself to apologize, because that would mean looking at them, speaking to them, and thus hearing the demon scream for their blood to right the wrongs they represent.

Legend gives up in anger. Wind closes off, quiet and pensive. He doesn’t miss the veteran’s hand on broad little shoulders, a silent comfort when he passes by. Doesn’t miss the soft questions whispered from younger to elder, or the harsh glares from violet eyes as begrudging tones reply that they have no answers. He hates it but can’t do anything about it. For their own sakes, ignoring them is kinder than risking letting himself slip and do far worse.

When next they face the shadow, it’s nearly a relief. Finally, he can pour the aggression of the deity into his motions, into the swing of his sword and the roaring of his magic. He can let the demon loose, just a little, just enough to destroy and wreak havoc on enemies that deserve his wrath, on creatures who’ve earned his ire and hatred.

It’s freeing.

There’s no need to hold back, and maybe, just maybe, he let’s himself slip into the background, lets the deity have just a little more power than he’d planned. It’s fine though, it’s fine because maybe this will exhaust the thing, grant it the blood it’s so thirsty for, quench that hunger enough to make it fall silent again.

Once the battle is over, and the deity silent, maybe now he can talk to Wind. Show the boy a smile and apologize, tell him he’s had a migraine that’s impacted by the sailor’s magic or some such thing. Legend or Hyrule might call bull on that, but maybe he’s willing to abuse the fact that Wind’s hero worship of him means he’s more likely to be believed. He’s not telling the kid the truth though, not burdening him with the weight of the horrible thoughts and impulses that wreck his mind, but he’ll give an answer that’s half true, give him something, maybe even sit down and talk about nonsense together to assure that he doesn’t hate the kid. He doesn’t. Wind’s a good kid, and he deserves the world.

He just needs the deity to wear itself out. So, he drops his guard, lets himself fall to the backseat and lets the demon take the reins, sweep over the field with full fury and power unleashed, hoping to exhaust his magic enough that the demon will be silent. Enemies fall like wheat to a scythe, a cloud of black and purple smoke rising in his wake as the deity rampages, blade moving uncommonly fast as he darts to the captain’s side to assist him for a moment, springs over to Twilight to aid him as well.

The deity’s voice rumbles, laughing, savoring the bloodshed and reveling just as much in fighting beside their “true heir”, beside the “dragon of war”. He doesn’t understand that, not entirely. Still, he can guess what it means, and while a dragon does seem to suit the man he’s watched wield flames with the same proficiency as a blade, calling Twilight their “true heir” seems like a direct jab, like spitting in the face of the two other heroes that follow in his wake. They’re just words though. Just more words from the demon god’s mind. They don’t matter. They’re not his thoughts.

Except that when the enemy is dead, when the shadow fled, when the battle over, those words still play in his head, an echo of the deity’s thoughts, and when he tries to take back control, he can’t.

He can’t control his own actions, can’t control even his words, can’t do anything no matter how much he desperately tries to retake control of the body that’s stalking towards where their veteran is wiping his sword off in the grass, can’t do anything as he hears the deity’s thoughts echo around him, watching as his body becomes but a puppet to the still raging demon.

“If Nayru will not prune back the dead branches, it falls to me.”

He wants to scream, to say anything, to catch his own hand as it raises, blade lifted high, but he can’t do anything.

Legend turns at the last second, eyes sharp and blade sharper as it lifts, catches the weapon descending towards him, pushes it and the strength of the deity away and slips himself back, flips over them and perfectly executes a helm-splitter, stopping seconds before their leader’s skull is cleaved in two, voice sharp as it demands to know what’s wrong with him, what he’s doing.

The deity doesn’t care, simply springs back and away, Time’s body swinging his sword at the younger hero even as Warriors shouts something unintelligible and Twilight snarls something sharp, something terrified as their “true heir” rushes towards the scion of death, the heir to failure.

The others aren’t fast enough to stop the deity though, aren’t strong enough to stop the blade clashing, lifting and falling and lifting and falling. He can see, although he can’t do anything else, as the force of the blows rattles up the veteran’s arms. Sees the way his teeth set and his body shakes as he responds, holding the deity puppeteering Time’s body off, but only by backing away, driven slowly further and further from the others who rush and hurry.

Twilight throws himself at them, but the deity catches him by the pelt. All ire fades in favor of fondness as the demon’s thoughts turn sorrowful. He can hear them, a sadness that their true heir will have to see this, a confusion of why the pup does not understand their intent. He knows, if Twilight understood, that he would never condone the actions of the demon, but he can’t say as much even to his own mind as the deity lifts and throws their boy out of reach. Not harsh, not meant to harm, but fully intending to distance the boy from their fight, to stop him interfering.

He flinches, as does his body, as the rancher hits the ground some yards away.

In the opening left by the action, Legend’s tempered sword strikes, blood gushing as the blade rips free of flesh, but the blow does nothing to stop the assault of the demon In fact, it only provokes him further, and the little control Time felt finally fall into his hands is ripped away as his body returns control to the thing that will protect it, to the demon that will not let them be harmed.

Legend is the next to go flying, but not with the care and sorrow granted to Twilight, and instead with blood dripping in his wake as the biggoron sword finally lands a blow.

The shouts of the other boys sound, and there’s the snarling of a wolf beside them.

When his body turns from the broken form of the felled vet, he’s met with the sight of drawn swords and bared teeth as the wolf launches at him. He’s not sure when or why Twi has shifted, but the teeth closing on his arm hold him back for a moment as Warriors throws him forwards as well, attempting, no doubt to seek some weakness. In the war, he’d learned to rip the masks free from his kid’s face when he must, but there’s no mask for the captain to tear away this time, and despite the affection of the deity for “the dragon of war”, the demon god still tosses the captain away, plunging through the hesitant and terrified heroes.

Time’s heart drops when he realizes the goal of the demon: the sailor, eyes hard and blade raised, even as terror and confusion have the kid’s body shaking, voice doing the same as it demands ‘why’. “Time, what’s gotten into you?”

The cry of his heart at the veteran’s fall echoes again as the blow of the deity comes down on the sailor, and while the boy dodges, he’s not fast enough to escape injury.

Blood paints the earth, paints blue fabric and darkens crimson. Pain clouds in violet eye sand in the ocean ones of their youngest.

A roar, like nothing the deity can manage, has him turning.

The last things Time sees are Sky’s blazing eyes and the matching gleam of the Master Sword.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu time #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #ketto writes #lu wind #lu legend #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu sky #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu four #fierce deity #dark fierce deity

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historia-vitae-magistras · 4 months

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I don't think you've ever gone into much detail on the relationships between Alfred and Zee/Jack. Does he care about them or is it more like an an adult sibling in their 30s suddenly having siblings that are in their teens? Nothing in common and generally don't really speak to each other or feel like they're really related at all. Just some other people that his father calls his children that he couldn't care less about?

It's really not very sibling but it's kind of distantly familial. But mostly they interact as friends. Zee has been very sceptical about Alfred pretty much from the get-go. She met him probably in the early Victorian Era and Alfred interpreted her clinging to Uncle Rhys as shyness, but she was low-key cranky and not having it. It's not that she doesn't like him, because she does. Alfred's impossible not to like especially when he's being genuine. But she's not sure she trusts him. He's ambitious and cunning in that bible salesman kind of way.

But he also has had some moments where he recognizes how Europe rejects both of them for being very obviously on the edge of European hegemony. They might ride a lot of human context of whiteness but empire is a very fucked up cosmopolitan thing so "neither you nor I are entirely European. We're western states but never going to completely European and there will always be a barrier there. Don't bother with them, I've already tried and pushed our limits." made for some surprising commonality with them. He's also had his head in her lap hallucinating and begging for Matt, death or Dad when he was low-key dying of malaria or dengue in the South Pacific. She also, perhaps ironically given their power differences, has given him the biggest fuck you anyone ever has by banning his ships from her ports while not only not escaping punishment but still entirely benefiting from the American security apparatus. He saves the majority of his emotional attachment for Matt but they can have a beer and go surfing without major incident. He certainly trusts her more than she trusts him but like it's just more solid than intimate.

Jack's relationship with Alfred is both more and less fraught. Mostly because of gender. Zee has it harder in a lot of ways being afab and feminine presenting most of the time but that's also made her less concerned about masculinity. Especially the sword clashing virility-as-nationalism they came of age in. The stolid, stoic, takes-his-lashes-silently ideal of British manhood that Jack does not suit. He looks at Arthur and he looks at Matt and he doesn't want to be them. His father's rage, Matthew's senseless martyrdom. He wants that respect, the warriors right to respect as it is. But he looks across the Pacific in the late 19th century and early 20th and Alfred is bright, forward-looking friendly and progressive. He has a navy. He has respect. He has a battle scars waged in the name of glamorous things like freedom and democracy and equality. That's an example of masculinity he likes. Alfred standing on the flag ship's prow, at the head of the Great White Fleet announcing him as the next great power kind of beat Jack over the head with a 'oh I'm a baby I need to grow up and get a navy and be a man and earn respect.' And he does pursue those goals and something of Alfred's version of great power projection. But its also not long before Alfred scares the shit out of him too. The costs of his father' ambitions have always been visible but when Alfred's are revealed to Jack they're shocking and frightening. He doesn't want to be his father and he doesn't want to be Alfred. But sometimes, the blunt imperialism of his father is a little easier to handle than the way Alfred operates as an empire of militant idealism. So while he and Alfred appear to get along very well on the surface, and work together very well while they're at it, there's very fundamental differences to who they are and that keeps them friends, not family.

#the ask box || probis pateo #im just publishing like 6 weeks of drafts lmaooo sorry #Pacific Siblings || freedom and fairness

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omgpoindexter · 6 months

Text

more nurseydex fics!!!

i’ve been doing my duty properly and reading some different nurseydex fics on ao3 lately 🫡 i tried to find some that are more recent, however i inevitably found some that are older but slipped through the cracks for me.

here are some of the ones i came across that you need to read! i might make this a thing again if anyone is interested, im sure y’all have been much more on the ball with reading nurseydex fics than i have over the years but i do love reccing <3

suddenly this summer it’s clear by @dessertwaffles

The summer before senior year, Nursey and Dex become closer than ever.

Or, Nursey and Dex's developing relationship, as told through their text messages.

i was absolutely grinning the entire way through this. it’s a texting fic, with images rather than plain text (so clever!) but their personalities are so strong and their interactions are just perfect! and you know i love a texting fic

getting used to letting go by @jennybeantime

Dex was supposed to have a fancy job in some city upon graduation, but his plans changed once his uncle died and left the family home in Maine to him. Without immediate obligations of their own, Nursey, Chowder and Farmer follow Dex up there to help him clear it out and clean it up.

this fic is BEAUTIFUL. if you haven’t read it then please do yourself a favour and do it now. it captures certain feelings and emotions so effortlessly and i felt like i was in a little maine bubble living this story with them. i can’t believe i missed this one before, please please read!!

got the feeling you’re the right thing after all by @bisexualnursey

Two and a half years after he breaks up with Dex to go to grad school across the country, Nursey runs into him again when he visits New York for the holidays. What starts as them just rekindling their friendship quickly turns into a whole other thing: a 100% no-strings-attached friends with benefits arrangement while they’re in the same city.

Which is totally chill because Nursey is definitely over Dex. He swears. He’s going back to California soon anyway.

i seriously CANNOT BELIEVE i never read this before but i think i was in my inactive era when this was posted. it’s just so perfect!!! all the feelings and interactions with not only dex and nursey but all the other characters, friends and family, they all felt so real and i loved them so much. i’ll be rereading this a LOT! you should too!!

here i am (leaving you clues) by @averteddeyes

Will loves Nursey. Nursey loves Will. Will isn’t really quite sure how to deal with it.

(Alternatively: Will learns acceptance through poetry, hesitant communication, and brightly colored sticky notes.)

this is really gorgeously written. angst warning, because ouch!!! also poetry as a love language, like a really good selection of poetry, i really enjoyed it and how it weaves into the story. and the bittydex friendship is so important to me!!!

volta by @plusoultres

volta (n.) a turning point or point of change in a poem, most commonly a sonnet.

Or, five times a poem doesn’t reach its intended recipient, and one time it does; five drafts, and one work completed; five turning points, and one ending.

the second fic was inspired by this one, and thank goodness it was because this one totally slipped through the cracks and i’m so glad i read it. their banter is just brilliant and i love the variation in medium, and the poetry is beautiful! i could quote lines from this but im not going to. just. read it

things got weird (when we made out) by @andtimestoodstill

Nursey is being stupid about this. He knows he’s being stupid.

super fun and really cute, i love it when these two are just being idiots. great inclusion of the other teammates too. read it for this line alone: “[You’re doing] That thing where you forget to look like you hate Dex and just stare at him like some Victorian lady who just saw a hot dude for the first time.” because it made me laugh out loud

things that go bump in the night by @smashthatlikebitty

The first time it happens, Dex rolls over and flings so many obscenities in Nursey’s direction that even his Grandmother would have to sit down — and she cursed so much at Dex’s cousin’s wedding that the whole family has been banned from that church ever since.

Nursey just stills in the dark, one shoe off. A languid, infuriating presence. “Chill, man.”

essentially all the times nursey’s clumsy ass wakes dex up in the night. oh how i love pretending these two roomied their way into a relationship! this is so cute, smiled all the way through

some things take two people to build by @cricketnationrise

“You are the single most dramatic person I have ever met,” Dex mutters, trying valiantly to hide his grin.

Or, 5 times Dex wishes their relationship was real +1 time he doesn't have to

this was so fun, yet again i love them being idiots!!! these two in new york city is so important to me. and i for one would LOVE to read the work party 5+1 fic. just saying

#heavily considering doing more of these if anyone’s interested #also y’all are so good in this fandom it’s so INSPIRING !#nurseydex #fic rec

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pieroulette · 1 year

Text

𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒: 𝐌𝐘 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 | 𝟏𝟖+ | 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐓𝟕 × 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

SUMMARY you couldn't believe how your life could turn out for the worse when you were force to take on the body of the wicked and sadistic daughter of a Duke who has countless of enemies ready to stomp on her once they had the very chance. Eyes seething with vengeance and walls like ears—you had no choice but to protect yourself; you either act like her and therefore risk your life even more or overturn people's perception on her and lay low behind the spotlight. Yet the era you were thrown into seems far more complicated than you think when you attracted more eyes than you planned to do so.

GENRE/WARNING reverse harem, comedy, royal au, romance, fluff, angst, time loop/time travel, politics, 18th century au, attempted tongue mutilation, profanity.

WORD COUNT — 5k

•{ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ' 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐: 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 }•

"So.. you're telling me," hesitating in gesturing to yourself, "That I'm the daughter of a duke?" the maid nodded slowly, seemingly concerned. "And that I have two brothers.. who are currently out of town. And that I'm the only daughter." your mind fleet away as every word sank in your soul. "And it's the year 1816 right now?"

She nodded again.

And you scoffed terribly, brushing your forehead as you giggled almost like it's a joke. "Yah, who hired you?"

"T-the head took me in a few months ago, milady!"

"No bitch, I was asking who hired you? Which member recommended you to the theater?" You slapped the table repeatedly, "As far as I know, I have never seen you or anyone in my team! Wait—are you perhaps from another team?"

"H-huh, I do not understand what you are trying to imply, milady."

"Stop lying." You pointed your index finger to her face. "Quit acting, where's the freaking cameras? This must be a surprise test, huh?! Come out! I just got into an accident and you all are already giving me an exam for fuck's sake!"

"N-no!" she shrieked terribly much to your cringing face. "I— how- am I.. supposed to? Milady?!" hiccups emitted a couple of times, the girl unable to finish her sentences before suddenly weeping for the nth time, glueing her forehead on the floor

Your jaw dropped, frowning. "Stop calling me that! And h-hey! I haven't even say anything much yet and you're already crying? How much in the script did it actually tell you to cry this much?!"

"My apologies, miladyyy!" her whining cause you to close your ears in frustration, and the two maids behind the door had their head hanging so low it might snap as they pulled their fellow mate away, the familiar old lady from just now came instead, falling on her knees before you.

"Milady." Hanging her head low, she did, as she called out for you. "Perhaps, you don't recognise any one of us?"

"Do I look like I do?" You nonchalantly answered, raising your right leg on top of the chair.

That alone caused the Madame's eyes to ogle out, "Milady! That's very unladylike to sit! Please do not—"

"Excuse me? If you are trying to mould me into a—" swaying your hand in patterns, "Feminine, lovable, innocent wife for your boss. Then fucking quit it."

"Milady!" The Madame taken aback by you, proceeded to go outside, urging the maids to call upon someone. "Oh lord, what has happen to the lady that she had to utter such vile words!"

—♚—

Stress.

Indeed, the entire manor was engulfed with nothing but pure stress with your total switch of a personality—for the very reason of you barging the door without knocking, walking very unladylike, pushing yourself out the first floor's window to look out the garden, or even at worse cases which had their orbs ogling out terribly was when you pull up your gown with the reasons of it being tremendously hot, or when you plucked out the hair ornaments on your hair, or any accessories at sight.

“Lady (Name)... seems so different, doesn't she?” says the young servant as she pours a bucket of water on the marble floor.

“I like her a bit now, though.” the other replied.

“You sure about that?—” they both raise their head up to you standing afar with your head shooting outside the patterned holes of the walls. "The lady.. truly acts eccentric nowadays. I heard the doctor diagnosed with her mental problems."

"Don't tell me you're having such thoughts! Where did you even heard such baseless rumors? Keep that to yourself or else you'll earn it."

"Ugh, fine." The servant groaned to herself. "Honestly, I truly think the chandelier could've possibly damaged the lady's brain to the point she had a total switch of personality."

“Well, at least, we aren’t reprimanded as we used to.” The other replied. "Aren't you glad of it?"

Unknown to the wonders of this new, or atleast old world. A distant feeling consumed your heart as you could be the only one right here, right now. All alone by yourself—you've finally come into conclusion that you truly, were indeed, in the era of 1816.

What a fucking joke.

A teacup snapped into numerous pieces across the carpeted floor, dark brown contents splattered horrendously before the maid's horrific realisation, ultimately falling on her knees.

“I'm–m! I apologise! I deserve to die but no– no! Please I have a family to feed! Certainly they would fall into their demise upon my death, I greatly beg you young lady! Please!”

Baffled over her exaggerated and frantic reaction as if you were going to get her beheaded at any moment just because of a simple fallen teacup and its scattered leafy tea on the carpeted red floor. You laughed awkwardly, “It’s o-okay? It’s just a teacup afterall?”

"I-it's not! My lady, I greatly apologize!" She weep in pure agony, faint red dripping from her forehead as she slammed it repeatedly on the floor.

You stood there in slight shock at the desperate actions of the maid, why are they so beyond frightened of you? Did what you heard were actually true?

The young lady of this family, you heard—after a series of gathered information from what you've came to piece the puzzle together; the daughter of the duke was a one cunning and merciless lady, with an extreme intelligence surpassing of that the highest scholar in the country but one that had been deemed beneath the soil for the duke, her father—had ordered for it.

That she, a woman, shall only stay inside her home, and appease her soul by waiting for a hand in marriage. It's such an atrocious joke, really. How could you even wonder, some parents just don't deserve a child for they only deemed their child's existence as an investment. Not more than that.

The young lady also had a blast of short temper, judging by how the maids often whimper and tremble when you appear before them—acting as if their life was on the edge of the cliff every single time.

You overheard one of them that the lady had ordered for a public humiliation for one of the previous maids who dared to go up against her, stripping her off her dignity and letting men devour her like a dangling fresh meat.

She's like a ticking time bomb.

It had you a tad bit conflicted over what to feel with the lady, or whether to think of her as a completely wronged lady whose talents were gone to be drained by the father, or a spoiled brat using her power to trample on the weak.

Sighing as you watched the garden out the window, surely—it shouldn't be any of your concern right? Anything personal regarding the lady should be scrapped, and only what's necessary should be kept for you have to survive in her body with the infamous reputation she earned—till you're able to find a way back to your original life.

Tapping your chin as you brought yourself in a deep thought, you were contemplating over what to do. Right, your lips pulled up into a slight beaming smile that had the maids eyes widening in utter surprise, unable to process the eccentric sight before them.

"Get up, dear." The maid trembled slightly with your hands pulling her up in a gentle manner, "It's perfectly fine, such trivial mistakes had no need to waste such a tremendous energy upon. You may go now."

"Thank you, milady!" she held her head down before walking off but you had a bunch of curiosity you'd been dying to ask since awhile, and the maid seems the fairly perfect person to ask.

"Stop."

"Y-y-yes, milady?"

"I want you tell me about something-"

And that question was how the lady had got into an accident, since you overheard the passing maid that the lady had been in a coma for almost a month, and no one outside the manor was to be inform about it. That she had to be acclaimed as all well and safe. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering how and why?

How did she got into one and why are they trying to keep it? Sure, the lady had such a bad temper and merciless indeed that she definitely would have plenty of souls desiring to get back on her while she's rendered unconscious. But surely, it ain't that serious? It isn't as if the young lady had a status as high as the princess or the queen.

Your curiosity were confirmed though as the young maid told you everything; that the lady had attended a noble event as she often did so her entire life, a daily occurrences for nobles like the prince and princesses, duke and duchesses and their children, royal officials and high status people to attend to. However on that fateful day, the lady had a dance with a prince and as they do so on the dance floor. The chandelier above the ceiling tragically fell on top of them; the lady and the prince.

It wreck a horrendous havoc in the ballroom and the guards immediately gathered before their unconscious bodies.

The rest was history, and only the young lady's father the Duke and a few royal officials had a knowledge about this tragic incident. Not even the young lady's brothers had any knowledge of it as they were currently out the state. They kept it a secret as to find the culprit, because once the news of the young lady and the prince being in a state of coma came out; the culprit certainly would come back.

Regarding the prince, no one had known how he is currently now. Only assuming that he, too, might still be in a coma just like you are.

The chandelier.. it sort of the same as the incident on the theater. How is this possible? Could this be a mere coincidence?

"That's all I can say, milady."

"Ah, I couldn't thank you enough." you rubbed her hand which causes her cheeks to flushed in both shock and embarrassment, her eyes beaming as she nodded frantically.

"You can count on me, milady!"

You've decided for now to go on easy on them, for now, that is. It's quite difficult to make a decision for this body that doesn't belong to you. But you'd have to ease up a little, and observe your surroundings by studying everyone's characters in this manor. By then, you'll definitely know what to do until you can think of a way to get back to your real life.

A few days had passed since then, and surprisingly they had called atleast a few private doctors the manor had, and yet they couldn't exactly tell what was wrong with you. You rolled your eyes, how could they? How could a doctor could possibly know that you were another soul, from the modern era in someone's body. Might as well call the shaman for this, but you ain't gonna risk that and possibly had yourself labeled as a witch.

Sighing, just why every door has terrible outcome behind them?

Apparently, after a series of failed attempts, the doctor simply assume that you might have an amnesia. Of course, they were skeptical as the chandelier didn't even collide against your damn head so how could you even? Trauma? Probably. That's why the doctor had asked for you to recuperate first and they'll return after a two weeks.

"We can never tell more than five people as it would surely start a rumour and possibly threaten the house of Solon, especially you, milady, has a significant position in the political affairs along with your father, the Duke."

"Losing a fragment of memories, is a fatal mistake. If by any chance it is proven, we had to keep it as a secret. We surely would help you regain your memories back by then, milady."

You could only nod and go along with them as you sipped through your teacup. What else have you to say? Your only one priority is to get back to your old life as soon as you can. Who cares what they are up to?

Somewhere in the manor's quarters—the news quickly reached the every and each person's ears, causing havoc and surprise onto everyone's faces.

"So it's due to the lady losing her memories, that she's treating us good now?"

"I didn't know that was possible!"

"Ha, we could use this to our own advantage."

—♚—

Over the course for the past few weeks, you brought a hell lot of papers with you, stacking them up in the library where you could see them easily.

A role.

Another role, the young lady; you studied the young lady's character by gaining as much as information you could gather by the maids and guards, or anything you could lay your eyes on, either by blatantly asking them or by sneaking in to their conversations.

Taking a deep breathe in, your eyes fluttered as it opens—the dust particles floating in the sun rays flew past your vision, the background gradually growing vague and blurry. Lifting your feet, and another one and so on through the entire room; imitating the lady's way of walking, and how she carries herself, how she talks, how she reacts, how she gaze at someone depending on who they are.

It wasn't perfect, for the information was tremendously limited. However, you had to do best with what you only have.

Somehow, you notice yourself growing somewhat petty and impatient in this body. You weren't entirely sure if it's a fragment of the lady's personality, or yours. It's just that, you tend to voice out without thinking much nowadays which kind of scares you.

Sighing tremendously like any other day you did as you sat on the bench in the center of the garden, where you've been seating yourself for quite awhile now to revise your plans but for some reasons which had you annoyed was another maid standing beside you. You tried to hushed her away before but she reasoned with you that she was assigned to look after you, for you still haven't recovered. How are you suppose to do it with her presence then?

"Look at me, I'm already walking!"

"But, milady. It's dangerous."

"Oh god, leave me alone." Standing up on your feet with these pair of heels drilling a hole on your sole, you lifted your gown, grabbing your heels much to the maid's utter shock and went on your way to the manor, completely bare feet. Thinking of what to eat for today before doing the rest of what you want to do in your room instead. Scrap the fresh air while revising your plans, seriously.

"Milady!" the maid held the need to ask for you to slow down as she gradually increase her speed after you who were obviously trying to evade her.

The sun must be plotting to burn you alive today, seriously. Sure, it was nice to live in such an extravagant, wealthy ass manor but it reminds you nothing but of your parents, totally irritating.

Hm?

You paused on your tracks when your peripheral vision caught sight of an intricate carriage pulling up in the entrance. Curiosity engulfed your foggy mind as you squint to take a good look of who's inside it.

"Milady!—ah!" The maid almost stumble on your back, gulping immensely down her throat as she almost sell her life for the day.

“Who’s.. that?”

The maid followed your line of vision, eyes widening at what met her sight. “Oh! That is Sir Noa!"

"N-noa?"

"Yes! Milady, that is the third son of the Solon family, young Marquess Noa. It is your younger brother, young lady.”

Your younger brother.. your younger brother? your younger brother—what?!

Wait-what? You let out a breath of gasp as the young tall man with humongous dark aura circulating over him—step one foot each closer and everything behind him grew smaller. His intimidating orbs softens into spring like gentle of the petals and his lips kisses his rosy cheeks as he continued to get closer, closer..

And closer.

“Young lady.”

His hair—as if a silk fabric of black and golden blond pouring altogether like a brewed tea to the quarters of a patterned teacup. Pouring down over to cover bits of his flattery eyelashes. His voice; just so much akin to his aura yet it seems like as if he intentionally softens his vocal chords to match your feeble form, yet still strong enough as if to acknowledge your presence.

“I’ve came home.”

"U-uh, welcome home?" you gave him a small smile, unsure if it's the right thing to do but still it won't hurt since he's supposedly the lady's younger brother, right? Fuck. You seriously have no idea, you forgot to ask the maid whether the lady and this boy are close enough.

Yet the first thought you had was, just how old the hell is this boy for him to be this tall?!

He cleared his throat. "I had to say that I missed you alot after horrendous months without being by your side, sister. How have you been doing?

You're about to cringe, he called you sister? What are you supposed to say, brother? I'm certainly doing fine, brother! Or, why are you even asking this, brother? Or, i've just went to—ugh! Just go along with it, seriously!

Shaking your head with a small smile forming on your lips, "I'm doing all well, brother."

His eyebrows knitted in utter confusion. Well shit, was that a wrong call?! "B-brother? Have you ever called me that?"

"U-uh-"

"Sir," the maid exclaimed a tad bit loud for your throbbing ears, "The lady are currently recuperating after falling into terrible sickness, I had to bring the lady to get her daily meds right now."

"Wait? Sickness?" Noa furrowed, the bright smile on his face dissipates as worry consumed his heart. "Milady, are you- no, I assume you don't feel any pain, now?"

"Y-yes, I rested alot, actually."

Noa was about to say something but held the need to do so, opting to brought his usual smile. "I was actually wondering if we could have a sparring session by noon like we always used to, but hearing such terrible news made me think that we could do that some other day."

Uh? S-sparring session? W-what is he saying? You stuttered as you ask him. "Sparring session?"

"May I be as bold as to get your permission again to hold a sparring session with you milady, as we often did? I've improved quite more than you think, milady."

What the fuck are you suppose to say? What in the sparring session is he saying? Swords? Fighting swords? And does he mean the real heavy words that the knights used?! The sword you used during theater are only made out of plastic, and was the only material you practice during lessons, so you couldn't imagine how the real swords would feel on your palms. It dawned on you on that one particular day that you tried to grab the real deal of a sword in an exhibition, and your wrist almost break in a half because of it!

What are you supposed to say now? Should I reject it? Should I take it? But he was asking for my permission! But keyword was freaking 'again'! It means the lady has never rejected her younger brother's request for sparring session! What should I do? You weep into your internal void.

"Sure." your tongue betrayed yourself, well goodbye to your life. The young man instantly had a smile so beaming it blinded your vision, saying a few more words before he soon took his leave, pressing a soft kiss on your hand before doing so.

"Oh, shit." you stood there, utterly frozen.

"Milady, you—yourself often went to sparring session with the guards whenever you had a slight change of mood, or when you need to take some fresh air. It was a usual hobby you and your younger brother often do together—what's wrong milady?"

"N-nothing, it's just the heat, I assume."

—♚—

A dinner with your supposedly younger brother for now turn out to be fairly serene, not that you'd expect it to be utter chaos but you were thinking that he would bombarded you with numerous questions, however you were beyond glad that it isn't the case. You took numerous glances at him taking a couple of sips from his teacup, as he thumbed through the pages of his book.

Noa, seems rather quiet than what his outer demeanour looks like—you'd expected him to atleast be bold or atleast a sharp tongue alike his piercing orbs. However, maybe it's too early to say. Plus, he probably has a different treatment towards each person. So were you actually right that he had a close relationship with his sister, the lady?

Time will only tell.

Ugh, this is trouble. You couldn't stop your hand from trembling pathetically even when you gripped it with the other as you walked side by side with Noa to the site where the sparring session will be held. You were about to cry over how scared you were and seriously, you actually thought that maybe you could pretend over how weak you are due to your sickness. Ha! That's it, that's definitely it. Play swords with him a little and then pretend you got hurt, fall to the ground, and faint! Perfect.

Determination blazes your orbs, as you stood before the young man who has now a pair of swords on his palms. With a bright grin on his face as he twirls the other onto his right hand, showcasing his talents to you. Huh, this kid. It's as if he's trying to show you how good he is in such an odd way. But that's normal isn't? A little kiddo proving his strength to his older siblings?

"Milady, here." the sword on his left palm caused you to sweat cold despite the scorching sun above the sky. You formed a smile awkwardly, wondering how you could even grab the sword.. Should you grab it with your two hands? But wouldn't that make it too obvious for the boy? You're dead either way, honestly.

Circling your fingers beneath the handle had you shutting your eyes tight, gripping it—afraid of what is about to happen.

"Sister?"

Your eyes shot open upon his voice calling out for you, concern adorning his sharp features. "Are you okay?"

"O-oh yes?" You forced a smile, "I am, no need-" Hold for a freaking second, what is this? Your widened orbs fell on the sword on your right hand, squinting at how oddly.. light it was. Like it wasn't heavy at all? Huh- oh my god?

Don't tell me that this is perhaps because of the lady's body? That she is probably capable of swordsmanship? Why have you never heard from the maids about the lady's skill in swordsmanship? Did they or did they knew about it? Either way, you had to find it out later. As your mind were currently amazed that you had never thought that you would gain her strength! How could you forget? It is your soul that currently hosts the lady's body.

You were beyond ecstatic to hold a light sword, amazed by your newly found ability, you tried to swing the sword in such a way that it feels like clouds. This is it. You could push through this and not risk your life before the lady's brother.

"Sister, that's not how you hold a sword."

Uh? Your eyes terribly widened, instantly holding yourself from playing with the sword any further. Alerted by his words, you were dumbfounded over what to answer.

A low, lighthearted giggle instead met your ears. "I didn't know that you, my sister, had the ability to joke?"

Shaking his head in amusement, "Everyday you intrigued me, sister." launching his sword up in the air, you prepared for his attack by dodging it slightly.

Your speed. That was new. Your vision fixated on every motion of Noa's tight grip on his sword as he prepares for another attack, somehow someway—his movement sort of felt like quite slow to you.

It's not that he's slow, it's that you could calculate his movement in a tremendous speed that you could dodge it easily. Amazement consumed your thoughts that this is truly the lady's ability. Pulling a slight smirk, you raised your sword and in an instant—it collided against Noa's, a total stare down occurs for a couple of seconds when you caught his eyebrows furrowing.

Huh?

He pulls away, stepping backward as he twirls his sword in his index finger.

"Why did you?"

Tilting his head sideways back and forth, he lets out a tiny scoff which had your stomach churning. "Nothing in particular, milady."

"Right- Agh!" you shut your eyes tight at his inhumane speed, beyond surprised at his impatience of not letting you finish your sentence. He's too strong, too much strong for you. Noa tightened his grip on his handle, pressing the blade's weight even harder on yours which causes your foot to lose it's footing, stumbling slightly but before you could prepare, you gasped at Noa raising his arm up in the air, launching the sword onto your face.

Is he trying to kill me?! Why is he getting faster each second?!

You pushed up your sword against his blade almost as fast as you, yet once again you were beneath the soil and he has the upper hand. You tried to counterattack against him but you yelp in pain when he suddenly pulls away once again, causing the blade to graze against your palms.

“Sister!?” Noa immediately get on his knees, his voice stuttering as he took your wounded hand in his. His lips blowing a breeze on your hand, causing you to frowned as you hissed at the slight pain. You observed him looking after you with the utmost care, as if you truly meant a lot to him, or the lady, apparently.

“Sister? May I ask you something?”

“Y-yes brother?” shit, that sounds too awkward for you to be honest. You could never get used to it.

"You're not her, aren't you?" A deathly silence occurs as he lifted his attention on you with his intense sharp upturned eyes that held infatuation awhile ago, but now a cold indifference inside.

You froze, “H-huh?”

Your maid's jaw dropped upon falling on your form, dropping the laundry basket she was holding as she strides off to you, “Milady! Are you okay?!”

Noa raises his palms at the approaching maid, "Stop right there."

H-how did he know? Your hand clutches the hem of your dress, your inner heart shaking vigorously as he took each step closer to you. Instinctively lowering your head down as his purplish and golden woven patterns on his collars came into view, the sunlight being covered by the growing grey dark clouds.

"The young lady ain’t this feeble and pathetic, weird isn’t?” his voice strikes your rampant heart cold and deep akin to the glint on his sword, wrapping his hand around your wrist, tightening it much to your growing pain. “She could never make such trivial mistake and yet, you did."

“Noa, what do you think you’re doing?!” You exclaimed, you tried to hold the lady's character and yet you can't help the way your heart was shivering to your core. How can you when this guy before you is just as much as his sister?! "Touching me without my permission like this is atrocious!"

They emitted a total intimidating aura, with those piercing orbs threatening to devour you alive. You had a slight wonder if he had the same infamous hobbies as his sister? Those eyes held downright blood lust inside it, you couldn't imagine how far he would go once he knew that you weren't the young lady. You couldn't even have the opportunity to study this man at all! You've failed!

"And you see, I've been observing you for quite awhile. The way you carry yourself, the way you turn and look at me—is nothing alike the young lady.”

How did he notice? How come?! You've studied the young lady's character very well, you imitated every single thing of her and yet he notice and are able to see through you. Wasn't there enough information? Have you made the wrong call?

A scoff of disbelief escapes his lips as his dragon eyes narrowed even further, “And you see, the young Lady has never called me by the name Noa when we're by ourselves together."

You tried to keep yourself still and firm as he keeps closing the distance dangerously between you both.

“She..” his voice turns into a feathery like brush against the edges of your lips, yet held a thousand prickly needles along the tip. “—calls me Riki.”

Your eyes widened horribly at his words. Well what in the actual fuck, congratulations, you're officially being sent into the coffin! How could you ever know of a nickname between siblings?!

His eyes sharp and intense, akin to dragons roaring thunders and fires mixing with thousands of swords bound to rip your flesh apart. He grabbed your wrist even tighter you could let out a yelp yet you held the need to do so as he pulled you closer, forcing you to look at his intense spiraling dark orbs.

“Who are you?”

What are you supposed to say now? This man is no fool. One word and he might, no—definitely he would rip your head apart for fooling him. After all, the lady's are deemed to be a wicked person, then how couldn't he as her younger brother turned out to be the same well?

Think, (Name)! Have your skill had truly gone to waste? Your palms supporting your torso had been trembling so much you swore you are about to faint.

“Huh? Am I seeing this right? Marquess Noa using such force against his older sister?” an unfamiliar face appeared in the distance, approaching you two. "That's quite un-gentleman of you, I fear."

You observed as Ni-ki’s eyes rolled in annoyance before he turned over his shoulder and it gave you a clear view to the person in question. “Perhaps, you shall keep your pathetic nose inside your quarters, shouldn’t you, General?”

Shrugging his shoulders, the man did. “I don’t know,” your rattled orbs fell upon a jet black slicked hair, faint smirk paired with those glowing grey orbs, a scabbard hanging down his hips as his overalls consists of intricate patterned jacket over his inner black shirt with few buttons off, exposing his well toned chest and neck adorned with gleaming jewels. “Maybe we shall ask you then, milady?”

Who the fuck is this other guy?! Why they keep appearing one after another?! Can't they give you a break?! You were beyond cornered as if your feet were on the scattering edge of the cliff with those two pair of orbs looking down at you—their intimidating and piercing aura threatening to consume you akin to an enormous eagle and a hissing black panther before you, who's only a mere tiny bouncing bunny.

Would this really be the end of your life?

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