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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 3 [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 3 summary: Losing himself in the temptation of you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: references to masturbation, sexual fantasies, arranged marriage (that is not between reader & dave), angst, more daddy issues, slightly more touching (!!!), sexual tension, mutual enabling of bad habits, protective dave york, the emergence of obsessive dave york, pining/yearning, bonding, reader's tramp stamp makes its first appearance

word count: ~ 4.7k

chapter 3: a buried and a burning flame

MAY

You're in a Neiman Marcus with Dave when you break the news.

You’ve been trying on dresses for hours now under the guise that you’re in need of some retail therapy. But if Dave doesn't know your tells by now, the way your hands tremble as you smooth them over fabrics, you have no idea how you're going to breach the subject.

“How's this?” you ask, pulling back the curtain and striking a pose.

Dave’s problem is very different from yours. The skintight dress barely brushes the floor, one of your arms exposed while the other is wrapped in black spandex. Your neck glitters with a diamond necklace. Watching you try on dresses all day is fun, certainly, but he's going to have to excuse himself soon to fuck his hand in the bathroom.

He did it last night. And the one before that. And the last seven or so before that, once he finally let himself give in. In the shower, he turned the water to scalding and braced his hand on the wall as he closed his eyes, picturing your knees folded neatly under you. Your mouth around his cock, tongue swirling over the head. Hands on his thighs. Squeezing. Desperate. Sticky, warm, wet. Fuck—you’d be so wet. You’d blink water and tears from your eyes under the stream and he’d burn up hot, telling you how fucking good you are, taking his big dick. He fisted himself, perhaps a bit too hard near the end, coaxing the cum out of his tip so he could grunt his way through an orgasm and finally fucking focus.

Dave stands slowly from the cushy sofa, his hands clasped in front of the slight tent in his pants, and almost keels over from the whiff of perfume he smells. It's a toxin. It makes him dizzy. “It's nice,” he says, gently pinching the hem of your sleeve.

“What about the colour?” you press.

“It’s… black.” He’s not fond of this game you’re playing.

“And the fit?” You turn around and give him a fleeting view of your ass. Dave’s vision briefly blurs.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice strained. “You know you are. Everyone knows you are.”

You beam up at him. “I just wanted to goad you into saying it.”

“You don't have to.” You're the prettiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

“You know…” Your smile goes sly, your hands lifting to straighten his tie even though it's rarely askew. “In this light, you're not so bad yourself.”

Dave inhales hard, his nostrils flaring. You smell so fucking good. “We’re getting the dress.”

You run your hands down the lapels of his jacket. “Yeah, we are. But I'll need your help to unzip.”

Christ.

Because he's powerless to resist anything you say, Dave follows you into the fitting room and shucks the curtain closed. Guarding your body with his from anyone who may walk inside, he eyes you in the mirror. Your skin is smooth and soft under the rough pads of his fingers, your warmth so stark against the cool fabric of his suit. The grace of you rubs up against his jagged edges. A needle pricking skin.

His hands feel heavy as he lifts them to the small zipper at the back of the dress. His breath shifts the hair at the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders.

“Your hands are cold,” you whisper. He can see only your profile when you turn your head slightly, and he doesn't think he could take any more than that.

Dave begins to drag the zipper downward, listening hard to every catch in the metal grooves as if they're claps of thunder. Gauging the time between the next strike of lightning. His skin is prickling with the knowledge of being so close to you. “You can look if you want,” you tell him. He’s inches away from the tattoo on your lower back.

His eyes close for a moment, rolling over the sound of your velvet voice in his head. When he opens them, the zipper is down, and he's watching the way your skin and muscles ripple behind the soft black fabric. He doesn't need to be this close anymore, and he's beginning to wander toward the shoulder of your dress, beginning to think he should just yank it down and—

Cloying. Thick. Heavy and wet and relentless. Ruination.

“I know,” he says. His voice makes you shiver. It's a cold, quiet rasp that wraps its fingers around the back of your neck. You feel a gentle pressure behind your ear and close your eyes as Dave’s nose nudges one of your diamond earrings, inhaling your perfume like he wants to inject it into his blood.

With that, he steps away and leaves you to undress alone. You don't think about the way his hands lingered too long by your zipper, nor the way his eyes found you in the mirror, ravenous. You pull on your own dress and take your new one to the counter. Dave pays without looking at the price.

In the backseat of his car, you close the privacy screen. “Dave. I need to tell you something. And you're not allowed to get scary.”

Dave lifts his brows. “I’m never scary.”

“But you're so funny.” You tug affectionately on his tie. “My father called me this morning. He said he wants to put things to bed. For good. And he wants to meet.”

You’re already there to loosen his angry, involuntarily grip around his cell phone. “Dave.”

He’s looking at his lap, his jaw feathering. He knew all along that he couldn’t protect you from your father forever—truthfully, in the beginning, he had been hoping the opposite. But you have a way of sticking to his ribs. A decadent dessert that you can never forget once you eat. The taste you crave so badly you’ll go out of your way to return.

“Why now?” he grits. “It’s been months. Why now?”

“I don't know, honey, but if he wants to bury the hatchet, then maybe we should give him a chance.”

Dave’s head shoots up. “We?”

“What, you think I'm going to go alone? You're coming with me whether you like it or not, Mr. York.” Your elbow bumps him gently. “You’re my security detail.”

Something inside his chest feels ready to split its seams and burst. Something roars to be let out.

Victoire is a two-star family restaurant managed by Victoria Brock, current matriarch to a long line of Brocks. Among these is a man named Victor Brock, Senator of Chicago, who is currently sitting next to your father in a pressed three-piece suit.

They're seated in the VIP section, closed off by a curtain. The restaurant smells like old money with a touch of modern extravagance. Crystals chandeliers dangle from the ceiling and toss golden light onto your skin. From behind you, Dave is allowed to stare as much as he wants; so he milks it. The planes of your back shift in the dim light, the brightness of your smile blinds, and your eyes glitter like a sky of stars. So charming. So in your element.

Dave stays behind you, the way it should be, observing his surroundings for threats. Of course, it's a restaurant, so he mostly ends up observing furniture. The booths are a deep bottle green, the oak wood tables polished so smoothly they look like hardened honey. This is the sort of place that welcomes a person like you: comforting and soft, illuminated by diamonds.

You walk into the VIP room before Dave, who’s dressed in a handsome suit with a handkerchief that matches the red bottoms of your shoes. No one can see this unless they look hard. And you know your father will not.

But your father does notice Dave. The glare is purposeful and fleeting, but it does the job. Dave knows he isn't wanted here. It doesn't do a good enough job to deter him. Not many things can when it comes to you.

“Look at you,” says your father, standing up to shake your hand. Dave holds his tongue at the sight. From the looks of it, you're also trying not to laugh. “You look gorgeous. Come, sit.”

He elects not to acknowledge Dave, who eyes your father with a half-muster glare. “Senator Brock,” you say brightly, the princess taking her spotlight, “what a pleasure. I didn't know you were coming.”

Brock stands up and takes your hand, an action Dave watches carefully. Brock is a handsome, single senator, and Dave York has a schmoozer radar like no other. “The pleasure’s mine. You look stunning.”

You give him a polite smile and brush your hand up against Dave’s sleeve. “This is Dave York. He's my security.”

“I thought you were coming alone,” says your father.

You slide gracefully onto the bench seat. Dave sits beside you, adjusting his jacket. “I’m sure you know my disappearance made an impression on the media. Security became a necessity.”

Dave tries not to puff up at that. You think he's a necessity. “Want to explain why there's a senator at your table, Mark?”

Your father licks his teeth before speaking, slow and measured. “Senator Brock is here, Mr. York, because he has a proposition.”

Dave doesn't like this. The room feels a touch too warm now, your arm rubbing up against his and the chandelier twinkling its warm lights above. Your fingers softly brush the fabric of his pants underneath the table. It's a purely comforting gesture—for the both of you, it seems, for your face is schooled into politely-disguised panic.

“A proposition?” Your eyes slip toward the senator, who says your name like it's a consolation. Dave’s hand finds your back, his thumb tracing one of your vertebrae. It feels like animal instinct: the hairs on the back of your neck rise, the scent of your perfume deepens in his nose as if spiked with terror, and all he knows is Calm her. Make her feel safe.

“We’ve both spent a lot of time in the public eye,” says Brock, diplomatic as ever. “And neither of us have once been seen with a… significant other.”

No.

Nononono.

Your hand curls into a fist under the table and your body sways slightly. “Oh. So that's what this is about.”

“Honey…” begins your father.

“Don't call me that.”

“Honey, just listen to—”

“To a marriage proposal?” The tips of your ears are burning. “I didn't come here to get engaged.”

“Then what did you come here for?” your father demands, leaning back with his brows high, sipping his Chardonnay like he knows he's won.

“I came because I thought you wanted to end this ridiculous feud between you and Dave.”

“I can afford to lose a little money from your toy,” your father says dismissively. “What I can’t afford to lose is my reputation.”

Dave’s palm is a heavy weight on your lower back. “Your reputation is yours to protect, Mark. Not hers.”

“This doesn't concern you,” he spits.

“It absolutely fucking does if you think you're going to marry her off.”

“I don't want to marry someone I don't love,” you say. As if it needs explanation at all. “No offence, Senator.”

Senator Brock just shakes his head. “I don't intend to get in the way of any family matters. This is strictly about public appearances.”

“Think about it,” implores your father. “You haven't shown your face in public for months, much less with a man on your arm.”

Dave has never seen you so incensed.

“Sorry I haven't been around for people to photograph, what with a kidnapping and all.” At that, Dave looks down into his lap, but you squeeze his thigh and he knows that you don't hold it against him. He’ll just never understand it. “Do you realise how demeaning this is? I’m not a prized cow.”

“I understand,” says Brock in a voice that can only fit a senator; gentle and somewhat condescending. Dave wants to vault himself over the table and give him a nice, ripe black eye. “But I expect nothing from you intimately.”

I should fucking hope not, Dave thinks, his jaw feathering as he sucks on his teeth to refrain from speaking. Or getting violent.

“People need reason to like you more,” says your father, and Dave does not take kindly to that.

“People like her just fine,” he growls.

Brock intervenes again, ever the politician. “I only expect a relatively public wedding and attending events when necessary. Other than that, we can occupy separate wings of my home, and our families will benefit from the union.”

“Oh, my God.” You plant your face in your hands, the veneer of shiny politeness gone. “This is humiliating. This is so fucking humiliating…”

“This is over,” says Dave, standing up abruptly. “We’re done here. You can take your proposal and stick it up your ass, Senator.”

“Don't think you can get out of this just because your guard dog says so.” Your father stands, too, straightening his own tie. “You're getting married, and you should be grateful that's all I’m having you do.”

Grateful? Oh, Dave is going to get violent. He’s very fucking excited to get violent. No one will ever know where the bodies—

“That's rich.” You pour two fingers’ worth of red for yourself and down it in one continuous gulp. “Have a nice evening, Senator. Dad, you can marry yourself off if you want to keep your business that badly.”

You thread your fingers through Dave’s and lead him out of the restaurant. His driver—tonight, it’s Ari—brings you both back to the York household. The wine couldn't get you anywhere near tipsy; you're too riled-up with an unsettled energy that has Dave’s hand glued to your back. He traces imaginary shapes over the spot where your tattoo lies and tries to picture it in his head.

“I can’t believe him,” you murmur, hugging yourself as Dave walks you to the front door. “Okay. That's a lie. I can't believe I let myself believe he wanted to make things better.”

Dave’s lips brush your temple, the only indulgence he allows himself. “This is not on you,” he says softly. “I should kill both of them for pulling that shit.”

“You can't kill a senator, Dave.” You give him a fond smile though your eyes betray any show of joy. You're riddled with unease and a faint tremor of fear visibly burdens the straightness of your spine.

Dave holds open the door for you and triple-checks it behind him as always. “And what about your father?”

You chew on your bottom lip as you ponder it. “I’ll get back to you.”

He’ll take it. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”

“How did you know I was cold?”

He pins you with an affectionate glare. “You’re shivering, baby.”

“I’m angry,” you say weakly, your bare arm covered in goosebumps nonetheless.

He offers his hand to you, and you slip your palm into his. Something between you begins to pull taut. It isn't a distinguishable moment from any other, but it glows and pulsates, twin stars circling two bodies. It's not kind, but it's not cruel. It’s a connection that merely is, or has always been.

Neither of you care to figure it out. You just hold his hand and let him take you upstairs.

The ensuite in Dave’s bathroom is kept spotless. It's just as drab and modern as the rest of his home. You’ve been scattering little pops of colour around downstairs—if he cares, he doesn't mention it. But of course he notices. He’s the most observant man you've ever met.

You haven't stepped foot inside his bedroom since you arrived here. You linger in the doorway for a moment, scanning your surroundings. His bed sheets are crisp white, his comforter grey, the walls sparse with decoration. Not a houseplant in sight. It's functional but not lived in.

Dave leans against the wall next to you and watches your eyes flicker about. “Tell me what you're thinking.”

“You have so much money,” you say, “and you can't afford an interior decorator?”

Dave chuckles. “What's your going rate?”

“If you start paying me for anything, Mr. York, this relationship will begin to feel disingenuous.”

Still amused, he squeezes your hand. “We wouldn't want that. Come with me.”

His bathroom is spacious and clean, the giant claw-footed bathtub emitting a siren song to your cold, tense body. Dave, knowing you better than most, turns on the faucet.

“I can leave,” he offers, his body so close behind you that his breath shifts your hair.

You answer him by taking his hand and placing it against the zipper of your dress. “It’s been long enough,” you whisper. “I know you're curious to see it.”

Dave’s breath hitches. Blood goes soaring to his dick as he tugs the zipper down, his free hand trailing down your bare arm at the same time. He delights in the shivers that erupt across your skin and feels you lean into him slightly. You trust him. He's done everything wrong and you trust him not to hurt you. You trust your body in his hands and Jesus, he's not going to fuck this up.

He's touching sacred space. He will wrap the sensation of your softness and warmth tight around his brain and let the feel of it saturate everything. He wants his soul stained with you.

He continues to bring the zipper down, and you sigh. “I don't know what to do, Dave.”

“I know,” he says. Not a comfort or a solution. Just acknowledgement.

“I always know what to do. I always know what to say. I couldn't even get out of a marriage tonight.”

“He blindsided you.” Dave is doing very well at remaining calm. Having you so close to him is helping. “He blindsided us both. But we're getting you out of this.”

“Yeah.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment. “We can talk about it later.”

He leans into you a fraction and gives your ear a nudge with his nose. “Are you asking me to take off your dress?”

Your eyes flutter when you inhale his cologne. The last time you were wandering the nearby drugstore, you spent a moment too long in the scent aisle, holding a bottle of the Tom Ford he wears. In your trancelike state, you put it in your cart before you realised you did not, in fact, need to buy a bottle of cologne. You weren't his secretary. Sheepishly, you returned the bottle, but not before taking a sample stick.

You've been more pathetic.

Dave York smells like pine, cologne, and when he gets into trouble, the faint tang of iron. There isn't a trace of blood on him tonight. You turn your head to meet his eyes. Your pupils enlarge, nearly eclipsing the irises. “Do you want to undress me?”

His lips part slightly, and a puff of air leaves him. “You know the answer to that.”

You're both speaking so quietly that the running bath nearly drowns both of your voices. “I want to hear you say it.”

His eyes shutter. “I want to undress you,” he says, his nose sliding across your temple, “and a whole lot more.”

Your hand guides his fingers to the hem of your dress. “I want you to see me, Dave. You're the only one who does.”

Dave swallows hard, his palm warming your arm as it idly trails up and down. This is the permission that frightens him the most. The first tremendous leap. There is no turning back from this. He doesn't want to.

He wants to learn to pace himself, to revel in the briefest brilliance that is knowing you.

“Am I?” he muses, sliding the shoulder of your dress down. He's transfixed by the slow shudder he receives from you, the way he can see your lashes flutter on your cheeks, as he exposes your breasts to the cool air.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Don't be coy. It’s not your style.”

“No, it isn't.” The dress, tailor-made to the delicious curves of your shape, slips down your back to the floor as his fingers urge the rest of it away. It pools in a pitch-black heap at your feet, and Dave York takes in the sight of you.

All of you.

“Jesus,” he rasps, eyes dipping to your tits, nipples hard as the air conditioning cools your skin, around your waist, down your back. Every knob of your spine speaks for your life, your learnings. He traces his fingers lightly over each one, taking his time as he teaches himself.

“What's the verdict?” you tease, your voice going soft, close to vulnerable.

You do, indeed, have a tramp stamp. Dave follows the shape of the small bleeding wings, the paper-thin lines of the sun in between.

“It's Icarus,” he says, “isn't it?”

“A reminder,” you confirm, “to never sacrifice any part of my life to some selfish ambition.”

Dave’s thumb gently circles over the black ink. “What do you want, instead?”

You hum in thought, and he can feel the trepidation in his own throat. “To live, I guess. Just live.”

He hums in kind. There's no oxygen left for him in this room. Steam from the bath curls like silvery breath into the air, the feeling of your skin is grounding him, and there's nothing but you. Your body and your sharp mind and the heart that thrills him.

“What is my style?” he asks.

You exhale, and it sounds a little like laughter. “I don't know. You're unpredictable. Usually, that would scare me.”

“But?”

“But I like you.” A hand covers his own, bringing it around your waist, resting it between your breasts. Like this, he can feel your heartbeat against your sternum. “I like what you do to me. I like your kindness and your cruelty. I like the way you work and talk and think.”

Dave closes his eyes, stepping closer to you, dipping his head to bring his lips along your jaw in a ghost of a kiss. “How do I think, baby?” he mutters against your skin. “Tell me.”

“Like a killer,” you sigh.

“Mmm. You’d let a killer touch you like this?” His hand falls, deliberate and slow down the path of your stomach, your hipbone to your thigh. “You must not want to live that badly.”

You don't need to tell him that he's the one bringing you to life. He can feel it in the throbbing of your heart, the shallow touch to your breathing, the way your body subtly pushes into his hands.

“Dave.”

He says your name in kind.

“I don't want to marry him.”

The small break in your voice puts a hole in his heart. Dave guides you to face him and cups your face in his hands. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “You're not going to marry him. No asshole senator is going to put a ring on your finger.”

“Are we going to stop it?”

He nods once. Unyielding. “We're gonna stop it.”

You rest your forehead against his and let yourself smile at last. “Okay. Now let me get in the bathtub.”

The water eases the knots in your muscles as he helps you lower yourself inside. You close your eyes, resting your head on the lip, while Dave makes some calls.

You asked him once if he ever wanted to use his skills for good.

This is how he does it.

“Tell me about your family.”

The silence fizzles, the crack of an ember flying haphazardly away from the fire. Sitting on a stool by your side, Dave holds your hand—well, more like your wrist—and, with his thumb, strokes the veins that beat with life. He found he wasn't fond of the idea of parting with you quite yet. So he didn't.

This is his job now. And it's the only one he's ever had that brings him any sense of clarity.

“You've had more than enough mouthfuls of mine,” you elaborate. “So tell me about yours.”

“Mom and Dad passed a few years back,” says Dave. “They were good people. Grew up in a small town with my sister, who hightailed it to New York the first chance she could. My parents worked real estate together. They made friends with their clients, and they were good to us. We were never poor, never rich.” Dave’s lips find your knuckles. “Joined up when I was out of college. Mom cried for days. I almost succumbed to the guilt, but moms are good at that, I guess.”

Water sloshes around you as you turn onto your side, resting your chin on the edge of the tub and looking up at Dave. “Ari says you were a good soldier.”

Dave huffs. “Yeah, I’ll bet he does. Wants a goddamn raise.”

“My mom was good, too,” you tell him. “I don't remember much of her, but I remember her smiling and laughing. It’s like I knew so much about her and nothing at all. But I miss her all the same.”

Dave opens up your palm to him, his mouth tracing the lines on your skin. “Anyone who's good to you is good to me. My mom used to say that whenever my sister would bring a new girlfriend or boyfriend home.”

“And you?” Your voice takes a teasing edge. “How many women did Dave York bring home before he decided he liked his latest hostage best?”

He still winces at your wording all these months later but laughs nonetheless. “Fewer than I think you’re imagining. Life got busy quick.”

“Those pesky C.I.A. jobs.”

“The same. They tossed me all around the world until I decided to start my own company. The VA never did shit for me, and with my injury, I couldn't keep flying.”

You grin. “Entrepreneurship looks very good on you.” It takes a strong pull on his willpower not to stare at your tits, barely submerged in the warm water. “Do you still feel it sometimes?” you ask, your gooey eyes making him want to form dust into gold for you.

“Comes and goes,” he says. The last thing he wants to do in this world is be the cause of your worry. “But I’m old. Our backs act up all the time anyway.”

“Dave.” You pin him with a stern stare. “You shouldn't be sitting like that with a back injury. Why have I been letting you stay there for the past hour?”

“I’m fine,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “I don’t feel any pain.”

You chew on your lip. “Help me out of the bath?”

Dave’s back pinches as he stands up and you, of course, don't miss his wince. He averts his gaze when he sees you giving him precisely the same look as before. You have an uncanny ability to make him feel scolded.

You wrap yourself in a soft towel when you climb out of the tub. You smell fresh as crisp linen and your skin is dewy, smooth, so soft he wants to lick you all over. “Looks like we both need to relax,” you say, your hand brushing his lower back. He feels the light touch as if it's a lightning strike. “We never ate dinner.”

“Barry’s gone home,” he says, a little dazed by how close you are. Your body emanates warmth, and it makes him feel sleepy.

“There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge,” you say. “Your guys were hungry last night.”

You take his hand and lead him downstairs. The droplets of water on your skin glisten in the shifting light. His nerves have become a map of you. He doesn't know what he would do if he lost this sacred knowledge. He doesn't think there's a part of him that could stay quiet.

#kiwisbell's fics #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york x female reader #equalizer 2 #dave york #pedro pascal fic #dave york x reader

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devieuls · 10 months

Text

The way of love pt.IX

Neteyam Sully x Tayrangi Fem Reader (Na'vi)

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Dom Neteyam x Fem Reader; SMUT; ANGST; FLUFF; Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; Blood; Spit; Power Play; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; Enemies (because of you, Neteyam treats you well). Aged characters: Neteyam 19 y.o / You 18 y.o. SERIE

Synopsis: After a great loss happened in your family, you are forced to take a role that before did not belong to you, following a path that you will feel like your only in time. Just when you thought you were finally overcoming the loss, your clan shows up with those you blame for the great offense received. You are the daughter of the first Olo'eykte of all clans and are about to take your mother’s place to lead the Tayrangi clan, but first you must follow Neteyam (the eldest son of the man you detest with all your heart) To train him, despite your contempt for the Sullys and everything about them, you inevitably bond with the boy, unknowingly falling in love with him.

CHAPTER WARNING: ///////

Lenght : 4.2k

Notes: I cried so much in the scenes of Ney'nari, because they reminded me of a friend I was close to many years ago and who unfortunately passed away. I cried loving the scene, I hope it can touch your heart a little bit. I recommend listening to these songs while reading: OCEAN EYES; HOSTAGE; IDONTWANNABEYOUANYMORE BY: BILLIE EILISH

NA'VI WORDS: 'ITE: Daughter; TSMUKE: Sister; OARE: Moon; SA'NU: Mother; YAWNETU: Darling; NGATSYIP: Little you; SEMPUL: Father

Character Cast: NEY'NARI: Your dead sister; IKEYNI: Your Mother; TSENTEY: Your Father; YÌMKXA: Your Ikran; ULEYTE: Your bestie; TUL'PEY: Your future Mate

PART: 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 ; 5 ; 6 ; 7 ; 8 ; 9 ; 10

· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

You spent a few hours in that place, letting nature embrace and welcome you, remembering that you could ask for advice and receive comfort from your sister by making Tsaheylu with one of the voices trees that was placed just a short distance from there. You needed guidance and someone who understood your emotions, so who better than your sister to help you figure out the way to go?

The cold air now hit your face as your eyes pointed towards the tree of voices, not feeling able to get up to reach it. You felt dead lying on that grass, letting a few tears go while you seemed lifeless, almost extinct. It took a few minutes before you could get off the ground, your steps were heavy as you squeezed your hand at chest height as if to keep the small fragments that now composed it connected, creating cracks and letting you bleed. Now the tears became faithful companions, a way of vent for the pain that you could not hold back. When you reached the tree you sat on its roots and weakly connected your tail to one of the bright vines of the tree, slightly afraid of not being able to connect with your sister. This was the first time you’ve been looking for her voice and her memory like this, because you knew it would be destructive to hear and see Ney'nari and then go back to reality and remind yourself that you no longer had her guidance, therefore you preferred to look for it in the wind or in the waves and you felt good so.

Within seconds you found yourself in a cherished memory, and you realized that you had found your sister. You remembered that day well because it was the day you killed the Palulukan whose tooth became the pendant of your necklace. You felt the breath die in your throat when you noticed a beautiful Na'vi from behind, with long braided hair, some jewels and feathers embellished her braids, while the band on her arm was indistinguishable, because you had made her, even though it was woven mediocrely she had never taken away that cherished memory of her little sister. When the girl turned a sweet smile greeted you and her kind eyes looked at you as if to invite you to approach her, while warm tears bathed your face, giving you the strength to run towards her and embrace her. Her arms were warm and comforting, and her scent was stored back in your memory. You collapsed in her arms, taking her to sit with you, as she held you to her immediately realizing that you were not well, her hands caressed your braids as she whispered "Take your time, ma Yawntutsyìp, take your time…." not knowing that her words only made you cry more. You missed her so much, her warm and comforting embrace that welcomed you whenever you needed it, the way her voice calmed you even in the worst of times.

She made you lay your head on her legs, just like when you were a child, beginning to caress your braids and your face, smiling lovingly as she wiped your tears. "M-Ma 'Nary…" you managed to whine and whisper without a voice while your hand caressed her face, trying to convince you that this was real and she was really there with you. "You became so beautiful, ma Yawntutsyìp" Her voice was sweet and melodious as she spoke to you, you had forgotten her voice and hearing her again led you to take long breaths and hold back tears, and then smile at her. "It’s been so long, ma 'Nari, so much… I’m sorry" she nodded at your words, smiling and holding you to her as much as possible. "Not much for me, I always listen to you, when you talk to me and look for me, because I am always here" She put her hand on your heart, looking at you with a sweet sadness. " And I feel that my house is being destroyed, what happens to your heart, ma Tsmuke?" Your eyes looked at her with desolation before opening your mouth.

She remained silent as you spoke to her about everything that had happened to you since her death, seeking comfort in her sweet eyes full of love and affection for you. She nodded at your words, waiting for you to finish talking and then pass her hand over your forehead. "Ma y/n, the ways of the Great Mother are many, and none cruel. Within you, you know what you really want, but your mind prevents you from understanding. I prayed very much to the Great Mother for you, to send you a good person because I know that Tul'pey cannot offer you all his heart, I'm sorry… You've become so beautiful and great, but your mind is still small like when you were still a child. You are hurt and your spirit is protected by your hard thinking. Neteyam Sully, he is where your happiness lives, I've seen it" You have remained silent, listening to her as she spoke. "Your eyes speak and I read his name in them. If you are suffering this way, let him go, and continue on the path that others have chosen for you. But this isn’t you, I still remember how much you hated following the rules." "I don’t think I’ll be happy with him, ma Ney'nari… He knew about Tul'pey, he knew that I was paired and that he would be my future partner but he wasn’t sincere. He took my heart and destroyed it-"Ney'nari stopped you before I finished talking. "But you asked? Did you ask him if he had a partner?" She looked at you as if she already knew the answer to her own question.

"I… I thought he haven't, because… well, I understood that… I-" You began to stutter, searching your mind for the moment when you asked Neteyam if he was paired. "I’ll answer you, no, you didn’t. As I told you, your mind leads you wrong, you are wise ma'Tsmuke, but very stubborn. " "He has a woman… She said she was his mate, ma tsmuke. His M-a-t-e!" even the mere memory of what was said caused you pain. "You too have a partner, whom you do not want. As he does not want her. You two have found each other, this is even greater than what our mother said or his tsahìk. You chose eachother" she whispered, caressing your cheek to comfort you. "She’s not his mate, not yet" You looked at her incredulously, is it possible that she was right? That Ninat’s daughter had said those words just to mark her territory? "When Eywa sent you the young Sully, I was blessing that boy for you, desperately trying to change your mind about him and his family." She gently hit your forehead, making you grumble. "You know how hard that was? Trying to influence the events of the living for a greater purpose is very difficult. The lost necklace was easier than sending you signals to change your mind." You looked at her wide-eyed even more incredulous "Then it was really you…" you whispered without a voice. "Of course it was me, I had to pray to the Great Mother for many eclipses to get her consent. And you kept being so stubborn, that hard work," she sighed dramatically, making you laugh slightly, vaguely reminding you that it was something Neteyam often did. "I could feel it, I knew it was you watching over me," you said with a small smile, as you squeezed his hand and carried it on your cheek. "I never stopped doing it, but Oare. Once sisters, sisters forever. Not even death can cut this bond" You looked at her nodding as you felt some tears come out of your eyes again, thanking her in silence.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma y/n" this time it was her eyes that got shiny. She never had a chance to tell you, because you were too young and you wouldn’t fully understand the meaning of this sentence. "I’ve always seen you, so I know that your heart and your mind want Neteyam Sully. Listen to your heart, he’s your destiny. Fight my big, fearless, little warrior" You nodded in tears, squeezing her hand against your cheek. "Oel Ngati kameie, ma Ney'nari" you answered with a broken voice. You wanted to stay in that enchanted place forever, listen to her voice and cuddle up in her arms whenever you needed, feel protected and at home when she was near you. You knew it wasn’t gonna happen, but you didn’t feel ready to go back to reality without her, not again. "It’s time to go…" she whispered once your breasts met because of the hug you needed so much. "Just a little bit more… please, leave me here a little more, I’m so afraid…" your broken voice as you squeezed your sister’s body, letting her do the same while caressing your head as a mother would have done with her daughter. "You can’t, it’s already late out there, ma y/n. I’ll be with you there too, don’t be afraid" You could hear from her tone that she also wanted to stay a little longer with you. "It’s not true, I won’t see you anymore! I won’t feel your warmth and your voice… You’ll disappear again, I won’t, I beg you… please" Ney'nari took your face with her hands and looked you in the eye, wiping with her thumbs every tear that came down your face . "No, don’t say that. I will never leave you. Never, ma tsmuke. I’m always with you, just listen. I am in the air you breathe, in the breeze that caresses you, in the waves that embrace you and in the stars that you look at. You carry me in your heart, listen to me. I will be your sister in all the lives that Eywa will give me, I promise." She tried to convince you to nod with her. Your fingers still held her shoulders as if she were a life preserver in the middle of the ocean and you were drowning. "Now go, and make your own way, follow your future. You have a strong heart, ma y/n, go get him."

Before you could answer her, you found yourself embracing the air, disconnecting the Tsaheylu that had been created between your tail and the bioluminescent liana. Lean your forehead on the bark of the tree, trying to feel the warmth of your sister’s arms for a while longer, wrapping your own body with your arms. Some tears streaked your face before feeling a gentle breeze caressing your back, making you smile in silence, realizing that this was Ney'nari. You opened your mouth, taking a deep breath, letting the cool sea breeze below open your lungs. You noticed that the sky was coloring slightly, and other gusts of wind hit you making you understand to get up and go to find Neteyam, to allow him to explain himself. When you arrived at the village you rushed to his hut, entering without even knocking or asking permission, immediately noticing the emptiness that was in his house. There was nothing left of him, no clothes or weapons, nothing, the bare walls and the tables well arranged. As you approached one of the tables you could see the presence of your necklace, the one with the palulukan tooth that you had lost, noting that the threads had been worked again with other green threads, making the closure knot more difficult so you don’t lose it anymore.

With the jewel in your hands you ran home and there you found your father looking at you worried, after all you had been gone for hours and your Ikran was still near the village. "Where were you? We-" You stopped him impatiently, looking for something vaguely reminiscent of one of the Sullys. "Where's Neteyam?" your tone of voice was impatient and almost exasperated, which confused your father. "I thought you knew, he left with his parents about an hour ago. He said that you had given him permission to leave because he was ready, and-" Tsentey froze, noticing your sad look and your still-shiny eyes. "Too late… it’s too late…" you managed to whisper, holding your sister’s necklace in your hands. "Ma 'ite, too late for what?" The man approached you, laying a hand on your cheek and looking at you worried. At that moment a lantern lit in him, making him understand why you had said those words. "Ma y/n, too late to find him?" he asked you to see you nod. Tears turned your face, looking again for affection and warmth in Tsentey’s arms. "Dad, I was late. Again. I didn’t get there in time," you said in the sobs as he stroked your back, clutching at you.

Your father had always been the loving parent, who understood you and left you free to be yourself, increasing your warrior spirit. He wanted to see you happy, and he always tried to soften the pill in everything, while Ikeyni was the toughest parent, who, yes, loved you but was tougher. They were two kinds of love that made you feel closer to your father than your mother, so you were looking for the maternal figure in Ney'nari. "Ma 'ite, Neteyam wasn’t just a student to you, was he?" Tsentey’s gentle voice echoed in the empty hut, which despite being warm made you feel cold. "I no. I don’t…" Your father’s eyes met yours, and you couldn’t lie. "He wasn’t just a student…" you sighed as a comforting smile from your father destabilized you. You were expecting a lecture that you two were heirs to two different clans, that you were both paired with other people and things like that. But he understood you, you could tell by his look. "I knew it. When you looked at him, you had the same eyes as your mother when I met her years ago." He reassured you, clutching you at his chest. "Don’t you want to scold me?" you said sobbing, you were sure you’d shed all the tears of your life in one day. "How could I? The heart is not commanded, ma Ngasyìp" Your father looked into your eyes, wiping your tears gently. "But it’s too late now… He’s gone, and it is all my fault" you whispered with shame, knowing that you had not even given Neteyam a chance to apologize and explain himself; for when he did you were deliberately deaf, so caught up in your emotions that you forgot his. "If it is fate, you will find yourself again," he said before laying his chin over your head, clutching at him. That’s when Ikeyni walked in and you two looked the other way, like you hadn’t just told your father that you’d been unfaithful in Tulpey for a guy you shouldn’t even have seen romantically.

The days without Neteyam were long and exhausting, your spirit had returned to what it was before you met him. You spent your time squeezing your fingers around the necklace that he had fixed, never taking it off, thus keeping the boy closest to you. Sometimes, when the night came, you would still look out the window hoping to find him and hear his voice and sweet words once again, being disappointed when you remembered that he was gone and would not return. To make his memory even more exhausting, it was that his hut was so close to yours that, inevitably, when you needed to feel him close to you, you went back to his house. You breathed the air that every day lost more and more his scent, taking with it the memories enclosed in those walls of leather and wood. Your routine had become monotonous: Tsakarem lessons to become Tsahìk; training with your father to be a strong Olo'eykte; the exasperating encounters with the family of Tul'pey that inevitably led you two to quarrel; some sacred rites and meetings with the elders of the village. You could say that your day took a moment of relief only when Uleyte came to see you and tried to cheer you up, understanding what was happening to you and feeling bad to see you suffer in silence, without making a noise.

Days became weeks and weeks became months. Now it was two months since your skin had forgotten Neteyam’s touch, since your lips had last met his and you wondered if he felt like you. You wanted to know if he missed you, if you were in his mind as much as he was in yours, or if you were just a distant and painful memory for him. Slowly you began to feel 'better', the wounds he had lefton you were healing on your own, patching those deep cuts with a few bandages, but not suturing anything. You had accepted the path that your mother and elders had marked for you, you were going to become Tsakik and Olo'eykte of the clan without protesting. Tul'pey tried in those months to fill a place that was impossible to cover, but without ever stopping fighting with you, trying to figure out what your problem was, your relationship had become something toxic. The thought that in a week you should mated him frightened you, you would not have lived the happy life you hoped to have, and it was at that moment that words struck your mind: 'make your own way, follow your future'. Your way, your future. These words sounded so familiar when placed close to Neteyam’s name, but it was an illusion to believe that there could still be a "you two" after that night he left.

It was ironic how life brought Neteyam back on your path just a week before your official mating with Tul'pey, but it wasn’t happy news. The Omatikaya clan had invited the Tayrangi clan, especially the Olo'eykte Ikeyni and her family, to the celebration of the union of Neteyam and Reyin'al. The news tore your soul, making those bandages useless now, making you bleed again. Your father and Uleyte understood when you expressed your desire not to participate, using as an excuse the commitments and preparations of your 'wedding' event, but Ikeyni would not hear any objection from you, she had already decided to bring you too as a form of respect. "Please, sa'nu… I don’t have time for this, Neteyam and the Sullys will understand" you whispered, hiding the pain behind your words, but your father understood right away, trying to change his partner’s mind. "You were his teacher. You are obliged to go and bless his union, it is tradition. You would bring shame to your name if you did not participate. has already been decided, we will leave tomorrow morning" She answered you, forbidding you to counter her decision, while you were looking for your father’s support with your eyes. "Ma' Yawnetu, maybe we should leave her here, after all she is also going to mate with her partner, you should understand her…" Your father shut up when Ikeyni’s look landed on him, making him look down. Unfortunately, you knew your mother was in charge of the relationship, but you appreciated Tsentey’s attempt to take your side. "I said it was decided. The mating will be the day after tomorrow, and Neytiri is like a sister, I will not offend her and her family for this." She took leave, leaving you and your father to look at each other with a sorry face.

You sighed in frustration all day, until Uleyte invited you to take a walk on the beach to empty your mind. "How are you feeling? I know this is hard for you" began your friend, as she wrapped her arms around your arm, walking on the seashore with you. "I feel…" you sighed stopping and then looking at the sea waves that were on your right. "I won’t lie, I feel bad. I haven’t seen him in months, and I missed him… I know I shouldn’t feel like this, that I shouldn’t have believed his promises, but I can’t forget his eyes. He was so sincere…" your tone was full of nostalgia and melancholy, remembering those moments where he spoke and you believed him, losing yourself in his golden sunset that gave you so much confidence. "But they were lies… The day after tomorrow he will belong to another woman" a bitter smile was born on your face. "You too will belong to another man, but the Great Mother watches over you, she will deceive the way if this is fate" your friend reassured you, receiving a faint smile from you. "Keep telling me about this fate, it seems that you’ve all agreed… I can’t blame him, in the end I told him to leave and be with her, I would be selfish to think that the fault was just his" you stopped sighing heavily while the girl next to you comforted you caressing your arm. "Do you want me to come with you? I swear, I pack my things, and at the cost of mounting on your Ikran I will come with you" She said in a solemn voice, making you laugh because you knew how afraid she was of height and flying, so much so that she always avoided following you when you went hunting, just for your banshee. "No, you don’t have to. You’ll die of fear after the first meter of height. But thank you"

Uleyte smiled at you, trying to convince you that she would take the risk if you needed her support. You two spent the day talking and laughing, feeling that you needed a moment like this before you had to face the ceremony of union between the boy who possessed your heart and that unknown Na'vi. Your friend tried to free your mind with nonsense thing that you did as children, took you to collect shells and pearls of the sea, making some low quality jewelry with the salty sea vines, or playing with the sand while it made you vent. When you said goodbye, she recommended that you come and greet her before your departure, leaving almost all the jewels made that afternoon together, and then wish you goodnight.

The night before you left, it was deadly for you, you had packed some clothes and jewelry that you would need for the days you would be in the Omatikaya clan, your hands trembled as you wrapped the various tops and loincloths in the leather blanket that would be your luggage. You could not help but look at your 'suitcase' and think that you would prefer not to leave, to turn away from your thoughts was your father who entered the part of the most private hut and of which you had appropriated. In his hands were traditional ceremonial clothes and you looked up at the ceiling, knowing that that would be your clothing for one of the worst days of your life. "Ma Ngatsyìp, I came to-" you opened your mouth before you even let him finish talking. " Yeah, put it on the table, I’ll pack it later." "It’s not just the dress, I wanted to know if you needed anything." Your father’s placed the clothes on the table and then looked at you tenderly. "Other than permission to stay home? Nothing." You made yourself too late that your tone was far too sour to address your father, who after all was only trying to comfort you. " I… I’m sorry, I’m just tense, Ma Sempul" You sat exhausted on your flat, then made space for your father. "Don’t apologize, ma 'ite, I understand the burden in your heart," he said as he sat next to you, before gently smiling at you.

You spent hours talking to your father, finding comfort and confidence even in his words, beginning to feel more confident in your encounter with Neteyam. You convinced yourself that if you saw Neteyam happy with someone else, maybe you could get over him and live your life in peace. Before you fell asleep you went over the plan in your mind: see Neteyam as little as possible, pretend to be happy and not think about him anymore, be a mature woman and wish him the best for his life as a couple with Reyin'al. It was easy, it would have been easy, if he had looked at you without that look in love you would have made it; after all two months had passed, surely the crush that he had for you had passed and had finally convinced himself that mating with a woman of his clan was the best choice to make.

Then why did your heart beat so fast at the thought of his eyes in love and enchanted as he looked at yours?

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes II:

There are only two chapters left at the end, I want to cry so much because I have grown fond of this series, although I know I could have written this series much better. Despite this, it is the first time in months that I did not write and I started with a series, be patient with me.

Tell me what you think about this chapter, I am curious to know your opinions

-Mel

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itsjaywalkers · 3 months

Note

hiii laurie can i ask 66 about all the violence (aka my bread and butter) <33

hi kara my beloved <3

66. What's a fun fact about all the violence?

i'm gonna give u more than one bc i adore u . and also bc i'm not sure about what counts as a fun fact

when i first planned it, even while i was already writing it (halfway through it), evan and pandora weren't siblings, and evan wasn't even supposed to appear. i wasn't that into the rosier twins hc back then, but something shifted in me during those 5 days i spent writing the fic, and it all just . happened . i don't regret it tho, and i think it works even better

the person pandora wants to kill the most (in a derogatory way ofc, this isn't her showing her love) is james. in fact, in the second part, when they're deciding who is gonna be lily's first murder, she suggests him, even tho she's aware that it has to be someone who actually Means something to her

pandora never lets the scar lily gave her close or heal completely. she asks lily to reopen it occassionaly so it doesn't fade (this is foreplay for them btw)

evan genuinely likes lily, unlike reg who doesn't (he rarely likes anyone), barty who's pretty much indifferent, and dorcas who respects her but in a very distant and detached way. he and lily end up becoming besties, and pandora doesn't know how she feels about it

fanfic writing asks

#fanfic writing asks #kara tag <3 #fic series: all the violence

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clownhonkbonk · 1 month

Text

to any interested here are my reactions i remembered to write down for the magnus archives in it's entirety :3 it's not too many bUt this is what you get

the episode numbers are written with them!!

ft me trying to understand the story with a great deal of pain writing on my phone in my notes app mostly at 1 am

REACTIONS 👀

56 sub statment thinf w martin

avtually got tears in my eyes. i love you martin. i love you jon. im so happy he just went " avtually, im rather relieved " or whatever bc hell yes girl u are so unwell.

this show is so addicting.

OMG 28 DAYS LATER MENTION!!!! THE END IS EXTREMLY FUCJING NEIGH!!! not the reference but excited

spooky.

WAY too attached to them

only just skipped the add and " episode Fifty-Eight. Trail Rations" And immediately went " oh NO !! cannibalism :( " and the read the description like LMAOO everytime there's anything relating to food in this podcast i just go " oh no it's cannibalisim "

holy shit it's a woman cannibal, diversity WIN

WHAT THE FUCK I REALISED WHATS HAPPENING WHEN THEY'RE BOTH DEAD

benjamin wtf homie this is NOT good bedroom foreplay

ouuugg auch good writing.

i understand the possible cannibalisim thing now

YES JON OFC THEY R WORRIED ABT YOU YOU DUNBASS IM CRYING PLS

at lwast he doesn't think it's martin as much anymore ❓❓❓❓

i NEEEED to stop going through s1 animatics but QOW this fanvase is awesome i love all the designs.. i used to think martin and tim were the same person for a few episodes

honestly hell yeah tim. shout at jon for being weird. but also sike you can't leave.

insane.

ok im like halfway through this but like so for the deities / entities that r silly

we got

eyes, spider, diseases / insects ( though they maybe different ) and meat maybe???? maybe there's just three..

oh oh the guys r all core fears / most common fears, one extra is THE STRANGER OOOOoooOooooO

i love you martin for filling in n trying to take over for jon ur such a cutie

idk how much i believe that elias did it but like all evidence does point to that

actually love their lil dynamic. cuties.

103

OUUUGH JON WHAT THE FUCK DID U USE UR BRAIN POWERS ON HIM WTFFFFF

104

martin is getting spaceyyyyy uh oh.... be careful bb..

107

jon have you been DRUGGED?!?! (8:00)

jon bb mayb take a break you seem to be like having iron deficiency LMAOO

111

ok we got 14 whores of the universe

1 end - death

2 eyes

3 vertigo

4 the stranger

5 the spiral - madness

6 isolation - fear of being alone / seperated form ppl

7 burning/fire

8 the desolation

9 the slaughter violence

10 the web - also being manipulated

11 the vast

12 filth disease insexts

13 claustrophobia

14 darkness

the meat ❓❓❓

124

OUUUGH HE LITERALLY DITCHED THE RECORDING JUST TO RUN AFTER MARTIN the gays r getting to me

126

WHAT HTEH FUCKKK !>??!?!?!? !??

bro this is NOT therapy. bro ham lukas peter you dickwad what the fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

ISOLATION??????????????????????? WHY IS THE ISOLATION GOD POKING AT MARTIN ?!?!?!?!?!?!??! DICKWAD??!?!?! ?criyng asobbign why

i actually low key love lukas " dynamic duo " is sO funny sjkdjk

martin i miss u come back it;s not woRTH ITTTTTT

fuck i draw jon like trent crimm if he was a twig and gayer and green

131

i physically recalled at the start they've IMPROOOVED their aUDIO... fucking crazy.

also bitches be bitching ( jon AND melane )

honestly fuck yeah helen girl

133

girl is dealing wth SOOO much trauma poor girl........... jeez.

cannot stop thinkin about martin :(

i miss tim.

134

WOOOO MARTIN

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HE LEFT THE TAPES FOR JON WTF

the buried / cave

the end

the corruption / filth

the dark

the desolation

the eye

the flesh

the hunt

the lonely

the slaughter

the spiral

the stranger

the vast

the web

135

feeks like they're reading together but w a wall in the way which is sad

142

MARTIN PLEASADEEE

also jon what the fuck please don't be a dick this lovely lade lost her job and gained so much trauma.

143

jon stop using ur thing constantly on people it makes me worried for you and insanely pushes you to not being human.

jon i know she tried to hurt you both but ur being so mean, im WORRIED.

hell YES hellen

144

martin im still upset at you for going " why does no one tell me anything !!!! " while literally avoiding them and asking yhem not to talk to you!!! wtf broham.

anyway loving this story

145

gertrude what a girl holy cow<3

146

IM SO WORRIED ABT MARTIN AND JON GUUUUUUH WHAT THE FUCK.

150

jon u r so self destructive...

151

holy ahit simon fairchild..

154

what the fuck im sobbing what is this good omens bullshit i love it but im crying not really but like heartbreaking????

171

i don't know if jons gonna survive if he doesn't stop getting weird and weirder.

also adorable "is he your boyfriend?!"

" yes actually "

jon what the fuck w u n these flesh flowers

ok hi!! thst was the last one.:3

i didn't write down reactions for further episodes but if we can bring our attention to me writing at some point ( in early season 5 ) in my sketch book " 10 bets jon or martin dies at the end "

#tma spoilers #times a million.#tma #the magnus archives #sorry about the... crude language and insults. i was never once in my right mind 😔

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aeipathys · 11 months

Photo

ARA KWON. 26. SHE/HER. SURGICAL RESIDENT / MERCENARY FOR THE SCARLET NIGHTMARE

❝ she has the mysterious solitude of ambiguous states; she hovers in a no-man’s land between life and death, sleeping and waking, behind the hedge of spiked flowers, nosferatu’s sanguinary rosebud. ❞

I. OVERVIEW

full name: kwon ara

age: twenty-six

gender/ pronouns: cis woman, she/her

hometown: tijuana, california

affiliation: scarlet nightmare, mercenary

alias: hecate

occupation: surgical resident

sexual orientation: pansexual

current residence: the marionette

arrived in anchorage: one week ago

summary: a doctor who does not care about the lives she saves. worst bedside manner ever, 0/5 stars on yelp. can beat you up just as easily as she stitches up your wounds.

*trigger warnings throughout the rest of the post for death, light gore, violence, religion

II. STUDY

Q: IN THE FINAL LOOK, DOES THE DEER FORGIVE THE WOLF?

there is a girl who is a lamb.

or maybe a sheep —

all day she stands at the gates of hell, so calm, so demure, her coat reflected off the walls like a sinister, yearning constellation.

the birds of prey circle her; the beasts watch her, trying to divine the shape of those stars within her eyes in a place where there is no light.

and all day she sings — to the wolves, to the beasts — narrating their story. it is sad and it is seductive; the foreplay to her demise; the eulogy in which she calls herself DINNER.

the predators listen, rapt — because there is no song more terrifying; no song more alluring, than the tale of their own lives. they listen, and they love, and in their final look, as they pull out their claws; their teeth, in the moment separation is nearly lost —

she pulls them apart

and upon themselves they are impaled.

Q: AT WHAT AGE DID YOU SUSPECT YOU WERE ALIVE?

there is a girl standing in a house.

faintly, the smell of chrysanthemums rotting.

the ghosts surround her, laughter echoing against her skull, foaming at the mouth like the arrival of aphrodite upon the waves. they pick and prod at her, knocking against her bones, trying to find a hole they can press their pale lips to.

and oh — how she mourns them.

how grief tastes too much like love — emotion suspended through time.

they stand behind her as she washes her hands every night; as she saws them off and attaches one anew.

they stand behind her because they know she will have no choice but to turn around. and like eurydice, they will drag her back, back — into the underworld, into the house that is swollen with the dead.

you’re dead like us, they murmur against her ear. you’re dead — nothing else can hurt you.

they dig her a hole in the ground. she digs a hole in herself.

because here’s the thing about a haunted house: it’s not going to haunt itself.

III. INFO

kwon ara was born the seventh out of eight siblings.

judging by appearances, the kwon family was your typical affluent business family — they arrived on time for church every sunday, all children in tow, rarely made the city’s gossip pages, and ran their abundance of hospitality endeavors with a penchant for success.

but it was always a lie; a play in which they had long memorized their roles with careful precision.

beneath the floorboards of their picturesque suburban home, the ground was rotted, watered by the blood of those they had harmed to grasp wealth — their enemies, and their own.

the hospitality industry was nothing but a rouse for their true business — a major player in the black market smuggling of weapons, the kwons supply many of the organized crime groups within the country, using their various restaurants as sites for distribution.

the eight children pitted against each other since the day they were born; wolves raised hungry and desperate for their father’s approval, eager to wound and tear at each other for the promise of parental love.

ara had always been deemed as the most promising. cutthroat and bold, her father crafted her in his very image. but perhaps their similarities led to the very downfall of his plans — she was indifferent to the affection her siblings sought; callous towards his steering of her future.

out of spite, she pursued the medical field when she graduated — simply because she could.

though the traits that had once been idolized within her family were frowned upon within her occupation, those around her appreciating her skills, but questioning her morality. what is a doctor who doesn’t care about the life and death of her patients? ara would answer: one who would beat the odds and make the surgery a success, regardless.

IV. PERSONALITY

one of the smartest (and rudest) people you’ll ever meet

literally does not care!! about anything!!

speaks in a monotone voice and rarely changes her facial expressions

is short and has a baby-face so you might think she’s some innocent lil girl

though this innocent lil girl will not hesitate to deck you if you piss her off

chaotic neutral

loves a good adrenaline rush

#anchorintro #⁺ 𝐀𝐑𝐀 › intro.

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gxrlcinema · 1 year

Text

I posted 3,311 times in 2022

640 posts created (19%)

2,671 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gay-jewish-bucky

@dingdongyouarewrong

@retiredpunkdxd

@aphrogeneias

@dragonsareattackinghogwarts

I tagged 1,810 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#ilanswers - 429 posts

#ilana.txt - 182 posts

#comment reblog - 162 posts

#anon - 85 posts

#i could queue this all day - 80 posts

#nika👯 - 71 posts

#ipmoshpit - 62 posts

#steve rogers - 60 posts

#stucky - 57 posts

#ren 🐝 - 52 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#maroon / mastermind / paris / anti-hero / you’re on your own kid / would’ve could’ve should’ve / labyrinth / karma / sweet nothing / glitch

My Top Posts in 2022:

𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

SUMMARY: Natasha commits atrocities. You turn the stories of them into her sweetest sins.

A/N: I didn't proofread this but @foreverindreamlandd and @aphrogeneias did so massive shoutout to them. Inspired by "Queen" by Perfume Genius, covered by Sizzy Rocket. Happy pride to the WLWs, here's some angst.

WARNINGS: 18+ minors please dni, foreplay (almost but not quite sex), semi-graphic discussions of death and violence, morally dubious reader

MASTERLIST

See the full post

454 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

psa

i am not going to write a sequel for you when you didn't even reblog the fic.

i am not going to write your request, that you sent to my dms without asking if i take requests, when i have never once seen you interact with my content.

i am not going to tag you in the sequel that i'm not going to write, when you have not even bothered to notice that the fic you're commenting on doesn't have a tag list.

fic writers are constantly begging for you to reblog our fics. to tell us something you liked about it instead of demanding more. if you're reading on this site, it is safe to assume that you've seen a post like this one.

i am not going out of my way for you when your actions demonstrate that you do not care about the time and effort that goes into my work. that you did not think it was worthy of sharing. so no, i am not writing you a sequel, or a request, or tagging you.

please do better when supporting fan creators. <3

814 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

attention - part two

See the full post

1,486 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

attention | namor x reader

“Please don’t kill Riri,” you step out towards the front of the cell, placing yourself between Namor and your roommate. The g-d has his back to you but you can feel the shift that happens. You’ve caught the g-d’s attention.

Before today, you’d been acquaintances who shared a dorm. Riri had made fun of you for studying folklore and mythology at MIT. You had offered to share your microwave mac and cheese at 2 AM while you crammed for finals.

That feels like it was ages ago now. Riri doesn’t say anything but you feel her tense behind you. She’s a genius after all; with Shuri in the other room and Namor intent on killing her, she has no power over what the g-d chooses to do to you for speaking against him. You are not a genius. Nor are you a princess. And you’re certainly not a g-d. You’re just an idiot who thought her roommate was being abducted and didn’t have the sense not to follow her. Now you’re the prisoner of a Mayan serpent g-d and his blue-skinned merpeople.

Namor turns around slowly, with an air of casualty that strikes a stark contrast to how silent and still the room has gone. His deep brown eyes trail over you, taking in every inch. They spark with something too dangerous to be amusement.

“And who are you?” he asks, his accent flicking over the words like the devil’s forked tongue.

You gulp, but hold your head high. “She didn’t know about your people, she couldn’t have known she’d be putting you in danger.”

He steps forward, the soft pad of his bare feet in contrast with the sharpness of his gaze, the primal grace of his movement. His eyes scan you up and down, taking in every detail of you. You try to hold still, but you’re sure he caught you tensing. The barest hint of smirk tugs at his lips.

“That is not an answer to my question,” he tells you.

He is close enough to the bars of the cell that you can smell saltwater on him, see where it glistens against his exposed golden skin. You’re struck by the idea that this is what it feels like to be caught in a riptide.

“I’ll answer it if you leave her alone,” you reply.

A twitch of his right eyebrow, so quick you’d have missed it entirely if you’d blinked a half second later. Something dangerous glints in the murky depths of his brown eyes. Your veins thrum with the urge to run. You’re glued to the spot. You can’t seem to look away from him, no matter how much Riri tenses behind you, no matter how much your own mind screams at you not to pick a fight with a g-d.

“I asked your name, surface dweller.”

There’s something in his eye. It’s like being swept up in a strong current.

“Y/n,”the words fall from your lips before you’re even aware you conjured them.

“Y/n,” he tries the name on his tongue.

He takes another step towards the bars of your cell, close enough that you can smell the saltwater on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Shuri’s voice echoes on the marble. You don’t glance at her, and neither does he.

“Princess,” he smiles, eyes locked on yours, “I was just meeting your friend.”

He finally, finally turns his head to look at her. The spell is broken. Your eyes dart to Shuri as he moves towards her. Her brow furrows at you, alarms ringing out from behind her eyes. It is then that you realize your eyes are wide. It is then that you realize your chest is heaving.

You watch Namor’s back as he moves to Shuri, his gait less predatory than it had been a minute ago when he advanced on you.

“Come,” he tells her. “We have much to discuss.”

The two of them walk to the door, which he gestures for her to move through first. His eyes catch yours again. His smirk is foreboding, an omen only a g-d could conjure. Your mind begs you to look away. You ignore the omen and the pleading and hold his gaze again. The smirk widens. He walks out the door.

You’re struck with the terrible feeling that this isn’t the last of your interactions with Namor. You’d acquired the attention of a g-d. It is not lost so easily.

part two

2,684 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

it’s getting to be that time of year again so this is a friendly reminder to fanfic writers:

not everyone celebrates christmas

christmas is not synonymous with winter or coziness

calling explicitly non-christian characters/people "scrooges" or "grinches" for not celebrating christmas or not “being in the christmas spirit” is not chill

erasing an explicitly non-christian character/person’s identity by having them participate fully in christmas with no thought to their own religious/cultural traditions is not chill

i'm glad y'all are having fun with your holiday! just please be respectful to the people for whom it isn't a holiday.

19,553 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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tagsforbookcontent · 7 months

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Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Status: Unfinished. Book 4/5.

Summary:

Chosen from birth to usher in a new era, Poppy’s life has never been her own. The life of the Maiden is solitary. Never to be touched. Never to be looked upon. Never to be spoken to. Never to experience pleasure. Waiting for the day of her Ascension, she would rather be with the guards, fighting back the evil that took her family, than preparing to be found worthy by the gods. But the choice has never been hers.

The entire kingdom’s future rests on Poppy’s shoulders, something she’s not even quite sure she wants for herself. Because a Maiden has a heart. And a soul. And longing. And when Hawke, a golden-eyed guard honor bound to ensure her Ascension, enters her life, destiny and duty become tangled with desire and need. He incites her anger, makes her question everything she believes in, and tempts her with the forbidden.

Forsaken by the gods and feared by mortals, a fallen kingdom is rising once more, determined to take back what they believe is theirs through violence and vengeance. And as the shadow of those cursed draws closer, the line between what is forbidden and what is right becomes blurred. Poppy is not only on the verge of losing her heart and being found unworthy by the gods, but also her life when every blood-soaked thread that holds her world together begins to unravel.

Words: ~ 205260 | 622 Pages

Rating: E

Warnings: violence, sex scenes

Category: F/M | F/M/M

Relationships: Poppy/ Hawke

#submission #Blood and Ash #Jennifer L. Armentrout

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booksandwords · 11 months

Text

The Kite by N.R. Walker

Read time: 1 Day Rating: 5/5 Stars

The Quote: “You and me; double hit. They want us dead. You’re a kite, and your government just cut you loose.” — Asher Garin

Warnings: N.R. provides two in The Kite. “on-page physical and gun violence. Reader discretion advised." and "This book is intended for an adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit content, and adult situations.”

Let me say the story of Asher Garin and Tim “Harry” Harrigan is not cute and fluffy despite the grump/sunshine trope, okay it is cute. N.R. Walker provides readers of The Kte with two different warnings. "Caution: on-page physical and gun violence. Reader discretion advised." and "This book is intended for an adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit content, and adult situations." Note the character's jobs before reading, an Australian government mercenary and a nomadic assassin. These are strong, hard, ruthless men, who have absolutely few qualms with taking lives for money and certainly none for self-preservation. Asher isn't entirely hard, Harry kinda is. They are great characters. Suiting their tropes, societal positions and feel like Walker's writing as I have come to know it. That said even if you like N.R Walker's writing this may not be for you. I do recommend this if you want your grump/sunshine dynamic with a little more bite. It's a pleasing take on assassins in love.

Asher Garin is an enigma. The more information he reveals about himself the less it feels like you know. His lack of history and his statelessness are both intriguing. Four is devoted to him, loyal to a fault. He almost feels like a prism, he shows you only what he or maybe you want to see. His natural charm and charisma are offputting, they prevent both characters and readers from thinking too much. I do have two favourite elements of him he was a language prodigy (be still my heart) and his guns are his family. There are two great moments of Asher with guns. “Hello, pretty baby,” he said. “Christ,” Harry mumbled. “You always talk to your guns like that?” (Asher and Harry). This is Asher talking to his MP7, which is a whole other thing, that is not a small gun. "He handled those weapons like a well-versed lover. It was hot." (Harry) I may not like guns, but I do love competency. I usually have a preferred hero in novels, in this one it was Asher, he made me think as such I can write much more on him than Harry. sorry not sorry

Tim “Harry” Harrigan (referred to nearly exclusively as Harry) is an Australian mercenary. He is angry, and hurting and just wants revenge. He wouldn't mind some answers as to why he's been doing the kills he's been doing for the last handful of years but he can take or leave them but he wants revenge on whomever he can get his hands on for making him work for the bad guys. He grew up in a decent family until the inevitable happened... homophobic parents + gay son = disowned and beaten son. The funniest moment to me as an Australian was the moment with Harry, Asher and the tattoo. “Is that some kind of kite tattoo?” Asher asked. Harry, with his permanent scowl, looked down at his chest. “It’s not a kite. It’s the Southern Cross, the stars on the Australian flag. And I’m not a kite. For fuck’s sake.” The Southern Cross made sense. “You are a kite,” Asher said. “Whether you like it or not.” Only an Australian author would write this. Southern Crosses are a big thing in Australia a sign of pride or rebellion (or both). Honestly, he kinda feels like everything an angry Australian fighter should, just with some brains and an eye for short-term strategy. told you this would be so much shorter than Ashers

Their grump/sunshine dynamic is fun and goes to places I didn't expect. Asher knows how to push buttons and likes to do it just to provoke a response. Honestly, there is something seriously fitting though perhaps bizarre in his lovemap. Arguments and violence as foreplay and almost brutally violent sex, at least the first time he's with Harry. This is so confronting for Harry especially when he caves and just gives Asher what he wants, the guilt is immense. I appreciate the contrasts in support bases, family lives and backgrounds. With Asher, I'm not sure I've ever read a true nomad or stateless character, what we do see of his background is heartbreaking. Those who are close to him he trusts with his life. Harry similarly has few people in his life but trusts no one, his family are awful. I find the choice to make Asher the more measured one, the cold one, the distance shooter is right. Harry has the emotion to burn, is that an Australian thing? That passion we picked up over the years. He is suited to closer combat, not a brawler per se which implies a loss of control, but just a more personal style. Even their take on the endgame reflects their personalities.

Some quotes and comments and there are a lot of them.

It had been so long since he’d set foot on Australian soil, he’d almost forgotten what home felt like. He longed for a life that wasn’t his. Wasn’t this. At first the longing was fleeting, no more than a whisper, but it sang a little louder now. In the quiet darkness of night or the patient wait for a kill. — This is such pretty phrasing. Harry and his slight homesickness is one side of their home coin. But this is also quite an Australian vibe to me. (Harry)

Seeing his eyes flash with recognition, with steel, had been unexpected. Pressing him against the wall in the dark was another bonus. Dangerous, exciting. Hot. — This is Asher's response to Harry's reaction to being saved. He does admit he's always found Harry attractive (feeling mutual). Asher has a slightly seemed up lovemap. But to be honest Harry's was "The fact he was pointing a gun at Harry’s head didn’t help. Harry shouldn’t have found that so hot . . .". These are men who live around guns, who are comfortable with them. Honestly again on the whole competency thing that is what I find attractive.

“When we got old.” Harry’s gaze cut to Asher’s. “Old? I’m thirty-six. How old are you?” Asher shrugged. “Thirty-three.” More or less. “We’re not old.” “That’s retirement age in our industry.” “Is that why they’re retiring us?” “Probably.” Asher sighed. “Been in the game too long. Know too much, seen too much. We don’t move like we used to. We become a liability.” — I don't know why I like this line so much but I do. It just feels like a brutal truth that is hitting them. Though Asher feels older than he is, he doesn't even know how old he is. (Asher and Harry)

“Are you done checking me out?” Asher looked him over once more. “No. Damn.” Harry cocked his head. “You like what you see?” “The fuck is not to like?” — Asher is shameless and I love him. But seriously down boy. Inappropriate timing. (Harry and Asher)

And yet, there was Asher sampling every country’s culture that he visited. In between sniping people, that was. Harry was having a little trouble reconciling the two personas: touristy Asher, the guy who loved the food and the people, and the Asher who could pop a target from a mile away with a twenty-knot side wind. — The dichotomy of Asher. The gorgeous tourist and the seriously competent killer. Not to mention he can switch languages like most people change shoes. Honestly, it's all kinds of appealing to me as a reader. (Harry)

Harry was every bit his type. And he didn’t mind playing flirty games with Harry. He was easy to rankle, and it excited Asher to have Harry glare at him the way he did. He could just imagine Harry stalking toward him, furious and demanding . . . Asher had to wonder just how far he had to push Harry to make that happen. He was thinking it wasn’t far at all. — Asher's mind. I like the way in which Walker has chosen to write him. Light playful and loving life. Teasing. (Asher)

“To, čo by som ti dovolila, aby si mi urobil.” Harry fumed. “I don’t even know what fucking language that was, let alone what you said.” Asher grinned. “Want me to translate?” “No.” “I can.” “I want you to shut the fuck up.” — This is made so fun by the Slovak phrase Asher actually says. It translates as "What I would let you do to me". This after Asher has riled Harry up...again. Asher loves to say things like this in languages he knows Harry won't understand. (Asher and Harry)

He risked a look at Asher, his face pressed against Harry’s shoulder. His olive skin, his dark lashes, his pink lips . . . God, Asher’s mouth was nothing but trouble. Beautiful, talented trouble. — I'm a woman of simple pleasures... this visual is one of them. *sigh of appreciation* (Harry)

As he watched Asher sleep, Harry could feel something under his ribs, something he’d never felt before. A need, an ember to begin with but beginning to burn a little warmer. The need to protect him. — This and the previous quote are actually one after the other. This protective side of Harry is something I didn't expect, they are solo workers. And given how we meet Harry? This was unexpected. (Harry)

Harry wasn’t sure if this was fun or insane. Maybe a little of both. It was also turning him on. The push and pull, the challenge. The physicality. The way Asher smirked, the way he seethed. The way fighting turned Asher on. It was all hot. So yeah, it was definitely both. Fun and insane. — I keep saying Asher's lovemap is a little warped, I think Harry's is too. But unlike Asher, I can't figure out the potential source for it. (Harry)

“Vigilantism, extortion, blackmail. Pretty sure that makes you the bad guys.” Asher laughed. “We’re all bad guys, Harry. You and me, we are the bad guys.” He shook his head, amused. “You kill for your government. I kill for anyone’s government. They might call it service or honourable duty, but it’s all murder.” — One of the two ethical quotes I've included. Both of them are kinda dark but still, the ethical questioning and the idea that they are human is a welcome near necessary inclusion. (Harry and Asher)

“You would let me go in by myself?” Asher almost sounded offended. “Solo. You’d be more solo than Han and the lemon drink combined.” — This is their couple humour, jokes and references and teasing. By this point, Harry is not letting Asher go. No matter what he says. (Asher and Harry)

“Do you think guys like us will ever be allowed to live a normal life? Do we even deserve it?” “What we deserve is up to our makers. It’s not for us to decide. Anyway, who is responsible for the puppet’s behaviour? The puppet or those who work the strings?” “We’re the ones who pull the trigger.” “If we didn’t, someone else would. Always. This game we play has been played for thousands of years. Only the field changes, that’s all. It’s political and dirty.” Asher sighed. “And there are rarely any winners.” — I like the voice Asher has been given. The mind he's been given it iare so appealing to me. These are the two sides of the coin in a way. That we all know this really happens makes me kinda depressed. (Harry and Asher)

🤦🏼‍♀️This review is a hot mess. Thank you to anyone who reads it. But suffice to say I adore this book and I think it may be my fave N.R. to date. 😘

#the kite #n.r. walker #read 2022 #ktreviews #book review #readaustralian #spoilers on goodreads #tw guns #booklr

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carnal-lnstinct · 2 years

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Divinely Favored: Valentine’s Day Fic

Pairing: Goku x Chi Chi x Female Reader ( God of Destruction ) / Referenced Goku & Vegeta x Female Reader Rating: Mature / 18+ AO3 Warning: ( canon divergent, explicit language, canon-typical violence, threesome f/f/m, mirror foreplay, body worship, cockwarming mentioned, manipulation/gaslighting, implied/referenced cheating, implied/referenced drug use (eating Elysia Fruit), and dubious consent present ) A/N:I have rewritten this one three times and I can only be satisfied with the ending results because I refuse to touch this again! It was getting too long and I had to stop it somewhere, so while a lot was cut, the implications of how it goes are there. I did want Chi Chi to get into a fighting spirit along the way but it wasn’t in the stars for this one. She’s another character I have never really written before but hope to get better at.

[ Prologue ] [ Gift Reveal ] [ Adoration: I Choose Goku! ]

February 12th

Chi Chi stood outside her home having just waved off her two sons, Gohan who had just stopped by to drop off some extra groceries, and Goten on his way to Bulma’s home to join Trunks’ trip with his grandparents. The two half saiyans had become little dots far off in the sky when you made your presence known to her.

“Hello, Chi Chi.” You greeted her alone, frightening her as she quickly turned to look your way.

“O-oh! Lady (y/n).” She clutched her scarf at her chest and breathes a sigh of mild relief at your presence. But then a look of worry takes over. Something’s wrong. It has to be wrong if you had come here directly, some universal danger is about to take place and her long fear of her family’s peace being disturbed was rearing it’s head again. She gulps but quickly corrects her initial reaction with a respectful bow towards you. “I-I’m surprised to see you here of all places. I take it you’re looking for Goku, aren’t you?”

“No, not really. Just dropping off his gift.”

Chi Chi breathes a heavy, grateful sigh of relief. “A gift, is all?” She straightens out and curiously tilts her head at you seeing the decorated basket hanging at your arm. That must be it. “Oh! Alright then, I can take that for you.”

“Sure.” You slide the basket off your arm and place it into her waiting hands, in no time she peeled back the cloth to inspect the insides of it. Your brow arched at that, was she not going to take it straight to Goku first? It could have been a severed head declaring war in there for all she knew. His affairs are hers, you presume. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was the head of the household if you spent more than 5 minutes in their presence. “I had to ensure it got to you for your Valentine’s day.”

That piqued her interest further, but what Chi Chi found inside the basket just caused her thin brows to furrow in her inspection. “A single fruit? Is this a real golden fruit?”

“The Golden Fruit of Lovers, my dear.” You informed with a blithe smile.

“Fruit of lovers?!” Chi Chi gaped looking back and forth between you and the fruit. She didn’t hesitate to pull it out and hold it up to her eyes for a better view, admiring the way the sun reflected off its bright skin. It didn’t even look real to her, like some decoration more than a fruit. “Goku what could you possibly be up to with this?” She murmured to herself, then took careful steps towards you with her round dark eyes looking for further insight into her husband’s intent and the gift’s purpose. “Lady (y/n), Ma’am, can you tell me why you’re giving this to Goku? Did he really ask you for this?”

You grinned, something in her demeanor you found familiar to her husband. Something cute. It was endearing to see after the many times you witnessed her cause the man to shrink and shiver at just a frown. This was refreshing. You give her a casual shrug and fold your arms under your chest. “It’s in the name, Chi Chi. The saiyan wishes to charm for the affections of his wife, of course.” You reassured her. “This is what I have been lead to believe about Valentine’s Day.”

A small sound catches your attention and you look towards the home seeing the front door creak open.

“Hey Chi Chi, I can’t find my scarf anywhere. Have you se-” Goku had suddenly popped his head out the front door beseeching his wife’s assistance when he saw the two of you standing there. You could see his soul retreat from his body when his eyes locked on you, making you leer at him with your coy smile as Chi Chi turned to him as well. Someone still hasn’t adjusted from your last encounter with a jolt like that. Chi Chi waved him over to her side. In this moment, she was more relieved to see him than vice versa, hoping that his presence would make talking to you a lot easier to handle than being alone with you with your well-known temperament. But the saiyan didn’t budge at her beckoning, instead trying to retreat back behind the door.

“Hello, Goku.” You greeted him in an almost whimsical tone, hinting at your mischief. “Been a while.”

“Goku, come greet Lady (y/n) properly!” Chi Chi urged, “This is the God of Destruction of our entire universe and she’s personally come to our home for you.” Goku shrinks enough behind the door that his fingers were still visible along the edge and the tallest parts of his hair still stuck out but yielded regardless to her commanding tone. The door widens further and he leaves it open behind him, shuffling over in a jacket and scarf short of his full work attire. That’s even more refreshing. His arms are held awkwardly in front of him and he’s lightly hunched over in his approach. Goku joined Chi Chi’s side and bends over further in a poor attempt to bow at you.

“H-Hey Lady (y/n), ma’am. What are you doing here?” The saiyan gently asks, speech quite stiff as well, straightening himself up enough to look at you.

“I gave Chi Chi your Valentine’s Day gift as promised. Remember?”

“O-Oh yeah. How could I forget about that.” He lets out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. You roll your eyes at his poor nonchalant attempt, turning your attention back to the woman and folding your arms behind your back now.

“Would you care to know more about it, Chi Chi?” You offered to her. “It has a very attractive history. There’s is an important detail I want to discuss about it as well.”

“Yes! Please -Uh, come in, come in! You must be starving from coming so far just to drop it off. I’d love to hear more!” Chi Chi quickly links her arm around Goku’s and gestures with her other to their front door. “We welcome you to our home!” You’ve heard good things about her cooking from Goku, but never had a chance to try it. An opportunity you shouldn't squander. It even came with the entertainment of watching the lively saiyan divulge into a squirming mess of himself. You nod your head at them and Goku’s shoulders dropped in defeat as you walk to the open front door of their humble abode.

“I suppose I could eat.” You chimed.

This was new territory, you had never actually been to Goku’s home. Bulma’s was more accommodating for the usual gatherings while Goku’s seemed just cozy enough for his little family and maybe one or two extra guests. There was a lot of open space outside, however. If they wanted to expand their home they certainly had room to. But this was nice, you can sense there was a lot of care and devotion put into this home by the decorations.

To top it off, it smelled delicious inside. You picked up on the smell when it followed Goku out the door, but it consumed the very air in here, wafting in each turn of your head. There was something very comforting in the atmosphere here with the inviting smell of fresh food and the intimate spaces for gathering. You don’t get too much of a tour as Chi Chi sat you at their table while encouraging Goku to sit with you for company while she stepped away to prepare the food. Goku complied, but sat at the farthest end away from you and tried his best to avoid your stare. Was the sight of you alone too much to bear even after all this time? Not for the one who claimed his victory as easy before the game even started. A divine cockwarming with no payoff will do that. Oh, and did he whine for it. The saiyan flinched at the sound of your nail knocked twice against the table, directing his attention. His reluctant eyes slowly turn your way.

“You don’t think I know when your cock’s hard, Goku? That’s a little obscene, I guess a month was too long for you after all.” You cooed at him, voice low enough to catch his ears across the table. You hadn’t seen him behave so worked up and delicate in a while. He certainly had his submissive moments with you, but there was usually still some fight left in him. Now he just looks like he’s two seconds away from making a mess of his cute little outfit if you even thought to touch him. Bet he’d kill for his blue apron right now. Goku sinks a little in his chair at your words, arms tight to his side and tense all in shoulders and spine. “Oh... Are you hiding it from Chi Chi?” She must have caught on, insisting him to sit to hide the tent in his pants, but perhaps the why is still elusive to her. He hadn’t exactly shown the most grace or subtlety since finding you with her. You side-eye the pathway to the kitchen with a light chuckle.

“You are not hiding it from her.”

Goku shuts his eyes and bites into his bottom lip in his fidget. You’re just here to drop off the gift and tell her more about it, then you’re off, he reassures himself. He can endure that. Then he could find the means to calm his body. Meditation and distracting himself with work had gotten him this far. But it all easily came crashing down at the sight of you again. Like he had instantly lived through all of your intimate moments in a blink of an eye and his diligent self-control went out the window, almost full mass when your voice reached him. Smiling at him the way you did like you knew then as well- you always know, and he falls into it every time. His cheeks flushed, picking out his words before speaking. “Well... Since you brought the fruit for Chi Chi now,” He started, lifting his head up more to look directly at you. ”Does this mean I can-”

“No.” You calmly cut him off. “It’s not Valentine’s Day yet.”

His heart sank and his hands find the edge of the table in a firm grip as he leaned forward. “B-But it’s almost! And I have to go to work! I-I... can’t go like this.” Goku whined looking down at himself. He’s foolish enough to heedlessly do many things at a moment’s notice, but not enough to go through the Farmer’s Market in this condition.

“Hm.” You hum, coy and dismissive, turning your eyes to look around the home again when Chi Chi came out with a large bowl of rice she placed in front Goku that almost matched his seated height at the table.

“Goku didn’t mention anything about a Lovers Fruit for Valentine's day to me. Was it meant to be a surprise?” Chi Chi beams knowingly at her husband, then briefly looked saddened. “Oh no, and I suppose I just ruined it two days early. I’m sorry, Goku.” She wrapped her arms around his exposed shoulders and fondly nuzzled her cheek against his. “I had a feeling you might be up to something with how weird you have been acting lately. Aww, My dear husband trying to be so romantic for Valentine’s day, this is so unlike you to be so spontaneous about this sort of thing!” She giggled as she playfully messed his hair in her snuggling.

It took every force in you not to snicker at how red Goku’s face had become from her innocent contact before she released him. “He was excited to get it for you.” You smiled cordially to her as she sat down beside him encouraging him to start eating before work. It was all he could do to try and settle himself, able to hide his face behind the large bowl and just stuff his mouth with her delicious cooking.

“You know this is actually kind of nice. I never thought I would be serving a God of Destruction at my own home. Bulma’s lead me to believe you were a- uhh, aah.” Chi Chi stumbled away from the crude terms the Brief Heiress spoke. “-T-That you had a distinguished taste in food! I don’t know how I can compete with the fancy food she’s served you and Whis.”

“...Did she, now.” Your expression deadpans knowing full well that big mouth woman had no better taste in her words with your back turn, but Bulma’s not a problem for today. The corner of your mouth teases a smile in response. “Don’t fret about that, yours comes with better company. I’m surprised a single human can serve this much. I guess I don’t really know you, Chi Chi. I’d like to fix that if your food tastes as delightful as it smells.” You then lean forward with your arms folded atop the table and a curious tilt of your head at her. “Tell me something, the one who goes by Ox King from Bulma’s Birthday party. I hear he is your father. So you are actually a princess?”

Chi Chi nods and gives a modest shrug of her shoulders. “I’m not going by “Princess Chi Chi” or anything like that anymore, but yeah that's true. My Father is the Ox King of Fire Mountain.” She stood up at the ding of a bell from the kitchen, excusing herself to get the rest of the food.

“A princess bred from a land of fire... So that’s what I sense from you.” You murmur to yourself as she disappears into the kitchen, then your eyes flick back to Goku and a deviant chuckle is given. “And she knows you’re hard by the way. She’s cute about it.” The table rocked at the way he jumped in his seat, the saiyan letting out a frustrated groan.

“I'm really gonna lose it at this rate...” Whined as he flopped his head down next to his bowl, curling in on himself. Knowing now that Chi Chi does know just made his cock twitch in its confines. It’s not fair! Having you both around him and unable to do anything about it was torture. Two more days seem so far away to him right now. “M-Maybe I can a-a little? Please?”

“Behave. You’re not an animal, Goku. Eat.” You dismissively wave your fingers at him.

The rest of the portions brought out by Chi Chi came faster than the giant bowl of rice and the smell was immaculate. Once she served everyone and joined you at the table, she eyed the basket multiple times between eating. Goku certainly tried to continue to eat to distract himself, but you couldn’t help but notice her wandering eye to the basket.

“Enticing, isn’t it?” You draw her attention to you, swallowing down the last of your serving from the lovely meal. Out of curiosity to a human’s temptation, you supported her fascination. How else could you truly learn about her than to do so explicitly? “Why not give it a taste? It’s yours.” You gesture to it encouragingly. Chi Chi’s eyes slowly went back to the basket, then she pulled it closer to her. Her hand hesitates to reach again before she could pull the cloth off and she shakes her head.

“No, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even know about this yet, I feel guilty for spoiling the surprise.” She admitted. You push her temptation again.

“There will be plenty of it left for your Valentine’s occasion, a bite is all you really need. Besides, it wouldn’t devalue the meaning behind it for just a taste.” You coaxed her further, edging the basket closer to her. “I find it hard to believe Goku would be upset if you did. I recall him having worries you may not like it.” You give her an encouraging nod and she eases her hand over the basket once more but hesitates again, this time looking to her husband for guidance.

“You can eat if you want Chi Chi.” Goku’s able to utter through his stuffed cheeks, clearing his mouth with a big gulp and wiping his bare wrist across his mouth. “I really do hope you like it, but I just wanted it to make you happy.”

Her cheeks quickly filled with a shade of pink to match her painted lips and she clasped her hands to her face as if to mask the warmth in them. “Oh Goku, always so sweet. You’re making me blush like we’re kids again! I’m always happy as long as I have you by my side, Goku.” He beams proudly at her in return.

Ah, you get it now. They’re both a handful. A giddy pair of lovebirds, perfect for each other. Yet you feel you’re going have to double down on your destruction to counter the amount of cuteness you’re enduring for a tasty meal and indulged curiosity.

“You didn’t have to go through the trouble of having Lady (y/n) bring this for me.” Chi Chi pulls the Elysia fruit from the basket with more confidence and holds it in her hands. She takes a moment to admire it, finding its likeness to the expensive candied apples in the stores when she goes shopping with Videl and 18. She goes in for a rather generous bite, unprepared for the spill of warm juice that filled her mouth and the deep sweet flavor that tingled on her taste buds. She drinks in the juice and carefully removes her mouth from the fruit to not spill the excess, chewing up her bite but pausing when a seed got caught up.

“-You swallow the seed whole for luck, too.” You wag a finger at her to discourage discarding it and lean your cheek into your palm for what was underway. “Good, yes?”

Chi Chi answers with a delighted hum, placing a polite hand over her mouth as she chewed up the rest of the fruit, careful of the seed, and swallowed everything down as instructed. “That is good. I’ve never had anything like it before!” She found it refreshing despite its warm texture for a fruit, it may be even better than those candied apples in the store. They would really bring in some money if Goku could grow these. She hums again with a slight giggle at the lingering flavor, licking across her painted lips.

“Is it really? Can I taste it too?” Goku eyed the fruit with bright eyes and tongue licking the corner of his mouth as well.

“No, Goku.” You sharply object. “We thought about that, Whis and I, and find your saiyan nature unfit for the fruit. Even for the likes of you. So don’t even think about it.” You warn with a menacing leer, causing the saiyan to stiffen in his seat and nod. There was no telling what hazards a thrill-seeker like him would cause with lowered inhibitions, let alone in his current state. Any fool who put out a professional assassination hit on himself and befriends divine beings capable of erasing the entire universe wouldn’t be eating it on your watch. You would destroy him first. “Chi Chi, I am trusting that you will not let that happen.” She can see you’re serious about this and nods in agreement as well. Goku’s good for finding trouble from nothing which she’s all too familiar with, she’s not going to be the one to tempt your wrath over a fruit by letting him eat it.

“-Oh wait, you never told me what exactly it does, Lady (y/n).” She points out placing the leaking fruit back inside the basket. “Is it like a fountain of youth sorta thing? Or maybe a love potion?” Your eyes flick to her, flashing a quick smirk.

“Ah, right. Well, like I said before Chi Chi, it is the fruit of lovers. It’s...more like a “love muse”. You can imagine the taste alone is to linger on your tongue like a darling’s embrace.” Leaning back in your chair your head cranes in a small tilt. “But it mostly refines the pleasures of the flesh.”

She blinks doe-eyed at you silently for a moment, thin brows slowly knitting with concern. “...P-Pleasure? As in... “pleasure”?”

“M’hm.” You hum to her with a single, affirming nod. “Pleasure.” You see that shade of pink fill her cheeks again, so you continue to explain. “Well, pleasure can take many forms, you would be surprised to find what one is willing to embrace or surrender of one’s self... when one can allow themselves to accept these pleasures.” Though you don’t see her throwing herself into any orgies any time soon. “The fruit can also open your passions. It gives you freedom to be you.” Freedom you can only assume she needed from the confines of her own self, this domesticated shell crafted around her fiery soul. Who is Chi Chi beyond wife of Goku and mother of two half-saiyan sons? Maybe she’ll be inspired to find that person again herself. This experience slowly started to piece together for you what you don’t know about Chi Chi as a person, who she was, what she chose to become, and who she could have been all wrapped up in a neat bun accented by the defiant, wispy strands.

You set down your eating utensils and take hold of your teacup with a small sip. “I just think the fruit’s effects will speak for itself. Don’t worry, you are in good hands.” She did take quite a big bite out of it. Your head tilts from one side to the other looking at her, Chi Chi appearing unsettled and flushed. Still stuck on “pleasure” despite everything else you said. Was the idea of sudden physical pleasure too frivolous and depraved to a mother of two with a husband who fucks like Goku? That “innocent” hug she gave didn’t fool you for a second, the stolen closeness and sudden desire to touch knowing she recognized his aroused temperament is a blatant plea for affection. There was no need to shy away now when the shoe was about to be on the other foot.

Goku said he wanted it for her to make her happy, yet maybe that wasn’t the right word. She does seem happy with him, just longing. Perhaps her passions were indeed unsatisfied. Wanting to be adventurous in life and in love, maybe to be treated like the romantic princess of fairy tales, yet ground in the reality of being accountable for others. You see her eyes inch to the side toward Goku still eating and it was like she changed another shade of red. Oh, the poor thing. The adventurous blaze may not be lost on her yet.

As you sit up straight and settle your cup back down, Chi Chi gives off a sudden shudder and redden cheeks become hidden behind her hands once again. You smirk again. She then lets out a gasp, taking her own tea in hand and gives it a humble sip before drinking it down.

“Chi Chi?” Goku caught it too this time, setting down his plate and utensils to observe her.

“I’m fine, I just-... I felt strange for a moment.” She poorly reassures, adjusting her collar against her neck and loosening the scarf around her shoulders.

His large hand reaches over and places on her shoulder to comfort her, yielding a tremulous breath as Chi Chi almost flinches away from the warming touch. Though not deterred entirely from it. She places her own hand upon his, mentally grounding herself with the feel of him and another controlled, deep breath. You didn’t joke about the potency of the fruit. Swallowing the seed alone was a steady, but inevitable fall from a lucid reality to one of self-satisfaction. Eating it and then proceeding to linger on the idea of physical pleasure wasn’t going to slow it down. In their current states, they couldn’t be anymore in the right place at the wrong time for each other with Goku’s special predicament.

You stand up from your seat in a single, graceful motion, walking over to her side, and leaned your hip against the table, placing your hand on her other shoulder in your hovering. She reacts the same, though hesitant to touch your hand. She does, however, drawn to your warmth as well with a delicate caress of her fingertips across your knuckles. You test this further, lifting your hand enough to smooth your knuckles along her jaw, where she subtly turned into it in response before realizing her actions and turning away with a muffled grunt. Oh...She’s very cute. T The large dark eyes of the saiyan look to you as Chi Chi focused on just breathing and steadying her disposition. “Lady (y/n), is Chi Chi going to be okay?”

Your gaze lifts from her to Goku and you give him another of your dismissive hums, stepping back enough to lean across the edge of the table at Chi Chi’s side, then imploring her attention with a hand turning her head towards you. You are, however, immediately denied her eyes when she squeezed them shut. She can stand many things and won’t back down from any challenge, yet your imposing aura and eyes are overwhelming for her right now. To even look at you feeling the heat rise under the surface and skin sensitive to even such kind touches, she’s not sure what’s going to happen. She felt unexpectedly small and intimidated in her own space, her hands now clutched together at her chest from your’s and Goku’s closeness. You are able to pry one of her hands from her tight clenching, holding it between your own hands. “Of course she will. You don’t have to fight it, Chi Chi. The seed is delicate once consumed, but your reaction is normal. It has to run its course." You tilt your head toward her, Chi Chi lets out a whimper feeling your forehead bump hers, trying to shrink away from the intimate contact. Her fingers curl into her palms as she shudders once again. She’s still trying to hold it in. “ Pleasure will take form for you. Who convinced you to bottle up your fire, Princess?”

Her legs shift under the table and she parts her lips as yet another shudder falls from them. She finds it in herself to reopen her eyes when you draw back enough, a haze in their dark reflection. Locked on you, tracking you as pull back and tug her arm with you encouraging her to stand up. “Come here.” You guide her to her feet and over to a long mirror hanging on the wall where you stand her in front of it to look at herself. Chi Chi gingerly touches her face seeing the glow in cheeks and how indecent her expression was. This was unbecoming, she thinks. No respectable, proper woman should wear such a face outside of the bedroom. When she goes to cover her face you move behind her and grab both her wrists pinning her hands down beside her.

“No, no. You can’t run out of your own body, dear. And you can’t hold that inside you. It’s simply mad.”

“I-I shouldn’t-” She tried to turn her head away but you quickly cup her chin and hold her head straight.

“I think it’s beautiful. Because it’s honest. It’s your natural state.” Her eyes jump to yours in the mirror as a smirk filled your features again, changing your tone somewhere between soft and alluring. “It’s sexy, as any woman who unapologetically bears her essence to the world should be as you do, and it’s powerful.” You brush your thumb across her chin, then pressed it into the plush warmth of her bottom lip where you trace it from end to end bringing her to part them invitingly, but pulling away at the last moment. “Your cooking may bring Goku back home, but I can see that is not what is keeping him around, Chi Chi. There's a wildfire inside you and it needs to breathe. It is not my place to give advice on such affairs, but I personally would hate to see such power bottled up just to be palatable for others like some trinket on a shelf... Your wrath is feared for a reason, my dear.” Anyone with a sense of ki could detect the woman channeled her energy like the other Earth warrior sometimes. It’s not on the level of the Bald One nor the Old Master at this moment in time, but she does have something noteworthy compared to other humans. It distinguishes her to you, defines her a little bit better in your eyes. This pretty face could have shook this world had she kindled her fiery spirit, yet her charming heart must have sought other conquests.

Chi Chi’s eyes are drawn back to her own reflection when you spoke, almost mesmerized by her own visage from your perspective, this fire-borne self you depict of her as if you knew her better than she knew herself. Your hand slowly release her other wrist and she makes no movements to shield herself. You bring your fingers to fiddle with the pink ribbon holding all her hair up, a smooth tug and it all comes spilling down her back and shoulders, some falling down her face. She gasps slightly at the weight of her hair around her, a genuine moan escaping her when you raked your hands through it along her scalp. “You are allowed to embrace all your pleasures without decorum. Without modesty...As long as you’re having fun.” You chime to her as she craned her head to your fingers through her soft hair, chuckling at her easy surrender. The Elysia seed definitely has her under its complete enchantment. Goku better watch out, you may actually make use of her instead to keep the Earth alive. “You see? You are a vision like this. Goku couldn’t be luckier to hold a timeless beauty like yours.” Leaning to her ear, you draw her hair away to expose it and allow your lips to ghost the shell of skin to whisper. “Shall we remind him of his fortune?”

Chi Chi’s hands crept to hold herself clinging to the long white sleeves brushing her arms, tugging with discomfort at it on her sensitive skin. Her loosen scarf had long fallen from her, but there were still layers constricting her from the freedom she craved. Having her adoring Goku right now would make this even better. To this, you stroke both her shoulders and look to her gaze in the mirror as she looked to yours. There’s a subtle nod at your reflection, feeling her lean back into you. You look behind you over at Goku watching like he was about to bite blood from his lip and lost in a daze of his own eyeing the reflected visage of you and Chi Chi. His yearning leer flicks up to your eyes when he notices you watching him. He’s the last person you would ever cut some slack with all the troubles he has caused you, but his pitiful looks admittedly have a hold on you too. He has performed better than expected thus far, behaving to the best of his abilities and following your words very closely with only some fussing. You’re not a complete monster.

You gesture your head to him to hither and see a bright spark of excitement cross his eyes, the saiyan knocking over his chair in a rush to get to you and Chi Chi. “He has been a good boy lately, hasn’t he? Doing everything he can to please his darling Chi Chi, as he should.” You extend a hand to grab the hem of his pants pulling him in the rest of the way, fiddling with the belt enough with your fingers to loosen it around his hips and pull it from the loops to drop on the floor. His hands were tempted to help you speed up with opening his pants when you teased the button with a gentle tug. He’s stressed at the way you made it brush his erect cock, that you may just be teasing him again by drawing the fabric back and forth against it, but with a satisfied smirk on your lips you get them open without breaking the button. Then, with relief, the zipper is drawn down too.

And of course you will admire your handy work, helping his cock out and smoothing your palm down the fully erect shaft, and catching the excited twitches in your grasp. Just as you last held it a month ago. Goku can’t help but lean into you, his forehead pressed into the back of your head and sliding down to your nape with a muffled sound and hands grasping your shoulders tightly. You are practically sandwiched between the two of them. It couldn’t be helped that you would offer the same pleasantry to Chi Chi. Your other hand dives beneath her martial arts-esque attire, fingers pressed against her clit through her blue pants and earning an attractive cry from her as well. They’re both as malleable as you thought, chasing their own pleasures without much direction and rolling their hips into the stirs and twists of your hands, further squeezing you between them in the throws of pleasure. For a guest in their home, they’ve certainly got you working.

You nudge Goku with your head and he lifts enough that you could press your lips to his ear. “You may cum when Chi Chi cums. Can you hold out a little longer?”

“No..” The saiyan admits with a whine into the decorated neckpiece around your shoulders. If he could, he would gladly do so being enamored with the way his wife builds to her orgasms. But he’s overstimulated by so much of your handling and the sound of her voice mewling under your hands as well. It never takes much for him and he’s aching for release, pre-cum hanging from the tip of his cock. “I c-can’t anymore. ‘s too much, please-” To that you withdraw your hand from him and instead cradle his wild head to your shoulders, drawing your fingers through his scalp.

“Don’t be selfish. Yes you can. You could do more for her, right?” You inclined him to look forward into the mirror. He does so, seeing the way his wife writhed under your hand to meet your curls, how she stretched her spine against your body, a hand wrapped around your wrist, and her other failing to mask her growing vocals. Lost in her own little world of pleasure she doesn’t even notice you speaking to him. Goku quickly looks away feeling tight in his groin. You pet his hair with a small smile. “She’s almost there, waiting for you.”

“...Y-Yes, yes My Lady.” Goku nods fervently.

“Good boy. Knees.” You ordered, Goku kneeling down at your side without hesitation to which you step back enough to pull Chi Chi to stand in front of him. “Well, I’m no romantic, Chi Chi,” You began in a much louder tone to gather the woman from her spell, your hands reaching around her for the buttons of her vest. “But I do believe this is the part where you are thrown on a bed of roses petals by the white knight and transcend to a plane of everlasting paradise. Unfortunately, we have no such bed.” You grunt, forcing the vest open with an abrupt tug and in doing so ripping the white shirt beneath as well revealing her bra. “But your white knight is dying to have you. Right Goku?”

He looks up at his wife’s exposed skin, how she went to cover herself with he arms but stopped herself, a glance at her body in the mirror making her drop her arms so the remnants of her top layers fall to the floor around her before she looked down to meet his gaze. The shared look between them was a conversation of its own like a language only they knew, husband and wife, and then Goku nods his head at her softly, answering you. “Yes...” The saiyan husked, his hands reaching up to smooth the exposed skin of her sides and belly, then his lips pressed in her skin below her belly button where the remaining layer of clothing remained. He kissed her there the way she liked, yet always tried to hide herself in their pillows or her hands, overcome with her own adorable modesty to indulge any more than she would allow him. “Chi Chi..” He breathes into her skin and looks back up to her, filled with excitement to see her face, while red from his touch, was still watching him. He recreates your force, grabbing the blue pants at her hips and tearing them at the seam to reveal her even more for him. Her voice carries his name to his ears in the sweetest moan, feeding the relentless twitch in his own cock presses into his lower stomach causing him to close his eyes to steel himself from going over the edge. It’s closer to him now if he just holds on a little longer.

Goku feels a hand press into his hair and can tell by the force it is yours, guiding him lower on her body. “Throw yourself into the fire.” You coo at them. Your other hand practically knocks Chi Chi off her balance and once again leaning back into you lifted one of her legs, further exposing her soaked underwear to her husband. He understood, pressing his tongue into the wet stain of her panties and brushing her excited clit with his touch making her moan that sweet sound again. Goku tears those too to free her entirely, burying his face between her thighs to kiss and lick at her oversensitive bloom as she cried out. “That’s it,” You encouraged with a chuckle, pushing on his head to hold him there. Another hand is placed on his head from Chi Chi and digs at the roots of his hair in desperation with the roll of her hips into his mouth, Chi Chi’s voice carried louder, unburdened by her modesty as she crashed into the waves of her pleasure consuming her whole body.

“Look here, now.” You cuffed her chin after she anchored herself to Goku’s head and turned her face back to the mirror. “Look at your wildfire Chi Chi. Is she not beautiful?” Her eyes scanned over the image reflected before her, her own body arched and hips pulled into her husband’s face, how her raised leg gave the perfect view of his learned craft twirling the heat at her core. It was a lot to take in one breath, but the more she watched you all the more heated her body felt. The less her nerves teased at her mind. Seeing herself mewl in pleasure was a luxury she couldn't believe she denied herself. She was never ashamed of her body, but to openly share the pleasure it felt made her feel vulnerable. This was far from it. Your hand brushes her hair from her face letting it fall over her shoulder, Chi Chi felt flattered by the flush in her cheeks. "Goku." He glances up from his handiwork at your voice.

"Look at your wife. Isn't she beautiful like this?" His eyes leave your face peering over her shoulder and leers over the flushed skin from his point of view. He observes more with his hands, reaching up and caressing the contours of her sides back down to her hips, up to the underside of her clothed breasts and back down once again. He lifts his mouth up enough, slick with her arousal and places his thumb to her clit drawing a small, slow circle to keep her pleasure uninterrupted. Something he picked up on from Vegeta while with you once.

“Chi Chi has always been beautiful to me.” He licked his lips, grinning as she turned her face from the mirror to him in response.

“Goku...” Chi Chi breathed, both her hands now digging through his hair lovingly. Her mouth fixed to say something more, but you suddenly steal her attention with a heavy, firm kiss to her hot mouth, right as his thumb pressed just right to her button making her tremble instead and grab at you with one of her hands, hips jerking into his touch as her insides flexed with delight. She released such a whine from her orgasm into your mouth, pressing into his finger when it felt like it was leaving too soon and alleviating its intensity when it struck back and arched her spine back into you. Both her hands gripping at you now, withdrawing your lips from hers with a satisfied chuckle.

“There it is. You really tried to hold that back from us.” You praised her, once again moving hair from her face as she panted and reared her head over your shoulder. You released her leg, letting her find her balance back on two feet and couldn’t help but notice the way Goku had shuddered as well and dipped low, almost hunched around himself. You peer further over Chi Chi shoulder finding his hands trying to grip the floor and just behind his wild hair can make out the spill of cum falling down the opening of his pants. “Aww, you too? Did you do that all for Chi Chi, Goku?”

The consequences for relieving his cock without permission when you forbade it was well etched into him by you and he didn’t want to risk that, but he can’t deny Chi Chi any further than he already has, nor could he deny how intense it was for him to watch you claim her mouth like that. He was already edged toward his limit and you knew it. He could not endure a moment more of you teasing him, using his precious Chi Chi to drain his resolve to your whims. He is weak to her and to you, both of you together like that was an even greater torture. You affectionately run your hands through his head, “It couldn’t be helped, I suppose.” You shrug dismissively, much to the saiyan’s surprise but more to his relief. He raises his head back up, able to grin like the blissful fool he was.

You smile, then whisper into Chi Chi’s ear where she lifts her head to look down at Goku as well. Her eyes warm to the sight of him, her own hand reaching between her soaked thighs. She eases down to her knees in front of him, throwing her body into his arms and crashes her lips onto his, taking in the taste of herself still lingering around his mouth. She moans against his eager kiss as her fingers busied themselves at her clit and when Goku goes to pull her into his chest along with her legs around his hips. He can feel you still close behind her. He may have came at the sight of his wife’s orgasm, but you knew he was far from done. Your hand is beneath them, carefully pumping the rest of his seed from his sensitive cock. His legs lightly shook, groaning into his wife’s mouth, but he felt better as it came. It still managed to hold its firmness with your touch coaxing hardiness back into it, his resilience as impressive as expected. .

You couldn’t help but be tempted to taste, dipping your head and sampling the last bit of his seed hanging from his tip. Your tongue drags around his messy head while your hand lazily stroked along his length. “A shame this one went to waste.” You murmured. But you’ll fix that. Shooing Chi Chi’s hand from her pussy, you replaced it with the revitalized tip of Goku’s cock, spreading her wetness between them, purposely teasing the two, then fitting the head inside her where Goku jerked in response to fully sheathe himself inside with one swift movement. Good to know you’re not the only one who's been at the mercy of his eagerness. Such an abrupt stretch was often a discomfort but you are certain the seed’s hold on her body dulled that, for the action just excited a shaky moan from her. Chi Chi ground her core into his lap, bouncing her hips to a pace of her own to chase that pleasure waving from deep inside her. .

She braced herself with her hands on his shoulders and moved more vigorously, a glimpse of her hidden strength pushing through the surface as Chi Chi uses it to knock Goku onto his back using their weight against him.

What admirable fire. Her hands were now pressed into his chest as she sat up and rolled her body upon his in a shameless, needy display, both of them very vocal in heat of it. You move to the side of them with a smug grin, proud of what came of encouraging her to eat Elysia fruit and what it had brought out of Chi Chi. That was certainly one way to get to know someone. You leaned toward her, offering her your tongue where you left behind bits of Goku’s seed to share and those strong hands pulled you in to claim it with her own. Not missing a beat as she rode her husband. Another pair of strong arms pull you from her, to your surprise, and you’re brought down onto Goku’s chest as he claimed your mouth as well with a demanding kiss. .

He knows you dislike it when he steals kisses like this, but he does want you too. Something left unsatisfied in his very bones from your last intimate session that he can’t let go of and he admittedly finds it unfair how much nicer you treat Chi Chi compared to him and Vegeta. You had not denied him this time, however, in place of a wrathful lashing out you moaned against his mouth, melting into him. “D-Don’t get carried away.” You muttered through your teeth but did not pull away from him. Goku is without a doubt head over heels for his wife and grateful to embrace her with his whole body as she does him in return, yet he couldn’t find complete satisfaction in this moment unless he’s had you too. He’s infatuated with how you feel when you give your body to him and what impulses you shake out of him with the smallest effort on your part. You’ve trained him to please you. He can’t resist the desire to. And you can’t punish him for his boldness to do so. It is even with Chi Chi’s help that you are stripped in the same manner she was and his large fingers find your wet folds, wasting no time exciting your core with his touch.

More than anything in this moment, he could want nothing more than to share his pleasure with you and Chi Chi. The thought alone excites him. At this rate, he may change his mind about how to spend his 24 hours.

#My writing #goku x reader #gochi #goku imagine #dbz imagine #dbz fics #dbz #dbs #Dragon Ball Z #dragon ball super #nsft #lemon #*DWD

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 8 (Conclusion) [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 8 summary: Being alive with you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for this chapter: breaking and entering, violence, murder, guns, light angst, minor burn injury, reader feels neglected, dave makes amends, pussy-eating god dave york, anal fingering, anal sex, lube, light bondage, light sensory deprivation, very protective dave, soft dave, unprotected piv (you know the drill besties), dirty talk, biting, the last of my pretentious literary references (for now), happy ending (it's me what do you expect)

word count: ~ 7.8k

i am deeply sorry for the delay on the very last chapter smh... i wanted it to be as good as possible for y'all and got caught up in my own head. nevertheless, here is the conclusion to THGTGTG, and i cannot thank those who have been reading this series enough for your love and support on every part. i could cry forever about you. and maybe i will!

chapter 8: one deep breath out from the sky

SEPTEMBER

There’s a storm outside tonight.

The warm breeze strips the leaves from the trees and scatters them from its palm with one strong heave of its lungs. The rain raps its knuckles on the windows, demanding entry, the thunder rolling from one end of the city to the other. Streets are washed clean with rainwater and the slick polluting oil by the river glimmers in the colours of the rainbow.

Dave lies awake on his back, his knuckles making idle, gentle patterns up and down your spine, keeping you close to him while you sleep. You lie on your stomach, half of your face buried in the pillow, your lips blissfully parted and your muscles relaxed under his touch. You're the picture of serenity, and he keeps his head turned so he can look at you.

One night, months ago, you kept him up, getting him to talk about his job in the Army, and his disillusionment with the real world when he returned home. He told you about lying on rooftops for days until his back peeled, and he told you about moulting, coming into his new skin every time he assumed a new position, a new country—each mission a brand-new way to discover things he hated about himself, and some things he liked.

Today, his ears remain fine-tuned to the slightest of sounds. It’s why he can hear the faint beeping in his open office from upstairs. A slow, rhythmic, high-pitched chirping that doesn’t stir you whatsoever from sleep, but that has his head whipping toward the direction of the noise.

Someone is tripping the security system.

Dave expertly slips onto his feet without disturbing the comforter, though you shift closer to the warmer side of the bed with a sleepy sound of protest. He mourns being forced to leave when all he wants to do is wrap himself around you, but the hair at the back of his neck prickles, and he chances a glance out the bedroom window, pushing it briefly open.

No cars parked outside that aren’t always there. Nothing amiss. Except—

The sound. He assigned a different alarm to each camera, memorised them all, mapped them in his head. Someone is breaking in through the garage.

He grabs a spare .45 from its hiding place in the walk-in closet and screws an Obsidian suppressor onto the end. If he can do this without waking you, that will be best.

Dave dresses quickly, sweatpants and a T-shirt, not bothering with shoes but slipping on some socks for added silence. Downstairs, all seems quiet. The lights are off, the doors locked, the driveway empty. But inside his office, the alarm trills away.

His gaze sweeps over each camera for slight movements, indicators of misplaced objects, but there is nothing. Or, rather, everything is as it was.

So who is in his home?

Too late to stop it, he hears another alarm trip.

There is no more adrenaline. His heart stops.

The upstairs window. He forgot to close it.

His bedroom window.

I’ve got no use for a world that doesn’t have you.

It rings true. Nothing has ever been truer. He can reach out for it and close his fingers around it.

Terror. This is what it feels like to be afraid.

The man comes stumbling down the stairs—stumbling, clumsy, because you’re putting up one hell of a fight. Dave watches in horror. This is, undoubtedly, triggering some old instinct in you, biting and scratching and kicking at the man who holds you across the shoulders, the barrel of a gun to your temple. You scream and you hiss, demanding things like Let me go and Fucking let go of me, you fucking sick bastard and Don’t fucking touch me and Dave is so horrified that he cannot move.

One cannot truly witness the past. But now, here, he is witnessing exactly what it is like to see you relive every one of those nights someone has stolen you from your bed and taken you away.

Some sick bastard broke into Dave York’s home and stole what is most precious from him. This is a transgression that can seek no repentance, find no grave but a plot made ready in hell. He feels himself scowling, raising the gun—

You draw first blood. Your teeth tear a chunk of flesh from his arm, and he howls, pushing you down the final three steps.

You don’t quite catch yourself right, landing hard on your hip, your head smacking hard against the tile. One look into your dazed eyes and Dave sees fucking red.

The man has the balls to point his gun at you, lying at the bottom of the stairs and attempting to push yourself upright, blinking hard. Your mouth is bloody, and you spit out pinkish saliva. His tiles run red.

“Pretty girl, York,” seethes Vincent Gallo, shaking out the arm you sank your teeth into. “Pretty and soft. Cameras don’t do her justice.”

This is it. Dave’s final conquest.

He promised himself long ago that he would not stop until Vincent Gallo was dealt with. He has committed the cardinal sin, after all.

All you’re wearing is a little silk nightgown, and you must be so cold lying on that floor. There’s a small trickle of blood on your temple and he worries about a concussion with the way you squint up at the man who’s holding the gun to your head.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, spitting another glob of bloody saliva onto his polished shoes. You may not be that hurt, Dave realises. “You fucking cunt.”

Gallo looks down at you for only a second, but a second is all Dave needs. He takes the shot.

It strikes wide; he’s afraid of hitting you. But it does its job: knocking Gallo off-balance, red spiralling outward on his shoulder beneath the crisp white shirt he’s wearing. Somewhere beside the bannister, his gun clatters to the floor, clip ejecting. He staggers down the stairs, and you kick out at him, screaming your vocal chords raw, primal and fucking fed up.

Because he’s smart enough to know that being in proximity to you offers a certain degree of protection, Gallo goes for you first: dragging you upright by your hair, putting your body in front of him.

You let out a soft cry, trying to grab for him, but he pins your arms to your sides, and all you can do is look helplessly at Dave, who no longer has a clear shot.

“Dave, just shoot the goddamn gun,” you say through your teeth, your eyes bleeding with tears as your captor yanks your head back.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spits. “Your boyfriend doesn’t get to come after me and my family without consequences. And you’re both going to learn that.”

“You don’t get to come after me without consequences,” you reply. “You should have learned that by now.”

“She’s right,” offers Dave. “You picked the wrong girl.”

Gallo sneers, pushing you right into Dave’s path as he drops his shoulder and tackles Dave to the ground. It knocks the wind out of him, sending him down hard, but Dave manages to hook his leg around the other man’s and turn them around, pinning his knee to Gallo’s femoral artery. His own gun is too far away to reach without letting the asshole go free.

“Baby, run,” grunts Dave, seeing you scramble to your feet out of the corner of his eye.

“No, baby, don’t,” mocks Gallo, baring his teeth as he brings his fist to Dave’s face. The blow catches him on the jaw, knocking his teeth together. Dave growls, digging his knee into Gallo’s thigh and making him seethe in pain, before throwing a punch to his face. Then another. Then another.

Knuckles split and well with blood. The tension in his shoulders eases with every blow that strikes home, relinquishing all his restraint and finishing the fucking job. He cannot speak. He cannot think. He only sees: the face he's studied for so long, the man who's eluded him for months, has arrived at his doorstep. In a way, Dave feels grateful.

Vincent Gallo has volunteered his life. Dave won't miss the opportunity to take it.

But Dave makes a mistake through his misty-red rage, glancing to the side to see where you've gone. To see if you’re watching him. Gallo thrusts his palm upward and bloodies Dave’s nose, using his new leverage to roll them over.

Gallo’s face is a pulpy mass of purple flesh and crimson and the shine of new bruises. His nose is crooked and he spits his own blood onto Dave’s face, snarling like a rabid animal. The last desperate, dying breath of a condemned man.

The fast, quiet thwip of a suppressed shot. Blood blooming on Dave’s shirt like a flower’s first awakening. Blood that does not belong to him. It's warm. Sticky. Will forever stain.

Gallo slumps over, his face ashen, his grip on Dave’s collar slackening. You drop the gun like it’s on fire.

Your eyes burn and shed tears that turn black. Your trembling hand goes to your mouth, but you only smear the Italian’s blood across your face.

Dave gets to his feet and picks up the gun you dropped. He gently cups your face, urging you to look at him. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “It's over.”

“I…” You point vaguely in Gallo’s direction. “Did I kill him?”

This will not do.

“No.” Dave turns his head, fires the gun, and shoots the man’s brains through the back of his neck. “I killed him.”

“Oh. Good.”

Your eyes are a doe’s, wide and mortified, pupils pinpricks despite the low light. “Dave, my head hurts. I didn't realise it until now, but it fucking hurts.”

“Baby, I know.” He gently guides your head to the side and examines your wound, wincing at the sight of your blood flowing from your temple. “We’re gonna take a drive, okay? Get you some help.”

“Hospital?” you wager.

Not a fucking chance. Hospitals prioritise humanity; he needs to go somewhere that will prioritise precisely whom he chooses. No questions.

Gravely, he shakes his head. You sigh through your nose and squeeze his hand. “I didn't think so.”

He lifts your joined hands. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Don't be an asshole. I need my beauty sleep, Dave York, and it's two in the morning.”

Outside, the storm quiets, the time between the lightning strikes and the thunderclaps stretching wide. “You're the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, “even bloody.”

You roll your eyes and apparently regret it, grasping Dave’s arm. “Okay,” you say weakly. “But I’m napping on the way.”

He’s not going to let you fall asleep, but he nods, wordless, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You did so well, sweetheart. Did exactly what you needed to.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you let yourself breathe in the scent of iron and cologne. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

NOVEMBER

It starts when you unleash your temper on Dave for the first time.

For the past couple months, you've been working with your publicist and agent to sort through the multitude of presses asking for interviews and your lawyer to discuss disputing your father’s will. Not much has moved; all you've managed to accomplish is effectively withdrawing public support. He still has toes in many different ponds that don't rely on goodwill or reputation. But it's something.

You've been tired, irritable, and on top of that, planning a wedding. It's no wonder that you're mad when a week passes and Dave hasn't fucked you.

Your body is humming at a low frequency of restlessness, unable to stay still for long between meetings. Dave has been working around the clock, shut away in his office or out spying on some assholes who may want him dead. When he is home, he misses meals, neglects sleep, and rarely emerges from behind his office door to give you a glimpse of him.

Last night, you poked your head inside his office with your whiteboard held up for Dave to read. DINNER? it read.

He just shook his head and looked down, returning to his books while on the phone with Kovac or Ari or both. You sat alone at the long dining table and poked the food around your plate until it was cold.

You tried to understand. You really tried. He's a busy man and he's working hard to keep you safe. He's trying to be good to you, and sometimes, he gets caught up in his own head trying to fix things.

But you're nothing if not needy when it comes to Dave, and his constant rejections are beginning to sting.

You sent Barry home for the night so you could try your hand at a new recipe. You stir a little bit aggressively under the guise of trying not to burn the garlic, your knuckles taut around the spoon. You're on the phone with Kelly, your planner.

“I don't think peonies are going to mesh well with lilies. The shapes will clash.”

Staring into your bubbling risotto, watching the colours bleed into one another, you hum a faint Uh-huh.

“And as far as colour, it's best to stick with white, but we’ll put some blush pink in to match the rest of the palette.”

“Mhm.” The risotto is beginning to thicken, puffing up like a pastry, close to the rim of the pot. You register it but keep stirring, pouring in the white wine and taking a swig for yourself.

“We have bridesmaids’ dresses on order from Fran’s, and the piano player is requesting a list of selections.”

“Good, good.”

You blink hard as a stinging pressure builds behind your nose. The gentle roiling of the substance in the pot smells sharp enough to prick at your tear ducts. Your eyes feel dry and your back aches.

It is decidedly not risotto. Risotto is thick and creamy and this is browned, burnt, boiling over. You can only watch with tears brimming as it spills onto the burner and whisper a broken, “Talk to you later, Kelly,” into your phone.

Some of the boiling liquid spills onto your leg and you stagger backward, staring through blurred eyes.

“Shit,” says a voice behind you.

Dave is here, quick to shut off the element and guide you away from the stove. “Jesus, baby, what the hell are you doing?”

He notices the burn on your leg first, dropping to one knee at your feet and frowning deep. “Fuck.”

You sniffle. “Reminds me of when you proposed.”

Dave squeezes your hip as he examines the flesh for any signs of blistering. “Yeah?”

“You told me I was beautiful,” you say weakly, your throat tightening, “and you said that… that life was a bad fable before we met. Because I was the first person who taught you anything worthwhile about living.”

Dave swallows thickly, dropping his forehead to your thigh. “Yeah,” he says gruffly.

“You made me take off the ring just so you could put it on yourself,” you croak. The tears are close now. “Now you do the same thing every morning.”

Dave seems to know where this is going, his hands gently rubbing up and down the back of your leg. “Yeah, baby. I do.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and you stare at the ceiling like it's going to close the floodgates. “You didn't do it this morning.”

Dave swears into your skin, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Why?” he demands. “Why didn't I do it?”

“Because you were gone when I woke up.”

“Why are you cooking dinner?” he asks.

“Because I needed a distraction.”

Dave shakes his head, holding onto your leg like it's grounding him in the earth. “Why?”

“Because you're my husband,” you say softly, your chest burning and your throat pushing on your vocal chords, “and you haven't been around.”

“And?”

“And I’m planning our wedding alone.”

Dave squeezes your thigh, like you're getting somewhere. “You gonna burn down the kitchen to get my attention?”

“It worked, didn't it?”

“Sweetheart.” He looks up at you, eyes honey-gold under the warm chandelier. It’s desperation. It's guilt. “You're mad,” he rasps. “Be mad.”

Your chest trembles and your breaths come out heavy, and you're sobbing, sinking to your knees, letting him pull you onto his lap and wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck. Hands caress your back, up and down, shifting the fabric of your nightgown. You cry.

Wedding. Your father. Vincent Gallo. Cameras and flashing lights and shutters. The quiet hum of night. The too-loud press of daytime on your ears. The fear and the terror and the needles they inject you with. Sunlight. Wax wings. You've been flying too close. You fall, wrapped up in his arms, shedding the extra weight from your back and breathing in. Out. In. Out.

It isn't always about the next victory. It isn't about chasing the next deal, burying the next body, screwing over the next associate. It isn't about flying, and it never has been. Neither of you have seen it until now.

It's about this. The cold kitchen floor and the scrape of his buttons against your belly and the warm, rough hands on your back. It's about your twin heartbeats, lazily encircling one another. It's about the tears soaking his skin, hot and salty, his mouth on your temple. It's about the burning risotto on the counter.

It's about the life you've made with him. The life you're going to make. The matching bands you’ll wear. You and him.

“Fuck you, Dave York,” you whisper, “for missing this dinner, and for all the dinners you’re going to miss.”

He nods, his fingers tracing every one of your vertebrae on the way up. Encouraging. Begging. He wants you to be angry with him. So you will.

“Fuck you for leaving me alone all week to plan our wedding, for locking yourself up in your office all day and night, for forgetting to put my ring on my finger. Fuck you for neglecting me.” Your restless stomach begins to settle as you inhale the scent of him for the first time all day.

Dave’s mouth trails downward until he finds your jawline. You can feel his lashes tickle your cheek. “I’m your husband,” he says. “It's my job to be good to you. I haven't been good to you, baby.”

You huff, clutching him tighter to you. You’ve missed the feeling of his strong arms around you, his broad chest pressed against yours. “Masochist,” you mumble, the anger slipping into your pocket, muffled and subdued in the wake of your need for closeness.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, his hand cupping your cheek. “Tell me what else.”

“I burned my risotto,” you sniffle. “I can't cook for shit.”

Dave wipes a tear away just as it falls from your lashes. On your lower back, you feel his thumb circling the sun of your tattoo. “I know you've got one more in you,” he says softly. “Give it to me.”

You give his chest one feeble shove and push the rest of your anger into him. It fizzles into the air and evaporates. “I’ve had to touch myself all week, and I haven't been able to come.”

He nods, sucking your anger into his bone marrow, assuming control of it, savouring its citrusy taste. His hands cannot grab enough of you, cannot pull you close enough, cannot abscond with the guilt. He will swallow it down and let it bloom in his stomach. He will mend your wounds and grow flowers on the rot. He will take every blackened piece of you that resents him and replace it with sunlight.

He wants to see honey pouring from his fingers when he touches you. He wants to crawl into your velvet skin and warm it from the inside-out.

You should never know what it tastes like to know pain, and he has put the rotting fruit directly between your teeth.

“Have you missed me?” he whispers, pushing it into you, his nose crushed against your throat, his lips leaving scorch marks. Every touch electrifies; you never want to forget how it feels to be this near to him.

You nod your head, threading your fingers through his tousled hair and fixing him to you. He expels a puff of air from his lips, like the first gasp after breaching the water’s surface, and between your bodies, his cock begins to swell against your belly, trapped in his pants. It’s how you realise he’s missed you just as much.

“I’m supposed to treat you nice.” He kisses your neck, the hollow of your throat, urging your chin upward to give him better access. “I’m supposed to make you happy, keep you warm, kill for you.”

“You have killed for me.” Your voice has softened, mellow and still crackling with the aftermath of your meltdown.

“It’s not enough,” he says, gently pushing his palm into your back so your hips roll along his. “You should never lift a finger to keep yourself satisfied. That's my job. I haven't been doing my job, sweet girl. And you're not going to let me off the hook.”

You gasp at the feeling of his hardness on your clit, barely clothed in a scrap of pink lace. Grasping his shoulder, you begin to grind against him, seeking your own pleasure, assisted by his guiding hand.

Dave looks up at you, your lidded eyes and your parted lips, cursing himself for how long he's let this go on. He's been consumed by tracking the remaining Gallos, obsessed with their every move as they go about their business, chasing their destinations before they arrive there. He's being proactive. He's ensuring nobody tries to come after him for revenge.

Despite all he’s done, Dave York’s greatest crime is neglecting his own little green patch of paradise. He's twisted the apple from the tree and left you to assume the weight of the fallout. But he is no Adam.

Your face is buried in his neck as you grind on his erection, making yourself feel good, taking out all your frustrations on his body while he ensures your needy clit gets all the attention it deserves. He watches his crotch gradually darken as you rub your wetness onto him, his teeth grinding for a taste of you. All indication he gives you of his desire is a rhythmic pulse of his hands on your hips.

“Is this enough for you, baby?” he asks, nibbling your earlobe. “Can you come like this?”

You whimper, your shoulders tense under his touch as he slides his hand between the blades. “Need you. Need you inside me. Want you to stretch me out on your big cock.” Your teeth tease his throat and he grunts, bucking up instinctively against your clit. “Wanna be your good girl.”

He knows precisely what your body is telling him, the way you melt into him, wiggle your hips down on his erection. “Wanna forget?” he says. “Wanna let go, sweetheart?”

You pull away and look into his dark eyes, the tick of his jaw, the uncompromising way he holds you firm against him. “Am I a fable?” you ask, cupping the back of his neck, your voice sweet and soft.

He drops your forehead down to his. “You’re more than anyone has words for.”

Language does not suit you. Language diminishes and classifies. It cannot identify the radiance that he sees emitting from you, nor the precise colour of your eyes.

“Not even Icarus?” you whisper, your voice breaking into a half-sob, half-mirthless laugh. “Not Sisyphus? Not Anne or Persephone?”

“Those are stories,” says Dave. “We don't need stories.”

“Because this is real?” Your hands, warm and soft on his skin, sunspots.

He takes your hand and removes your engagement ring, only to slide it back onto your finger.

“Because this is real.”

Your lips ghost over his, resting his restraint. “Then take me to bed, and make it up to me.”

The lights are off in the bedroom. He flicks on the lamps on the nightstands because he wants to see the light shift over your body. Dave begins slowly, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and yanking his tie loose, backing you toward the bed.

He hums when he crowds your space, dipping his head to inhale your sweet perfume and pressing soft kisses to the unwavering warmth of your skin. Your collar bones jut out as your breathing shudders, your heart kicking up at his gentle treatment.

“So soft,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, hands bunching the fabric of your little nightgown. His lips leave warm imprints on your throat, your shoulders, soothing the tension in your bones and letting your body deflate. Closing your eyes, you roll your head back to let him litter your neck with kisses. “So beautiful. Should never have let you go alone so long. Should be fucked properly, every goddamn day.”

You moan softly when he sucks at the spot under your ear, and Dave puts his hands on your lower back, steadying you while he walks you against the bed. Your knees hit the edge and nearly give out, but he's there to catch you. “Arms up,” he says. You obey, your nipples stiff through the silk, your body shivering as Dave lifts the shift over your head and exposes your body to the cool breeze blowing in through the open window.

“Do you want control tonight?” he asks you. He's gazing down at you, eyes black with desire, withheld action. You shake your head, and he smirks, his hand cupping the back of your neck. “I know, sweet girl. I know what you need. Hold out your hands.”

He lifts the tie from around his neck and slips the fabric around your wrists. Twice, three times it loops, until you can't pry your hands apart, and Dave gives them a gentle tug. “On the bed,” he says.

Obedience shapes your stride, your eyes liquid, pretty pink panties blooming with a dark wet spot. You shuffle backward on the mattress with your hands bound in front of you, kneeling with your knees tucked beneath you. Dave admires the picture for a moment, removing his watch, his shoes, setting the silver Cartier band on the nightstand. You glow in this light, flushed with arousal and want and the slight desperation that accompanies a week without sex. His perfect, beautiful, spoiled girl, tied up like a gift all for him. But this time, it’s not about him.

Rubbing your thighs together, you watch him stalk his way around the bed, your body gently leaning toward him. Subconscious: the pull toward him. Your need is becoming fierce, hot and tight in your stomach, tensing your body. He stares, tilting his head to the side. A sculpture of marble, carefully moulded to impeccable likeness. He will smooth over the accumulated cracks, restore the vision, preserve you for centuries to come. People will write stories, paint murals, compose music. All will sing the song of you.

He’s at your side now, clicking his tongue and giving you more directions. Arms up, pretty girl. Hold onto the headboard. You follow, your body stretching out like a lounging cat, and he loops the remaining fabric of his tie through the slats. He checks in (Too tight?) and you can only lick your lips, push out your chest: Please touch me.

Dave hums in acknowledgement, kneeling on the bed between your bare legs and lifting your ankle to his mouth. The soft kisses to the bone make you shiver. There is no reprieve from his gaze; it captures you from all corners of the room. He gets off on holding all the power. You know he does, the bastard. But it feels so good to let your body melt into the mattress, no longer in charge of your own pleasure, giving him the space he needs to make amends.

Dave York apologises with his body. You can forgive with yours, too.

You sigh, your eyes drooping, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses all the way up your leg, hooking it up over his shoulder when he gets to the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. “Mmm,” you manage, the press of his lips somehow more vibrant without the reciprocity, without your hands greedily grabbing for him. He’s indulging, tasting you the way he hasn’t in a week, closing his eyes as his teeth graze your veins. You’re sweet and honeyed and he’s so fucking stupid for letting himself get consumed by anything else.

He buries his face so fully into the meat of your thigh that it crushes his nose, and you gasp at the feeling of him sucking the blood to the surface. “Dave.”

He grunts, nipping his way to your pussy, clothed by a wet little scrap of lace. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose against your thigh, imparting his scent once more.

Whimpering, you shake your head. You want to see him eat your pussy, his big brown eyes as he locks them to you. But Dave bites your thigh and you squeak. “Don’t make me blindfold you, sweet girl.”

Reluctantly, you squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing the pull to disobey, to watch. Dave’s mouth does not find your pussy right away. He starts over again, kissing all the way down your other leg. You make a halfhearted noise of bewilderment, and he shushes you, ignoring the insistent dig of your heel into his back and continuing to make you squirm.

Once his warm, wet mouth finishes lavishing attention on your other thigh, he departs once more, earning a frustrated whine of his name. “Mmm, needy,” he says, watching the way you push your tits toward the sound of his voice, your hips canting toward the press of his mouth. Dave sits back on his haunches between your thighs, caressing your hips as he admires the faint sheen of sweat on your body from all your fruitless exertion. “Being such a good girl, keeping your eyes closed like I told you, even though you’re mad at me.”

“Please, honey,” you beg, trying to pull him closer. “Baby, please. Let me feel you.”

Fuck, he's missed this. He’s missed your pleas, your soft body wrapped around him, the world outside dissipating to white noise. He's missed being called things like honey and baby when neither of them should apply. He's missed being your pleasure.

You tug against your restraints as Dave lowers himself in front of your pussy, a long, low whine escaping your mouth. “Just a taste,” he says, as if to himself. His hands squeeze your thighs, and his eyes flicker up toward you, your gaze still shuttered. “Just let me kiss it better.”

You writhe when he licks your clit through your panties, tasting the tang of the wet spot. “Nnnh,” is vaguely what he hears from your lips.

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Just relax. Make you feel good.” He hooks his finger in your panties and pulls them aside, licking a slow stripe through your slit. You shudder, resisting the urge to open your eyes.

You're so fucking wet, so warm and supple under his tongue, that he grinds his hips into the mattress to relieve the ache in his pants. Jesus, he’s a real asshole for neglecting this all week. He thinks about you touching yourself until you cry out in frustration and fall asleep unsatisfied, alone, and he hates himself. He’s jealous of your fingers for touching what he hasn't. Fuck—this is his job. This is his calling.

Dave wraps his arms around your thighs, securing them over his wide shoulders, keeping you spread open for him. You can’t escape this way, though you make an effort to wriggle your hips under his mouth. He doesn't let you, splaying his palm over your lower belly. The pressure sparks white on your eyelids.

Dave licks you again, building the delicious tautness in your core, his tongue slow and assured. He takes his time, knowing you can't touch him, guide him, grab his hair. Seeing your body like this has him leaking into his pants: your tits pushing out as your chest heaves, your eyes closed and your head tossed back, wrists bound to the headboard. Your engagement ring shimmers whenever you flex your hands. There is no belonging for Dave if it isn’t here, between your legs.

His tongue eases your folds apart until your pussy is slathered in his saliva, your needy pearl awaiting his attention. He groans at the sound of your soft moan when he presses a kiss to your clit. Dave leaves your mouth, velvety and pitiful. Please…

His dick twitches in his pants and he delves instinctively, holding you tighter, sucking your clit into his mouth. You cry out sharply, the pleasure striking your bones. Your heart is skittering and your hips ache, and there is no reprieve from the way he fixes his mouth to you, willingly drowning in your body.

His hands feel like they're everywhere. Hands tied and eyes closed, your remaining senses are notched up high, his fingers on your skin prickling the hair at the back of your neck, his cologne poisoning your blood, the languid drags of his tongue resonating all the way up to your brain. Dave’s hand leaves your belly and slides up to your breast, kneading you like dough as he crushes his nose to your clit and licks into your hole.

“Oh! Fuck!” Dave pinches your nipple, tasting you deeply and leisurely. Your brows are drawn together in the middle, your lips parted around his name or total gibberish. Panting, sweating, begging—

His shoulders surge forward, your thighs bending back toward your chest, and you feel something prod your hole. You gasp, feeling him breach your entrance, collecting your wetness onto his fingers. He grunts against your clit when you clench around him, but he doesn't stay inside your cunt for long.

“Dave!” you cry out as you feel his finger circle your puckered asshole. “Oh, my…”

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit. “Gonna make you feel good.”

His deep, rumbling voice helps you relax, your body melting for him. You’re safe in his hands. He’s good to you. He always will be.

You choke at the first intrusion, your heels digging into Dave’s back as his finger stretches you out, lubricated by your own wetness. He rears back slightly to watch himself push inside you, only to spit a glob of saliva straight onto your asshole. You mewl like a goddamn cat and the sound goes straight to his dick.

He shuffles onto his knees and hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, shucking it off and away so he can pull out his hard cock. Your hand bucks against the finger that’s opening up your asshole, the sound of the metal belt buckle hitting the floor striking your skull.

“Open your eyes,” he says, easing you onto your side and hauling your leg up against his chest. “Watch me take you like this.”

You blink your eyes open, blinded briefly by the spots of yellow lamplight, only to find him looming over you, two fingers now stuffing your asshole and his leaking dick resting on your puffy clit. “Please,” you sob, “fuck me. Fill me up, Dave, please. I need it so badly, I’ll die.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, guiding the head of his cock through your wet slit, coming away glistening. “My poor spoiled girl. Hasn't been touched for a week. I’ll touch you enough for a fuckin' lifetime. Now, behave for me, and scream.”

Your fingers flex as he slips the head inside you, and you hide your face in your arm, biting your own flesh. Dave growls, displeased, guiding his hips forward until he’s balls-deep inside you. Your resulting moan pitches high, your stomach tensing as if you're trying to keep him inside, keep him flush to you the way he is now. Dave’s fingers slowly thrust inside your ass at the same pace, establishing rhythm. You can't breathe. You can't think.

“Look. At. Me,” he says through gritted teeth, his hips punching hard into your thigh with every thrust, kissing your womb with your leg lifted high on his chest. “You look at me when I fuck you.”

You choke on your moans, your body shifting up the bed as he takes you hard and deep, struggling to meet his gaze through your bleary eyes. But he seems satisfied, enjoying the cock-drunk look on your face, baring his teeth and grinding deep inside your cunt.

“Yeah, baby, you like that,” he says, keeping your ass nice and stuffed with two fingers, filling you the way you deserve to be filled. “You like having both your holes filled, hmm, pretty girl? You like me stretching out your tight little ass?”

“Ngggh, yes! Yes! Oh, God, it feels so good!” You curl your fingers around the headboard. “I’m so close, I’m… you're gonna make me…”

He knows—can feel the pulsing rhythm of your pussy trying to suck him deeper, the instinct to pull the cum out of his balls. “Get my dick nice and wet, baby. Gotta keep it warm inside your tight ass. Come for me.”

His filthy words have your eyes rolling back, your leg kicking out as you come, fucked sideways and held up only by his hands and the tie around your wrists. He groans at the feeling of how tightly you squeeze him, your thighs trembling around him, soft flesh giving way to pleasure, to his touch. He fucks you gently through it, letting you come down, your asshole suffocating his fingers while your pussy soaks his length

“Thaaaat’s it,” he says, littering kisses all over your calf, wherever he can reach. “My beautiful girl.”

“It feels so good,” you whimper, wiggling your hips against him. “‘m so full.”

“That's right,” he says softly, giving your inner thigh a playful smack. Your body jolts, butter under his touch. “That what you needed, honey?”

“More, please,” you croak. Dave’s heart knocks against his ribs at how fucking sweet you look; eyes pleading, sweat glistening on your brow, lips forming a cute little pout that has him following your orders without thinking.

He pulls out of you, hard cock still bobbing, coated in your juices, and gently removes his fingers from your asshole to open the nightstand for the lube. When he’s behind you again, Dave shucks off his shirt, now stained with the efforts of his exertion, and manhandles you onto your knees.

You squeak, your chest dipping until it's smushed into the mattress, unable to hold yourself up thanks to your bound hands. Dave admires the shape of your back as it bows, bending over you to nip at the tattoo between its dimples.

The cool sting of the lube on your tight hole has you squirming, but Dave runs his hand up and down your hip while the other spreads the gel around your rim, dipping three fingers inside once more to keep you spread wide.

Here's the problem: Dave is big. His girth is impressive and his length equally so, ridged with veins, curved slightly to the left when it gets hard. Now that it is hard, you get a little worried that he won’t fit—and then you get more than a little determined to make sure it fits.

“Relax,” he says into your skin, kissing your tattoo before he rises, removing his slick fingers from your ass. You try, closing your eyes and focusing on the gentle caress of your hip, but when the tip prods your hole and wrenches it open, forming a tight seal that’s as unrelenting as it is pleasurable, you gasp, gooey and clicking with drool. He’s much, much bigger than three fingers.

“Oh, God.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know it’s big. Breathe, nice and slow. You’re gonna feel so good. Gonna fuckin’ beg for it.”

His hand smooths over your back, your tattoo, now your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can watch himself disappear inside you. The sound that comes from your throat is strangled, and Dave isn’t much better, chest heaving, temple dripping with sweat, restraining himself to avoid hurting you. But—

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says through his teeth, slapping your ass just to get some of his own frustration out. “Fuck, baby. You were fuckin’ made for me.”

“Mmmmm,” you say, your body keening, ass pushing against him and back arching. “Fuck me like you mean it, Mr. York. Make it up to me.”

Dave York does not back down from a challenge, not when it comes from your mouth. “Mrs. York,” he murmurs, grinding his hips against your ass. “Tell me you love me.”

“Earn it,” is your reply.

He fucking will.

Dave pulls halfway out of you and fits himself back in, earning a gurgled moan from your mouth, half-hidden into the pillows. He’s not going to last long like this, but he has never once come before you during sex, and he will not earn your forgiveness by starting now. Not that you’re making it easy, the way your tight asshole squeezes him, sucks him in, begging to be filled.

My back is gonna fucking smart tomorrow, he thinks, snapping his hips hard against your ass and holding you fast to him, impaled on his dick. You’re dripping onto the mattress beneath you, and you only know this because you can feel it dribbling down your own thighs. Dave fucks you like an animal in heat, his legs bracketing your hips, one strong arm sliding around your front to keep you supported as the rest of you crumbles.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You have heard this many times before. It’s how he checks in, gauges your comfort, makes adjustments as necessary. Only, now, you can’t speak for long enough to tell him; your teeth are bearing down on the bed sheets, your nose crushed to the mattress, the delicious drag of his cock inside your tight hole so blissfully overwhelming that speech flees your tangible skills.

You don’t even care that you can’t touch him. All you seek now is ruin.

The tone of his voice, soft and dark as the roll of tires over the road at nighttime, spills down your spine. “Oh, baby. Want me to fuck you stupid? Is that what you want, sweet girl?” Wordlessly, you nod, managing not even a whimper. Dave licks his teeth, his fingers as your clit, and begins to pound you so hard that the bed rocks.

It’s so good that nothing matters except for your orgasm. You get selfish and greedy and your cunt closes around nothing, your asshole gaping and accommodating the thick fucking cock inside, your fingers flexing uselessly, wrists bound, for a taste of something to grab when it finally happens.

You gasp, choke, swallowing stones, dirt, linen, too much, harder, cologne, you’re coming, it’s too much, Dave, cool night breeze, heralding fall, open windows, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m—

You cannot tell if your orgasm ends at all, or if he’s pulling more, more, from your body, but he begins to come, too, and it doesn’t matter because fuck, it feels so good. You feel every pulse of his cock as it pumps, pumps, pumps, filling you up, Dave growling like a fucking bear above you. Hips buck into your ass even though he cannot physically push any deeper, and his teeth sink into your throat as his body covers yours. It’s clear he needed this orgasm, too, and you take it happily, his hot cum shooting into your used asshole and none of it spilling over the tight seal that connects your bodies.

He collapses on top of you, rapidly frees your wrists from their confines, then heaves himself off to the side, his mouth on your shoulder all the way along, his big arm tucking around your waist. He keeps his cock tucked inside you, spilling its last few drops, pulling you both onto your sides, your back meeting his sweat-slick chest.

You toy with his fingers while his nose carves a path from your throat to your jawline, his mouth following. “I love your hands,” you whisper, your voice too raw still. “Love watching you write and type. They look so good inside me.”

“Fucked you stupid,” he declares, burying his face in your neck. You can feel the gradual ebb of his heartbeat against your back as he relaxes using your body. “You feel okay?”

“I feel really fucking good,” you tell him, letting your head rest against the pillow. “And I do love you.”

Dave gently nibbles your throat as if in reproach. “Don’t go forgiving me because I made you come,” he says grumpily. “Gotta earn it, remember?”

You reach back and scratch your nails against his scalp, which has him melting into you, sounds of idle pleasure leaving his pouty mouth. “Love isn’t a transaction,” you say. “It’s love because it’s a little bit unruly. I’m always going to love you, even when you fuck up. It’s about you loving me enough to make sure it never hurts for too long.”

“Hurting you,” says Dave, squeezing your fingers, “is not in the cards for me.”

His destiny is the opposite.

“You are never going to get complacent in this marriage. Do you understand me?” You thread your fingers through his and let him rub circles over your diamond ring. “If there is something you have to fix, you’ll tell me. This isn’t a guardianship. It’s a partnership.”

Dave nods, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I promise, baby, to earn your love every single day. And I promise to bother the shit out of you constantly, even when you don’t want me around. I’ll follow you around like a puppy dog.”

You laugh, tugging on his hair. “We’ll work on it.”

DECEMBER

He’s searching through his desk for a file he needs to send Kovac, a bit frantic and frustrated because he’s got a date, and of course the file fucking disappears thirty seconds before the cars pulls up outside.

As he rifles through old documents, his peripheral catches something he tucked away long ago. Eyeing the list of crossed-out names, Dave trails his finger down each one, smirking. A job done. Another, and another—

He pauses. He most certainly did not make that pen mark; it’s a straight line of hot pink ink over the very last name of the list.

Dave York.

“Honey? Are you ready?” calls a sweet siren’s voice from the other side of the door.

Dave drags his finger across the name. The ink has been dry for a long time.

He shuts the desk drawer and leaves without the file he needs. It can wait.

He’s got better things to do.

THE END.

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