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parkerslatte · 6 months

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Dalliance | Chapter Six

Matthew Fairchild x Fem!OC

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: allusions to sex.

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The breeze blew the silk curtains gently as Delilah stood in front of her mirror. Her mother wasn’t around to do her hair and she was struggling to pin it in place. There were maids to help but Delilah only allowed her mother to style her hair, she had done it when Delilah was a child and Delilah was going to make sure that it didn’t stop any time soon.

The dress Delilah wore wasn’t her favourite but it was now one of the only ones that wasn’t either covered in blood or destroyed completely. She knew that she would drag Anna and Matthew to shop for clothes soon, perhaps she would invite Cordelia to tag alone. Delilah hadn’t had a chance to speak to Cordelia much. The incident at the picnic and her helping James in the ballroom had thrown a dent in her plans to get to know the Carstairs girl better.

Once Delilah had finally decided to let her hair settle around her shoulders and down her back, there was a knock on the door. Delilah already knew who it was.

“Christopher!” Delilah yelled to her brother in the room next to her own. “Thomas is here!”

“Give me a second,” Christopher said before emerging from his room with a vial clutched in his hand which he slipped into his pocket.

Delilah’s eyes narrowed at the singed cuffs of his shirt before her eyes trailed up to her brother’s face who had a smile on his face. She shook her head, a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth before she linked her arm with her brothers as the two descended the stairs.

“You came back early this morning,” Christopher commented. “I was awake reading through mine and Henry’s research.”

“The session ran a little later than usual,” Delilah said. “I decided to stay at the house for the night. With demon attacks happening, I thought it would be safer.”

Christopher simply nodded at her answer. “I agree that it was safer.”

Of course Delilah never liked lying to Christopher, she told her brother practically everything. But she didn’t want to tell him that she spent the whole night with Matthew, that was something she never wanted to admit to him. Or anyone else for that matter, it was strictly between her and Matthew.

Thomas was waiting in the entryway for the two Lightwood siblings, pacing. Once the two descended the stairs she let go of her brother's arm and walked over and wrapped Thomas in a hug. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Thomas only nodded before pulling away from Delilah and stepped back, looking between the two siblings.

“Matthew sent word early this morning that we shall all meet at his house,” Thomas explained as the three Lightwoods exit the house and enter the carriage, Christopher helping Delilah inside.

Delilah sat opposite both Thomas and Christopher for the carriage ride to Matthew’s. It wasn’t too far away and it was certainly quicker than the route in which Delilah walked. It was bright in the sky and the sun was shining despite it being close to sunset. It was a beautiful day and Delilah wanted nothing more than to be outside rather than the carriage. Christopher and Thomas conversed while Delilah offered a comment occasionally. Delilah didn’t mind this however, both of the boys were discussing things that had very little interest to her.

Once the carriage pulled up in front of the Fairchild residence, Thomas and Christopher were the first out, leaving Thomas to help Delilah down from the carriage. It felt strange using the front door to enter the house, typically she would enter through Henry’s lab before quickly leaving.

Henry greeted the three Lightwood��s before telling them that Matthew and James– who had arrived not too long before Delilah, Thomas and Christopher– were in the garden. As the three walked through the house barks echoed throughout it and Delilah gasped in delight.

“Oscar!” Delilah giggled as the dog ran up to her, nearly jumping into her arms.

The dog greeted both Thomas and Christopher before returning to Delilah who had bent down to stroke him easier. Delilah had always wanted an animal, whether that be a cat, lizard or even a squirrel from Regent’s park. But what Delilah had always wanted more than anything was a dog.

The three Lightwood’s finally entered the garden to find James and Matthew under the large tree. Oscar ran happily over to his owner before running back to the trio, doing this as the Lightwood’s were close enough to converse with Matthew and James.

“James!” Christopher called when they were in speaking distance. “What happened last night? Where did you disappear to?”

Delilah sat down on the grass and Oscar walked over to her, his tail wagging happily.

“There you go, James,” Matthew said smugly. “Now you don’t have to tell the story more than once.”

“Yes, what happened to you last night?” said Thomas. “You vanished, you know. Matthew was about to rip the institute apart brick by brick to see if you’d fallen into the crypt.”

Delilah looked over her cousin. He didn’t appear to be injured or even seem remotely affected by his trip into the shadow realm. It didn’t calm her worry though.

As James began to explain the story. He explained how he had gone into the world of shadows before seeing a light and followed it and found himself in Chiswick. He described the Cerberus demon and how he had killed it. Through his whole description, Delilah lightly patted Oscar’s head.

“Cordelia and Lucie were there too,” said James. “At Chiswick.”

Delilah’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are they both okay?”

“What on earth were they doing there?” Matthew questioned.

“They’d gone to check on Miss Blackthorn and see if she was all right,” said James. “And they were both okay, Delilah.”

Delilah let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Seems dangerous to be out and about at night after those attacks,” Matthew said. “The girls shouldn’t be taking such risks.”

Delilah raised an eyebrow and glanced in Matthew’s direction. Matthew met her gaze. “You're one to talk,” Delilah said. “You are out basically every night.”

“So are you!” Matthew defended.

Delilah stilled as the words left Matthew’s mouth. James and Thomas looked at Delilah confused. Christopher looked between Delilah and Matthew, confusion evident on his face. He looked at Delilah. How does he know? His expression seemed to say.

“Delilah?” Thomas said, “What does Matthew mean?”

Delilah sighed. “I just go to art classes sometimes during the week. Do you really think my art is as good as it is without some lessons?”

It wasn’t a complete lie because it was mostly the truth. She only concealed what else she did at those art classes. “I know it’s stupid to go alone, but I do enjoy them and I am very careful. Now before you all berate me, let’s get back on the topic we were just discussing.”

The boys were silent. Matthew had an apologetic expression on his face while James only looked at Delilah curiously. Christopher shared a look with Thomas before the taller boy began to speak, changing the subject completely.

“Here’s my question: Why Lightwood– I mean, why Chiswick House? Why the greenhouse?”

“No idea,” said James. “Perhaps because the demon was there?”

“Demons do like to take up residence in ruins, especially those where there are remnants of black magic,” Christopher said. “And we all know what Grandfather Benedict was up to in that house. It’s why he turned into a worm.”

“Ah,” said Matthew, “fond family memories.”

“Well, the Clave agrees with you,” said James. “They believe the demon has been there since Benedict’s time. And while it seems entirely unconnected to the attacks, I do feel we have been seeing an unusual number of demons lately in rather unusual places.”

“‘Demons in unusual places’ was Benedict’s motto,” said Matthew. “How do we know what the Clave thinks? Charles has been remarkably tight-lipped.”

“Not to me,” said James. “He came to see me this morning.”

Thomas’s expression darkened. “Don’t tell me he believes all that poppycock about you going to see Miss Blackthorn and being refused–?”

“He does believe it,” said James. “Or at least, I was unable to give him another, better explanation. I cannot say I was wandering about the shadow realm. better , I suppose, that they think I am a lunatic in love.”

“But you barely know Miss Blackthorn,” said Christopher, nibbling a piece of grass.

Delilah watched James and Matthew share a look. A whole conversation seemed to happen through that one brief look.

“I do know Grace,” said James. “And I do love her.”

Delilah listened to James’s second story of the day, this time explaining all about his summers in Idris and how he had slowly begun to fall in love with Grace Blackthorn. Delilah clung onto every word, she had always assumed that James had been keeping a secret but she wasn’t expecting it to be this. By the time he was done with his story, the stars were becoming visible in the darkening sky.

The three Lightwoods remained in silence as they took in James’s story. Christopher was the first to speak. “I didn’t know that you were in love with someone, James. I’m sorry. I should have been paying attention.”

“I didn’t know either,” said Thomas, “and I have been paying attention.”

“I always could tell that you were keeping a secret, James,” Delilah said. “But I never expected you to say that you were in love. Isn’t that sweet!” She teased her cousin.

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you all before. Grace has always worried that her mother would find out and be furious. Even Lucie does not know,” said James.

“Forbidden love,” Delilah said, somewhat sadly. She wouldn’t admit it to the boys around her but she was somewhat of a romantic. Her shelves in her bedroom were filled with romance novels. It was a secret Delilah would take to her grave.

Thomas frowned. “My aunt Tatiana is mad. My father has often said so, that his sister was driven to madness by what happened to her father and her husband. She blames our parents for their deaths.”

“But James has never done anything to her,” Christopher said, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“He’s a Herondale,” said Thomas. “That’s enough.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Christopher. “It is as if one was bitten by a duck and years later one shot a completely different duck and ate it for dinner, and called that revenge.”

“Please do not use metaphors, Christopher,” Matthew said. “It gives me the pip.”

Delilah nudged Matthew’s leg and rolled her eyes.

“This is bad enough without mentioning ducks,” said James. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I feel as if I have failed in helping Barbara.”

“No,” Thomas said quickly. “We have only just started. I was thinking– perhaps you, Matthew, Delilah and I should go to the Devil Tavern and look through the book collection. There are volumes there that the Clave will never find combing through the Institute’s library. We could see if there is any mention of these daylight demon creatures.”

“What about Christopher?” said Matthew.

Christopher held up a vial of red liquid–blood. Delilah scrunched her nose wondering how long he had been keeping that in his pocket for. “I managed to acquire some blood that the Silent Brothers had taken from one of the patients last night,” he said proudly. “I intend to mix modern science and Shadowhunter magic to attempt to create an antidote for the demon poison. Henry has said I can use his laboratory while he is in Idris.”

“That better not be my sister’s blood.”

“It’s Piers’s,” said Christopher, “though for the sake of pure science, it should not matter.”

“And yet we are all relieved,” said James. “Matthew, Delilah and I can go to Fleet Street– perhaps Thomas should help Christopher in the lab?”

Thomas sighed. “I always end up helping Christopher in the lab.”

“It is because you are remarkably good at dodging explosions,” said James, “and also, you can curse in Spanish.”

“How does that help?” Thomas said.

“It doesn’t,” said James, “but Christopher likes it. Now–”

“James!” Henry called from the house.

James took off toward the house leaving the three Lightwood’s, Matthew and Oscar on the grass. Oscar was asleep beside Delilah while the four sat in a comfortable silence as Matthew reached for his book, brushing the front cover. She leant forward and snatched Matthew's pocket watch to check the time. The blonde protested, gripping her wrist lightly.

Delilah sighed. “I was just checking the time.”

“You could have just asked, you didn’t need to assault me,” Matthew said dramatically.

Delilah snorted. “Stop being dramatic, darling. I barely touched you.” Delilah stood to her feet, brushing off the grass. “And besides, where's the fun in just asking.”

“Where are you going?” Thomas questioned.

“Anna’s,” Delilah said. “I heard that she was having tea.”

“One of us should escort you,” Matthew said, moving to stand to his feet.

“It isn’t too far of a walk,” Delilah said. “And besides I am in desperate need of female company.”

Without another word, Delilah walked away from the three boys still sprawled out on the grass.

***

The sky grew darker as Delilah made her way to Anna’s and she would be grateful to loosen her corset. It was painfully tight around her chest and it wasn’t even tied up too tight. Despite the night growing dark and people made their way back to their homes ready to settle down for the night, Delilah was wide awake. She half blamed it on the previous night and partly because of the morning.

The sun was rising before Delilah and Matthew had finished their activities, the alcohol in their systems and their physical exertion rendering them unconscious the moment Matthew rolled from her body to lay down beside her, holding her in his arms. Only two hours later, both Delilah and Matthew were waking up with the sound of commotion down the corridor. They didn’t speak as they changed only when Matthew wrapped his arms around Delilah’s waist and pulled her back against his chest were their first words spoken.

“Thank you for last night,” Matthew muttered, his lips brushing her bare shoulder.

Delilah held onto his hands, her thumb gliding across his knuckles and rings. “No, thank you, Matthew.”

Matthew smiled and pressed his lips against hers. Isla spun around in his arms to press her lips more firmly against his. The kiss wasn’t long as Isla broke it, pressing her hands against his chest.

“I need to get my sketchbook before we leave,” Isla said, stepping out of Matthew’s hold.

Matthew’s arms fell back down by his side as he nodded and sat on the bed to lace up his shoes.

Delilah remembered the stolen touches with one another while they were in the house. She remembered the way Matthew’s lips brushed across her neck just before they left the room. Once they were out in the fresh air however, the haze that seemed to encase both Delilah and Matthew evaporated as they returned back to a sense of formality, or as formal as Delilah and Matthew could muster, as the Fairchild offered his arm out to Delilah. Neither of them mentioned what they had done in the house again.

Delilah was standing outside of Anna’s flat before she knew it. The spare key Anna had hidden just for Delilah was hidden in a small plant pot outside the front door. Delilah let herself into the building before making her small ascent to the second floor and unlocked Anna’s flat with ease.

“Anna!” Delilah called throughout the flat. “I am in need of your presence.”

When Delilah walked into the living room, she was greeted by the sight of familiar red hair. Delilah smiled. “Cordelia Carstairs,” she stepped further into the living room. “I hadn’t known that you would be here.”

Cordelia smiled. “It’s good to see you, Delilah.”

“Ah, sister!” Anna said, appearing in the living room with two teacups. “You came!” Anna’s eyes looked her sister up and down. “And in the most ghastly dress.”

Delilah gaped. “It is the only one I had that was…appropriate.”

Delilah thought back to the remainder of her dresses in her wardrobe, all either for painting, covered in stains or were simply too scandalous to wear during the day.

“I have a dress you left here when you last stayed,” Anna said. “Go and change.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “You can be bossy when you want to.”

It didn’t take Delilah long to change into her other dress at all and she was relieved to be wearing it, she hadn’t realised how much the other one had been at least one size too small, now she could breath a little better. Delilah emerged from Anna’s bedroom and sat on the couch next to Cordelia.

“Would you like some tea?” Anna questioned.

“I am quite alright,” Delilah said. “Now what were the two of you discussing before I arrived? I am in desperate need of company other than the boys.”

Cordelia laughed a little at Delilah’s dramatics as she took a sip from her tea.

“We were gossiping about Cordelia, though she won’t gossip about herself,” Anna said, relaxing into the mismatched chair that Delilah had purchased for her flat. She turned her attention to Cordelia. “If you don’t wish to gossip about yourself, why don't you tell us about your brother? Is he as awful as he used to be at school?”

“Did you go to school with Alastair?” Cordelia asked, a hit of surprise lacing her tone.

“No, Delilah did, as did James, Matthew and the rest of the Merry Thieves. Matthew says he was a miserable blighter and gave them all the pip. No offence meant. I admit, Thomas never says a bad word about him? Sugar? I haven’t any milk.”

“No sugar,” Cordelia said and set her gaze on Delilah. “Alastair was mean to you?”

“Never to me,” said Delilah with a shake of her head. “Though he was quite awful to James, insulted his eyes many times.”

“Alastair is rather awful,” Cordelia admitted, “but I don’t think he means to be.”

“Do you think he’s in love?” Anna said. “People can be awful when they’re in love.”

“I don’t know who he’d be in love with,” Cordelia said. “He’s hardly had time to fall in love with anyone, since we’ve just arrived in London, and I doubt everything that’s happened has put anyone in a falling-in-love mood–”

"What did your father do, exactly?" Anna said.

"What?" Cordelia nearly spilled her tea.

“You could have been less direct in your approach,” Delilah commented. Anna ignored her.

"Well, we all know he did something dreadful,” said Anna. "And that your mother's come here to try to ingratiate herself back into Shadowhunter society. I hope everyone won't be too stiff-necked about it. I quite like your mother. She reminds me of a queen out of a fairy tale, or a peri from Lalla Rook. You're half-Persian, aren't you?"

"Yes," Cordelia said, a little warily.

"Then why is your brother so blond?" Anna asked. "And you so redheaded- I thought Persians were darker-haired."

Cordelia set her cup down. "There are all sorts of Persians, and we all look different," she said. "You wouldn't expect everyone in England to look alike, would you? Why should it be different for us? My father is British and very fair, and my mother's hair was red when she was a little girl. Then it darkened, and as for Alastair he dyes his hair."

"He does?" Anna's eyebrows went up. "Why?"

"Because he hates that his hair and skin and eyes are dark," said Cordelia. "He always has. We have a country house in Devon, and people used to stare when we went into the village."

Delilah frowned, a dark look falling across her features. Anna, however, was the one who spoke. "People are " She broke off with a sigh and a word Delilah couldn’t quite hear. "Now I rather feel sympathy toward your brother, and that was the last thing I wanted. Quick, ask me a question."

"Why did you want to get to know me?" Cordelia said. "I'm younger than you, and you must know loads more interesting people, like Delilah.” Cordelia gestured to Delilah.

“Delilah is my sister, I have known her business since she was born,” Anna rose to her feet. If only she knew everything, Delilah thought to herself.

"I must get changed," Anna said, vanishing into the bedroom. The door was closed yet Delilah and Cordelia could still hear her perfectly clear as if she were still in the same room.

"At first, it was because you're a new girl in our set, and I was wondering if you were good enough for our Jamie or our Matthew." Anna continued.

"Good enough for them in what sense?" Cordelia questioned, looking toward Delilah for an answer.

"Well, marriage of course," said Anna. "Anything else would be scandalous."

Cordelia sputtered and Anna laughed. Delilah held a look of amusement on her face. Cordleia looked flustered and a little embarrassed by Anna’s direct statement.

“But I thought,” Cordelia said, composing herself, “that Matthew was courting Delilah.”

Delilah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Matthew is just my friend, as fond of him as I am, we are strictly friends.”

Cordelia looked away from Delilah sheepishly. Delilah noticed as she leaned forward in her seat. “I do see why you might have thought that though, we are rather close. But we are only friends, so if you do ever take a fancy to him, keep that in mind.” Delilah sent a wink Cordelia’s way and the girl flushed.

"You are too much fun to tease," Anna said. "I meant good enough to know their secrets– and Christopher's and Tom's as well. They are my special favourites, those four, you must have noticed. And, well, the current crop of girls in London is rather dire of course, Lucie's a delight, but she'll never look at any of the boys as anything but brothers."

"Seems sensible," Cordelia murmured, "especially in James's case."

"They need a muse," said Anna. "Someone to be inspired by. Someone to know their secrets. Would you like to be a muse?"

"No," said Cordelia. "I would like to be a hero."

Delilah smiled and nodded in agreement at Cordelia’s answer. “I quite like that you came to London, Cordelia Carstairs.”

Cordelia smiled brightly.

Anna poked her head out of the door and looked at Cordelia for a long time from under her lashes. Then she smiled. "I suspected as much," she said, vanishing back into the bedroom. The door banged shut. "That's really why I asked you here."

Cordelia's head was spinning. "What do you mean?"

"We are in danger," called Anna. "All of us, and the Clave will not see it. I am afraid if steps are not taken, it will be too late for Barbara and Piers and- and Ariadne." There was a slight tremor in her voice. "I need your help."

“But what can I–” Cordelia began, and broke off as she heard the downstairs front door bang open.

“Delilah! Anna!” A deep male voice echoed up the stairs. It was soon joined by the tread of running feet, and Matthew Fairchild burst into Anna’s parlour.

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msmischief101 · 1 year

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Find the word

Thanks for the tag, @raksh-writes 💖

So, I assume I'm going through my WIPs and see if I can find the words you chose? Either way, that's how I'll do it 😂

I got the words: satisfied, curve, freedom, memory, warm.

Satisfied

“I thought you’d be happier to get out.” “It’s not a fucking prison.” Stiles hates how satisfied he is about seeing Theo wince. Still, he deserves it. He deserves worse, to be honest. “I’m surprised you came to pick me up seeing how little I’ve heard from you in there.” Theo licks his lips, staring out of the windshield. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna talk,” Stiles snaps, curling his fists into his backpack. “Just start the fucking car.”

It's from a WIP I haven't touched in at least a year. I only remember that it's full of hurt (and only a little comfort).

Curve

Apparently, I do not have this word in any of my WIPs 😂

Freedom

After everything they’ve been through, after everything Theo told him, they told each other, Stiles really thought they had a different kind of relationship. A stronger one. He really believed Theo trusted him, maybe even— no. Stiles has been pondering this for years. He’s not going to waste his first thought in his newfound freedom on Theo. He’s getting out, and then he’s going home, grab a few things before leaving this fucking place behind.

Hey, look... another Steo fic I haven't touched in forever. This is going swimmingly.

Memory

Stiles raises his hands, glancing back and forth between the two werewolves facing him. “It’s me,” he says as he ducks his head, “Scott, I swear, it’s me.” He should’ve chosen better words because the last time they tumbled out of his mouth, he wasn’t the one saying them. Then again, perhaps the memory of the nogitsune will help convince Scott that he’s telling the truth. Stiles hopes it does because the other options aren’t exactly going to convince anyone he’s one of the good guys.

Okay, this is a very recent one. It's for BTHB - Power Fatigue. It's a 6b AU. It's Steo as well.

Warm

It’s so subtle, Stiles never would have noticed it. Drawing his eyebrows together, he shuffles closer and leans forward. The position is a little awkward, but Stiles doesn’t want to risk stepping on anything. He reaches the small dent anyway and presses his hand against the surprisingly warm statue. For a few agonising seconds, nothing happens, giving a chance for his anxiety to spike up again. This could still be a fucking prank, or maybe he did go insane after his sacrifice broke him. But then something stings his index finger. More surprised than actually hurt, Stiles yanks his hand back and stumbles backwards. Almost as if expecting this, Morrell places a hand on his back to steady him.

Another recent one. After the whole sacrifice in 3a, Stiles goes to a school for supernatural creatures, so he'll learn how to control his powers. There he meets Theo, but Theo has plans. Eventually shit hits the fan... as it usually does.

The words I'm choosing are: night, cover, reckless, hopeful, teeth

I'm tagging: @mercheswan @sunel0 @voidstilesplease @amatchinwater (I know you've been tagged already, so... feel free to ignore it!), @jimmy12427, @sapphireginger, @realityescapee01, and everyone else who is interested in doing this! As always, no pressure. 🥰

#steo #tagging game

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gabzlovesu · 2 years

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CHAPTER TWO.

previous: chapter one // masterlist

warnings: profanity, torture (cutting off fingers), gunshot wound, dysfunctional family, abuse, alcohol consumption. this chapter is a little longer bc i had a lot of stuff i needed to include, i'm sorry <3

[ SERIES TAGLIST ]

tags: @haikyuuswhore, @yooniluvbot444 @caribbeanwifey19 @celestialuffy @madamehaitani

You were livid. You weren’t just seeing red, you were seeing the whole damn rainbow at this point. Just the thought of Ukai’s stupid face had you clenching your jaw so tight that your teeth started hurting. With the dark aura swirling around you and a look that could kill, you received frightened glances from the people you passed in the lobby of your apartment. And it didn’t help that you had a towering goon right behind you. If security showed up at your door thirty minutes later, you wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

As soon as you make it inside, you reach for the closest thing and chuck it at the large floor-to-ceiling windows in your living room. The once empty space is filled with an irritated groan, and as spacious as it was, there wasn’t enough to contain all of the anger you were holding in right now. How the hell does he expect you to do all of this in forty-eight hours?

You pace around the room, sorting through every little detail that you knew about the Sansokuu and what happened that night. The only logical option is to revisit your old home…

The sound of your cell phone interrupts your thoughts. ‘Saeko’ flashes across your screen with a silly picture of her. Leave it to your best friend to call at a time like this. “Hey, I’m a little busy right now. What’s up?”

“No no no, don’t give me that busy bullshit. Clear your schedule ‘cuz we’re going out tonight!”

From the noise raging in the background, it sounded like Saeko was already out having her fun even though the day was only halfway done. “Saeko, I really can’t. Some things came up and I —

“Y/N, you are all work and no play. Either you come or I will drag you here myself! Our usual spot at ten o’clock, got it?”

You mentally groan, “Okay okay, I’ll be there.” You hang up before you hear whatever she has to say next. Saeko was your other half yet she was completely different from you. How you two even managed to become friends in college was a mystery that no one could solve.

This outing puts a little dent in your plans but you suppose you’ll just have to cut your trip short.

The gravel driveway crunches under your tires, kicking up a trail of dust. The house you grew up in was hidden off of a back road in Miyagi, it was sorta like a secret hideout — fitting since it belonged to a yakuza boss.

A measly foot is all that separates you from the door and your heart is pounding against the wall of your chest, daring to leap out and take off the other way. It was a mistake to come here, that’s what you tell yourself when you feel the fear crawl up the ground and catch in your throat.

It felt like the time you ran away from home. You were thirteen and swore you’d never step foot in that house again, only for you to return a mere two hours later when your father’s lackeys found you. You received a heavy blow as soon as you walked through the door.

So you hold your breath and tense up as you push open the broken door… but the hit never comes.

Instead of an iron hand, you’re greeted by broken furniture, shattered glass, and papers scattered over almost every inch of the floor. You weren’t sure if the place was ransacked or if your father had a manic episode before he left for Shibuya.

The kitchen was the only portion of the house that seemed somewhat intact. The large chandelier still hung high from the ceiling accompanying the long dining table underneath that could seat several families but never truly sat a single one. You can see the memory: your father seated at the head of the table with you and your mother on either side, just like any other regular, happy family — except you were all pretending. Not once did it feel like a real family.

You pull your hand away from the cold wood of the table, giving one last look to the ‘family’ that appeared before you, and head off down the hall. You pass the training room without a second thought. There was nothing for you except the memory of being forced past your limit every day, all with a sliver of hope that you could one day make him proud enough to claim you as his daughter.

The room you were looking for was actually one that you were never allowed in — the office. No matter the time of day, unknown men would file into your father’s office and discuss who knows what behind that door for hours. Sometimes there would be yelling, laughter, crying… you never knew what to expect. But you did know that there were times that the men who went in didn’t always leave how they came. Whenever Oshiro ducked off into his office, he would give you a knowing look before locking the door

Rules are meant to be broken though.

It was well past midnight — the dark of night cloaked the sky and the dim moonlight shined through the windows onto the hallway floor. Among the white light, a soft golden hue radiated from a cracked door, your father’s office to be exact. You remember how your little feet slowly inched across the room, avoiding the lines of the tiled floor as you tip-toed toward his desk. A glass of scotch and a half of a cigar was all it took to put the beast of a man to sleep. Then something possessed you to do something you only ever did once: hug him. You draped your body over his and stayed like that for quite some time. There was no fear, no hatred, no sadness in your heart. Just love. He probably never knew about it, but that small moment in the forbidden room stayed with you forever.

The big chair behind the desk welcomes you as you take a seat, you needed a moment to gather your thoughts. Being in the house was doing a number on you and the memories wouldn’t stop flooding back.

“You’ve already lost three fingers, do you really wanna lose another?” A tall, stoic man adjusts the rings on his bloodied hand as the lowly thug cowered before him, hopelessly searching for the answer that would satisfy him. Oshiro Kenji was a man to be feared and he was well known for his torturous methods. All he needed was an answer to a simple question: Why did one of his own gang members steal from him?

“I don’t know. Please spare me, I can make things right!” His useless pleading only made the situation worse.

“That’s a shame. I was going to take another finger but it seems that I’ve lost my patience.” Oshiro clicks his tongue in disapproval as he reaches for his waistband, pulling out a shiny pistol and aiming it at his blood-stained head.

“That’s enough, Kenji,” a brunette man across the room finally speaks up after silently leaning against the wall all this time. The whimpering thug remains tied up in the chair, quietly sobbing with his eyes screwed shut as he awaited the bullet that was loaded just for him. “We don’t even know the entire situation, so what good does it do to kill our only lead?”

“Fine, I won’t kill ‘em.” He moves the gun, aiming for his knee instead, letting a round out of the chamber and pierce the poor man’s kneecap. He screams out in agony, rocking in the chair as the pain radiates throughout his entire body and the blood slowly pools on the floor beneath him.

Ukai fixes his mouth to admonish Oshiro but another man knocks on the door before entering. “Your guests are here sir.”

Oshiro gestures for him to cut his victim free, “Take care of this. Hopefully, he'll start talking when I’m done. Let’s go, Jukito.” The brunette man reluctantly follows suit, sometimes his best friend was just too much to handle.

“This is a bad idea, Kenji — I can feel it. There’s no reason to drag an innocent woman and child into this kind of life, it’s too much for them.”

“I have no choice, and we both know that.”

The two men emerge from the end of the hall to meet a woman and a small child.

“What’s its name,” Oshiro rudely questions her.

“Her name is Y/N, and you would know that if you made an effort to be in her life.” Her statement doesn’t phase him at all, he simply just strolls over to stand in front of the little girl, looking down at her like she was worthless scum.

“Hey, brat. I’m your dad I guess…”

“Let’s get one thing straight Kenji, she may be your daughter by blood but we’re not a family. I’m only here because of our agreement. Play house with your other bitches, not me.”

He strokes the peppered stubble on his chin in annoyance, rolling his eyes as he looks in her direction. Suddenly, his muscular frame is looming over her small stature, “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with my daughter. Don’t make this about you, you’re just baggage.”

She was baggage. The only reason you were both here was because of an agreement built on mutually assured destruction. Your mother, who had an affair with Oshiro when he was visiting the states six years prior, had evidence to incriminate the man for all of his illegal activities that transpired in Miyagi. On the other hand, Oshiro could inform the authorities about her role in the death of her estranged husband. So the solution? They would live together to keep each other at bay. It was a ‘family’ built on blackmail and hatred.

Although it wasn’t considered at the time, this unfortunate situation could prove beneficial to him. If he could mold their daughter and train her to fill his shoes when the time came, the legacy of the Sansokuu could live on. However, Oshiro kept this idea to himself, fearing his men would turn on him the minute they found out a woman would be leading their gang. Ukai Jukito, his most trusted advisor and right-hand man, was the only other person who knew of this, even though he wasn’t very fond of the idea.

You wasted so much time taking an unwanted trip down memory lane that you didn't realize how long you had been sitting there. You still needed to find something, anything, that could be useful in figuring out what happened. Even though most of the place had been turned upside down, his office was the one room that was still put together. You quickly sort through loose papers and folders lying about before you start to rummage through the drawers.

You spend 10 minutes looking until you give up and bang your fist against the last drawer. The sound catches you off guard. It was hollow… You let out a huff in disbelief — even after the old man was buried six feet under, he was still hiding aces up his sleeves and pulling tricks. Once you removed the false bottom you found a thick stack of papers underneath and you had a strong feeling that you could find at least one piece of information in there. So you don’t spend another minute in that forsaken house, quickly climbing into your car and speeding down the same road you came from.

As soon as you walk into the club, you spot Saeko and a few of your other friends huddled at the bar. Shoving through a sea of bodies, and turning down offers to dance with several men, you finally reach them on the other side of the large room.

“About time! Where have you been,” Saeko sorta yells at you over the loud music. She immediately flags down the bartender and orders shots, not bothering to wait for your response or even ask if you wanted something to drink. “Drink, now! I don’t wanna party with sober Y/N, she’s no fun.”

You down the shot. It’s tequila, should’ve known. She places another in your hand while you fight back the burning sensation in your throat.

“Guess what? Mina is finally getting hit on! Look!” She steers your gaze to the adjacent wall where several red booths were lined up. You see your friend Mina sitting in the lap of a man, locking lips with him and blocking your view of his face.

But that Blonde hair… looks familiar. Then you notice the Sansokuu gang tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. And the shit-eating grin he gives when he locks eyes with you — you couldn’t miss that smug face from ten miles away. It’s fucking Ukai Keishin.

#ukai keishin x black!reader #ukai keishin x reader #haikyuu!!#coach ukai #vendettas in the night #VITN #yakuza au #yakuza series

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sunfire-forever · 2 years

Text

Fantasy

Pairing: TBZ Hyunjae, Juyeon, Sunwoo + fem!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Tags: smut, gangbang!, edging, double penetration, nipple play, oral(giving), unprotected sex, curse words, sexual fantasy, inner monologue

Summary: I’m not what you call a "good girl". Some people would describe me as easy. Others would call me a slut. I won’t deny being either. Most of what they say about me is true, I’ve sucked my fair share of cocks, been fucked by more than my fair share of men and even let a few of them splatter their hot cum all over my skin. However it had all been on a one on one basis until one hot summer night.

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

To be precise, discovered that I liked sex after developing the kind of curvy body that made men want to have sex with me. I’m by no means a perfect ten. I’m more cute than hot, but I have an above average bra size, thick lips that I’ve been look pretty good wrapped around a hard cock and a willingness to spread my legs.

However it had all been on a one on one basis. Some of those might have been one night stands, some of them might have had girlfriends, but the number of people involved always stayed at just two. Yet I’ll admit for just about as long as I’ve been having sex, I’ve played around with the fantasy of more than one guy taking me at the same time. It would never be more than just a fantasy, I mean what kind of girl would do that sort of thing? What kind of slut would let men fuck her like that? Just thinking about turned my lace thong into a wet mess.

The most recent encounter with the theory of a gangbang came not too long after my graduation. Actually right after. That night everyone gathered for parties, a wild night for sure but I don’t think anyone had a wilder night than a high school friend of mine. At one of the parties she ended up sucking off half a dozen guys and fucking four of them. When I heard the story I reacted with disgust, but inside I wished it had been me.

It turned out I couldn’t stop thinking about the fantasy. It was the fantasy I thought about late at night when I found myself all alone in my room and no guy to call over. A fun fantasy, but nothing that I would ever turn into a reality. Or so I thought.

“I thought you said it would just be a girls’ weekend,” I said when my best friend put down her phone. After messy breakup, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any member of the male species.

“I know, but I didn’t think Eric would be in town.” She looked at me, then took a sip of her vodka and cranberry. We were house sitting her aunt’s beach condo and already put a major dent in her liquor. I wasn’t completely sure how she planned to hide that, but she didn’t seem to be too concerned. “What do you want me to do? Tell him he can’t come over? That’ll go well. I’m sorry.”

“They’ll just be here for a little while, then they’re going out on the town.” she tried to explain.

“Who’s they?” While I debated serious thoughts about never dating again, Eric did have some attractive friends - older, more mature, hot college guys. Maybe I could hold off on the dating vow of silence.

“I’m not sure. He just said ‘we’ while we were on the phone. He didn’t mention who that included.”

I hoped it included Juyeon. Juyeon, although he wasn’t the college quarterback, he looked like he could’ve been with a well-built body and guy next door naturally good looks. My nipples hardened just at the thought of him. “How soon are they going to be here?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Damn you,” I said with a smile as the funk surrounding me started to lighten up.

I ran to my bedroom for the weekend and dug through my bag. We spent most of the day on the beach and after a cooling shower I put on a pair of soccer shorts and a tank top. Not exactly the kind of clothes I considered part of my dress to impress collection. I found a nicer tank top, a pair of jean shorts and clean underwear. Just in case.

I raced through my hair, make up and just as I pulled on the shorts the doorbell rang.

As my bestie opened the door, I peeked out of my room. Eric came in with a case of beer and a kiss for her. Juyeon appeared next and I stepped into the hallway with a smile. He looked like exactly what I needed to get over my controlling, yet cheating ex-boyfriend. Then two more guys came in, both new to me. It made me start wondering exactly who my doctor prescribed for me.

Eric introduced them as Sunwoo and Hyunjae. Sunwoo looked like the bad boy that my mom would hate, complete with the tattoos and black hair and a devilish aura. Hyunjae looked more like a guy I could see myself dating, nice on the outside but I guess he's a beast in bed.

The original plan had them just sticking around for a few drinks before heading downtown to one of the bars. At first I didn’t really like that plan, however after a few drinks with them I changed my mind. They quickly reminded me why I was currently pissed off at the male members of my species. They hit on me and stared at my tits to the point it became uncomfortable. I’ll admit at first I liked the attention. It felt good to be reminded they were other men out there, but it quickly became more than I wanted to deal with that weekend. I was glad my bestie was out on the balcony with me and that they would be leaving soon.

“I’ll be right back. Do you want anything?” she said as she slid open the sliding glass door.

“Another drink?” I had been pacing myself, but they made me want to drink more.

“You got it.”

I thought she would be back after a few minutes. How long could a stop in the bathroom and a refill in the kitchen take? I didn’t have a watch on, but it seemed like way longer than it should’ve taken. After Sunwoo undressed me with his eyes for the third time in a minute, I decided to take matters into my own hands as far as my drink.

As I opened the sliding glass door that I realized Eric had also gone missing from the balcony. I feared the worse and my fears were confirmed when I spotted the my bestie's white bedroom door closed. I didn’t know what to do besides get another drink. Before I could make a decision the three of them joined me in the kitchen.

They involved me in the conversation about beaches, but I barely took part in the conversation other than to nod my head yes. My brain was trying to keep me sane, but I knew they all wanted me and I would be lying if I said I didn’t want each of them physically.

I felt my body temperature rising and I couldn’t be quite sure if it was because of the three hot men in front of me or the air conditioning couldn’t keep up. I pictured being in bed with Juyeon. Sex with him would be a satisfying workout. Sunwoo would want to do something kinky, pushing me beyond I felt comfortable with doing. Hyunjae would go out of his way to make sure that he satisfied me before he came.

All three of them had selling points, but I couldn’t exactly just grab one of them by the arm and drag him into the bedroom. Okay maybe I could, but it would be pretty awkward for the other two.

As they talked about fishing I completely stopped listening. What would it really be like to have all three of them? Would I enjoy it or would they just use me? Thinking of them using me made me squirm against the counter. I took a long sip of my rose colored mixed drink and hoped none of them noticed my excitement.

I took a long sip of my drink, still barely buzzed. I took a deep breath. I leaned back against the counter and pushed out my chest. “Guys, can I be honest to you?" I asked.

“Sure, princess", Sunwoo replied, approaching and putting his arm around me.

“I’m so fucking horny.”

The conversation stopped mid-sentence. All three of them turned to look at me and their mouths dropped.

“What do you want to do about it?” Sunwoo quickly recovered from the surprise and returned to his cocky self.

“I want to get laid...” I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth.

“I’d be glad to help you with that.” He stepped forward closer me.

I put my hand out to stop him. “... by all three of you.” I’ve said some slutty things, but nothing would ever topped that.

A second later I felt Sunwoo placing me on the counter, pressing his plump, heart-shaped lips on mine, leading into a wet, passionate kiss. Our tongues still in motion, he raised me up and carried me into my room, the other two guys following and locking the door behind them.

It started with hands. I felt a pair of hands on the buttons of my shorts. I felt another pair of hands grope me through my tank top. I looked up and saw Sunwoo between my legs and Hyunjae's hands pulling up my tank top to reveal my orange bra. I wished I had thought to put on a matching bra and panties, but I don’t think any of that mattered to them. All three of them looked down at me, their eyes filled with lust. A large bulge already formed in Sunwoo's jeans.

My shorts came off and my underwear followed. A new pair of hands joined in. I watched Juyeon put his hand between my legs, I felt his thick fingers brush across my lips and I let out a moan. He slid a finger into me and rubbed his thumb across my sensitive clit. My soft moan became loud. I bit my tongue as a last ditch effort.

A few moments later my tits were out of the cups of my bra. They hadn’t even bothered to take off my tank top or bra all of the way. Hyunjae's mouth found my nipple and I let out a cry as he bit it. His hands weren’t gentle and now his mouth definitely wasn’t either which turned me so on.

When Hyunjae released my nipple from my mouth he sat up and I saw Sunwoo again. He stood between my legs with his jeans and boxers around his thighs. He aimed his rock hard cock at me.

I opened my legs and watched as Sunwoo stepped forward. Time slowed down again. I felt his cock against me and it felt like I could feel every cell of him inside me. It made my whole body twist with excitement. My wetness allowed him to easily push into me. He filled me and it was becoming real. No turning back now.

He grabbed my hips and I wrapped my hands in the comforter as he began to thrust into me. I bit my lip, but I couldn’t suppress the moans for long. He fucked me for a minute or two, but before he came anywhere close to a climax he stepped back. Before I knew what was happening next, I felt another cock enter me. I looked up and saw Juyeon. Him alone would be a fantasy come true.

He thrusted harder and both of us started to breathe heavily. Better than the workout I had imagined as he completely filled me with pleasure. Right as I started to completely enjoy it, he stepped back and I saw Hyunjae coming up next. He pushed into me and I could feel him stretching me to accommodate him. I increased my grip on the comforter as he started to thrust into me.

Yet somehow I wanted more and I was ready to get it. When Juyeon pulled out, I flipped over and put myself on to my hands and knees. I didn’t need to say anything else. Someone took me from behind, I didn’t know who at first until I looked back and saw Sunwoo. Hyunjae came around to my front. He knelt on his knees and put his cock in line with my mouth.

I licked his swollen head, tasting a hint of his salty precum. I opened my mouth and took him between my lips. I took him into my mouth as another man fucked me. I felt one pair of hands on my waist another on my head. More than me sucking his cock, he fucked my mouth. He used my mouth like my pussy. They used me of their pleasure and I loved it.

At some point the pleasure of a cock inside of me, the feeling of another cock sliding between my lips and a pair of hands fondling me and I lost it. The pleasure overwhelmed my body. I closed my eyes and the climax erupted inside of me with a massive force that I had never felt before. I didn’t know who I had in my mouth. I didn’t know who was fucking me. Just feeling it sent me into a whole new world of pleasure.

My own orgasm was joined by another. I felt two hard, almost out of control thrusts and at the last second he pulled out of me. I heard a grunt and knew it was Juyeon behind me. Seconds later I felt the cum splatter on to my back. The hot, thick cum hit me so hard that it almost made me jump. He covered my backside with his cum from near my shoulders to my ass.

Sunwoo grabbed my head and shoved his cock into my throat. He exploded into my throat and somehow I didn’t gag once as his salty, cum flooded my mouth. When he pulled back, I swallowed it all.

I wasn’t done. I wanted Hyunjae. I wanted his huge cock to fill me with his cum. I flipped over and the other two already started to put their clothes back on. Hyunjae however was naked from the waist down, his large cock still ready for me.

He pushed me into the middle of the bed and joined me on it. He climbed on top of me and took me one more time. He didn’t start off slow this time. He slammed his cock into me with everything he had. I moaned, I cried out as the pleasure filled me. He fucked me like his slut.

I ended up on top of him and rode him like it might be the last cock I ever got. I didn’t just sit there. My whole body bounced up and down on his cock. I did everything I could, moving my body every way I could until he finally gave me what he wanted.

As a more powerful orgasm filled me, as my body started to go stiff and I arched my back, he thrust up. He unleashed his torrent of cum into me as my body shook from my own orgasm.

He rolled me off of him after he was done. I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was some slut that he and his buddies had just fucked. They left me there, my whole body sore and exhausted, drenched with sweat and cum still clinging to me. I could still feel his cock throbbing inside of me when I heard the front door open, then close. I could still taste the cum in my mouth. They fucked me. They used me. And I loved it. I felt dirty, I felt like a slut, I felt alive.

A few minutes later I heard a soft knock on my door. “Y/n?” my bestie asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Come in.” I was already in my bathrobe, starting to clean up the room.

“Are you okay?” Her face gave a look of concern.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t hide my grin, I felt like I was glowing.

“What happened?”

“Do I really need to tell you?”

“And you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re such a slut.” we both giggled.

“I can’t disagree with that.”

“I never thought you would do something like that. How was it?”

“Words can’t even describe it.” I gave her the box score summary, her mouth dropped as I told her how one guy took me from behind and another filled my mouth, yet I think I saw some part of her that wanted to do it for herself.

#tbz smut #the boyz smut #the boyz #tbz #juyeon smut #sunwoo smut #hyunjae smut #kpop smut #the boyz drabbles #lee juyeon #lee hyunjae #kim sunwoo #the boyz imagine #tbz imagine

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morganas-pendragons · 2 years

Text

Caress | The Master Chief

This is loosely based on a plot I have already created for an OC, but I thought I’d write it in fic form for a reader. This reader for Game!John has an entire backstory.. but they are a Spartan 3 and Carter’s sibling, the sole survivor of the glassing of Reach! If you’re curious to know more, drop an ask!

summary: the master chief wakes up after six months of being MIA and finds out what happened in his absence. you deal with the aftermath.

tag: @embarrassedauthornerd and @lialacleaf

spoilers for halo infinite if you haven’t played it!

***

The Beginning - Halo 5

“You should tell them, Chief. I would. God knows how much time we have left with her and her Guardians trying to provoke a galactic apocalypse.”

John turned away from Fred and toward the Temple doorway where he could just barely see your form lingering on the edge of the cliff outside. Fingers tangling in his dogtags, he exchanged a quiet thanks with his childhood best friend and began walking to the cliffs of Sanghelios.

You peered up at him as he stood over your shoulder and smiled.

John had never thought himself capable of loving someone. Blue Team was different. They were together - one unit, one mind - since childhood, and they would be until they all died.

With you though.. you had been placed with him because of Cortana, who had gone to her grave believing you would be the best thing for a soldier like John. That you, a Spartan 3 who hadn't asked for this, would teach him something she couldn't.

It had taken a while.. but you did.

You were sitting on the edge of the cliffside, kicking your legs back and forth as you peered outward at the horizon. He tentatively took a seat in the dirt beside you. "John." You said softly, tilting your head upward at him as you lightly tapped his face plate. "Can we take this off?"

Can you just be with me as you? And not The Master Chief?

That was what Cortana had taught him after all of these years. That being human wasn’t a curse. That feeling things, experiencing them, was okay. It was hard to teach your brain a contradiction to everything you’d ever come to learn in your life.

He’d do it though. If allowing himself these few precious moments of time they didn't have to experience human things like the warmth of the sun on his skin and the caress of your fingers at his jaw, he'd do it.

You were always worth it. Everything. If only you knew how far he’d go for you.

The End..

It’s hard to remember your purpose and reason for being here when everything is warped by the smell of smoke and the sound of gunfire. You vaguely remembered a new Cortana model, manipulating Cortana, prompting deletion with her capture...

And now you were on the Infinity and everything the UNSC had been building over the last four years was crashing at your feet.

Everything is on fire. There are Unggoy and Kig-Yar everywhere, and you are just beginning to make a dent in the remains of their attack squadron when John goes flying sideways and into the nearest Warthog. Or what's left of it.

The glow of red tells you enough. That's a gravity hammer. You've very narrowly avoided death by one of those multiple times, and you are quite familiar with how excruciating it is.

If you knew how you were going to die... how would you live your life differently?

You absolutely refused to give into the Banished. You had gone this long after the glassing of Reach - despite being The Master Chief's partner and seemingly witnessing the end of everything you ever came to know - and it would not be a Brute Chieftain that took you down now.

Lucky for you, Atriox had other plans for John.

The man you loved was being dragged like a rag doll across the hangar floor, helpless to do anything to fight off Atriox. He was bigger. Stronger.

This was his first loss in so, so long.

But watching as you launched yourself at Atriox after he'd thrown John off the Infinity and into the vacuum of space was so much worse. He was supposed to protect you. To take care of you, to love you in the way you'd spent so long loving him.

"You have no idea how far I'd go for you, John."

The last thing John remembers before the darkness swallows him whole is your face as you wrench the War Chieftain backward and into the flames of Infinity's remains.

After John Falls

The Pilot is not a soldier. He's not even an actual pilot, mind you, but he is forced to become one when a Spartan clad in blue and black armor goes flying into the windows of the Pelican he's been occupying for the last twenty minutes and crumples just beneath the nose.

A shaky hand shot out to grip the pistol he'd stolen from the hangar bay before he crept down the ramp, sprinting around the corner to find you laying unmoving underneath the Pelican.

Your fingers were loosely wound a weapon that happened to look alot like a disengaged energy sword.

"Spartans, damned Spartans..." Fernando didn't know who you were, much less why you were injured, but he did know from the whispers in Engineering that most of the remaining Spartan-IV's had been taken out by Cortana. He'd seen Master Chief fall at Atriox's hand. He wasn't about to let one he could save die too. "You're lucky I need a way to get home..."

The last thing you remembered was the sight of John, helpless and alone, as Atriox threw him through the shields surrounding Infinity's docking and out into the void.

Month One After The End

You learned very, very quickly that once you told The Pilot you were The Master Chief's partner that he was interested to obtain as much information about you as possible.

Literally anything he could get his hands on.

Including your romantic life.

“Wait... wait, go back. You said you’re his partner?”

“In a literal and a romantic sense, yes. Did the lack of socialization with anyone else but me make you lose a few brain cells, Echo?”

You leaned forward and laughed as the Pilot narrowed his eyes at you. The two of you had been on your own for one month now - a lone Spartan and their pilot - and had just barely escaped the destruction of the UNSC and the Infinity with your lives to spare.

The others hadn’t been so lucky... including John.

The Pilot had found you injured in the aftermath of the fight with Atriox and dragged you onto his Pelican before making a hasty retreat from the remains of the Infinity. Lasky had ordered most of the crew to abandon ship by then, and you were too delirious to realize what had happened to your Spartan.

Your Spartan. The one man who had been by your side since you’d left Reach, the one who had outlived everyone else you loved, the one who had only just confessed how he felt about you after Cortana had unleashed her Guardians on the galaxy.

The imprint of your presence sits marked into a cliff on Sanghelios. You’re not sure it will ever forget the words that were whispered there.

“I have a difficult time believing that the person I saved from certain death is a Spartan Three and the partner of The Master Chief!” He exclaimed.

To further prove your point, you reached into the collar of your flight suit and removed dogtags to show them to him. It had been one of John’s last confessions before everything had seemingly gone to hell. One of the last things you had of him.

He gaped at you as you tilted the metal tags upward so he could read the enscription.

Master Chief Petty Officer John-117

You smirked proudly and tucked them back into your flight suit. “Believe me now?”

Month Six

You cocked your head in confusion and turned away from cleaning your Mjolnir MK VII armor to acknowledge the faint glow of a holo blinking in the center of the bay.

Kneeling down, you frowned as you scooped up the holo device and clicked the side button to play the recording. It flickered to life - barely containing enough battery to play it - and revealed a young mother and her child.

"My wife." Fernando called out. Your gaze softened as you met the Pilot's forlorn, anguished gaze. "And my child." You knew that look. It was the same look you'd given him when you'd first woken up after The Infinity had gone down. He had just wanted to go home.. and he didn't even know if home existed anymore. "I thought I had that secured in the cockpit. I'm sorry."

You laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and opened your mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the Pelican's AI.

Signal detected. Tag designation: Friendly.

You froze. There hadn't been a signal detected in months. No enemies, no friendlies. You had been careful to avoid Banished craft and had educated The Pilot on evasive maneuvers and classification of Banished clans months ago so he at least had some knowledge of what you would inevitably come up against.

"Y/N...."

"Come on."

Echo took to the comms while you wiped away the frost that had been growing on the windshield. Just outside of your reach was a prone Spartan, your Spartan, donned in Mjolnir Mark VII armor that was clearly in survival mode.

Your breath caught in your throat. That was him. Alive. He's alive.

"Help me get him inside!" You exclaimed frantically.

It took a considerable amount of effort to drag the Mjolnir inside of the Pelican, but you were familiar enough with the mechanics of the armor to know exactly what had happened when John had been thrown into space.

"Main power cells are fried, Noble." Echo called out. "Armor's shut down.. looks like survival mode." You nodded and motioned for him to continue. "I'm going to try to override it."

You were rocking eagerly on your heels in anticipation, fingers curled at your sides as you tried and failed to ease the trembling of your fingers. You'd spent the last six months thinking over every single what if scenario that could have kept John from such a terrible death.

Every single night, you'd stared out at the stars and prayed to whatever Gods existed in this universe to bring him home to you. You'd spent too much of your life since Reach had been glassed with him. You weren't willing to be a lone wolf.

Not anymore. It's not what your brother would've wanted for you.

"Be careful." You teased gently. "Don't electrocute yourself."

Sparks flew from the connections in his hands as power circulated through the network and turned both the Mjolnir armor and the power within the Pelican back online.

You held your breath and waited, ignorant of Fernando's elated cheering as The Master Chief finally woke up from a six month sebatical.

***

The first thing John noticed when he woke up was that it wasn't cold anymore. His dreams had been mostly pleasant, memories of your time with Blue Team and the cliffs of Sanghelios fresh in his mind as he drifted among the stars.

"You have no idea how far I'd go for you, John."

His HUD blinked to life. Powering Up.

"It looks like there's a problem with the servos in your hands. Try moving it."

You slowly moved forward to close the gap between yourself and John as he opened his hand, revealing the empty AI chip Cortana used to occupy. Your chest constricted as the Spartan finally tilted his face plate up and met your gaze through his visor for the first time in six months.

And for the first time since Fernando had rescued you, it finally felt like things were beginning to make more sense again.

"Echo," You call out over your shoulder, closing your hand over his own as he digs through the nearest UNSC container for the machine meant to check the diagnostics on Spartan armor. "Can you give The Master Chief and I a moment, please?"

You didn't need to ask him twice. The Pilot ceased his search immediately and disappeared behind the closed doors to the cockpit.

In the time it took him to do that, John disconnected himself from the power resupply to his armor and moved forward as you simultaneously moved backward.

"Status report."

Your eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in them. "Oh no, old man." You teased lightly as you tapped his face plate, a silent signal of your intentions. "You don't get to pull rank on me right now. I haven't been a Spartan in six months." You motioned behind you to the dormant Mjolnir armor you'd been given only a few years prior, the blue and black paint freshly redone after what had occurred on the Infinity. The only portion you hadn't refreshed was the Noble Team insignia you'd demanded upon obtaining the armor. "I haven't taken or given orders in six months either. Right now, I'm just Y/N. Like you are just John."

That didn't make sense to him. Being just John was not something he was allowed to do. He was a soldier. He was meant to fight.

You tapped his face plate again. Be with me as just John. And truth be told, he would've been lying if he said he hadn't missed something as simple as your caress against his skin. The way you hadn't cringed at the sight of the scars he'd gotten over the years, but had simply marveled over them as he whispered the stories behind each one to you.

He tipped his head forward at your complete and total mercy.

Only the technicians and the other Spartans knew how to remove the armor and the helmet. Your fingers expertly slid under the lip of the helmet, disengaging the seals and slowly lifting it off to set it on the row of seats to your right.

Weary blue eyes met your own.

"There you are." You said quietly. Without your own armor you stood several inches shorter then him, so you balanced yourself on the tips of his boots and steadied your hands against his shoulders to press your forehead to his own. "I missed you, John."

It was always quiet confessions between the two of you.

John shuddered and gripped the fabric of your flight suit tightly in his gloved fingers - finally allowing all of the emotion he'd carefully compartmentalized since the last time he'd seen Cortana to rise to the surface - as you slowly began to kiss whatever skin you could reach. His forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, that soft spot where his jaw met his ear.

His face grew warm as he simply just allowed himself to revel in this one precious moment of being loved and loving equally in return.

Given that John was never a man of words but of actions, he halted your ministrations and shakily curled his thumb and index finger underneath to tilt your eyes upward to meet his.

That was the only thing John was ever really afraid of. Blue Team... losing one of us.

You parted your lips on a silent gasp as you locked eyes with his, waiting for whatever move he was planning on making next. "Tell me it's going to be okay," He said quietly, almost so quietly that you nearly didn't hear what he said. "Cortana-"

You pressed a finger to his lips and shook your head as you swiped your thumbs under his eyes. Cortana's loss had broken him. You knew it, he knew it, and both of you had mourned her in your own way. But you refused to abandon him in one of his most dire times of need. Times where he needed you to help him through it.

Your own grieving could wait. It had after Reach, it could wait again.

"It's all going to be okay, John." You replied. He nodded and dipped his head down to capture your lips with his own in a slow, deliberate kiss. You knew why. He was desperately trying to maintain his grasps on something familiar and comforting before facing the reality outside of that Pelican.

He smelled and tasted exactly the same, made those same little broken sounds he always did when you deepened your kiss and pulled away breathless and wide eyed.

It was one of the few times during the last 7 years together you could recall seeing remnants of what little innocence he had left.

You smiled and cradled his face in your hands. You had only heard him tell you he loved you once, but you had learned a long time ago that he often didn’t need to say it in order for you to understand. It was a silent language between you both that had been established years ago on a ship called The Pillar of Autumn.

Funny how far you’d come since then.

A soft knock sounded on the doors behind you. Clearly The Pilot had something he needed to say.

Before you could call out for him to come in, John stopped you mid-movement and bent his head to kiss the crown of your own before slipping his helmet back on and resuming his role as Master Chief.

You knew what it meant. It was always the silent I-Love-You’s that were the most memorable.

***

On the fragments of a broken ring named Zeta Halo, the last two Spartans roam with their AI to eradicate The Banished and rebuild what remains of their lives. Of their home. Atriox and Escharum had already taken everything from you. But unknown to them, you bounce back.

And Spartans never really die.

They’re just missing in action.

How unfortunate for them.

#Halo #halo: infinite #the master chief #the master chief x reader #master chief x reader #sierra 117 x reader

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

Text

bruce wayne week day 2: gala rated T, no archive warnings apply, tagged: past bruce wayne/harvey dent, implied/referenced violence, brief suicide mention

how was it, bruce thought to himself, that he could withstand torture both physcial and mental without any lasting damage, but the one thing that had him trembling and ready to crawl out of his own skin was an itchy suit?

he’d grown out of them, was the thing. when he was young, alfred had ensured that he’d always dressed properly for any occasion, be that a wedding or charity event or board meeting. before that, his parents—well. they had made sure bruce was presentable enough for their friends to pinch bruce's cheeks instead of awkwardly patting his shoulder.

but now, newly returned to gotham with a thousand new scars and a hardened grip, bruce realized he had lost his tolerance for finely pressed and ironed fabric. none of his old suits had come remotely close to fitting him, and alfred had manhandled him in front of a mirror to take measurements, sending them off to his favourite tailor. bruce thought he'd cried out all the tears his body had left to give the day he came home, hugging alfred's frail body far too tight, but his eyes still managed to get all hot and uncomfortable when alfred's fingers hesitantly mapped the broad expanse of his shoulders, trying so hard to ignore the slashes, the stabs, the burn marks, the brands.

his shoes were too loose, the pointed style apparently a new trend in the gotham elite. bruce and alfred had worked on a pair of dress shoes together, ones that wouldn't fall off the minute bruce moved at anything more intense than a brisk walk, but bruce still longed for the comfort of his thick-soled boots.

those same shoes were tapping on the ground, making far too much noise, but bruce forced himself to take a breath and let the flower-scented artificial spray calm him down. logically, it made no sense at all, but bruce had always placed gotham on pause in his mind. he'd expected to come back older and harder and fiercer to find gotham exactly the same, waiting patiently just for him.

instead, bella revero had cut her hair and dyed it blonde, and was wearing a long, flowing, glittering pantsuit instead of a long, flowing, glittering gown. tom thompson's hair was a healthy salt and pepper when bruce left, but now the man was two tufts away from being completely bald. thicky-applied makeup somehow accentuated wrinkles instead of hiding them, no manner of well-cut suits could hide a growing potbelly, none of the waiters that had given bruce snacks and orange juice were working anymore, and most everyone bruce remembered being roughly his age had moved far, far away from this wretched hole of a city.

there were times when bruce slapped himself upside the head for the absolutely moronic decision to come back to gotham and announce ta-daaa! not dead! he should have just been batman and let bruce wayne's useless name and dishonored legacy be swallowed up by gotham.

footsteps behind him. bruce had tuned out most of his training, knowing that it would only hinder him as brucie wayne, only make him look suspicious. but he'd kept a basic background awareness, unable to turn that off, and these thuds were heading right for him. bruce tensed, his false smile probably turning brittle, two seconds away from whirling around and grabbing his attacker's arm so hard, the bone would shatter.

a heavy hand slammed down onto his shoulder, but right before bruce made a move, a voice spoke right next to his ear, smooth and low and capable of making his entire body relax without any input from him whatsoever.

"what the actual hell are you doing here, you motherfucker?"

"harvey," bruce sighed, turning around to give the man a relieved smile. "thank god. i thought i'd have to go through this all by myself. you didn't tell me you were coming?"

harvey's mouth pulled into a painful grin, one that didn't look the least bit friendly, and there was a bulging vein on his temple, a nervous tick that bruce knew he didn't have before.

"you alright there, harv? you're looking a little—," bruce gestured vaguely to harvey's face, "—red."

harvey's grip on bruce's shoulder tightened, fingers digging into muscle and sending painful twinges up bruce's shoulder, and bruce tried not to show his surprise. he was two seconds from shoving off harvey's hand himself, but just decided to grit and bear it. harvey wouldn't ever hurt him.

"you have been gone," harvey said, enunciating every word, "for years. i didn't know where you were. i didn't know if you were ever coming back. then i hear that you're home from a goddamn newspaper, and you just showed up to this party without telling anyone."

"i was on the guest list," bruce pointed out, automatically putting up a simplified version of his brucie wayne facade. he widened his eyes, putting a little cluelessness into the fluttering of his eyelashes, just enough to keep his cover in case anyone was recording him, just enough so harvey believes him.

"what the fuck are you doing with your eyes," harvey said flatly.

so apparently harvey knew him better than he thought.

"look, harv, i was gonna call you, i really was—"

"i thought you were dead," harvey hissed, and his best friends eyes have more lines on them than bruce remembered and he doesn't have to tip his head up just to see harvey laugh anymore and there's too much broken love in harvey's voice for them to be standing in between a gilded trash can and a spiked bowl of punch.

"harvey,,," bruce started, not knowing exactly where to go from there. he'd taught himself to prepare for any possible attack, any possible conspiracy or unmasking or targeted hit, but he'd completely forgot about his own friend. he'd forgotten he had a friend.

luckily or unluckily, harvey interrupted him before he had the chance to fumble his words. "i thought you were dead, i thought my best friend had finally fucking followed through with what i tried so hard for years to stop."

it hit bruce like a punch to the gut. he wasn't aware harvey had ever been trying.

"and now,,, what? you're just fine? you're dressed like a poser and your hair's all neat and trimmed and you're smiling at people like the only thing you care about is getting into their pants. plus, that's the fourth glass you've had tonight."

"we're already an hour in," bruce replied automatically.

"we're only an hour in," harvey said.

there was a pause. not an uncomfortable one, because it had been years since him and harvey were ever uncomfortable with each other. it was like harvey couldn't decide whether or not to reach out and strangle bruce for worrying him or break down for hurting him or hug him for coming back home.

bruce couldn't tell him. harvey worked too closely with commissioner gordon; daring bruce to steal mary jane from the principal's stash and shotgunning it out of his mouth was leagues away from keeping the secret that bruce was a dangerous, trained vigilante from everyone he knew.

"it's okay, harvey," bruce said, his voice completely sincere for the first time this night. "i found other ways to cope."

"i don't like those other ways," harvey sneered, eyes the glass in bruce's hand.

"other ways," bruce said. "you don't have to worry. i'm fine."

the photographer for the gotham gazette had snapped a picture of him entering, and no one would notice if he left now. bruce wayne couldn't be beating up pedophiles in the narrows if bruce wayne was getting drunk at a high-class gala. he'd planned to leave three hours in, a respectable amount of time, but meeting harvey had thrown him off balance.

he brushed past harvey, heading towards the butler's exit in the back of the ballroom. "enjoy the party!" he called behind him as he left, eyes wide again, clueless and fluttering and oh-so blind to the devastated way harvey watched him leave.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @comics-observer @buticaaba @brucewayneweek

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

knowing me, knowing you {steve rogers}

summary: breaking up is never easy - but it's the best thing you can do (yes, it's based on the song by abba and no, i have no regrets)

warnings: mentions of drinking, swearing

i don't even know what possessed me to write this but? i've been neck deep in angst rn and sometimes, it's nice to explore a healthy break up bc shit happens. enjoy!!

- jazz xx

In the middle of Brooklyn, about twenty minutes away from the Bridge, there was an unassuming townhouse. It stood between several other identical brownstones, with a messy garden and unkempt tangles of bushes - you nor Steve never had the time to tend to do it, with your jobs and your lives pulling you in a thousand different directions. The inside, though? That was what had mattered. It was filled with years of memories - photos of you on the fridge, ticket stubs from your trips to the movies, clutter from so many Christmases and birthdays - that were all contained between the four walls. Home had been important to Steve, given how often he'd moved around. And it couldn't have been that home without you.

Now you were stood at the foot of the front garden, a pile of collapsed boxes resting in your arms. The last time you'd been here was when you and Steve had tried to talk it out -- it had ended with the door slamming behind you. The conversation had ended badly, but your relationship had ended even worse. And even though you had both tried to hard to blame one another, finding fault had been hard. You'd just...fallen out of love. It wasn't something either of you could help, nor was it something you could force. Your frustration and anger, and the shouting and fights, had never been at Steve, but rather the situation. He had always said that finding you, and simultaneously loving you, had come out of nowhere; it was something he had never sought out. You were just there one day, and it changed everything.

Sighing to yourself, you headed up the path and towards the front door. You'd been dreading this day for months -- moving out years worth of stuff, and trying through bleary eyes not to look at the photos on the wall or the millions of little reminders that your relationship had left behind in its wake. There was a dent in the hallway, from your first Thanksgiving in the house when Steve had gotten a little too drunk, and the massive crack in the kitchen floor from where you'd managed to drop the kettle. It was littered with memories and callbacks and evocations. The house was haunted with the ghosts of what was, and what could have been.

You could at least take comfort in the fact that you'd tried - several times, actually. There had been couples counselling and forced, romantic getaways in a last-ditch attempt to trigger something, anything, to get back your dying spark. It made it better and worst - better, because you knew that you'd done everything in your power to salvage things, but worst, because it had all been a waste. A sign that your relationship had gotten so bad that it had crossed the point of no return.

Sometimes, breaking up was the best thing to do. It hurt now, but it hurt much less in the long term compared to what could have been if you'd stayed together.

Placing the boxes by the door, you shut it behind you and quietly crept inside. There had been no communication with Steve other than a few horribly formal emails - after all, you did still work together - detailing your plans to sort the house out. It had been sitting derelict for months, your former home collecting dust. He'd sought refuge at Bucky's loft across the River, whilst you'd been hiding out in Natasha's spare room.

It felt odd being back; nostalgic and painful all at once. So much had happened in these four walls - good and bad, memorable and mundane - and you were feeling it all at once. It was seeping in through the cracks of your mind, the same way the tension had slipped through the cracks in the old walls and questionable foundations. It didn't matter that the place had been falling apart, because it had been so loved.

"I...I didn't realise you were coming today."

You froze at the sound of Steve's voice. He was stood in the kitchen, navy bomber jacket slung over one shoulder and a box of his belongings in his free hand. Hadn't you said that you coming today? Tomorrow was meant to be his moving day.

"Yeah," you swallowed. "I said in the email."

"Sorry, I must have misread it." He sheepishly admitted. "I was just gonna get my stuff and go."

"Me too," you nodded. "Figured it might take a while though."

"You do own a lot of crap," Steve gently smiled. "I just put the kettle on. Do you want a coffee?"

"Uh," your eyes fell to the floor, "I should probably just-"

"- it's just a coffee." Steve cut you off.

"Yeah, okay then."

You awkwardly took a seat at the breakfast bar beside him. God, was this really what it had come to? This time last year, you would have just been waking up and strolling into the kitchen, greeting your super soldier with a kiss as he prepared breakfast. You had a routine - you had a life. But that was exactly it, wasn't it? Life. You and Steve of all people knew how fucking unexpected things could be; how many curveballs and challenges could be thrown your way. In an odd way, your break-up had been even less expected than Ultron and Loki and HYDRA.

"It'll have to be black coffee," Steve said. "We only have coffee out the jar. No-one's been here for months."

"I know," you nodded. "I did used to live here, remember?"

"I think I'm having a hard time not remembering, to be honest," He said. "Being here is harder than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, I get that." You took the mug out his hands, giving him a small nod. "All this feels a lot scarier than aliens and robots."

"Ah, well," Steve tried to brush it off. "I never noticed how badly we beat up the place."

"Do you mean the dent in the hallway, or the crack in the floor?" You found yourself smiling.

"I meant the hair dye stains in the bathroom and the smashed window in the basement," he shot back.

"That was both of us. You wanted to play football inside, remember?"

"Only because you had got me drunk," he countered. "I don't think we'll get our deposit back."

"Y'think?" You quirked an eyebrow.

An odd silence fell over you. It was the first time in months that you were talking - and now that the pressure of being in a relationship was suddenly off your shoulders, some of the tension had faded away. When you took a step back and brushed aside the ashes of what had once been, there was still...something. Not love, and not a relationship, but the same common ground and interests that had brought you together in the first place. It was worth holding onto.

"Do you remember that time that your parents came to visit and you forgot to tell me?" Steve recalled with a soft smile, "and your dad just strolled in on me in the shower."

"It's not any worst than the time you gave Bucky a spare key and he broke in in the middle of the night to get milk for his fucking coffee," you chuckled.

"It was a good few years."

"It was," your eyes fell down to the dark bubbles of the coffee in front of you. "Pride and all that aside, I'm sorry it ended how it did."

"Hey, it's okay," Steve gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, "it's no-one's fault. These things happen."

"I know," you said, "I just...we had a good thing going, didn't we?"

"We did, but we also did everything we could to try and fix things." He replied.

"And we couldn't," you recalled. "I know that breaking up was the easy thing-"

"- it wasn't," Steve cut you off. "But it was the right thing, wasn't it? Because we made each other miserable."

"As partners, yeah," you nodded, "but what about friends?"

Your eyes met again, and he smiled. "Yeah. I think we can manage that."

Admitting defeat was hard, but if it was what you needed to do in order to stay in each other's lives? It was the best you could do.

tags: @agent-catfish-kenobi

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beskarberry · 3 years

Text

Bargaining with Beskar (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

Rating : Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: canon-typical violence (bounty capture) smut: captured bounty sex, rough play (soft choke), fingering, pent up sex.

Summary: You’re an ex bounty hunter just trying to escape the guilds radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite?

Authors note: I wrote this in a fury in the middle of the night so it’s messy and very very self indulgent. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything so if I need to tag something tell me!

Edit: This fic started on another blog of mine but I moved it here to keep it consistent for when I add more chapters.

Next->

You'd had a good run.

It was a hard opportunity to pass up, the high profile bounty you had been charged to bring in had been able to contact their family shortly before you had captured them and the family offered to pay you handsomely for their return, easily triple what the guild was going to pay for this bail jumper. You’d taken the deal, but that meant you would be returning to the guild empty handed. Maybe if you laid low for a while they'd forget.

Of course that was a stupid thought, within weeks you had noticed rookie hunters on your tail. Word had gotten out that the bounty was walking free and a sloppy bounty hunter was a liability to the guild. After evading all of the green-horns for a time the more experienced hunters began tracking you, and your only choice with them was kill or be killed. They should have known you wouldn't go down quietly.

Months passed before you saw another hunter, hoping against hope that they had given up. It wasn't until you had gotten somewhat comfortable on Tatooine that the last one came.

You were far outside of Mos Eisly, the sandy city was barely a smudge on the horizon from where you were laying low doing repair work on a moisture extractor when he arrived. The machines engine was so loud in your ear you never heard him coming up over the dune, though through the scope of the pulse riffle he carried you wouldn't have heard him anyway. You cranked a ratchet against a stubborn bolt,

-crank.... crank.... c-CRZZT-!

Electricity coursed through you, your first thought was that somehow you had made a connection with a loose wire and shocked yourself, but it was soon obvious that whatever had electrified you was strong enough to paralyze you, causing you to drop down onto the ground. Your fingers were still twitching when you heard bootsteps coming over the sand, but you were unable to stand, instead you worked to shake the electricity running through you.

"Th-thi-think I hit a whi-wh-wire there, I- I- I- I'll get it fi- fixed." you stuttered through clenched teeth, thinking it was the moisture farmer that had hired you coming to see if you were ok. The pulse was wearing off quickly, and you were able to jerk your head enough to make visual contact with the boot of the man approaching you, but these were not the boots of a farmer, they were the boots of a bounty hunter.

"Oh fuck" you tried to scramble to your feet, but you were still jarred from the pulse bolt that had hit you. The man above you wasn't going to wait for you to get your footing, and kicked you over onto your back with one bandoliered boot, then kneeled into your gut with the other, knocking the wind out of you. Still twitching with electricity he snapped a pair of binders on your wrist before hauling you to your feet. You struggled in his grasp, a combination of convulsion and fear made you squirm like a womp rat in a trap, but his grasp was too strong. Suddenly there was cold metal pressed against your side, the barrel of a blaster digging into your ribs.

"Move it." A man of little words but quick and to the point, the blaster barrel forced harder into your side to accentuate his point. He ripped your supply bag off of your shoulders and stuffed a leather clad hand into the belt of your canvas pants to fish out your hidden blaster. Rude. He shoved you toward the barren wasteland of the dune sea, unable to argue with the barrel digging into your ribs you both set off in a brisk pace across sands.

"Whose p- paying you?" You sputtered, still feeling the after effects of the pulse bolt. "I can pay you m- more. I made three ti- times the bounty the guild would pay and I would g- gladly split it with you." Bargaining was your only option at the moment, arms and legs like jelly and unable to put up a good fight. The hunter said nothing, continuing to half march half drag you over the sands. "I bet half is still more than double what they're paying you now, so whad’dya say? Wanna go splitsies?" Still nothing. You huffed, dragging your legs in the sand as best you could to slow him down, but a quick jab with the blaster barrel had you singing a different tune.

The pair of you marched on for a couple hours through the dunes towards a rocky outcropping, you continued making offers of credits and services but never once did he respond, choosing instead to shank you with the blaster or shove a hand into your back to remind you of your current position as his prisoner, without letting you get so much as a peek at your captor. Before long you both had made it to the rocks, and hidden behind them was the saddest looking star ship you had ever seen. It was pre-Imperial you were sure, standing dusty and dented in the fading double sunset. The fact that it had survived atmospheric reentry was a surprise in itself. Like hell you were getting on that thing. The bounty hunter shoved you forward towards the ugly ship, letting go of you just long enough to press a couple buttons on his vambrace to open the entry ramp. It was now or never.

Tired and dehydrated as you were from your trek across the dunes you knew this might be your only chance. You tucked in your bound wrists and made a run for it, kicking up sand in your escape. You were fast but he was faster.

-fwip!- SNAP! Something had caught your leg, yanking your feet out from under you and forcing you to do a faceplant in the rocky sand with a thud. You whipped around to find that he had shot you with some kind of grapple, hauling you back towards him by your ankle you were finally able to see who had caught you.

Is that the Mandalorian? From Karga’s cantina? Of all the hunters you had seen in your travels, Mandalorians were a breed all their own. The stoic hunters had frequented the ramshackle cantina on Navarro that you had visited a handful of times in your earlier days of hunting. You’d started to recognize one in particular that frequented the guild post often. His beskar helmet was shiny unpainted silver, but the last time you had seen him the rest of his armor was a dingy reddish brown. The thought was fleeting as you struggled to escape being dragged by the grapple but once he had you back in his grasp there was no denying it was the same man. He was covered almost head to toe in bullets and beskar, all the way up to the familiar shiny dome of it that covered his entire head. You were able to get an excellent view of its craftsmanship as he pulled you back up to your feet and marched you backwards into the old ship, the black shimmer of his visor never leaving your face. You stumbled over your own feet, fighting with the last bit of your strength for one last chance at escape.

“Mando! Remember me? From Kargas? On Navarro? Yeah yeah heya buddy! Hey hunter to hunter you don’t actually want to bring me in, I just know how much you ~looove~ talking with that old cantina crook and the, uh, paper work! Yeah paper work is suuuch a headache! I’ll just slip on out of here and we can both avoid a bad time, sound good?” Though you knew who he was you’d never spoken to this man in your life, and he of course wasn’t going to entertain your pleas, but it was the best you had. You were pushed backwards through the ship, past supply crates and what looked like the guts of a protocol droid towards what you could only guess was a carbonite chamber. He tossed your supply pack somewhere into the bowels of the ship without ever taking his gaze off you. Panic found a few last drops of adrenaline to pump through your veins as you neared your impending doom. Your silent captor backed you into the chamber, puffs of fog billowing out from behind you as the machine fired up. You had to get out, thrashing in his grasp and kicking against the walls of the chamber with every last bit of strength you had, but just like the armor he wore, he himself was unbreakable.

The bigger hunter was becoming fed up, frustrated with your squirming and never ending bargaining; he needed you to hold still long enough for him to hit the activation sequence so this hunt would be over. He let go of your bound wrists and pushed a leather clad hand up against your throat.

“~Ahh~!”

The noise that escaped your mouth made you both freeze, you just as shocked as he was. Your cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassed that in your current state of capture such a filthy noise had been coaxed from you. You squeezed your eyes shut, just waiting for it to be over and let the carbonite freeze you into oblivion, but its chill never came. You slowly opened one eye to glance at the armored man, but he looked like he was the one that had been frozen.

“What was that?” His voice was like gravel coming through the modulator of his helmet, and you flushed red again at his question, looking between the corners of his visor where you thought his eyes might be.

“Don’t worry about it, tin man.” you croaked, “Just hurry up and let’s get this over with.” You squeezed your eyes shut again, hoping that the darkness behind your eyelids was enough for you to vanish into. But you felt the hand leave your neck, coasting down to your bound wrists and tugging you out of the carbonite freezer. Unable to really argue with him you followed his pull on shaky legs, looking at the unreadable face for a sign of his intentions. Once you were free of the chamber he pushed you up against the nearby wall and held you in front of him, completely motionless.

You were confused, embarrassed, and now suddenly frustrated. Was he really going to drag this out for stupid questions? He stood like a statue, the visor of his helmet felt like its gaze was trying to bore a hole through your skull. You stared at him, then to his hands, and last down to his blaster before looking back up to his visor. You watched as one leather gloved hand slowly made its way back up to your neck, giving it a firm squeeze like he had done before, but you wouldn’t fall for that trick a second time.

“Do it again.” came a rumbling voice from deep inside the beskar, but this time it was lower, more measured and full of something that made your heart do flip-flops in your chest. A sinful thought came to you, maybe you would be able to escape after all.

“You’re going to have to work for it, no more freebies” a sly smile crept over your face, earning a tilt of the helmet that made you feel like you were being inspected by a large bird. Your hands were still locked together, but you brought them both up anyway to wrap your fingers around the armored wrist that still leaned against your throat. Immediately his other hand went for the blaster and its barrel was trained on you in a heartbeat. “Easy...” you whispered showing both of your raised palms in a sign of peace. He kept the blaster trained on you as you gently grabbed his wrist with both hands, pulling on it to guide it down the front of your shirt. When his hand reached your breast, you pushed his palm into the supple mound, rewarding him with another breathy sigh.

Something like a huff whispered out though his modulator, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the whirring of the ships innards, but you knew what you heard. The blaster in his other hand dipped away from you slowly before finding its spot back in its holster. Once it was safely away his free hand came up to grab at your other breast, earning him another encouraging sigh. Without letting go of the front of your shirt he carefully spun you away from the carbonite freezer and walked you backwards towards one of the supply crates that littered the hull until it bumped up against the back of your knees; prompting you to plop down on it. You leaned back, arching your bound arms over your head to give you some kind of leverage while he toyed with your breasts.

“Y’know they’re even more fun without the shirt.” you chided. The mandalorian took the hint and ghosted down to the hem of the tunic you had worn to blend in with the other farmers. It was thin and yielded easily as he pushed it up over your breasts, the flesh of your nipple puckering in the cool air of the ship. The shiny black of his visor never left your chest, only tilting side to side as he took both of them in. His leather gloves were soft and warm on your skin, gently pinching at your nipple and pulling on them just enough to cause your breast to bounce when he let go. He grabbed at the pillowy flesh, groping and rolling your sensitive buds between the knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers. All the while you made good on your word, making soft sighs to edge him on. Though you knew this was supposed to be your escape plan, you couldn’t help the way heated pooled in your belly, making you squeeze your thighs together and rock your hips. The armored man noticed the way you were squirming and let his hands wander down from your breasts to the hem of your canvas pants.

“Well? Don’t leave a girl waiting.” You rocked your hips up at his hands, trying to get him to take the hint. His expert hands that had wielded fierce weaponry so well now seemed to falter at what he was supposed to do next. His fingers were slow undoing the button and zipper as if he'd never taking someone else's clothes off before, before pushing them down until they were around your knees. The sudden hit of cool air made you instantly aware of just how hot you had become under his groping. You used your knees and heels to push your pants all the way off, kicking your muckboots off with them and opening yourself up for him to get a good look at you.

His body was stiff, the visor of his helmet staring down at your heat, he was so still you could swear he was holding his breath. Suddenly his gaze made you feel vulnerable, as if he didn’t like your display. You moved to start closing your legs when a strong hand shot out to grab your knee and hold it in place while he continued to gawk at you. He likes what he sees you realized, heat flushing to your face and your cunt. Again you rolled your hips from side to side, trying to entice him. What’s he waiting for?

“Please...” you gave him your best impression of a needy virgin and saw his shoulders immediately go even stiffer, the black visor snapping up to meet your eyes. “Take your gloves off.”

He cocked his helmet at you, and you were starting to get the hang of reading an unreadable face. “Just trust me, we’ll both enjoy it more.” At that he tugged the glove off of one hand and tossed it somewhere behind him in the ship, exposing bronze skin of a, thankfully, human hand. He reached down between your legs at the hot core of your body, slowly moving his fingers down your slit. You sighed and arched into his touch, begging with your body for something more tangible. His other hand came up to grab your thigh and steady you, but the hand tracing your heat was shy and ghostlike, almost like he wasn’t touching you at all. “Please Mando...” you begged again, hoping he would get the damn hint.

He pushed one finger experimentally into your folds, dragging the wetness that had accumulated there over your opening and making you hum for him. He moved from the bottom up until his calloused hand found the sensitive little nub you had been waiting for him to find. The roughness of his skin caused you to convulse and cry out, making him tear his hand away as if he’d been burned.

“It’s alright! Please touch me there.” Who is this guy? What’s he never seen a pussy before? You thought to yourself, surprised that such a big scary man would be so jumpy. You arched your back and was rewarded with his hands back where they belonged. He pushed his thumb up against your aching clit, drawing lazy circles with it while another finger began pushing its way inside you. This time you let out a ragged and dirty moan to let him know he was doing a good job. He pulled his thumb away from your engorged nub to push a second finger up in you, making you whine. He found a spot in you quickly that was starting to make you shake again, but this time he knew not to foolishly let go. Your legs were quaking, head lolling to the side and making those sinful sighs that you could tell he liked. He was getting you close, your muscles squeezing around his rough fingers as he worked you to your climax. When his thumb found your clit again you came undone, your cunt fluttering around his fingers with your orgasm. He rode it out with you, pushing up against the coiled muscle to milk every ounce of pleasure from you that you could give on his hands alone. You could feel your own cum leaking down your thighs and around his hand, now realizing how pent up you actually were. What a mess you would be.

You were nearly gasping but you knew you were far from spent. He pulled his hand from your dripping cunt and you watched him stare at the slick on his hands, sticking and unsticking his fingers just to watch the glimmering trails. Cute, you mused to yourself, he really might not have seen a pussy before.

“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?” With one last glance at the prize on his fingers, he took a moment to reach them up underneath the edge of his helmet, greedily getting a taste of you, before straightening up and undoing his own buttons. You were not prepared for the monster that flopped out of his pants, his cock full and engorged all the way to its hot red tip. Thick veins wound their way up its length and you swore you could see them pulse even from your vantage point on the crate. A soft drop of precum was already forming at the tip and you licked your lips involuntarily, feeling a fresh rush of heat pooling between your legs. “I’m all yours.”

The hunter grasped his aching cock and used his thumb to glide the precum up and down it’s length before he angled himself between your legs. You arched your hips to give him the best angle but he wanted to take his time. He dragged the head of his cock up and down the length of your slick opening, gathering the cum he had earned for himself. When he bumped up against your clit you moaned a breathy and sinful sound that made him shiver. He slid back down again and you pushed your hip towards him, forcing his tip to notch and he almost doubled over from the sensation, giving you a ragged groan in response.

“Did that feel good?” you asked, biting your lip with a devious sneer. “It’ll feel even better inside.” His gaze was fixed on where the two of you were connected, his hands like steel on your thighs. Another tilt of your hips was enough to turn the cogwheels of the metal man and he pushed his length into you with a shuddering gasp. Your own breath caught in your throat at the size of him breaking you open. He pulled himself back out achingly slow before thrusting into you again and earning himself another round of pleasured cries. It took him only a couple more thrusts to find his rhythm, bottoming out against your cervix with every thrust. Your head was cloudy and a fearsome heat was building in your belly, threatening to burst every time he pounded into you. You could hear him now, the once silent bounty hunter was panting ragged puffs of air and if it had been any cooler in the ship you swore you would have seen steam coming out of the helmets vents.

He slowed his feverish pounding just long enough to release one of your captured thighs and bring a thumb down to your clit, pushing against it in a way that was rougher than what you would have liked but nevertheless sent your head spiraling and forcing a pitiful mewl to escape your throat. It wasn’t long before another round of lightning crackled through your body and sent another orgasm crashing through you. The force of it made him choke and stuttered his perfect rhythm hard enough that he fell forward onto you. Your hands were still locked together but you wrapped them around his broad armored back as best you could, pulling him close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath coming out of the bottom of the helmet. He groaned and pushed his head into the crook of your neck before finding his filthy cadence again. He was close enough now that you could catch the scent of him, a mix of sweat and metal and gunpowder and something so primal it made your eyes flutter.

“Let me feel that again.” His ragged voice in your ear sent you spinning, and you could only answer with choked cries. The hand he had used to work you into a frenzy before now snaked it’s way up to your throat, giving it the exact gentle squeeze he had earlier that started this whole twisted tango. This time you gave him precisely what he was asking for, your tongue peeking ever so slightly past wet lips in between soft choked gasps. His pace quickened by your edging and his grasp tightened on your neck, drawing an ugly -urk- noise that had you patting his back in protest. To your relief he respected your gesture and let go of your neck entirely. Interesting...what a sweet, thoughtful murder machine he is. He grabbed ahold of the abused crate that held you both up and ground his hips into you, fucking you so hard you swore it would break. It wasn’t long before your overstimulated cunt gave him exactly what he asked for, crying out into the silence of the hull and clamping down around his cock.

That was the last thing he needed to push him over the edge. A few more messy thrusts and a modulated roar accompanied his climax while he pumped you full of cum. He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt his cum start to pour out of you, mixing with your own as it trailed down from the intersection of your bodies and onto the cold metal of the ships floor. You were both panting, his weight on you making it almost hard to breathe. With great difficulty you pulled your bound arms over top of him and dropped them back behind your head so he could get up, but he just laid on top of you while his cock slowly softened and released itself from you, sending a fresh wave of cum flooding down your legs.

Carefully he pushed himself up, grunting and groaning the whole way. He stumbled to his feet, resting an arm on one of the crates next to you to steady himself and the other on your quaking knee. You glanced down at him and was bemused to see his glossy black visor staring down at your dripping cunt. His hands made their way back to you, gently pushing at your folds to watch the delicious mess he had made trickle from you. You couldn’t hear much over the blood pounding in your ears, but you could have sworn he said something with fondness in a language you didn’t know.

Releasing you from his grasp he walked up your side, dragging his ungloved hand over your disheveled body, devouring your naked form with his visor like a starving man watches a feast. It was now that you remembered why you had let him fuck you in the first place, but your body was limp and your legs shaky. He ran his hands up your chest and over your exposed breasts, then up your arms, grabbing the magnetic cuffs he had put there. Great. Back to the carbonite chamber for me.

But instead your ears were graced with the metallic click of the unlocking mechanism and the restrictive cuffs clattered to the floor. You sat up immediately, rubbing at the bruises on your wrists and staring at your captor with mix of bliss and confusion.

“You’re letting me go?”

Mando was working to put his clothes back in order, the sound of belts and snaps shuffling into place echoed in the ships hull. “Last I heard you had fallen into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine. Can’t collect a bounty on the dead. Pity too, I’d heard you were such a great hunter.” The man who had been your captor was now leaning against the hull wall, his visor still locked on your mostly naked form. “You can go back to doing repairs on moisture farm equipment, or...” he tilted his helmet towards the back of the ship “You’re welcome to use the fresher.”

You blinked at his uncharacteristic generosity, though you supposed you didn’t actually know anything about him. Shifting off of the crate sent another gooey wave of cum dribbling down your legs and flushed your cheeks red. Maybe the fresher wasn’t a bad idea. The metallic man turned on his heel towards what you could only guess was the cockpit.

“Alright, but no peeking.” Like I could stop him. The thought made you laugh, it was his ship after all. You tossed what was left of your clothing onto the floor and made for the tiny alcove that passed as a bathroom and the even tinier shower; but the water was hot and that was enough. It had been so long since you had felt running water on your skin that you didn’t even hear the engines firing up and the rickety ship begin to take off. There was a bar of military grade soap on the ledge that you decided to help yourself to, it smelled surprisingly nice for something so plain. It smells like he does. You shook your head at the intrusive thought. It was just soap.

When you had finished your wash you stood in the fresher trying to squeegie water from your hair, now noticing the rumbling of the ship under your feet. Well, goodbye Tatooine I guess. The ugly dust ball had done you no favors, but this wasn’t exactly the way you had guessed you were getting off of it. He had set out to capture me, and he succeeded. He’ll probably grow tired of me and throw me in the carbonite anyway, so one way or another I would have ended up on this ship. You opened the shower door and saw something on the counter that hadn’t been there when you got in.

Two gray-brown towels were folded neatly on the fresher sink, as well as your clothing and something that looked like a black knit sweater. You hadn’t even heard the door to the fresher open, let alone him coming in to drop the items off.

“Sneaky Mando!” You hollered out into the darkness of the ship, though you guessed he probably couldn’t hear you from where he was at. The idea of him creeping in the bathroom to bring you a towel made you chuckle. “I told you not to peek!”

“I didn’t.” A modulated voice right in your ear made you jump backwards into the safety of the fresher.

“Fucksake man! Scare a girl to death why don’tcha?” You wrapped your towel tighter in indignation, surprised that your nudity would make you embarrassed after what had just happened between the two of you.

He sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “After you went rouge you took out three top tier bounty hunters and not once did you try to beg the guild to stop hunting you. There’s a pretty hefty price on your head, but I think your skills could be put to better use.” The Mandalorian cocked his head at you, “Think you can do that again?”

The audacity... You huffed and put your hands on your hips in a stance of mock fury. “So you kidnap me and now you’re going to put me to work? Great. Thanks pal. Really know how to take a girl out on a date, huh?”

He shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the carbonite freezer? I’m sure Karga would love to part with all those credits for your capture.”

No... No you did not want to go back to the freezer. You glared down at the floor with raised eyebrows, pretending like you were mulling over the idea like it was a job offer and not literally your only option.

“Alright... fine fine you talked me into it. Let’s go hunting, captain.” You snapped a damp hand out for him to shake, but he just shook his shiny metal dome in what you might have guessed was a laugh. He pushed himself away from the wall and climbed back up the ladder to the cockpit without a single word.

You watched as his boots disappeared into the ceiling and shook your head, wondering now if when you woke up this morning you had any idea that the day would take you on some wild bantha hunt though space with a well-hung mystery man. You tightened your towel and tucked back into the still steamy fresher to put on the clothes he had left you. The farming tunic was in a sad state, but the knit sweater looked snug and inviting. Pulling it over your damp hair your nose was flooded with that same delectable scent that you had gotten to indulge in earlier. When he was pressed into you.

“Hoo boy...” You finished getting dressed, rubbing your hair with one of the towels Mr. Mystery had left for you. I hope he’s got travel scrabble somewhere in this rust bucket, or you’re going to have to find some more... physical... activities to pass the time. Your lips turned up in a mischievous grin at the idea.

What a strange trip this will be.

Next ->

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #self insert #smut

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

Text

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis.

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased.

He needed a reality check.

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.”

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?”

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?”

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.”

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.”

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

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

Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win.

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.”

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money.

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!”

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready.

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.”

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?”

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?”

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?”

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked.

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate.

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through.

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two.

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up.

1st: (First initial). (Last name)

1st: H. Zemo

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before.

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.”

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night.

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

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round.

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?”

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone.

“Oui.”

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name).

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you.

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything.

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth.

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress.

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego.

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind.

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce

#Baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #racing au #daniel brühl #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #john walker #john walker is STILL an asshole #multichapter story #chapter 2 #“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

diamond trail I — myg

Plot: The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)

Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Yoongi x Consigliere!Y/N

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Mafia | Marriage | Mature Themes/Fluff/Smut

Tags & Warnings: criminal activities, mentions of past abuse (outside of the pair), explicit smut (spanking and very brief anal play), mild violence, coarse language.

Authors Note: it’s here friends!! i’m still a little rusty in terms of writing fanfiction after a while so please be kind lmaoo

A huge thanks to @casuallyimagining and @aroseforyoongi for helping with the proofreads!

Gold Dust held patronage of all heads in the underworld, allowing them to orchestrate the most exclusive and grandest auctions. You and Yoongi walked through the vault doors, hands intertwined with one another as two suited guards led you down the velvet lined stairs. Your footsteps silenced amongst the beating music of the club above. Your chest relaxed as soon as the soothing violins and piano touched your ears in the underground facility. Black marble walls and pillars encased you along with the sea of Italian silk suits and satin gowns.

Yoongi huffed at the very sight of them. All of these blank slates were products of a long-running nepotism. He might’ve been the only one alive who succeeded a popular gang leader. Then again, his father lived far too long for his own good and had way too many wives to be considered human.

What annoyed him further was the organization. Only the benefactors received private booths. The non-patrons had to be squeezed in with a potential rival in order to provide more benefits for the ones funding these events.

The suited guards stopped at the front booth on the right. Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek until it almost drew blood when he saw their seating partner.

“Min! Didn’t expect to see you crawl out of your hole.” Kim Namjoon wore the smile of a champion with the attitude of a diseased rat. Since he was part of the three oldest gangs alive, there was much respect to be handed to the man. Except Yoongi had no interest giving him the satisfaction.

So Namjoon made a goal to make his life a living hell.

Namjoons’ eyes flickered over to you, smile softened but gaze sharpened. “The beloved consigliere.” He raked up and down your form. “You look a lot better without business clothes, my lady.”

Yoongis’ grip on your hand tightened as you sat down on the other end of the booth. You pat the back of his hand as a silent comfort.

“Remember why we’re here,” you whispered.

Yoongi nodded. “I know.”

Normally, Yoongi brushed past events of pure greed and showy behaviour. However their syndicate suffered from a planned robbery a week ago. Only one item taken with precision: his mothers’ diamond gun. Everything else was untouched, barely shifted. They knew what they were doing.

You managed to trace it down to Kim Taehyungs’ annual auction. It’ll be natural to assume that Taehyung was the thief but most auction presenters had nothing to do with direct theft. More often than not, they were connected to the thieves to ensure that their place in the web of connections was concealed. Or at least delayed until they could escape to a safe house.

The room darkened; a spotlight shone down the stage. Kim Taehyungs’ lean figure stood proud, adorned in a red silk shirt and his hair curled. A ruby clip glimmered on the side of his head while his rings practically danced on his fingers. “Welcome my beautiful patrons to another friendly exchange of luxuries.” A calculated smile tugged at his lips. “I must say I’ve never seen such variety in a small listing before so this will be one for the ages. The underworld is aware of our rich history, our legends and ancestors who built this country without a trace of credit.”

Taehyungs’ words silenced the crowd to a point where you had to check they were still there.

“Tonight, I have items from each of these legends. Specifically the eight who strengthened that foundation.” Taehyung held a fist up. “Are you all ready?”

An applause indicated their approval earning a satisfied grin from Taehyung.

“Our first item belonged to Don Hayoon of So Pa.” He waved his hand for an assistant to roll the stand into center stage. “A vase made from ox bone and inlaid with gold to create this beautiful marble pattern. Don Hayoon allegedly made it himself during his years of retirement.”

So Pa disbanded eleven years ago due to a police raid in majority of their warehouses but they must’ve missed a few things. Yoongi wondered whether it was taken from the police or the gang itself. The whole retirement story must’ve been a ploy. Don Hayoon had arthritis which is why he had to retire in the first place before embarrassing himself in front of rivals.

Obviously none of these idiots would know that and Taehyung was milking it for what it’s worth.

The price was called and the cards flew up. Anyone with that vase in their house would gain prestige in seconds. It’ll be talked about from all corners of the underworld. Eventually a smug woman in a red suit won the bid.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hold your hand up, Min,” Namjoon spoke. “Considering you’re probably the only person who’s met Don Hayoon.”

“I’ve met him. I’m sure that’s enough for me to go on.” Yoongi landed his hand on your thigh, soft pink chiffon under his rough palm. He squeezed for some kind of comfort and glue to stop him from losing brain cells too early in the night.

“Considering the nature of your parents, I expected you to have more style.”

Nails dents could’ve formed your skin with the way he dug into your thigh. “Darling.” You pulled off his hand.

“Sorry.” Yoongi rubbed the area to somehow soothe it.

“The second item on our list belonged to Don Chun Hei of Mal Pa.” The assistant pushed in the second stand, holding a rose gem necklace which stood on a black velvet altar. “Chun Hei was best known for working closely with the mayor. Her reforms are the very reason these auctions and many other underworld events can be held with elegance and class. This necklace was a gift from the mayor himself. The rose gem is meant to be a culmination of diamond and rose quartz. Whoever made it has long since disappeared but this necklace has carried on this wonderful legacy.”

Chun Hei was someone both you and Yoongi could respect without question. Mal Pa had no age or prestige in the time Chun Hei made a connection to the mayor. She took her simple street gang and turned it into a professional syndicate that still lasted to this day.

You wondered if her descendants knew just the impact she had to the underworld. This item caused a stir amongst the crowd, suffusing the air with an eerie atmosphere of confusion and even anger. As the prices were called out, you noticed two people constantly raising the stakes to the peak until one of them gave up when it stretched too far. Except the one who gained the artefact didn’t look happy. You discovered that the anger came from them. The diamond gun may not have been the only thing stolen.

How many gang leaders was this thief trying to anger?

The power of auctions was the need to be elegant and impressive. Despite a small portion of the crowd knowing what was going on, they couldn’t say anything. Underworld events are where no leader has ultimate power. Everyone had to stay quiet and let the auction proceed.

“The necklace would’ve looked lovely on you, my lady. Perhaps I could buy it off as a gift.” Namjoon rested his hand out on the back of the couch so his fingertips were a breath away from your hair.

“No thank you,” you stated plainly.

If Yoongi didn’t have enough fuel to kill Namjoon before, it was brimming now. Every ounce of patience layered around him so he could sit still on his chair and let the auction go smoothly. He wasn’t going to raise his voice nor his hand first.

“Our third item is a notorious one at best. The famed Sapphire Assassins’ ledger.” Murmurs of recognition spread across the crowd. “Her true name was Mishil, right hand to Don Sungho of Jwi Pa. Sungho was an ambitious gang leader who believed the country’s underworld should have an ultimate master. He anointed himself and hired a professional assassin to kill everyone off on his hit list. Mishil listed all her killings down in this very ledger.”

Excitement coursed through your body seeing the battered old ledger. The blue covers patched with black ink splotches and the pages were tinged brown. You imagined the different ways she could’ve formulated her assassinations; the connections she had to make to be successful in such an elaborate scheme.

“As most of you might be aware, Mishil succeeded in the deaths of many gang leaders. However three gangs were able to execute her and Sungho before chaos could reach its full potential. To this day, no one has ever pulled a deed this vast and destructive. Not a friend to most of our gangs but there is surely a sense of power by having her failed ledger displayed in your home.” Taehyungs’ smirk marked success as soon as he called out for the prices.

Power was a key word to this crowd. While the more hardened members like Yoongi and Namjoon knew it was just a play for sales, Taehyung didn’t relish in the shouting any less.

While your angle wasn’t for power, your fingers still twitched to raise a card. Curiosity tugged at the back of your head, wondering how Mishil managed to gain that many openings and occurrences. Her techniques would’ve been useful in future assignments. All the syndicates you could manipulate for deals and contracts. Getting out of contracts. Anything. So many pieces of information must’ve been overflowing out of that ledger, calling out to you like a siren song. With a small sigh, you calmed the adrenaline pumping through your veins. This auction wasn’t a pleasure trip. You needed to focus.

The ledger was handed off to a man in a navy suit. At best, he would display it on his study like a fool. What a waste.

Reaching into your crystal clutch, you brought out a notepad and pen. If you couldn’t get the ledger now then there is a chance something could be arranged later. The auction was reaching its halfway point which meant the most valuable items are to come now.

“This fourth item belonged to Don Daeshim of Tokki Pa. The gang leader who drove away international syndicates striving to take over the country’s underworld. A bit of a hero. Rumor has it, he took a few drops of blood from each of those international associates and filled this goblet to the top.” Taehyung waved his fingers over the goblet mouth, mesmerizing the crowd like a herd of animals.

You observed the price calling with a brutally sharp eye. It might not seem valuable in the business sense but international associates may have had families and the like. Someone who might want compensation at the right time. You scribbled the description of the one who received the goblet. Thankfully, they had a noticeable scar down their left cheek with a distinguished citrine ring that was only sold by two jewelers.

“I wonder what it’s like having to work for someone you’ve married. Must be a pain hearing requests left to right.” Namjoons’ comment caused another stir in Yoongi but you stayed calm.

“If you think a consigliere simply takes requests then I feel sorry for yours. God forbid they find out they might be worth something more.” You narrowed your gaze.

“The Lady has venom.” Namjoon chuckled. “I mean no insult, of course.”

Yoongi tried to hold in a scoff, biting the inside of his cheek.

Silence spread amongst the three of you as Taehyung announced the fifth item: a gold mask once used to suffocate the Don of Yang Pa so his son could take over quicker. The sixth item was a First Lady’s dress which held at least a kilo of cocaine, hidden in every rhinestone and gem in small portions. It was later confiscated by the police but Gold Dust always knew how to make use of their connections.

Then seventh item caused a stir in Namjoon. For the first time in the night or ever, you noticed a sense of true and pure fury twisting his features.

“Our second to last item is a jade bracelet that belonged to Don Nari of Sutal Pa. A gang as full of mysteries and tragedies as its main rival, Gae Pa. Don Nari was the default leader after a tragic fire struck the Kim family. Leaving her and her young brother the only living descendants.” Taehyung lightly pressed on the bracelet, causing sharp gold spikes to spread out of it. “This was her weapon of choice. People had the habit of grabbing her wrist when they wanted to make a point so she had this bracelet made to show that she was untouched.” He blinked slowly.

“You son of a bitch,” Namjoon whispered under his breath.

“You’re not the only one riled up, Kim. Calm down.” Yoongi glared at Namjoon both as a warning and courtesy nudge to protect himself from embarrassment. “Don’t raise your hand.”

“Fuck off,”

“Namjoon,” Yoongi warned.

Namjoon shifted on his seat, fingers itching to grab onto his gun and shoot the auctioneer right in between his brows.

For once, Yoongi shared his anger. Of all the things they could take from them, they had to target the most precious object tied to a painful memory.

You noted down the buyer immediately. Park Jimin. He was a chain restaurant owner distantly associated with Yoongi but he soon began delving into arts dealing. He should be the easiest one to track down.

Yoongi had been slightly distracted by Namjoons’ downward spiral. His heart jumped before his mind caught up at the sound of his mothers’ name.

“It’s my honor to present to you our final item. The Diamond Gun of Min Areum.”

The gun rested inside a glass case lifted by a velvet lined platform. Lined in gold, encrusted with diamonds, glimmering brighter than the stars in a country sky. Everyone in the audience murmured in excitement, eager to lift their cards for the bidding.

“She was the First Lady of the oldest syndicate alive, Gae Pa. Her life as the wife of Don Min wasn’t pretty and filled with troubles. One day, she took her son to a mysterious jeweler and gave away all her diamond and gold jewelry. See this jeweler specialized in beautifying weapons and he made this priceless work of art. The same gun, Min Areum to shoot down Don Min and take over as Don herself.”

Yoongi could’ve sworn that Taehyung directed a smirk at him. Mocking him of the fact that he had such a prize in his midst. Flailing it right in front of him as a form of public humiliation.

Cards practically flew up to the ceiling in their sheer speed. Prices thrown from the left to right giving Yoongi a headache. He could hear his mothers’ voice, the small purple bruise on left eye as she took him to the jewelry shop every week. It was their only time of peace.

You reached out and touched his thigh, bringing his attention back.

Then a familiar voice brought you both to a still.

“Sold to Kim Namjoon!” Taehyung announced while the crowd huffed and cheered.

Yoongi glared at the man.

“What? You never said I couldn’t buy your shit.” Namjoon relaxed back on the couch, unrelenting in his own glare.

As the auction concluded, Taehyung announced that an afterparty will be held at the top level of Gold Dust. You noticed most of them were ready to jump off their chairs and kill him but he’d already disappeared backstage. Most likely straight to his vehicle so there was no time for anyone to act.

Yoongis’ body radiated a thick air of heat and the glares shared between the two leaders were sharp.

“We’ll settle this where there’s less people, gentlemen. Calm yourselves.” You glanced around at all the patrons and attendees either excitedly murmuring or harshly whispering. It was a strange atmosphere tonight. One can only wish there won’t be any bloodshed.

***

“Are you fucking serious? You know fully well it was stolen from me!” Yoongi growled. Both gang leaders were toe to toe in a dark corner of the club. Others were mingling on their own problems and issues with the auction and some were close to losing their inside voices.

“And I bought it fair and square. Don’t you think it’s a little childish that you’re simply asking me for it?” Namjoon spoke through gritted teeth. “Now get the fuck out of my way. I have business to deal with.”

Yoongi pressed a hand on his chest. “I could give Jimin one word and you’ll never find that bracelet even if it was up your own damn ass. So stay put.”

“I’m the last person you can scare with status, Min. You know this. I’ll snap my fingers—” he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “—and your wife will be on her knees for me.”

Yoongi pulled out a small silver blade and pressed to Namjoons’ neck. Eyes darkened in fury. Hungry for a taste of his blood staining the floor, for that face to twist in despair.

“Stop it. Both of you.” Your voice struck firm as you pushed them apart. “Don’t you understand why this auction took place?”

Yoongi and Namjoon stared at you in confusion. You sighed in annoyance.

“Someone is trying to play with your minds. Causing you to drop blood so they don’t have to get their hands dirty. Why do you think all those artefacts were dumped into one auction? Where almost all the gangs of this country were attending?” Your eyes flickered from Yoongi to Namjoon. “Doesn’t that sound a little strange? From the naked eye, you’d think they were just silly but clearly—” You gestured at the both of them. “—whatever they’re trying is working. No one knows who the thief is. That causes suspicion and rumors.”

“We start blaming each other for spilling information,” Yoongi continued.

You nodded, relieved that some understanding spread through their faces. “We need to regroup in a neutral zone. Gold Dust isn’t that anymore. Once we find a place and time, we’ll figure what needs to be done. For now, separate.”

The leaders shared another sharp glare at each other before Namjoon walked away. Some of the heads that were turned to them now moved back and Yoongi hid his blade.

“Where’s the fucking restroom?” Yoongi hissed. You took his hand and led him over to the left side of the room, slithering through the crowd.

Two guards were already situated at the doors as Yoongi kept a grip on your hand when you walked into the restroom. The bright lights made him groan in annoyance.

Anyone who saw them enter immediately rushed out. The tension in the auction was so high that nobody wanted to be found near an angry gang leader.

Yoongi leaned forward on the marble sink, breathing ragged and his limbs shaking from anger. The last memory of his mother now rested in someone elses’ hands. Why couldn’t she come up with something less physical? Something that couldn’t be stolen. Namjoon was holding it now. I’ll snap my fingers. He was right. He had the power. There was no ultimate leader to call the shots. Just however reached the flag first. And if he reached first—no. He shook his head. Namjoon wasn’t the problem right now.

He let the water run, wanting the sound to drown any visions or thoughts that made bile reach up to his throat.

“Yoongi,” you muttered, rubbing his arm. “You okay?”

“I tried—I kept my cool but—when you mentioned you—” he rubbed his face roughly. “I—fuck—I could’ve killed him. I could’ve killed him.”

“But you didn’t.” You caressed the back of his head. “It’ll be okay. I know it feels like all the strings that surfaced are jumbled but they’ll come together. We’ve been through much worse than this, okay?”

Yoongi sighed. “I remembered her for the first time in years.” He chuckled sadly. “I thought I lost those memories a long time ago.”

You felt your eyes burn at his voice cracking. Yoongi never talked about his mother. There were only vulnerable moments in the dead of night when Yoongi couldn’t sleep. That was the first time he ever mentioned her. The first time she saw tears in his eyes. “We’ll get it back. No matter what, I promise.” That promise engraved in your mind.

***

The next morning, you rose in nothing but your champagne silk robe and sat at your study. Handwriting letters until your fountain pen emptied of ink and the steaming black coffee turned tepid. Park Jimin held the Kim familys’ prized jade bracelet and Namjoon held the Min Familys’ diamond gun. Clearly, the scandal spread further than the two gangs but your current priority is ensuring a war won’t break out between Namjoon and Yoongi.

Jimins’ death would also result in only chaos.

Gold sunlight gleamed through the white transparent curtains, beaming rays reflecting against the dark mahogany of the study table. Despite the mess in your brain, the morning itself was peaceful. You made sure Yoongi slept a few hours longer than normal so his daily alarm had been temporarily disabled.

Everytime he drowned in his emotions, Yoongi worked himself to the bone as if to make up for his vulnerability. You knew that would only taint the progress they had so far on the investigation.

You sent the letters out through different messengers. They will be followed through an underground trail until it finally reached the two gang leaders. Cupping your now hot cup of coffee, you let out a deep breath, emptying your lungs of the stress as you looked out the painted window of your study.

There was still time left to relax before they started work. Giving the empty cup to a maid, you walked back up to your bedroom.

Yoongi stirred underneath the white, cotton sheets. Bars of gold light shining down his pale skin through the blinds and a cool air kissed your flesh.

Door locked, you padded closer and gently climbed onto the bed. Yoongi draped a tattooed arm over your waist with a drawling hum under his breath.

“Where’d you go?” His voice vibrated through the fabric of the bed, cheek pressed against the pillow and raven hair covered his eyes.

“I sent letters out to the leaders for a meeting.” You kept your voice soft, caressing the dog silhouette on his arm.

Yoongi groaned in annoyance. “I really don’t wanna talk to that asshole. Can’t we do it another time?”

“The most important thing in the world to you has been taken. This is the meeting that’s going to help you get it and you’re going to back down?”

Yoongi rubbed his face before staring at you. “The most important thing in the world to me is lying down right here.”

You smiled, fingers tracing his chest. “The second most important then.”

“That’ll be our dogs.”

You chuckled. “Darling, you know you want it back. This is also going to prevent any brawl between Jimin and Namjoon.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement. In the moment of silence, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You leaned down and kissed him. You moved down, peppering kisses on his jawline and neck.

Yoongi let out a shaky sigh as your lips grazed his chest, gentle brushes against the tender skin where his prior wounds used to be. Trailing your tongue down his torso, the blanket slid off the edges of the bed.

Your hand reached down and gently cupped his crotch, earning a hiss from the man. Yoongi grabbed onto your hair, breaking the kiss so he could look at you. You graced him with a smile. Biting down your lips, you descended down his stomach. Slow pecks down his torso as your fingers hooked the hem of his boxers.

Pulling down the soft material, the tightening member sprung up, blushing at the tip. With another smile, you wrapped your lips around the tip and swallowed the length until it disappeared into your mouth. You closed your throat around his tip before pulling back. Yoongi hummed. Heat exuded from his body blocking out the cool breeze of the air conditioner, adrenaline seeping through his exhaustion.

Spit dribbled down your chin as you took his length again, bobbing you head. Your free hand wrapped around the base, squeezing until you heard a whine. Yoongi fisted the sheets and the other hand buried in your hair. Madness clouded his mind watching your head bouncing on him, drooling at the edges of your mouth and tears glossing your eyes.

Fire burning in the pit of his belly, he held onto both sides of your head and thrusted into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat making you whimper. He felt the tightness of his release just hearing the sound of your gagging. The way you obediently stayed still as he fucked your throat. Your panties felt heavy and hot with your arousal, desperately needing to be touched. One hand snuck under your robe, rubbing the soggy material.

Yoongi pulled his length out, enjoying the way you tried to catch your breath before staring up at him in tears. Pulling you back up, he flipped you both around until your body was bent over the soft bed, cheek pressed against the sheets. Pushing up your robe and pulling down your panties down to your knees, he positioned himself at your dripped entrance. Without another warning, he pushed himself in. The sheer squelch and stretch could’ve had you unraveling in seconds.

Vulnerabilities of the early morning had you dripping and softened to the slightest touch of ecstasy. Yoongi shared the same impatience as he fucked into you. Barely any remorse, arousal splattering at every thrust. Nectar dripped through the expensive sheets as the bed shifted from his movements. He grabbed your shoulder to push in deeper until the soft walls of your cervix hugged his tip.

Your moans and his heavy breathing melded together in a melody that reverberated throughout the bedroom. He nudged a thumb through your rim, pushing and hooking before pounding into you again. You fell full and overwhelmed, wanting to explode and fall apart.

You gripped onto the sheets until her nails dug into her own palms. Yoongi pushed your dress up further, caressing your back before smacking your bottom. Another whimper left your lips. He smacked it again.

Yoongi turned you around, lifting you onto his lap. Your back rested on the wood headboard as your arms wrapped around his neck. Sleeves of your robe drooped down your shoulders, barely hanging onto your body. Arousal squirted out of you making both of you laugh. Yoongi let out a blissful sigh as he quickened his pace. The headboard could’ve cracked from the pressure, breathing short and rapid like the speed of his thrusts. Lips latched on the curve of your neck as the pleasure trembled through you.

Before he could mutter anything, you felt the warm liquid burst inside you. Filling your womb until it spilled through the sheets. Yoongi snuck his hand between your legs, pushing you to the edge as your lips barely brushed against each other.

Bliss burst at the seams, ricocheting through every limb until your legs trembled, clasping tight around his hips. Yoongi kissed your jawline and your temple. “Fine.” He breathed out. “One meeting.”

You giggled as your breathing tried to catch up. “Good.”

next chap >>

#yoongi #thebtswritersclub #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #yoongi mafia au #bts mafia au

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prettyyoungandbored · 4 years

Text

Both Sides Now [’Second Place’ Sequel]

Pairing: Bale!Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: 8 years after Rachel’s death and taking place before the events of “The Dark Knight Rises”, Bruce and Y/N meet and relive a painful memory.

Tagged: @kittenlittle24 @fzzziiiieee

Read ‘Second Place’ before you read this.

Author’s Note: Y’all ain’t ready for this.

It wasn’t clear how he found her, but she wasn’t upset. She’d secretly hoped the day would come.

Eight years had passed since she walked out of the Wayne penthouse, since she and Bruce broke it off, and since Rachel had passed. Sometimes, when the memories come back to her it feels like they happened the month before.

She smoothed her jeans as she made her way up the stairs to Wayne Manor, the pitter-patter of rain surrounding her as she attempted to keep dry with the umbrella over her head. When they were together, he was living at the penthouse in the middle of the city, she had dreamt of living in the Wayne Manor and raising a family of their own, but life had other plans as it always does.

She exhaled quickly and adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. She knocked on the door and closed the umbrella.

Butterflies flew in her stomach as anticipation and anxiety ran throughout her body. She wondered how he looked. He had disappeared from the public not too long after the Dent memorial, as did Batman. In the wee small hours of the morning, she used to lie in bed and look outside the window, waiting for him to stand outside like he used to. He used to spend so many nights at her place at the end of his Batman shift. But eventually just like their relationship, her silly hopes came to an end and she stopped waiting.

The door opened and Alfred greeted her. His eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

“Alfred!”

He opened the door, letting her in. He closed the door behind her, taking her umbrella. She slid off her raincoat, placing it on the rack beside the door. Her smile widened as she wrapped her old friend into an embrace.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she marveled.

“I could say the same for you,” he responded warmly.

“How are you doing?”

“Well enough. Yourself?”

“I’ve been quite alright. Busy, but alright.”

She eyed the manor, noticing the white sheets over the furniture and home decor. She heard Bruce lost money in a bad investment, but didn’t know what to believe considering he was one of the most the smartest men she’d ever met. It was strange seeing the proof with her own eyes, but she didn’t care. Her reason for coming was bigger than him losing his fortune.

“So this is the famous Wayne manor,” she sighed. “Bigger than I expected.”

Alfred chuckled. “It’s certainly something else. I’ll take you into the living room. Master Wayne will join you shortly.”

She followed the older man into the packed up living room. The only piece of furniture that was unpacked was an emerald velvet. While the windows were covered, slim rays of sunlight peaked through, adding tiny bits of sunlight into the dreary room. She took a seat on it and smiling at Alfred as he left.

She set her purse down and rested her hands on her lap. She eyed the room, imaging what it must’ve have looked like prior to it’s current state. Bruce was insistent on making the place exactly how it was prior to the fire. She remembered teasing him about how specific he was with the interior decorator about having certain, specific colors in certain, specific rooms.

Then from the corner of her eye, she spotted a painting that had yet to be covered. Her eyebrows furrowed, curiosity taking its course. She got up and knelt down in front of it to find it a was oil painting of Bruce and his parents, Thomas and Martha. Bruce looked like he was at least 10 years and had a stern expression on his face. Y/N chuckled at the thought that knowing how impatient the man tended to be, how dreadful posing for the picture must’ve been for young Bruce.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

She turned her head, her body springing up. A heaviness weighed over her chest, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Her breath hitched.

Age had been incredibly kind to Bruce, minus the grey stripe in the side of his hair. He played it casual with a plain grey tee, jeans. His playful, mischievous eyes stayed on her as he flashed the smile that still made her weak in the knees.

Her lips curved into a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “You always did like to make an entrance.”

Bruce stared at her in wonderment, amazed at how she’d managed to look the same after all these years. The way she smiled at him brought him the comfort he once felt when being in presence and it reminded him of a home he’d missed.

He chuckled. “I can’t help it.”

He started walking toward her when she noticed the limp in his walk. Her smile fell a bit.

“Shattered knee,” he explained casually. “Years of Batman injuries caught up with me.”

“Here, let me-.”

“It’s quite alright.” He laughed it off much to Y/N’s surprise. He limped his way to the sofa, taking a seat. Y/N followed close behind, taking a seat beside him and turning to face him.

“So how have you been?” he asked.

“I’ve been well,” she answered. “Still doing event plannings and whatnot. How about you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been better but, it’s all good.”

“I heard,” she agreed, nodding her head. The heaviness of the subject of him losing everything lingered in the silence that followed. Feeling somewhat comfortable, Y/N took a deep breath. “Are you going to be ok?”

He nodded reassuringly, almost too confidently. “I have some thing I’m working on.”

“Well that’s good to know. You know, if you ever need anything-.”

He waved his hand. “I’m alright. I appreciate it though.”

“Bruce, you know I’m being serious.”

“I know and I appreciate it, but I’m ok for now.”

She gave him a small smile, silently agreeing to drop the subject. She shifted in her seat, clearing her throat.

“I have a daughter,” she admitted, pursing her lips back.

Bruce’s eyes peaked up, his face lightening up in interest. “You’re kidding.”

“Her name is Mallory,” she beamed. She pulled out her wallet, pulling up a photo.

Bruce took it from her, studying it. The child had Y/N’s smile and eyes as she smiled photogenically at the camera. His heart melted at the sight of her. “She’s beautiful. How old?”

“Just turned three.”

“So you’re married?” he asked, looking up from the photo.

She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I, uhm...I used a sperm donor.”

Bruce nodded and she cleared her throat. “I’ve always wanted to be a mom-.”

“I remember that.”

In the time they were together, he couldn’t help but notice how Y/N looked at children and babies she passed by on the street. When things became more serious between them, she told Bruce her dreams of becoming a mom. Bruce, secretly having wanted kids himself, was in for it and the two spent time talking about a future with a child.

“Anyway, I just decided to go for it,” she went on.

“Were you ok?” he asked. “You know, with the delivery and everything?”

His mind wandered to the what if once again, imaging himself in the room with her, holding her hand as she had a mini-breakdown. He’d remind her she could do it, while pressing multiple kisses on her forehead and hands.

“My parents and friends supported me. I also had a great doctor and team of nurses to help me.”

The dream in his mind died. Nevertheless, there was some comfort in knowing she wasn’t totally alone.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

She shook her head. “I was for a while but that didn’t work out. It ended amicably though.” She paused. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “You’ll be happy to know you were the last.”

Her cheeks filled with color. “Wow, you’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t even sneak anyone in while you hung in here all these years?”

He shook his head as Y/N cocked her head back in astonishment. “Holy shit. That’s a long time for you.”

He laughed. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

Y/N cleared her throat and she fiddled with her fingers. While the small talk was great, she knew just why he called her here and she was ready to get to it. “I’m glad you called me.”

“I am too. It’s good to see you.”

She pursed her lips back, exhaling through her nose. “After...uhm...her voice trailed off as she sat up.

Bruce’s head lifted a bit, his body leaning toward her, waiting eagerly.

She sighed, realizing she had to rip the bandaid. “After what happened with us and to Rachel, I went to therapy and...while for the most part I was able to come to terms with most of it, there’s still...I still...” She stopped, chuckling. “God, this is fucking embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” he assured her. “Whatever is you want to say or ask, please. Go for it.”

She swallowed hard, pursing her lips. “Something Rachel brought up with me was that the night I went back to the apartment, you were going to propose to me.”

Bruce lowered his head, the memory coming alive in his mind.

“Was that true?” she asked.

He shifted his head up. “It was.” He reached into his jean pocket and pulled it out.

Y/N’s heart leapt at the sight of it. He handed it to her as she brought the ring closer to her eyes. It was a simple silver band with a .75 carat round diamond, with two little diamonds on each side of it, like the leaves of a flower. It was like watching her wildest dream come true in the palm of her hand.

Tears sprung from her eyes and she quickly wiped them, sniffling her nose.

“Y/N, what happened between Rachel and I...” his voice faltered. “We couldn’t be together because of Batman. Then she moved on with Harvey and I moved on with you.”

“But you didn’t fully move on,” she pointed out.

He nodded. “There was a lot between Rachel and I that we didn’t exactly come to terms with. When it became clear to me that I wanted to spend my life with you, I told Rachel. She told me she felt the same and wanted to be with Harvey. The kiss...neither one of us meant for it to happen, but it did.”

“You don’t regret it though?”

He shook his head. Much to his and her own surprise, Y/N gave him a small smile. “I understand.” She paused. “Would you ever have told me about it?”

“Truthfully?”

“Honestly.”

“No.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” she sighed. “This leads me to a follow up question, why was she the first person you told that you were giving up Batman?”

“Because a long time ago, she said that when I ended Batman we could be together. I wanted her to know that I was ending Batman but that I chose to be with you.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Of course.”

She leaned forward. “It took me a long time to come to terms with everything and if I’m being honest, it took me a long time to really forgive you.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have to ask you something that’s been bothering me for years.”

“By all means.”

“Did you ever actually plan to have a future with me?”

A small smile crept on his lips. “I did.”

“But you said Rachel-.”

“A part of me loved her still, but a larger part of me loved you more.”

She felt her heart shatter once again, just as it did almost eight years ago. “There are so many times I wondered if I had made a mistake walking out that door.”

“You were rightfully angry, Y/N-.”

“Not then. That morning after I woke up and you were on the couch and you...and I...” She exhaled. “I wish I never walked out the door that morning.”

He nodded his head. “And I wish I had stopped you. After all these years, I still wish I did.”

There was a sense of peace in his words. She still mattered to him, a conformation that she selfishly wondered about all these years.

“Do you wonder what we could’ve been?” Bruce asked, breaking the silence.

“Do you?”

“All time.”

She tilted her head, smiling. “Me too.” She sighed. “I sometimes live in the past too, Bruce.”

She sighed. “I better go. I have to pick up Mallory.”

His heart broke, realizing their meeting had come to an end. “I’ll walk you out the door.”

She swung her purse over her shoulder as the two walked together to the entrance of the house.

Stopping at the front door, Bruce scratched back of his head. “Would you ever try again? With me?”

Just as he began to regret his words, he felt her hand caress his cheek. She smiled. “When you’re ready, give me a call.”

As she walked away, Bruce watched her, a hopeful smile played on his lips.

“I take it the meeting went well?” Alfred inquired.

“Very much so.”

“She showed you pics of the child?”

“Her name is Mallory. She’s beautiful.”

“Did you tell her?”

Bruce turned to Alfred. “Not yet. Soon though.”

#bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman #bruce wayne imagine #Christian Bale #christian bale x reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #batman #the dark knight

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theforsakenprince · 3 years

Text

Reckless

yep!

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Go through me

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Words: 1,397

Pairings: platonic/romantic prinxiety

Warnings: fire, swearing, fighting, someone gets stabbed (Let me know if I need to tag anything!)

As anxiety, Virgil’s gotten used to things not going as expected.

This, however, was getting ridiculous.

It all started when Virgil noticed that Roman had been in the Imagination for a long time. This wasn’t particularly unusual- Roman was known to spend days in the Imagination at once- but after… recent events, Virgil was being extra cautious.

“Roman? You in there?” Virgil called as he passed Roman’s room on his way downstairs. When he didn’t get a response, he knocked again. “Ro?”

Still no response.

Virgil suddenly got the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

He threw the door open. Roman’s room was messy and disorganized, like usual, but it only served to feed into Virgil’s anxiety. The door to the Imagination was closed, though Virgil could hear muffled sounds coming from it.

He gulped. He wasn’t sure if Roman would be angry that Virgil entered his room without permission, but he decided to take the risk.

Roman had been growing more and more distant ever since… whatever had happened with Patton and Deceit.

If Virgil was being honest, he was scared- scared for Roman, scared for Thomas, scared of the change that he knew was coming, whether he liked it or not.

Virgil shook his head, annoyed that he got distracted so easily. He had come in here for a reason.

He made his way over to the door to the Imagination and took a deep breath. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of battle. He turned the knob and braced himself for what he would find on the other side.

The first thing Virgil noticed when he stepped into the Imagination was that he had stumbled into some sort of forest. It wasn’t dark or menacing, like any forest you would find on Remus’s side of the mindscape- if anything, it looked like something straight out of a Disney movie.

The second thing he noticed was the scent of smoke. Something was burning.

That definitely wasn’t a good sign. He quickened his pace.

Virgil was almost grateful for the roars and the sound of clanging swords; he would have been hopelessly lost otherwise. The smoke grew thicker as he got closer, and he had to cover his mouth with his sleeve to avoid inhaling too much of it. He found himself wondering yet again what Roman had gotten himself into this time.

Eventually, he made it to what looked like the edge of the forest. The smoke had thinned out enough for him to breathe without hurting his lungs, but the haze that blurred his vision was really starting to get on his nerves.

The sight that greeted Virgil once his eyes adjusted wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for the Imagination- bright red dragon setting fire to anything that burned, Roman armed with only a sword, trying his best to drive it away.

But something was wrong with the image. The dragon stood triumphantly over a burnt patch of forest while Roman, looking beat and battered, struggled to stand.

“Roman!” Virgil shouted without thinking.

Roman looked over his shoulder at him. The dragon, taking advantage of the distraction, roared and whipped its tail around, hitting Roman. He fell to the ground with a thump. He didn’t get back up.

Virgil’s eyes went wide in horror. He silently cursed himself as he ran to Roman’s side. The dragon growled in confusion, but Virgil couldn’t count on it being confused for long.

“Shit, Roman I’m so sorry,” Virgil said as he reached the prince. His hands hovered over him, and for the first time he realized he didn’t have a plan.

Roman groaned and looked up at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked weakly.

“Looking for you!” he replied. “You-”

Roman’s eyes suddenly widened and he surged up, tackling Virgil to the side. The dragon's talon stomped the space they had been in a few moments ago.

“You have to go,” Roman wheezed as he struggled to sit up. He gave up and flopped to the ground again. “I don’t know why you came here, but I can take care of the dragon myself.”

“Like hell you can!” Virgil said. He reached for the sword Roman had dropped and grasped the hilt. He whirled around in time to see the dragon studying him with menacing yellow eyes.

Virgil glanced back at Roman, who was struggling to stay conscious. He looked up at the dragon, eyes narrowed.

“You want him?” Virgil yelled. “You’ll have to go through me.”

The dragon roared and raised a talon. Virgil’s eyes widened. In a split second decision, he thrust the sword forward, striking the dragon’s other leg. It stumbled, making a small noise of surprise. Virgil sidestepped and started to climb the dragon’s leg, using its scales as footholds.

Virgil managed to climb to the dragon’s head without falling to his death. He glanced down and immediately regretted his decision. He would most certainly not survive the fall, that was for sure.

He tried stabbing the dragon’s neck, but he couldn’t make a dent. His job was also made infinitely harder with it trying its hardest to throw him off. He held on to its horn with one arm while the other desperately searched for a weak spot.

He glanced down at the dragon’s eye and got the beginning of a very risky idea. He slid further down the dragon’s back, forcing it to twist its neck around to look at him.

Virgil tightened his grip on the sword and stepped forward, thrusting it at the dragon’s face.

The dragon tried to jerk away, but it was too late. The sword was already buried hilt deep in its eye, which had gone dark. Virgil slid down the dragon’s back to the ground, a split second before it collapsed and vanished into a shower of sparkles. The sword remained, the only evidence the battle had happened.

As Virgil made his way over to Roman, the weight of what he just accomplished hit him. He had slain a dragon. He curled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, thought it felt like his whole body was vibrating from adrenaline.

Roman was staring at him as he approached. “That was awesome,” he breathed, slowly smiling as Virgil finally let himself grin. “I didn’t know you fought dragons in your free time.”

Virgil helped Roman up, wrapping an arm around his waist. He made sure Roman could walk comfortably before replying. “Oh, it’s just a side hobby, nothing much.”

Roman tried to laugh, but only succeeded in making himself cough.

Virgil frowned. “How long have you been here?”

Roman furrowed his brows as he thought. “Only a few hours, if I recall correctly. It can’t have been too long, surely.”

They had reached the door that led back to Roman’s room. Virgil shrugged as well as he could with Roman’s arm around his shoulders and turned the knob. “Not any longer than usual.”

Roman didn’t reply.

They entered Roman’s room. Usually, it would have taken Virgil’s breath away, but after the Imagination, it seemed almost normal.

“You should rest for a bit,” Virgil said as Roman limped over to his bed. “I think I remember something Remus once told me about how sleep heals all wounds from the Imagination?”

Roman flinched at the mention of his brother, and Virgil immediately regretted bringing him up. Roman didn’t mention it, instead saying, “Now? I’m sure Patton is wondering where I am.”

He said it like it was a death sentence. Virgil found himself wondering yet again what exactly happened that night.

“Patton can wait,” Virgil said, pushing Roman’s shoulder, forcing him to lay down in his bed. “You need to heal. Now.”

Roman finally relented, allowing Virgil to pull a blanket over him and turn off the lights. Virgil moved to leave, but stopped right in front of the door.

“Hey, Roman?” he said quietly.

Roman turned to look at him.

“I… may not have all the details on what happened on the wedding night, but… you know you can talk to me anytime, right?”

Roman was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I do. Thank you, Virgil. Truly.”

Virgil noted how Roman finally sounded sincere, after weeks of dodging questions and spending most of his time away from the other sides.

“Night, Roman,” Virgil said.

“Good night, Virgil.”

#prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts virgil #ts roman #sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #fire tw #fighting tw #cursing #arctic's writing #if you saw me repost this no you didn't

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

Text

What If...? III // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: The aftermath of both the car accident and the proposal is something Luke struggles with dividing you two for the first time. With an ultimatum in place Luke finds himself standing in front of his childhood home but can he open the door he had locked and shut?

Warning: Swearing, talk of injuries, self-guilt, angst, Unsaid Emily (I’m a terrible person), and fluff (I SWEAR THERE IS FLUFF IN THIS)

Words: 4.0k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog . There will be two more parts at least.

A/N: Grammarly estimates that this will take a little over 15 minutes to read. I also almost made you not get an answer to a make or break question somewhere in here but I wanted to make up for the cliffhanger in part one.

*Bobby’s last name in this is Willis, it will come clear why soon.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist (other parts for What If can be found in the masterlist)

(This goddamn shirt is also a warning holy christ)

Hollywood 1996

Life after the car accident was strange, to say the least. You lived with the guilt that your father couldn’t pick up a guitar. He had severely broken his arm in the crash in the instinctive moment to protect you. Your mother hovered, and Luke was there, but something changed since his hospital proposal.

There was a weird tension between you and him that concerned Alex because Luke wouldn’t talk about it. He would change the subject whenever Alex inquired about that empty ring box he found. Luke hadn’t told the guys he planned to propose and being rejected wasn’t something he wanted to share. However, one night he finally did.

“You could propose at the Eiffel Tower!” Reggie suggested having seen a commercial with the tower in the background. His excitement was visible to the band members in the living room.

“Too cheesy.” Luke grumbled, rolling his eyes slouching down on the couch, “I’m not proposing.”

“I understand it’s a big step b-“

“I’m not proposing because I already did.” Luke snapped running hand through his messy hair with a glower. Alex was quiet, taking in the news and watching Luke’s body language.

“Oh congrat-“

“Read the damn room.” Luke snapped, slamming his pen on the coffee table as he stalked up the stairs to his bedroom. The resounding slam of his door marking his anger more prominent. Alex flinched at the sound.

“Was it something-“

“Seriously man?” Alex groaned, shaking his head at the bassist standing up from the armchair leaving the bassist the lone sitter, “You are so lucky you can play bass.”

Alex left Reggie downstairs to enter Luke’s room where he was throwing darts at the board harshly. Luke didn’t need to turn around to know Alex was in his personal place with one goal in mind, to cheer his bandmate up.

“What happened?” Alex asked, sitting in the second-hand office chair with a hole in the seat. His blue eyes watching the jerky movements from the obviously frustrated guitarist.

“She said no.” Luke whispered, rubbing a hand over his weary hazel eyes, more of a blue with the sadness he felt, “I proposed, and she said no.”

“I’m sorry. Did Y/N say why?” Alex hesitated to ask the question fearing Luke would fully snap as he had down a few times in the past. The one time was when he found Alex crying as an asshole overheard Alex admit to his crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas after seeing him on Home Improvement. Courtesy of Luke, that asshole never breathed a word about it.

“An ultimatum. She won’t say yes until I fix things with my parents.” Luke sighed collapsing onto his bed, staring at the blue ceiling. Going back home after hurting his mom was something hard to do.

The night he left had been filled with a lot of words he regretted saying, he can’t even remember the last time he told his mom he loved her. The last time dinner hadn’t been tense and filled with anger. There was a pang of deep guilt for running out on his family, his mother and seeing the missing person posters further hammered the guilt in.

“She has a point.” Alex admitted, “We made it. We proved to our parents that this band was worth it. Take it from me. I would give anything for my parents to be the way they were before I told them I’m gay.”

Luke was quiet.

“You have a chance to fix things and Luke, that’s something you’ll regret. Remember the night of The Orpheum? We were gonna get street dogs? If we had, we would have died man.”

“I guess we got lucky?” Luke half-smiled remembering when they had been walking near the Orpheum a few days after performing.

The guy that sold the street dogs was arrested, and an ambulance was taking a couple to the hospital. The couple died, and it made the guys think how close they could have come to dying all the times they ate out of the Oldsmobile.

“We did. She loves you, Luke, but if you love her. You’ll reach out to your parents. I know they would love it.” Alex spoke, squeezing his best friends’ shoulder before he let himself out of the bedroom.

Alex joined Reggie in the living room watching a VHS they had rented from Blockbuster this morning. A smile appearing on Alex’s face as the muted familiar sound of a guitar came from upstairs. The sad melody Luke had taught his band playing.

“So, what year do you think we should release a country album? I can play the banjo.” Reggie asked, looking over at Alex with a thoughtful expression, “I’ve been writing this wicked song. I’m thinking of calling it ‘Home is Where My Horse Is’? How long would it take you to learn how to fiddle?”

“Reggie. I love you man, but I am not gonna be barefoot in overalls fiddling.” Alex spoke, shaking his head at his bandmate who pouted softly.

Alex and Reggie fell asleep on the couch that night while Luke worked tirelessly through the night on Unsaid Emily. It was by far the most personal song he had ever written, but it was the only way he could release the feelings he had. By the time morning came, his eyes had turned bloodshot and swollen.

Luke’s hands trembled at the sight of the childhood home he hadn’t been inside in months, not since that cold December night he left. The car was parked in the very same spot with the front bumper still dinged from when Luke was practising for his license.

Luke had developed a streak to avoid the bitter taste of disappointment from his parents. He would sneak out to gigs or little known locations with Alex; either for the band and his secret relationship. Luke never breathed a word of the relationship for the safety of Alex and avoid anything that would spike his boyfriend’s anxiety. The guilt died down when he and Alex mutually decided to be friends instead, but the band topic was different. At fourteen it was becoming apparent to Luke’s parents that this band wasn’t a hobby to him anymore, the first time his parents regretted buying the guitar.

“C’mon!” Bobby hissed from the safety of the curb. Luke was behind the wheel of his family’s station wagon in the dead of night. Reggie stationed in front of the car and Alex behind it, “This is stupid guys!”

Luke shakily took a breath in putting the car in drive to align with Reggie before he placed the vehicle in reverse. Learning to parallel park seemed to be going well as Luke did okay pulling into the parking spot. He got ahead of himself; however, when he moved to drive forward to center between Reggie and Alex. He may have hit the gas too hard.

“Ah!” Reggie screamed as the car bumped in him in the leg. The boy went down shuddering while his three friends hurried to his side.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked not minding the sting of the asphalt on his covered knees seeing as he just hit his best friend.

“I’m good.” Reggie raised one thumb in the air. Each boy leaned back in relief confirming the bassist was as good as Reginald could be.

“Why the hell didn’t you move out of the way?” Luke demanded helping the boy up from the ground with a deep frown.

“I was a traffic cone. Cones can’t move unless they get moved.” Reggie proudly announced with his typical oblivious attitude. Reggie wasn’t stupid, he was definitely the comedic relief in the band and prided himself on it.

“I-what. Okay..” Alex whispered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sometimes I don’t know Reg.”

Reggie shrugged it off while a familiar girl jogged down the road with a furrowed brow, a girl that had lived in Luke’s neighbourhood for a while. She was moving to a bigger house soon, but she was an acquaintance that had never acknowledged the group.

“Are you okay?” The girl, you, questioned the bassist scanning him over as Luke stared dreamily at her. His ever-changing eye colour turning a soft mossy green at the girl that had held his heart for years; only temporarily vacating it for Alex.

“Oh, totally. This doesn’t hurt as much as the amp.” Reggie supplied waving it off whereas you were more worried the guy hit his head. Your gaze scanned the boys of Riot Curve. A deep developing on the pale cheeks of the Patterson boy.

“Aren’t you guys in my grade?” You questioned pursing your lips together, “You’d be like thirteen. Why are you driving? Aren’t you a little short to see over the steering wheel?”

A bark of laughter fell from Bobby Willis’ mouth, earning him a glance from you, closing his mouth as Luke’s look of disgust.

“I’m not short!” Luke shouted, “I’ll have you know I grew!”

You snickered at his offended expression, “Dude, I’m joking. You’ll get a growth spurt soon. Besides, I think you have bigger issues than your vertical challenge.”

A question fell from Luke’s lips before he followed your view. The bumper of his parent’s car had a small dent that his father would most definitely discover at some point.

“Oh, I am dead meat.” Luke sprouted just before the guys started brainstorming explanations that didn’t include four fourteen-year-old boys out after curfew driving.

“Hey, I have a little experience with bands and whatnot. Just a suggestion, maybe consider changing your band name from Riot Curve to something else.” You suggested starting to jog back to your house, “See you in class!”

Luke once again stared dreamily after your form forgetting what he should be worried about.

“Our name is already-“

“Sunset Curve.” Luke shouted, earning weird looks from his bandmates at the rather uncharacteristic change of mind, “We are renaming the band.”

“Why?” Bobby scoffed, “We agreed on Riot Curve!”

“Uh, no. You two did. Reggie and I weren’t there.” Alex raised one his eyebrows facing Bobby, “I was sick with the flu, and Reggie was at his aunt’s second wedding.”

“Why the name?” Reggie asked his pining lead singer flicking his gaze between Luke and the empty place where you had been.

“Because that was the first time, she talked to me. A sunset behind her brightening the pretty curve of her smile.” Luke sighed scrambling when the front step light at his house turned on. Each boy running for the safety from the Patterson windows.

“I like the name! I didn’t like the violence in the other name!” Alex shouted, rushing towards his bicycle to head back home.

That was also the last time Luke saw you until 1993 at that concert as you moved to the medium-sized mansion by then.

Luke grinned at the memory of how he actually spoke to the girl of his dreams before everything went full to shit. Reggie’s parents started fighting, Bobby grew more into girls than music, Alex told his parents he was gay. Luke finally sat down with his parents telling him that he wouldn’t go to college and didn’t want to finish high school. He did finish high school to appease his parents even after running away.

“Luke?” The breathless question brought the guitarist back to the present time and to the blue eyes of his father. The shock on the man’s face preceding the tears building up, “Son.”

“Hon?” Luke’s knees collapsed as he heard the soft voice that had read him stories and sung lullabies when he was a child. Emily gasped as she saw the one person she had wished to find for so long, “Luke.”

“Mom.” Luke choked, raising his hands to press them to his face, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“

“Sh. Baby.” Emily wasted no time in scooping her son into her arms, so thankful nothing terrible had happened to him. She didn’t care where or what he had been doing as long as he in her arms again.

A hand clapped his shoulder to squeeze, announcing his father silently thanking whatever God there was for bringing his son home. That they didn’t have to worry blue and red lights would precede news no parent wanted to hear.

“Can I come in?” Luke asked tentatively. A soft hand brushing his hair away from his eyes for his parents to finally see the unique eye colour their son had inherited.

Emily ushered her son into the kitchen that hadn’t changed in the time Luke had been gone, the only difference being the Christmas decorations put away. They would reappear the last week of November; Emily wouldn’t have to struggle to put the ornaments on the tree without her son.

“I don’t know how to say what I want. Could I…could I sing please?” Luke murmured to his parents. It was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to be answered. He hadn’t brought his guitar just in case it was the wrong move. His parents regretted buying him that guitar.

“Of course.” Mitch spoke, climbing to his height, “Just one moment.”

Luke watched his father leave the kitchen only to shortly return, holding a beautiful acoustic guitar. He had never seen it in his life either. He was confused when Mitch set the guitar into Luke’s lap.

“You’re like your mom. When she worries the only thing that can help calm her is knitting. I figured the guitar is your way of knitting.” Mitch calmly told his son choosing to not bright attention to tears in either of the Patterson men’s eyes.

Luke settled on the couch in the living room while Mitch and Emily took to their respective long known spots. Ones that faced the windows perfect for knitting and reading with natural light. Emily reached over to hold her husband’s hand while Luke started strumming.

First things first

We start the scene in reverse.

All of the lines rehearsed.

Disappeared from my mind

When things got loud

One of us running out

I should have turned around.

But I had too much pride.

No time for goodbyes

Didn’t get to apologize

Pieces of a clock that lies broken

Not a dry eye in the Patterson home as Luke gave the best performance of his life. Performance didn’t build a bridge between him and his parents, why make a new bridge when the first one only needs repairs.

“Please record that.” Emily choked wiping her face of tears, “I want that on your first album, I loved it. I’m going to buy the first CD it’s on.”

Luke Patterson smiled a piece instead of healing at her words and the acceptance he had craved. Now he just had to propose again.

The cosy soft knit blanket Emily gave you at Christmas the first time you met Luke’s parents when it became clear that the relationship was serious. It was one that you cuddled into for a sense of comfort, eyes focused on the demo the song was waiting. Fingers itching to put in the CD player and listen to the finished product.

“Hey. Sweetheart you gotta stop blaming yourself.” Lance spoke coming to sit beside you on the piano bench. The bench you had learnt how to play directly across from the couch that you spent hours with him on learning the guitar.

“How can I? I asked for a ride, and you might never play again.” You scoffed, bringing your knees to your chest. Lance’s heart broke, hearing the guilt leaking from your words and the slump on your shoulders.

“I picked you up because I love you. You’re my daughter, my baby and I’m gonna tell you something that hope knocks some sense in that head.” Your Dad sternly spoke, taking your hand to place on his cast, “This? This doesn’t matter. If I hadn’t done this, you would be dead, and I wouldn’t be able to hold a guitar because you wouldn’t get to hear me play. I’d rather not be able to play and have my daughter alive.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks as your hero wiped your tears tugging you in his arms, “Besides I’m a Y/L/N, we don’t let other people tell us how to live.”

Lance leaned over to insert the CD into the machine before pressing play bringing a soft melody in the room. You snuggled into his side as his rich voice broke through into the most beautiful song you had ever heard. Unbeknownst to you, Luke stood in the doorway with his bandmates listening to the gorgeous record.

“I love it.” You whispered glancing over your shoulder, feeling the gaze of someone, and while you expected your mother, the sight was welcome. Not a dry eye in the room as the last chord rang with the joyful voice of a little girl; your voice from a family video.

“That’s beautiful.” Luke breathed grinning when you swiftly made your way into his open arms, “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you like I should have been. I was hurt, and I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Was that the song that was playing- OW!” Reggie exclaimed rubbing the back of his head that Bobby had thumped. The bassist grimacing at the pain clueing that it wasn’t the greatest question he had said.

“Bittersweet was the song playing. This is the finished product.” Lance confirmed standing to his full height, “How about I let you see some unreleased songs?”

Lance ushered everyone but you and Luke from the room for privacy only winking before closing the door. Luke breathed out, leading you back to the couch with his hands squeezing your own.

“You were right,” Luke announced brushing the pad of his thumb under your eye to swipe an eyelash. His hazel eyes showing more of the green with the adoration gleaming from them, “It hurt being rejected but you were right about it. I hurt my parents by running out one them, especially my mom. I don’t want to hurt her more by excluding her from the biggest moment of my life.”

Your own hand raised to cup his cheek heart bursting when Luke turned his head to press a chaste kiss to the palm.

“You couldn’t guess how much it ached telling you no. I wanted to so badly, but your mom was always so good to me. I didn’t want her to miss out on anything.”

“She won’t miss out.” Luke replied, tugging you to your feet, “I went home, and we talked it through.”

Your feet cemented to the floor, “You went to see them?”

“I did. I was no sure Mom and Dad hated me for running away, for choosing music over them.”

“You didn’t choose music over them, Lu. You made a decision that they didn’t like, but you did what you were raised to do. They taught you to stand up for yourself, never second guess or quit.” You passionately told him, “They love you with their whole heart, they just didn’t understand how important music is to you at the time.”

“God, I love you so much. I would do anything for you.” Luke tugged you into his arms, bringing your attention to his different outfit choice.

He was wearing his best black jeans with no holes but still the chains, but his wallet wasn’t on display. His lucky blue rabbit’s foot was clipped to his necklace laying over the long sleeve purple corduroy shirt. The shirt he wore a lot when he wanted to be wanted to a little more dressed up.

“You’re wearing that shirt.” You stated glancing up to the boy, “And your lucky rabbit’s foot is not on your chains.”

Luke smirked, leading you through the house to the backyard where Luke had asked Nancy to be. Your mother sat at the piano with your father beside her, Nancy and Lance Y/L/N hadn’t sat at a piano together since you were tiny. Tears built up as Luke gently brought you into his arms entirely in time with the notes that Nancy began.

Heart beats fast

Colors and promises

How to be brave

“Are you trying to make me cry?” You choked as he used the dance lessons he took with his mom twirling you around. As if you couldn’t cry more your gaze found Reggie strumming the acoustic guitar. Alex waiting at his drums with a grin at Luke and you.

I have died every day, waiting for you.

Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years.

I’ll love you for a thousand more.

Everything faded as you two gazed into each other’s eyes, in his you swore you saw every moment with Luke play. The sweaty palms shy to hold each other to the first kiss, the second kiss, sharing the most vulnerable time at sixteen, his serenading at seventeen after signing with a label and everything between those precious moments.

Time stands still

Beauty in all she is

I will be brave

I will not let anything, take away.

What’s standing in front of me

Every breath, every hour has come to this.

Bobby made his presence known harmonizing with you mom so low you barely heard, but it was Luke singing that enthralled you. Everything about this moment you would remember for the rest of your life.

The music faded as Luke took a step back to kneel down in front of you with the ring he had yearned to give you. The ring his mother had held on to for the girl Luke would fall in love with. She had given it a few days previous so thoroughly happy she got the opportunity to pass it down.

“Luke.” You breathed cupping your hands, one still in a brace, over your shocked face. His expression softened into the most loving one you had ever receiving in the years you had been together.

“My life has been leading me to this very moment. I believe that I was guided into music because of this absolutely perfect moment. Surrounded by the people who cheered us on and gave wisdom. The people that gave us a look at what true love is supposed to be.” Luke began keeping his entire focus on the love his life, “I knew about you before you knew me. I was ten when I saw you during recess sitting up against the tree with your walkman. I fell for you at that moment, but it wasn’t until I hit Reggie with the car that I got to talk to you.”

You giggled as you remembered running to a group of guys after seeing one get hit. If only you knew who they were at that time.

“Our first real conversation was at a concert, and I fell in love at that moment, and I am so thankful you gave me a chance. There isn’t anyone else, sorry, Alex!” Luke teased over his shoulder, earning a chuckle in response, “There isn’t anyone I want to spend my life with. You are my muse, the person I share every lyric with, my love and my soulmate.”

“Luke.” You choked reaching up to cup his cheeks so close not a single sheet of paper would move between you.

“Will you marry me? In front of our parents and our friends?” Luke shakily questioned begging for his rabbit’s foot to work with it being close to his heart.

“Yes.” You answered, reaching up to pull his face down to yours. The most passionate kiss of your life he wrapped his arms around you waist lifting you in his arms; he twirled around with you.

This was his most significant moment ever. The Orpheum could never live up to this.

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