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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Text

Words: 5000+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: You were husband & wife in name only.

AO3

The moon was bright & crisp in the sky over Rimuru. Even without your candle light, you would probably be able to see clearly into your mirror as you brushed out your hair, preparing for bed. It had been a challenging day.

Keeping Shion and Shuna from destroying their Lord with their love was a full-time job sometimes. Being the buffer between them was sometimes more than your poor human body could take; a fact Rimuru-sama was often concerned about. You usually brushed it off with a ‘better me than you’ remark as his peril would be far more of a detriment to others than you, but appreciated his concern. Besides, neither ogre-ess would intentionally hurt you. Worst you’d ever come away with before was a good goose egg from Shion swinging around Hercules’s willy-nilly and caught you in the back of the head. It was an accident, and she could have easily crushed your head like a melon, but Shion still cried for almost 3 days after every time she saw you in apology.

You chuckle a little at the memory. How wonderfully problematic your life had become in this past year. You wouldn’t call it ‘blissful’. It had it’s challenges like most. But your life taken an interest, wonderful turn that had led you to this life you wouldn’t trade anything for. You were safe. You were loved. You were a respected person when just some months ago you were nobody and nothing. How quickly the world turns.

A knock at your door halted the comb in your tresses and you look up surprised by the sound. “Who is it?” You ask. Curious who would be at your door so late at night.

“It’s me.” Your eyes blink in surprise as you hear the familiar deep timber of Benimaru behind the frame. “May I come in?”

You stammer out a reply of ‘one moment’ as you adjust yourself to make your appearance more presentable and told him to come in. It was embarrassing to have him see you in your night clothes. But if he was coming here so late at night, it must be important. Your husband never came to your chambers this late at night.

The title of ‘husband’ was in name only. You and Benimaru were not romantically involved, nor had you chosen each other completely of your own free will. He had saved you, along with Rimuru-sama and the rest of the Kijin, when they defeated the great bandit army that had been sweeping the east. Once just thugs of human and monsters alike, they had grown into a real threat in the land taking anything they please. Money. Goods. Women. When they came to your small village, they had burned it down and had taken you with them when they left. You were their prisoner and slave for nearly two months before Rimuru-sama and his band had come along.

You still remember seeing them for the first time. Bright and regal. A peasant before being a slave, you had never seen such fine strange clothes before. Nor the impending presence of the man in front of you when he’d come upon you.

“I claim this woman as my own.” They were the first words he’d ever said to you. Then he picked you up over his shoulder and carried you away with his band while the smoldering embers of the great bandit army died out in the distance.

At first, you thought it was all going to be the same. One capture was no different than the last; though you were a little concerned about an ogre being your master than a human. But how much worse could it be? The last human captor you had had been a true monster. Being owned by a real one could not be that different. Or at least that was what you thought at first.

The ogres and Rimuru-sama had been impossibly kind. They tended to your wounds from your long capture. Gave you a place to sleep. Clothes. Fed you, although there was some debate on which ogre-ess’s cooking would ‘best suit you’, and treated you as an equal. You were incredibly moved by their generosity. They were even willing to take you home. And when you told them “I have no home” they seemed genuinely hurt by that.

You of course explained to them what happened, and realized now that you really had no place to go. You thought you would die in the bandit camp. So the thought had never crossed your mind where you would go should your imprisonment be over. You were lost and alone in the world. No money. No home. No family. Even if you left, who was to say you wouldn’t be taken up by another group who found your helplessness easy pickings? Or worse, going to that life on your own because you had no other choices…..

“You’re staying here.” Benimaru had announced, much to the surprise of everyone. “You’re my woman now, remember? I defeated those fools and claimed you as my prize. This is your home now. You’re staying here.”

There was a loud commotion from the group as they all thought he had been joking but, apparently, he wasn’t. While the energetic group argued, you looked at Benimaru critically and realized what he was doing. He knew that if you didn’t belong to someone, you could easily be taken by another. If not the remanences of the great bandit army, but someone else; as you feared. Being his woman, letting him lay claim, offered you protection you couldn’t afford on your own. “Ok,” you’d told him. Your soft voice somehow ringing out over the crowd.

Rimuru-sama had of course forbade his general from ‘keeping’ a woman. He said if he wanted to do this, he would have to do the honorable thing and marry you. It had been surprising how quickly he agreed. Then asked if you would be alright with it and you’d said yes. You had been married the next day, and were then husband & wife, and that was the end of it.

Your married life was that of about the same as anyone else in the close group. You weren’t intimate. You didn’t share secrets or stories. You didn’t even sleep in the same quarters of the estate. Aside from a few group outings, communal meals, and when he popped in on Shuna when you were around, you honestly rarely saw your ‘husband’.

Which was why it was so surprising he was here now, at this late hour.

“What is it Benimaru-sama? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’d been sitting on the floor before he sat down too. His expression was placid, so it was hard to tell if something was going on.

“The envoy from Blumund is leaving tomorrow.” His eyes fixed on the hardwood under your knees.

“Yes, I know. He told me. He’s a little hard to miss.” You reply with a soft chuckle.

The envoy in question was a nice man. Tall, lean. A little bit older than you, but still a jovial person. Rimuru-sama had set you with the important task of keeping him company and being his escort during his stay. His immediate council in the Kijin were nice, but they sometimes lack the social grace or understanding of human culture. He didn’t want to offend the man and trusted you could keep him company during his stay.

“He’s rather taken with you.” Benimaru then stated. Taking you a bit by surprise. “He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.”

Your bit of surprise turned into full blown shock. “W…What are you talking about??”

“He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.” He repeated. As if somehow that made you understand completely. “He said he thinks you’re very beautiful, and charming, and that it would be a better fit for you to live among humans, rather than here in Rimuru with none of them. He talked to Rimuru-sama about this.”

“And Rimuru-sama told you about this?”

“I was there.” Benimaru stated after he shook his head. “He asked for us to severe our bond so you could go with him. So you could marry him.”

Your eyes probably bug out of your head now. Were you being proposed to by proxy by your own husband?!?

“How could he ask such a thing?!”

“Like I said, he’s taken with you.”

“That’s not the point! How am I supposed to marry someone else when I’m already married?!”

“He knows our marriage isn’t consummated.” His eyes finally look up to catch yours.

You feel your whole body turn red. Now you have to look away to stare at the floor. It was true. Your marriage wasn’t consummated. It had been something done to offer you protection and stability. It had never been about love. So you have never laid with your husband as he wished to respect your virtue. “How crude.” You mutter. Embarrassed, more than anything, as you were sure people knew about your unclaimed marriage, but no one would dare bring it up until now.

“Do you want to go with him?”

You look up again and offer a soft noise of surprise at the question. “Do you want to go with him?” He repeated. “As you said, he’s a good man. He has fortune, and power. You’d be a respected woman among your people. You’d be among your people.” Maybe you imagined it, but you thought you saw Benimaru wince at that. “You don’t have to stay here anymore. You don’t have to stay with me. You’re established enough now to make your own choices. You can be free.”

Free? The word played over in your head for a moment. The sheer concept completely foreign to you at the moment.

You’d never been free. First you belonged to your family. Then the bandits. Then Benimaru. Though you had freedom on occasion, you had never been truly free. And now that you had it, you found the idea ironically suffocating. You could choose to leave. Leave Rimuru City and start a new life as a woman of prominence in Blumund. But what if you didn’t want to leave?

“D…Do you want me to leave?” The kijin looked up at you again with a confused expression at your soft words. “If you want me to leave I will. But…I don’t want to leave all of you. I love being here, and being with Shion, and Shura, Rimuru-sama and….you. My ‘people’ have never been kind to me, so I really don’t want to go back to them. I want to stay here. We don’t have to be married anymore, if that’s the problem. We can still break our bond, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to – “That’s not what I want!”

Your eyes flicker up. Startled by the red Kijin’s roar and the burning fire resting in his eyes. “I don’t want to break our bond! I don’t want you to go with him! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to tear that man’s head off at the table when he said that?! I wanted to gouge his eyes out for saying you were beautiful! I wanted to rip out his heart out for ever letting you rest in it! You’re my woman, and my wife, and he thinks he can just say those things to me and live! He should kiss Rimuru-sama’s feet before he leaves because he’s the only reason that wretch is still breathing!”

Silence passed between you for a moment as you were completely stunted into speechlessness by Benimaru’s words. You had never expected such a passionate response out of the man. Until now, you were sure his only feelings toward you were ambivalence and mild friendship. The way he just ‘my wife’ to you, however, let you know that he had thought of this more than just a marriage of convenience. Your body flushed hot again as your heart beat hammered in your chest. “Benimaru….sama?”

“Don’t go with him.” The kijin repeated. Calmer this time as his expression seemed to morph into sadness at the thought of you leaving. “I can’t stand the idea of you leaving with him. When we first met, and I took you as my woman & wife, I will admit that I did it out of pity for you. You lost everything, and had nothing. I know what that’s like and wished to spare you. I thought that, after a few months, you would have a good enough reputation as the former wife of the Ogre Prince, Commander of the Jura forces, that we could break our bond honorably and you could make your own path in the world without fear. But, as time went on, I became more and more attached to you. Your kindness in spite of everything you endured. Your determination. Your desire to work hard to make things better for everyone here. I grew to fall in love with you and I couldn’t let you go. I know it was selfish, and that I’m being selfish now, but please don’t go.”

Your heart was still hammering so hard in your chest that you were scared you might faint. You felt like you could swoon at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

He looked down and started to fidget. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same.” His confession less confident this time. “You weren’t really given much of a choice in our marriage. I was afraid that you thought of me as just another man who had taken you. If you didn’t feel the same I could live with it, but knowing was – “That’s not true!”

It was Benimaru’s turn for his eyes to flicker up and be stunned by your confession. Apparently you had more in common than you thought. “I’ve never thought of you that way! If anything, I’ve only ever seen you as my rescuer. You saved me from a horrible existence as a slave. You gave this life that is so wonderful. With friends, and people I can’t live without anymore. I can’t begin to repay you. Or tell you how I feel….”

All these feelings and emotions were rushing to the surface now the more you spoke. You had always been fond of Benimaru. Your strong, brave protector. You just assumed that he wanted nothing to do with you. The distance he put between you making it very clear. So you had pushed your feelings toward the back of your heart. Forgetting them until now, where they crashed to the front like a dam had burst.

“[Y/N]….” You look up into the red head’s eyes when he said your name. Whispered it, really, like it was some secret plea. His hand then reached out slowly to cup your cheek. Those battle calloused hands incredibly gentle against your skin. You really might swoon at the juxtaposition.

Those burning red orbs look at you in earnest before they flicker down to your lips. A silent request. One you eagerly receive.

The only time you had kissed your husband before this was at your wedding. To seal your bond. That, however, had been just a simple peck on the lips to meet the contract. This was a real kiss. Your lips pressing together in committed passion. Intense, but both of you still too shy it seemed to go past pressing your lips soundly together.

“[Y/N],” Benimaru said again as you press your foreheads together after your kiss. You don’t ever think you’ve heard your name sound so sweet. “Become my woman and my wife. Truly. You didn’t get a choice when we first met, but I ask you this now to make your own decision. Will you be mine?”

Your heart swelled unbearably tight in your chest before you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I want to be your woman and your wife. Truly.”

You can feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you again. More deeply this time. His tongue snaked into your mouth against yours. The way he was kissing you making your legs feel weak to the point that you were happy you were sitting down. However, if they had buckled, your strong husband could easily pick you up in his arms. A shiver racing down your spine at the lewd thought that had just passed through you.

“Aah…I knew it. This is why I stayed away from you.” Benimaru said, finally letting you go. Your lips were kiss swollen now, and you were having a hard time understanding what he was talk about. “Every time I was near you, I wanted to claim you.” He explained. His expression looking deliriously happy as he examined his handiwork on your lips. “It was so hard to even be in the same room as you with your scent always hounding me every moment I was near. I had to stay away so I wouldn’t do anything horrible to you. But then that was its own torture as well. Near, apart. Both were an agony I couldn’t face somedays. Now that I have you though, I’ll never let you away from my side. You’ve summoned the beast in me. I hope you’re prepared.”

A loud squeak left your lips as the sneaky ogre flipped you. Instantly going from sitting on your ankles to flat on your back. Your world righted again and was filled with Benimaru as he leaned on top of you. His expression soft but heated, making you blush, before he kissed you again. His weight on top of you now making you moan wanton into the kiss this time.

Your world was filled with passionate kisses. They steal your breath away and make you squirm under your husband. You then feel his hands on your side. Touching you. Caressing your curves. You feel them fumbling around for your kimono tie, unwilling to let your lips go for even a moment to get to it properly, and place your hand on his chest.

“Benimaru, wait.”

The kijin stopped instantly and sat back off you. His eyes questing into your own to see what was wrong.

“I just….I thought I should…I mean we never…I’m not…” You stumble over the words to say to him. To explain that you weren’t the maiden he might have hoped for. The words cling in your throat as images of your former life flash across your mind. You feel unworthy. Dirty. Then his hand reached out to you brush your cheek again. Causing one of the tears that were welling up in your eyes to fall against it.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said with assurity and a softness that could only be described as love. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you as you are now. Not who you could be. My only regret is that I couldn’t kill those bastards 100 times more over for ever having hurt you.”

You scoff out a chuckle at the violent decree said so sweetly. You hand came up to clasp his own. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappointment.” He replied, almost instantly. Then kissed your hand as he brought it to his lips once he removed it from your cheek. “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to do this now. I can be satisfied with you declaring you want to be my woman and my wife. Well….contented.”

You chuckle again, more light hearted this time, and leaned in to initiate your kiss this time. “I meant what I said. I want to be your woman and your wife truly. I don’t want to stop.”

A sigh of relief left Benimaru. The prince willing to stop if you wanted but clearly so glad you didn’t. You giggle and let him take you in his arms.

The momentary pause in your kissing afforded Benimaru the chance to undo your kimono tie. Loosening it and letting it fall, but not pushing the thin material of your actual robe off your body yet. You reach out for him as well to undo the clasp of his overcoat. The heavy material immediately falling of his shoulders, in contrast, once the hold was released. He seemed fascinated with your work as your hands untie his under coat as well.

“Your touch is like fire.”

“Is that a joke?” You ask when Benimaru growled those words at you. Your apex quivering at the sound, but still curious if he was making a joke.

He chuckled. Another shiver at your core. “No. But I guess I can see how it would be. I mean it though. Everywhere you touch me sets a fire in me.” His hand came up to take yours and slip it under his loose top now. Guiding it over the hard planes of his chest over to his heart. “I can’t get enough of it.”

You kiss again and continue stripping. There wasn’t much to let go of for you, as just before now you were preparing for bed, so you were quickly naked in front of him. He talked about your touch being fire, but his was burning you up inside. His hands were hot. They left a lingering heat in your body everywhere he touched, to the point that you wonder if he had activated his magic. You were helpless against his soft touches. Your body aching already before he even properly touched.

Then, when he did, your body became a livewire.

Your limbs immediately went taunt when his fingers touched your core. “Please try to relax.” He whispered to you in your hair. His own long, hard body nestled beside you. Holding you close.

You try to do as he said and relax. It wasn’t difficult after the initial shock as the pleasure made it easy to succumb to him. Those hands so skilled at fighting working your body with similar expertise. “Mmmm…Benimaru….”

“Ah…say that again.” His deep voice was in your ear again. This time sounding elated, before his tongue reached out to lick the shell of it. “Say my name again. Please.”

“Benimaru…” You repeat his name over and over again. His precious name he held so dear. The name Rimuru-sama had given to him. It fell from your lips like a prayer chant as his fingers brought you closer and closer to climax. When you did, it fell from your lips again in a shout. “Benimaru!”

He continued to touch you until your walls stopped clamping around his digits. Finally setting them free. Your spent body laid against him, and you open your eyes tiredly just in time to see him cleaning your juices from his fingers. “Ah…my love tastes so sweet. I could get addicted to your flavor.”

If you body wasn’t already flushed from orgasm, you would have blushed completely. Benimaru seemed pretty proud of himself, however, before he leaned in to kiss you. You don’t think you taste sweet at all. But the taste of yourself on his lips was something you could get addicted to too. When had you become so perverted?

He let you go for a moment and shuffled around to pull out of his pants. You watched him, in the soft light. His handsome body bare to you. Not a mark on him thanks to his skill and healing. Your eyes travel down and find the proof of his love for you staring back proudly at your face. You gulp at his size. That was going to be inside you.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s a bit bigger than a human’s, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“I-It’s alright.” You reply back at his concern. He had mistaken your gulp for a concern about his size. How shameful he would probably find you if he found out that it wasn’t from concern, but excitement, that had caused you to gulp. Again, when had you become so perverted? “I trust you. And I want to be with you.”

“[Y/N]….” He spoke your name softly again before he leaned in to kiss you. Guiding you back down on your back. You feel his weight press on top of you. Your legs spread wide around his pelvis to let him mount you. You can feel the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance and shiver a little at the lower kiss. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Benimaru urged as he started to press into you.

You let out a wordless cry at the initial invasion into your most private place. You can feel your entrance stretch to accommodate him. The sensation a duality of pleasure and pain. And it was only the first few inches. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he was fully inside you. The kijin raining kisses down over your face and neck and everywhere else his lips could get to as you held on to him. His back tight under your fingers as he was very clearly straining to wait for you. “I’m alright, Benimaru. Please. Continue.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder before his hips pull back away from yours, then forward back into you. You both moan at the initial slow thrust. The feeling indescribable and compounding with each shallow thrust. “[Y/N]….”

“Mmmm…Benimaru….” You moan back when he said your name. “You can…go faster….” Not that you weren’t enjoying this slow entanglement, one could only describe as love making, you could tell that he was holding back and it was hard for him. “I..I want you. Please….Make me your woman.”

“I did warn you.” His voice sounded hard now, in comparison to the soft words he’d whispered to you earlier, and you think you hear the sound of nails scratching against the floor mat by your head.

His hips pull back again, this time practically pulling out of you, before they slam back in. You let out a loud cry. One readily identified as one not of pain. Then all you can do is hold on. Your arms wrap tight around Benimaru’s neck as he pounded into you. Before, where you had tried to roll your hips up to meet his thrusts when they had been soft & gentle, all you can do now is lay under him and take it. And become a babbling mess it seemed.

“Ah~! B-Benimaruuu! S-So good! Don’t stop!”

“I have no intention of stopping.” His words were stern. The cool seriousness of his intention to keep claiming you made your walls quake around him. “You’re my woman now. This body is mine. I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. You’ve possessed me to the point of madness with this love. I can never let you go.” His tongue laved at the sweat collecting on the skin of your neck. Following it up to the back of your ear before his teeth bit into the soft flesh there. You let out a yelp, and call his name again, before you were cumming. Your nails biting him back into his shoulder.

“Ah! [Y/N]! Too tight. It’s too tight. I’m gonna-!” His hard thrusts come to a staggering halt as he spilled his seed inside you. Holding there before his hips roll softly against you as his cock continued to twitch its release.

He collapsed on top of you once it was finished. Your bliss worn body not seeming to care about the extra weight as you held him against your bosom and both tried to catch your breath. Rested, but not to say recovered, the ogre lifted himself up off your body and pulled out. You wince as he did. Those hard thrusts catching up to you, and suddenly feeling at a loss without him inside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You look over to Benimaru, who had apparently seen you flinch, and was looking concerned. “No. Just a little sore.” He looked a little ashamed at that and muttered an apology to you. “Don’t,” you tell him. Reaching on to touch his chest. “It’s not as if I was really complaining.”

You both blush, despite everything you’d just done, still apparently shy about intimacy, before he slid over to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? About everything?”

You nod. Both of you laying on your side to face each other. His fingers caressing your cheek before moving down to the love mark he’d nipped into your skin. “Yes. I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.” You weren’t foolish enough to think that you were going to be instantly happy as husband and wife now. You were basically starting fresh. Starting anew. Though you knew a lot about each other, you had to relearn things and uncover new things as only a spouse would know. It would take time. But you were happy enough for now to at least try to start this new chapter with Benimaru. “You’re not going to kill the envoy before he leaves tomorrow, are you?”

The man let out a boisterous laugh and wrapped his arms tight around you in a hug. “No. I would never disrespect Rimuru-sama like that. As long as he leaves, I’m satisfied. But if he touches you between now and then, I make no promise on the guarantee he will leave with all his limbs.”

“Benimaru….”

The envoy, it seemed, was clever enough to take the hint in not touching you. The murderous aura & killing intent of the red kijin seemingly always just behind you making that clear. You decline his invitation to join him in Blumund. Telling him that the only time you would come to the city to visit him was with your husband. He again took the hint and left without comment. Rimuru-sama gave Benimaru a stern talking to about scaring their allies and ambassadors to their country, but you could also see that he wasn’t very serious about it. He seemed pleased enough that things had worked out, that you were staying, and his beloved friends were happy.

Ever the wonderfully problematic life in Rimuru City.

#;pen & paper (fanfiction)#benimaru #benimaru x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken #that time i got reincarnated as a slime #tensei shitara slime datta ken #tensei shitara slime datta ken x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken imagine #random fandom #imagine #benimaru tssk #benimaru (Tensei shitara Slime Datta Ken)#scenarios #[the fact that there isn't more work about my beautiful red headed baby is criminal]

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cheekygreenty · 3 years

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Little Witch - Part 10

The Darkling x Reader

*I’ve changed this part like 5 times so if there’s any inconsistencies I do apologize 😝

In a perfect world, you and Aleksander would have spent the day in his luxurious bed surrounded by his soft silk sheets. You felt an overwhelming feeling to open up to him, to tell him everything that happened to you since you saw him last, nearly a century ago, but life has a way to ruin perfect opportunities.

Wars didn't take breaks or vacations, they got more deadly as time went on and each side got more nervous as more people gave their lives to the cause. A solution was necessary and from your understanding, Aleksander still had the same plan as he did all those years ago he just had a different way to go about them. No doubt Alina was at the center of them.

You had business to attend to too. The first on the list was a meeting with the council. The King and his advisors were to be there to 'greet' you with open arms, but you were sure you'd have to put on a quick performance of your abilities to satisfy their curious minds.

Maybe that's why he gave me the shadows, to ensure my position. You quickly brushed off the thought. It didn't really matter to you why he did what he did. You had your shadows back. He claimed protection, but you knew there was a different reason behind it as well. It seemed too quick and too easy in your opinion but who were you to judge what kind of trust he truly had in you. You felt comfort that you always had piece of him wherever you went.

On a lighter note, you could finally wear a black kefta. The thought itself had you quickly leaping out of his bed and skipping to your chambers in a mere robe through the secret passages of the Palace. You didn't want anybody to see you leaving his quarters, not in the state you were in. You needed to grab a Healer and get rid of those very visible marks on your neck that Aleksander took his time creating. He intended to mark you as his own but jokes on him, you never wanted to belong to anybody but yourself.

Time passed and servents scurried in and out of your chambers, carrying information from here there and everywhere. You were already overwhelmed with tasks and your position wasn't even announced to the Palace yet. You were still the mysterious Grisha that served with the Darkling, not for.

Your vanity was covered in papers and reports in handwriting you had trouble reading and your bed had maps strung across it. Aleksander truly meant it when he said he would get you started right away and share his responsibilities as soon as he got the chance.

When the time finally came, you were escorted to the Grand Palace with Aleksander walking right next to you. The conversation was devoted to work and nothing else, Fjerdan intel, rumors of West Ravka and Zlatan, and upcoming skiff journeys but you didn't mind. You were damn good at your job, having started out in the First Army and then joining the Second Army had given you experience not even the General had, it's what made you the first pick when dealing with plans involving otkazat'sya soldiers, they respected you. I wonder if they will now.

You had spent 3 years in the First Army once upon a time. You came from a wealthy merchant family, a family full of drunks and abusers and cowards. You gave up the feeling of a full stomach and duck-feathered beds for the rations of the army once your mother admitted to you being a bastard and not worthy of the family name. What a shame. Look at me now.

You never knew what you could do, but a slip-up with a Tidemaker had you served to the Darkling on a silver platter. He was meaner then, more unforgiving. Your years spent with him after that had changed him, made him better in your eyes. You fell for him, hard, even though there was so much death and destruction in his wake. When you love somebody, it’s easy to see past all of the nasty stuff and focus on whatever is left of the good and Aleksander still had an abundance of if.

You could still remember his cold stare as he asked you what the hell you were. After pleading with him that you didn't know and his Heartrenderer confirming it, he whisked you away to the Little Palace where soon enough you had become his equal, if not his superior.

'I actually wanted to ask you something about one of the Grisha in the Palace. I seen her with Alina, red-hair, big blue eyes... she wore a white kefta?' You said as you wlaked down a mirrored hallway in the Royal building.

'Oh, that's Genya Saffin. She works for the King and Queen.' He said with an underlying tone of irritation.

'What does she do? She wears a white kefta so I'm just curious'

'She's a tailor. Member of the Corporalki. She should be wearing red, I know. But trust me the time will come' He ushered us both into a guarded room of glitering gold and pearly white walls. So tacky. I could make out the king slumped in an overdone throne-like chair.

'Moi tsar' you and Aleksander bowed much to your distastes. You hoped nobody had seen the brief look of disgust wash over your face as the Lanstov King rose and gave his advisors a raised eyebrow, signalling to you. A man wearing a navy uniform looked at you like a piece of meat ready to be devoured. I'm gonna throw up.

'Deputy General Y/L/N is it?' He took your hand in his own sweaty one gave it a wet kiss. 'You Grisha are always easy on the eyes aren't you?'

You took a step back and cleared your throat. 'Yes, Moi Tsar, it is an honour to make your acquantance' You tried so hard to keep your fists at your sides.

'And what can you bring to the war table, apart from the newest fashion' He let out an obnoxious laugh and his advisors followed. They all looked smug and spoiled. None of them had any idea what the real world looked like and yet had the audacity to sit this council. I'll show them what it means to be powerful.

Aleksander stepped away to the side and gave you a nod. You slowly unravlled your fist and plunged the room into darkness while simultanseoly blowing a strong wind throughout the space, letting papers fly in all directions and the fire go out. You relit it, and every candle in the room. The man in the navy unifrom got the runt of your powers, as you slowly medled with his heart until he breathed a worried laugh 'Stop it Girl'.

But you didn't stop, you carefully stared at the chair the man sat in and pushed it just enough for him to let out a yell. You accidently let out a chuckle that was meant to be in your head. You felt Aleksander move toward you 'All right, that should be enough' He said visibly amused too. You let it all drop.

'It's Deputy General to you' You looked at his fearful face that tried to cover by fixing his jacket and whiping away invisible dust off of his shoulder.

'I must say I am impressed. With the Sun-Summoner and... you, we will have West Ravka and the surroundings begging for our alliances.' He sat down on his chair once again and pointed to an empty one across from him and to the right of Aleksander, who unbeknownst to you had already seated himself.

'Please, Deputy General, do take a seat, we have business to tend to'

****

A painful 2 hours later you and Aleksander walked out of the Grand Palace. You had a headache and your hands hurt from clentching them so hard.

'I'm assuming you sitting the King's meetings for me is off the table now?' Aleksander mused and all you could do was give him a side-eye.

'I think I want to kill him'

'In due time'

You weren't even surprised. If he didn't do it himself you definitely would have taken one for the team. That man is unbearable; like a child in a grown man's body.

As you wallked into your home, Aleksander gently took hold of your wrist and pulled you in the direction of his quarters.

'Come'

Your head was pounding too much to say no so you obliged. The hallways were bare of people, not a Grisha in sight.

You reached his war room doors and walked in after him. He pulled out a map and laid it down.

'I've sent out a First-Army search for the Stag.'

You paused. The headache suddenly gone. Morozova’s Stag. He had tried once before and failed. The weeks following his failure sent him into a frenzy, he questioned Morazovas journals and almost burned them all, but you had gotten to him last-minute. You never doubted the stag to be real. You just never believed he would use it. He's powerful on his own unless- it's for Alina.

You audibly sighed and leaned your back against the table. Alina.

'Does she want it?'

'Does that matter?'

‘Of course it matters!’ You scorned but he stayed silent.

You turned to look at him and whispered 'What are you planning this time?' He had been dropping hints here and there, but so far there was no plan you knew of. 'I can't help you if I don't know the plan'

'No. You're better of not knowing anything. I can't lose you again' you turned you head and looked at his side profile.

'But you need me. I'm powerful, I can lead an army'

'If anything happens you can take over for me then, Deputy.' He cocked a sad smile and left a lingering kiss on your forhead before he left you standing in the war room alone and confused.

Part 11

Taglist

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal

#shadow and bone #grisha #imagine #the darkling #the darkling x reader #alexander #alexander morozova #alina starkov #ben barnes #fanfic #black general #general kirigan x reader #shadow summoner #keftas

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hannigramficrecs · 3 years

Text

Newly Added Fics 5/16

Hello everyone, sorry again for the slight hiatus! I’ve replied to all the messages in my inbox (at least the ones that were sent to me before this past friday), so if you asked me something before that, be sure to check out my replies!

As usual, I’ve emboldened the fics I really liked and italicized the ones that are incomplete.

Looks Like Love by luvkurai [words: 5,987] — (AU)

After his sister's wedding, Will kisses his childhood housekeeper (and first love).

Betrothed by slashyrogue [words: 3,932] — (AU)

In one month he would marry a total stranger.

Titan Arum by ProxyOne [words: 64,614] — (AU)

Will is a botanist, working in the greenhouse of the local Botanical Gardens. He is getting his life back on track after his divorce, but he can't help but notice someone who keeps coming back to his greenhouse to draw, day after day. A man who seems to have been paying very close attention to him...

Find Me In The Dark by Rising_Phoenix [words: 40,131] — (AU)

After a fateful accident, the marriage of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter has reached its end. Grief and the inability to stop them from falling apart has brought an irreconcilable distance between the formerly deeply devoted couple. While Hannibal is apathetic towards his husband, ignores him, and is withdrawn, Will has started an affair with fellow teacher Francis and drowns his desperation in more and more alcohol.

Light of All Lights by whiskeyandspite [words: 20,377] — (AU)

Dracula-like fic without any of the vampires

The Stage Just For You by CarnivalMirai [words: 6,494] — (AU + Age Gap)

Will has landed himself the role of Odette for world-famous choreographer Hannibal Lecter's rendition of The Swan Lake.

There Will Be Bells by Entropyrose [words: 36,639] — (A/B/O)

In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.

Alpha Mart by slashyrogue [words: 63,164] — (A/B/O)

Will needs an alpha. After years of fake knots, half-assed suppressants, and his own damn hand during heats he’s reached the end of his rope. He doesn’t do dating so he decides to waste his life savings and hype with the current trend. Alpha Mart.

Enchanted By Your Name by CarnivalMirai [words: 9,207] — (A/B/O + PWP)

“Now, my husband would prefer it if I got the job done quickly.” He says, slashing down the back of each gag as he passes each man, watching as the silk falls gracefully to the floor. “However, I want to have some fun. Considering you’ve troubled my husband so much… it’s only fair, right?” One of the men whimpered fearfully. Or: The name "Will Graham" is a name you'll only ever hear once.

I've Been Building Black Ships by cloudsarefluffy [words: 8,116] — (A/B/O + AU)

Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.

A Rare Find by hit_the_books [words: 5,379] — (A/B/O + AU)

Life as an omega bookseller can be quite lonely. However, as the owner of Graham’s Books, Will Graham is reasonably content. That is until he meets—long-time customer and crush—Doctor Hannibal Lecter in person for the first time. Attraction blossoming between them both, Will agrees to a dinner date with the good doctor.

We All Have a Hunger by 1ntothew1ld [words: 12,260] — (A/B/O + Age Gap)

Hannibal will ensure a properly slow and painful death for an alpha who allowed a beautiful young omega to go to waste as this one has. Too skinny for his own good, a stuttering and humble mess. The likes of the omega in front of him belonged at Opera houses and in million-dollar mansions, not scrounging for his next meal. Meek and afraid in some disheveled row house. When he finally looked back up the alpha had to conceal the utter punch to the stomach that meager glance was, blue eyes full of innocence but also hunger.

The Doctor Is In by Kummerspeck7 — (A/B/O + PWP)

Will nearly scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe you'd want anything other than a delicate flower to adorn your side, keep your ostentatious home, bare you the exact number of children you want--No more, no less-- all while being available at your whims." "Not at all." Hannibal disagreed. "I would no more put a wilting flower in my home than in a bouquet given as a gift. Tell me, Will, is that how you are treated? Forbidden from work, cloistered inside and used at Mr Brown's discretion?" "My Alpha's discretion." Hannibal looked pointedly at the curve of Will's neck, free from a single scar. "Not yet he isn't."

Teenage Wildlife by writtenbyizzy [words: 10,163] — (Age Gap + Sugar Daddy)

While reluctantly prowling Grindr for a sugar daddy to pay for his dog Bean's vet bills Will comes across Hannibal, and gets far more than he bargained for.

Just As Poised As I Remember by CarnivalMirai [words: 5,721] — (Age Gap + School)

When Will was in high school he had an incredibly handsome psychology teacher-- tall and sharp with a thick European accent. And now, a decade later, said psychology teacher-turned psychiatrist... just swiped right on him.

We Can Chase the Dark Together by K_R_Closson [words: 16,615] — (Fantasy)

Will tips him and Hannibal off the cliff. Instead of hitting the water, he wakes up in his bed, several years in the past. His first, and only, priority is to find Hannibal again.

We Killed a Dragon Last Night by inameitlater [words: 88,150] — (Fantasy)

Will remembers falling. He wakes up months before Jack got him to work for him. Months before he met Hannibal for the first time. Free from his past he decides to change events and meet Hannibal again.

My Only Constant Is You by TheSilverQueen [words: 25,369] — (Fantasy)

Hannibal Lecter is an immortal who can never die. Will Graham is a time traveler who can never stay in one place. Perhaps that is why they are perfect for each other.

Motinos Kalba by Lyla_Joy [words: 6,040] — (Fluff)

Five times Hannibal Lecter spoke Lithuanian on accident and one time he meant too.

You Make Me Feel (Good) by sourweather [words: 7,190] — (Fluff)

Will Graham has sensory issues. The world gets too loud, he gets overstimulated easily, but most of all he hates being touched. He never expected someone to work so hard to make him comfortable, to be so patient with him.

Pick Me Up by sourweather [words: 6,053] — (Fluff)

Will doesn't go to bars much. He doesn't end up needing a ride home much. But when he does get drunk, he always wants to ask Hannibal to pick him up.

Hard to Get by JSinister32 [words: 5,561] — (Jealousy)

Will and Hannibal had been broken up for six months. When confessions are made during a work function, can they find it within themselves to forgive?

Polar Opposites by Lyla_Joy [words: 19,513] — (Kidnapping)

“Says the cannibalistic serial killer who knocked me out and is now holding me hostage,” sassed Will. The Ripper didn’t smile but his eyes crinkled in the corner. “Please call me Hannibal.”

Fate Is A Keen-Eyed Hound by LydiaFearing [words: 5,890] — (Mischa)

Hannibal may be a successful, charming psychiatrist but Mischa worries that her brother is lonely so she gifts him a puppy. Hannibal reluctantly falls for his little dog but wants to get involved with time-consuming FBI work and not just anyone can be allowed to look after his pet. Luckily, Alana can recommend a boarding kennel in Wolf Trap.

The Significant Other: The Will and Hannibal Edition by house_of_lantis [words: 18,431] — (Murder Husbands)

After their terrible and abrupt break up, Will and Hannibal attempt to maneuver through their social circles, side step ongoing gossip, and deal with the fact that Will knows the truth of Hannibal. Through impossible odds, Will and Hannibal do find their way to each other again.

Dancing with the Beast by proser [words: 86,347] — (Murder Husbands)

In order to catch a mediocre serial killer, Will must pose as Hannibal's date for a series of pretentious social events. Hannibal is dramatic and jealous as ever, and Will is having a great time without the encephalitis. Of course, it's a love story.

Arriving at the Crossroads by HigherMagic [words: 7,558] — (Mpreg)

"You haven't been my psychiatrist for a long time," Will echoes. "But you've been my friend. You've helped me. With…" He gestures vaguely to his head. "When my brain was on fire. On consults. When it's dark and I need a guiding light." "It pleases me very greatly to be a source of comfort and reassurance for you, Will," Hannibal says. "I have wanted to be that for you, for a long time."

The Hanged Man by justhavesex [words: 13,076] — (Mpreg)

Will Graham had never wanted children before, but he had never considered it to be a consequence of his omegan brain not finding anyone worthy, but the moment he had met Hannibal Lecter he had been filled with want. In which a dinner party one-night stand results in a pregnancy that changes Will's entire life.

I Don't Even Like Lana Del Rey by perpetuallycaffeinated [words: 4,328] — (PWP)

The tension and low thrum of arousal were making Will speak impulsively. He knew this, but he’d just finished his drink. There was nothing he could use to stop the question, blunt and presumptuous and rude. “So, what, you’re my daddy?”

A Bad Combination In The Dark by perpetuallycaffeinated [words: 1,957] — (PWP)

When a nerve wracked Will Graham accidentally cuts his hand on Dr. Lecter's letter opener, things quickly get out of control.

The Best Bait by sourweather [words: 3,327] — (PWP)

Will is a good fisherman, he knows which bait to use for his catch. Will seduces Hannibal at a party by being sexy.

Whimsy by justheretoreadhannibalfics [words: 3,001] — (School)

Doctor Hannibal Lecter is standing in as a teacher while Professor Graham is out of town on a case. The students start to kind of like him, and become very invested in his love life.

Callipygian by ProxyOne [words: 2,260] — (Season 1)

Hannibal has a lot of sketches of Will, which he normally keeps safely away. One day though, Will shows up unexpectedly and Hannibal is caught unawares, and unprepared.

L'appel Du Vide by sourweather [words: 5,413] — (Season 1)

Will is hiding things from his coworkers. From himself. But Doctor Lecter knows.

Friends Don't Frame Friends: A Lesson for a Clueless Cannibal by LadyFelixTristis [words: 5,041] — (Season 1)

Ear? What ear? Will Graham doesn’t try to thwart Hannibal Lecter’s plans for him. He just does. By accident. And then on purpose.

For All My Pride, You Were the Fall of Me by nobetterlove [words: 13,212] — (Season 2)

After being released from the BSHCI, Will grabs the dogs he can't live without and leaves without a trace

Letters to God by CarnivalMirai [words: 4,698] — (Season 3+)

Will writes letters to Hannibal every day after his incarceration. But they never make it.

Blankets, Coffee Cups, and Christmas Morning by sourweather [words: 6,352] — (Season 3+)

Hannibal wants to enjoy the domesticity. The love, the closeness, the being Known. But something about his life with Will makes him want to lash out.

All These Fictionary Tales by ProxyOne [words: 18,492] — (Season 3+)

After the fall, Hannibal is presumed dead. Will has been declared dead. But Will isn't willing to believe that Hannibal would just abandon him like that

Seduction by BloodunderMoonlight [words: 7,086] — (Season 3+)

“For fuck’s sake, Hannibal.” Will glared at him, brimming with wrath he had only seen behind Will’s gun. He had no doubt Will would draw out a knife from beneath the duvet or pillows, but clearly words were enough to make him gobsmacked—“Are you a fucking virgin or monk? If all these can’t get you to bed then I don’t know what can.” Hannibal stood gaping at Will.

Blood, Cedar and Dog Hair by sourweather [words: 3,351] — (Season 3+)

Something terrible happens while Hannibal is in prison. Something he never prepared for.

Hidden Potential by sourweather [words: 20,789] — (Soulmates)

The first time you make eye contact with your soul mate, you see a vision of their greatest accomplishment. They call it your Peak. Unfortunately for Will Graham, his soul mate's Peak is a vision of blood and horror. Fortunately for Hannibal Lecter, his soul mate's is too.

Karoliai by slashyrogue [words: 4,577] — (Sugar Daddy)

Will works at a jewelry store. He has worked there for three months and sold less than any other person there. His boss tells him to sell something by the end of the day or he may not have a job tomorrow. If there was one thing Will hated more than having to talk people into buying jewelry they didn’t need, it was trying to do it two days before Valentine’s Day.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #hannibal fic recs #hannigram fic recs #hannibal fanfic #hannigram fanfic #hannibal fic #hannigram fic #nbc hannibal #hannibal tv #will x hannibal #murder husbands #hannibal au #replies

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well-its-not-human-anymore · 3 years

Note

So this is a personal one for me to ask and if you're not comfortable with it don't mind it; how would the tmnt boys (seperate) react when the reader confesses that they're autistic after the boys got curious when she had some peculiar, behavior or stims. The reader would be stressed, because she has a crush on the tmnt boy in question and she didn't want them to find her weird or just stop interacting with her. When she's met with confusion instead, because the boys never heard of it, cue this weird conversation where reader tells them to the best of her ability what it is and the boys just keep asking questions. Also some general headcannons with it maybe?

Okay so I'm actually really happy that you asked me this because I feel like ASD isn't portrayed a lot in any type of media. My ADD and ASD have a lot of overlap so I hope I can capture what you're asking of me!

Now let's get into it!

TMNT Headcanons

The boys reacting to an autistic reader

Leonardo

he wasn't really sure what was happening the first time you reacted

one minute you were standing next to him doing dishes and the next you were attempting to claw your skin off like an angry cat

Leo tried not to look annoyed as he watched you rub your hands against your shirt until your flesh started to turn red

you looked like you were crying but he knew you weren't

but your face was starting to turn purple and your cheeks were puffy from the effort of holding your breath

"Y/N? You need to breathe."

You shot a glare at him, scathing eyes meeting his now very concerned expression

your own softened and you clutched your arms to your chest, heaving oxygen into your lungs until your face became a normal shade again

"Are you okay?"

The words were stuck in your throat and you weren't sure if you should nod or shake your head

so you gave him a half-hearted shrug

he frowned back at you but turned to finish the dishes on his own

when he questioned you about it later he couldn't help but be curious

"Well actually it's uh- it's kinda a sensory type of thing? There are certain textures that I can't stand touching do I avoid them but if I come into contact by accident my brain just kinda explodes and I shut down."

"How exactly does that work though?"

"I don't really understand it much but like- you know that feeling you get when you think there's a bug on you and there's not but it really really feels like it?"

He nodded

"Yeah, it feels like that. And anytime I touch something that triggers that reaction it takes FOREVER to get the feeling off my skin. That's why I usually wear gloves when I do dishes. Guess I just forgot to grab 'em today."

He was sympathetic

and god, you were so embarrassed

lucky for you, Leo's not an asshole

"Well thank you for explaining it to me, you really freaked me out earlier. I'll talk to April and see if we can keep a pair or two at the lair just in case you forget again."

Consider your heart melted

you couldn't even find the words to thank him and holy shit was your face red

"Hey y/n?"

"Yeah Leo?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me- us that you were autistic?"

Did you rip the band aid off now or make something up? Which would ,technically speaking, be less catastrophic in the long run?

"I uh- I really like you and I really didn't want you or the other's to look at me differently..."

wow, you liked him? miss ma'am you have saved this boy a world of anxiety and damn does he thank you for it

"Thanks for telling me... and y/n? I really like you to."

Awh fuck yeah, best possible execution of band aid-ripping-off ever

Donatello

Donnie wished he could act surprised when you finally told him

he really wanted to, it would've made you feel better for sure

but he sucked at lying and he didn't want to make you feel like he thought you were an idiot

because that was so far from the truth

after going through extensive research on Mikey's behalf when he suspected he had ADHD Donnie had stumbled across many different websites that discussed the symptoms and overlaps between both disorders

to make a long story short, Donnie knew that you had ASD and he was waiting for you to tell him

it would probably come off as rude if he brought it up in conversation right?

he didn't want to risk it

but that didn't stop him from keeping an eye on you and your behaviors

he was a man of science, of course he was going to analyze you

not in a weird way or anything, just as a curious sort of precaution

but the longer you were involved in the turtle's lives the more noticeable your stims and meltdowns got, Donnie did his best to cover for you without making you suspicious of him

eventually he'd come up with something that he hoped would come across as a friendly gesture and wouldn't set you off or scare you away

it was game night at the lair and you, as always, were perched on the arm of the sofa, a large grin plastered on your face

inside your head was exploding but you were masking it pretty well if you do say so yourself

but Donnie was, well... donnie was donnie

so when he noticed you starting to rock a little more visibly he removed his attention from commentating the game and grabbed a pair of headphones from the side table

you were beyond confused when he passed them to you but your face revealed everything

"They're noise cancelling, try them on."

holy shit it was like putting your head underwater, everything was muffled

not in the way normal headphones did, you quite literally couldn't hear anything at all, just a calm amount of nothing

you nearly started crying when you realized that Donnie had figured you out on his own

but you'd never been more relieved about anything in your life

Raphael

he wouldn't admit that he was mesmerized by your presence

you practically radiated calm

his complete opposite

it was his favorite thing about you, because despite your quiet disposition and calming aura you weren't afraid to call him out or rebut any of his insults

this was not something you expected him to appreciate nor was it something you thought would make you catch feelings

but damn if you didn't

he'd been sitting in on yours and Donnie's little experiment for an hour or so now, watching you both exchange quiet whispers and inside jokes that you always seemed to lag on

then you slipped up

not bad, nothing detrimental to the project, just the same mistake that you'd already made ten times over

you might as well have exploded

"Y'N, you just have to move thi-"

"I KNOW DONATELLO. I FUCKING KNOW AND I JUST CAN'T DO THIS BULLSHIT!"

you set everything down gently enough to avoid breaking it before turning and storming out of the lab, waving your hands like they were on fire

Raph and Donnie exchanged a look that sent the larger red turtle following after you

when you calmed yourself down enough to talk you kept your gaze locked on the wall, explaining that you couldn't make eye contact when you were upset

he might not be the smartest brother, but Raph's no dummy, he put those pieces together pretty quickly after you told him that one small detail

he wasn't upset that you didn't tell him and you'd personally never been more relieved

your heart nearly splattered into the stratosphere when you finally gace him your own explanation

"yeah, I like ya too."

you grinned so wide you were sure your face would split open and your entire body rocked side to side with excitement

he thought that was pretty adorable too

And he did stick around to offer a bit of support when you apologized to Donnie for screaming at him

Michaelangelo

to be frank it probably shouldn't have taken so long for Mikey to realize that you were autistic

the similarities between your own personality and his ADHD were so in sight it was near painful

it was his turn to make dinner that night and you'd made sure that you came over early to help him set up, you knew how side-tracked he'd get and you were the poster child for solid routine

what more perfect matchup existed?

trick question, there isn't one

you were on one side of the counter cutting vegetables and he was on the other throwing said vegetables into the mixing pot

the music was at an ungodly level of loud so your only means of communication were screaming over it

"MIKEY."

"WHA?"

"YOU GOT THE-"

"YEAH."

"AND THE-"

"UH HUH."

"COOL, HAVE YOU SEEN THE-"

"TONGS? NO, THE SKEWERS. YEAH, THEY'RE IN THE OTHER DRAWER."

"THANKS."

the two of you went about your previous tasks, thinking nothing of the conversation that had just taken place

at least until you'd begun washing your knife and cutting board

that's when Casey walked in, looking both perturbed and annoyed at the same time

"Alright, which one of you knows telepathy?"

Mikey exchanged a glance with you and you returned it with a raised eyebrow

"The hell you mean brah?"

he looked at the both of you like you were the ones that had grown four extra heads before speaking again

"You literally just had a conversation with like five words and somehow just knew what the other meant? What's up with that?"

you glanced at Mikey again

"Holy shit, did we?"

"I mean, not really. You used your hands."

now all three of you were confused but it quickly became two when Casey shook his head in defeat and left the room

"You know I think he's right."

he blinked first and your staring contest ended

"But you used your hands-"

"I got autism Mikey, one does not simply not use their hands as forms of speech."

"You're-"

"Yep."

was the silence laughing at you? could it do that? it was kinda rude

"Huh, that actually makes sense, that's not mean is it?"

you shook your head no

"You're just me but fast."

Mikey agreed with that, pestered you with a few more questions, and went back about working, as did you, you saw no reason to address it further

but your cheeks burned red

"Yo- Y/N that actually explains why everyone else thinks we're a thing."

you didn't know if you could choke on air or not but you did it anyways

"Are we?"

he gave you his signature grin

"If we are then Raph owes April a hundred bucks."

you returned his smile

"Oh this oughta be good."

I'd like to preface this by apologizing for my near three week absence. Life got crazy and my writer's block hopped on a train, went through a school zone, killed seven pedestrians, and committed tax fraud before tumbling off a cliff never to be seen again.

But on the bright side- I got my SAT scores back and started some scholarship applications. Super happy with that. School's out in a few weeks so I'll be able to write more (hopefully).

Anyways, I hope I got this one down okay. I may have hyper analyzed the request so I might be a little off. But I really enjoyed doing this one and I hope you like it!

-Mars 🌠

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #askbox #ask response #writing requests #writing blog #writersblock #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016

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sin-of-jess · 3 years

Text

Sero Hanta

Type: Smut

Here’s a cockwarming request! I’m a glutton for cockwarming stories, so this one was extra fun!

All characters are aged to at least 21!

Being a hero was more than just going out and beating up villains, a fact I was painfully ignorant to before getting into a relationship with Sero. I knew they were involved with the police, but the amount of paperwork that needs to be done can make me dizzy. That's how I ended up in the situation I was in now, eyes trailing along the defined muscles that are needed to keep up the pro-hero life. I'm laying on my stomach, watching as his eyebrows furrow then lift as he recalls the incident. "Hantaaa, come to bed with me..." I pout, giving my best puppy dog look when his eyes make it's way over to me.

He gives a lopsided grin before rolling his eyes and continuing the incident report, "I need to finish this, it's due in the morning." "Humph," I answer, laying my head on my arms. I notice how his eyes flicker behind me, but there's nothing behind me but a bare wall and... my butt. Was he looking at it? I decide to delve into it, shifting myself to prop my ass up a touch higher. As I hoped, his eyes again flit over to me. I smirk as I stand up, sauntering my way over to start massaging his shoulders. "You seem so stressed Hanta, let me help you," I say as I apply light pressure to his shoulder blades. I can feel his body relax as he lets out a contented sigh. "You're amazing love," He tells me as he leans into my touch. When he does I can't help but notice the bulge going on his grey sweatpants. His member could always be seen in those particular pair of pants, but it was lifted up and clearly not soft. I lean over to the left, gently grabbing his cock and giving it a few strokes over his clothes. He groans low, leaning his head back into my body. His pen has stilled, and I can just barely see that he's closed his eyes as well. "Can't wait, can you?" He asks me. "Not for you, Cellophane," I respond, knowing calling him by his hero name gives him a little extra confidence boost. He rolls his chair back a few steps, guiding me around so I stand in front of him. He pulls my shorts and underwear down in one go, wasting no time in diving into my core. I let out a breathy moan as his tongue dances between my clit and hole. I don't realize he's dragged down his sweatpants until he finally pulls away from me, chin wet from my juices. "Come here baby girl, I got a job for you." He guides me to where my legs are underneath the armrests, my pussy aligned with his thick rod. I watch with an open mouth as he slowly pumps it a few times. He guides me onto him, and I moan softly into his ear as he fills me up. Before I get the chance to ride, he pulls my legs off the ground so that he can scoot closer to the desk. Once satisfied, I can hear as he shifts the papers around while peering over my shoulder. "H-Hanta..." I breathe out. "You keep my cock nice and warm while I finish these last few papers. If you're a good girl for me, I'll let you squirt all over me once I'm done." He tells me, giving me a pat on the ass to enunciate what he's saying. I whimper but nod my head, at first just enjoying how my pussy feels wrapped around him. He's thick, and this gave me an opportunity to appreciate it. So I sit there with my head on his shoulder, listening to the scribbles of his pen on paper. It doesn't take long for me to desire more. It's like an orgasm is far away, I can see it but just not touch it without that final push of his thrusts. I grow impatient, squirming a little to get some sort of friction. The sound of scribbling pauses, a more firm slap to my ass, "Be patient, darling." He tells me, giving a kiss to my shoulder before the sounds of pen on paper continues. It's like there's a fire within me, desire coursing through my veins as I put my face into his neck. He had showered before sitting at his desk and his hair smells good. I run the tip of my tongue along the side of his neck, then kiss down the trail I made before repeating it. Sero has this habit of making a humming noise when he's completed a page, and my insides clench at each one he makes. I hope it's the final one, the sound of papers fluttering around matching the butterflies in my stomach. Though just as I think I'm about to get what I want, the sound of his pen starts again. "Should I tape you down?" He jokes, referencing my nearly constant grinding into him. I whimper into his neck, "You feel so good, I want you to make me cum." I feel his cock twitch as his breath hitches. "I'm almost done, baby. Be patient and I'll reward my good little cock sleeve." He tells me, and again my pussy clenches at his words. He had a way of speaking nonchalantly, whereas the words are deliciously sinful. Just as I think I can't handle it anymore, the sound of papers sliding across the table hits my ears just before he bounces his hips. The guttural groan that escapes my lips is lewd, and I feel blessed when his hands grip my hips. "You're so wet, want me to take care of you?" He asks, already knowing what I'll say. "You can move how you want now, baby." And that's exactly what I do. I plant my feet on the ground, ignoring how the armrests rub against my thighs as I bounce on his cock. It's Sero's turn to groan, his fingers digging into me as I find a good pace. The sound of wet slapping fills the room as I chase the high I've been waiting for. I can feel it coming, and Sero knows it too as he pulls my tank top down to expose my breasts. He leans into them, taking a nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue just how I like it. He guides me on his cock, helping me keep pace while slamming his hips deeper every time I bottom out. "Hanta! I- AH!" I moan loudly, the stars in my eyes nothing as my tight pussy clenches him. With my body stilled Sero takes over, his breath ragged as he slams into me. The over-stimulation is too much as I come again, a constant slew of "Oh Hanta!" being said over and over before I scream out from my second orgasm. It's enough to send him over the edge, and the sounds of his own moans are music to my ears as he bottoms out. The feel of warmth is erotic, and I slide my fingers through his hair in order to feel closer to him(As is you can get any closer to someone when you're full of their cock and cum.) Our breathing is heavy, and when we lock eyes he's got a cheesy grin. "Sorry," He says in reference to cumming inside me, something he rarely did. "Worth it," I answer, knowing the little pills in the bedside drawer will protect us from any accidents. "Getting up will probably make a mess though." I tell him, knowing gravity will cause a mess on the carpet. "Well then lets keep you plugged." He jokes as he maneuvers himself up, one hand securely on my bottom to keep me up while using the other to balance himself as he stood. "Hanta?" I speak, realizing he doesn't seem to have gotten soft once he came. His eyes flitter to the bathroom door, "Can't we have a little fun during clean up?"

#sero x reader #sero smut #mha smut #mha x reader

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1magine-engine · 4 years

Text

Obey Me: Demon Slayer MC (2)

Part One

——————

You’ve been removed from the House of Lamentations...for a week. None of the brothers could argue, really.

Beelzebub feels kinda bad. If you were already cautious of them before you must have been terrified now. Being around angels and a fellow human would do some good but Beel has to resist coming over. The cookies you left are divine after all, so sweet and rich with the Celestial Realm ingredients. But when you return he should ask you why they seem to leave such a bitter taste in his mouth, maybe you fouled up with a measurement or two? Still, he eats them, getting crumbs all over the bandages that wrap around his thigh and right arm.

Satan will let Mammon off just this once. His missing tome was returned by you just a few hours ago, thwarting Mammon’s scheme and while he’s glad it’s back, it irritates him. The very sight of it makes him want to tear it apart and burn it. The soreness from last night’s scuffle doesn’t help his vexation any. Neither does the random drop of blood staining a couple of pages. Human blood, he notes but he feels no guilt. It’s not like he was the one that accidentally hit you last night. Besides, it’ll teach you to get involved in disputes between them. Though he will admit, going into his demon form over it may have been an exaggeration.

Asmodeus frowns at the silver spike earring he receives in the mail. It looks a lot like yours, which was why he ordered it. Except it’s a little less intricate and it didn’t quite shine the way yours does. But that‘s beside the point. Really? He just didn’t like it anymore. He didn’t like looking at it, trying it and though it likely still looks good, he didn’t like it on you, especially. Oh he always knew it looked dangerous but that was part of the charm! Now though, after recalling you accidentally cut yourself, the charm might’ve been a little dead.

Leviathan curses when he sees he didn’t save at an important point in Ruri-chan Adventures: High School Days. Impossible! He always saves so he can go back to all the cute, awesome things Ruri-chan said! And yet, there’s a gap between crucial scenes anyway. Ugh, it was all because of that stupid argument last night. He never would’ve thought they’d get him so riled up, he’d actually transform and join the fight over it, over...whatever it had been. And now the cuts on his arms sting when they come in contact with his jacket sleeves, ichor staining the inside lining. Just, ugh, this is the pits.

Mammon is still nursing a headache. He can’t remember whatever it is they got mad at him for last night, but did they really have to hit him so hard he passed out!? A little excessive, geez. At least today they’re nice to him...almost too nice. Ah shit, was he being blamed for last night? Is that why he’s been replaced as your watchdog? Were they buttering him up so they were going to punish him?! Nah! It couldn’t be, Lucifer would’ve done it already and Lucifer hasn’t left his room since yesterday.

Sitting in his bed with his pink tinged skin slathered in some remedy Barbatos whipped up, Lucifer can’t help but feel ridiculous. What was Diavolo thinking? Playing around with Holy Oil like that? Yes it had no effect on demons but Lucifer and his brothers weren’t always demons. It couldn’t be used to trap them like it used to but it could still incapacitate them. It had been so painful, he could hardly remember what happened afterwards but apparently his brothers got into a fight over something trivial and you got caught in the middle. He’d have to apologize to you later.

Regardless when he’d woken up, Diavolo was telling him (forcing him) to take the day off. He’d apologized only once but profusely, his ever-jovial smile faltering. Lucifer insisted he forgives him, it was an accident after all. Diavolo goes right back to smiling after that and tells him his duty of watching over you has been handed over to someone else for the week. Just until you’ve calmed down.

Luke is so miffed about what happened! He knew those demons would lose control and try to hurt you! Luke is ecstatic to have you in Purgatory Hall, of course. You recreated his cookies perfectly the other day and your knack for picking up recipes is amazing. Well, most recipes, your devildom dishes always end up...catastrophic. Maybe it was because of your basically being abducted here that made you so uncomfortable with anything devildom related. Still, he loves your company.

Simeon is, of course, delighted to have you. Even as low spirited as you seemed when you came in this morning. You presence has always given him a sense of tranquility and familiarity, as though you’re an old friend. And so he treats you as such, even if you seemed down at first, he catches you smiling every once in a while to yourself, twirling your angel relic earring as if remembering something fond by it. He just wishes you’d warm up to Solomon too.

Given the chance, you’d warm up. So warm, in fact, you could set him on fucking fire and collect the ashes so you could burn that too.

“f you keep being so quiet, I’m going to start getting suspicious”

You scowl at the bathroom door. Your newly appointed warden is waiting outside in your temporary room for you to be done. “Oh I’m sorry, did you want me to narrate everything I’m doing or are you just being a prick?”

“MC-“

“Second one, got it.”

You step out from beneath the shower, turning the valve in quick, jerky movements. They squeak as the water stops and it seems to satisfy Solomon for now. As you dry yourself off, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above the sink. You scowl at the chains of light wrapping around your chest and arms that shine the same pale gold as Solomon’s ring of power. If you could see the back of your head, you’re sure the bruised lump on it would bare his mark too. Or that of his baseball bat.

Why does he even have that?

“Mc?”

You secure the towel around yourself. “Shut up. I’m coming out.”

You’ve effectively piqued Solomon’s interest. When he was told another human would be attending RAD, he hadn’t expected much. But here you are, standing before him as the could’ve-been slayer of the Avatars of the Seven Sins. But realistically speaking you probably could’ve only taken three of them on with what you tried. But three would be enough, after all; you incapacitated the two most powerful demons of the House, cut up the third, held off the most aggressive and injured the strongest. Other than the cut you did yourself on your palm and his own hit to the back of your head, there isn’t a scratch on you.

A demon slayer. He had so many questions that he couldn’t ask you last night in front of Diavolo and Barbatos who definitely knew something but refused to speak on it. How did you discover your powers? Did you know it couldn’t just be human magic? Why do you hate demons and the devildom so much? What is the Left Hand?

He settles on one, “What exactly was your plan?” his back to you, as you changed into sleepwear. The rustle of fabric stops for a second. He elaborates, even if you had fought the other brothers off or maybe escaped while your modified devil’s trap kept them locked in the House. Where would you go? What would you do? How would you go home, if that was your goal at all? You answer him with a question of your own. “Why’d you knock me the fuck out, why save them?”

Quid pro quo. There’s a door in the human world, in Wyoming, USA, that opened to hell and reading Satan’s book you found out it opened to this circle of hell. No one had opened that door since 2007 but you knew how. All it would take from this side was one sacrifice. You look Solomon dead in the eye as you say it and he laughs.

His laugh is as infuriating as his answer. “The semester’s just begun MC, would be a shame to end it so early with a sudden war, eh?” Besides, he tells you, things get a lot more interesting for him this way.

You nearly throttle him right then and there. Instead, you settle for sleeping last night off, the soft glow and hum of Solomon’s magic lulling you to sleep and locking you in your room. War he’d said and you decided, plans can wait till you’ve had some rest.

Barbatos would be lying if he said the current conversation didn’t interest him almost as much as serving tonight’s tea did but not quite. But who could blame him? It is an excellent blend and Solomon is an excellent guest. He would have been more comfortable serving at the palace but the House of Lamentations was suitable enough to host. Besides, he shares Lord Diavolo’s wish to stay close to Lucifer while he heals.

“Still feeling a bit drained?” Diavolo asks as Barbatos sets a down a plate of holyberry muffins on the coffee table of Lucifer’s office.

Solomon smiles, expressing his thanks before picking up his cup. “Just a bit. But not to worry,” he says savoring the tea’s rich minty aftertaste. It banishes the chill from his bones in a way even Lucifer’s roaring fireplace can’t. “I had enough strength left in me to bind MC to their room at Purgatory.”

“Impressive. Especially after having to cast a memory spell so powerful just a few hour prior.” Diavolo compliments but he says it as if he’s making an observation about the weather. Not that he has to compliment Solomon at all, but from what he has gleaned in his short time in the exchange program, Diavolo is not one to be so lukewarm.

“So, what’s the big secret? If you’ll allow me to be so bold Lord Diavolo,” Solomon says, smiling still. He puts down his cup, turning to face the demon-prince head on. “I don’t very much like being in the dark with matters I become involved in.”

Diavolo sighs. No pleasantries will delay the conversation any further, it seems. “A Nephilim Legacy,” he says, finishing his fist cup. Barbatos is there in an instant to refill it but all Diavolo can spare is a nod in thanks. “That’s what MC is. I know that’s your biggest question. As for your next one, yes I knew when I chose for the program.”

“Well that certainly explains some things,” Solomon grabs his chin, thinking back to the flashes of light, Celestial light in the devildom’s sky. Then there was cutting off the power, something that couldnt be achieved by just shutting down a generator, not when all generators ran on magic and could only be disrupted by magic. But that wasn’t all, you had undone every room enchantment, broken every curse on the doors labelled off limits for you. Finally, there was the main doors of the House of Lamentations. The seal was no mere devil’s trap, the likes of which wouldn’t have worked on six demons who had once been fallen angels. It was a powerful spell, one that should have drained any human of their strength to not only cast but also maintain.

But then there was the seal itself and the tattoos covering most of your skin.

“The Left Hand.”

Solomon’s musings are cut short. Diavolo has finished half of Barbatos’ brew but keeps drinking. “The seal and the marks? It’s been hundreds of years but I would recognize those anywhere. They’re of the Left Hand. An order of hunters and demon slayers who protect the human world.”

“I thought that was a myth. A lie to cover up Gabriel’s fall?” Solomon frowns, such information being unknown to him, twisting his insides.

“The lie, is that Gabriel fell at all.” Diavolo finally sets down the cup rubbing one of his temples. “Towards the end of my father’s reign, he let some demons run rampant. Gabriel was sent to earth in human form, to send them back here. But it didn’t end with him, his children and their children formed the Left Hand. Part of the reason why my father’s still in slumber is he’s recovering from a great war he once had with them. It was declared a draw, when the Celestials interfered, siding with the humans. The treaties were drawn, and they’ve been protecting the human world for centuries since then.”

“And you brought one here.”

“I didn’t know that I did.”

Solomon raises a brow. “You knew about the Legacy but not about the affiliation to the Left Hand? How does that elude you of all demons?”

Diavolo’s hand on his armrest clenches and for a moment, Solomon fears he’s overstepped but Diavolo takes one breath and his body relaxes.

“Solomon, what I’m about to tell you? No one can know, not yet.”

Outside the office, Belphegor’s knuckles drain white as he grips his pillow. Diavolo has brought a demon slayer to their House. One that threatened and hurt his brothers. The damned Prince didn’t listen, no one listened when he swore humans were nothing but vermin. He doesn’t stay for the rest of whatever they talk about, turning to stalk off down the hall to the foyer.

If Diavolo won’t deal with this. Then he will.

To Be Continued...

———————————————

@vicardi-the-fool @poppy-pom @aspenflower17 @game-lover-yess @sibit360 @siana-loves-you

Comment if you wanna be tagged for the next ones, I think this might become a whole ass series.

P.S I’m sorry this took so long I had no idea that part one was gonna get so much positive feedback. At some point I said “okay when itgets to 666 notes, I’ll get part 2 upbu then it was there within an hour of me saying so. And I kinda panicked cause what if this one is t as good or disnt get as much interest. So thank you all very much!

#obey me #shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me fic #merakiulous-k

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theinfinitybucky · 3 years

Text

Undercovers (Bucky Barnes x Reader) - Part Five

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are on an undercover mission as husband and wife, but she hates him and by accident begins a game of “Who Can Fake Better”.

Warnings: very brief nudity, cannon typical violence, minors not allowed to interact!!!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

You woke up the next morning hating yourself for every bit of what you had let Bucky do the night before. The regret panging through your chest was nearly unbearable. You sighed and pulled the white shirt off the floor to slip on over your bare chest. With feet hitting the cold marble floor of the hotel room, you walked to the bathroom.

Bucky was still passed out in the bed, taking in deep breaths as he slept. The man looked remarkedly peaceful for what you had done the night before. Right now, he was winning the game. What he had willfully manipulated you into doing was unspeakable. Even worse, what would the team say when they found out about what happened during this mission.

This was all Steve’s fault. He had forced you into this “situation” and not stopped it when another twist came. It had to be this with the target or his men watching the hotel room. That didn’t make this any easier. It was difficult to admit that you might actually enjoy Bucky’s presence. His rare smile. The way he kissed you like nothing else was left in the world but your lips.

Would it really be that bad if you liked him?

You brushed off the tough thought and began to brush your teeth. You met your own gaze in the mirror and shuddered with self-hatred. He hadn’t forced you into it. By the time the two of you were back in the hotel room, it felt right. The lingering regret was all about how you could go back to hating him.

“You okay, Sarah?” Bucky stood in the doorway, fully clothed unlike the last night.

You looked back at him and nodded. A wordless response. He could tell by the regret in your eyes and determined that it would be best to not push the boundaries that were being set. After getting ready for the morning in silence, both of you were discreetly slipping your gun into the blazer pocket when another text rang from Steve. A reminder to not forget about the meeting where you would be seeing the target today.

You would be going into separate meetings for the first two sessions then rejoining each other for lunch at the same table as the previous night. This was an unexpected moment to breathe after last night. The plan originally had you together in the sessions, yet this made more sense after the change in your job description.

After the two slow sessions, you met for lunch. Taking a seat at the table where you had sat last night, Marcus was already sitting when you arrived. It took to seconds to recognize who was with him, Eric Miller. This was concerning at best. A total nightmare at worst. Bucky, where are you?

Almost as if you had called him, he appeared behind you. You hated how he could appear out of nowhere without a sound being made. You glanced up to him from the chair you were seated in. You glanced to Eric Miller which received a tiny nod from Bucky. This was where things began to get dirty. Would you risk taking Eric and Marcus down in a room full of people or wait until the meeting time later. Or had they already exchanged the codes and doom was only impending.

The lunch dragged on forever with white lies being told back and forth between you and Marcus. No intel was gained after the hour-long lunch. It was almost as if they were playing with you and Bucky. An uneasiness continued to settle into your chest. Something was off here. It was only an hour before the codes were “supposedly” being exchanged in the hotel parking lot.

When 1:00 pm came, Marcus and Eric both excused themselves as if they were on a timer. You waited for them to be out of earshot. They both exited through the tall conference room doors. Things were about to get messy.

“I think I left something in the car, Chris.” You took Bucky’s hand and murmured. His eyes locked with your own. He inferred exactly what you were saying. Truly, you had been dropped off and there was no car in the parking lot. This was only a ploy to get you out of the next session and into the parking lot where the codes were being exchanged.

“I’ll come with you.”

You both got up out of your respective chairs and headed towards the parking lot. You were too far behind Marcus and Eric. You broke into a running pace with Bucky right on your heels. This could be too late already. You drew your gun and headed out the door. The hotel security guards were right behind you. Great… only making this more difficult.

Bucky ignored the presences as they called to the both of you.

Marcus and Eric stood by a black SUV. Marcus was taking a suitcase from Eric when you approached them. Marcus took the suitcase and Eric drew a gun quickly. Your blood ran cold. He didn’t even waste a second and fired a shot at you. Bucky jumped in front of you and blocked the bullet with his vibranium arm. It ricocheted off and hit the SUV with a metallic ping.

You didn’t take a chance and shot Eric in the knee without a second thought. Marcus dropped the suitcase and raised a gun in one swift movement. Bucky fired towards Marcus, but missed by about two inches when he dodged it. You ducked behind a random white sedan as another shot came towards you. The security guards began encroaching in with their own guns drawn. Breathing heavily, Bucky yelled to the security guards to back off and listed off credentials.

As he was distracted, you noticed Eric moving. His gun was too close to him from when he had fallen. You stepped toward him to disarm the man. You weren’t fast enough to get there before he would shoot you. The next moment shocked you. He didn’t aim for you. He aimed for Bucky who was not ready for a bullet. As if in slow motion, the gun fired. You screamed and jumped to take it. You were expecting it. He wasn’t. You could make it miss vital organs. You moved in front of Bucky and it hit your shoulder. The bullet lodged underneath your clavicle. You yelled in pain and fell to the ground. Everything went red for a few seconds… Then black.

_______

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked as he entered the waiting room where Bucky with his head in his hands. His face was red as if he’d been crying. His clothes were tattered. Dust and ripped holes scattered the fabric from his altercation with Eric and Marcus after Y/N got shot. Y/N had been in surgery for thirty minutes where they were pulling the bullet out of Y/N’s chest.

Sam tried to push his anger down with in him.

“You were supposed to protect her!” Sam grunted.

“The hotel security got involved.” Bucky tried to explain. “They-.”

“She still has a bullet in her!”

Bucky went still. He knew that this was all his fault. Y/N had jumped in front of a bullet to save him. He’d noticed it the moment the guards tried to disarm him. The bullet hit Y/N’s chest and he was left to take down four people. He went into semi-Winter Soldier mode when you were shot. It brought out a rage in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. This was all supposed to be a game. It wasn’t a game anymore.

Your eyes opened slowly. You looked to your left and saw Bucky asleep in a chair next to you. A sharp pain radiated through your shoulder where the bullet had ripped through your skin. An IV was hooked up to your left arm. You shifted in the bed. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N!” He gasped. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“You nearly died.”

“One bullet isn’t nearly dying, Bucky. You of all people should know that.” You smirked. “Where are Steve and Sam? I know you’re not here alone.”

A bit of what Bucky thought was distain gleamed through your tone.

“They are downstairs getting some food.” He muttered.

“Oh, oka-.” You were about to continue when Bucky interrupted you.

“Why’d you do it, Y/N?” He paused for an infinite moment. “I’m awful to you.”

You thought about it for a moment. Did you save him because you might actually love him after the mission? You may have regretted the sex. Was it because you thought it was just for show? Or because you truly liked him and wanted it to be something more.

“I would never let anyone die. You might drive me insane, but I see that there is good in you."

Bucky took in the words for a second then leaned over the guard rail of the hospital bed. He caught your eyes and noticed you weren’t pulling away. He lips fell onto yours. The kiss was gentler than what you had shared in the hotel room and on the dance floor. His lips formed over your own and your tongues collided. He moved together as he carefully avoided your shoulder. Bucky laced his fingers in your hair.

You heard a gasp and pulled apart to see Steve and Sam standing in the doorway with cups of coffee.

Sam chuckled, “Told you it would work.”

Thank you for reading. This is the last part in this series and I enjoyed writing it sooooooo much <3 Please give a like, reply, follow or reblog for more content in the future. Also, you can request to be added to the tag list! I also am taking one shot requests go ahead and send your idea in to see it brought to life!

Tag List: @steveharrigntons @thebadassbitchqueen @farfromjustordinary @mela-noche @sstanbarnes @justab-eautifulmess @spideyycents @furiouscopshepherduniversity @sottisesreine @wintersoldat1943 @fookinsuckmecockmate

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Note

i see you’re doing prompts and i love me some angst so #1 (with a dash of #10) for tarlos ?? if you feel in any way inspired by them 👀💕

Of course Jill - anything for you (on your birthday!) Here it is, I hope you enjoy!

If I die before I wake

tarlos || 5k || ao3

Prompt: “stay alive, please.” + “it hurts.”

---

Carlos responds to an accident scene that threatens to take everything away from him.

-------

“So, what do you think?”

Carlos looked at his partner, eyebrow raised, “What do I think about going on a double date?”

“Yeah.”

“Me and TK, with you and…”

“Alanna,” Mya provided.

“Right, Alanna. Who you have been on...2 dates with?”

“Three, Reyes. Three dates.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mya shot him a glare, “What?”

“I think you’re up to something, Esquilin.”

“What could I possibly be up to?”

“I don’t know, but I have known you long enough to know that you are usually up to something.”

“You,” Mya said with an accusatory finger pointed at her partner, “are too suspicious, Reyes.”

“Mya,” Carlos said firmly, turning to face her, “what possible reason could you have for wanting to take someone you have been on 3 dates with for a double date with a couple that has been together over a year and knows you so well? There’s an ulterior motive here somewhere and I’m just wondering what it is.”

There is silence in their squad car for several moments as Mya seems to consider how best to answer. But the same moment she opened her mouth, their radio chirped to life. Mya seemed to deflate in relief and Carlos studied her for a moment before reaching for the radio, “This is Officer Reyes.”

“Car 142 respond to a vehicular accident, intersection of S 1st and Cumberland. Be advised that witnesses say one of the involved drivers is likely under the influence.”

Carlos shared a grim look with Mya, who flipped on the lightbar and headed in the direction of the accident scene, “10-4 dispatch, car 142 en route.” He replaced the radio and turned to Mya, “we’re finishing this discussion later.”

“Whatever you say, partner.”

“I mean it, Mya.”

“So an accident, think you’ll get to see your better half?”

“You can try and change the subject all you want but I’m not going to forget.”

She raised an eyebrow at him briefly before turning her gaze back to the road and he rolled his eyes, “No, he’s not working tonight. He actually should be at my place by now, he was going to try to make dinner.”

“Did you check to make sure the fire extinguisher was full?”

“And added a second one.”

She laughed, but any humor faded at the sight of the accident scene as they turned the corner.

Carlos felt dread building in his gut as Mya lost any hint of the playful manner of just a second ago, “Shit,” she said instead, voice low as she slowed their car to a stop at the edge of the scene.

There was a car pinned to the telephone pole on the corner of the intersection. The front end looked relatively fine but the back was a mess. It looked like the other vehicle had come through the intersection at high speed, striking the back of the other car and pinning it to the pole. Carlos grimaced as he climbed out of the cruiser and got a better look. Hopefully no one had been in the backseat; they would have to be lucky to have survived that.

And the driver of the other car was standing outside his car looking perfectly fine if a bit intoxicated, of course.

He turned to Mya as she met him outside their car, “Do you want the drunk or the victim?”

“You took the drunk last time so I guess it’s my turn.”

“Let me know if you need me.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “I can handle this dude.”

He shook his head fondly as she rolled her eyes and they jogged off in their separate directions. He reached the driver’s window and leaned in, giving the man a quick once over.

“Sir,” he asked, “are you hurt anywhere?”

The driver shook his head forcefully, “I’m fine, just some cuts and bruises. My passenger though, I’m an uber driver…”

Carlos felt the dread building as his fears were confirmed.

“Okay sir sit tight, I’m going to go around and see if I can get a better look. The fire department should be here soon and they’ll get you out real quick.”

The driver nodded and Carlos gave him a quick, small smile before he headed to the rear window, carefully brushing glass shards out of the way so he could lean in. He was about to ask the same questions, but the sight before him stole the words and his breath from him.

There was someone in the backseat but it wasn’t just anyone. It was a very familiar someone in a familiar yellow hoodie.

“TK?” he asked, voice breaking. He got no response. He tugged on the door desperately but couldn’t get it to budge.

He swallowed before trying again, “Ty? Can you hear me?”

There were a million sounds surrounding him and not one of them mattered. The only one that did matter, the only voice he needed to hear, stayed silent. He couldn’t even get close enough to check for a pulse even as his heart clenched at the very thought of needing to. He knew he had been staring for too long, he needed to keep moving. He needed to do something, anything. He needed to help TK.

He couldn’t lose him — not now, not ever.

With effort, he pulled his gaze away and glanced around. Mya had cuffed the other driver and was loading him into the back of the cruiser. He called out to her, hoping she didn’t notice the change in his voice. Her eyes found him and even from a distance the despair in his expression must have been clear because her expression shifted and she hurried over.

“Carlos, what—”

But he stepped aside so she could see into the car, clutching the roof of the car for support. She took a look inside and he could pinpoint the moment she identified the trapped figure. She turned to him; expression grim and voice soft, “Carlos…”

“We need to get to him,” he said again, hoping his voice was steadier than it sounded to his own ears, “I couldn’t get the door open.”

“Okay,” Mya said calmly, “we’ll try it together. I’ll use the handle, you grab the doorframe. On 3, we pull.”

Carlos nodded and followed her instructions, putting everything he had into it. Finally, after a few tries, the door gave and they were able to wrench it open. Carlos was in the car in a flash, disregarding the shattered glass crunching beneath him as he moved towards TK, reaching for his neck, feeling for a pulse.

Please don’t let him be dead, please.

The thought was repeated like a mantra in his head, over and over again like a desperate prayer.

The moments it took to find the right spot, for him to feel the tell-tale thrum of life in the familiar neck before him seemed to last forever but eventually — finally — he felt it. A pulse; strong and steady.

He released the breath he had been holding and turned to Mya, “he’s alive, pulse is steady.”

The relief evident on his partner’s face was nearly as palpable as his own, “Okay. See if you can wake him up and maybe give him a once over, I’ll go handle the rest of the scene and notify whatever crew shows up. Just stay with him.”

“Are you…”

“Carlos,” she interrupted him, voice firm and leaving no room for argument, “stay with him. He needs you and I can handle the rest on my own.”

He gave her a grateful smile that she returned before squeezing his arm and disappearing back into the chaos of the scene.

Carlos turned back to the crumpled figure beside him. He reached out a tender hand, carefully running it through TK’s hair, looking for any sign of a head injury. His hand found something wet on the side of his head closest to the door and he pulled it away to find blood. He moved closer, careful not to jostle TK any more than necessary, and located the source; a long but relatively shallow laceration on the side of his head.

“How do you keep getting yourself into these situations, babe?” Carlos asked quietly, more to himself than anything else.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Carlos nearly jumped — he had quite forgotten about the driver in the face of what he had found in the backseat. He looked back over at the driver who had managed to twist enough to get a better look at TK’s predicament. Carlos shrugged but pulled his professionalism back over his countenance, “it’s hard to say with him trapped right now. The fact that he’s not conscious isn’t a good sign, but the way he’s trapped it’s too hard to see what might be wrong. I’m just hoping AFD gets here soon.”

The driver nodded before studying Carlos, “You know him, don’t you?”

Carlos gave him a startled look and the driver simply rolled his eyes, “please, I’ve been stuck in this car. I can hear you back there.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Are you his boyfriend?”

Carlos looked up sharply, never sure how to respond to that. The driver raised his hands in placation, “No judgment, it’s just if you are, he was talking about you right before we crashed.”

Carlos deflated, turning back to TK, “he was?”

“Yeah, said he wanted to surprise you by making a dinner that was actually edible.”

Carlos laughed at that, despite everything, “he’s a man of many talents but unfortunately, I don’t think cooking will ever be one of them.”

“Seems like he likes you a whole lot too,” the driver noted, watching as Carlos ran a hand through TK’s hair.

“That’s good,” Carlos said softly, “because I like him a whole lot too.”

Any further conversation was interrupted by TK stirring. Carlos waited with bated breath, watching him anxiously as he slowly blinked open his eyes. “TK?” he asked softly.

“Carlos?” The word was slurred and quiet, but it was in TK’s voice and Carlos was certain he had never heard anything more beautiful.

“Yeah Ty, I’m here. Can you tell me what hurts?”

TK tried to push himself up but abruptly fell back against the window with a hiss of pain, “Everything?”

Carlos smiles sympathetically, “I believe you, but anything that hurts more than the rest?”

TK considered for a bit before answering, “my head, and my ribs.” He prodded a bit at his chest before wincing, “definitely a few either broken or fractured on the right side.”

Carlos watched as TK placed a hand on his chest as he took a breath, wincing with pain and then letting out a breathy curse. He met Carlos’s anxious expression and explained, “might be flail chest too.”

“Flail chest?”

“When part of the rib cage — usually 3 or more ribs — breaks and becomes detached from the rest of the chest wall.”

Carlos’s eyes widened, “That sounds bad.”

“It’s not ideal,” TK agreed, “but as long as I am careful not to jostle it too much I should be fine until we can get to a hospital, as long as that’s soon. Other than that I’m just kind of one giant bruise.”

“Well, Mya’s in charge so I am sure help will get here soon if she has anything to say about it.”

TK gave him a weak, strained smile before glancing around, “is everyone else okay?”

He looked towards the driver’s seat where the man in question smiled and gave a small wave, “I’m good, just trapped. Mostly worried about you, even more so since you said all that stuff. You a doctor? Med student?”

TK shook his head, “Firefighter.”

“Guess you’re pretty familiar with car accidents then, huh?”

“Yeah, but usually from the other side. I kind of prefer it that way.”

“Can’t say I blame you.”

TK smiled at him before turning back to Carlos, “what about the other driver?”

“He’s feeling no pain and has been escorted to the back of our squad car by Officer Esquilin.”

“Great,” TK deadpanned, “just my luck.”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed with a sigh, “it kind of is, isn’t it?”

TK smiled at him and then closed his eyes as grimaced in pain, exhaling carefully. Carlos reached out a hand but let it fall, not sure where to touch the other man that would provide comfort and not more pain. Eventually, he opened his eyes and met Carlos’s gaze.

“It hurts,” he admitted, voice low and weak and Carlos’s heart ached to hear it. He reached out again, gently grasping the hand resting at his side and giving it a comforting squeeze, “I’m sure it does, but we’re going to get you out of here. I can hear the fire engine now.”

And not a moment too soon, he thought to himself as the familiar sound of a fire engine approaching cut through the evening.

Outside the car he could hear the flurry of activity as whichever crew had been called arrived and went about the process of gathering gear and getting set up. Carlos stayed by TK’s side the entire time, clasping his hand in his own, “just focus on me,” he told him, “help is on the way.”

He was so focused on TK he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they were directly behind him.

“Reyes?”

The voice is familiar but not one Carlos had been expecting to hear. He turned sharply to see Judd Ryder leaning into the backseat.

“Judd?”

“Yeah, we’re going to need you to get out so we can help them. We’ve got it from here.”

“Is the rest of the 126 team here?” he hoped desperately that they were not. As much as their presence would be a comfort and he knows they would move heaven and earth to help TK, it would be far kinder for them to never have to deal with this.

“No, I’m covering for a buddy at the 124. His wife just had a baby so a bunch of us took his shifts for the next few weeks. Still gonna need you to move, kid.”

Carlos swallowed, not sure how to break the news, but he was saved the trouble by TK tuning back into the conversation, “Judd? What’re you doing here?”

Though his voice was weak, it was undeniably TK and Judd froze. He looked at Carlos who shook his head. What was there to say? There was no explanation for this. Judd grimaced and turned his attention back to TK.

“Shit kid, you really got yourself into it this time, didn’t you? Just hold tight brother, we’re gonna get you out of there.”

“Kay,” it was weak, far weaker than it had been a minute ago, and it filled Carlos’s heart with dread.

Judd took a deep, wavering breath before meeting Carlos’s eyes one more time and pulling himself back out of the car, heading back to the captain to report.

“Hang tight Ty,” Carlos told him softly, “this is almost over, I promise.”

“I’m fine Carlos, I’m not worried.”

“You’re a liar, but thanks for trying.”

TK’s answering smile, strained as it was, lifted the slightest amount of pressure from his heart. Two members of the 124 came over to free the driver, who looked back at them before climbing out, “hang in there kid would ya? I’d hate to have ‘dead passenger’ on my record.”

“If I survive this I’ll give you a 5-star review.”

The driver laughed appreciatively before nodding to Carlos and following the firemen away from the scene. Now that there was no other civilian involved, all the focus turned to TK and doing whatever they could to get him out.

Judd appeared at the far edge of the window by TK, “still hanging in there kid?”

But TK didn’t respond, he was too focused on the flurry of activity outside the wrecked car, “wouldn’t it make more sense to approach from the other side so there would be more clearance between the car and the pole?”

“Hey, no backseat rescuing,” Judd chided, “you just relax and let us handle it. Besides, you’re concussed, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But even as he spoke he was studying the scene and he stepped away to speak with the young kid who was setting up the equipment. As Carlos watched the kid nodded and gathered his things before moving to the other end of the car. He glanced back at TK, who was grinning, “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Carlos chuckled fondly and shook his head, running his hand through TK’s hair again, “Judd’s right, you just need to focus on keeping still and letting us know if something doesn’t feel right when we get you moving. He’s got the rest of it under control, he’ll make sure things are done to the 126’s standards.”

No more than a few moments later Judd popped back up at the window, “They’re ready to get started and they want you out, Reyes.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly, looking back down at TK, who was still clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“That’s what I told them,” Judd agreed, “so just do your best to stay out of the way. Last thing we need is two victims here.”

Carlos nodded and Judd turned to wave to one of the other firemen, who started up the jaws. It was a painstaking process, the car bent and twisted as it was, but eventually, they found the right spot and the door began to give. Carlos turned to smile at TK — they were one step closer to having him free — when he noticed that his face had gone pale.

“Judd!” he called out to the firefighter before reaching out to examine TK, to see if he could find the problem, “something’s wrong!”

He could hear shouting before the noise of the jaws stopped and Judd peered back into the window, expression tight. Carlos was still studying TK.

“Ty,” he asked, “can you tell me what’s wrong?”

TK shook his head but gestured at his chest before trying to take a gulp of air but only ending up with a grimace of pain for his efforts. Carlos realized what he was trying to say in an instant: he was having trouble breathing.

Judd cursed and leaned back out, calling for the paramedics. His eyes met Carlos’s even as he moved, “I think his lung is punctured, we’re going to need to do this quick and dirty now so we can get him out and get him intubated if need be.” He shifted his gaze down to TK, “this is not going to be pleasant brother, but we’re going to get you the help you need ASAP, alright?”

TK nodded at him and squeezed Carlos’s hand harder. Carlos swallowed and squeezed back, desperate to offer whatever comfort he could.

The next minute passed in a blur. Once they had found a gap they used it to wrench the door open as far as it would go before the paramedics approached to get him prepped and out, quickly but carefully. Carlos climbed out after them, able to step over the seat and console that had pinned TK in before, and joined them, hovering right at the edge; unwilling to get in the way, but unable to stray too far. Not when TK was hurt, not when it was like this.

As he hovered, he heard the paramedic captain curse. “It’s a punctured lung,” he confirmed as he pulled the stethoscope away and relayed instructions to his team, “must have happened when the door shifted, causing the ribs to move and hit the lung. Breath sounds are diminishing, we need to get him out of here fast.”

Everything after that was white noise to Carlos as he found an open space on the ground near TK’s head and kneeled, careful to keep out of the way. He saw one of the paramedics turn to him in the corner of his eye, likely intending to tell him to get lost, but Judd appeared at his side and shook his head.

Satisfied he wasn’t about to be forcibly removed with Judd standing sentry behind him, Carlos leaned down, moving closer to TK.

“Hang in there Ty, please. They’re going to get you help, you just need to hang on a little longer, I promise.”

TK’s eyes met his and though they were clouded in pain, there wasn’t any fear in them. As they held each other’s gaze TK slid his hand across the ground, closer to Carlos who grasped it with his own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing it tightly.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeated but now it was less of a promise and more of a prayer.

TK smiled at him, soft and reassuring, but his eyes began to drift shut.

“No you don’t, stay with me Ty!” Carlos said desperately, the fear that he had been just barely keeping at bay rushing up to engulf him without a second thought. TK’s eyes opened again but Carlos could tell they wouldn’t stay open for long. He leaned closer, lips practically at TK’s ear, “Stay alive,” he begged, “please. I can’t lose you.”

“Breaths are fading,” the paramedic captain announced, “we need to move him now.”

Carlos watched with horror as TK’s eyes slid shut once more and didn’t reopen, no matter how much he pleaded. He watched as the paramedic team scooped him onto a gurney and whisked him to the ambulance, two of them working desperately on CPR as the other rushed around to the driver’s seat.

The ambulance pulled away and Carlos felt as if his very soul had gone with it. He was still here at the accident scene but couldn’t seem to ground himself. He glanced around, taking in all the bits and pieces of the commotion, but most of it just seemed like noise.

He saw Judd speaking to the 124 Captain before stepping to the side and pulling out his phone with a grim expression and somehow Carlos knew just who he was calling. He looked away to see Mya heading towards him, expression cautious.

“Carlos?” she asked, but he knew there was so much more hidden in the two syllables of his name. How are you and how is he and what happened all went unsaid between the two partners.

He didn’t have an answer to any of them, so he just shook his head. She nodded before reaching out her hand to place it gently on his arm, where she gave him a comforting squeeze.

“How about we drop Mr. Inebriated off to be processed and then I’ll get you to the hospital. I’ll call Sarge on the way, let her know.”

Carlos nodded. He knew Mya was worried for him, he knew he should find some way to reassure her, but he had nothing. He felt like a shell; a husk completely cleaned out by the panic and fear and dread that had weighed so heavily on him since he first saw TK in the car. He was drained and the only thing keeping him moving forward was the desperate hope and need for TK to be okay.

If TK was okay, then everything else would be fine.

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

Carlos looked up from his phone when a figure plopped into the chair across from him, “hi stranger.”

“It’s only been a week,” Carlos objected with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah and I always get stuck with the weirdos when you’re out. Thank god it’s not often.” There was companionable silence between the two partners as Mya studied him before speaking, “how are you doing?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Why do I not believe that?”

Carlos sighed, “It’s been a lot,” he admitted, “and a very long week. But I’m okay, really.”

“I’ve been worried about you,” she admitted, “we all have been.”

Carlos opened his mouth to respond, but the arrival of another person interrupted the conversation.

“Sorry about that,” TK said as he settled back into the seat at Carlos’s side, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “my dad just wanted to check-in. He’s still not convinced I should be allowed to stand up, let alone leave the house.”

“I can’t say I blame him. You really had me worried there for a little bit.”

“Aw Mya, you do care.”

“That is a vicious rumor that I will deny at all costs.”

He laughed and she grinned at him before softening, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m good, really. A little sore and I won’t be running any marathons anytime soon, but fine. Like I keep telling this one,” he says, shooting a pointed look at Carlos, “and my dad.”

Mya shrugs, “I believe you, but I can’t say I blame them. It was pretty close there for a while. Only you could be on the verge of death and back on your feet a week later Strand, I swear.”

“It’s all the practice,” Carlos said dryly, causing Mya to laugh and TK to roll his eyes.

“Judd is talking about bubble wrap,” he tells Mya.

“And we looked into it. It would be pricey, but worth it,” Carlos declared.

“So Mya,” TK said, turning pointedly away from Carlos, who smirked, “who is this girl you are so insistent we meet?”

Carlos shook his head fondly at the change of subject but didn’t push, instead joining TK in looking at Mya intently.

Mya rolled her eyes at the pair of them before taking a sip of her coffee, “Her name is Alanna, and I just wanted to see how you guys got on with her.”

Now Carlos raised an eyebrow and gave her a calculating look, “that sounds like some commitment territory Esquilin, you must really like her.”

“I do,” Mya admitted, “I know we’ve only been on 4 dates so far, but we talk all the time and I just really enjoy being with her in a way I haven’t enjoyed being with anyone else. Plus, you know, other stuff.”

TK and Carlos shared a knowing look and a smile as Mya barreled on, “It just seems really fast so I guess I wanted a second opinion? And to see how she fits in with my friends.”

“We’re your friends?” TK asked with a grin.

“Unfortunately the closet ones I have.”

Now that the topic of Alanna had been broached, not even their usual banter seemed to bring out the playful side of Mya they were accustomed to. She kept biting her lip and tapping her fingers against her mug as she shot repeated glances at the door.

“What are you worried about?” TK asked her eventually.

“I’m not worried,” she responded quickly, to which TK only raised an eyebrow.

“You’re practically a poster child for anxiety at the moment trust me; it takes one to know one. What’s up?”

Mya was quiet for a few moments before she explained, “I like her a lot, but I can’t help but think that maybe we are rushing into things, that maybe we are moving too fast.”

“There’s no one ‘right way’ to start a relationship,” Carlos reminded her gently. “I mean, look at us — you know what a mess we were getting started. We didn’t do anything the way we ‘should have’ but I think we’re pretty solid, right?”

“If by solid you mean, ‘nauseatingly perfect,’ then yeah. You are.”

“Then if you like this girl and she likes you, it doesn’t matter if it seems too fast or how many dates you’ve been on, all that matters is that you care about each other and want to try and start something together.”

The look Carlos was giving Mya was sincere and she gave him a soft smile in return, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand in thanks. She looked to TK a moment later, “You know, you’re pretty lucky to have found this one. Even if he is my partner and I am therefore required to give him shit, he’s pretty great.”

TK turned to look at Carlos, who met his gaze with a matching smile.

“He is something, isn’t he?” he agreed.

Mya smiled at the pair of them, but before she could say anything something behind them caught her attention and her smile grew even wider.

“She’s here,” she told them, rising from her chair, “I’m going to go grab her and get her a drink. Play nice when she gets here, please?”

“As if we could ever do anything but.”

Mya rolled her eyes and swatted lightly at TK’s head as she walked by, heading towards the blonde woman with a warm smile just inside the doorway of the coffee shop.

“Can you believe that was us not too long ago?” TK asked as they watched Mya greet her date with a kiss on the cheek.

Carlos shook his head, “that was never really us. We didn't exactly go about this in the usual way. By the time we got to awkward dates with friends we already knew each other’s friends and each other. Kind of an interesting parallel though — you were on medical leave then too.”

“Is that supposed to be a jab about my ‘danger magnetism’ Reyes?”

“It is. Interesting term, by the way. A TK Strand original?”

“A Judd Ryder one, patent pending.”

“Of course,” Carlos agreed with a nod. His teasing tone faded as he studied TK, reaching out to run a gentle hand across the still healing cut to the side of his head. The stitches had been removed a few days ago, but he knew with painful certainty that underneath TK’s button-up was another row of sutures, a souvenir from the surgery to piece the broken bits of his ribs back together. Soon these would fade just as the scar on his collarbone had and soon they would just be another reminder of what almost was; of the all-consuming fear that they might have lost this, that Carlos could have lost him.

“What are you thinking?” TK asked him softly, studying Carlos’s expression.

“How much trouble you are.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, but you’re worth it.”

TK’s face broke out into a wide and beaming grin, “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed, “you’re worth everything to me.”

[read on ao3]

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos fic #my writing #tuserjamie #usermaximus #userjilly #userkimmy #tuserpaige #jazzyjess #aanathema

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Dark Antoni: The Job

In another universe, Antoni took out Mr. Davies - and set himself up as a talented, discreet hitman-for-hire. His latest assignment takes an unexpected turn. Features @comfy-whumpee‘s Jax Gallagher, used with permission.

CW: Intimate whumper, character death, severe trauma dissoci@tion, noncon touch, noncon kissing, implied noncon (interrupted), referenced noncon, long-term captivity, conditioned response

---

Antoni watches through the scope as the target's husband gives her a kiss, a faint smile, places the drink in her hand. Through his earpiece, he hears her voice, low and sultry, as their fingers brush. “Come sit with me.”

The husband moves like a man pulled by someone else’s invisible strings, sitting next to her on the chaise, letting her turn his head with the barest brush of fingers over his chin. She pulls him in for a kiss.

Antoni’s well-hidden, and not worried they'll see him, finger hovering over the trigger. They’re lined up perfectly like this. He could kill them both, one-two shot, drop the target before her husband’s body even hits the floor.

Something in the way the husband moves, though, stops him.

He bugged the house two days ago - or rather, he has the existing bugs feeding into his own earpiece now, the target’s own obsessive need for total control and security turned against her. The cameras are off, he took remote control of those and switched those screens to black.

He wonders if the husband knows about all the cameras, or if Savannah Marcoset had them placed without his knowledge. Maybe she’s worried about infidelity. Maybe she’s suspicious about assassination.

If she is, he hasn’t heard her say anything about it.

He's listened to them for two days while he planned the kill. Antoni has been privy to every gentle I love you, every moment they spend together, more than a few moments he would rather not have heard at all.

The husband is to all appearances utterly devoted, entirely in love, and…

Something isn't right.

He needs to pull the trigger and finish the job - his client specifically wants them both out of the picture. If she goes, he goes. They’ll be together, they’re never apart, but I can’t have any witnesses who can be questioned after the bitch is dead.

Too great a chance of retaliation by the family, and the client was sure the husband would be little more than a liability. Antoni doesn’t like liabilities, and he doesn’t leave witnesses.

Still… his instincts are screaming at him not to drop the husband, too.

He hesitates, equivocates, waits far too long as the woman downs her drink and lays back, laughing softly, pulling her husband down on the chaise with her. Her dress, a flimsy, filmy thing she wore to the gala they have just returned from, drapes just so against the velvet fabric of the chaise. Her husband’s suit is perfectly tailored, and she undoes his jacket buttons with one hand while they kiss, her other hand behind his neck, tangled in his brown hair.

She murmurs something even the bugs don’t pick up, and laughs. The husband smiles back, and drops his head, kissing along the column of her neck, pale and draped in heavy jewels that contrast with how thin her dress is. She hums, tightens her fingers against his nape, arches her back to press against him.

He makes a sound, an exhale with just a touch of voice, and an alarm goes off inside Antoni’s head, one that stubbornly refuses to explain itself.

Antoni can’t figure out what he’s missing here, crouched up at the railing of the stairs with his rifle still aimed, watching as she slides the jacket off her husband’s shoulders, nips playfully at his lips, his nose, his chin.

“I love you,” She whispers against his lips, and even from here Antoni can see his responding shiver.

“I love you, too.” His voice is low and soft, barely audible. The hand at his neck pushes his head down towards her chest, her other making quick work now of the buttons on his crisp white shirt. She rolls her hips up against his, her hair a waterfall of shimmering dark brown, nearly black, curls and waves. She looks like a Renaissance painting.

They look like a portrait of two people madly in love.

“Do you want me?” She asks, in a tone that says she already knows the answer, head tilted to watch him, hand slipping into the open front of his shirt to run down his stomach. He exhales loud enough for the bugs to pick it up and translate the sound into Antoni’s earpiece.

“Of course.” The husband’s accent is faded, but there - English, fits with what Antoni saw in the description of the assignments, his research files. “Of course I do, Savvie.”

Finger still hovering millimeters from the trigger, Antoni thinks over his files again.

Savannah Marcoset, queenpin of a human trafficking empire.

Run by her father's family until her paternal uncle's sudden death by car accident six years ago, shortly after Savannah married her longtime partner.

Savannah Marcoset, a violin prodigy that burned out young and faded away from the spotlight, reclusive until she took control of the family business, now a sparkling socialite. Married to one Jackson Marcoset, neé Gallagher, UK resident by birth. Unclear how they met or became romantically involved. Estranged from family.

Something is wrong about this picture.

“Of course I want you,” The husband says, in a low voice that could very nearly have passed for desirous. “I always want you.”

Antoni knows, all at once, exactly what his intuition is trying to tell him.

Jax Marcoset is just like Chris, and he has been like Chris for a very long time.

Antoni makes the decision in an instant, following his instincts where they lead him. When Savannah Marcoset hikes up the skirt on her dress and pushes her husband’s head down between her legs, Antoni aims and fires in a single silenced shot.

Savvie’s body jerks as the bullet goes right between her eyes.

The husband looks up, staring blankly, then scrambles back in belated panic as he sees the single small hole in her forehead, empty glazed eyes. “S-Savvie? Savvie, what-... what’s-”

“Hands in the air,” Antoni calls out, pitching his voice low and authoritative, standing slowly and keeping his rifle aimed just in case he’s called this wrong, in case the husband will attack him or try to call for help. “Move away from the body, Jackson Marcoset, now.”

The husband pushes slowly to his feet, hands up, standing in his suit pants and unbuttoned shirt. Antoni can hear his heavy breathing through the earpiece, echoed faintly even across the room into his other ear. He turns, very slowly, to look up at Antoni-

And the soft, supple black leather collar buckled tightly around his neck is suddenly visible, no longer hidden by the high neck of his shirt, the bow tie he’d been wearing when they came home.

I was right, Antoni thinks, a lick of violent triumph running up his spine. I was right, he’s like us, I was right.

He keeps the gun trained on Jax Marcoset, anyway, walking slowly towards him down the stairs, each foot placed carefully, one by one. Neither of them speaks, although Antoni catches Jax Marcoset looking over at the body of his late wife, hands fallen limp to the side now, skirt still hiked high up on her thighs. It’s indecent, really - Antoni tells himself to pull her dress back down before he leaves.

He tries to give the bodies a little dignity - after all, every death since the first one has been strictly business and nothing more.

He left so little of Mr. Davies.

He’s tried to improve on that, ever since.

“Are you going to be a problem?” He asks, keeping his voice level, his accent smoothing off his vowels, sharpening the consonants. He reaches the landing at the bottom of the grand staircase in the entryway, rifle aimed through a large open doorway into the sitting room where the chaise was, right at center mass. “If you are a problem, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Jax Marcoset seems to struggle to speak, or operate on a delay. For a beat there is a weighty silence, and then he says, just barely audible, “I won’t… be a problem.”

Antoni can see scars that run down his stomach, like he was clawed until he bled, again and again, to make them. The collar, the way the husband isn’t looking back at his dead wife any longer, wholly focused on Antoni, shifting submissiveness trained by violence and fear immediately to the next threat, to appease, placate, and hopefully survive.

It’s all familiar, sickeningly so.

It’s the way Chris acted, when they met. Antoni’s assignment then had been to take out a household of drug runners. He’d found Chris in the alleyway bartering a place to sleep, trading his body because he had nothing else to offer them. Antoni had started firing just after hearing them agree to the trade, but only if Chris would take them all at once.

Once they were all dead, Chris - terrified and teary - had started trying to trade himself to Antoni just to keep from being slaughtered.

It’s all exactly the same, no matter the differences on the surface.

“I cannot leave you here alive. Do you understand?” He expects fear, or begging. Some kind of plea. But all Jax Marcoset does is slowly nod, hands still held in the air, and stay right where he is. He doesn’t ask to be spared, or for one more goodbye to the dead woman six feet away. He doesn’t beg, or go to his knees, or do anything at all.

He looks exhausted, emptied of all feeling, incapable of bringing anything up but resigned certainty. “Yes, sir.”

Too far gone, maybe.

But Antoni has to try.

“You may lower your hands.”

Jax’s hands drop like weights, down to his sides, where his fingers curl into fists. Antoni knows, from his own experience, that if he were to tell Jax to show him his palms, he would be obeyed, and there would be a row of half-moon scars there.

Just like Antoni has.

He lowers the rifle, slowly, ready to aim and fire again if Jax moves, but he doesn’t. Just stares dully at Antoni, waiting for whatever happens next, utterly incapable of making a choice for himself. Antoni moves over to Savannah Marcoset’s body, pressing two fingers to where her pulse would be and finding none. Not that he expected her to survive a direct shot to the head, but you never know.

He pulls a wipe from one pocket and wipes what might have been left of his fingerprints from her neck, then turns.

Jax Marcoset hasn’t moved a single muscle except to turn his head to watch Antoni’s movements around the room.

Antoni hums - job done, more or less, and no one needs to be the wiser that he’s left one of the targets alive - and turns to leave. He pauses, and gestures. “Come on, then,” He says, and Jax Marcoset falls in beside him, almost jerking into motion like a puppy trying to find someone new to hold his leash.

The night is dark and silent except for the crunching of Antoni’s shoes on gravel, and even that is barely a whisper of sound. Moonlight glints off the platinum wedding ring Jax Marcoset wears, off the matching lip ring and ear piercings. It briefly illuminates the buckle of the collar at the back of his neck, his eyes focused firmly on the ground in front of him, never looking up.

Antoni’s car is hidden, of course, and it takes them some time to walk there in silence. He keeps expecting Jax to ask a question, or cry, or do anything. But all Jax does is remain perfectly quiet, pliant, and empty.

He slips off his shirt willingly enough when they reach the car, lips thinned a little, and looks maybe mildly, just barely, surprised when Antoni hands him his spare shirt to put on instead. Their hands brush and Antoni feels the telltale roughness and scarring he expected.

Through it all, his intuition whispers, he’s like Chris, and he needs help.

Once they’re in the car, driving down a small two-lane highway, cutting through the late-night darkness, Antoni says quietly, “You are coming home with me. I cannot have you questioned, or have you speak to police. You will stay with me for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Jax mumbles, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. He hasn’t tried to remove his collar or his ring, and Antoni knows how hard taking off your collar the first time can be for someone like them, and he doesn’t ask.

Instead, he offers, “Would you like to choose a station on the radio?”

There’s a long silence, Antoni aware he is being studied, Jax Marcoset watching him with utmost care, deciding what he will do or say. What he wants, Antoni thinks. Appease, placate, survive. It’s all the same, in the end. Even though he noticed Jax has no barcode when he changed shirts. If Jax is a pet, he isn’t a legal one and likely never was.

Jax slowly moves his hand, hesitating before he touches the dial as though he thinks his fingers will be slapped away. He changes the station, scanning until he reaches 90.1 FM.

Classical music drifts from the speakers, and Jax pulls his hand back quickly, folding them back in his lap, and closes his eyes.

“Will you miss her?” Antoni asks.

“Yes, sir.” His voice is barely audible, underscored and nearly overwhelmed by the sound of a single violin.

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donteattheappleshook · 3 years

Text

Playacting

~*~

This fic was written as a thank you to @darkcolinodonorgasm for tainting her screen with Neal's face to make an amazing gif for me that sadly won’t load now.

Summary:

Emma has finally left her awful boyfriend after nearly a decade. But when he makes her meet him in a bar to pick up the last of her stuff, she risks falling victim to his usual tactics of sending her crawling back to him. Thankfully, the handsome bartender is there to lend a hand. A fake-boyfriend AU. Heavily Anti-Neal so don't read if that's not your thing.

Read it on Ao3

~*~

Emma sits down heavily on the stool, her elbow landing on the bartop as she lays her chin in her hand, exasperated. Stupid fucking Neal. It’s just like him really, making her come here to meet him after everything he’d made her put up with for the last ten years. Finally, finally she’d worked up the nerve to leave him, to say enough was enough and convince herself she deserved better and then of course as soon as she walks out for good, he finds a way to drag her back, to make him face her one more time.

She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. She hadn’t known any better in the beginning. She was seventeen and he was twenty five and she thought it was so cool that someone so mature wanted to be with her. She thought that had to mean she was mature as well. It wasn’t until much later, when half a decade had passed, that she realised how messed up it was… but by then they’d been together five years and he was her whole life. Nearly all her friends were his friends, they lived in his apartment… she can’t believe she stuck it out another five years after that.

You can do this, she tells herself. You’ve already done the hard part. You left and nothing he can say will make you come back. But still, she steels herself for what will undoubtedly be an excruciatingly unpleasant interaction. Neal is just… he’s just so good at making her feel worthless, at breaking her down and chipping away at the little things he knows she’s self-conscious about until there’s nothing left and she just feels small and broken. She clenches her fists, staying her nerves and bracing herself. Not anymore though. Because you left and you just have to see his stupid face one more time and then it’s over. It’s just words.

She jumps as a glass is set down in front of her and looks up to see a somewhat familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes looking back at her. The bartender. The handsome one. She’s seen him around before. She’s come to the bar fairly often over the last year or so and he seems to work most nights. She likes him, well, as much as you can like a stranger who pours you drinks all night. He’s always nice and friendly and extremely polite and he doesn’t hit on her the way most bartenders do. She’d never admit it, but sometimes it bothered her a little that he didn’t. She can’t quite remember his name, having never had a real conversation with him, and she stares at the drink in front of her, raising a suspicious brow at him.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know, but you look like you could use it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, scowling. She’s already having a shit day, she doesn’t need some bartender trying to analyze her and telling her she looks as terrible as she feels. He doesn’t even bother to look embarrassed. Instead, he crosses his arms on the bartop, leaning on his elbows.

“It means, you look sad.” He tilts his head then, scrutinizing her face. “Or angry,” he adds. “And you look like you could use a drink.”

Emma wants to glare at him a little longer but his tone is light. There’s no judgement or pity on his face, just a friendly offer of a drink, and she can’t quite bring herself to be annoyed. And besides, he did guess her drink right. She reaches for her wallet and goes to pull out some cash but he waves her away.

“It’s on the house,” he tells her and honestly her night is going to be so terrible that she doesn’t have it in her to turn down a free glass of rum. She takes a sip, noting that it’s damn good rum, and tilts her cup to him in thanks. He smiles, a little smugly and a little mischievously, and leaves her, going back to whatever work it is he has to do.

A few minutes pass and Neal still hasn’t arrived. She glares at her watch. Of course he’d be late. He’d want to make her wait as long as possible so she’d have time to stew in her decision, both to leave him and to meet him. Her glass is nearly empty and she raps her fingers against the bartop rhythmically, waiting, bored, anxious, and impatient.

The bartender looks up briefly when she does and then goes back to his task. The bar is empty apart from the two of them so he doesn't have anyone to wait on. He’s counting something, concentrating quite seriously and she takes a moment to study him. Of course she’d noticed he was attractive before. It would have been impossible not to. But she hadn’t really let herself look, not properly. She was in a relationship after all. But you’re not now, she realises suddenly.

So she casts her eyes over him slowly, noting how soft his hair looks in contrast to the sharp angle of his jaw and the scruff that covers it, notices the muscles of his shoulders and his arms under the fitted black shirt he wears, the slightest bit of chest hair peeking out of the v of his collar.

When she looks back at his face again he’s biting his lip against a smirk and she wonders if she’s been caught looking. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t come over to try pick her up and so she turns back to her drink and to waiting. But she doesn’t last long. She’s never done well with waiting and her impatience grows until it spills out of her mouth in the form of small talk.

“So which is it?” she asks finally and he turns to look at her, a little surprised. He doesn’t quite seem to get her meaning. “Sad or angry. Which is it?”

“Ah,” he says, as understanding dawns on him and he walks back over, leaning against the bar and looking at her carefully. She tries not to react under his intense appraisal. “Both, I think.” Emma grumbles into her drink, annoyed that he’s read her so easily, and he laughs. “Although, perhaps the anger is my fault. Maybe I should have made your drink a double.”

Emma smirks around the rim of her glass and then sets it down. “Well, it’s never too late to make amends.”

He laughs again and grabs a bottle from the shelf behind him, refilling her drink. “So tell me, love, what brings you here tonight?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“It comes with the territory,” he shrugs. “Although people are usually much more forthcoming with their ails and secrets. You’re a bit of a puzzle, I’ll admit.” He smirks then, wicked and bright. “But I love a challenge.” Emma rolls her eyes.

“I’m meeting someone,” she says finally.

“I see. A first date?” he asks and she nearly chokes on her drink, coughing.

“God, no. Hopefully the last one.”

He raises a brow in interest. “Are you here to break up with someone? Should I have security on standby?”

She shakes her head. “No, that part’s already done. I left last week. But now the asshole is making me meet him here so that he can give me back the files I left behind and need for work.”

“You couldn’t just go pick them up?”

“I wish,” she frowns. “He put them in a bag and has been holding them hostage until I agreed to meet him.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Killian drawls sarcastically.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Bad breakup then?”

She nods. “Bad relationship."

“What sins is he guilty of?”

Emma laughs. “Take your pick. Lust, wrath, greed, pride. Throw a dart at any of the seven and you’ll hit something that sticks.”

“I’m sorry love,” he says and she shrugs. It’s not his fault. “So tell me something then, because I can’t quite seem to figure it out. Why are you so nervous to see him?” he asks and she looks at him in surprise. “You look like you can handle yourself and you’ve certainly got enough rage and fire under the surface to burn this whole bloody place to the ground. What is it?”

Emma catches her lip between her teeth, a little pleased at the compliment, at the suggestion that she looks like a badass, but the question hits hard. She’s been asking herself that for ten years. Why is Neal able to get under her skin so easily, to make her doubt herself and her worth?

“Neal,” she says finally and the bartender doesn’t push, just leans on the bartop, waiting, giving her time. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. We dated for ten years and he knows everything about me… and he knows exactly how to use it to make me feel like crap about myself, like if I didn’t have him I wouldn’t have anything, nobody else would want me.” And she can’t exactly prove him wrong considering she’s been faithful to his selfish ass for a decade, regardless of the fact that he had no problem showing her how many women wanted him.

Her hand tightens against her glass and for a moment she worries she might crush it but then the back of the bartender's fingers brush against her knuckles and she feels the anxiety and the hurt start to seep out, to dissipate at the warm touch. He’s not holding her hand, he’s barely moved his own across the space between them, nudged hers with it in a way that could almost be an accident. But when she looks up and meets his gaze she knows it’s not. And his next words confirm it.

“Believe me, I can guarantee you that’s not true.”

She swallows. “I just -” He waits again. “I just wish I hadn’t stuck it out so long, you know? I wasted ten years with the guy, all of my twenties. And that whole time he never wanted to get married, never wanted to make any commitments or promises, kept saying he didn't want to be tied down.” Didn’t want to be tied down to you, her memory supplies. “And I - Why am I telling you all this?” she asks herself suddenly and he smiles, letting out a little huff of a laugh.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s the bartender thing, people can’t help themselves.”

She doesn’t know if she believes him. She knows people like to treat bartenders like therapists but there’s something about him, an honesty and a sincerity that makes her believe he actually gives a shit about her and what she has to say, like he really cares about her troubles. But maybe everyone projects that onto the people plying them with alcohol.

“Well now you know my entire sad life and I don’t even know your name,” she says and he straightens, holding out his hand between them.

“Killian Jones.” She reaches out, shakes it, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Emma Swan.”

“I know,” he says and before she can question him he speaks again. “Now that we’re not strangers anymore, can I be candid?” She hesitates but only for a moment and then nods. “Your ex sounds like a complete and utter douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing, the sound of the insult on his tongue seeming wrong, not fitting his accent and the smooth, slightly rogeish way he carries himself.

And then, suddenly for some unfathomable reason, she catches herself doing what she always does: defending Neal. “It’s not all his fault,” she says, the words coming out automatically. “He had a really rough upbringing. His dad was never around and then he had to run away when he was really young and -” Killian cuts her off.

“That’s a really sad backstory,” he says. “But he's still a douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing. It’s almost manic, shocked and disbelieving to hear someone dismiss Neal’s history so flippantly, that story which had been used by her friends and his to defend and forgive every shitty thing he ever said or did to her. And now here Killian is, refusing it. Refusing the excuses and the justifications for treating her poorly.

As if on cue, the bell over the door jingles and Emma turns to see Neal walking in. Killian must know who he is by the way her whole body stiffens at the sight of him. But Neal hasn’t noticed them yet and Killian leans in.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his warm fingers against her arm. “You’ve got this.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the back room without another word and Emma tries no to take it to heart, not to let it feel like a dismissal. She thought they had something going there for a moment. She didn’t really know what, an understanding maybe, a connection, the kind she always thought she had with Neal but didn’t realise until now how wrong she was.

Before she can get too caught up in her disappointment, Neal sits down in front of her, setting the bag with her files on the bartop unceremoniously but keeping his hand on it. She goes to reach for it, hoping that maybe she can get through this whole interaction without having to exchange a single word with him, but as soon as she does, he drags it back towards himself, out of her reach. She glares at him.

“Give me the bag, Neal,” she sighs and he looks at her with that look she’s seen so many times, that look she hates, the patronizing, belittling look that makes her feel like someone to be pitied, someone worthless. She can feel her hands start to tremble and so she clenches them into fists. “Neal,” she says again when he doesn’t answer. “The bag.”

“Come on, Ems,” he says and it’s a long-suffering kind of thing, her name sounding exhausting, like more trouble than it’s worth, like she’s some toddler throwing a tantrum. “Can we stop this now? We both know you’re not leaving - why else would you have agreed to meet me here?”

“To get my files back,” she bites through gritted teeth. “I need them for work.” She was going to lose this skip if she didn’t get them back and he knew that.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave them behind so that you could find a reason to drag me out here and sit through your little charade of ‘woe is me’ until I agreed to take you back?”

“You made me come here,” she reminds him.

“Because I know you, Emma,” he says. “I know that you don’t want to do this. You’re pissed, I get it, whatever. But it’s time to get over it. You’ve made your point, time to come home.”

“I’m not coming home.”

“Yes you are. You always do.” When she doesn’t agree he sighs. “How many times have we done this? You’ll sleep on Ruby’s couch for a few days, stew in whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’ve done wrong, and then you’ll come home because you know as well as I do that we belong together, I’m it for you. What do you think you’re gonna do without me? You think you can support yourself just by chasing skips?”

“Yes,” she says but her voice wavers. Don’t let him get to you.

“Emma, enough, alright. I know you’re mad about that whole thing with that girl from work but it’s not really my fault.” They’ve had this fight before. She won’t do him the decency of asking him to explain what that means. But he does anyway. “Maybe if you weren’t always off trying to play superhero, coming back looking like a mess and acting like a dude I wouldn’t need to go find what I need somewhere else. I won’t do it again, okay? Not if you really try. But I’m not gonna put up with it again, you walking out.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says, refusing to take the bait and reaching for the bag again. He still holds it away.

“Do you really think you’re gonna find someone better?” he asks then, some anger creeping in. “You’re not going to find someone who treats you better than I have, Emma, not after everything I’ve had to put up with over the years. Nobody wants all that sad, lonely orphan baggage that you drag into the room with you.”

Emma can feel the tears burning her eyes and she knows he can see them too and she hates it. She hates how every word he says digs deeper, how carefully calculated and crafted his speech is to target all the things she dislikes about herself, all the things she knows push people away, all the reasons she knows she’ll probably be alone from now on. This is usually the moment when she breaks, changes her mind and comes back because the idea of being alone is far scarier than being with him.

She can feel herself weakening when a voice cuts through the silence of the nearly empty room. “Swan! Love, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

It takes her a moment to realise that it’s Killian talking, that he’s somehow managed to come through the doors from outside, a jacket thrown over his tshirt and his apron abandoned. She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing as he strides towards her but before she can finish saying his name he’s caught her face between his hands and captured her lips with his.

He catches her gasp on his tongue, kissing her with a desperation and an intensity that threatens to knock her off her stool but he holds her fast. There’s a heat and a passion behind every pull of his lips and flick of his tongue against her own that shoots straight to her belly. She groans against him, she can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this and her hands find his hips, hanging on for dear life as he uses his hand at her cheek to tilt her head, his thumb pulling down at her chin so he can kiss her deeper. His other hand finds the leather of her jacket, bunchin in it and using it to pull her closer, as if there was any room left between them.

When he finally pulls back she’s breathless, her eyes and her head feeling foggy and every inch of her skin humming. He smirks, his lips still brushing hers and then capturing them in another slow, soft kiss, this one shorter than the last and it sends waves of desire through her. Her own hand tightens in the leather at his hip. He breaks the second kiss and she’s ready to pull him back in for a third when someone coughs behind Killian.

Neal. She’d forgotten he was here.

She looks up into Killian’s eyes, glad to find them as heavy lidded and swallowed by black as she’s sure her own are. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, a smile crossing his face and then, he winks. He fucking winks and her, his back still to Neal. Emma sits gaping like an idiot, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he says again instead. “I got caught up at work. I hope that makes up for it a little.”

It takes her another second to catch on but when she does, a wave of gratitude and relief and a little bit of disappointment washes over her. It’s an act. He’s doing her a favor because she told him about her shitty ex boyfriend and he’s a nice guy. Killian smiles at her again, encouragingly this time and Emma decides to play along. Let Neal be the one feeling small, and unwanted and replaceable for once.

She reaches up and cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s just as soft as she thought it would be, and then allows herself the small pleasure of sliding her hand around the back of his neck and down to his chest where she teases the hair poking out of his shirt. “It’s a start,” she tells him. “You can really make it up to me later.” His eyebrow shoots up as a barely contained laugh, impressed and conspiratorial, crosses his face before he catches it between his teeth.

“Oh, I intend to,” he promises and while she knows they’re just playacting, the timber of his voice stirs some very real desires in her. She can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, weighing the pros and cons of dragging him into the bathroom and seeing how far he’ll take this charade. Neal clears his throat again, interrupting her fantasy and Killian smirks, smug, though she can tell it’s not at the reaction he’s drawing from her, but rather at the annoyance he’s managed to evoke from her ex.

“Hi, mate,” he says, reaching over and grabbing the bag from Neal’s stunned and limp fingers. “Thanks for this, we really needed it,” he tells him, gesturing between them with the bag. He hasn’t taken his hands off her. When he turned, his hand snaked around her waist, settling low on her hip, fingers playing idly with the waist of her jeans, teasing at the skin beneath her shirt and it’s all Emma can do to hold back the shivers that are forming at the base of her spine.

“Who the fuck are you?” Neal frowns, glaring at Killian before turning it on Emma. “Who the fuck is this guy?” he demands. Emma blanks, the ferocity of Neal’s anger freezing her on the spot. She’s never seen him jealous before. Thankfully, Killian jumps in again, his hand sliding up from her hip to the back of her neck, playing with the hair at the nape in a way that’s both sweet and oddly possessive.

“Take your pic,” Killian says breezily, looking at her with an extremely convincing imitation of a lovesick expression on his face. “Lover, paramour, beau, flame... boyfriend,” he says finally with a brush of his thumb under her ear and she practically melts. He’s very good at this pretending thing. Too good. “I’ll take whatever she’ll give me,” he says finally when she looks up at him and her certainty that he’s pretending waivers.

He stares at her for a moment longer, something weighted in his gaze that sends her heart beating frantically in her chest before he turns back to Neal, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “But I don’t need to tell you that,” he says dismissively. “You know what it’s like to be lucky enough to have Emma Swan give you the time of day.” There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks next. “Only a fool would have let her go.” He presses a kiss to her temple.

Neal is angry again. This time, it’s directed at her. “You expect me to believe that in the week since you stormed out you’ve gone and found yourself some boytoy to follow you around? Some guy you just met?

“I didn’t just meet him,” she says and it’s not technically a lie. She’s known him in passing for a year now, even if she did just learn his name tonight. “We… work together,” she says finally.

Neal looks at Killian with a wary expression. “You’re a bail bondsman?” he asks and Emma doesn’t miss the surprised and flatteringly impressed look Killian gives her before flawlessly answering that yes, yes he is in fact a bail bondsman.

“I’ve spent the last year working alongside Swan. Pining for her, waiting for her to walk into the office, to see that smile light up her face.” He traces the line of her lips. “The way those unreasonably tight jeans cling to her.” His fingers trace their way down her throat, over her shoulder. “Watch her face down one creep after another.”

He catches her hand, her knuckles a bit bruised from the last skip who wouldn’t stop fighting. He brushes his thumb over her knuckles before he brings them to his lips and kisses them. She watches him, enthralled by the picture he paints of her and he meets her gaze, looking no less mesmerized himself. “She’s a marvel, my Swan.” Emma swallows, she likes the way that sounds coming from his lips. My Swan. “But mostly,” he adds finally and he’s still not looking at Neal, only at her and god he’s handsome and he smells so good and he’s so… kind. That’s not something she’s used to but she’s drawn to it. “Waiting for her to break up with her idiot boyfriend so that I could tell her so,” he finishes.

Emma’s not sure what comes over her but suddenly her hands have found the back of his neck and she’s crushing his lips to hers. She can feel his surprise and nearly pulls back but his arms go around her waist as he draws her in, deepening the kiss. His hands alternate between gentle caresses and desperately fisting in her shirt and his mouth over hers is no different, languide strokes of his tongue alternated with bruising kisses and teeth nipping at her lips until she’s dizzy. Neal coughs a third time and Killian breaks away with a frustrated groan. One that feels very real.

“Are you still here?” he demands, glaring at the other man over his shoulder.

“I think I deserve some answers,” he says then, seething, and Emma feels a rage building in her like nothing she’s ever felt before. He deserves answers? He’s the one who’s spent years cheating and blaming her for it, who put her down at every opportunity, who reminded her that he could be with anyone if he wanted to and she couldn’t. She’s done with it. That final demand is the last straw. She owes him nothing.

“What’s going on,” she bites out and sees Neal almost recoil from the venom in her voice. He’s not used to her standing up for herself. Killian steps back, giving her room to finally tell off her awful ex, keeping his hand on her lower back and she appreciates the small gesture of support. “Is that I found someone who doesn’t treat me like garbage. Someone who doesn’t blame me for all their shortcomings and who actually gives a shit about what I think and feel and want.” She can see that her words are affecting him, for the first time ever, and so she digs in. She wants to hurt him.

“Someone who actually knows how to make me feel good, how to drive me insane and leave me desperate and wanting.” Killian raises a very interested brow at her then, listening attentively and she feels the blush creeping up her neck but continues. Neal had always been angry about how much difficulty she had finishing when they were together, accusing her of being cold and frigid. “Someone who doesn’t last thirty, underwhelming seconds and then rolls over like some useless lump. Someone I don’t have to beg to go down on me like it’s a chore so that I can have the hopes of a sub-par orgasm.”

She can feel Killian’s fingers twitch against the skin of her back but she can’t bring herself to look at him. His hand begins tracing up and down the base of her spine in a way she’s not even sure is intentional. His eyes are burning into her.

“Okay. Enough, I get it,” Neal says finally.

“Yeah. It is enough. I should have done this years ago.” She feels a pride swelling in her chest, mixing with the arousal that Killian is stirring in her and it’s a heady combination. “I think you should leave,” she tells him and she watches with vindication as his shoulders sag and he slinks out of the bar without another word.

Emma is so lost in the thrill and the satisfaction of watching her horrid ex leave so demolished, knowing that she likely won’t ever have to speak to him again, that it’s a moment before she remembers that she’s still standing here with a near stranger. A stranger she’s made out with three times now and who is currently removing his hand from where it had been playing against her skin. She misses it immediately. But the charade is over, she realises. It hadn’t been real, he’d been doing her a kindness and she was grateful to him, even if she was a little crushed that they couldn’t go on playing happy couple. He’d been very good at it.

Killian clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck as he gives her a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Well, I guess he won’t be bothering you again,” he says and Emma shakes her head.

“No. I’m sure he won’t. Thank you. For… well, all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He smiles at her again. It’s a nice smile, and she notices that he has a smudge of her lipstick on his bottom lip. She’s torn between reaching to wipe it off and leaving more marks on him. She does neither.

“Yes I did,” he says, drawing her attention away from his mouth. “He had it coming. I heard what he said to you and if what you said was true… well. You’re better to be rid of him.”

Emma clears her throat, a small smile playing at her lips. “Did you see his face when he thought we’d had some elicit office affair of the heart going on?” Killian nods, smirking proudly. “How did you even come up with all of that on the fly?” she asks. He’d been… very convincing.

“I didn’t,” he says and her eyes snap to his. But he doesn’t explain or elaborate, just lets it hang there in the air between them. She reaches out and takes his hand, tries to ignore the way the calluses feel rough against her soft skin, how warm he is.

“Thank you,” she says again. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for that.”

His smile is soft this time as he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles again. “You don’t. It was the right thing to do.”

He goes to leave her, to walk away but the feel of his lips against her skin is still burning through her fingers, burning everywhere that he’s touched her, like he’d branded her and left the marks behind. Her cheek, her neck, her spine, her hip, her lips, all of them are simmering after the raging inferno he set off in her and she’s not ready to let it die out just yet. He said he hadn’t made it all up.

She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never been with anyone but her shitty ex and a few guys when she was a teenager. She doesn’t know how to seduce a stranger into taking her home - or on the bartop, she’s not picky - but she shoots her shot. She catches his hand more firmly in her own before he can walk away.

“Unless…” she starts and he stops, takes a step back towards her.

“Unless?” There’s something a little hopeful in his eyes when they meet hers. And something a little less innocent and a little darker as they trail down to her lips.

“I mean, you were late,” she says coyly and watches as the playfulness crinkles the corners of his eyes and the smirk pulls at his lips.

He raises an eyebrow at her as he closes the last of the distance between them, standing close enough that she needs to spread her legs on her stool to allow him to stand between them. His thumb finds her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“I was,” he says, ducking his head and pressing his lips to her neck, just below her jaw. She takes in a shaky breath. “How very rude of me,” he adds before kissing the other side of her neck, this time at the hollow where it meets her collarbone. Emma squirms in her seat. He’s facing her again then, his lips barely an inch away from her own, so close that she can feel his breath on them when he speaks. “How will I ever make it up to you?”

She doesn’t think, she just acts, grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward until he’s trapped between her thighs and she can feel the hardness growing where he’s pressed against her. He lets out a surprised but pleased sound and it emboldens her.

“Why don’t you think about that while I thank you properly,” she says and he doesn’t need anymore encouragement. He catches her face in his hands again, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue teasing hers as he presses himself closer to her as one of his hands travels down to her thigh, sliding along it before hooking her knee and pulling it up around his hip. She nearly loses her balance on her seat but he holds her steady, his kisses growing deeper and headier and she’s letting out whimpers and soft moans, sounds she didn’t know she had in her and he swallows each of them up greedily, repeating whatever he’d done to draw them out so he can hear them again.

Her hands find their way to his hair, fisting and tugging and he lets out a groan so she does it again. And again. Her hips roll up against his of their own accord and he practically rips his mouth away from hers, the sound he makes somewhere between a gasp and a growl before he finds her neck again, lips and teeth and tongue laving at the skin there, biting and licking and sucking until she’s sure he’s left a mark but she holds him fast, tilting her head back to give him more access.

He takes it appreciatively, his tongue sliding down her throat until he reaches the top of her breast. The hand at her knee starts a slow journey up her side, under the skin of her shirt, burning and leaving goosebumps behind in their wake as he trails his fingers along her ribcage to her bra, his thumb tracing over her nipple and she gasps, dragging his mouth back to hers. She can feel his smirk against her lips but she doesn’t care, nipping at his bottom lip and slipping her own hand under his shirt and scratching at the trail of hair on his stomach, a trail she desperately wants to see and he shudders under her touch.

The bell rings above the door as a group of friends walk in, chattering happily and Killian pulls away, drawing his hand out from under her shirt. His forehead falls against hers, panting. His tongue comes out to run over his lip like he’s tasting her there. He’s looking at her like he’s waiting for her to decide what happens next and so she grabs the front of his shirt, tilting her head to brush her lips against his own, tongue flicking against the one he’d just licked and drawing another groan from him.

“Bathroom?” she asks and he shakes his head, stepping back and before she can even start to think she’s been rejected, he holds his hand out to her, nodding towards the back of the bar. She takes it and he begins practically dragging her towards the 'employees only' door before she remembers why she’d come here in the first place.

“My bag!” she says and he looks confused before he remembers, turning to grab the duffle and tossing it behind the bar and then pulling her along behind him again. Emma giggles at his enthusiasm, excitement and arousal and want making her giddy. He hears her laugh and turns, a bright smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lighting up his features as he pulls her to him. He captures her lips again, his fingers tangling in her hair as they both try and kiss with grinning mouths.

They pass someone in the staff area as Killian continues to walk them backwards to wherever his destination is, refusing to give up the kiss, and Emma feels herself flush as the young man sees them and smirks smugly and knowingly.

“About bloody time,” he says and Killian glowers at him.

“Get to work, Will. We have customers,” he barks and the man holds his hands up innocently, the smirk not leaving his face. Killian pulls her along a few more feet then until they reach a door that he fumbles to open. They’ve barely made it inside before he’s pushing her against the wood, pinning her there with his hips and his mouth and her head is spinning but his lips have started down her neck again and he rolls his hips against hers in a dirty grind that has her crying out.

When her eyes open she notices they’re in an office and she worries about what rules he might be breaking, worried about his job and asks if he’ll get in trouble for bringing her in here. He shakes his head.

“I own the place,” he says, his voice muffled against the underside of her jaw.

“You own the bar?” she demands, surprised and he sighs, pulling his head up to lean his forehead against hers.

“Could we perhaps talk about this later?” he asks, his talented fingers following her ribs up to her breast again, cupping it in his palm and dragging against its peak. Emma nods furiously before kissing him again. His hand is still moving over her, massaging and flicking and teasing before he grows frustrated by the fabric between them, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.

As soon as it’s off, he’s pulling at the cup of her bra, exposing her breast to him and taking her nipple in his mouth. Emma gasps at the feel of his tongue dragging against the sensitive tip, swirling and licking, teasing it with his teeth. She has a death grip in his hair, refusing to let him move, not that he seems particularly inclined to.

“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps when he finds her other breast with his hand, working her up more and more until she thinks she might come from this alone. She can feel his smirk, his scruff scratching against her skin and it sends a shiver through her whole body.

“That’s the intention, love,” he tells her and she tightens her hold in his hair for his smugness, yanking until he’s forced to pull away from her chest and look at her.

“Then get on with it,” she tells him and thrills at the way his expression darkens. He slides his hands between her and the door, palming her ass and rolling her hips against the hard ridge of his erection before he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist effortlessly. Emma’s arms wind around his neck as he turns, carrying her across the room and setting her down on the desk.

“As you wish,” he tells her, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms. She reaches behind herself and unclasps it, tossing it aside and watches as he takes her in, eyes roving hungrily over her. Nobody’s ever looked at her like that, like he wants to devour her. Maybe he does.

He’s still wearing his jacket and Emma is suddenly overcome with the unfairness that he’s spending so much time just looking at her while she doesn’t get to see any of him. She reaches for his shoulders and pushes the jacket down his arms until it falls to the floor, reaching for the hem of his shirt and beginning to slide it up but she gets distracted when his fingers resume their tortuous exploration of her breasts.

She gasps, her head falling back as his touch sends wetness pooling between her thighs and her nails dig into the skin at his sides. He’s watching her, taking note of her reactions, figuring out what makes her tick and then doing it again and again until she’s writhing under him and he hasn’t even undressed her yet. It’s never been like this, all consuming and desperate and wanton. She needs more and she whimpers his name.

The sound of his name falling from her lips so needily does something to him and suddenly he’s dragging her mouth back to his, swallowing her moan as his tongue does sinful things to hers. He pushes her back until she’s laying against the desk and his lips leave hers, trailing down her neck to her chest, taking a moment to pay attention to each of her breasts before continuing down her belly, playing at her navel a moment before he reaches the button of her jeans.

“I must say I’m quite a fan of these,” he tells her as he flicks open the button and starts to pull down the zipper. “But I think it’s time for them to go.” Then, he’s hooking his fingers into her waistband and pulling them down with enough force that she slides to the end of the desk with them. Emma sits up on her elbows as she watches him pull them off, one leg at a time until she’s left in only her underwear. He's watching her as well with something predatory in his gaze.

“I want to see you too,” she says, grabbing at his shirt but he seems too distracted to catch on. “Hey,” she says finally, sitting up and grabbing the collar to get his attention. “Fair’s fair.”

He lets out a low huff of laughter. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Bad form,” he chastises himself before reaching to pull the shirt over his head. Emma’s eyes widen as she takes him in, the strong curve of his shoulders and his arms that his shirt hadn’t done justice, the long lines of his torso, pale skin covered in dark hair that blankets his chest and tapers down over his stomach, disappearing beneath his jeans. She doesn’t fight the urge to burry her fingers in it, hands tracing over the planes of his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples and down his sides and he lets out a soft hiss.

She reaches his belt then and as she begins to pull at the leather to loosen it, he stops her. She frowns at him but he only presses his lips to her jawline, tongue flicking out to tease. “Ah, ah,” he says, taking hold of the last scrap of material keeping her from being bare to him. “Ladies first,” he insists with a soft nip before he pulls them down her legs. He’s parting her thighs then, and while Emma expects him to undo his pants, instead he slides down to his knees, placing a leg over either shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

He raises a brow at her from between her legs, a slow smirk creeping across his face and it’s so goddamn sexy that her toes curl against his back, a shudder rippling through her.

“As much as I’d like to hear you beg,” he starts. “I’d also like to make sure you have at least some chance at a sub-par orgasm,” he says echoing her words from earlier and she grins, biting her lip at how ridiculous he is and he takes that as permission. He turns his head, trailing slow, languid kisses along her thigh, scruff scratching at the sensitive skin until he reaches her hip. He bypasses where she’s hot and desperate for him to do the same on the other and she whines, trying to pull him in with her leg on his shoulder.

He chuckles against her, his breath ghosting over her folds and she sucks in a shaky breath. “Please, Killian,” she says and suddenly his mouth is there, placing a deep, hot kiss against her center and her whole body clenches with the intensity of it.

“I told you, Swan,” he says. “There’s no need to beg.” He smirks at her. “This time.”

And before she can say anything his tongue is dragging a slow line from base to top and every thought in her mind is gone except for him and fuck. He eats into her like a starving man, tongue lapping at her folds, sliding inside of her and thrusting in a way that has her back arching off the desk and her hands fisting in his hair. He lays an arm across her hips to keep her still as he replaces his tongue with his fingers, dragging slowly and steadily against her walls in a rhythm that has her writhing, desperately trying to rock her hips against him.

“Bloody hell, love,” he says as he watches her ride his fingers. “You’re a vision. So wet, so wanting. Tell me what you need,” he asks then, begs, and she’s too caught up in the feelings he’s sending through her body to find words so instead she presses her heel against his back until he gets the message and closes his mouth over he clit, tongue flattening against it as he circles in time with his fingers.

“Fuck!" She’s already so close. It’s never been this easy, this quick, this intense, but her whole body feels like it’s burning, the coil in her belly tightening and he picks up his pace. His fingers curl inside of her pumping hard and fast as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks and her whole world shatters.

Killian works her through it, fingers still thrusting slowly, his thumb replacing his mouth as he slides up her body, working her back up before she’s even sure she’s come down. He takes a moment to pause at her hips, her stomach, her breasts and by the time he’s claiming her lips she’s desperate for him again.

She sits up, taking hold of his hips and pulling him against her until their flush, the hair of his chest scraping against the sensitive skin of her nipples and only making her want more. This time, when she reaches for his belt he doesn’t stop her and she makes quick work of his jeans, sliding inside and taking him in hand.

He groans into her mouth and she smiles against his lips. He’s hard and hot and heavy under her touch and she drags her palm along his length a few times until he growls out a warning ‘Swan’.

She takes pity on him, pushing his jeans down his hips and wrapping her hand around him, pumping him slowly and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in pained bliss and god she wants him. She can’t remember the last time she wanted someone like this. So she tells him.

“Now,” she adds and he nods a little frantically, patting his pockets before he spots his wallet on the desk next to her and retrieves a condom from it. He brings the packet to his teeth, fumbling for a moment as she squeezes him and he gives her another warning glare.

She smirks, leaning in to press her lips to his neck, catching the hard, tense lines of it between her teeth, biting and then soothing the spot with her tongue. He groans and she gives the other side of his neck the same treatment, thrilling when he curses under his breath, desperately trying to roll the condom on.

She’d help but she’s having too much fun, particularly when she sucks a bruise into the spot just behind his ear and he lets out a stuttering cry, his hand grabbing hold of her hip, fingers digging into her skin. She’ll probably have a mark there and she likes that idea, likes the idea that she can get him as out of control as he can her.

“Minx,” he accuses, using her hair to draw her mouth back up to his and sliding his tongue deep without preamble. His kiss is sloppy, desperate, wanting. He’s on the edge and she brought him there. She wonders if she can push him over.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks then, releasing her mouth to say it low in her ear. “Ever since that first night you came into the bar with your friends. Gods you were stunning.” His fingers slip around her hip to between her thighs, finding her center again and she whimpers at his touch, slow and teasing, circling without ever hitting where she needs him.

“I wanted to curl my fingers into you bloody ridiculously long hair,” he tells her, doing just that as his fingers slip inside her once more and she gasps. “Aye, and in there.” She’s clutching at his shoulders as he fucks her with his fingers, continuing to rasp filth into her ear. “I thought about how you’d look, splayed out on the bartop with my head between your legs, or bent over this desk. It was bloody torture.”

His thumb finally brushes over her clit and her whole body wracks with the force of the pleasure that courses through her. “Why,” she gasps again when he circles tighter. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. She doesn’t usually like dirty talk. She'd always found it derogatory. But it’s not with him. It makes her feel wanted and desirable.

“Because you had a bloody boyfriend,” he growls, exasperated. Who? She wonders before remembering and then wishing she hadn’t. “But that didn’t stop me from imagining how you’d look with your back arched just like this,” he says, eyes raking over the length of her. “Or the sounds you’d make when I touched you,” he adds, then pulls his fingers from her heat and sucks them into his mouth, making her squirm. “I imagined you writhing just like this, begging me to take you.”

She doesn’t need to beg though at this point she would, dignity be damned. No one has ever made her feel this way and she never wants it to end. She’d give him anything he asked for if he just didn’t stop. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulls him against her so that his cock pushes through her folds and they both moan. Killian ruts his hips against hers a few times, the tip of him brushing against her sensitive bundle of nerves and when she thinks she can’t take it anymore he finally takes himself in hand and lines himself up with her entrance.

“Gods, I imagined how tight and hot and perfect you’d be around me,” he confesses before pushing in and grabbing hold of her, staying still for a moment as she adjusts to the sensation of being filled by him. He’s big. Thick and long and so much better than what she’s made do with for the last decade. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so full, so properly full until now. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he manages, his voice strained.

“Move,” she begs then. “Please.” He obliges, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in hard and fast and Emma cries out from the force of it. He’s barely started but she can already tell she’s never been properly fucked either.

He starts moving then, thrusting in and out of her at a punishing pace and she takes all that he can give her. Her hands are in his hair again and his finds her leg, hitching it higher over his hip so he can thrust deeper, hitting new places inside of her. His hand slides down to the cheek of her ass, pulling forward to meet his every thrust, rolling his pelvic bone over her clit each time he pushes back into her and Emma’s already nearly ready to fall again.

“That’s it, love,” he tells her as a litany of embarrassing sounds fall from her lips and she claws at the skin of his arms, hips rolling in a desperate grind. “Take what you need.” His free hand comes to her breast, teasing the hardened peak the way he’d spent time figuring out she liked. Everything he does is just how she likes it, how she never even knew she liked it. But he’s figured her out in the time it took to get her out of her pants and now he’s using all of it to bring her higher, higher than she’s ever been.

And she falls. He slants his mouth over hers, like he wants to swallow her ecstasy, feel it humming through his body and then with a final few thrusts, she feels his own release echo through her. They stay there for a moment, frozen in a half kiss, mouths open and panting, breathing each other in as they both try to come down from such a fierce, earth-shattering climax.

Emma finds his hair then, brushing he damp strands from his face as he holds her to him. “I wish you’d told me,” she says finally, thinking of all the time she wasted with him when she could have been having this with Killian.

He huffs out a laugh against her cheek, pulling back and stroking it gently. “Aye, I was a bloody idiot,” he tells her. “Everyone who works here knew I was pining for you and they all told me so.” Emma smiles, her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks reddening at his confession. He’d already told her he’d thought about her but to hear that he’d been pining…

“Well, you may be an idiot,” she grants him and he pinches her side playfully. “But you’re the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

He beams at her then, and then a wicked look falls over his face. The hand at her side begins tracing her thigh, from knee to hip and then up to her ribs.

“What are you doing?” she asks, though it’s fairly obvious when his skilled fingers find her still overly-sensitive center and she gasps at the sharp pleasure. He raises a brow at her.

“I’m wondering,” he starts, lips finding her ear as his fingers start a slow stroke that has goosebumps blossoming over her skin. “How many sub-par orgasms it would take to earn the title of real boyfriend.” Her heart is racing, from his touch, or his words, or both. She doesn’t care. She wants both. She likes him. It’s been so long since she liked someone and for it to be someone like him, and for him to like her back, to have pined for her as he put it…

She smiles. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

~*~

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destielharlequinchallenge · 4 years

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The Destiel Harlequin Challenge Master Post: 2020 Mega Bang

Participants in the 2020 Destiel Harlequin Challenge completed an amazing 20 fics and 3 sets of artwork! You can learn all about those here!

Spectre (fic by a_dusky_gold, art by aceriee)

This whole thing… this was supposed to be a fucking farce. A way to keep Nicholas Vaught occupied until the deadline he’d given Dean would run out, and he’d still get the money to send Dad to the Town Hall rehabilitation for alcoholism, because that was the goddamned deal.

There were no such things as ghosts or magic or a Book of Life. Dean knows, okay? He wasn’t the Army’s goddamned Mystery Raider for nothin’; he knows history, he knows artifacts, and he knows that the Book of Life is an ancient myth that is about as real as werewolves or vampires.

And yet.

“The Book of Life,” the man had said. Dean can’t even remember his name.

Shit, shit, shit.

Dangerous Ground by Amethystaris

Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have been partners and best friends for three years, but everything changed the night Cas admitted the truth about his feelings for Dean. And when Cas was shot a few hours later, Dean felt his reluctance to get involved was vindicated.

Can a camping trip in the High Sierras save their partnership?

Honour Undressed by andimeantittosting

Among his friends, Castiel, Lord Milton is everyone’s confidant and, along with his trusted valet, the fixer of problems. But there is one secret Castiel has never shared: he is in love with his valet and has been for years.

Born in the gutters, Dean Winchester was assigned as Castiel’s batman in the war, and when Castiel travelled home to take up his title, Dean followed him as his valet. To assist Castiel, Dean is not above a little burglary or blackmail. But the one thing he wants for himself is Castiel’s heart.

When Castiel’s closest friends become the target of a blackmailer, certain truths come out. But while Dean determines to seduce Castiel, Castiel is adamant that he must resist, for if there is one rule a gentleman must follow, it is never to dally with his servant.

Havenport by BlueMasquerade

Castiel cleared space on his desk by the expedience of sweeping the previous contents to the side. He set the bundle down in the center of the surface and studied the knots in the rope before expertly untying them.

The book was old, its leather bindings cracked and crumbling. He carefully opened the cover to reveal the pages within, each hand cut, the edges beautifully deckled, the text written in pen and ink.

“This is written in ancient Enochian.” Castiel looked up, gaze narrowed. “Where did you obtain a book written in ancient Enochian?”

“Is that what it is? All I could tell is that it sure as hell isn’t English.” Mr. Winchester grinned, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

an aching in my heart by contemplativepancakes

When Dean’s best friend dies, leaving behind her daughter, Dean knows he has what it takes to give Claire the life she deserves. The problem is, they’re not related by blood, and Claire’s long lost uncle gets called to take her in. Castiel Novak was bad news when he was in highschool with Dean, and judging by his blue hair and tattoo sleeves, nothing’s changed. Castiel ran out on his family once before, and there’s no way Dean’s going to let that happen to Claire without putting up a fight.

Fools and Fate by Danica_Dust

Castiel Novak fled his coven to escape the rigid, predetermined Fate laid out for him within its confines. Desperate and alone, he took shelter in the city of Sacriloga, forsaking all magic and living off whatever he could steal. There, witches like Cas are hunted. They are feared. And they are burned.

When Jack, a young witch also on the run from his own coven, seeks out Cas’ aid, however, Cas finds that he cannot reject the boy, leaving him to his sure destruction. Especially after the newest visitor to Sacriloga makes his presence known: the legendary Hunter, Dean Winchester, who has been following Jack’s trail.

Sworn to the Men of Letters, Hunters live by one principle: thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Dean’s path was never meant to cross with Cas', but a desperate stunt and a single mistake forces them into an impossible union—holy matrimony.

The war between the witches and the Men of Letters is an ancient one and Cas' most dangerous enemies bring a Fate worse than fire. Unable to ignore his growing feelings, yet powerless to change what he is, a choice must be made.

A suffocating Fate on one hand. A precarious freedom on the other. And in between, the kind of love that makes fools of us all.

Ozone by Deancebra

A young magic user who wants desperately to live. A jaded recluse who has forgotten what living means. They’re each other’s only chance.

Dean’s wild magic is killing him. The mage guilds have given up on him, and it’s only a matter of time before he dies in a spectacular, catastrophic bang. His only hope is an exiled wizard who lives in seclusion—and is rumored to have lost his mind.

The years alone on his hilltop estate have not been good for Castiel Novak. After the magical accident that disfigured him and nearly destroyed the village, he drifts through his days, a wraith trapped in memories and depression. Until a stricken young man collapses on his driveway, one who claims Castiel is his last chance. For the first time in fifteen years, Castiel must make a choice—leave this wild mage to his fate or take him in and try to teach him, which may kill them both. The old Castiel, brash and commanding, wouldn’t have hesitated. Castiel the exile isn’t sure he can find the energy to try.

A Demon Like Him by EllenOfOz

Dean Winchester doesn’t want to be a warlock. The idea of working in a lab, channeling demonic magic into enchanted batteries is not what he wants to do with his life, but it’s a dangerous opinion to have—his father was a powerful and well-connected warlock, and Dean is expected to follow the family tradition.

His only way out is to fail the demon summoning class—failure means expulsion from the Warlock College. Despite Dean’s best efforts to fumble the summoning, it works. Although not the way anyone expects.

Dean’s demon, Castiel, is an incubus, but also a powerful mage on a mission to rebalance the magic that is being stripped from Demonside by warlocks.

Dean must choose: fail out of his final exam and turn his back on becoming a warlock, or help Castiel and graduate. But he doesn’t count on how hot the incubus is, or how close they have become in just a few days.

A Working Relationship by fangirlingtodeath513

The homes that Castiel Novak designs for Angelic Houses are to die for. They’re pristine, perfectly designed and organized, and they’ve caused more than a few bidding wars. It’s the perfect job—he’s organized, good with math, and he’s able to pick up on design trends relatively quickly. The only thing that isn’t perfect? His obnoxious older brother, Luke. Castiel’s been vying for a position on a flipping team for years now, but Luke has never even considered it. When a lecherous gossip reporter overhears an argument, they receive an offer they can’t refuse.

They’re invited to compete on Flip Off, a competition where two people flip houses and compete for the highest profit. Castiel wants the leverage a win would bring him, but he also wants to prove himself. Enter Dean Winchester, a contractor with his own team and one that’s blissfully unconnected to Angelic Houses, allowing Castiel to prove himself without any help from the family company.

The undeniable attraction between them certainly doesn’t help matters, but Castiel is resolute in his decision to make a move only after they’ve finished working together. At least, that had been his plan until Dean made him an offer he simply couldn’t refuse.

Crashing In by followyourenergy

Castiel Novak is convinced he’s the last unwillingly single person in Lupine Cove. Even Gabriel, his perpetual bachelor brother, has found love. It’s probably because Cas leads the most boring life in existence. He’s a gay man living in a rented, one-room cottage in the same small coastal town he grew up in, just getting by as the owner of the same convenience store he was practically raised in. The most excitement he gets is chatting with the locals or maybe, if he’s unlucky, oversleeping and rushing to work. So when a baby is left at the Safe Haven drop-off at the local fire station, he takes the opportunity to step in for the child temporarily, at least until suitable parents, plural, can be found.

Life certainly gets more interesting.

And it gets even more interesting when a handsome man comes crashing—literally—into his life.

Make Me Believe by GhoulsnHalos

Ten years ago, Castiel Novak’s stepfather disowned him, taking from him his place as hereditary heir to the head of the Hunter and Warrior Guild. Now, he’s a self-made, and celebrated, master gem and metal smith. Castiel doesn’t believe that the God’s decide your soulmate. Until he designs what can only be a gift fit for his soul mate, who in contradiction to the etiquette, if not the laws of Neffroen, must be a man.

Dean Winchester is convinced that he is a lowly, dumbass, no magic hunter who couldn’t possibly be on the same social scale as a Novak. So, why is it when he spots the jewelled torc in Castiel’s shop, Dean develops an obsession over the neckpiece and its creator? It can't be anything to do with the will of the Gods, no matter what anyone says, because that's baloney and Dean's not into men.

When Castiel’s long-lost brother turns up and suggests he ought to challenge their stepfather and that Dean is destined to help Castiel rule the clan, Castiel takes some convincing. The real problem is Dean. Can Castiel with the help of family and friends convince Dean of his place by Castiel’s side? Can Dean play the part everyone expects of him to help Castiel regain his rightful place in society?

Shielded Heart by JuniperJones

Arthos, the Infinite City, is a place of alien wonders and indescribable beauty—and, most importantly for Dean, it’s also halfway across the universe from his abusive ex-fiancé. He came to the city desperate for a fresh start, but he finds himself downtrodden on a world of aloof alien beings with little hope of finding his place—and a good chance of being kidnapped or killed before he can even settle in.

At least until he is saved by an irresistible alien with piercing eyes and a seductive smile.

Castiel is the living embodiment of temptation, and he makes no effort to disguise his desire for Dean. But when his past threatens to drag Dean into a dangerous underworld, Dean discovers Castiel isn’t who he claims to be. After enduring so much suffering, can Dean bear to take a leap of faith with this mysterious alien? Can he trust Castiel with not only his life, but his heart?

Stumble and Fall by Kitmistry

Castiel was raised to do one thing: serve his country, whether that was fighting a war or becoming an expert spy. But when his lover is charged with treason and executed Castiel defects. He has evidence that can destroy the KGB’s entire spy ring in New Mexico, he has names of scientists involved with atomic weapons who send information to the Soviets, and he won’t stop until he has revenge.

Putting all his trust in the Americans, Castiel finds himself under the protection of U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, who is too cocky and attractive for his own good, but at least seems to know what he’s doing.

When a routine transfer to a safehouse goes horribly wrong, Castiel and Dean narrowly escape with their lives. With the Marshals compromised and Castiel being framed for murder, he and Dean are on the run from KGB and law enforcement alike. They have no one to trust except each other, and nowhere to go that their enemies can’t reach.

The Shots We Don’t Take by MandalaRose

Still nursing the tatters of a broken heart and trying desperately to stave off the terror of his impending graduation, college senior Cas Novak decides it’s time to blow off a little steam. Not just any hook-up will do, however. The last thing Cas needs right now is a distraction. On the lookout for someone he can enjoy a steamy night of passion with before leaving them behind entirely, Cas thinks he’s found exactly what he needs in cocky university hockey star and well-known playboy Dean Winchester.

Dean is gorgeous, doesn’t date, and is the singular most infuriating person Cas has ever met. He’s the perfect one night stand...that is, until Dean decides he wants an instant replay of what was supposed to be a one-time event. Will Cas’ offer of friends, sans benefits, convince the arrogant love ’em and leave ’em hockey defenseman to find an easier score? Or will Dean wear down Cas’ defenses and lure the sexy nerd in the dorky trenchcoat back to his bed?

Bullets Over the Bayou (fic by mattzerella_sticks, art by dontbelasagnax)

Everyone wants Castiel Novak to quit the force, including Castiel. But he stays on despite the toxic work environment he’s surrounded by. Still believing he can do some good despite the many lines of red tape impeding him. Luckily, a pair of scissors by the name of Dean Winchester drops into his hands, and he finally feels like he can do some good.

Dean Winchester thought he would be in New Orleans for a day or two. Identify the body of his deadbeat father and then move on. No one knows he’s here. His mother and brother are blissfully unaware of the danger his father roped him into. With a parting gift of a journal, delivered to him the same day he received word about his father, Dean has become the target of a group of people who want him dead. The same people who killed his father.

Racing against the clock, can Dean and Castiel figure out what is so important about John Winchester’s journal that someone would kill for it?

Masquerade by noxsoulmate

It had begun as such a good plan; one that benefitted them both. And masquerading as Castiel Krushnic's boyfriend during the weeks of balls, galas, and charity events certainly was no hardship. With the impending end of their arrangement, though, Dean Winchester must admit that behind the mask of an aloof CEO lies a man he could fall in love with. Or maybe, he already has…

The Medium by raths_kitten

Detective Dean Winchester hates it when his Chief sends a medium to consult on his cases. But this time, the murder is closely linked to Castiel’s world and they both need to work together to solve it.

Any Semblance of Touch (fic by saltnhalo, art by c-kaeru)

1925, New York.

Dean Winchester’s life’s work is protecting the world from the supernatural relics that could destroy it. When an amulet with the power to control the tides is shipped to New York, he must intercept it before it can be used to devastating effects. This time, in order to succeed, he needs a powerful psychometric… and the only one available has sworn off the magical world altogether.

Castiel Novak’s gift comes with great risk. To protect himself, he’s become a recluse, redirecting his magic into museum research. But with the city’s fate hanging in the balance, and faced with the power of Dean’s charm and persuasion…

He can’t force himself to say no.

The Love of a Righteous Man by SargentMom573

Five years ago, Captain Dean Winchester defied his father, Senator John Winchester. With his brother Sam, and his spaceship Impala, Dean found his place among a ragtag fleet of pirates and smugglers. Their latest mission left him with a price on his head and a scar on his heart. When a surprise attack separated him from Sam and revealed a Sith weapon, he would do whatever it took to bring his brother back – even sacrifice his own happiness.

After Emperor Michael’s death broke the psychic link between them, Emperor’s Hand Castiel Novak spent years drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a barrel. Mostly sober, three years ago he found a new purpose as the Impala’s Chief Medical Officer, and Sam Winchester’s guide in the Force. And a good friend in the Impala’s gruff but kind Captain.

Dean and Castiel must work together to bring Sam home alive. But when Castiel’s last mission is exposed, will Castiel complete it and destroy any hopes Dean had for a family? Will Dean forgive Cas’ horrific purpose before it is too late? And give them both what they really want — the love of a righteous man.

SKID by spnsmile

Dean Winchester swore off love after getting dumped and fired from his job the same day. Badly drunk, he ended up balcony-hopping until a pair of hands snatched him inside a darkened room. But it's no hero, it's someone with deep voice whispering threats with a gun pointed at his back. Dean’s too drunk to deal with life but one good look at his hot assailant plus enough beer sold him to his accursed fate. The next morning, he found himself engaged to the most notorious leader of a powerful clan, Castiel Novak.

Married life in the compound for a month was not as blissful so when he could, Dean fought for that freedom. Castiel relented and as Dean tried to put the pieces of his normal life together, getting a bike messenger job and dealing with pain in the ass clients, he now also needs to deal with the dangerous presence of his very jealous and very protective husband watching over him.

Is his life ever going to get back to normal?

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