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purelyfiction · 3 months

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Room for Dessert

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F!Reader

Summary: it's date night for you and Bob and as always, he is the most doting gentleman you know. full of manners and always wanting to be up to expectations! after a gracious dinner, Bob reminds you there’s still a course you missed at the restaurant.

Word count: 1,658 words

Author notes: HIIIIIII i got this as a prompt from a prompt sheet ages ago and wanted to put this out for mr perfect in every way's birthday but i finished it maybe two hours after the day ended in EST time so!! a day late but, in honor of blorbo's birthday a very nice little birthday treat :)))) HEY THIS HAS SMUT SO IF YOU AREN'T 18+ GTFO || f receiving oral, maybe spanking? not sure it counts. some nsfw language for sure. Thank you @callsignthirsty for beta-ing the majority of this as always you are crucial for my writing :))))))

Your darling and sweet man had gone the extra mile for date night. A white tablecloth restaurant, reservations, bottle service to your table, and the whole nine yards. He’d gotten himself all dressed up just so you could do the same. He’d held doors, played your playlist the whole way in his beat-up classic truck – the perfect man. There was even a fresh set of flowers on the counter when you’d returned home. Amazed by all of this, you look back at him as you drift into the kitchen.

“You have really outdone yourself, Bo.” Your fingers caress the petals, looking over the roses with such delicate motions. You catch Bob’s reflection in the window as he comes up behind you.

“I wouldn’t call it outdoing myself if this is what I deem the standard.” Hands wrap so delicately around your waist, finding themselves at home as the two of you linger in the continued feel-good endorphins from the night.

You have work in the morning. He has training. Yet as his palms flatten against the elegant fabric of your dress, you hum with ease and let your head sink back to his shoulder. Bob takes this new spot as an invitation to pepper minute and delicate kisses up your neck, to your jawline. If this keeps going, the two of you might end up miserable and sleep-deprived. His hand grabbing the flesh of your thigh convinces you to ditch the bedtime.

“Your standard is far from the industry’s,” you tease, looking at how his blue eyes seem to shift in the low light of your kitchen.

“Guess you’ve got the top-of-the-line product then, now don’t you darlin’?” Hands travel from where they’d been innocently tracing little circles on your hip bones. Instead, slinking down to your thighs to toy with the hem of your skirt in this wonderful dress (which he’d bought you just for tonight).

“It would seem that way. And it’s still running like a dream three years later.” There’s an amused huff of air deposited onto your skin, hands busy entertaining the softness of your thighs, fingertips paving a path of goosebumps under them.

“You sure about that? No need for a diagnostics run? Make sure there aren’t any lingering bugs that might be screwing up the hardware?” There’s an easy giggle that leaves you while his hands busy themselves spinning you back around to face him, guiding you so you are flush against the counter of the island.

“I mean, everything seems to be in working order.” Your own arms wrap up around his neck as he gets impossibly closer, lips gluing themselves back to the skin of your neck, moving downward this time. One hand takes yours, holding onto it innocently as his tongue draws a hotspot to your skin. In one swift movement, he’s flattening your hand against his groin, smirking at the way your breath catches when you make contact.

“I think you’re right, baby.” He’s rock-hard. Instead of letting you linger in the sensation, Bob’s moving before you can even indulge in his previous action, hands gripping under your ass and carefully lifting you to rest on the counter. His lips meet yours for the first time since arriving home, his tongue pushing its way to its rightful place against yours. One hand continues to toy with anything he can find under your skirt, his fingers skating to the lace of your underwear, tugging at them with no real defined goal. You're like magnets, Bob's large hand hopelessly drawn to your waist, your chest, fingers desperately grasping at you through the padding of your bra. There’s a resistance as his lips pull back, moving back to the spot right under your ear. “You know, I just realized something.” The low baritone of his register vibrates the shell of your ear.

“Did you get a notification on your operating system?” The tease leaves him nipping at your ear.

“Something like that,” he huffs, hands still gripping onto you as if you will vanish if he lets you go. “We completely skipped over the dessert portion of dinner.”

“Was it on the agenda?” The response comes quick, but not nearly as instant as the following one. “Or is this fine-tuned machine starting to break down?” His hand is gripping your chest again, an almost punishing response to your question.

“This machine would like to self-correct if you’d just be patient enough.” He finally breaks the magnetic spell he’s under, blue eyes a heavy, royal color by this point. His hands easily glide back under your skirt, both of them working in tandem to tug the cotton from your hips. You shift to help him rid the fabric from your body, the cold granite of the countertop making you shiver on contact. With your panties on the floor, his hands drop to the counter, boxing you in as you rest on a makeshift pedestal to your most nerdy—yet flushed and intoxicating—boyfriend. The cocksure demeanor has begun to fade ever so slightly, uncertainty creeping in at the most inopportune time. “I- ugh-” his fingers are chilled from the stone when they return to your waist.

Your eyes meet with his, the softness of your boyfriend suddenly on full display as his hands make laps on your thighs, running up and down. A cautious hand comes up to his chin, forefinger and thumb gripping it. “Honey?”

This happens from time to time. He’ll be on such a roll, so easily matching the energy that you ignite in him, then suddenly shut down as if he’s rebooting. Once, he told you that he would get so overwhelmed with how many emotions he felt toward you—so turned on—that he would short-circuit and need a minute for all systems to come back online. Bob’s gaze returns to yours, no longer spaced out, hands pausing their continuous motion in favor of gripping at your thighs once more.

“Would it be too crass to say I want you to come on my glasses?” All systems go. Your hand shifts up to caress his jawline, carefully guiding his lips back to yours.

“No. It’s fucking hot-” Your answer evaporates into the air as you tug him close again, his hips slotting between your easily parted thighs.

“Should I–?” he gasps, eyes flicking toward the floor before they return to your mouth.

“If you want me to cum on your glasses, Bo?” You run your tongue over your kiss-stung lips. “Yeah.”

Bob surges forward, eager to lick into your mouth, claiming it before falling to his knees. You card your fingers through his hair and shift your legs further apart to give him more room to work with. “God, baby, you look so good like this,” he groans. The praise jolts you as large hands settle on the inside of your thighs, careful lips starting a trail of kisses from the top of one knee, up your leg, and right to your dripping center. His breath staccatos over your skin, hovering as a thumb carefully spreads you, basking in what he’s done to you. “Oh, this never gets old, angel, never, never.” The sound of his voice fades as his tongue expertly glides up your folds, making a lap or two at the top that sends your breathing pattern into a fit. You attempt to brace against the counter as he works, your hand gripping taut to the curls you adored.

You aren’t sure what code Bob has written in his brain that gives you the benefit of duality: the charming and beyond kind gentleman at dinner this evening and the absolutely rogue man between your legs.

“You taste so good, baby, so fucking amazing—fuck dessert,” it’s muttered against your cunt, eagerly lapped away to send your stomach spiraling. You have half a mind to let the counter behind you morph into a mattress as your eyes fall shut. You’re tempted to let the stone cool your skin from the burning sensation Bob is supplying you.

Instead, you jump, eyes shooting open when his hand comes to the outside of your thigh. Glancing down, blue eyes drill into yours, Bob pulling away with the hardest focus chiseled into his features. “Eyes on me.” Oh, fuck, he was taking it to the extremes. Bob’s ability to hyperfocus was an advantage and a disadvantage. Such as right now, when he is insistent on making you watch as he devours you, barely getting enough air as he fastens himself even more firmly against you.

As his tongue pushes into you, a shrill sound escapes you. You’re not going to be much longer, if he stays down this path. Bob just might get his wish. And he does, not even minutes later, your legs viscerally shaking, large hands clamping them to the counter to prevent you from locking your thighs around his head in an effort to stop. Gasping for air, slapping the palm of your hand against the countertop, your words are short off your lips, “Bob, baby, you can- shit- honey that’s enough,” however, he hasn’t powered down yet, with no intentions on stopping. When you try again, an arm crosses over your hips, pushing you down just enough to keep him centered right where he needed to be to tie the knot in your stomach again. You can’t help the way you squirm and writhe under him, strong arm gripping to your hips as he frantically swipes his tongue against you - until you break, nearly screaming under him, possibly - no, likely disturbing the neighbors.

You’ve laid fully back on the stone by this point, unable to will yourself to move after all Bob had put you through. There’s a pop of his knee when he stands up, hands coming to either side of your body, leaning onto the counter and over top of you. Glasses not only fogged up to no end, but in dire need of a cleaning.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x f!reader #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x f!reader #robert floyd x reader #robert x reader

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writingseaslugs · 10 months

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Octavinelle: When You're Sick

Favorite dorm here we go! This was fun to write and hmmmm I really wanna be taken care of by the Octrio. They can be good at it, I swear! As always, the intro is the same as Heartlabyul and Savanaclaw, so feel free to skip it if you’ve already read those parts.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Octavinelle: When You’re Sick

The worst thing to ever happen to you while attending Night Raven College had to be, hands down, getting sick. You were alone in the dorm with only ghosts and Grim to keep you company, and as much as you loved them, they couldn’t take care of you when you became sick. This meant you had to make do and hope that everything was alright. Normally if you were under the weather, you’d just suck it up and go to class so as to not worry anyone. This time however, that wasn’t an option.

You woke up with every muscle in your body feeling sore and aching with even the slightest movement. Your stomach churned something fearsome and you had a runny nose and cough to boot. You had no idea what illness you had fallen to. Having so many symptoms…you could only assume it was the flu or something akin to that.

Still, there was no way you were making it to class like this. So begrudgingly you told Grim you weren’t feeling good and needed to rest, and to go to class and get your homework so you could do it later. The demon cat was grumpy about not having his henchman, but eventually gave in, leaving you alone to rest in your room and hope that whatever you had would go away.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is going to be concerned the moment he hears from Floyd and Jade that you’re home sick. He knows you tend to take care of others and neglect your own health, at least in the time he’s known you at the college, so he’s automatically assuming the worst. So he’s going to excuse himself from his own work at the lounge, pack up all his paperwork, and head over to your dorm. He needs to make sure his best customer, and sometimes best worker when you were strapped for cash, was okay and not actually dying, as Floyd so eloquently put it.

He’s not half bad at taking care of others oddly enough, though he is lacking in experience. It’s one of the many things he studied in his free time, so he at least knows what he’s doing. He’ll be calling the nurse anyway just to check in on you and make sure it’s nothing too serious. Once he gets that out of the way, he’s going to do his best in following directions and making sure you recover in the most timely manner possible.

Thankfully he does care for you, so he won’t be making any comments about how helping you out will come with a price later, like picking up shifts at the lounge. In fact, he’s very gentle with you and asks questions in a softer voice than normal. He even orders food from the lounge to be delivered so you can have something warm to eat that’s also delicious. He will be doing work on the side, especially the moment you fall asleep, so don’t be surprised if you wake up to pages turning.

Once you’re better it’s like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. He’ll be in a chipper mood as well, something the twins will notice right away. If you bring up wanting to repay him, he’ll just inform you that if he ever falls sick, you’ll be the one nursing him back to health. A good compromise in the end, and something you were already planning on doing for him.

Jade Leech

Jade won’t have too much of a reaction to finding out that you’re sick, other than a frown being placed on his lips. He finds out through Floyd when he’s complaining that his Shrimpy couldn’t come out and have fun since they were dying at home from some horrible, debilitating disease. Jade knows his brother is playing things up, but this does give Jade the little push he needs to go in and visit you to make sure you’re okay.

Thankfully Jade is one of the more competent boys when it comes to taking care of others. He’s already figured out exactly what was wrong with you and is grabbing some of the best medication from Sam’s, since the stuff the nurse has is “mediocre at best”. Since Jade is normally the one having to take care of Floyd when he’s sick, he knows all the things to do if you happen to be stubborn, especially with taking medication.

He’s just very soft with you, showing you a genuine smile as you eat the soup he brings you, and playing with your hair. He doesn’t need to do much when taking care of you, trusting the medication to do all the work, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to want to leave your side. Just expect Floyd to be paying you a visit as well, even if you’re asleep, and waking you up. Where you have one twin, chances are you have both of them, but it’s all good since they’re both amazing at making you smile. Jade stays even after Floyd gets bored and heads back though, and he’s without a doubt skipping his shift at the lounge that night.

Jade is in a noticeably better mood once you’re better, but don’t be fooled. He’s going to be using this against you in an attempt to have you join him on one of his hikes. Saying something about the fresh air and moving your body will be good for you. He won’t force you, but he’s definitely going to be playing up that he’s so hurt if you decline. Just go with him, if you get tired the string bean of a man can and will carry you up a mountain.

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn't even know how to react when he discovers you’re sick. He’s both mad and sad, all at the same time. People are going to be parting like the red sea the moment they see him walking down the hall with a scowl on his face. His shrimpy couldn’t possibly be sick, it wasn’t fair. He had so much planned to do with you today and now you couldn’t even leave your bed? He won’t stand for this and after pouting for half the day, Jade comments that he can simply visit you and maybe help you feel better. There goes the switch and suddenly Floyd is in an amazing mood as he ditches the rest of his classes and work just to go and visit you.

Floyd isn’t half bad with taking care of others if he’s in the mood to do it. He is the one who takes care of Jade when he’s sick (which normally Jade gets sick right after Floyd). He’s not going to be talking to you in a super gentle voice, or babying you unless he finds it fun to do so. If you happen to get flustered by him doing so, then he’ll be more inclined to literally spoon feed you.

Floyd is just going to raid your medicine cabinets rather than going out anywhere, since it’s just the flu he assumes it’s not too bad. He’s also using your kitchen to cook you some meals and bringing them to you. He’ll be smiling brightly when you’re eating the food he made, and whenever you take the medicine. He feels so accomplished knowing that you’re getting better due to his efforts. There is a good chance he won’t be spending the entire day by your bed, since he’ll get bored, but he will be there on and off the entire time you’re sick.

You’re getting a good, healthy squeeze the moment you’re all better. Floyd is just over the moon and already telling you about all the things he has planned now that you’re no longer dying. Be nice and humor him, he has been going through a lot of emotions the entire time you’ve been sick. He just managed not to show you, but anytime he left the dorm, he was back to being grumpy and irritable, to suddenly depressed and closed off. He was really only smiling when taking care of you, so he deserves to squeeze you for a good while now that you’re no longer sick.

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST #TWST x Reader #TWST Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Disney #TWST Disney #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader #Jade Leech #Jade Leech x Reader #Jade x Reader #Floyd Leech #Floyd Leech x Reader #Floyd x Reader

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mercuriians · 2 months

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Heyyyyyyy, I say your requests are open and I was wondering if you could write the GoM (Knb) reacting to their gf wrapping WAP?

Can be Sfw Or nsfw...or both?

Thank youuuuuuu

rap god(dess)

content info — fem! reader, suggestive gom drabbles (all separate, characters assumed to be aged up), slight crack sprinkled in. NSFW in aomine & kise's parts. MINORS BEWARE 😠 based on the song by cardi b & megan thee stallion.

word count — 2.5k words.

author’s note — thank you for the req!! this was pretty fun to write ngl. i told myself i was only going to write around three paragraphs per character, but well, things did not go according to plan lol. sorry for the delay, i hope the length makes up for it!

MIDORIMA.

quite frankly, with the vivid blush currently illuminating the boy's face, midorima looks like the perfect mascot for christmas. but really, no one can blame him. no, not when vulgar, obscene lyrics are effortlessly spilling from his girlfriend's lips like melted gold. maybe he should have predicted this in hindsight, midorima thinks to himself, brows furrowed. you did tend to have a bit of a surprisingly dirty mind hidden behind your unassuming personality.

"why are you singing such a crude song?" midorima utters, a frown etched onto his sharp features. to his chagrin, he recognizes it, having heard from takao of how popular the track was in america.

midorima makes no effort to stop you, however. he remains firmly by the doorway. it's as if he's transfixed by your confident voice and your improvised but smooth movements. he can't quite remember the last time he saw you dance, much less rap. it's a bit embarrassing to admit—for him, at least—but right now, you look undeniably attractive, with your swaying body and carefree grin.

obstinately, he conceals his growing arousal with a wince.

"now from the top, make it drop, that's some wet ass pussy!" you rap before finally looking over to where midorima stands stiffly. in a deceptively innocent manner, you wave to him. "you wanna join in on the fun, shin?" you ask, as if you don't already know what the answer will be. your fingers move to quickly smooth out your shirt.

the basketball player clicks his tongue. "i don't have time for that nonsense," he replies in his usual matter-of-fact tone, pushing his glasses up for good measure. still, it doesn't look like you're convinced, and for some reason your eyes are trailing lower and lower down his tall figure.

midorima feels himself panic.

you meet his gaze, giving the basketball player a sly smirk. unfortunately he already knows what you're going to say before the words even leave your mouth. "alright, but your body," you gesture towards the tent in his jeans, "is saying otherwise." the poor boy promptly chokes on his saliva.

KISE.

it only takes a moment for kise's silky voice to mix with your own. before he even reaches you, he's rapping, lyrics easily slipping from his lips as if he's rehearsed them a hundred times before. in all seriousness, he has. that's the reason why kasamatsu hit him square on the head last week, with a bit more force than usual.

but you don't need to know that. kise reaches for your phone on the living room table, lowering the song's volume just a little so that he can hear your combined voices better. "spit in my mouth, look at my eyes. this pussy is wet, come take a dive," you both sing in unison, turning to look at each other with the same stupid lopsided grin.

the song rolls on and along the way, you and kise formulate some dance moves to accentuate the musical experience. some are undoubtedly silly, with kise, for example, waving his arms around and making exaggerated facial expressions. it's all meant to withdraw a laugh from you, of course, and it works. but then there are the other types of dance moves.

the ones that exude a sensuous kind of aura, where hips sway and gyrate lecherously, where eyes become heavy with fervor and lust. these dances are the most dangerous, undoubtedly, because of the temptations that they entail. a person might become consumed by the reckless desire that burns within their stomach if they aren't careful. and then suddenly, the atmosphere can change with just a blink of an eye.

that's exactly what happens the moment you impulsively decide to push kise down onto a chair and give him a lap dance. the way you move your body is shockingly fluid, and you seem to know just what to do to arouse the blonde even more. there are some small pauses here and there as you decide which moves to try next, but kise hardly notices them when you're biting your lip like that. it's only inevitable for him to lose all sense of self-control, really. soon he becomes focused on getting your shirt off, no longer paying any attention to the song on loop.

"fuck, ryouta!�� you moan as you unabashedly bounce on your boyfriend’s cock, arms loosely wrapped around his toned shoulders. “nngh, feels so good—” the way the chair wobbles and shakes should be concerning, but quite clearly neither of you can care less at the moment.

kise’s warm, large hands rest comfortably on your hips, occasionally squeezing your ass whenever the pleasure feels particularly intense. “just like that, babe, yeah,” he pants, rolling his hips to meet yours. “you’re doing so well for me, aren’t you, (name)-cchi?” he reaches up to cup your face in his hand, leaning forward to capture your lips in a heated kiss. his tongue swirls around yours, and kise can’t help but groan into your open mouth.

needless to say, you both are too preoccupied to notice when the song finally ends.

AOMINE.

aomine hasn’t even entered the club room yet when he hears the echo of your voice. he’s heard you rap before, so he knows that you’re actually quite skilled at it. still, this particular performance is quickly turning out to be his definite favorite so far. he briskly walks down the hallway, a little too eager to see his stunning girlfriend. you don’t disappoint, of course.

you’re flipping your hair sassily, using your half-full water bottle as your makeshift microphone while you dance around the vacant area. aomine watches you, wholly enraptured, an amused smirk pulling at his lips but with his eyes already clouded with lust. “hop on top, i want a ride. i do a kegel while it’s inside,” you rap, still blissfully unaware of the one-man audience that you now have. aomine almost doesn’t want to interrupt your singing session, just so he can continue to see you in your element. which happens to be sexy as hell.

“you want a ride, huh?” aomine chuckles lowly, making you drop your water bottle out of alarm. he walks over to where you stand, leaning down to whisper in your ear so he can mess with you. “could’ve just asked, baby.”

suddenly all your confidence seems to evaporate, terminated by that single sentence. your cheeks darken into a rosy shade. aomine grins, taking pride in how all too easy it was to make you flustered. “what?” he asks, feigning innocence. “lost your voice or something?”

“you’re a jerk,” you mutter, reaching up so you can hit the basketball player in the chest. the music is still playing in the background, unaffected by aomine’s antics, but it seems like you’re too embarrassed to continue rapping. the boy only stares down at you, smirk never once faltering. “pick up my water bottle, daiki, you made me drop it.”

aomine shrugs. “you’re closer to the ground,” he responds casually. he’s well aware that the comment is a bit out of pocket—you never did like to be teased about your height—but he really can’t control himself when he’s around you. especially in the state he’s in right now.

“oh come on,” you groan, feeling frustration well up within your chest along with your embarrassment. still, you bend down to pick up the bottle, completely oblivious to the lustful thoughts that swarm aomine’s head. a startled gasp rips past your throat when you feel his large, calloused hands grab hold of your hips. however, quicker than you would like to admit, the surprise shifts into arousal the moment the basketball player presses his bulge against your ass.

with his fingers already tugging your skirt down, aomine breathes out, “since you like that song so much, you wanna act it out?”

your eyes widen, and you try to think straight, try to be a responsible manager, but the way he grinds against you so deliciously starts to scramble any coherent thought you may have had. “wait, d-daiki— satsuki and sakurai are still cleaning up the gym,” you protest weakly, those words being your last line of defense. not that they would have worked.

“doesn’t matter,” he practically growls, tugging you up so that your back rests against his chest. “who’s the team captain here?”

“you are,” you answer, but your voice comes out as a breathless whine. the submissive sound only fuels aomine even more, and it isn’t long before all of your clothes are ripped off and forgotten on the ground. soon, his hips are furiously smacking against yours, your whimpers mixing in with the boy’s groans. “god, mmph, does this mean i should rap m-more of those—nngh— american songs?”

“fuck yeah.”

MURASAKIBARA.

rivulets of water run down the muscular expanse of murasakibara's bare skin as a soft ivory towel hangs around his neck, a lazily pleased expression sprawled across his face—all evidence of the shower he's just indulged in after a long evening of rigorous practice. there's one more thing that he still craves at the moment, however. his stomach growls audibly, and almost as if he's running on autopilot, he walks straight to the kitchen.

now the closer he gets to the area, the clearer he hears your voice. it seems like you're singing quite an explicit song. "gobble me, swallow me, drip down the side of me," you rap enthusiastically. murasakibara doesn't think too much about the sexual connotations, though, since getting his hands on some corn chips is his main priority at the moment.

right before he steps foot into the kitchen, he asks, "(name)-chin, can ya get me a bag of—" that's when his amethyst gaze lands on your dancing figure, and before he knows it, he grows quiet, somewhat interested by the sight in front of him.

"talk yo' shit, bite your lip. ask for a car while you ride that dick," you rap, moving your head along to the rhythm. your eyes meet murasakibara's, and instead of feeling embarrassed, his presence only fuels you to dance more vigorously. it's like there's a voice at the back of your head, pushing you to see just how much of a reaction you can draw out of your normally indifferent boyfriend. admittedly, the fact that he's currently shirtless is also a reason for motivation.

however, when the song ends a little while later, it doesn't seem as if murasakibara is affected much. he remains where he is, continuing to lean on the doorway. the closest indication that he even saw you perform is the slightly impressed look in his eyes, but even that is nothing more than a sliver, and it makes you question if you're hallucinating it. you huff out a small sigh of defeat, and you turn around, reaching for the drawer. "corn chips, right?"

the basketball player doesn't say anything as he approaches you, and he doesn't say anything either as his arms circle possessively around your waist. there's a shiver that runs down your spine. you turn your head so you can meet his gaze—wait, why are his eyes so dark?

"i think i'm hungry for something else now, (name)-chin."

AKASHI.

humming quietly to himself, akashi gets up from his spot on the living room sofa, beginning to walk over to your room. it's a friday evening, and although he'd usually have practice at this time, coach shirogane had called in sick—a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, really. either way, akashi was sure to take advantage of the opportunity, especially considering how both of your schedules tended to overflow with academics and extracurriculars alike.

his mind wanders a bit, and he remembers you telling him about a volleyball game that was scheduled a few days ago. he could indeed have asked you what the outcome was via text, but akashi has always preferred face-to-face communication. he supposes that he's more traditional in that sense.

however, what he isn't quite expecting is to hear you, normally dignified and proper, rapping lyrics that are particularly edged with profanities. there's a small, rare twinge of disbelief that tugs at him, prompting him to silently move closer to the door. "your honor, i'm a freak bitch, handcuffs, leashes. switch my wig, make him feel like he cheating," akashi hears you belt out. his eyes widen the tiniest bit.

still, by no means is he deaf; regardless of how explicit your music taste seems to be, he can hear the genuine talent seeping from your voice, how you swiftly enunciate each syllable clearly while also maintaining the rap's nimble pace. judging from the sound of your movements, he guesses that you're also dancing.

for a moment, akashi considers connecting you with a respected hip-hop artist that his family loosely has relations with. a bit of a far-fetched thought, maybe, but truly anything is possible in the eyes of a visionary.

when the song reaches its end, he knocks on the bedroom door. he doesn't miss the small sound of surprise that you make. "can i come in, darling?" akashi asks sweetly.

"of course, seijuro," you answer, and he opens the door to see you sitting on the bed. other than the drop of sweat rolling down your face, there's no other indication that you were dancing quite passionately just a few moments ago. you smile up at him, walking over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "did you just get here?"

akashi knows you well enough to see the actual meaning hidden within your words: oh no, i hope you didn't hear much.

he smiles a bit too slyly. "don't worry, my love, your secret's safe with me," he hums, taking a moment to admire the blush on your face before pulling you into a kiss. slowly, he guides the two of you to your bed, his hands calculatingly tracing the hem of your shirt. he'd just have to make you realize that there isn't anything to be ashamed of.

BONUS: KUROKO.

"i want you to park that big mack truck right in this little garage," you rap shamelessly, completely lost within your own world and failing to notice your boyfriend standing just a few feet away from you. "make it cream, make me sc— ah!" you squeal, eyes widening in horror as you finally catch sight of kuroko. you immediately pause the song playing on your phone. "uhm, hey tetsu. number two and i were just.. having a singing session."

number two barks in agreement.

all kuroko does is let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment. much to your confusion, he picks up number two, securing the equally confused puppy within his arms before leaving promptly. "was my rapping that bad?" you murmur to yourself, dismayed.

however, after a minute, kuroko returns to the room. you stare at him, flabbergasted. "why did you stop the music?" he asks innocently.

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schoenht · 7 months

Text

↳ devotion of a contrarian

character: ace trappola

a/n: shout out to natsume who is starving for ace content so i am biting her head and feeding her <3 anyways @kunikame

warnings: fem!reader implications

When was the last time he could remember seeing her smile at him in an unadulterated manner? In a way that he did not have to wonder if there was a secret message behind such a movement? Perhaps it was when they were really little, blissfully unaware of what life was going to prepare for them.

"Catch me if you can!"

"Ace, if I do, you'll act like you weren't playing. I'm faster than you."

"Oh yeah? Prove it! Let's race right now!" The best way teachers could describe him was a precocious boy. The kids around him said he was popular and the fastest runner in their grade. But he didn't care what anyone else had to say: his eyes stayed on his princess.

The princess was not someone to mess with, not because you were scary, but due to the fact that you would not hesitate to make anyone eat dust for trying to challenge you, competitive as you were. Ace could only think about that gleam in your eye, the promise he made of proposing a legitimate challenge for you to conquer.

And conquer it you did, like always. Ace didn't know what went over him, but every time, when he played tag with others, he'd win. But with you, it was different. Unless it was a class sport and they were team captains on opposite ends; that was when they'd tear each other apart in what can only be described as two shooting stars, combined and falling together.

He loved teasing you, loved seeing how you rolled your eyes and walked away from him. However, the tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips told him that you liked the challenge. He consistently kept teasing you, the two of you poking and prodding each other to annoy the other. In reality, it was like a subtle action, one in which the two of you were at a mutual understanding for at least a couple of moments.

It was never meant to stay as such, however. You were a princess. He was nobody. He was not a lord or a prince, not a duke or even someone from the High Court. He was a lowly commoner who had gotten mercy from the princess that did not know any better. And yet, even then, he'd always receive letters at night from weary-looking birds that flapped their wings inside his room, gave him his letter, and made a beeline for the exit to sleep.

Each letter was simple at the beginning, merely stating how your day went, what they were teaching at the royal academy, the occasional sarcastic remark about him that was merely an inside joke between the two of them. He always liked these jabs at him, it made him remember that the princess was not just his princess, you were his princess.

The years went by, your letters exchanged. The writing grew more mature based on the eloquent sentences, mixed with a bit of lighthearted taunting. He hadn't told you that he was planning to try out for one of the knights, particularly your own knight. At a certain age, all royals required a knight of their own to be around for a long time and he would be that knight.

He was dedicated to the craft but if anyone asked him about it, he would deny any allegations that it was due to the princess. He only worried a bit when he realized that technically speaking, he did not know you as well anymore. They had only been linked through letters. Was it enough? Would you still cherish him?

These worries just made him train harder until he was officially elected as your knight. It was the most glorious job he could have: protecting you in public, joking with you in private. He loved it. He loved the invigorating feeling of affability that came with the presence of his princess. His princess, the same one who hung the stars in his eyes.

In the present day, he was stuck, however. The slight yearning feeling when he saw her, smiling brightly at other nobles in a way that he would never be able to have. The princess, who only shows your true self to him, but still manages to leave him astounded with the beginning of a teasing taunt on his lips. The princess, who in the gloominess of the winter skies, shows him the beauty of your summer eyes.

Ace was perched by the entrance, his scarlet eyes a mirror for those who merely moved past him. He could not care less of those royals that left the premises, they were not important to him. But he watched as his princess waltzed in the halls. Your dance was something out of a dream, and yet, you just had to be paired up with nobles who danced as if they were going to collapse if they did not move with speed belonging to a maniac. He watched painfully as these people dragged you around and you had to hide how she really felt behind a mask.

It was torture to watch you dance and him not being the one to hold you close.

"You know, you shouldn't be staring so much. You're too obvious." His fellow guard, Deuce, was a model knight, never slacking off no matter who it was for. Ace only served you, no one else so what did it matter to try and protect the others?

"No one's going to notice. For all the other royals care, we're dead to them until they need us to protect them from some stupid assassin."

"Our duty--"

"Is our duty. Jeez, Juice, do you never get tired of repeating the same line over and over again? You're sounding like Riddle."

Deuce squinted at him, crossing his arms. "Our captain is right. If it wasn't for us following the rules, we wouldn't be in the position of protecting the princess."

With his chin in his hand, Ace's eyes wandered back to the princess and how you glided across the ballroom floor. There was something hidden behind those pretty eyes of yours, clearly disdain for your dance partner. He hesitated before he decided to do the dumbest thing he could have possibly done as your knight. He carefully moved over to you, asking for permission to dance with you. "May I?"

"Of course." You said, formally solely to keep up the act of peering eyes from those who were searching for gossip. Of course, what was better gossip than the princess dancing with her own knight?

"You truly suck at dancing." Ace grinned at you as he held one of your hands in his, the other gently on your waist. The waltz he led was one that the two of you fell into so easily. It was the very same one that he had taught you in the whispers of the dark, the silence of the night. The same waltz that encouraged the yearning of a kiss, yet detained by their roles.

Even now, you could not help yourself from making a remark. "Seems like the teacher doesn't know his own course. You taught me this, remember?"

"Ah yes, but unlike you, I can actually do it well. If my waltzing was a class, you would have failed."

"You wouldn't even pass the test to become a teacher."

Your friendly bickering was the norm and if it did not happen, that would usually mean something was wrong. Ace did not remember the last time he saw your tears; nevertheless, the dreaded event happened about a month after the ball. He had been ready to serve you that day, to joke around with you. But he had seen how you isolated yourself, how cold you were. The iciness of your tone could have frozen him and yet he only felt the warmth of his adoration for you.

"What's wrong?" He sat carefully next to you, a hand on your back. He knew your subtle signs of when you were upset, and today it was more obvious. "Don't lie to me. I know when you're lying."

You looked up at your ceiling, inhaling before speaking. "I have been betrothed to someone I do not know."

Ace could feel everything around him shatter. Was it the earth shaking or was it him? Perhaps the earth was preparing to swallow him whole. No, it was worse. He saw a glimmer of your tears on your cheeks as you quickly moved to hide. Your voice held so much pain and anguish that it tore him to shreds, wanting nothing more than to help, to contribute to the joy that you should be feeling. Without your smile, no matter how sunny it was outside, he would only feel the world's darkness. "When did you find out?"

"Yesterday night."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He whispered, carefully moving beside you. His rambunctious demeanor slipped away, in place was the Ace who was always prepared to do whatever it took to see your happiness again.

You could feel your throat burn as you looked at him. "How was I supposed to say it? 'Oh, hey, Ace, by the way, I am getting married to a man I don't know and I have to choose my dress because the king says so, but hey, what's for lunch?'"

As if on cue, the king had ordered for him to go to his throne room, where he would receive a new mission. When he left you behind, his limbs went numb, unfeeling, like his own heart did. Strange. His symbol was that of a living heart that held up even through the worst times. So why was his own being crushed by a void he could never get out of?

His new mission, according to the king, was to protect your soon-to-be husband. Ace's face dropped. He would never be able to do that. His loyalty was to you, not to anyone else. To make matters worse, he would have to protect the man who stole you from him, the man who stole any possibility of him being with you.

But maybe not.

Ace knew it wasn't time for his rounds yet so he snuck into your room from the window. The rain pelted at his face, blinding him; however, he was led to you only through the notion of what he had in mind.

When you opened the window, you gasped. "Ace, what the hell are you doing? It's raining hard outside!"

He didn't waste any time grasping your hands. His were cold and so were yours. In the coldness bloomed a fervor that both individuals hid from each other. His words were rushed too. "Run away with me."

"What?!"

His voice was in his throat, but for the first time in forever, you could finally see the love he had hidden away. The love that he had for you was one you would never obtain in your arranged marriage. It was the same love that he had harbored for you since elementary school. "As a knight, I am to follow orders, no matter if I see fit or not. I am not going to protect a man who I will never respect. My loyalty is to you. It always has been."

"Ace, I--"

"No, listen to me for once. There is no me if you do not exist. Every single star in the universe could collapse, but you will always be the one that I will see. I do not care if I never see the sun, your eyes show me the sun, the moon, and the skies. Not a single flower will ever bloom if it does not have you amongst them. Princess...who am I, if I do not have you to love? I don't fear anything, except living the rest of my life without the feeling you give me. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on. Please, run away with me."

His words were the most serious and desperate they ever were with you. How much he loved you all these years came rushing to you at once. You could never be separated from him, not now, not ever. There were so many sacrifices you'd make before you would be apart from him. No other options were good enough for you, because it would always be him. It was always Ace.

There was one choice to make and it was yours.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x mc #ace x yuu #ace x you #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola x y/n #ace trappola x mc #ace trappola x yuu #ace trappola x you

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mikeysbabygirl · 2 years

Note

Hey sweetie, can I please request a Wakasa x reader with the grumpy x sunshine troupe??

I found your tumbrl yesterday and I just looove your writing. 💕💕

Wicked games

Warning : 18+, Minors DNI. A LOT OF SEXUAL TENSION , nicknames, smut, kinda daddy kink cause Waka is daddy <3 okay I'm cringe

Synopsis : when something unexpected happened, Benkei couldn't train you and Wakasa had to be your coach for the day, would your two opposite personalities get along ?

Note : guess you meant Wakasa to be the grumpy right ? And thanks for your compliment 🖤

Please, it's the first time I write a " sunshine " character, IT'S SO HARD PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT ANON

-" Fuck you ! "

Good thing, you had good reflexes. Whatever was that fight or flight, thanks heaven, you bent the knees in the nick of time to avoid the stiletto piercing the air flying your way.

Your eyes widened and your mouth opened wide, finally stood up when you heard the shoes hitting the wall behind you and falling to the ground.

-" I'm always so welcomed here " you sarcastically declared, earning the attention of everyone in the gym, well, everyone namely the unknown girl who was within a hairsbreadth of giving you a concussion, Benkei, Senju and no other than Wakasa Imaushi, who by chance happened to be standing next to the door you just took to enter the gym.

You could feel his jaded gaze on you, as well as the sorry one of your coach and Senju. The girl however seemed to stare next to where you were standing , only then a light flickered in your thoughts and you understood the stiletto as well as the delightful welcoming was not directed toward you.

-" Sorry kid, you okay ?" Benkei inquired, getting closer to your smaller body to check if you have been hurt, you flashed him your usual bright smile.

-" I'm all fine, maybe a little bit curious, what's the tea ?"

Arashi contained a smile, he should have expected it, nothing more than your usual cheerfulness despite almost receiving a stiletto in face as soon as you came for your usual workout. That was mainly one of the reasons why the two of you went from being a coach and his rookie to being friends in a short period of time, the fact that no matter how bad the situation was, everything suddenly seemed lighter whenever you were around.

-" Oh nothing more than this asshole being the dumbest guy I dated !"

Your eyes drifted from Arashi toward the unknown girl, who spoke while glaring at the man standing few feets next to you. You turned your head toward him and he did the same, immediately your lips curled in a Colgate smile, his exasperation soared at the same time.

That smile, that damn smile.

Needless to say Arashi's eyes were already glued on your face, while you cluelessly teased Wakasa silently. He hated you, you were well aware of it. From the first time you walked into that gym, he had hated your mannerisms, the ease with which you hogged everyone's attention, the nonchalance with which you greeted his dark looks, and the fact that you seemed to revel in his hostility toward you.

He had known a lot of girls in his life, but you... You were everything he despised the most in the world, he always saw more behind your constant good mood and your pleasant character, he was convinced that you lured everyone else into a vice of pleasant person to achieve your ends.

And God, you were good. From the top of your early twenties, you were able to lead men of your age and even older by the fingertips, with a blink of an eye or a big smile, the pull-up bar that has been busy since hours was suddenly empty for you to use, and suddenly the men that were waiting for their turn to use it, were only there to time you or show you the right way to do the movement, while you converse in an enthusiastic voice.

-" It's about time you understood someone with such a hairstyle can't be mentally stable ".

While Wakasa ignored you and leaned against the wall, staring at his ex fling, the latter threw a death glare toward you, you suddenly winced and peered at Senju.

-" Oh... Too soon ?"

- "definitely " Senju who happened to be an acquaintance from the gym too, laughed under her breath while leaning against the ropes of the boxing ring. She was the closest person to your generation there, you really liked her and sometimes wondered how a person like her managed to be friends with someone like him.

-" you know what, Kim ?" Arashi stood between the girl who was approaching what was probably her ex, and Wakasa, raising his hands in front to get her attention, you contained your smile because of how he seemed like walking on eggshells.

-" Lemme give you a ride home, sounds good ? It's late, you're prolly tired".

-" And crazy " Senju sang slightly under her breath, the girl ignored her and kept her eyes on her ex, who was nonchalantly leaning against the wall with crossed arms, giving her an empty stare, determined to not be the one who breaks the eye contact.

Suddenly you realized what was happening, your eyes widened and a gasp of surprise escaped from your mouth, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, including Wakasa who rolled his eyes.

-" Wait, Are we all just gonna sit there and ignore the fact that I missed a nap and came here for nothing ?"

Benkei wore a confused and sorry expression, Senju winced slightly and you gasped from indignation. It had been a tiring day, you'd had classes at the university all morning and worked in the afternoon, all you'd dreamed of was your cozy mattress and yet you'd forced yourself to join your coach because today's session was by far the best of the week, all of this to hear that he was about to leave?

-" good so you'd know the world does not always revolve around you" Wakasa spoke for the first time, you turned toward him frowning and eyed his neutral expression.

-" nobody asked about my opinion when you and her were breaking each other's back, why I gotta pay the piper now?"

-" Hey look" Benkei turned toward you and gave you a little smile, something about your lowered eyebrows, pouting mouth and big bright eyes weighed on his stomach, Wakasa saw his friend's face softening like it never did and scoffed silently.

-" I'll make it up to you, I promise, but for now... She will end up hurting herself trying to hurt him. " Benkei whispered the last part, peering at Kim and Senju who, standing behind him went out of her way convincing the girl not to throw her second shoe toward her ex, then at the man few feets next to you who seemed to not care the least about anything that was happening.

Sighing, you watched the angry tears slip away from her eyes and wondered slightly what could he possibly have done to get her acting this way, you knew he was a playboy and he had the looks, she probably was another notch in his belt. Internally you felt sorry for her, and reluctantly, you met Benkei's eyes in an understanding smile and nodded.

-" great ! You're the best. Kim, shall we go ? " He turned toward the latter and started forcing her to walk out of the gym, therefore only you three were left , the next minutes.

-" they're getting bolder" Senju started, taking her sport bag laying next to the boxing ring. " From blowing up your phone to coming here".

-" She knew what she was getting into ".

Squinting your eyes, you couldn't believe he was acting so cold toward someone who was on the verge of crying because of him. Speaking of the devil, he caught your glare on him and raised an eyebrow at you, as if he didn't knew that what he was doing was wrong.

You cracked one of your best smiles in his direction, and were pleased to see his expression darken. In truth, you had no idea what he had against you, but from the beginning he had not been pleasant in your presence and had not treated you like any other customer, he probably hated your cheerful nature which made you happy to display it in front of him every time.

Gross, he thought and looked away. Loath was more than just a word, it was palpable everytime you were around, with every word you spoke in your perky timbre of voice, and in his guts after the slightest glimpse at your wide-eyed gaze.

-" That's all well and good but in the meantime I'm left without a coach ".

Serves you right, was what his glance expressed toward you. You ignored him and gave all of your attention to the shorter girl who made her way toward you.

-" Maybe Benkei will return soon? " She had a sorry face, you flashed another smile toward her to let her know it was all well.

-" Don't think so, look it's already late-"

-" we're closing in ten minutes. "

-" Waka ! " Senju roasted him, that one shrugged, straightened and passed by her, making his way to the ring. " It's mainly because of you that Benkei had to leave. If it was someone else, you would've took over !"

He slipped under the ropes of the ring, ignoring her statement. Relevant to say the customer is top one priority, usually, he would not have minded taking over for Benkei, he had nothing to do anyway. However, when that same customer was proven able to stir his guts by their meer sight, the priorities suddenly changed and the only one in sight was to get as far as possible from where you were standing.

-" It's okay, Senju. Really " you shook your head and placed your duffel bag back on your shoulder. " I'd rather wait 'til next week than to be coached by the wild cat ".

The temperature inside the gym dropped suddenly, Senju gripped her bag's strap, eyeing the older guy who didn't turned but gave a side eye glare which without lying gave you the chills, added to the silence around.

-" Just a mistake, white leopard, she meant " a nervous laugh escaped the Kawaragi's mouth, you maintained your eyes on his side glance however, lips curled.

-" whatever bites, grrrr."

She contained another smile, both your attentions were drawn to the purple haired man as he turned and placed his elbows on the rope, a fresh lollipop between his lips.

-" We all know why she prefers Benkei anyway".

His tone was more condescending than usual, you frowned as much as Senju who started to feel the tension rising.

Intrigued, you approached the ring until you were at the level of the ropes, raised your head to meet his eyes which were sizing you up and tilted your head with a smile.

-" would you elaborate on this , Imaushi ?"

He swore it was the same last name he would not stop hearing since he first opened his eyes to the world, why would it sound any different now ?

And about your eyes on his, was it because you were so close or was the color always this striking? Was it because of that sinless smile that you had everyone in your pocket that easily ?

He leaned over the ropes a little more, until a blonde hair lock brushed against your nose that you wrinkled, shaking your head quickly, the gesture itself was strangely warming the cold shoulder he gave you, strangely.

-" Dude goes as easy on you as with an eggshell " he shrugged in front of your raised eyebrows and parted mouth, it was said now, he always saw how Benkei used a softer tone with you, he didn't put even half his strength into his attacks and removed the weights from the bars for you, despicable.

-" Okay wow guys I think, I maybe... Should leave you to it" Senju chose the wisest option perceiving you pulling your head slightly back and something flickering in your eyes that even him didn't missed.

She gave a last warning glance toward him.

Don't push it too far.

He barely glanced at her.

My business.

Even you barely turned to look at her when she called your name.

-" Enjoy your workout !" She waved a quick goodbye at you before slipping outside the gym, anxious not to get caught up in whatever she knew would soon explode between the two of you. she knew the reluctance of her friend toward you and was aware of the pleasure you took in pushing him to his limit.

He waited for an answer but all you have done was so barely give him enough time to straighten his back before slipping under the ropes of the ring, finding yourself thus in front of him with your bodies almost pressed against each other.

-" You know what's uglier than you ? " He inquired, discreetly swallowing his breath watching you tilting your head and licking your smiling lips. " You from this close ".

Then, when he heard your laughter, he knew he didn't want that one around him anymore. No matter how electric the atmosphere between you two was, it lightened it a little, why were you laughing ? Weren't you supposed to be offended ?

Be that as it may, you were not the shade of slighted by his statement, actually, you were even entertained.

-" You know what is even uglier than a zebra ? A 27 with a zebra hairstyle. "

Not the least moved, he lifted his head and eyed you from head to toe.

-" Why are you even here ?"

You knew what he meant, but as always, you were in the mood of beating around the bush.

-" I believe at some point my mom forgot her pills... "

He deadpanned, judging the smirk curling your lips.

-" C'mon, it was funny " you scratched the back of your neck.

-" no, it was not. "

-" yes it was " you sang in a melodious tone that almost gave him a stomach ache. " You would've laughed if Satan didn't left your soul behind, bringing you back from hell".

The silent treatment, ignoring you was his best way everytime you started ranting, if you were some fire, he would be the one to turn it off.

-" Back off, and go home. "

It was the best, it was getting late and he was absolutely not in the mood to deal with your energy excess. Instead of answering, or backing off, you kept your gaze on his so close eyes from yours while pulling your shirt over your head, watching his eyes widening slightly.

May the world give him a small break to figure out exactly when did you turned so... Eye-catching in your cobalt blue sport bra ?

When did you started smelling as fruits and Gardenia? By god you had to back off, the perfume was thrilling, making his body beg him for more.

Your face was a painting and your emotions the artist, since when did it start to turn captivating, to watch and note the life in your features ?

-" You said Benkei takes it easy on me. " You pulled your hair up in a quick bun, his eyes trailed down the few hair locks falling from it, before he had to go back to your face when his gaze fell on the hollow of your strapped bra, what had overwhelmed him at that moment would remain a secret that he would carry with him to his grave.

-" so, teach me. "

-" I said back off-"

-" Teach me " you got closer when he tried stepping back, he stared impassively at your face, so you wanted him to be your coach now, suddenly?

-" What's in it for me, princess ?"

of contempt, this nickname was soaked only in contempt. Looking you up and down, reminding you that you were clearly only on the level of a useless princess next to him.

-" You'll get your hatred out on me " and you would get to see how he was willing to teach you, if he thought Benkei was not doing the things in the right way, maybe deep inside, you knew that one was taking it easy on you...

He seemed to be in deep thought, although his expression showed nothing. He was weighing the pros and cons, maybe putting you in your place would be the best way to get that unbearable smile off your face?

-" Go down on me, Imaushi. "

-" Don't say it like this... " Through gritted teeth, what he was feeling had no place in a gym, the heat was rising in him when he didn't even started to move.

You frowned, god's sake, were you really that oblivious ? There was nothing more than usual in your hopeful face, could you be that oblivious ?

-" Go 'head, ruin me ".

Majestic velocity, a leopard in all its greatness.

In a split second, you were laying down, a cramp aching in your knee. You pulled that one against your chest and frowned, looking at him as he stood on top of you.

-" First lesson, never get this close to your opponent".

It was unhealthy, but seeing you on the ground that way, no smile in your face, frowning and breathing fastly had something refreshing, or rather extremely burning.

-" didn't took too much to convince you " you sat up and offered him your hand so he could help you to stand up. He eyed that one about two seconds before taking it, noting the warmth of your skin before pulling you up abruptly, only when you went to pull your hand away, a stretching ache coursed through your arm, he held it behind your back and bent you down, pressing your wrist.

-" Shit... You're going feral " you tried to laugh in an interrupted breath when he stretched your arm a little more, getting a hiss of pain from you.

-" you trust the opponent?" He ran his gaze down your exposed neck, back, and stopped right before reaching your hips, he could feel you resisting his grip, it was wrong, he could break your wrist anytime he wanted to, this way. Benkei has been doing an awful job.

He let go of your hand suddenly, sucking on his lollipop while watching you steadying yourself right in time to not fall to the ground.

And when you turned to face him, fists Infront of your face, you were smiling slightly again, he frowned and cracked his neck.

A small lapse of time where he allowed himself to note how fascinating it was to watch your chest rise and fall with each interspersed breath, your reddening cheeks and parted lips were worth a single lost heart beat, just one.

-" tired already ? " He made two steps toward you, containing his smirk as you held your fists closer to your face. " Want me to slow down, princess ?"

Don't say it like this, you wanted to say to his pretty face, but you would rather die than make it awkward this way, from your mouth, you were sure it wouldn't sound as sexy as it was from his.

-" Have no mercy on me " your lips stretched playfully, against all odds, you could have sworn you have seen the corner of his mouth twitching, yet the next second you dodged one of his kicks by jumping to the side.

-" You're boring me... " He literally yawned, flying another kick toward you that you've had more trouble to dodge than the first time.

You rested your back against the ropes, panting heavily, watching as he turned toward you with an impassive face.

-" uh-huh, missed the goal of my life ".

A " tsk " left his mouth in a mocking manner, it was pathetic that you kept the good-nature but had trouble keeping your own breath.

- " weren't you like supposed to close in ten minutes ? " You inquired, aiming a blow at his stomach, he dodged your first attack effortlessly then kicked your ankle, luckily it was not as strong as to make you fall down though it stole a pretty whimper from your lips.

-" this shit's more satisfying than sleep itself" he admitted, you left the ropes he was about to cage you against, then both engaged in a slow dance around each other, examining carefully every step the other took.

-" So charming " your sarcastic closed-eyes smile expressed. " You definitely know how you talk to a girl, are you a rainstorm, Imaushi ? Because I'm soaked ".

-" Oh shut the fuck up ".

Your foot flew to his side, and you were proud it brushed against his ribs at least before he locked it between his left arm and side. You quickly put all your weight on the other foot while trying to reach for the ropes to steady your body, but God were they far.

-" Now tell me, how'd you get away with this?"

Your breath was stolen from your lungs, his hand around your ankle slid stealthily and pulled on your thigh, you gasped, watched your hands helplessly collapsing against his torso to stop your face in a nick of time to crash against his.

-" This... " Your mouth opened wide, brows furrowed and glossy eyes, his purple eyes smoldered, now that face had definitely not a place in a gym.

From this close, he could see the color of your eyes darken in a thin circle around your dilated pupils, watch you bite your lip trying not to show your pain, your chest jerking with each jerky breath.

By what miracle had the night, or perhaps adrenaline, made you so bewitching when only a few days earlier, you were a plague to avoid ?

-" You're... "

-" Hm ?"

A thousand shades of poison, was Wakasa Imaushi's fragrance seeping through your nostrils. Features like an ocean, pushing you, pulling you back, those amethyst hues cluelessly enchanting you while they stared at you sucking your lower lip in a frown.

Those lips had their magnetism, pulling his gaze ever so effortlessly.

-" You're hurtin' me... "

Uncomfortable, rather than painful, were his fingers digging deeper in the skin of your thighs. The ache coursed through your core in a burning circuit, ashes of his fingertips had your body secretly begging for more...

-" Yeah ? Bet it hurts good, princess".

How would it look, to any passerby to catch his look trailing down your lips, the grip of his hand around your skin, could they feel the pressure he was engulfed into ? Deafening until his ears were ringing, as if diving meters under the surface, he never felt so lightheaded.

It was a risky move, yet it was the only exit your body had considered. The one leg that carried your weight suddenly swung out to hit his stomach, using the force by which you were propelled backwards to push him as far as possible.

As his eyes widened, his back slammed against the ring ropes, your body gave way to the lack of support and fell backwards until your back was pressed against the tarp covering the floor.

Your lips curled, triumphant and proud, you leaned on your elbows, and helplessly your smile faded.

There, standing in front of you, tall, impressive, glare dark as the thoughts running in his head, rolling up his sleeves with a lifted head. It was not that you felt small, you were small, under the imposing, almighty white leopard.

Sizing you up, preying on you, a hortensia cage was agonizingly slow closing around you.

Wakasa watched your throat bobbing lightly while you gulped down, as he made a step toward your laying body, his shade covered your shape, and like a cloud he overshadowed your brightness, watching your smile faltering and drinking in the exquisite wide-eyed gaze you scanned his body with.

Toxic was the word for that succulent pleasure of extinguishing the candle you were.

-" Sunshine can storm, I see ".

You ignored his statement, forced yourself out of your lost stare and got up, quickly putting your fists back in front of your face.

-" was my kick strong enough, Imaushi ?"

You stared turning around him, while he stood right there, sucking his sweet and following you out of the corner of his eye.

-" Should eat more proteins. Maybe you'd have more muscles and less... Rainbows ".

You stopped your walk around him for a second, tilting your head to the side in a questioning look.

-" Rainbows ?"

-" hm " he confirmed, cracking his joints, you winced. " Y'always smiling and laughing, makes me wanna throw up ".

- " Oh... " You startled when he turned to face you, starting to get closer and somehow you felt caged. " So what you're saying is, my light is blinding you ?" You tried to joke, only to earn a cold dull glance.

-" What the hell do you even eat for breakfast?"

-" Guys like you ". You smiled, his stomach got crushed by a lump. Were you always this... Flirtatious ?

A land away from denial, Wakasa stole a secret second to wonder, was hatred supposed to crush one's soul this way ? Was contempt such a suffocating prison, that he knew every specific crease in your face when you smiled? What in this world or another, stronger than the loath could make your sight and scent so intoxicating?

- " saying that Benkei is easy on me " you scoffed, slipping between him and the ropes to avoid getting trapped. " You're not doing much either, I'm not even sweating".

Funny how sometimes, your heart doesn't need eyes. It stumbled on its own heart beats, perceiving a slight wind whistle, a fragment of a second that was enough for him to move behind you, block your arm behind your back and have his hand around your neck.

Pressed against your back, a hair lock of him tickled your neck that way you knew just how close he was, his breath hit your ear, a stern tone of voice ignited a fire inside you.

-" If I wanted you knocked out, you'd already be laid by now".

Despite his grip around your neck, and the stretch in your arm, you turned your head to your side and were caged in a lavender ocean, the stick of that damn lollipop meer inches away from your lips.

-" maybe I wouldn't mind... " He gulped down discreetly, eyes falling on your moving lips. " Getting laid by you"

-" Love, I'd die to take you, but those pretty legs 'f yours wouldn't be able to stand ".

- " Wait- you found something pretty about me ?"

A snort left his mouth, looking more as a breath as he pulled that lollipop out of his glistening lips in a loud pop.

His heart beats were a pretty mess when you would stare at him with dilated pupils, and at no time had he seen the rubber band around your hair fall, yet his eyes could not leave their view cascading around your face now. And he thought, maybe loathing wasn't as a bad thing, for he craved the destructive madness eating him alive as he looked at you, something a huge number of women and fights failed to provide.

-" I fucking hate it, and you" the sweet taste spread on your lower lip, his bored glance followed the wet trail the lollipop left on it. " But I can't find it in me to not find you deathly pretty ".

You stiffened, it was hard to believe it was Wakasa Imaushi's words, and in a frown, you whimpered when the sweet slipped between your lips. Despite finding it strange, you let yourself getting lost in his stare while twirling your tongue around it, caught his breath hitching in his breath the slightest bit when you began sucking on it.

-" Just so you know" he started, you felt the stretch around your arm loosening, then you gasped when as effortlessly, he turned your body to face him completely now. " This doesn't change anything, I still hate you ".

-" What-"

Your words were buried suddenly in his lips, the lollipop long forgotten thrown somewhere in the room. Your eyes widened as he closed his, placing his hands around your hips and pulling you closer, he needed you closer.

At some point, he tasted the sweet defeat on your lips and understood the war he has been leading was not against you, rather against urges full of you inside him. As, his darkest desire got undressed suddenly, appearing raw and in an instantaneous way soon as you moved your lips against his.

All restraints fell to the ground not in a loud crash but in a grunt he left in your mouth when your hands flew to his hair, grabbing his locks. No matter how cold the night outside was, a fire, a chimney animated you both.

You pulled away, out of breath and the corner of your lips slightly raised, still with a frown.

-" the hell ?"

-" Don't know " he shrugged, hands falling on your thighs. " 's this okay ?"

Was it okay ? You wondered. Truth is you would never let him get this close if it wasn't.

-" show me how you hate me " you smiled as your hands slid down his neck, and finally, you caught a smirk on his face.

He didn't wasted one more second, taking your lips on his once again. It has something different than any others he had his whole life, sweet with a frightening aftertaste, addiction knocking on the door.

He lifted you by your thighs and you wrapped them around his waist, then your back got pressed against the ropes, thanks goodness they were strong enough for you to hold onto them, for the minute his kisses assaulted your neck you lost it.

As your perfume invaded his nostrils he closed his eyes and let himself drift in the thought of devouring you, starting to hear your heavy breaths escaping your mouth.

And God were you stunning, some minutes after he pulled your bra away, his crotch began to get painfully heavy at the sight of your bare chest.

-" My eyes are up here, sweetheart- oh !"

It was absolutely not the right moment for teasing him with your everlasting grin, you understood when he pressed his erection against your crotch.

-" Gonna fuckin' ruin you, better shut up and take it, yeah ? Good girl "

Wakasa Imaushi was a man of few words, he didn't need to add anything else before attacking your breasts, stealing your first moans out of your mouth.

He moved against your crotch, couldn't help it while having your breast in mouth and watching your abdomen contracting and hollowing with pleasure. He looked up at your face, smirking when he saw how good you looked with a mouth parted from heat. While his left hand supported your back against the ropes, his right one rested flat against your abdomen, feeling your skin shivering as it slid down, down the waistband of your leggings, fingertips ghosting on top of your lower half's skin.

He got it now, if something burns his soul with so much intensity and depth, it is his duty to be reduced to ashes by it.

You would have laughed if only hours ago, someone told you that you would be, just sometime after, completely naked in front of Wakasa Imaushi, your pants and underwear on the ground. Yet there you were, he lifted you from the floor again, his fingertips appreciating the soft flesh of your thighs, his hard shaft leaking out proudly standing between you two.

There has been, always this unsaid thing in the air whenever you two were around each other, either because he didn't talked a lot of because you didn't have the world's time to chat with him. You two always talked in riddles, and somehow your bodies explained the riddles better than you could.

With the heat tightening around his lower abs, he started pushing himself inside you, and when he saw how you started swallowing him though he was too big, heaven.

-" Fuck's sake... " He cursed, you couldn't help but clench around him halfway there, and in the madness, your head thrown back and bare body so soft in his hands was the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

As a harsh slap hitting his face, a cruel moment of realization for him to figure out, silly him, hatred would have never got him so obsessed, it was rather something else, another feeling on the other side of a thin line...

Such a thin line.

-" move for god's sake !" You whimpered, grinding your hips against his. He breathed a small laugh, which if you weren't in such a heat would have shocked you.

-" So pretty when you're begging for the D ".

Through a more desperate than funny laughter, you closed your eyes and moaned when he started thrusting inside you. Everything was so overwhelming, the ropes against your back, the depth he was reaching, his fingers bruising your flesh, you were prone to lose your mind anytime.

- " Waka... This way, shit, please this fuckin' way... "

There was something addictive about how you lost your eternal smile when he was pounding in you, but the addiction itself was how consuming the heat in his guts burned, you were tightening around him in a way that got him cursing your name under his breath, though he was not the loud type, how he clenched his jaw and breathed faster was his way to express how pathetic you turned him.

His hand reached for your neck to wrap around it, lifting your head so he could take a better look at your face, he cursed himself right after because of that, since it was impossible not to lean and take your swollen lips in his.

-" Looks so good with daddy's hands 'round your neck " he praised, his thumb wiped away a tear that slipped unconsciously from your eyes. You were so close, it was the sweetest torture how your insides were throbbing.

-" Shhh, don't cry. Watch me stretch this princess's pussy real good, 'Kay ? watch me take you 'til this sweet mouth's crying my name "

And for someone who was currently having you, it was even more confusing that he was deeply thinking about all the other things he wanted, he needed to do to you. He couldn't help, it was far away the strongest thing he had ever felt or seen.

As if you gave shape to the need in his bones, as if the body exposed was his own. His, it sounded good, for once. To possess, to own, to be the unique and only, were you currently flouting all his principles and morals with just one moan of his name ?

-" Waka, ple-"

One rather strong thrust was enough to shut you down, send you to overdrive, wasn't it obvious he was busy thinking about you ? Couldn't you give him one minute ?

-" Don't know how many times I wanted to shut you up this way " he groaned, through an euphoric state your right hand left his back to give him a middle finger, stealing another small breathed laugh from him.

-" don't tell no lie, princess. You like it when I fuck you like this ".

Though you shook your head in a whine, he didn't missed how you tightened around him, only to cry out seconds later and clenched incredibly good around him.

-" damn " his breath got caught in a snort. "pretends to be a goody-goody, princess be takin' my cock like a fuckin' pornstar".

His eyes rolled in their orbs on their own, it felt as if the weight of the whole world was suddenly put on his balls, it was already obvious he would come stronger, thicker and longer than he ever did.

-" Now listen, love "

His face leaned over your -lost in pleasure- one, a smirk adorned his features, a single sweaty hair lock falling between your two faces. His purple eyes never shone that bright, with those thick blonde eyelashes, how good he looked.

-" Don't expect me t' give you back to Benkei after that, 'kay ? "

Feeling his ending close, he smashed his hips against yours in a last desperate attempt to ride his high.

-" I'mma mold you pretty good, train you. I swear I'mma fuckin' make you Wakasa's princess ".

Notes : this one took me more time than usual to make, hope I at least made a joyful character 😭

Network : @downtown-roponggi @tokyo-ballroom

Please, if you know the artist gimme their @ for credit <3

#tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokyo rev fluff #wakasa imaushi #wakasa x reader #wakasa x y/n #tr wakasa #wakasa imagines #wakasa scenarios #tokrev wakasa #wakasa x you #black dragons #tokyo revengers

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 6 months

Text

Okay, so. This is the first of the broken twitter threadfics. The reasons I picked it to post are A) it broke at a relatively good ending point, and B) I was doing this as an experiment to see if I could keep myself from planning out where a story was going to go before writing it, and twitter's fuckery effectively kneecapped that. So, here it is!

----------

(“Why can’t you be more like-”)

A month before he’s supposed to attend the lectures, Nie Huaisang is nowhere to be found in the Unclean Realms.

In his wake are a pair of boxes for his brother and Meng Yao, each of which contains a cheerily biting note that since they each clearly want him to become the other, he’s giving them what they’ve always wanted!

Each other.

Without him in the middle.

Meng Yao is unnerved by this sudden disappearance, but anyone he mentions it to, Nie Mingjue included, just rolls their eyes.

it's a bratty tantrum, nothing more.

Huaisang will be back by dinner, complaining of being hungry.

The rest of the day passes.

Then another.

Then a week.

The time for Huaisang and the other disciples his age to leave for the Cloud Recesses comes and goes, and still no one knows where he is.

An uncomfortable heaviness develops in the air inside the fortress.

Everyone can tell that everyone else is worried, but nobody will broach the subject because Nie Mingjue (though clearly the most worried of all) is stubbornly refusing to discuss it.

When a letter comes from Gusu asking why Nie Huaisang never arrived for classes even though Nie Mingjue was adamant he would keep attending until he passed, it gets crumpled and tossed into the fire without a reply.

Meanwhile, whatever sort of relationship Huaisang thought his brother and Meng Yao were forming based on the weird backhanded praise of each other/putdowns towards him doesn't happen.

It's too awkward.

Both retreat entirely into bland professionalism and if a topic doesn’t have to do with work, they don't bring it up.

(Meng Yao doesn't understand why Huaisang was convinced he was pushing to get close to Mingjue in such a manner. Huaisang knew about his plans to eventually join his father, what could possibly make him believe-?

But with Huaisang no longer there to be a distraction while he's working, he finds his brain replaying certain events, and gradually starting to see them from a different perspective.

And… he doesn’t like what he sees.

For all he'd claimed repeatedly to be a neutral party in the brothers’ arguments, he... wasn't.

Even on the occasions that he was personally more sympathetic to Huaisang’s side of the matter, he'd always pushed him to be the one to back down and give in. Be an obedient little brother.

Behave.

Which... he can't be blamed for that, surely.

As much as Huaisang liked him, Huaisang wasn't his primary employer. it made logical sense that-

-No.

That's where he'd gone wrong.

He should have either truly remained neutral by telling both brothers it wasn't his place to get involved, or he should have told Huaisang why he felt compelled to take Nie Mingjue’s side so often.

But instead, he'd willingly taken up that center role, and then-

Ah.

What a mess.)

—

As the days of the summer and early fall tick by, Meng Yao finds himself... keeping an eye out.

Not searching (no one will admit to doing that, especially not Mingjue), just... hoping.

Huaisang has always despised winter and what it does to his health, surely once the weather starts to change for the worse, he will-

Huaisang still doesn't come back.

(It's getting harder and harder not to dwell on how much he misses Huaisang.

How much of a mistake he made.

He should have-

If only he had-

His… his friend is gone.

Now he only has coworkers.

And while he gets along with... most of them fairly well nowadays, it isn't the same.

It isn’t the same at all.)

—

They have been monitoring the movements of the Wen sect day in and day out, but it still catches them by surprise when it isn't inside their borders that the first blatant act of war is committed.

Meng Yao goes out among the scouts to make sure they are well-supplied with flares and messenger tokens and everything else they will need to keep the flow of information strong.

(He does not say that he is looking for Huaisang, but he does not have to.

He does not find Huaisang, but he does bring home Mingjue's friend from the Lan sect, bruised and filthy and exhausted.

He decides he likes Lan Xichen well enough, but-)

When the envoys from the Wen sect come to demand their heir, it is the first time Nie Mingjue says out loud, to anyone, that they don't have one.

For the briefest moment, Nie Huaisang is no longer a ghost, as every present member of the sect flinches.

Their visitors do not.

Meng Yao is the only one who catches that they seem to have expected this answer.

He doesn't like that at all.

And when he tells them later, as they help the disciples who have volunteered to go pack what little they are being allowed to bring, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen like it even less.

(That night, Meng Yao hears the door to the room beside his unlock for the first time in over a year.

He curls himself into a ball under the blankets and pretends not to hear anything after that.)

—

A week after their disciples have made it home after escaping from the indoctrination camp, (at the same time that Lotus Pier is burning), Meng Yao has gone out with the scouts again, this time with a disguised Lan Xichen among their numbers-

-He wants to find his brother. Neither Nie Mingjue nor Meng Yao can begrudge him that, not when they are still-

-and they overhear a loud scuffle and heated voices-

"He fucking bit me! just slit the little bitch's throat already!" "You do it! And then you can explain to the boss why and see what that gets you!"

"Let him go! He hasn't done anything!" "Stay out of it, or you can die in his place!"

The source of the fight is several men in white and red robes crowded around an unseen figure as villagers yell from the sidelines.

One moves to the right, just long enough for Meng Yao to glimpse-

It’s-

His whole body goes cold.

It's-

He moves without thinking, a borrowed sword in hand. He doesn't hear Lan Xichen's startled warning, but it doesn't matter, as the other man immediately follows.

When he comes back to himself, there are five dead men on the ground and Nie Huaisang has thrown himself to his feet to run-

-from them, just as much as he'd probably tried to escape the Wen.

Spell music keeps him from getting more than a few steps before he drops into a heap right next to a sorry mess of bloody black feathers that has an arrow sticking out of it.

The old man who'd done the most yelling looks like he might be ready to do more, and Meng Yao, still feeling numb and sick and a hundred other things, manages to regain himself enough to reassure him that they have no intention of harming-

harming-

It hits him that he has no idea what Nie Huaisang was calling himself here.

Here, a tiny backwater village so close to the border between Qinghe and Qishan.

The complicated and messy swirl of emotions becomes distant... muted. He's still dizzy, but in a way that's like looking at the ground from up high.

The fight took place in front of a book copy shop-

"-er, yes, he does," the old man says, making Meng Yao realize he'd just asked if this person whose name he doesn't know works there.

Ha.

The only thing in the world that Nie Huaisang had ever hated as much as saber training was being forced to duplicate texts and rules and notes-

-and he's here.

Working and living in some nondescript copy shop.

Lan Xichen is saying something, and then the old man is speaking again, but Meng Yao comprehends none of it. Other Nie disciples have arrived and need to be caught up to speed, but he-

He pushes his way into the shop, and then up the back stairs to the living quarters above it.

There are only four small rooms and it's easy to tell which one is-

-was-

-is Huaisang's because it's the one that has three little wooden perches-

-clearly built of scavenged branches, they are still the most well made things in the room-

-arranged by the window and the door.

There is no wardrobe, just a couple of shoddy-looking boxes. The bed is... serviceable, which is the nicest word he can come up with. There is no wash basin, nor privacy screen. The shade over the window is so thin it would practically be useless in winter. A teapot and cup that look like they could crumble any moment sit on a tiny table that isn't in much better shape.

Meng Yao... has been in this room before.

Maybe not this specific room, but this room.

It's the same room he lived in during every stop between the brothel and Koi Tower, between Koi Tower and the Unclean Realms, paying for what rest he could get by offering up his education or labor.

And this room...

This room is where...

His fingers clench on the door frame.

He inhales slowly, though whether to keep from laughing or throwing up, he isn't sure which.

Oh... they had so badly underestimated how much resentment and hurt their failed -misguided- attempts at incentivization had brewed within Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang had been a boy who despised rote routine work, who loved soft and comfortable things, who always needed to be surrounded by people and animals for companionship, who got bitterly sick every time the weather turned cold.

And yet he had been living in this room, with a job doing what he hated day in and day out, and only the one bird that had undoubtedly been shot out of the windowsill by a Wen arrow for company.

He can't help but wonder if Huaisang had chosen this life specifically because it was so antithetical to everything the sect knew about him; because they'd never think to look in a place like this.

Or if he had just decided that even this was preferable to letting anyone think he'd been cowed into crawling back home.

Meng Yao is still nauseous when he stumbles back down the stairs to find the others waiting for him and Nie Huaisang, still unconscious from the spellsong, lying in the back of a small wagon the disciples have procured.

"There was nothing worth bringing," he says in response to one man's question, and ignores Lan Xichen's query as to whether or not he is well.

It's already been decided that he will be the one to take Nie Huaisang back to the closest camp, while the disciples will fly to the primary one further south to alert Nie Mingjue that his brother has been found.

Although he knows he's been picked because his sword flight is still unsteady, he is fine with it.

If anyone else had offered -or demanded- to take the wagon, that would be another story.

Except for Lan Xichen, who has brought back the horses he and Meng Yao had been using to avoid being seen on their swords, the others take off once the Wen corpses have been moved away from the buildings and burned.

(Meng Yao probably should have supervised that, being the sect leader's aide.

But that would have meant moving away from Nie Huaisang, and he…

He just can’t-)

They hitch the horses to the wagon. Before he climbs up into the saddle, Meng Yao takes off his cloak and wraps it around his-

Not his-

His young master.

(How funny that, almost two years ago, he would have been the one who needed it more.

How funny that, almost two years ago, Nie Huaisang would have had more than one and would have offered them all with a laugh and a gentle tease.

How funny that-)

If Lan Xichen notices him wiping his eyes as they nudge the horses to start down the road, he is kind enough not to mention it.

—

By the time they reach the camp, the spell song has worn off, but Nie Huaisang still sleeps-

-and he does still sleep. Meng Yao's judgment may have been in grievous error in one painfully important category, but he can still easily tell when Huaisang is feigning in order to be left alone-

-heavily enough that his only reaction to being picked up by Lan Xichen is to pull the borrowed cloak tighter around himself like a turtle trying to shrink into its shell.

"I'll make the report to the camp commander after taking him to the main infirmary tent," Lan Xichen says.

'Because I don't think you'd want to leave him alone long enough to do it,' Meng Yao hears. He nods, trying -badly- to hide his relief at the offer.

As they enter the tent, one of the medics turns to greet them, then his eyes go huge.

"Is that-"

"Not one more word," Meng Yao cuts him off, a little more sharply than he'd meant to. "No one is to find out he's here before Zongzhu arrives, got it?"

The medic's mouth closes with an audible snap, then he recovers his composure and nods, gesturing to an empty cot.

The results of the ensuing exam are... roughly what Meng Yao expected… because they are very similar to his own the first time he'd been ordered into a tent to have his medical baseline set when he’d joined the Nie camps.

Except for the lungs.

He is sitting close enough that he doesn't need the medic to tell him the soft, pained-sounding wheeze is not good.

Again, his thoughts and his stomach begin to twist and tangle around the reversal of their fortunes and the dozens of other little itchy thoughts. His fingers tighten on the edge of the camp stool he's sitting on and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and just focus on inhaling-

-and exhaling-

-until the knots loosen up enough that he no longer feels like vomiting.

Prying one hand away from his seat, he reaches out and takes hold of Nie Huaisang's colder one.

When the first big winter storm had arrived and Nie Huaisang had not arrived with it, he had started to have dreams that were uncomfortable in more ways than one. Even now, gently rubbing his thumb over the other young man's ink and dirt-stained fingers, memories-not-memories from them flicker through his mind.

He has no idea how Nie Mingjue will react to his brother's reappearance, but no matter what his sect leader decides, he can't-

-won't-

-can’t let Nie Huaisang disappear again.

Even, he thinks as he lifts those cold fingers up to breathe warmth onto them, if he has to refashion an aviary into another kind of cage.

—

It is just past nightfall when he hears the flutter of activity outside the tent.

It is a familiar enough clatter to both of them that the noise makes Nie Huaisang stir.

(He wants to be the first person Nie Huaisang sees.

He wants to try and smooth things over before-

He wants-)

But there isn't enough time, and it's more important that he-

He steps out of the tent right as Nie Mingjue is approaching.

He bows to his sect leader, but keeps the tent flap held closed behind him.

When he doesn't move aside, the faint scowl on Nie Mingjue's face deepens and he raises an eyebrow in a familiar expression of 'What do you think you're doing?'

"Zongzhu," Meng Yao replies to the unspoken question. "Will you hear my report first?"

His words are deferential, holding none of the direct defiance that his position does, but the combination of the two is enough to give Nie Mingjue pause, his expression shifting from annoyance to curious concern before he nods.

Meng Yao keeps it short, but painfully blunt, emphasizing where and how Nie Huaisang had been living, and how close to danger and for how long.

"I would not be so presumptuous as to give you directions on how to handle this. But he was already prepared to bolt from-" me "-us as if we were just as much of a threat as the Wen. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that if you storm in there and immediately start dressing him down, then-" unless you let me lock him away "-it will be the last time you ever see him, let alone get the chance to talk to him,” he finishes quietly.

Then he steps aside and lets go of the tent flap.

Although he doesn't want to leave, he knows that if they -even accidentally- give Huaisang the impression that they are immediately falling back into the old pattern, this will be a disaster.

So he forces himself to walk away from the tent.

He should really see about acquiring food anyway. Though he'd had some travel rations on his person, he hadn't been able to make himself eat since they'd found Huaisang, and Huaisang-

The many ways their fortunes have been reversed hits him again, and he swallows hard to keep from bringing attention to himself by hysterically laughing... or something even more embarrassing.

Okay.

Food.

Concentrate on that.

Though it grates on him to do so, he purposely takes the time to eat his own meal at the kitchen tents, even dragging it out a little longer than normal.

Just as he finishes eating, he finally catches a glimpse of Nie Mingjue headed towards the main command tent.

His sect leader's expression is tense, but not angry or panicked. His tone, from what Meng Yao can hear, is a little sharply clipped, but there is no real bark to the orders he's giving.

Meng Yao will take those as good signs.

Collecting a tray of simple dishes and jars of pressed juice and water, he heads back to the infirmary tent where he'd left Huaisang.

He doesn't find Huaisang there-

-he's fled, the fight was worse than anticipated, they won't-

-but is relieved to find he's only been moved to one of the smaller side tents. It's fine- it's good, even. Fewer people will see him this way.

Huaisang is sitting on the little cot he's been given, facing away from (him) the entrance. He's huddled under one of the spare blankets, the cloak Meng Yao had wrapped him in folded up and laid on the end of the thin pallet mattress.

(That bothers him.

Sits in the back of his brain like another little itch.

"Why don't you want- it, Huaisang?" bubbles up in the back of his throat, and he has to force it back down.)

"I owe you an apology," Huaisang says suddenly, surprising Meng Yao into looking up from the small camp table he'd been setting up for the food.

(His voice has become as small as the rest of him, Meng Yao's mind notes with a discomforting mix of emotions. Small and rough and raspy- is it because the reunion with his brother brought tears with it? Or is that just how he sounds now? Does he really want to know?)

"Whatever for?" Meng Yao asks after shoving all that turbulence into the little chest in his mind to join the rest of it and pretending it's not going to be overstuffed and refuse to close soon.

"I never paid attention to how hard your job was. I just made it worse."

He finds himself glancing at those ink and dirt stained fingers again, now clutching the edge of the blanket so tightly.

Reversal of fortunes.

Some little part of him is satisfied by the recognition, of the acknowledgment, but the rest-

if this is the result of another fight- if this apology was somehow forced by Nie Mingjue-

He bites his tongue for a moment to quell the swell of unexpected irritation. "There's nothing to apologize for in that regard. At most, you could be exasperating on occasion… but more often than not, you were the only one reminding me to care for myself," he says, reaching over to pick up the folded cloak and wrap it around Huaisang's shoulders over the blanket.

Better.

He looks much better with that (mark of possession).

"I have no idea how many times I forgot to stop for a meal or any other necessities without you there to insist."

The mention of food earns a sharp, unmistakable growl, and Huaisang ducks his head as he huddles deeper into the borrowed blanket and offered cloak, his unbound hair doing little to hide his expression of uncomfortable embarrassment.

Reversal of fortunes.

Once upon a time, Nie Huaisang had offered him clothing from his own wardrobe and food swiped from the kitchens and Meng Yao had struggled to politely decline out of fear that bounds were being overstepped and he would be the one to get in trouble for it.

Now however... now, he understands.

Whether or not Huaisang had felt the same possessiveness back then that Meng Yao is grappling with now is an interesting, but ultimately unimportant, question.

But he understands.

And, just as Huaisang once had, he will not allow refusal.

He takes a seat on a little stool across from Huaisang and offers one of the dishes he'd brought, a fairly simple combination of steamed rice, roasted chicken, and greens with only a little bit of seasoning.

Even though growing up in Yunping had given him a fairly high tolerance for spice, he remembers all too well how much it had hurt to eat too much good food at once after months going on the minimum, and he has no desire to make Huaisang similarly sick.

"Don't rush. We've got time."

Nie Huaisang's mouth presses into a thin line, like he might disagree with that judgment.

Curiosity lingers hot and fuzzy on the back of his neck-

-what had the brothers said to each other?-

-but he swats it aside and merely waits.

He will not risk scaring his young master away by pressing him for information so soon after getting him back.

Hunger eventually wins over discontent, and Huaisang reaches out to accept the food.

He eats in a stilted, almost wooden way that is so very alien to how he used to be, but so very familiar to Meng Yao. It is another addition to the list of things that he wants to- will fix.

Huaisang's hair falls back into his face as he hunches over the bowl, and Meng Yao finds himself impulsively reaching to brush it back.

Huaisang flinches at the contact, and they both go still, staring at each other, Meng Yao's hand still outstretched.

He should pull back.

Give space.

He doesn't want to.

But no matter how much their situation has changed, their nominal statuses dictate he must.

Just as he starts to withdraw, however, Huaisang lets out an unsteady breath and tilts his head just enough to maintain contact.

Without a single spoken word, it's a lonely plea and an apology and forgiveness and so many other things rolled up into a little ball of bruised and battered emotions.

It makes Meng Yao almost dizzy, and he can't contain the smile that blooms on his mouth as he indulges in what he's been offered, sweeping his fingers along Huaisang's cheek to tuck his hair back behind his ear.

All too quickly, however, the flutters of almost-giddiness fade as he remembers their situation is still hanging precariously on a thread as thin as spider silk.

But any discussion of what will happen next for them can -will have to- wait until the food is gone.

They fall into an awkward silence as Nie Huaisang finishes the bowl of food and a jar of water. He quickly looks away when he realizes Meng Yao has caught him eyeing the second dish with apprehensive longing.

"Here," Meng Yao says, offering one of the jars of juice instead. "It won't be as heavy on your stomach."

Nie Huaisang hesitates, the expression on his face unreadable as he looks at it, then at Meng Yao-

-Meng Yao wants to ask, he wants to ask, he can’t ask-

Then he takes it from Meng Yao's hands and tilts it up to swallow a mouthful.

Meng Yao unconsciously mimics the swallow.

there is something-

-something-

-one thing that still eats at him, but he is struggling to let it out of where he's kept it caged in his chest.

He is very, very good at offering apologies as a matter of politeness.

He has never been as good at offering apologies out of sincerity.

"Gongzi-" he starts only for his voice to die in his throat when green eyes regard him over the rim of the jar.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Try again.

"I... I have missed you, Huaisang," he says.

It is not what he intended to say.

It is not what he was supposed to say.

It's an entirely different but equally difficult level of vulnerability; one he hadn't been trying so hard to hide because he'd never expected it to attempt escape to begin with.

He had recognized too much of himself in this changed Huaisang, and that familiarity had momentarily lured him into a false sense of… of…

His first instinct is to take it back.

Cover his too-exposed heart with his usual deferential politeness, smile and offer a more neutral comment.

"I missed you too," Huaisang says quietly before he can do any of that.

Meng Yao exhales sharply, the air punched out of his chest as surely as if Nie Huaisang had buried a fist into the soft spot below his sternum, and he has to look away before he can let it show how starkly he has been affected.

He is still pulling himself together when he sees one of the captains who'd been accompanying Nie Mingjue earlier poke his head into the tent.

The man looks around for a moment before his gaze lands on them, and he gives a quick jerk of his head in a silent demand.

Meng Yao hesitates.

As emotionally fraught as this had just become, he doesn't want to leave. They still have that-

-that one thing that they have to talk about, and if he leaves now, they might not ever-

"Better go," Nie Huaisang says, and when Meng Yao turns his head, his young master is once again wearing that expression Meng Yao cannot decipher.

Meng Yao bites the inside of his lip, then reaches out and squeezes the hand not occupied with the jar. "I'll be back soon," he says.

Nie Huaisang salutes him with the jar, the gesture too flippant for the look in his eyes.

Meng Yao again finds himself wondering just what the brothers had said to each other.

But he does not ask, instead getting up to follow the captain away from the infirmary and towards the tent where Nie Mingjue has temporarily taken up residence until he returns to the main camp.

—

Meng Yao frowns as he finishes reading the missive his sect leader has handed him.

It is not the fact that Nie Huaisang is being sent back to the Unclean Realms that bothers him. Even if he were in better health, the time he's spent away from the sect has made him even less prepared for a fight. it's better for him to go- to go home.

No, what bothers Meng Yao is the escort being sent with him. Only two guards, both only weeks out of no longer being classified as juniors, and a single healing assistant- not even a full-fledged medic.

He knows that this wouldn't be enough of an escort for someone the Wen wasn’t even looking for, let alone someone they had already made a kidnapping attempt on.

Suddenly, Huaisang's too-bland attitude and strange reactions make more sense, if this had been one of the things the brothers had discussed.

(What had they said?

What had they said?

The prickle of curiosity has become a gnawing, but still he squashes it.)

He rereads the missive twice over before it finally hits him.

This is another manifestation of the-

Not once had Nie Mingjue ever officially sent out search parties, or discussed his missing brother, or- or-

(But Meng Yao, much as he'd pretended otherwise, very vividly remembers that midnight breakdown in Nie Huaisang's abandoned room.)

A sect leader preparing for an inevitable war couldn't be seen as soft or weak by the enemy, nor his own.

A sect leader in the middle of a war couldn't be seen as soft or weak by the enemy, nor his own.

Nie Mingjue might have sorely missed his brother, but he also clearly believed that extending more than the barest minimum would be read as special treatment. Coddling, even.

No matter how much this particular situation warranted a stronger approach.

Meng Yao understands the politics of appearance all too well, so he gets it. He does. That doesn't stop him from wanting to beat his head against the table in frustration.

Stubborn.

Gods, both of them are so-

He takes a deep, slow inhale, then lays the paper down. "What are you going to do if this posturing for your men gets your brother killed?"

Nie Mingjue goes rigid, the line of his spine completely straight.

The captain he was talking to is a smart man; his eyes go wide for the briefest moment, and then he turns around and walks out of the tent without a word.

Meng Yao is acutely aware he's just stepped into dangerous territory. A few years ago, he never would have let that question escape his mouth. Instead, as soon as he’d finished reading the missive the first time, he would have immediately gone to cajole Huaisang not to make a fuss about the orders.

Well, look where that had gotten them.

"The only reason we found him at all is because Wen Ruohan had somehow figured out where he was first,” he presses.”And yet you're risking sending him right back into the jaws of the tiger to-"

Nie Mingjue's hands clench into fists at his sides.

Though the man has never so much raised his voice in Meng Yao's direction, the memories of all the shouting matches between the brothers make him involuntarily take a step back.

But Nie Mingjue, apparently remembering his earlier advice, does not yell, though the curt, emotionless tone of the words "The orders will not be changed," is almost worse.

This bullheaded-!

Realizing he will get nowhere, that the fact there had been no shouting between the brothers this time really was the only concession Nie Mingjue had been willing -or perhaps 'been able' was the better description- to make, Meng Yao leaves him standing alone at the table of maps and missives and walks back to the infirmary.

At the very least, he should make sure that Huaisang has warmer clothes for travel than the ones they found him in.

–-

Nie Huaisang and his pittance of an escort are up and ready to leave before dawn, hoping to get some ground covered while only the enemy’s night scouts are still on the hunt.

Nie Huaisang doesn't make a peep of complaint about having to get up so early for what amounts to boring work, which only drives the knife of how much he has changed deeper between Meng Yao's ribs.

(He knows Huaisang has to go.

He wants him to stay.

He wants to go with him.

He wants-)

"Hu- Gongzi, may we speak?" he asks quietly.

Huaisang stops pretending to not be watching his brother out of the corner of his eye and turns his attention to Meng Yao, then nods.

Meng Yao's mouth suddenly goes dry under the quiet intensity of that green-eyed stare, but he gathers his nerves back together and ties them down tight.

"I... I owe you an apology as well. You were right that I was only lying to both of us when I claimed not to be taking sides in your arguments. I should have stayed out of it. I'm... I'm sorry."

There.

He has said it.

It is hardly the most eloquent apology he has ever given, but... again, sincerity is much more difficult than politeness.

But it also seems to have been more effective. Huaisang blinks at him in surprise, tilting his head like a startled bird... then he takes hold of Meng Yao's hands and smiles.

It's small, unsure, almost as if he's forgotten how to do it. but it's there, and-

"Thank you," he says, and "Apology accepted."

Ha.

Okay.

Meng Yao does not embarrass himself by tearing up in front of everyone, but he comes close. He squeezes the hands holding his, ruthlessly smothering the sudden urge to kiss too-cold fingers

-or do something more-

-then steps back and lets go.

He doesn't watch them leave.

Neither does Nie Mingjue.

—

It has been six days.

Even though he has remained diligent to his responsibilities as the sect leader’s aide, Meng Yao's mind keeps being distracted by the map he has drawn in his mind.

Even on foot, even if there were a few small delays here and there, Huaisang and his escorts should arrive at the unclean realms by the next morning, so when sundown arrives, the nervous tension that's been humming through his nerves finally starts to ease…

And then, right in the middle of dinner, Nie Mingjue suddenly jerks as though he's been shot with an arrow.

Meng Yao, Lan Xichen, and the small knot of disciples present all see the color drain from his face as he rips a talisman out of the collar of his inner robe-

-and when Meng Yao sees the deep splotch of red blooming across the paper, his own heart drops.

It's a bloodshed talisman.

And they all immediately know who it has to be tied to.

Meng Yao has never seen a human move so fast in his entire life.

Nie Mingjue is already in the sky on Baxia before any of the rest of them are out of the tent. Even Lan Xichen can't catch him before he can no longer be seen in the darkness.

Meng Yao inwardly curses his own faltering cultivation that leaves him unable to keep up with the others, but at least his mental map means he won't get lost because of the lag.

He just hopes-

He lands in the middle of a maelstrom of clashing metal and screaming horses, more than a little bewildered by the number of moving and dead bodies in the forest clearing.

How the fuck had this many Wen managed to get this deep into Qinghe territory? Their scouts should have caught them long before-

No matter. His sect leader and the others would deal with them.

He has to find-

There are two figures in green and grey lying among the more numerous white and red. The first, he immediately identifies as the medical assistant -(dead)- and the other-

He rushes over and pulls a semi-conscious Nie Huaisang up onto his knees. The younger man is sluggishly bleeding from his nose and a second blow to the head that has bruised most of the right side of his face, and his wrists are also raw and bloody from struggling out of the ropes lying under him.

"Yao-ge? When... Where did...?" he asks in a disoriented slur.

(Later, Meng Yao will allow himself to be thrilled by the return of the endearment.)

For now, he jerks Nie Huaisang out of the way of a falling Wen horse and then drags him towards the treeline. They're almost out of the fight zone when a sword whistles past, barely missing taking off Meng Yao's ear.

Fortunately, its owner hits the ground dead before he can call it back to try again.

With that last death cry, the clearing goes silent, they and the disciples and Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue all staring at each other, almost dazed from the wearing off of the battle adrenaline.

Then Nie Mingjue crosses the clearing with almost the same superhuman speed as before and jerks Nie Huaisang out of Meng Yao's hands, wrapping his brother in an embrace so tight that Nie Huaisang can't help letting out a small squeak of protest.

—

There is never a verbal apology.

In fact, neither brother says a word during the (unsettlingly) short flight to the Unclean Realms.

But neither of them lets go of the other for the entire flight either, and Meng Yao supposes that has to be enough for them.

(He desperately hopes that it is enough for them.)

The first time Nie Mingjue puts his brother down since that first desperate grab is when they land inside the courtyard, and even then, he has a solid grip on Nie Huaisang's shoulder.

"Finally," Meng Yao hears a feminine voice mutter from amongst the staff who came running at their unexpected approach, before others immediately shush her.

He bites his tongue to keep from smirking, but he hears a couple of the disciples with them have to choke back laughter.

It is indeed a relief to finally have at least one of the many sources of tension in the realm eased.

Though there is now another in its place, as he notices Nie Huaisang glance around warily, already growing stiff and uncomfortable in the place that hasn't been his home for some time now.

This won't do.

"Zongzhu," he says, mindful of how to balance the situation now. "Perhaps it would be best for everyone to rest before any discussion of important matters."

"...Right," Nie Mingjue mutters awkwardly, then moves to dismiss the small crowd.

He still hasn't let go of Nie Huaisang.

#mdzs #cql #mixed canon #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan xichen #sangyao #sorta not yet #fanfic

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notyour-valentine · 1 year

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A Fair Exchange XXX ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader/OC (Angst)

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All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Summary: Dorne and her dreams make her uneasy and unpleasant, but a new acquaintance changes everything

Warning: bullying, blood, mention and threat of violence and death, mutilation, mention of torture and death, childbirth, injury, misogyny. Expect canon conforming tone and language. (18/21+)

[Series Masterlist]

Previously

Part XXX

She only ever found little sleep in Dorne, which was cut short by the rising sun and rising Jaehaera.

The girl had become clingy to the point of impracticability, both when it came to her and Aemond, but when it came to early mornings, and privy breaks, it would be her she turned to.

Those things, unlike meals and playtimes, were not shared with Aemond, but rather female servants, her mother or grandmother.

And it seemed she was the closest thing to that now and more often than not, she was woken by the sound of little feet, that belonged neither to Viserys nor Aegon.

Beyond that, she did better than one would have thought.

Once or twice a day she still cried, missing her home, her mother and twin, but overall she could be distracted well by the curiosities all around.

The orange trees were new, and she was delighted by the fact that she could pick the fruit from the tree, bring it to Aemond, who would slice or peel it and turn her plucking to a ready treat.

Unfortunately, Jaehaera had no intention of eating nearly a fraction of all the fruit she picked.

But there were also the springs and fountains, which many other children also bathed in.

At first she hadn’t liked the idea of a locked body of water, like a large bathtub without life or movement, instead of the sea or at least a river to swim in, but Jaehaera grew more and more curious and in the end they had relented.

Luke showed her how to make a little boat from scratch that floated, which delighted her.

But all in all, Jaehaera turned out to be a blessing.

Without her, they would have nothing to do throughout the day but worry.

That, and evade the Dornish, because if they were anything, they were a curiosity for children and old folk alike.

She felt their piercing stares, some curious, some openly hostile, even when no one was to be seen. Soon, she felt them even surrounded by walls.

And she could hear their whispers too, sometimes she could even read the words from their lips if they were beyond her hearing.

‘Eye’ was frequent, ‘Dragon’ too, but also ‘Storm’s End’.

If she had thought back on Dragonstone, that it would be easy for her to wear a pale dress and act the part, she had underestimated the weight of the stares and the constant rummaging of the whisper.

Some were almost afraid to approach her, as if her misfortune would rub off on them. Others tried more or less foolishly to satiate their curiosity in a different manner, joining her in the shade, sometimes bringing bribes in form of cooled drinks and treats and under the guise of polite conversation tried to breech the subject time and time again.

At first, she had feared saying something that might reflect poorly on her mother. After all, from Dragonstone they had decided not answering directly, and instead let rumours and talk weave their webs.

She hadn’t been sure she would withstand a thorough interrogation but she soon learned that they were not in search of the truth but a daring, gruesome tale they already were convinced they knew.

A few youngsters, of the age with Aliandra, tried their luck, but unlike the Princess, they were foolish with their attempts. An older woman attempted to pry it from her by protesting that having her so close to Aemond was cruelty.

Either way, her silence, or evading answers were taken as confirmation for whatever version they had chosen to believe.

It was as if they had begun to hover around her in a circle, only a few daring to come close, but none able to leave her be.

At every moment, she was watched. And even at night, she could feel their gaze until her nervousness melted into her dreams.

In some dreams, the good times, she was home.

Well, not home exactly, but on Dragonstone, with the familiar sight of the skies and the comforting shape of the isle around her, even if most her time, in which they weren’t hunting, was spent inside the rock and heat.

But she knew her family was close. She could smell them, both in the distance, but also on their mounts.

When these kinds of dreams had kept coming at first, she had been frightened by that, but now, she moved consciously closer to Vermax, or Syrax or even Caraxes, yearning for the presence of her family, even in her sleep.

Sometimes she could even see Jace or Baela come to fetch their dragons when it was their turn to patrol the skies.

That was always a comforting sight, that had her lift her head and watch closer, but it only came in her deep and calm sleep, which was scarce in Dorne.

Due to the heat, she thought, or due to the haunting of her other dreams, mere fragments of what she had already seen, of death, pain, ruin, of silver hair matted in blood, of dying and agony.

And of the old, tortured woman in her underground prison of stone and her desperate plea for her brother and sister.

Her desperate mumblings rang in her ear day and night and more than once she wondered if they were a sign of madness or the last thing holding her sanity together.

Either way, they were like a drum of war ringing deep inside her and keeping her alert at all times.

Lucerys was her constant companion.

It was funny in a way. In her dreams, she saw Arrax curled up close to Vermax or Syrax, while he stuck close to her side.

In her earliest childhood, she had shared a crib with Jace, when she wasn’t too ill for it. Then he had shared a room with Luke and she had gotten her own room.

For a while she had then shared with Baela and Rhaena, all three of them together, but with age that had shifted.

Sometimes, though, Jace and her still shared a bed, especially after troubled nights.

She had never shared with Luke, but now they gravitated towards each other day and night.

Aemond shared no such sentiment. He stuck only to his books, and to the shadows, his violet eye switching between the page and them, like a hawk, but his surveying presence offered little comfort, and only ever made Luke more uneasy.

And how would she find peace when her own brother was uneasy?

Only Jaehaera was immune to it, at least while she could still run and play in the ponds, splashing around with her boats, and the occasional Dornish child.

Lord Dayne had a little granddaughter called Dyanna, who got along well with Jaehaera. Both girls, curiously, had violet eyes.

There was something soothing about watching these children at play, like any other children in any other part of the world, with no sword dangling over their heads with a dozen serpents beneath their feet.

Like she had once been, during those happiest of years on Dragonstone, collecting stones and shells, building little fortresses of sand and seaweed, playing chase and hide and seek, or drawing patterns in the sand.

Now, all that seemed as distant as a stranger’s dream. Not her own. Those were…stranger.

She flinched from her thoughts, blinking a few times and reminding herself that it was a dangerous thing to subcome to her daydreams, especially in the unrelenting heat of Dorne.

“Jaehaera, Dyanna, come into the shade.”, she asked.

“In a bit!”, Jaehaera asked.

‘A bit’ she decided to give her, just enough time to walk over to the station under the arches to retrieve something cool to drink for them all.

She asked for three cups, one for her and two for the girls, and the servant eagerly provided, but the goblets were difficult to carry.

While she was still considering how best to carry them, when she felt a shadow fall over her and turned.

Behind her stood a handsome man, dark curls framing his face with warm eyes, and a mischievous smile as if he had not a care in the world.

If she had met him on Dragonstone or Driftmark, his sight would be one she greatly enjoyed - and she would have lobbied to sit next to him at dinner, but they were in Dorne, and he was a member of House Uller.

And that, handsome or not, made him a presence she was rather keen to avoid.

He greeted her by her name, with every courtesy every knight would have shown her.

“We haven’t been properly introduced.”, he continued. “I am Ulyver, son of Lord Uther.”

She gave a single, cold nod that would have earned her a scolding back home.

But she wasn’t home and he wasn’t an honoured guest.

Well, he wasn’t her enemy either. And had done nothing to cause her harm. Could she really hold him accountable for the deeds of long-dead ancestors?

If the Dornish did that, she’d be in trouble indeed.

“Indeed.”, she said, not managing more as she squinted, raking her eyes over him for any sign of betrayal, any hidden knife of weapon.

But when their gazes crossed, she realised in the smirk he wore that he knew exactly what she was doing.

Her cheeks flushed bright red and she quickly looked away, but he only chuckled.

“Don’t worry, I quite understand.”, he said, reaching over her to take the two goblets for the children in his hand.

She had no other option but to take the remaining one and follow.

He was a tall man, whose frame threw shade, but he slowed his steps for her.

“I did not know what to think when I heard we would once again have dragons in Dorne.”, he admitted.

The last time there were dragons in Dorne we came with fire and blood, she thought, as the absence of Tyseleys felt like a shard in her heart.

He was a part of her and missing him was infinitely worse than missing her eye.

He was more than her sight.

“This seems to be a mutual sensation.”, she grumbled.

To her surprise, the man laughed. It was a warm sound that came easy to him.

And it was an honest laugh to that made wrinkles appear in the corner of his eyes.

“You are not glad to be here then, Princess?”, he asked, almost teasing as he watched her with a wide smile.

“It is a great honour to be invited here.”, the Princess answered, the diplomat, the daughter of a queen.

He tilted his head, humming.

“And an honour you’d clearly have passed on.”

It was not a question, and so she did not answer.

She had no intention of playing this game of halftruths with Ulyver Uller in the gardens of Sunspear.

He, however, was not dissuaded in the slightest, even if his smile fell.

“Which makes your presence here ever more commendable.”

“Commendable?”, she asked sharply.

He nodded.

“It is one thing to ask a man to face his enemy, but another entirely for a woman, to ask her to risk herself for a greater cause and yet here you are.”

His eyes, like so many others, flickered to her amber one, but unlike those before her, he wasn’t caught out, no. He was looking at it, truly looking at it, with a mixture of curiosity and even a hint of admiration.

Or was she seeing only what she wanted to see?

“You make me sound as if I accomplished some great feat.”, she said dryly.

“Didn’t you?”, he asked, looking between her two eyes.

She answered him in silence, but he did not take it as an insult.

“You northerners.”, he said, shaking his head.

“Northener? I was born in King’s Landing!”

“Which is north of Dorne.”, Ulyver quipped, unable to hide a cheeky smile. “But what I intended to say, Princess, is that you Northeners have always had trouble handling women who are more than wives or mothers.”

Her brows furrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, she asked sharply.

“You know what I mean. When Nymeria came across the sea, she united herself with the last King of Dorne. They married and married their names and traditions. Princes, not kings, like the Rhoynar, and House Martell became House Nymeros Martell. They were equals. But even your great Aegon - singers, historians, even you Targaryens, you talk of Aegon and his wives, or Aegon and his sisters. Not even Aegon and his Queens. Why is that?”

Why indeed, when everyone knew that Aegon for all his courage was a scholar more than a warrior, only on Balerion.

Visenya was the warrior and strategist, Aegon the student and scholar and Rhaenys the charmer. Visenya defeated hosts, and Rhaenys conquered hearts.

For the first time since he had approached her, Ulyver Uller’s gaze drifted away from her to something behind her.

“I don’t blame you.”, he said, as she turned to follow his gaze. “It seems the problem lies more with your men. Targaryen or not, you Northerners are incapable of giving your women your just returns.”

Just as he put the childrens’ water down, she followed his gaze and saw what he had been looking at. Under the arches, in the shade on the other side of the garden, Aemond had looked up from his book, a single piercing eye like an orb in the sky never leaving them.

“You wear the evidence of your courage with pride.”, he said.

“I wear it. I doubt it is done with pride.”, she argued. In truth it had little to do with pride, but with love and need for Tyseleys presence.

“Any man would be called fierce for it. Why should a woman be denied the same honour?”

With that question he left her.

For a moment, all she could do was inhale deeply to calm herself. Then she called out to Jaehaera and Dyanna, demanding they drink.

They ran over, hair and skirts flattering behind them and began to gulp down the water.

“Not so fast!”, she warned. “You’ll get the hiccups.”

They slowed only little and ran off again, barefeeted and happy.

As children should be.

And her mind once more travelled to her siblings, to little Aegon and Viserys. Were they playing right in this moment? Were they happy? And safe?

Did they even miss her?

She didn’t want them to feel the same heartache she did, but a little wouldn’t hurt, right? They had two other sisters with them, one kinder, one bolder. It would be an easy thing for little minds to forget her, she feared, although she knew it was an irrational fear.

“Don’t you think it a little undignified?”, a voice behind her asked, making her flinch.

“Her running around barefoot in her smallclothes - “

She turned, giving Aemond a hard look.

“Like a child you mean?”, she asked. “What would you rather have her do? Sit in the shade and think of how much she misses her mother and brother?”

His jaw clenched as he tilted her head from side to side.

“Not that, but…we are representing something.”

She scoffed and shook her head.

“We are bonds, not ambassadors.”

His face darkened.

“And yet here you are entertaining Lord Uller’s son.”

She sneered at him.

“If walking twenty paces is entertainment to you I wonder how you haven’t long died of boredom or died of shock after viewing the beyond thrilling passtime called dancing.”

“Do not mock me!”, he sneered, shaking his head.

“Anyhow - I doubt that we’d get anywhere with an Uller. You should try a Dayne or a Dalt, perhaps.”

“I don’t try anything!”, she snapped. “With anyone. All I want is to be left in peace by him and you and Aliandra and everyone else until we can go home. As should you!”, she snapped.

Aemond glared at her as if she had just dared to insult him.

“I will not sit here, do nothing and wait out my time without at least a semblance of purpose. Acting responsible and representative is the very least that can be expected of us.”

She watched him as he curled and uncurled his hand.

“You act the ambassador then, please the Prince and enchant the Princess, and tend to your niece in the process if you are able to do it so much better than me. After all, isn’t she your responsibility and not mine?”, she snapped. “Mayhaps you would try your hand at child rearing? I’m sure you’d make a right spectacle of it.”

That underlying nervousness that had bubbled under the surface broke forth, making her words sound harsher than she had intended.

Frustrated and angry at him, Dorne, the heat, Aegon, his fraud of a mother and everything in between, made her turn her back.

His hands closed around her wrist, turning her back to him.

“I’m not saying that!”, he argued. “I’m not, I’m just…”

He glanced off into the distance.

“Don’t you want to do more than just sit here and wait it out?”, he asked under his breath.

“Of course I don’t want to sit here. I want to leave- I want to go home!”

She took a deep shuddering breath and stared at her feet, as her voice cracked on the final word.

How could he ask such a thing?

Wouldn’t anyone wish to be there? To support and protect their loved ones? Her mother and her twin? Or at least to be there and…know what was happening?

They could all be in trouble for all she knew, fallen right into a trap by the Greens…they could have suffered fates like the silver haired Targaryens in her dreams and she would be none the wiser.

Her fear bubbled up inside her once more as images of her nightmares came to her inner eye once more.

She tried to abandon him once more, but his hand remained where it was, locked around hers ad his gaze turned piercing.

“Aemond, let me go.”, she asked, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached for her face and turned it to meet his gaze.

A frown appeared on his face and she wondered if he noticed the circles that grew ever darker beneath her eyes, the one she shared with Tyseleys, and the one that burned with unshed tears.

“What are you not telling me?”, he asked.

“N-nothing.” she lied. What could she say? That she had dreams of unspoken horrors, including what may or may not be Rhaenys.

They were nightmares, they were all convinced of that. He’d think her a frightened fool for letting her nightmares terrify her so - like a weak and feeble old woman who was scared of shadows and ghosts.

No, she couldn’t tell him. Jace yes, and her other siblings too, but not Aemond.

She couldn’t ask the same compassion Jace showed her from him, the same understanding and lack of ridicule.

But at the same time could she blame him? What would she say if she was presented with the same tale?

Of course not.

“I thought we were allies in this.”, Aemond said, almost accusatory.

“Allies?”, she asked, her voice dropping dangerously. “So where you being my ally, Aemond, when you smirked and snickered while Aliandra tried to rile me against my brother?”

As soon as she had said it, she regretted it immediately. She had laid a new weakness bare for him to exploit, and knowing him, he surely would, especially since it included Luke.

Aemond stared at her in utter disbelief.

“That’s what you are so upset about?”, he asked, shaking his head.

She wanted to leave once more but he held her back.

“Did you honestly expect me to denounce Aegon in front of all of Dorne?”

She didn’t answer, feeling the bitterness rise in her mouth.

“No, tell me - would you do the same?”

“Of course not! My mother is the rightful queen, not a traitorous -”

“Stop right now!”, he hissed, heat beginning to rise in his neck to his face.

“Why?”, she snarled, stepping right up to Aemond, her voice as low as his.

“Because we both know where this leads.”

She did. Because he would not budge and neither would she, and every word would be another crack in the beams of the very thin bridge they had made between them, one that could very well break.

And so she did keep her silence, but to keep a shred of pride, she turned her back on him, not even bothering to walk away.

She wasn’t sure if Aemond was pleased or displeased at her attitude, but he sighed deeply.

“I will not denounce my brother for your sake.”, he said, as if he hadn’t already made that more than obvious, but his tone as gentle as it was determined.

“But either way, I consider you my responsibility, whether you like it or not.”

She contemplated his words, what they meant and what on this earth had moved him to say that.

At least she had, until she had drifted off to a blend of uneasy dreams, showing her flashes of her nightmares once more.

In the end there had been little sleep that night, and no chance to catch up to that later.

That all amounted to a rather poor sight in the mirror, with her unable to hide the dark shades under her eyes that had begun to form.

She wondered if the intricate hair and jewellery truly had a chance to distract from that. Her painted lip, perhaps, but she didn’t like it.

It made her look like a painted doll.

But she was fond of the pale blue gown she wore. It was flowy and soft, with long but airy sleeves that were clasped at the wrist.

It was a lovely dress to spin in, and for once in her life, she wasn’t looking forward to the idea of dancing. Not in Dorne.

But the Prince had organised a celebration of sorts, not in the hall, but in the gardens of the castle.

Already now she could see the glimmer of a thousand yellow gold orbs illuminating the skies.

They had made lamps of paper and string, which seemed rather foolish of her but somehow they were tied to lines high above the dancing.

She only hoped this wasn’t some elaborate plan that would result in the cutting of the strings, which would turn the round orbs into missiles, to rain down on them all.

Then again, it was a dangerously imprecise way of assassination.

No, she told herself, if they wanted them dead they could have a thousand better ways to do it. They could simply bar the door and set fire to their rooms, drag them to some dungeon and slice their throats, send archers, or throw them from the battlements, or slip poison in their food and drink.

In truth, if Qoren Martell wanted them dead, he’d have a thousand ways to do so that wouldn’t risk making a blaze of his gardens and his court.

But that was little comfort, as once more she felt beyond isolated and helpless.

As if she was on top of a pillar in a desert of venomous snakes, unable to climb down, vulnerable to the sun - like in her dreams…

By now they had become almost indistinguishable to her, what came when, who died where, but sometimes she saw flashes clear as day, but that never was the case when she thought of the old woman in the dungeons, her wounds, fresh and old, the way her face was fallen in, her hair fallen out.

And yet there was that determination, that last flicker of fire in her eyes burning as bright as any blaze.

A dream, she told herself. The Maester was sure of it, her mother too and Jace. Nightmares, conjured up by her mind when her body was weakest.

Nightmares, that weren’t real, ghosts not around her but in her head. So to the back of that, she banished them.

Tonight, she’d have to put up appearances once more.

It was selfish, really, she thought as she stepped out into the gardens, to consider such a objectively beautiful thing a chore.

The lamps shone high in the skies like golden stars or tiny suns, strung to pillars and windows and ropes that lay between them.

It was as if looking upon the stars from dragonback, if a dragon in flight stayed still.

There were other lights too, but only at a distance, dousing the gardens in a strange glow, like a shore had just before the sun would rise.

The glow of the light was enough to make out frames, movement and even dresses but the further one tried to look, the more the people turned to shapes, then shadows and then melted into the darkness.

She tried to etch down the looks and outlay of this celebration to memory. Such a beautiful thing shouldn’t remain locked in Dorne.

Unlike the previous feasts, there was no heavy meal or set tables, but rather smaller collections of low benches, sitting pillows, blankets and cushioned chairs.

People were served wine and smaller offerings of food from trays servants carried around on silver platters, no more than a bite.

Myrish tunes were playing from the arches where the musicians lay hidden, as people were encouraged to mingle amongst themselves, moving around the chairs and the dancers.

Lyseni by the looks of them, who in groups of three or four performed on set platforms, were less like the dances of the court where one had one partner only.

Instead they moved as if they were one, a tangle of arms and legs, slithering like a snake, spreading out like a bird, twisting and turning in a slow, sensual way.

It didn’t help propriety to see they were all rather scantily clad. Indeed, the men wore little more than adorned loincloths, with beads catching the gold light, as did their skin and hair which had been oiled like so many Essosi did.

The women wore little more, although made up for that in strings of beads that ran along their arms, or brushed along their thighs.

Somehow they as well as the beads were part of this dance.

Daemon had told them tales of such dances, popular in Old Valyria, where such more sensual dances were considered entertainment, nothing out of the ordinary, but they had only truly survived in the Empire’s most beautiful daughter - in Lys.

And while the dancers were a mix of kinsmen, some having the darker skin of the Summer Isles, others the brown tan and small curls of Meeren, many had the pale silver gold hair of old Valyria, the pale skin and purple eyes.

There was something fascinating about watching these dancers do anything but dance in any way she had ever seen before. For that they were more touching than moving, more tracing each other's bodies and working together than adhering to the commands of age old steps.

Baela would have enjoyed this, as would Daemon, her mother maybe even too, but she would consider Joff and the others too young.

And Alyn, well, he would have laughed his head off at the thought of wearing a beaded loincloth.

Many of the Dornish women had succumbed to the Essosi fashion of more bare gowns, although they had forgone the Quartheen tradition of leaving one breast exposed.

Still, she saw the dies of Tyrosh, the sheer lace of Myr and the long deep cuts of Lys wherever she looked.

In her own gown with although a little more neckline than the one she had worn to the welcome feast, and flowy sleeves that were clasped only at the shoulder and the wrist, she looked rather dull in comparison.

Old Lady Dalt was a grandmother thrice over and dressed more daring than she was.

Baela would have carried these dresses with confidence and Rhaena with grace, no matter what, but she somehow managed to feel both exposed and too prudish for this occasion.

Luke had busied himself with talking to Dyanna’s elderly uncle whose hair had turned from silver to white, but only after she had followed his gaze and caught him watching the dancers.

The poor boy had felt caught, although he had no need to be. She wouldn’t twist it into something it wasn’t to stir up trouble with Rhaena. All he did was look.

And Aemond, well, he was standing with his hands crossed behind his back facing anything but the dancers.

The only thing easing her misery, she realised as her lips curled into an unwilling smile, was seeing Aemond’s was worse.

She decided to approach him from his blind side, although it was her own too, to startle him more.

He flinched, and because he had done for no reason at all, blushed as his jaw tightened.

“Do you not enjoy the dancers, Aemond?”, she asked. “They are old Valyrian in tradition and typically Lyseni in features.”

Both things which he had used against her in their youth. Her lack of Valyrian features made her as ugly as she was stupid for not knowing of the traditions of Old Valyria, he had made her know.

And back then she had taken comfort in knowing that she had fulfilled the highest of Valyrian traditions with Tyseleys, and by now she had long forgone placing high hopes on her appearance.

“Such a wanton display of depravity would not be tolerated in King’s Landing.”, he sneered through clenched teeth, so low only she would hear.

It made her chuckle.

“Wasn’t it you who lectured us on being ambassadorial? Doesn’t that include being open to customs and traditions?”

“Do you hear me protesting?”

She considered his description anything but complementary but decided to keep that against that.

“I don’t see you appreciating. Who knows, perhaps the Prince arranged it specifically for you.”

Blind terror shone in Aemond’s violet eye for but a moment.

Smirking she turned back to survey the others here.

Many were familiar to her by now.

“Have you spoken to Princess Aliandra yet?”, she wondered.

“No.”, was all the reply she got, although wrapped in a sigh.

“Why not? She looks positively tantalizing, doesn’t she?”

She certainly once more left little to the imagination in a deep purple gown adorned with clasps in the shape of golden dragons.

Aemond only huffed, preferring to stay in the shadows and at her back.

“You’ll have more luck than I will at enchanting our hosts.”, she commented as they were passed by one of the Qorgyle women, yellowish silk flattering behind her and exposing her leg up to the thigh thanks to the cut of the gown.

“Although the fact that no one will look twice at me with such competition is a comforting one.”

Aemond’s head snapped around.

“Why would you say that?”, he asked.

“Because, dear uncle,”, she mocked, “you and eye not only lack in completion when it comes to appearance, I am also entirely incompatible with the Dornish fashion.”

But compared to her biting tone, Aemond’s was as soft as silk, although laced with a hint of confusion, as if he couldn’t understand where her words were coming from.

“You are - you look…”

He broke off and shook his head.

“You are,”, he shook his head, averting his eyes, “you are as a Princess should be.”

“Oh really?”, she asked. “How many songs do you know of Princesses with one eye?”

“That’s not…that’s not what I mean.”, he mumbled, still not looking at her.

Whatever was going on with him was driving her impatience. The goal of agitating him had busied her nerves so far but somehow along the course he seemed to have strayed away from the argument, but in its replacement he offered her nothing but confusion.

And since he intended on doing nothing more, since he fell back to silence, she decided to continue on.

Despite her general unease, it wouldn’t do to remain standing here with Aemond in the shadows.

And so she continued to wander, watching the dancers and holding a drink only to ensure no one offered her another.

She watched Prince Qyle and a group of peers, men and women alike, all engaged in laughter and drinking.

Princess Aliandra, after exchanging a few words with Aemond and receiving as much distraction as she had, had turned away to other older warriors.

The Prince was sitting and surveying it all with a soothing, calm expression on his face.

“Princess.”, she heard, making her turn.

There was Ulyver Uller once more, smiling as he saw her as if she was an old friend, with no trace of unease anywhere near him, indeed he looked as if he didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘worry’.

“Blue suits you well.”, he complimented with a smirk. “Brings out the gold in both your eyes.”

There was something about the way he was undeterred when it came to addressing and acknowledging her eye head on, instead treating it as a part of her, one he could look at without staring, and even compliment made it hard to dislike him.

That alone set him apart from all the other Dornish she had encountered.

He had a goblet of wine in his hand and an old man at his side.

His face was cut in a similar way, broad jaws, sharp eyes, black hair that was beginning to fade to white.

“May I present my father, Lord Uther Uller of Hellholt.”

The man stretched out his hand and took hers, pressing a kiss to her ring.

It was a simple thing, a band of silver and a pale turquoise stone their grandfather had brought back from his travels. Baela and Rhaena had the same, and their grandmother had a necklace.

But as he pulled his hand back, she could see the ring he wore on the second finger of his hand, and as she saw it, her heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t set in silver, like her ring, or gold like that of Princess Aliandra.

Instead, it was a warmer, softer material most were unfamiliar with, but she knew it by sight, by feel, by smell.

She had seen it on necklaces, on hilts of swords, on carvings on Dragonstone and on the skeletons deep down in the dragonmont when she saw through Tyseleys eyes.

Dragonbone.

In it were set two rectangular stones, one paler than the other.

There was only little light, but she knew one would be yellow, and the other would be red, the very same shade so that a drop of blood could go unnoticed until it began to drip.

And she knew she had seen that ring before.

Part XXXI is coming soon

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts xx

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eldrai · 2 years

Note

Could you write autistic Hotch who hides his autistic traits and gets confused when Spencer joins his team and does not do that one bit as in he is barely masking around his new colleagues?

Thank you in advance, no problem if not!!💗

Can you write autistic Hotch - yes, yes I could. Thank you for the prompt, it was fun to write!!

3.8k (somehow). There's some unintentionally ableist comments and internalised ableism in here, about what you'd expect from the prompt. But otherwise, enjoy a dash of mild angst for Reid & Hotch.

ao3 here

Spencer Reid is most definitely something.

He hadn’t wanted to presume and, as Jason hadn’t elaborated other than the man being a genius, hadn’t asked. The flustered manner in most conversations can easily be a result of being fast-tracked through school; the confidence overwriting it when he begins to talk about a subject that interests him – Aaron’s quickly realising that constitutes most topics – is hardly irrational. Keen to prove his worth, no doubt exacerbated by his young age, Reid’s eager to make a good impression.

The exaggerated edge to his facial expressions and the little movements Reid’s forever engaged in – never can he sling his bag over his shoulder without fiddling with the strap, nor sit straight on a chair without spinning, and that’s what Aaron has picked up on just a fortnight in – are harder to explain without wishful thinking. Sure, maybe he’s anxious and it’s the accumulation of nervous energy and Aaron is overthinking it here. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The signs start to really stack up after they’ve been on their first few cases with him. Reid misses the sideways glances from the others when he’s been speaking for a long time. Jokes go over his head, not all the time but enough for Aaron to notice. He catches himself focusing on Reid and kicks himself each time. Reid is eccentric because he’s a genius. He talks so much because he knows so much and talking with his hands is simply a product of trying to get it all out so fast.

There’s nothing more to it and, frankly, he can’t help but feel a little guilty for considering it; it’s not his business. Aaron has almost convinced himself of this by the time an unsub mentions the autistic leanings of Dr. Spencer Reid.

The insult (as it undeniably is) isn’t even directed at him but Aaron’s heart skips a beat. Not a good thing to be called in front of everyone. Reid frowns. As soon as he notices Aaron looking at him he dips his head and breaks the eye contact, staring down at the pencil he’s spinning in his hands. Embarrassed is his best guess.

And it begs the question whether that’s because he isn’t autistic or because he is.

As he watches the team carefully for any kind of disdain, disgust, Aaron pushes the question to the back of his mind and focuses on the case. They have an unsub to catch and a teenage girl to find—the rest is secondary.

Jason hangs up on the man and from there things are a practiced blur.

“…think he is?” JJ says.

“Nah, he’s awkward,” Derek says. “He’s a genius, he’s bound to be a little out there.”

Aaron moves to let a local officer through the door and stays where he is, barely within earshot. There’s a quiet unease in his chest.

“Would he—” Elle hesitates. “Would he still have a 187 IQ if he was?”

Why would it matter?

Derek shrugs. “They say it’s the brain wired differently. He’d still be like that, just more different.”

“Shyer doesn’t even know him,” JJ says. “And he can’t be, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve seen how much he feels things.”

Well.

At least it’s not intended maliciously, though the intent does little to dull the sting. It’s a shame he can’t correct them, not without coming across as suspiciously defensive. Aaron puts his hands in his pockets and goes to find Jason; if anyone does know, it’ll be him. The conversation quiets down as he walks past and he doesn’t care to stick around to hear if they continue.

They continue. They’ve at least got the grace to wait for Reid to fall asleep – Aaron’s almost certain he’s genuinely asleep – before they pick it up again.

“How are you supposed to profile if you don’t understand facial expressions?” Derek says. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to think that.”

You learn, Aaron doesn’t say, because you’re neither clueless nor able to survive without learning. Instead he tries to blot out their discussion as he works on the paperwork. The jet’s a privilege, yes. It’s also very small.

“It would explain why he reads so much,” Elle says.

“He can make eye contact,” JJ adds.

Aaron clenches his jaw. It’s not as if having to hold his tongue is new to him but it’s something else when it comes from the team, and he glances over at Reid. Hopes he’s not a convincing faker. You’d be surprised.

“Hey, Hotch,” Derek says.

He tilts his head.

“It really doesn’t make sense what Shyer said. What do you think?”

Aaron stops writing and chooses his words carefully. “I think Reid would appreciate it if we weren’t speculating.”

“We’re not,” Elle says quickly. “It’s just that if he was, it wouldn’t make him any good at profiling.”

He sends an imploring look at Jason but the man gives him a faux quizzical look back. For god’s sake.

“How come?” Aaron says. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but something inside him is wound up tight and tense.

“Well, eye contact and everything,” JJ says.

“And he’d look like it,” Derek says. “I don’t have a problem with it—” How charitable, he thinks, irritated. “—but some people wouldn’t really… trust him.”

“Theory of mind,” Jason adds. “It’s lacking in autistic brains but it is vital for empathy and social interactions. He’d struggle to understand unsubs.”

Aaron likes his team. He values their inputs. He also wants nothing more than to tell them to please shut the hell up.

(Nobody’s ever questioned his ability to get into unsubs’ heads but the lacking in empathy… they might be able to see him like that. Is that what they think of him? Unfeeling, unempathetic?)

“Whether or not it would affect his profiling abilities,” Aaron says, “it’s a personal matter and if Reid did want us to discuss it, he would let us know. Until then, leave it.”

All of them. Even Jason.

Aaron flicks his thumb over his fingers absentmindedly as he picks up his pen again and reminds himself not to question whether he’d made the right choice. He has. It proves itself every damn day.

(And pattern recognition and an atypical perspective and an ability to be a better interrogator if the deviation from social norms doesn’t bother him would make him better, actually—)

Reid never mentions it again. The rest of the team might, but not within Aaron’s earshot and presumably not within Reid’s. Stamping down on the speculation too hard will only have the opposite effect so he settles for that, hoping he’s done the right thing. Hoping they’d think he agreed with them.

His list of ASD traits in Reid gets longer. The idea has taken root and it’s growing with the more time he spends around him. Reid’s odd socks he is insistent upon. His leg bouncing and chair spinning and pen drumming. The clumsiness which makes Aaron understand the childhood nickname. Learning to shoot frustrates Reid, because it’s a dexterity-based task, and Aaron, because he can’t let on that he understands why Reid is so frustrated in case he’s misjudging it. He offers to take over from the guy teaching him (and receives a grateful, if slightly disbelieving, look and a grumpy ‘good luck’ which makes him dislike the man immediately) and talks Reid through the process step by step. Reid needs to know why he does things, needs to know the mechanism. Aaron is more than happy to oblige. His brain works the same.

He's glad Reid has integrated so well with the team. Really, he is.

It’s just strange.

Though Reid doesn’t explicitly mention autism, he doesn’t need to. It’s there if someone knows the signs—and someone had—and Aaron can’t understand why he puts in no effort to hide it. Not even a case of masking it badly, Reid… doesn’t.

Aaron hates the feeling with a passion but some small part of him is jealous that Reid gets away with it. That Reid doesn’t have to worry about seeming strange or out of place or autistic, because it’s all explained by his intellect. It’s irrelevant.

And if it’s irrelevant in Reid, what makes it so important in everyone else?

He’s happy for him beyond what he could express, for the step forwards that’s evidently been happening around him over the years to make it acceptable. The bad days, though, when Aaron can hear too much and smell too much and think too much and has to rethink everything he says before he says it so he’ll be normal, those days the jealousy is an ache in his bones.

Blaming Reid is unfair. Reid had no hand in this. It’s not his fault that Aaron has trapped himself here, unable to stop masking and, frankly, exhausted with doing so. He didn’t build up those walls, those expectations, that personality. That’s all on him.

The knock comes about half a second before Derek barges into his office anyway and says, “Hotch?” in the same tone he’d use to tell him there’s been a major incident or something of the sort.

“What is it?” he asks, out of his seat already.

“Reid’s freaking out,” Derek says, “and we can’t figure out how to help him.”

That’s better and worse than what he’d expected. Aaron hopes he’s wrong. “Freaking out how?”

“He was crying when I left,” Derek says, “and he was trapped where he was, kind of? He wouldn’t move and he keeps saying stuff back to us that we said to him.”

Aaron lets Derek’s hurried footsteps lead the way. He hasn’t told anyone else about his thoughts and somehow it feels like his fault regardless.

They’re holed up in a conference room a little way along the hall from the bullpen, where the ambient sound is muffled and there’s less of a likelihood of new people coming by. He doubts that’s much of a benefit to Reid given that their whole team is also here, well-meaningly crowding him.

Reid himself is standing with his eyes screwed shut and his hands alternating between picking at his clothes and flapping. He feels sick at the secondhand embarrassment that it gives him to see him like this in front of everyone.

“Thank you, Derek,” he says. “Can you – yes, all of you – give us some space, please?”

Light bothers Reid even more than it does him—that’s easy, lights off and sunglasses if he needs them—and it had taken him quite a while to get over the sound when shooting, even with the ear defenders, so noise level probably factors in. Aaron’s not very fond of that aspect of field work either; it leaves him with a headache most of the time. There isn’t as much he can do about that but getting the team out is a good step. Other sensory issues aren’t his forte, though he’s not sure if Reid’s clothes are actually bothering him or the fidgeting is an outlet for his stress.

The others are hesitant to leave so Aaron turns to Reid. “Would you like any of us to stay, or would you rather be alone?”

He can’t see any visible injury and he trusts that Derek would’ve mentioned it if there is, so Aaron is all right, if not completely comfortable with, leaving Reid to calm himself down.

“Stay,” Reid says.

“Who do you want to stay?”

“Stay.”

“Me?” Aaron confirms. Reid nods.

It’s a relief in some ways – the others don’t need to see more than what they have already – and very much not in others. He hasn’t dealt with Reid’s meltdowns before and he doesn’t know what helps. Hell, if this isn’t a meltdown but something else, he’ll be utterly unprepared.

Once the team has left, Aaron flicks the light off and some of the tension in Reid’s face lessens immediately.

“What do you need?” he asks quietly.

Reid’s skinny arms wrap around himself as he rocks on his feet, ball to toe. “Stay,” he repeats. “Please can you stay?”

“I’m here, Reid.”

Aaron gives him his space but Reid stays where he is, seeming to hug himself harder each time he adjusts his arms, glancing periodically over at him then dropping his gaze.

“What is it?” he asks the fifth time Reid does it in a minute.

“Nothing,” Reid murmurs. “It’s nothing, I’ve just got a blanket at home – a weighted one – and that helps and I won’t be home until six and it’s a bad day and I wish I had it.”

He says weighted blanket like it’s something Aaron should know what it is, and he’s alarmed, slightly, that Reid is so openly giving him that information. That leverage, if it was in the wrong hands. It’s good to know pressure helps him.

“Can I do anything to help?”

Reid bites his lip and edges closer. He’s talking with his hands again, even if his eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I, uh, before I had that, I’d get pressure sometimes from, um. Hugs? But that’s – stupid, can you forget I said anything, never mind. I’m okay.”

And again, Reid’s so open with it all. Aaron is certain he’d have to have his own needs pried out of him to ever actually reveal them but the man in front of him has no such qualms.

“I… I can,” Aaron says, and there’s no way to say it which doesn’t sound awkward but he supposes they’re both past the point that’s a concern. Mainly he’s hoping for Reid’s sake he says no because he’d like to be able to look him in the eye – so to speak – after this.

Reid moves tentatively, like he’s not quite sure he’s really meant to be doing this, and maybe they’re not; god knows what it’d look like, the two of them embracing in a dark room where Reid’s obviously been crying. Still, Aaron pulls him in and wraps his arms around him, feels hands grasp the back of his jacket.

“Tighter? Looser?”

“’S good,” Reid says, his head turned and words muffled into Aaron’s shoulder.

“Good.”

Despite the strangeness, it does seem to help Reid calm down faster and it’s not long before he pulls away and wipes his face. Colour rises in his cheeks as he laces his fingers together, fidgeting with them.

Reid clears his throat and, for the first time since Aaron has walked in, forces himself to make eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, this part he’s more familiar with, the shame and the guilt—for all the jealousy, he’d hate to be in Reid’s shoes at this moment in time.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Aaron says. Despite it being the truth, it feels like a lie on his tongue. There really isn’t cause for it. But something in him is just as embarrassed for Reid’s sake as Reid is. He pushes it away. “Nothing.”

“I can explain,” Reid says, giving him a wide-eyed pleading look, slipping back into the larger than life calibre his expressions can sometimes take. He’s already got countless explanations, no doubt. “Preferably not this instant but if you wanted, I, um, I could.”

“I’d like to know if we can prevent this from happening, but not because I’ve forced you to tell me. It’s so that you don’t reach this point in the future,” Aaron says. Lets Reid hear the assumption in it, that ‘this’ is not a one-off like some people might think, that it’s something they can manage with adjustments. That it’s perhaps a condition.

“I won’t,” Reid assures him, a beat too quickly.

“For your sake,” Aaron clarifies. He still looks thoroughly unconvinced. “You’re not in trouble.”

(Aaron can’t imagine what this kind of thing would’ve earnt him way back when. Certainly more than just embarrassment. He’s not sure what punishment he’d even give Reid for it, if he was going to be vindictive about it—he’d like to think he couldn’t but he’s not optimistic about the policy for incidences like this.)

Reid drags a hand across his forehead and massages his temple.

“Go home and rest,” Aaron says. He opens his mouth. “I’m not sending you home officially, you’re ill.”

Though the faint glimmer of suspicion in Reid’s face is nothing personal, Aaron feels a twinge of guilt.

Two weeks later, Reid comes into his office in the morning and spends a painful five minutes – for both of them – beating around the bush. When they truly exhaust all other reasons for his being there, he lowers the papers he’s kept held to his chest and slaps them on Aaron’s desk.

“I’m autistic,” Reid announces, his leg bouncing.

This is not news to Aaron. This is probably not news to half the BAU. There is no reason why it should catch him off guard as much as it does, yet hearing Reid outright state it gives the atmosphere between them a strange tension.

Reid shouldn’t have told him.

And he supposes he can understand that it’s easier than when he joined, that the culture has changed and being more open has less of a chance to damage Reid’s career, but less of a chance is nowhere close to zero. On a more personal level, Aaron can’t imagine ever admitting it to any of his higher-ups and expecting them to regard him as just as competent as he was before.

But Aaron wants to ask him what the hell he was thinking, didn’t he have the faintest sense of self-preservation? Warn him that it’s not something he wants to be common knowledge, and that the secrecy is a necessary evil. Just something to help him reconsider. He doesn’t think everything has changed enough to take that risk. Reid evidently does, and there’s the pull of jealousy and relief all again.

In all the time he’s thought about Reid being autistic he’s never thought of Reid actually telling him, or what his response would be, and he realises belatedly he’s probably been silent for a little too long.

“Right,” Aaron says, feeling surreal. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Reid’s shoulders drop and the tension bleeds out of him.

“It wasn’t on your personnel file,” he says. “Would you like it to be? You’d need a formal diagnosis—”

“I don’t,” Reid says. “I wanted you to know in case I had another meltdown. That’s what the other day was – the triggers can vary from person to person but mine are mostly set off by sensory overload, and it’s not usually that bad, I can keep it under control.”

“I’m not concerned about your ability to do your job, Reid,” Aaron says. “Like I said, if there’s anything I or anyone else can help you with to stop it getting to that point, let me know.”

“You can do that?” he says.

“Accommodations?”

“None of my teachers ever listened until I got my IEP,” Reid says. “And even that was only so I could skip grades.”

“I’m sure unofficially we can find ways of managing it,” Aaron says, “but if you did want access to official accommodations you would have to have ASD on file.”

“What would the accommodations be?” Reid asks.

It occurs to Aaron that he’s never checked, not even for himself.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says. “If you don’t want that, it’s perfectly fine to keep it between us. I’m assuming it is between us?”

“I think I do want the others to know,” Reid says, surprisingly certain. “Just not right now.”

Aaron nods. He’s torn between encouraging him and letting him know that it may not be the best idea, all things considered; not wanting to hurt him but not wanting to hold him back. Reid is an adult and responsible for his own decisions. He just can’t understand how Reid doesn’t see the other side of it all, doesn’t seem to care about the consequences of being so exposed. Autistic. Walks around as if the burden of judgement isn’t a weight on his shoulders at all.

Perhaps Aaron has it wrong. Reid might not care about judgment because he doesn’t mask—he’s set no precedent for himself other than who he is. Hell, he’s walked in here and told his boss he’s autistic. That has to count for something.

Reid does it when they’re together after a case. Derek’s been watching him wind the blanket through his hands for a good ten minutes, unmoving.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he says. The sudden break in the silence has drawn the attention to them, briefly, and he glances at them. Meets Aaron’s eyes for a second. Says, like ripping off a bandaid: “I have autism.”

The stunned silence shatters just as quickly.

“Congratulations?” JJ says, sounding more sure of herself with each syllable she doesn’t get interrupted on. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m meant to be saying but that’s – it’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, thanks for sharing,” Derek says.

Little by little, Reid relaxes, continuing to savour the texture with a bashful smile.

“Good to know,” Elle says.

And he’s not jealous, he’s not, he’s proud of Reid and happy for him but you’ve seen how he feels things and some people wouldn’t really trust him and none of this is about Aaron, so he forces a small smile and gives Reid a polite nod and that’s that.

Things have changed.

It’s in the little habits they’ve acquired, mostly accidental: Derek tossing Reid something to fiddle with when he’s wringing his hands anxiously. How Elle tips him off to the rhetorical questions he’s not entirely sure about being real or not. JJ switches from brushing him off to asking if he can tell her about his special interests later – and Reid comes out of his shell even more, regaling them on the jet with the sheer depth of his knowledge on the most obscure of things. Jason doesn’t mention it but he’s known Reid for the longest so it’s hardly surprising.

Reid has a list of good books on the topic he’s happy to talk about; Aaron skims one that he already owns a copy of, pausing to read the pencilled observations and corrections, glimpses of his thoughts. The astuteness manages to surprise him even after months of working together.

Aside from keeping an eye out for potentially overwhelming situations, Aaron finds he doesn’t need to do much for Reid at all, that the team have so effortlessly slotted into place accommodating him. And when, at Reid’s request, he filed his condition and accommodations as official he’d even gotten away without any comment from Strauss.

Reid’s got leeway for his genius and Aaron isn’t any closer to willingly letting people know about him but… well, it’s better than it used to be. A damn sight better. No small part are the people. His team. They’re more than he could’ve ever asked for and he’s never been so proud of them for learning.

#answered #cm fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #autistic reid #autistic hotch #criminal minds fanfic #angst #cm angst #reid angst #hotch angst #mine

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sweetmuffynsblog · 1 year

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Plastic Marriage

Part 4? In which Y/N and Aemond Targaryen are fighting for the first time in their years for being a Plastic couple.

Ps. As the one who writes this, i enjoying so much writing Aemond becomes soft only for his wife😭 he deserves that y'all!

Y/N and Helaena Targaryen sitting in the garden, the ladies in the court sit with them too, enjoying the tea and varieties of snacks. Everyone conversing at each other, but Helaena only paying attention to her bugs which in Y/N's opinion, it's adorable.

"Princess Helaena's interest is very unique..." a noble woman from the House of Manderly commented, Y/N smiled,

"she is."

Then she continuing her conversation with other ladies, she speaks with most noble women of North who come accompanying Cregan Stark and their husbands, the North may be cold but the people there are simple. They're not too scheming like People from the Southern, which Y/N doesn't need a too much effort to guessed whether the words have hidden needles or not.

"No wonder the North is famously for their harshness," a woman in a gold dress comes and greet them, she curtsying to Y/N and abruptly ignoring Helaena, thankfully, Helaena is preocupied with her bugs that she seems don't care at all.

"Lady Lannister." Y/N greeted, she holds a disliked towards this Lannister lady, or every Lannister, they are disgusting pieces of shits,

"what does Lady Lannister mean?" Lady Glover asks, her movement of picking the snacks halted, Lady Lannister puts a handkerchief in her lips to hide her giggling,

"i don't mean anything. I'm only glad that you are all enjoying everything King's Landing could offer... Not like in the North..."

Y/N could sense everyone is uncomfortable, especially the Northern women, she coughed a little,

"everyone are welcome here. And it glads my heart that my Ladies are comfortable here. I have a very tender memories about the North, when i visited you, you were so warm towards me and my siblings, for that i'm deeply grateful and wishing to hosted you when you come to King's Landing. And thankfully, my wish is coming true, it makes me and the Princess Helaena delighted."

"but The Princess Helaena doesn't seem delighted at all, My Princess, for she only focused on her...friends..." Lady Lannister interjected, Y/N feels annoyed by looking at the golden haired woman infront of her,

"What do you mean, Lady Lannister?"

Lady Lannister smugly smiled. She knows that Princess Y/N will never doing anything to her, her uncle is Ser Tyland, a member of the small council, she's also a Lannister albeit from a lesser branch,

"everyone knows that the Princess Helaena is very much... queer..."

Y/N furrowing her eyebrows, displeased with what Lady Lannister has said, "is that an insult i hear, Lady Lannister?"

"it's not an insult, my Princess," she quickly denied, "everyone knows that Princess Helaena is weird."

Bitch. Y/N wants to screaming at her,

"oh, and also, everyone knows that you and your family are a bit queer. Your husband also one, lost his eye at the young age, by your own brother at that... And everyone also questioning about your brothers's parentage..."

"presumptious!" Y/N's soft voice turnes cold, to the point that everyone there feels chilling, they never saw The Princess with a such cold stature, Helaena even raised her head to look at her niece, "how dare you questioning and slandering my family like this!"

"what? I--"

"stand up!" she ordered, her face hardens, "i order you to stand up!" Lady Lannister quickly standing up, she's lowering her head, "kneel and apologise, now."

"huh?"

"kneel and apologise!"

Lady Lannister never feels very humiliated like this, when she first came to King's Landing to accompanying her Uncle's wife, everyone extremely courteous at her, simply being a Lannister, even the Royal Family talking with a good manner at her, no one ever told her anything, only this time she's being humiliated, her entire body is shaking and her face is very pale,

"disobeying me?" she can hear the Princess Y/N's cold voice, "fine. Flora?"

"yes, My Princess?"

"summon ser Lannister, i don't care what he is doing right now, i want him to come and see how good his niece is." The Princess sneered coldly, "Ser Erryk!"

"yes, Princess?"

"go and tell my mother and mother in law to come. It's a slandering against the Royal Family, and i want them to judge it wisely."

Lady Alyssane Blackwood, one of her lady in waiting quickly pouring a tea and coaxing her to take a sip to calm her down, Y/N nods gratefully at her, after minutes passing, Ser Tyland Lannister and his Lady Wife coming with Flora trailing behind them,

"My Princess, what is it?"

Y/N deliberately ignoring them, only stand up when her eyes caught on Alicent and Rhaenyra,

"mother, mother in law..." she greets them with a curtsy, everyone standing and also doing the same,

"what is it, my dear?" Alicent asks, after Y/N ushered both of them to seat,

"we all know how much Grandfather valued Ser Tyland in his small council, and i cannot deny the fact that Ser Tyland is of great help for our Kingdoms." she stated, "but what her niece did, just cross my limit."

"what did she do, Y/N, kindly enlighten us."

"she slandering my Aunt Helaena about her fondness of the bugs, slandered my husband, and questioning my brothes's parentage, when everyone knows they take after the Baratheons."

If a look could kill, Lady Lannister who stand quietly and crying silently already died a thousand times,

"Insolent!" Rhaenyra finally says, her voice making everyone shivering, she looks as much as a Queen,

"please forgive her, Your Graces. She's still a child!"

Ser Tyland finally acknowledge how it's not just a normal problem, but a big one and can cost an entire Lannister household if The Royal Family decided to taking an action of it. He could still smell Vaemond Velaryon's blood when he questioned Princess Rhaenyra and accused her and her children.

"me and her are in the same age. How can she still a child, if that so then am i still a child?" Y/N rejected Ser Tyland's words mercilessly,

"My Princess..."

"what's happening here?" everyone gives them curtsy, there's standing Princes Daemon, Aegon, Aemond, Jacaerys, Lucerys with Cregan Stark and other Northern Lords,

"nothing you, men should care for." Y/N answering, Daemon nods at her,

"then, why ser Tyland is there?" Aegon asks making the tension thick, Y/N send the young Lady Lannister a glare,

"as i said, nothing you should concern. It's a women's matters."

Lady Lannister sobs loudly, making Y/N annoyed, she sends her a glare again, Aemond quickly misunderstood that his wife using her power to surpressed anyone she disliked, because Y/N has that tendency.

He walks to her and caught her wrist, "i need to talk to you."

"not now. I have a matter to settled."

"i need to talk to you, now."

Y/N could detect the harshness in his voice, she quickly looking at her mother and mother in law, "this matters i troubled both of you to judge. Thank you."

Aemond drags her into the training ground, far away from the scene, Y/N pouts,

"why should you dragging me like that."

Aemond sends her a look making her stop, "what did you do?"

"what did i do?" she baffled,

"why you created such a big scene?"

"me? Creating a big scene?!" Y/N scoffed, "Lady Lannister started it."

"still, you don't need to created such a big ruckus! Stop it, and grow up, can you? You are already a mother of two children, why must you act like you are still a child?!"

Y/N shocked, Aemond never reprimanded her for anything, he always indulged her in everything,

"it's not my fault!"

"why can't you see that it's definitely your fault, Y/N?"

"why you putting words in my mouth, Aemond?! It's not my fault! She slandering our family..."

"you're overreact, Y/N, as always being dramatics..."

"i'm not!"

"why i can't believe in you?"

Y/N blinked and angry tears come out, she feels so annoyed and angry at how distrustful Aemond is towards her,

"if you don't trust me then fine! Don't come to me, don't touch me, don't come closer to me. We don't have any other relationship other than marriage and be a fake couple. I must be mad for falling in love with a man who doesn't even have any courage to place his trust on me."

Y/N then left him standing there alone, Aemond looks at her figure who walks away, so, she's in love with him? The thought making a ghost of smile spread in his lips, he must go and apologized and recuired more information and reasons why his wife acting like that.

#the house of the dragon #house targaryen #aemond fluff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond imagine

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scottysketches · 6 months

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[WIP Wednesday]

Not an excerpt from the next chapter of Don't Dream It's Over this time (I haven't started writing it yet), but this story (Meet You There) is set within the series. It won't be published until I've finished DDIO, just because the end of this story would spoil the ending of DDIO.

(Also, as an aside, this song from vol. 7 of RWBY is pretty much the vibe for Meet You There.)

Her feet carry her from the Jedi Temple — from her home — across the city with little to no input from her brain. She’s on autopilot, searching for safe harbour; despondent, her entire being swallowed by grief.

Left foot, right foot.

She exits the tram, her arms folded across her chest as her body fights to stave off the chill of the night air.

Left, right.

Everything’s too bright, too cheerful; it should be dull, dark and quiet, just like her. Snuffed out, like the spark that had lit up her soul from a young age.

Left—

The bell above the door tinkles as she pushes it open in a state of numbness. The diner is quiet, just like her, just one or two customers inside. Had she been in any state to care, she might have noticed that they were engaged in some not entirely legal business dealings.

But that’s none of her business. Not anymore.

She tracks a path to a booth at the back of the diner, shrouded in darkness. No one disturbs her, though she can feel Dexter Jettster’s beady yellow eyes following her every movement from behind the diner bar. She all but collapses into the booth, exhaustion crashing over her like a tidal wave.

She didn’t realise just how tired she is.

When she looks up, the Besalisk is crouching next to her, concern — and pity — written all over his expressive face. “Hey, kiddo,” he says quietly. “What can I get you?”

A new life, she thinks to herself — then, actually, a time machine. Let me go back and stop her from taking such a rash course of action…

She doesn’t say that aloud.

“Just a cup of jawa,” she mumbles, then adds, “please.” Stars forbid she forget her manners.

Dexter has clearly already anticipated what her answer would be, because he places a full cup of jawa juice on the table in front of her. “Sure I can’t get you anything else, kid?”

She doesn’t answer, just apathetically accepts the cup of jawa Dexter places down in front of her. The Besalisk leaves her be, understanding that she doesn’t want to talk. Her eyes focus on nothing in particular, her mind firmly locked in the events of the past few days.

The bombing.

The investigation.

The arrest of one suspect, and then…

Her own arrest.

Accused of murder.

Accused by those who had known her almost her entire life, those who — apparently — hardly knew her at all.

(Part of her fights back on that front, insists that there were people who knew her, knew her so well that they had fought for her, even if it hadn’t been openly…)

Her expulsion from an order she had dedicated her life to, known no different.

A military tribunal, with her friend as her counsel.

A military tribunal that, had her Master — no, she reminds herself, former Master — not done everything within his power to discover the truth, could have (would have) ended in her execution…

The revelation that her friend — or someone she had thought to be her friend — had set her up, to direct blame away from herself. That her friend had become so disillusioned with the Jedi she had conspired to turn an innocent man into a living bomb. That when her plan had gone awry, she had attacked the only person who had been on Ahsoka’s side (even if it had been for an ulterior motive, a full pardon for her own crimes), and then attacked her, let her believe that she truly had no one left in her corner.

She wonders if Asajj Ventress is alright. Wonders whether she got her lightsabers back.

Because even after everything her friend did to shift the blame onto her, Ahsoka Tano can’t find it within herself to hate Barriss Offee.

It’s not the Jedi way.

So engrossed is she in her own thoughts, she doesn’t notice someone sitting opposite her until a hand covers her own. “Ahsoka? Are you alright?”

She looks up into blue eyes — such a deep, rich blue, the colour of the sky on a clear day; the perfect mirror of his father’s, if he were perhaps twenty years younger.

She’ll never see those wise old eyes again. Never experience the warmth of Obi-Wan’s hug, never hear his laughter or the rumble of his voice as he scolds Anakin for an ill-thought plan. She won’t get to see him finally experience true happiness for the first time in his life, she won’t get to see him grow — as a man, yes, but also as a partner and a father.

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until Korkie Kryze has moved around to her side of the booth and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his body and whispering quiet reassurances to her. The embrace is familiar and unknown all at once; the smells are different — where Obi-Wan smells like tea and dusty old books and the smell of the earth after rain, Korkie is like a fresh sea breeze, salt and driftwood and seaweed all mingling together into a scent that is uniquely his. But if she ignores the difference in their smell, she can almost imagine that the arm slung across her shoulders is Obi-Wan’s; can almost imagine that instead of a simple t-shirt and jacket combo, he’s wearing robes that engulf her in a warmth that is so distinctly Obi-Wan’s…

She lets out a ragged sob as she tries in vain to forget everything that makes her former grandmaster the man he is, turning her head to bury her face in Korkie’s shoulder.

#wip wednesday #wip #fic wip #star wars #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #sw tcw fanfic #ahsoka tano #korkie kryze #obi-wan kenobi #obitine #(i'm tagging it bc this story is a one-shot offshoot of my main obitine story)#satine lives au #korkie kryze is a kenobi #scotty's words #in your queue shall burn

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realityhelixcreates · 10 months

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B, O and Z for the mannerisms ask game and 9,22, 26 and 38 for the otp ask game. Whichever character you prefer but you do know which are my faves... I don't mind though! I love reading whatever you write. ❤️

B. Bold: Does your character mock other people nonverbally? Have they ever gotten in trouble for making a sarcastic facial expression?

Loki: Absolutely, constantly, and starting from the tender age of 'can make facial expressions'. Loki's expression and body language can be so subtle that sometimes only his brother knew what he was saying. A thousand years of refined sarcasm.

Any Riddler: Oh yes, in fact, they are well known for it. No matter how well behaved, all of them have an attitude, and even sweet, darling YJ knows how to roll an eye at the most devastating moment. Swag and Puzzles are even willing to turn it on Family, though often for very different reasons. They all used to get into trouble for it a lot as children. It is a universal constant that all Riddlers fathers were massive pieces of shit.

Helix: She'll read the room first. Mostly she would only do it as a 'joke' that the target could also laugh at.

O. Odd: Does your character tend to make unusual facial expressions, or have unusual speech patterns? Do they do anything that other characters make fun of?

YJ has a noticeable lisp, so you can guess how school went for him. The supervillain scene wasn't much different, but no one in the Family ever brought it up, not even Puzzles. Helix sometimes speaks in the synesthetic impressions that she experiences, and others often find it confusing, nonsensical, or pretentious. Narci's voice is very light and airy, and many people think he's faking it, but he's not. When the demon Lust is hiding inside Nash's body, he will change Nash's eyes to bright blue, and turn his head aside to let others know that he is speaking instead of Nash, which people tend to find extremely disconcerting. Being mostly non-powered costumed villains that are more nerd than brawn, they all have had others make fun of them-the bullying scene among villains is fierce and sometimes deadly. They tend to give what they get though.

Most of the younger and some of the newer Riddlers had bad reactions to Swag, not liking what he represented, and the less socially enlightened (especially Puzzles, initially) had difficulty with Detective's refusal to adhere to gender norms, but they all damn well got over it.

Z. Zest: How much does your character use movement to express their feelings? Do they jump up and down with excitement, or do they keep it to a slight smile?

Loki has great control over his body language, so any movement-or lack of movement-is purposeful. How much or how little depends on what he feels will have the greatest impact on the moment.

Helix is neurodivergent, though she was never able to get diagnosed on her Earth, and doesn't really know. She bounces, sways, dances in place. Her 'standing still' looks like a fighting game characters idle animation. She is nearly always in motion.

Swag gestures like an Italian. Unswag does too, though slightly more reserved.

Detective prefers large, elegant movements. Arkham moves slowly and precisely, like a snake.

Puzzles and Prince gesture aggressively, whether being aggressive or not. Nash makes small movements, but YJ puts his whole body into it.

Narci moves gently and fluidly, but post return he is unnaturally still.

9 What are their thoughts on having children?

There is a conflict brewing in Lasabrjotr. Loki wants children, Reader absolutely does not.

Between Swag, Unswag, and Helix, they have agreed that there will be none. The twins don't believe themselves to be capable parents, and Helix already has a child and a semi-adult ward. That's plenty for her.

Detective really did want children, and so they adopted every Riddler they found that was younger than them. YJ also would like kids one day, but, like Swag, feels like he wouldn't be a capable parent. Unlike Swag, he is wrong. None of the rest of them are really interested, though Arkham has accepted the role of father of the Family. His idea of fatherhood is a very twisted thing.

22 What reminds each of their partner?

It may be a little cliche, but the color green and the scent of cinnamon for Lasa!reader and Loki.

The sight of spirals and any plant brings Helix up to Swag, as well as the scent of vanilla and cloves. For Unswag, the mention of magic, and the feeling of using his special sight. For Helix, question marks of course, but also certain genres of music, the taste of pomegranates mixed with chocolate, and the specific feel of their world.

26 What are their vices?

Loki is really into revenge. Maybe a little too much, he needs to reel it back. Also pride, which I remind you, is not the same as self confidence.

Name a vice, Swag's got it. However, he does go to great lengths to control his anger, so perhaps wrath is the weakest among them. Lust is his most prevalent vice, and not just sexual. Swag likes to indulge in practically anything, a hedonist by philosophy, and an ethical hedonist later on. Unswag is much less extreme, but more given to anger. Helix is softer, but also prone to lust in many of its forms, as well as hubris. Not quite the same as pride, but still dangerous.

Even though Nash is the host and lover to the Anthropomorphic Personification of the Deadly Sin of Lust, he is instead deeply affected by wrath. Nash can become consumed by rage and vengefulness very quickly and holds many grudges.

38 Who is more sexually experimental? Who's more vanilla?

Okay so. Loki is extremely flexible. He could do anything, but also would be happy with vanilla missionary for the rest of time, because what he actually craves is the intimacy and the validation. Lasa!reader has just a touch of a top about her.

Swag is the kinkiest motherfucker you'll ever meet, though even he has limits. He also tailors himself to his partners needs, but likes to take himself to extremes, if allowed. He's encouraging but not pushy. Unswag, while he has memories of Swags experience, doesn't have that experience himself, and doesn't like many of the things Swag does. He's not as submissive as Swag can be, but often lets Swag lead encounters, due to that inexperience, and also due to his fear/hunger for Helix. Helix is somewhere in the middle. Not inexperienced, but just hasn't tried many things. She's curious though, and willing to try some things.

Puzzles and Arkham are pretty into pain. Bruises, burns, bitemarks and blood, but nothing permanent.

Nash is young and inexperienced, and not experimental at all. Lust is very ambiguous in age and, well, he's Lust. He knows how to do everything. He is also a demon, sort of, and dreams of seeing Nash grow into a being akin to himself. It's a little dark perhaps, but that's the situation.

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eddiesbug · 2 years

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a good day (j.potter)

fandom: the marauders

pairing(s): daddy!james potter x little!reader, little!reader x little!sirius black (platonic), daddy!remus lupin x little!sirius black

word count: 1816

summary: a trip to hogsmeade, your daddy, your best friend sirius and more lollipops than you could ever need. what more does a girl want?

warnings: so much ridiculously sweet, tooth rotting fluff, tiny tiny bit of angst if you squint, just a few tears, sirius and reader wrestle and poke at each other, super cute, self indulgent piece

note: this was so fun to write! i missed writing age regression fics since i am a little myself ( we <3 trauma) and i crave a relationship like this sooo bad. ugh i love james potter so much. as always, pls like and reblog and lmk what u thought!!<33

It’s no secret that James is protective over you; it’s never been questioned by any of the marauders that you’re his, and although they’re all fond of you, first and foremost you’re James’ girl. He’s the first person you think about in the morning, the last at night and he takes care of you in any way that he can.

The other boys have already vacated the dorm this morning, the only presence remaining being you and James; you’re tucked right into his side, head under his armpit and legs hooked around him like a little koala. He grins down at you with the most affectionate expression, brushing your messy hair off of your face and kissing your forehead. You grumble at the movement, turning away from the gentle touch and nestling your face into your own arms.

“Ah, ah,” James laughs, pulling you back up and towards him. You whine, rubbing your eyes with your fists in a manner that has him cooing.

“Daddy…” you protest, droopy eyes landing on him, his own dark curls mussed and sticking up at every angle imaginable.

“I know, baby love. It’s time, though.”

“It’s Saturday!”

“That’s why we’re the only ones in here. We’ve slept in plenty, bunny.”

“Hmph.”

He chuckles, lifting you onto his lap to get a better view of your face; your eyes flutter open and closed with how tired you are and you murmur softly, pawing at his chest and drooping down to rest on top of him.

“No, no. Up we get,” he encourages, bouncing you in his hold.

“Nuh uh,” you complain as he stands, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling.

“Yuh huh,” he counters, kissing your cheek. You sigh, rubbing your eyes again in an attempt to stay awake and alert. “C’mon, what are we wearing today?”

“What we doin’?” you ask quietly.

“Well, we’ve got Hogsmeade today, so the boys and I are gonna get some stuff from the joke shop. And I spose you’ll want to get some sweeties, yeah? And then we’ll go and get some lunch and drinks. Sound good?”

“Mhm,” you hum happily, giddy with excitement for what the day has in store. “Siri comin’?”

“Siri is coming,” he affirms, smiling at your happy giggle; you and Sirius are practically inseparable, and although the raven haired boy is surly and unapproachable to people he dislikes, he utterly adores you.

You skip to the wardrobe, picking out your outfit — which of course consists of your favourite skirt and James’ sweatshirt — and letting James help you into it. He rolls the sleeves up despite your protests, chuckling when you nuzzle into the fabric, inhaling deeply. He ties your hair into two low bunches, dressing himself in an almost identical sweatshirt to the one he’s given to you. Gazing intently into his eyes, you urge him to move faster.

“C’mon, daddy! Time to go!”

You’ve been restless ever since Sirius’ name was mentioned and you’re desperate to find him.

“Steady, baby love,” he laughs as you practically vibrate on your way down to the Great Hall. Your eyes flit from side to side, desperately searching for your best friend. When you spot Remus, you squeal, bouncing on your toes and tugging on James’ sleeve. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encourages, nudging you towards the tall boy. You giggle, running so fast that Remus grabs you with both hands, steadying you.

“Hi, Remmy,” you lilt, batting your lashes at him; you smile like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth and Remus chuckles, squeezing your cheek affectionately.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he laughs, holding his arms out for a hug. You oblige, hugging him tight even as you bounce in his hold. He senses your excitement, whispering in your ear quietly, “There’s Siri. Go on.”

You squeak when you spot the dark haired boy, making a beeline for him at practically a sprint.

“Siri!” you screech.

“Hi, bun bun!” he yells back, colliding with you at full speed; you both grunt, tumbling to the floor in a heap of limbs. Remus and James wince at the harsh landing and you open your eyes to James standing above you.

“Y’alright, bunny?”

“‘M fine, daddy,” you giggle, grinning crookedly as Sirius wraps his arms around you and squeezes.

“Too tight,” you wheeze, rolling out of his grip. James peels you off of the floor, standing you up and brushing the now loose hair out of your face. Remus does the same to Sirius, taming his wild hair by tying it in a ponytail at the bottom of his head; he grumbles, swatting indignantly at Remus’ hands as you giggle, leaning into James.

“What’chu laughing at?” he mumbles, crossing his arms and pouting. Remus kisses his puffed out lips, effectively killing the tantrum before it starts.

“Nothin’,” you sing-song, turning your attention to James, “Daddy?” you whisper.

“Yes, bunny?” he whispers back, mimicking your cute, hushed tone.

“Kiss?” Cocking your head in that adorable way you know he can’t resist, you pucker your own lips, standing on your tiptoes. He promptly presses his lips to yours, cupping your cheeks in his large hands.

“Better?” he laughs.

“Mhm.” You frown as a ravenclaw girl catches your eye, elbowing her friend and smirking as they whisper to each other and point, obviously wanting you to see them. Your cheeks burn and you look at your feet, already close to tears.

“Don’t look at them, look at me, baby love.” James, ever so perceptive, has already spotted the girls making nasty remarks about you and is trying his best to distract you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, tears welling behind your waterline. Your lower lip quivers and James coos. Tilting your chin up, he kisses you again.

“Daddy loves you,” he says as soon as he pulls away. “So, so much, bunny.”

“I love you,” you sniffle, “‘M bein’ such a baby.”

“My baby,” he says softly, kissing the crown of your head. “My best baby, my beautiful baby.”

Sirius’ arms suddenly wrap around you from behind and he blows a raspberry in your ear, laughing hysterically as you turn and tug at his ponytail, sticking your tongue out. You growl softly, clearly vexed, but Sirius’ intention was successful — you’re distracted. James wipes the wetness out of your ear, taking your hand in his large one.

“Time to go,” he chuckles, pushing Sirius towards his own boyfriend.

By the time you arrive at Hogsmeade, you and Sirius are delirious with excitement, the prior incident forgotten about in favour of the day ahead of you.

First, you head to the joke shop; you and Sirius have tons of fun with games of exploding snap, trying your hardest to make the other jump. When the boys have purchased absolutely everything they want, you head straight to the sweet shop. You keep attempting to run off down your favourite aisles until James snorts, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. Every once in a while, you’ll chime out a “Look, daddy!” and he’ll grab whatever has caught your eye. By the end, you’re drowning in sweets, clutching the paper bag to your chest like treasure.

You make your way to the Three Broomsticks, skipping with your hand in James’ and your other arm looped through Sirius’. The four of you snag a booth, sliding in each side; you stick your hand straight into your bag, pulling out a red lollipop and unwrapping it.

“‘S a heart, daddy!” you giggle happily, lifting his arm so you can tuck yourself securely into his side; he grabs your legs, draping them over his lap and kissing your exposed knees. His eyes are soft and full of adoration and it makes you smile. You wonder how one person can love you this much that he even gives the unattractive and plain parts of you so much love.

“You thirsty, pup?” Remus asks Sirius, running a hand through his untamed hair. He nods, craning into the touch. James kisses your neck, sliding out of the booth behind Remus.

“Butterbeer, yeah?” James asks; you both nod, matching lopsided grins on your faces. Sirius scoots over next to you and you hand him a lollipop, grinning as he unwraps it and pops it straight in his mouth.

“Dis is fun,” he garbles around the sweet, leaning into you slightly; you laugh, poking him. He pokes you back until you’re both laying down on the seat, incoherent with laughter. James and Remus observe the whole thing whilst they collect your drinks. Sirius’ face is flushed as he grabs for you, pulling on your bunches and shouting triumphantly as you squeal.

“Alright, settle down,” Remus chides, grabbing Sirius and hauling him back onto the other side of the booth. Pouting, you fold your arms and whine.

“Oh, bunny,” James placates, “Remmy’s mean, taking Siri away, isn’t he?” You nod, doing your best frown at Remus, which only pulls a low laugh from the lanky boy. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Daddy’ll cuddle you.” That simmers your brewing tantrum wonderfully and you snuggle into James’ side, pressing the side of your face to his sweatshirt as he holds the glass full of butterbeer to your lips, tipping slowly.

“Look!” you snort, gesturing to the line of foam gathered on your top lip, “Got a moustache!” Sirius rolls his eyes playfully.

“You can’t grow a moustache.”

“I so can!”

The debate goes on until it’s time to leave, by which point you’re stifling yawns and laying on top of James, your face pressed into his neck.

“C’mon, it’s time to go,” he coos, prying you off of him and standing.

“Piggyback me?” you ask innocently, eyes fluttering sleepily; how could he ever say no to you? He wants you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more. He lifts you onto his back, not moving until your legs are secure around him.

You doze quietly on the carriage ride back, curled in James’ lap. By the time you wake, you’re in his bed.

“Oh, hi, bunny,” he murmurs, tugging you closer into his side. You grumble, clambering on top of him with as much grace as a newborn deer.

“Fell ‘sleep,” you mumble, “Are you mad?”

“Never, baby. You were tired.” He kisses your forehead. “Look, Siri’s already asleep, too. You just had so much fun it tired you out!

“Mmm,” you giggle, glancing at Remus and Sirius, both asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. James pulls the duvet further over the pair of you, pecking your lips and letting you settle comfortably on his chest.

“Ni ni, daddy,” you murmur, kissing his bare shoulder, “Love, love, love you.”

“Love, love, love you more, bunny.”

“Nuh uh,”

You’re snoring quietly before James can answer you, fingers curled around the thick blanket and breaths soft and tickling his bare skin. One thing is for sure — you had a good day.

541 notes · View notes

genshinlover101 · 2 years

Note

yoo i really like your writing! how about making out w ningguang, beidou, jean, and lisa hcs :00 preferably more of a sub reader but if not, it’s all fine! 👍👍

Making Out w/ Her (sub!reader version)

Characters: Ningguang, Beidou, Jean, Lisa x gn!reader

Warnings: nsfw themes

A/n: thank you thank you! I tried to make the reader as submissive as possible so I hope I made the cut 🥲

• Kisses to Ningguang was like a luxury. It was not a way to vent frustration but a way to embrace her sexuality. She’ll light candles to set the mood and make everything feel special.

• Ningguang was probably more than likely experienced, but everything about her was a mystery. If she didn’t have any beforehand, then what gave this woman the skills to mesmerize you with her lips in such a manner.

• Ningguang’s kisses felt predatory, almost like a pure white snake was wrapping itself around prey. She would lure you in with a rich feeling and suffocate you in her sex appeal.

Ningguang looked at you with puppy dog eyes, her milky white thighs crossed as she waved you over with her index finger. “Come little one,” she commanded. When you came within range she pulled you down by the collar of your shirt. “How will you please me today?”

Using her other hand she caressed your cheek, smiling before she closed the short distance between your two lips. You had noticed she wore her expensive red lipstick for this occasion, the waxy feeling coating your own lips.

You felt so much pleasure coming from all five senses. She smelled of a rich perfume, she felt like the finest silk, her moans reverberated throughout your brain, she looked like fragile porcelain, and tasted of aged wine.

You couldn’t help but drop to your knees, her legs uncrossing to allow you to waddle closer. Your hands desperately latching onto her waist as her legs wrapped around your own waist. You two were entangled together like a web.

You separated leaving a trail of saliva, noticing her smirk as she used her thumb to wipe the messy stains of her red lipstick on your face. “Aren’t you eager today,” she hummed, her lips hovering over your own. “I’ll show you that I won’t allow you simple pleasure. You’ll have to work for it, yearn for my body,” she hissed.

• Beidou’s confidence depended on whether she was sober or drunk. If she’s sober, she’ll be more conservative and clean. If she’s drunk, expect very sloppy and wild kisses.

• For such a bold personality Beidou is probably surprisingly innocent. She’s so focused on her crew that she doesn’t have time for her love life. She might know how to kill a sea serpent but she won’t know how to satisfy you without some liquid courage.

• Beidou’s kisses felt wet and sloppy if she was drunk. She might sometimes sidetrack from your lips and end up kissing half your lip. If she’s sober, it was very passionate after you both grew accustomed to the feeling.

Beidou looked at you with hungry eyes, her cheeks were flushed pink so you could tell she was already a couple of shots into the night. She bit her lips to wet and soften the chapped feeling. Without warning she used her gorilla grip on the back of your head, squeezing her fingers to grasp onto your hair, forcing you into a deep sensual kiss.

You could taste the sharp medicinal flavor of beer fresh on her lips. Getting drunk on the pure feeling of her lips dancing alongside yours. She didn’t even care that she was in public, her crew gazing and looking away awkwardly.

The night was still young, yet she kissed you as if the world was ending. Her rushed movements didn’t give you a second to breathe or catch any type of break. Her haste was what precisely gave you such a high, the feeling of her so desperately needing you.

Her grip strengthened, and she pulled you closer than ever before. You tried to pull away to breathe after such intensity, but she didn’t allow it. You even tried tapping out on her back, but she ignored your body language. You were going to obey her, and only her. You were kissing on her terms.

She pulled away after maybe a minute, gasping for air like a fish on land. You swore you could see her steamy breath of hot air. “Let’s take this somewhere else yeah? I don’t want a pretty thing such as yourself to rot as the night passes,” she smooth talked as she led you to her private quarters.

• Jean was veryyyyy shy, literally she won’t even try to make out with you unless she had some pent-up emotion. Depending on how she was feeling was the quality of the kiss. If she’s upset, it felt messy. If she was happy, it felt bold. If she was angry, it felt rough.

• Jean will treat it as a ritual, it had to be a specific setting, a specific time, and a specific position. If not she’ll get all flustered and she’ll freeze up like a deer in headlights.

• Jean’s kisses felt soft most of the time. She didn’t have any fancy tricks up her sleeve so it was often one repetitive motion. But regardless you could tell just how much she loved you and exactly what she was feeling through her kisses.

Jean might’ve claimed the title of the Dandelion Knight, but to her, you were the only dandelion in sight. She was so delicate and gentle with you, hesitating to even put a hand on you in fear you might blow away. Her hesitation made you giggle a little, using your own hand to guide hers to your waistline.

Jean had a bright pink flush on her face, feeling queasy about this whole situation. “Are you sure you want to kiss me?” Jean asked, earning a smile from you. You closed the distance for a peck, not replying to her question just yet.

You guided Jean on how to dominate you and take control of situations like these. She was quite a fast learner, she’d be a pro in no time you assumed. Your two lips were synchronized like an elegant ball dance practiced by the two of you.

Once you were certain you had her in your trance you separated from Jean’s desperate lips. You even caught her leaning in for more, a frustrated questioning look on her face as to why you stopped. “Does that answer your question, Jean?” You wrapped your arms loosely around her neck. “Of course, I want to kiss you. Now loosen up, you’re killing the mood.”

Jean gasped at your comment, only to immediately be shut up by your lips once again. She molded into you, her touch becoming firmer, and her lips blending together with yours. You smiled once more under her kiss, she was really starting to get the hang of this.

• Man oh man was Lisa the devil when it came to making out. She was quite the tease, if you were well behaved that day, she’ll praise you. If you were poorly behaved she might just degrade you.

• Being Lisa’s age and with her flirtatious tendencies, she’s bound to have some experience down her sleeve. In fact, maybe too much, she’ll pull tricks that drove you crazy. Tricks such as lip biting, sucking, etc.

• Kissing Lisa felt like a thirst you couldn’t quench, this mama was far beyond your reach. She’s like a cat, if you show her what you want, she’ll never give it to you without a decent fight.

You felt a wet kiss on your earlobe and a pair of hands resting on your shoulders. Although startled, you knew exactly who the culprit was, Lisa. You turned around swiftly with your teeth gritting in embarrassment, earning a giggle from the librarian. “Ara~ mad now are we? Too bad you’re just the cutest little thing,” she cooed at you like you were a small dog. Her lustful green eyes looking at you with only seduction in mind.

You turned to face her, placing your hands firmly on her waist. If she wanted a show, you’d show her just who was in control alright. You went deadly close to her lips, only to hesitate on the moment of contact. “Awe you’re all bark and no bite. How boring. If you really wanna make a girl excited, you have to be confident,” she guided you.

You were so angry at her teasing she might as well have seen a vein-popping from your forehead. Just before you were willing to smash your two lips together she backed away, “Not so fast there, you want a kiss from miss Lisa that badly?“ she teased. “Beg.”

She had you in checkmate, with a blush creeping throughout your face you stood in shock. Your ego was far too brittle to do that, “hehe, I’m only kidding. My cute little helper deserves more than that,” she used her index and middle finger to walk up your arm. “Am I right?”

Without another moment's hesitation, she gently pressed her lips against yours. The soft pillowy feeling and the wet glide from the contact. She smelled like roses it drove you crazy. You were so fortunate a woman as powerful as Lisa had you wrapped around her finger.

#ningguang x reader #beidou x reader #jean x reader #lisa x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #ningguang #beidou #jean gunnhildr #lisa minci #genshin smut

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drxwsyni · 3 years

Text

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you.

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons.

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black.

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere yuuta #yandere yuta #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuuta smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #tw choking #tw stalking #tw virginity loss

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mc-lukanette · 3 years

Text

Hear me out... Scarlet Lady AU, but it’s Lukanette

(takes place after “Captain Hardrock”)

Luka hunched over his guitar, only for another sting of pain to hit his back. He groaned, straightening up instead, but that somehow made the soreness even worse. Juleka chuckled at him from her place on her bed, having long since given up on moving her muscles at all and preferring to laze around.

He shot her a glare, but didn't comment so as to not encourage her. As he'd predicted, they were indeed sore from trying to stop the Liberty yesterday, his arms wordlessly complaining whenever he tried to do anything with them. He didn't regret it, but it'd also made making new songs a hassle, worsened by the fact that he'd very much gotten inspiration courtesy of Marinette.

After trying to ignore the soreness for around ten minutes, he heard a set of footsteps from above deck, from someone who was clearly heading down below. He knew they couldn't have been his mother - the signature "clack" of her boots sounded much different - but it also seemed somewhat familiar.

He realized it a bit too late, just in time for Marinette to get downstairs and pop her head into the room. "Hi!"

He sucked in a breath as subtly as possible, maintaining his poker face as he replied, "Hey."

"Hey," Juleka greeted, rotating her arm just enough to wave and clearly not wanting to put in more effort than that. She didn't even turn her head.

Luka chuckled. "Jule's busy today if you needed her for something."

"Shut up," she hissed. "It was your idea."

"Huh?" Marinette asked, looking back and forth between the two. "Oh! No, I was here to see Luka, actually—not that I'm not happy to see you too, Juleka! Just..." She grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head.

Marinette was there... to see him? Not his sister?

Luka glanced down, confirming that he was still wearing pants and therefore this wasn't a dream about to go horribly wrong.

Juleka's eyes flicked over to the two of them, her head having to actually move to do so. She squinted, like she was analyzing something, then groaned and slammed her hands down on the bed. She pushed herself up, clearly ignoring the way her body protested, then began her walk across the room.

Just before she reached the doorway, she leaned back to make eye contact with Marinette, warning her, "Careful with him. He's creaking like the floorboards."

Luka shot Juleka a glare, but she'd already zipped out of the room before he could blindly grab his pillow to throw at her.

For being so sore, you sure got away quickly, he thought, very much aware that she left because him being mushy with Marinette (also known as "normal and understandable because look at her") was "gross."

Marinette's eyes followed Juleka until the retreating footsteps could be heard moving up deck, then turned back to Luka. "Creaking?"

"Ah—" Well, there went any hope of avoiding that topic. "We used Chat's baton yesterday to stall the ship, but it was hard even with all seven of us. We're all still a little sore from it."

She furrowed a brow, like something had confused her, but then shook her head and replied, "Oh, that really does sound tough! I'm sorry I couldn't be there!"

"It's okay." He smiled reassuringly, remembering what he'd been told before. "You were the one who got Marigold there. She saved us."

Her cheeks turned pink and he vaguely wondered if it was obvious how cute he thought - knew - she was. She ducked her head, then did a small wiggle of her hips before abruptly looking back up at him. "Um—! That's actually what I came to talk you about? I mean—not Marigold—or her saving you—or me and Marigold—but—"

Luka snorted, lightly patting the spot on his bed next to him instead of replying. The familiar gesture caught her attention, her voice trailing off as she slowly made her way over to sit next to him. She toyed with her fringe, seeming to get her words in order, then turned to look at him.

"I never got to thank you," she said. When he tilted his head in confusion, she clarified, "I wouldn't have been able to call Marigold if you hadn't saved me."

He smiled warmly at her. "It was nothing, Marinette."

"No, really, you thought so quick!" she insisted, leaning towards him with her hands flat on the mattress to support herself. "And you stayed behind too to make sure Captain Hardrock was fooled! That was brave of you."

He leaned away, face flushing red as he tried to control the stupid grin on his face. "Thanks. You were really brave too, finding a way out to get Marigold's attention."

He didn't tell her that he purposefully didn't hide with her because the sound of his heartbeat would've given their hiding spot away.

Marinette beamed at him, but seemed to realize how close she'd been leaning and pulled back with a sheepish grin. Luka returned to his original position too, but flinched when his spine rejected the movement with a spike of pain. He let out a mix of a groan and a sigh, Marinette's brows raising in concern.

"I could give you a massage...?"

The headstock of Luka's guitar hit the bed as he jerked his head up, the instrument in his lap forgotten as he stared ahead at Marinette, eyes wide. She was looking back at him with a blank expression, like she hadn't fully realized what she'd said.

Then, it hit her, and he swore he saw her pigtails bounce up in shock as her face shifted to realization.

"I-I just—I mean—!" She flailed her arms at him. "See, my papa always does it for my maman and—when you groaned like that it reminded me of it—so—"

The fact that she'd compared his bones to those of an aging adult went ignored in favor of noticing that she hadn't even tried to take the offer back. His heart pounded like the inside of his body was a brand new drumset, and he could only utter a weak, "Okay," in reply.

She'd still been rambling at the time, but somehow his voice managed to break through. She paused mid-sentence, her mouth still open as she processed his answer. "...Really?"

He merely nodded, not trusting his voice to avoid cracking if he tried to respond.

"Oh. Um, alright, oh..." she mumbled to herself, clearly having not expected to get this far.

Luka felt the bed shift underneath him as Marinette maneuvered herself behind him, at which point it really hit him that she was seriously about to massage him. He leaned forward, mentally preparing himself, though was quickly reminded of the guitar still resting in his lap. He pulled it off and set it where Marinette had originally been sitting, resting his hands in front of himself afterward.

The silence dragged for a moment, and he could sense Marinette's eyes on him, as if she were debating with herself on how to go about massaging him. He opened his mouth to give her an out, but all manner of coherent speech left him as her hands pressed into his back, thin fingers sliding along his shoulders and squeezing. He sucked in a breath, oxygen having a hard time getting into a body already stuffed full of feelings.

It was heaven, and added several sheets worth of music that he desperately needed to write.

"I-is this alright?" she asked. "Am I doing well?"

He tried to reply, but all that left his mouth was a sound that was both inhuman and embarrassing. Pressing one hand into the mattress, he covered his mouth with the other, his face turning red as he briefly debated on living in the drawer underneath his bed in lieu of having a hole to crawl into.

He changed his mind. It was hell. She was doing amazing but that was the problem and it was hell.

Marinette giggled, the sound he made apparently being answer enough for her as she continued massaging him. Her embarrassment had left by that point and he couldn't help being jealous of it, as his own had doubled.

After a few seconds had passed, Marinette spoke up again, "So, ah..."

He wasn't sure if she genuinely had a question or was trying to spare him, but he'd take it either way. "Mm?"

"I was wondering. Since Jagged's your favorite singer, what do you think of XY?"

He let out another sound, less involuntary than the last at least, though it was still too high-pitched to make anyone believe that he wasn't affected by Marinette's motions. He cleared his throat, making sure he sounded as normal as possible before answering, "The flaws in his music stick out like his hair."

The hands on his back froze, Marinette snickering and then full-on laughing. "Oh, you think so too?"

He grinned like the fool he was, tempted to look back at her but feeling like it'd be rude. "Yeah. I can't stand his music."

"Me neither. It's so... bland and uninspired."

The mental image of them drop-kicking XY into the Seine together entered his mind, a blissful sigh escaping him just in time for Marinette to restart her massage.

"You're really passionate about music," she observed, almost sounding as if she'd been talking to herself. "It almost makes me wish I played an instrument."

"I can give you lessons," he blurted out, then immediately backpedaled with an, "if you want, anyway."

Her tone lightened. "Thanks. I might have to take you up on that. Just... not when I'm so busy."

He shrugged his shoulders, both of which already felt infinitely better under her touch. He could tell she wasn't lying, so he wasn't offended by the hesitance.

As her hands trailed down his back and he tried not to look as if every touch was sending his heart on tour, she hummed thoughtfully, like her body was there but her mind was elsewhere.

"...Hey," she called. He waited, knowing that there was something else, and she continued, "Have you ever... been stuck between songs?"

"Stuck between songs?" he echoed, trying to piece together what she meant.

"Yeah, like—" She made an unsure sound - unfortunately not an embarrassing one like his when she pressed into his lower back - then clarified, "—maybe there are a few songs you like, and it's hard picking your favorite? Or you have some songs you want to write, but don't know which one to go with?"

He got the distinct feeling that she wasn't talking about music, but it was adorable how she worded it in a way relating to his specialty so he could help her. He mulled over the question seriously, the most difficult task just being drawing enough focus away from her movements so he could answer her.

"A few times," he replied. "It all comes down to feeling then. My favorite song or the one I want to write could just be which one I'm curious about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well—" He blushed faintly, completely unaware that his metaphors were syncing with hers. "—a song that I want to know more about; to listen to over and over until I know it intro to outro. A song that makes me want to keep writing." He glanced over his shoulder at her, hoping the eye contact might help carry the meaning along. "I think those are the best kinds."

Her brows were furrowed in thought, as if he'd given her a hard equation that she was struggling to solve. He faced forward again to hide his smile when he noticed the spark of recognition in her eyes, like the metaphor had stuck and he'd actually helped her.

"I think I get it," she confirmed, the massage briefly stopping as she made idle circles on his back; still equally as distracting if he were honest. Even though he couldn't see her face, he could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "I like this one."

"What one?" he asked obliviously, though she didn't answer the question and pressed into his back again, making him squeak and forget his curiosity altogether.

The conversation ended there, lulling into something peaceful and comfortable. Luka actually found himself relaxing without much embarrassment, though there was still some pink to his face from his newfound crush giving him a massage. He just hoped he could make it through the rest of their time together without her realizing what a mess he was.

Then, as if something had occurred to her, Marinette noted casually, "Oh, I should do your arms next."

Luka's face burned. This girl was going to kill him.

#type: story #story: oneshot #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #((Zoe: *welcomes Lukanette AUs of her AU*))#((me: Say no more.))

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