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#my breath was taken from me watching this man's entire face light up upon seeing Christopher holy shit
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No Other Gods
Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.
Billy’s POV mostly
Summary: Billy’s on the run, moving from place to place as he leaves a trail of bodies behind. When he steps into a church to hide, he stumbles upon someone that makes him want to stay.
Warnings: Dub- con, violence, gore, blood, blood smearing, so much murder, mentions of Billy's past assault attempt, suggestion of possible sexual assault attempts toward the reader, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual acts in a church, thoughts of non-con (no actual non-con), poison, restraints, oral, fingering, sexual intercourse, wax play/heat play, Devil worship. 
If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate. 
I took the dove out back, shot it, then resurrected it so I could kill it again. Be warned.
For my lovely @ittybxttykxttytxtty who was so instrumental in the design of this fic. This goes out to you, love, who reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid to write whatever inspires me.
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He’s calm. 
Each step he takes is slow, measured, he hears the echo of it on the quiet street, the drag of his shoe on the concrete sidewalk. 
He turns the corner, and has to fight the instinct to hold his breath as they turn their heads to look up at him. The murder weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans feels ten pounds heavier.
Even breaths, one in, one out, he knows nothing, he has no sense of concern, or worry. He blinks, feels trepidation wash from his skin.
Internally, he readjusts his course, doesn’t want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesn’t want to answer questions just yet, not until he has his story straight.
From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the church and he changes his walk ever so slightly that it looks as though he’s been heading there the entire time.
When he’s at the closest point, he raises his head and smiles, gives a little wave to the officers, wishes them a good day, though he knows what they know, and it’s not a good day for them.
The church is pristine, unlike the other buildings on the street, it stands with fresh paint and the smell of almost dried varnish and scrubbed steps that tell him that this church is probably the most coveted place in the entire town. 
Billy, having just cut a man’s throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.
Surely, that must mean he’s doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.
He’s not convinced.
For a moment, he thinks it’s empty, thinks he’s alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.
He’s in disbelief that he missed you the first time, the light of the stained glass hitting your sedentary form.
He takes some quiet steps forward, swears he feels the concealed knife grow warmer. He watches you, studies in rapt attention the way the coloured lights look on you, the way they illuminate your hair, makes his fingers ache to touch something that looks explicit in its forbiddenness.
Your dress is white, or a cream colour that tells him the outward state of your mind, the purity nurtured in your soul.
He moves faster now, eager to see you, to know what you look like, to hear your voice, to look into your eyes.
He turns when he makes it to your pew, sees the way the light caresses the planes of your face, and he wishes he could do the same.
You are radiant, undisturbed beauty, your hands clasped together beneath your chin, a small rosary wound between your fingers. He wants to touch your hair, swirl strands of it around his finger, he wants to feel your skin, hold your form beneath his palms.
Everything he wants, halts, the moment you turn your head and look up at him.
His lips part in surprise, he’s taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.
“Hello.” You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.
“Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.” Billy answers smoothly, as though he isn't desperate for you to get closer so that he can catch your scent.
You look like you smell like flowers, he thinks to himself, bristles with delight when you finally stand, the light streaming through the stained glass paints you with a myriad of colors.
“It's okay,” you soothe, “I don't mind helping.” You smile at him, an ease of trust in your eyes. Trust, he could so easily extinguish with the weapon concealed on him.
You extend your hand, giving him your name, he smiles, gives his back. In your eyes, he can see something he doesn’t quite recognize.
Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.
“I’m new to town,” Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in God’s light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.
“Got a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?”
You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.
“Where are you going?”
.
One of the wives whispers something in your ear, Billy watches you tilt your head back laughing. You had this entire town wrapped around your finger and before he’d arrived, he’s sure no one had ever questioned your purity.
A white dress and blue cardigan, he wants to take you into one of the back rooms of the church and push his murderous hands under your dress, feel your gasp in his skin as his hands paw at your delectable thighs.
He wants to ruin the very image of you, reshape you for him, and him alone.
He turns his head slightly, observes that he’s not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.
The reverend, in the same clothes he’s just delivered Sunday sermon, gazes lustfully at you, his glasses balanced at the very tip of his nose to conceal the direction of his eyes. 
He recognises the expression, knows it like he’s looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place. 
He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.
It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.
.
“Lost again?” Someone says behind him while he’s picking out laundry detergent.
He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view. 
He smiles, watches the way you light up even more. A sweet, little morsel made for his fangs.
He holds up two different boxes of detergent for you to see.
“What do you think?” He asks.
You hum, deep in thought.
“This one,” You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, “smells too flowery for my taste, and you don’t seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.” 
He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.
“And this one,” You point to his other hand, “Oh, that’s the one I use.”
“So it must be the best.” He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.
You smile up at him in amusement.
“So, how are you getting all of this back to your place?” You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.
He turns, looking at what you were observing.
“You’re right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. I’ll have to put some things back.” He agrees with her implications.
“No way!” You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.
“Pastor Wade brought me along with his wife, I’m sure they’ll have some extra space in the back for you.” He follows, feeling anger that Wade had found himself closer to you than before. You wave your hand excitedly at the reverend, and Billy smiles internally at the sour look he receives from the man himself.
The trunk gets filled with the reverend’s new items, and Billy smiles, looks at you as you tilt your head, trying to solve a problem of too many groceries and too many people trying to fit into one vehicle.
“Give it up,” He says, mouth angled near your ear, “I’ll find another ride-”
“Don't you dare,” You argue, “I promised you a ride home and I won’t back down now.”
He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When you’re done, there’s only just enough space for only one person to fit.
“That’s okay.” You insist, “I can sit on you, if you don’t mind?”
Of course he doesn’t mind.
“If you’re sure.” He taunts.
“It’s a great idea.” Wade’s wife echoes, too eager to have them both in the back seat and the journey started.
Billy does his best to appear aloof, he gets in, and looks up at you expectantly.
You’re hesitant at first, before looking around, and then climbing into the back seat of the car to seat yourself in his lap.
Billy takes a deep breath, exhales, watches the pores on your neck and collarbone rise when his breath touches you.
A few moments into the ride and you’re wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.
“What is it?” He asks.
“Warm.” You explain, reaching for the buttons on your pink cardigan, brushing his stomach with your hand as you tug it off your shoulders.
Billy watches, with rapt attention as you reveal a white shirt beneath your cardigan. When you almost slip off his lap, he reaches to grip your knees.
“Hold on, sweetheart.” He whispers, just so you can hear.
You hold conversation with Wade and his wife throughout the journey, talking about how excited you are for the upcoming Christmas season, and that dressing up as an angel at the annual concert is a highlight for you.
All the while, Billy keeps you seated in his lap, your ass right on his hardening cock, the smell of blossoms drifting from your hair.
He closes his eyes, tries to distract himself from thinking too much about you, but he knows it doesn’t work. When the road gets bumpy, Wade apologises for the rough ride, and you respond with something reassuring.
You stiffen after a moment, and he knows he’s been caught.
He knows you feel him when you turn your head to look at him in surprise, his cock, hot and hard below your ass, rubbing against you as the car sputters along.
He looks right back at you, meets your shocked look with a sinister one of his own, wants you to know what a man feels like, makes sure you commit him to memory.
In the rearview, he sees pastor Wade glance at the pair of you. Billy looks back, holds his eyes, gives the supposedly pious man a smirk.
.
The next Sunday, you sit beside him in church.
It completely unfocuses him from his next target, he tilts his head to look at you.
Such a curious thing, drawn to something you now know isn’t as wholesome as appeared to be. It makes him feral, makes him want to put his hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up until he’s at the apex, tuck his obscenely large fingers under the waistband of your panties, find you dripping, feel you aching, press a lone finger to your swollen clit, make your sweet little cunt gush in God’s sacred domain. 
When it’s time to take his hand in prayer, he makes sure to do it as slowly as possible, dragging his fingers along your palm, your touch makes him feel blessed.
.
It becomes a habit, sitting beside him for Sunday mass, the eroticism of your touch right before you pray, before you ask God for forgiveness from all your impure thoughts and deeds, and Billy sits besides you, blood dripping from his hands as he imagines the ways he wants to violate you in this very church.
.
It’s a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows there’s only two people here, him, and his target.
He moves slowly, cautiously, on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much sound. The wind blows, the front doors to the church groan. 
He passes the stained glass windows where he’d first met you, he passes the pew he sits at every Sunday while thinking about you, he passes the doors at the back of the church that he thought would make a decent place to defile you.
He goes deeper, till he can hear the quiet familiar slapping of a man going at it.
He’s not shocked by it, or scandalised, he knows his wife barely touches him, he knows she has an idea of what goes on inside his head. Billy’s studied her too, looked at her while she watched the way he leaned in to speak to you, a spark of realisation in her eyes. 
He makes gentle movements, turning the doorknob with two of his fingers at a pace so slow it goes unnoticed by the person on the other side of the door.
He gazes steadily through the small gap.
Pastor Wade has your pink cardigan pressed to his face. Billy remembers the last place he saw you wear it- in the back of Wade's car. 
He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacher’s laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.
There’s a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesn’t have to talk himself into this one as much as he’s done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because he’s grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, it’s because Wade’s next intended victim is you.
In front of him, Wade groans, tilting his head back pace quickening. Billy pushes the door open. The wooden door doesn’t groan like it did before, Billy had greased the hinges just last week in preparation for this.
Billy stands behind the man, waiting for the precise moment, and when the preacher lets another groan loose from his lips, a warning of impending release, Billy strikes.
The man comes just as his throat is cut open, blood spraying from his neck as semen spills from his cock. Warm blood pours over Billy’s hands, as he supports the man as he drops, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary.
He lies on his side, turns his head upward, mouth parting in surprise as he sees Billy’s face. 
“I wish I could punish you more, but I’m not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.”
He watches the words register behind the dying man’s eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.
He tugs your cardigan free from Wade’s hand, it’s partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesn’t want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way. 
He studies the soft pink material, smiles at the thought of you. He brings the material up to his nose, catching the smell of blossoms just barely clinging to the fabric.
The fluttering wings of a bird above makes him glance upwards, and he figures one must have found its way into the space between the ceiling and the roof, searching for a comfortable space.
He uses your cardigan to clean his knife, before turning, and heading for a sink to wash the blood from his hands.
.
He brings a casserole to the deceased’s house the evening they discover him dead. 
It’s just a little something to help out, he explains to Wade’s widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment she’d heard the news, no doubt.
He doesn’t stay with her too long, excusing himself despite her attempts to hold onto his hand, the women around her gazing at him, more intrigued than ever about his culinary skills.
He wants to find you, to see you. There’s an itching inside of him that won’t go away until he knows you’re here with him.
When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. You’re standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like you’re fighting tears with everything you have. A woman touches your shoulder, and you raise your head to give her a brave smile.
He pauses on the outskirts, wonders how he’s ever going to get your attention.
But he doesn’t have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if you’d been seeking him out this entire time. He gives you a small smile, something of an icebreaker from so far away, and you take it as an invitation, running right to him with tears already spilling down your cheeks.
Your body collides with his, and for a moment, there’s only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and he’s quietly reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.
He enjoys it, the way you grip his shirt, the way you cling to him with every ounce of strength you have. He hugs you back, finding a way to the soft loveseat in Wade’s living room. You don’t pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.
If you’d only known what Wade’s intentions were with you, you wouldn’t be crying. After a while you calm, and you continue to cling to him while you sniffle, his shirt damp with your tears and he wears it like a badge of honour.
So many people stop in to check on you, more and more with each passing hour. Billy thinks more people are concerned with your wellbeing than with Wade’s actual widow.
It amuses him, that so many people are drawn to you, that you have such influence on everyone, that they care so much for you, and here you are, tucked into his body, turning your head into his chest to cry every now and again, growing less frequent with the more time that passes.
Later, he offers to take you home. He’s just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if you’d be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wade’s wife to bid her goodbye.
He overhears one person speaking with another about the state in which the body was found, covered in his own blood and semen, throat slit from ear to ear. Billy is delighted to hear it, he wants everyone to know, he wants to shame Wade’s name, even in death.
His widow is sad to watch Billy leave, she grips at him once more, trying to wrap her arms around him the way you do. When he mentions your name, he watches her stiffen, mouth set in a grim line, something in her eyes like accusation, or knowledge of something that she cannot say to another soul. 
She doesn’t speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.
You’re so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as you’re buckled in. He drives slowly, takes the long way, anything to be by your side longer. Your cheeks are stained with tears, he thinks about how beautiful you’re going to look in black.
You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.
“I heard how he died. Can’t wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldn’t be alive anymore. Can you believe that?”
The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.
Out loud, “I’ve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.” he says instead.
You squeeze his hand.
“Do you think you could ever take a life?” 
His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.
“I have,” He clears his throat, “I have killed people, I was in the army.”
Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.
“I just thought you should know.” 
“Thanks for telling me.”
You continue to hold his hand.
“You- you’re not- you don’t hate me?” 
“It’s not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path you’re on was necessary to bring you to me.”
“To you?”
“So I can help you.” You answer, squeezing his hand.
He wants to rip you apart and reshape you with his own hands.
When he finally gets to your house, he helps you out of the car, helping you up the few stairs and supporting your weight as you get the door open. When he tries to let you walk on your own, you stumble, and he has to catch you before you fall.
“I’m really tired.” You explain to him, and he hums in understanding.
He takes you up to bed, watches you collapse onto the soft surface, knee length dress rucking up so that he catches just the quickest glimpse of your underwear.
His hands clench into fists. He wants to push your skirt up, bury his face between your legs, taste your little cunt, worship you until you come on his tongue. 
“Will you stay?” You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.
He kicks his shoes off decisively.
“What will people say?” He teases.
“You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever cared about that.” You whisper softly.
He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.
“Goodnight, angel.” He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.
“G’night, Billy.” You respond, touching your face into his chest once more before you doze off completely.
It's too much power, and you must know it. To fall asleep so easily right beside him, every temptation to be like the predators he hunts. He could press his palm to your thigh, drag his hand up to your hips, you would never even know. He could do so much worse, pin you to the bed, pull his cock out and take you right here, watch you wake in shock while he fills you. Watch his cum leak out of your little hole. What could stop him? You? God? Everything he's wanted at the tip of fingers and all he has to do is take.
In the end, he doesn't do it. He lies beside you and thinks of all the vile things he could do and doesn't act on a single thing and he doesn't really know why.
He thinks it's because of the consequences. Doing that would mean you wouldn't want to be around him, and he needed you to want to be around him. 
By the time morning comes, and you wake, he's spent the entire night memorizing the feel of your body against his. If you feel his aching erection, you say nothing of it, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.
.
He finds you right after the funeral, lighting the candles that have gone out when the doors had been wide open to allow the coffin through.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire. 
It's loose, giving you an almost formless shape, to hide from everyone's view, your skirt is just a little shorter than usual, probably something you haven't worn in a while, resting at mid thigh and no doubt giving the women something to chat about in hushed voices. 
You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle. 
“I'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.”
He blinks.
“That's right.”
“What do you think about the Devil?” You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.
“What do you mean?” He pries.
“Is he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?”
“He's both.” Billy answers.
You smile, and finally turn to look at him. 
“Do you think God loves him?” 
“Doesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?” 
You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation. 
“Are you worried about eternal damnation?” Billy asks, taking a step closer, ready to reassure you that someone as sweet as you couldn't possibly end up in Hell. If you were damned, well that didn't bode well for him.
“I'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.”
Billy watches you raise a hand, and hold it closely over one of the candles. He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.
He turns your palm to check for any serious burns, but he'd withdrawn your hand just in time.
“I'm alright, Billy.” You reassure him, leaving your hand in his, and using the other to continue with your previous task.
It's the first time he realises that there is more to you than he'd initially thought. He'd seen you as a pristine painting before, something to be looked at, forbidden to touch, to love from afar. Now? You were an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were made to be handled, to be solved by the right person.
Billy wanted to be that person.
.
“-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, he’s in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.” 
From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other woman’s, who’d stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with. 
“I’m not worth the forgiveness.” The woman sobs.
Billy is ashamed to admit that the very sound of your voice turns him on. He feels sick, that listening to you speak about the lord makes him hard. If he closes his eyes, he swears you talk about God as if he’s just another person in the room, 
“He believes in you. You’re here, you found me, because that’s what he wanted. You found the strength to come in, to open yourself up to being judged just a little, and I know he appreciates that. He loves you, and I do too.”
Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.
“You’re good at this.” Billy murmurs.
You smile.
“I’m just doing what he commands.”
Jealousy stirs in Billy’s chest.
Before he can stop himself, he’s stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.
“You’re so selfless, don’t you know what people say about you?”
You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.
“It- why should it matter what people say?”
“They call you a temptress, you’re the reason Wade’s burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.”
“That’s not my fault.” You defend.
“It’s not? You’re telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?”
You go down another step, he follows.
“I- I don’t- I’m not-”
He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.
“You don’t?”
“I only want to serve.” You whisper.
“Who?” Billy taunts.
“What?”
“Who do you serve?”
“The Lord.” 
The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp. 
“And what if I wanted you to serve me?”
He doesn’t let your confused expression last for too long.
Billy acts fast, sitting on the pew, and gripping your hips to drag you onto his lap. He guides your legs over his, spreads his thighs so that you’re forced open too.
You suck in a deep breath, head falling back onto his shoulder. You look up at him, mouth parted, eyebrows drawn together.
“What are you doing?” You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that you’re not fighting him like he was worried you would.
He shushes you, gently presses the tips of his fingers right above your knees, takes his time dragging them up.
You reach for his hands, covering them, unsure if you should stop him or not.
“I’m giving you what God can’t.” He simply says, looking up at the altar before them, listening for anyone walking in as he brings a veined hand up to cup your mound.
You let out a little whine, fingers gripping his wrist, unable to pry his hand away.
“This is wrong.” You whisper, tugging at his wrist.
“I’ll make you feel right in a minute.” He answers, moving slowly to push his hands into your panties.
This is what your cunt feels like, is his first thought. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers feeling over your pussy, exploring, learning, and when he finally dips his hands lower to find you wet, he can’t help chuckling to himself.
The wrongness of your situation turns you on, and Billy uses it like fuel, lights a fire so readily, eager to watch everything burn.
“This is all an act, isn’t it?” He jabs, “You pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.” You shake your head in protest.
He’s gentle when he finally touches your clit.
You gasp, let out a strained moan, trying to fight a losing battle with your body.
He circles his fingers on your little bud, pulls your legs open wider when you try to shut them. He’s slow, he’s careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster. 
“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” He chides, “I’ve only just started.”
A soft cry is your only response.
When the sun is at the right angle, it shines through the stained glass and paints you both in multitudinous colours. He looks down at you, your face is one of mindless pleasure while the hues dance on your trembling skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently, “sinning in God’s light.”
Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth parting with the start of a loud cry, he slips his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure you make.
You rock on him, cunt spilling more and more onto his fingers, his mouth begs for a taste.
Your nails dig into his wrist, he welcomes the feeling, delighted to have given you something only he could give.
When he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he slips his hand from your mouth, and after a few moments, he pulls his hand from your panties.
His fingers go right into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss at your tart taste, he licks his fingers clean, runs his tongue over them one more time to make sure he’s gotten every drop of you.
You look at him with parted lips, caught in your own amazement, coloured light still spilling onto you.
He smiles, pulling your skirt down, closing his legs which close yours.
He pauses when he feels your fingers touch his chin, he looks at you in surprise to find something calm in them. You part your lips, like you’re about to say something, and then you startle when the doors to the church are pushed open.
You slip off his lap, rising to a stand, you smile, welcoming the people coming in.
.
Billy is waiting in the confessional booth for you to pass by. You’d been so exhausted recently, trying to help the newest preacher get settled, and then someone else had been murdered. A woman working at the bank had been stabbed repeatedly in the face inside the bank vault. Her body had been found on a pile of money. 
It was odd, Billy thought he was the only one of his kind in town, to know there was another out there, made him want to look out for you more than ever.
This, was not him looking out for you.
Rather, he was waiting to pull you away, to be your distraction from another funeral, to save you, if he so dared call it that.
He hears footsteps, identifies you from the click of your familiar shoes on the church floors.
He hears the large wooden doors at the front open to allow the coffin in, and while everyone looks in the direction of the doors, he slips out, wraps his hand around your mouth, and pulls you, struggling into the confessional.
You stop fighting when you see him, and he smiles, bolting the doors closed from the inside. 
He looms over you, cock hardening in his pants, presses a finger to his lips with a smile.
Your mouth parts, curious about him, and when he presses you back, settling your body onto the wooden bench, you don’t have much choice but to obey.
He watches you, fire in his veins. You look up at him with the sweetest eyes, and he knows he’s ready to defile you right here.
Instead, as the funeral begins, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties down your legs so that he can worship you with his tongue.
He keeps you right on edge for the entire sermon, licking you slowly, your hands in his hair, your breathing deep and low to avoid attracting attention.
He edges you, echoes the prayers being said outside into your heated core, licks at your sweet bundle of nerves, doesn’t stop for a single second.
When the congregation takes up a gospel in praise, he waits till the voices are at their highest point to let your orgasm take you.
He tastes you greedily, thankful to have ever crossed your path.
He closes his eyes, decidedly not done with you, peeling at your virtue until nothing remains.
.
He takes you home that night, helps your exhausted form like he did before, hands gripping your waist to support your fumbling steps.
“You need to stop expending all your energy like this.” He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.
“I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” You protest.
He guides your key into your door.
“Will you stay again?” You ask hopefully.
“If you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-”
“I know, they’ll have reason to call me a whore.”
“Don’t say that about yourself.” His voice is maybe too sharp with you.
You let out a little laugh.
“Right. Sorry.”
He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.
“Help me get out of this dress?”
God, you really were tempting him.
He watches you fall back onto the bed, clad in only your underwear. He finds it impossible to look away, when your body looks so divine. 
He gulps, wants to kiss every exposed inch, wants to make you see heaven any way that he can.
You watch him while he watches you, he’s transfixed by you.
“You want to touch me, don’t you?”
He curls his hands into fists.
“I always want to touch you.”
You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.
“Can you bring me a dress from my closet?” You ask softly, and he stiffens to obey.
He pulls the door open, searching through the delicate things suspended from hangers for something for you to sleep in. He finds a sheer dress, smiles as he pulls it from the closet, he glances back at you to find you already asleep, your breasts exposed to the cold air.
He smiles, turns back to close the door, pauses when something shiny catches his eye.
It’s behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billy’s eyebrows draw together, leaning in to press against the spot, the entire panel of wood shifts, and he realises that the closet has a false back.
He tosses your dress over his shoulder, reaching for either side of the wood, he presses down gently, and the entire thing shifts upward, allowing a space for his fingers to fit in.
He pulls, the piece of wood is heavier than expected, turns, and tucks it against one side of the closet.
What he finds… washes his mind blank of any rational thought.
It’s an altar, but it’s not for God.
There’s an inverted pentagram painted onto the wall in something that Billy, with his years of experience in the matter, knows to be dried blood. On the pentagram, there are photos pinned, polaroids of him that he’d never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. There’s other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square he’d thought he’d misplaced after Wade’s funeral. So many little items of his, in this space, and he realises that he has no idea who you are at all.
On the floor, is the pink cardigan soaked in Wade’s blood, half burned from where he’d tossed it into a quick fire in the woods behind the church. Billy kneels, fingers brushing the handle of a knife with a blade embellished with flowers, stained with blood. The skull of a goat, surrounded by black and red candles.
He knows he should be feeling fear, but there’s no ounce of it anywhere in his body. He licks his lips, plucking a photo of himself from the wall, he feels his lips curl up involuntarily.
He stands, turns to wake you, to confront you, and halts when he finds you already behind him.
You look sleepy still, swaying on your feet, body still bare, and before he can say anything, you raise a fist, and blow a strange powder directly into his face.
It stings when it touches his eyes. He groans, drops the photo of himself he was holding, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and stumbles. His throat tickles, he coughs, body trying to expel whatever you’ve dosed him with. He can’t see, and he reaches for where he knew you were last, only to find formless air.
He tries not to panic, if you wanted to actually hurt him, you would have by now. Perhaps you just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and you were safeguarding yourself.
He feels the handcuff wrap around his wrist, but he fights it, his eyes sting too much for rational thought.
“I’ll help you if you cooperate.” He hears you say.
He huffs out a breath, extending his cuffed arm for your guidance.
You pull at him, bringing him to your bed, and cuffing both his arms to the frame. His eyes sting when he tries to see through them, his face burns too, like it’s on fire.
The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then there’s instant relief. 
You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.
“Let it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.”
Poison? He thinks in shock.
He tries to calm himself, tries to tug on his restraints as little as possible. He tries to run through everything he’d learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didn’t even know existed.
You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.
No, not true, he’d seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, he’d thought, too pure that there must be something wrong.
He should have seen it from the minute you took his hand, from the minute you sat on his lap, when you felt his erection and still flocked to him. Billy should have known. It was in the way you thrived under the attention, the memory of you holding your fingers over the candles in the church. He’d seen it all, and had been unable to put the pieces together.
He hears movement, feels the bed dip as you come closer to him, feels your weight settle on his hips, straddling him.
The rags are pulled from his face, and you use the edge to wipe the remnants of something he can’t see.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.” You smile down at him, he can still see you there.
You don’t look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress he’s picked before he’d discovered your secrets.
“You don’t worship God.” He starts.
You smile.
“No I don’t.”
“But you go to church, you help other people find God.”
“You think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, they’re only better at hiding it.”
He blinks, tilts his head, waits for you to continue.
You reach for a box of matches, striking one, you light the candle sitting on your bedside table.
“I go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.”
He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.
“My Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.”
Billy blinks, tilts his head.
“You tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.” He says, thinking out loud.
You make a sound of disagreement.
“Not exactly, I’m just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isn’t to tempt, it’s not my fault that men are so easily… tempted.”
He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.
“Look at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, I’d finally decided to kill him when he touched my thigh for too long… I was watching him from a small space in the roof when you came in.”
Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.
“I watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.” You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billy’s teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.
“I watched you cut his throat,” You groan, “There was blood everywhere.” Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.
“You took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.”
He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.
“The woman in the bank,” Billy tries to think with you so close, “That was you.”
You nod, smiling down at him. 
“She was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.”
Billy’s hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.
“Let me go.” He grits out.
You smile dreamily, shake your head.
“Not yet. I want to have you first.” 
His breath halts in his chest, desperate to ask you what you mean, but he thinks your intention is clear enough.
He pulls harder on his restraints, not wanting to be bound the first time he feels you.
“Don't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.”
He stops struggling, takes a deep breath, goes still.
You smile, undoing his belt as quickly as you can, and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt until his torso is bared to you. 
He listens to you hum with delight, feels your scorching tongue lave at his chest, over his heart, flicking at his nipple.
He begins to understand how feral you are, listening to your hums of appreciation as your tongue drifts over his neck. He realises, that you’re just a small thing, searching for someone exactly like you in a world full of people pretending.
When you open his pants, his mouth goes dry, his jaw drops open as you suck on the tip of his cock for just a small moment, enjoying the taste of him before you’re slipping your panties to the side to take him in.
Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than he’d imagined, your walls fluttering around him, pulling his cock deeper into you so naturally that he swears it was always meant to happen.
You moan loudly, head tossed back.
“I would have let you fuck me in that church.” You confess, “I would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wade’s blood.”
Billy groans.
“I’d fuck you in the bare earth.” He grunts, supporting your conversation, “I’d make you beg me to.”
You clench tightly around him, and Billy swears he sees stars for a moment. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips on him, and after a moment, you pause, reaching for one of those lit candles beside your bed.
Billy looks at you, keeping your steady gaze, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that you might drop hot wax onto his skin.
But you spare him, instead, you tilt the candle, letting a few drops of molten wax fall onto your thigh.
He feels you tighten, grunts in pleasure at the vigour your pace takes on.
He’s so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he can’t help but ask.
“Do it to me.” He asks.
You smile, hovering the candle over his chest, and when the first drop hits, he gasps. It stings, burns like fire, but then something sweet fills the space, his body somehow asking for more.
You don’t give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.
You’re struggling to achieve orgasm in this position, and he feels amusement rise within him, knowing more about your own body than you seem to know.
It finally makes him relax, knows that no matter how hard you try, you still need him to get you off.
He waits, and waits, and finds that he can be patient when it comes to pleasuring your cunt.
You pause, pouting.
“Poor little girl,” Billy chides, “Can’t manage to come on her own. You need my help, don’t you?”
Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.
“N-no, I can, uh, do it myself.”
He grins sharply, relaxes.
“You’re so out of your depth.” He taunts.
“Nuh uh.” You hum, still trying to use his cock to pleasure yourself. Billy turns his head to study his restraints, the wooden pillar he's cuffed to on the headboard is wobbly, he figures one sharp pull at just the right angle would get that hand loose. The other pillar however, is too sturdy for a move like that.
He has to move fast when he does it, find a way to get you to release his other hand.
But first, a distraction.
“You're beautiful like this,” he says truthfully, “Your true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.”
He watches you nod eagerly, still trying to reach your peak, your head tilts back, lulled into a false sense of security.
Billy takes his opportunity to strike.
He pulls as hard as he can on the wooden pillar of the headboard, muscles flexing almost painfully. He almost thinks he's going to fail but right at the last second, the wood gives, freeing the handcuff and allowing movement.
Your eyes fly open, and you reach for something behind you, pulling out a knife.
He catches your hand, twists your wrist so that the knife falls free, and pushes it off the bed.
Before you can scramble off of him, his hand grips your hair harshly.
“Unlock me.” He hisses into your terrified face.
Despite your obvious fear, he still feels you clench around his cock, and his desperation to have you exactly how he wants, increases.
“I'm not going to hurt you.” He clarifies, “But you're mine now, so unlock me.”
Your eyelids flutter, your eyes glancing at a spot beside him. He doesn't turn to look, simply leaning his body with yours, hand still fisted no doubt painfully in your hair.
He looks from the corner of his eye, as you tug the bedside drawer open and stick your hand in.
 “You better not be reaching for another knife. It wouldn't take much for me to squeeze the life out of you, even with one hand tied.”
He feels you clench around him again.
“You like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cunt’s gripping me so tight, baby.”
You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.
“Good girl,” Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, “Now unlock me.”
You do his bound hand first, and then pull the other cuff from around his wrist. Your eyes cling to the reddening bruise on his wrist from pulling too hard.
When he's finally free, he grins, right in your face, before pulling you off his cock and flipping you over.
You gasp in surprise as your back hits the bed, Billy leans away to get a good look at you.
He can see your delectably shaped tits through the white sheer dress, he admires the way it looks- like innocence and somehow pure sin wrapped all in one. 
He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes. 
“You said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,” he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.
“But I'm not your plaything, little girl,” His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, “You're mine.”
It sets off something inside of him, and like an avalanche, any semblance of self control he'd ever had, just crumbles.
He leans down, lips pressed to yours, he feels an ache inside of him lessen.
You kiss back, with forceful lips, your hands gripping the back of his head, fingers in his hair to stop him from pulling away.
His hands press against your shoulders, feeling their way over the sheer sleeves of the material, gripping your hips, fingers catching on the fabric as he touches your body for the very first time.
Your legs wrap around him, it makes him so delighted, that you want him, that he's going to use that against you.
He pulls back, grinning when you whine, reach for his mouth once more, his hand finding your throat too easily, gripping it to push you back.
“Where did my little fighter go, hmm?” He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.
“Please,” you whisper, “I need you to make me come.”
His nose brushes yours.
“Why? Don't you touch yourself all the time?” He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.
“I haven't been able to- since you touched me.”
He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.
“You haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?”
“You feel too good.” You confess to him.
He tries to fight it but it makes him laugh again, he buries his face into your neck, amusement so heavy in his body and he has to let it out.
“Sorry, It’s just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.”
“Show me.” You beg.
His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.
You’re so turned on, aching for him, you shudder as he pulls the remnants of your dress from your skin.
His touch is frantic, his palms skate over your skin, gripping, feeling, your thighs, your legs, your arms, it makes you so much more aroused to be felt like this. No part of your body is safe from his wandering hands, it feels as though he’s trying to learn you, and you are so eager to let him.
His lips are next, kissing the top of your breast, working his way between them, the feel of his lips on your skin makes you feel more connected to him than before. He pulls your panties off in a swift rush, kissing at your knees when he finally gets them off.
“Want to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.” Billy says, you lift your head to look at him, his hand sliding up between your thighs, the tips of his fingers making delicious sparks.
He touches your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt so gently, desperation pooling under your skin. He presses a single finger against you, until he just brushes your clit with the very tip of his finger.
“You need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it can’t be too harsh.”
You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.
“You think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.”
He proves it to you, his gentle fingers massage your clit, he makes it look effortless, eyes drawn to your centre, looking up at you with dark eyes every now and then.
It’s the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that he’s right, you’ve never touched yourself so gently before.
“Does that feel good, baby? I’ve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.”
You mewl, nodding, remembering the way you’d seen Billy kill. The amount of blood he’d left behind, such a messy crime scene.
You bite down on your bottom lip, back arching, hands gripping your sheets.
Just a little bit more, you think, gasping, quietly urging him on, hoping that he doesn’t stop his movements.
“That’s it,” Billy praises, “Just like that, show me exactly who owns you.”
Your breath stutters in your chest, your vision goes white as pure euphoria overtakes you. It comes in waves, cunt fluttering around nothing, your body shudders as your brain tries to process pleasure beyond your comprehension.
It takes you a moment before you can breathe through it, and like before, it feels like you’re floating, somewhere deep in your subconscious.
His face comes into your line of sight, a proud smile on His lips, beautiful in every way as He hovers above you.
You suck in another breath, it helps you feel your body, and the remnants of your still occurring orgasm.
“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I wanted you all to myself. Now that I have you here, now that I see you, I want you forever.”
You nod eagerly, smiling up at him, gripping his hand to press your cheek into his palm. You wanted that, you wanted to be His as well.
“Now be a good girl and stay still.” He whispers, lowering his body once more, burying his face between your thighs for the second time in your life.
You almost want to scream. His tongue pushes its way to your clit, flicking softly, dipping down to lick at your entrance.
You hear Him moan between your thighs, you shudder, arching your hips into his face.
He slaps your thigh, a warning that he intends to uphold the discipline of His instruction, you simply clench in response.
You wanted- so much more than you could admit.
You'd thought, for a brief moment, that he was the personification of Lucifer himself, that Billy was a reward for your years of devotion, but somewhere in the back of your head, you were starting to feel something different, new, that not even your devotion to Satan himself could match.
He licks you like he's starving for it, hands on your thighs, tongue in your cunt you want to struggle just so He has a reason to hold you down.
You say His name, you feel your thighs tremble, His lips kiss at your swollen clit.
You don't know what you're feeling, something in your chest, that tugs everytime he touches you.
Drunk on His mouth, you hiss when his pace increases, unsure if you'll even be able to have another orgasm so close to the last.
He's careful, dexterous, precise, he licks cunt the way he kills- with careless precision, a spectacle to be admired, spoken about in hushed tones. 
Billy doesn't ask, he simply manipulates your body until you're wound so tightly on edge once again, unable to comprehend how you got here in the first place.
You groan, your grip on sanity crumbles away, all you can think about is Him, and the way his beard feels, scratching between your thighs, and the darkness of his hair and the grip of his fingers on you, holding you to him, daring you to struggle. 
There’s a loud rushing in your head when your next peak finds you, your back bowing off the bed once more, something pinches in protest but you can’t focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because you’re a little uncomfortable. 
He licks at the arousal spilling from you, moans into your body with each taste, making you see stars, or fireworks or maybe even just flashes of bright lights and colours. 
It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something that’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find the right words for it.
He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. It’s gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that he’d worn to the funeral of the woman you’d killed- and use it to dab at his chin.
Your eyes roam down his body, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man as sculpted as he is, lean and muscular, small bits of hair on his chest and a spot right below his navel that your tongue aches for.
You sit up, looking at him, pressing your thighs together as he pushes his pants all the way down his legs, his cock already solid and leaking for you.
You remember the first time you felt Him, the way you knew without a doubt that you were going to have him, before you even fully understood what he was.
He reaches for you, grips your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. You gasp at his easy display of strength, watching as he strokes himself for a few moments before lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.
Your past orgasms have made you more sensitive, each inch of him he presses in makes you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure and the stretch associated.
“You're so tight.” He utters with a strained voice.
You can only moan, reach to touch Him, the light of the candles flickering on his bare skin in the dead of night.
Your fingers graze a circular scar on his lower abdomen, and at the same time, he thrusts the rest of his cock fully into you.
You cry out, the sudden bliss of being stretched, goes right into your head, you gasp, your body begs for more, begs to be undone by him.
You swear you can taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your bottom lip too much, unable to vocalise your appreciation of him, he draws his cock out, before making another harsh thrust.
Your back arches, you don’t feel like you’re in your body, or maybe you feel too much in your body, the only thing you know for sure is the pleasure that fills you, that threatens to swell under your skin and explode outward.
He keeps his motions swift, harsh, deep, following through with each shift of his hips fully before beginning another.
“Who’s your God? Tell me.”
“L-Lucifer.” You utter automatically, but it’s the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.
“What was that?” He grits out.
“Lucifer?” You whisper, voice light with pleasure.
He shakes his head, leaning away and reaching for something nearby.
You tighten around him when you spot the burning candle in his hand.
“Say that again.” 
“Um…” You stutter, unsure of what to say.
You gasp in surprise when the first drop of hot wax hits your hip. It stings, just for a moment, before leaving the sweetest tingle in its place.
“Please.” You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.
“Can Satan do that?” He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you don’t respond, you feel another heated droplet sting the skin of your hip.
You peek at him through parted eyelids, watching the way he looks at you in amusement, before tilting the candle again, this time to allow hot wax to fall onto the opposite side.
“Billy.” You moan, and you watch him grin.
“Answer my question, little dove.”
You shake your head.
“N-no. Satan can’t make me feel like this.” You whisper.
He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.
“Do you like feeling this way?” He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, you’re nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.
“I like it, Billy, I love it.”
“Then tell me who your God is.” 
You think you finally understand what he's trying to say, his cock pressed deep inside of you. He's the reason you feel so good, he's been the person occupying most of your thoughts from the day you met. He's someone you'd be willing to kill for.
“You.” You finally answer, and he smiles, moves his hand, still holding the candle, wax dripping onto his fingers, he tilts the candle and lets a few heated droplets touch the skin over your womb.
You gasp, the skin there is a little more sensitive, the burn is more intense, more pain than pleasure but He doesn’t seem to care, simply continues to smile as he blows the candle out, putting it back on your nightstand.
There's still another candle on the other side, allowing you to see, though everything is just a little dimmer now.
Your skin tingles, warm, the dried wax on your skin cracks as you move, but you don't get a chance to focus on it too much, because as soon as Billy lets go of the candle, he's pressing into you with renewed vigour.
Your thighs tremble, tears pool in your eyes, He's rough, grunting with each stroke he makes, earning a reciprocated cry when his cock bottoms out inside of you each time.
Skin against skin, sweat glistens on his chest, you want to taste him.
“Say it again.” He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, “Who do you worship?”
“You, Billy.” You respond eagerly, gripping his shoulders, pressing your nails in, listening to him hiss in response, gripping your jaw to bring you into a bruising kiss.
It's messy, his tongue dipping forcefully into your mouth like he owns you, his cock doing the same, taking everything as if it's owed.
You bite down on his bottom lip, hears him grunt out a manic laugh in response.
“You're all fucking mine.” He grits, leaning back and pulling your boneless body up until you're on top of him, his hands gripping your hips to keep you moving on his cock. You tuck your head into his neck, unable to be anything more than a receptacle, to take Him, over and over until he's finished with you.
“How does it feel to be saved by your new God?” He grunts between thrusts.
You can barely find the words to speak.
His hand slaps the flesh of your ass hard, demanding a response.
Cruel, you think, that He wants you to speak, that He thinks you're even capable of thought.
“Feels good.” You hum, fingers gripping his neck, nose to his jaw, taking what he gives, you tears dripping onto his collarbone.
He groans into your ear, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.
“Please,” You beg, “Please.”
He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.
“You don’t have to beg, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”
You tilt your head up, vision hazy, your body tingling with something too intense to be just bliss.
He kisses you softly one more time before dropping you back onto the bed, pushing your knees upward so that they’re almost to your ears.
He feels so much deeper this time, fucking you hard, merciless thrusts that has your cunt fluttering again, warning you that you’re on the right path to an orgasm.
He doesn’t stop, looking right into your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, over and over and over. You see stars, you see him, you see nothing else.
He licks his thumb, lips wet with saliva, he slips it between your bodies, angles it right against your clit, swipes gently from left to right.
You make a loud sound, followed by a flurry of pitiful whines, trying to warn him, to implore him. He doesn’t stop fucking you.
Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. You’re lost in the rapture, taken by the experience to even register the sounds you make.
You feel fire, you feel sparks, tingles that rush all over your skin, your inner walls gripping him so tightly as you’re forced to experience bliss at His hands.
He groans loudly, and before you know it he’s fucking into you rougher than before only for a moment before he makes a sharp sound of relief, cock pulsing as he spills himself into you.
You clench around him, making sure he gives you every drop of himself. Knowing that this is the right way to show your devotion.
There’s a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if he’s just run for miles. You worry that once he’s had his fill of you, that he won’t be interested any more.
Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasn’t left you completely yet, and you watch him, curious to observe what he does next.
He peeks an eye open, mouth pulling into a smile that bares his teeth, he pushes himself up, crawls closer till he’s in the space between your body and arm, kissing at your cheek and shoulders softly.
It opens something inside of you, to feel that, to know without a doubt that He meant every word He said.
You raise your hand in wonder, fingers gently brushing His cheek, before pressing your palm to His face. 
He looks down at you, moves his own hand to run the backs of his fingers against your face, two people, finally seeing each other, finally showing themselves, unafraid.
It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.
.
Billy stands in the shadows, waiting.
He watches his targets leave the bar, two men, laughing with each other as they head to the nearby bus stop.
He follows, observing the way they move, trying to figure out just exactly how drunk they are. One wears a leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, the other wears a plain white t-shirt, and jeans.
They talk loudly, confessing to things Billy already knows about.
When one of them looks up, and sharply elbows the other, nodding to a place ahead, Billy knows what they see.
You lean against the bus stop, face buried in your phone, too occupied with it to notice that you’ve been spotted.
You’re beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. 
The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what you’re doing for a moment before saying something to you.
He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.
It’s like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that you’re going to run before you actually do.
He smiles as you slip from their reaching grip, running into the nearest alley, he watches them take chase.
He moves faster, making sure there’s no chance of putting you in any real danger.
When he gets there, they’ve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. They’re too focused on you to ever notice him.
He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what he’s about to feel.
When one of the men reaches to put his grimy hands on you, Billy strikes.
The man in the leather jacket makes a gurgling sound as his throat is cut wide open, splashing mostly on himself, but some of it gets on your dress and he knows he’ll get on his knees later to apologise for getting your dress messy, even though he knows you like it.
The other man can only make a single sound of terror before he’s falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.
He’s still alive, though not for long as Billy watches you drop to one knee, pulling the knife from his skull to plunge it into his vocal cords next. 
You look up at him, with bright eyes, excited to be doing this with him. He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks you look adorable when you’re seeking his approval.
He doesn’t care if the men are in their last moments, he reaches for you, grips the collar of your jacket and hauls you up, manoeuvring you until your back is pressed against the wall of the alley.
He drops his head, angles to place a fierce kiss on your lips, smearing blood on your face when he grips your jaw.
Billy pulls away, breathless, heart hammering with the thrill of murder, he looks into your eyes, and finds himself looking back.
He’s not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that it’s what he’s been seeing the entire time, what he couldn’t put a name to when you first met, he now knows.
.
“And the lord said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’” 
It makes you look up, to meet Billy’s eyes.
You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.
.
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delulu4anime · 1 year
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Pairings: Illumi x fem!reader
Word count: 5.2k+
Warnings: Breeding (Lol it’s Illumi, it would be against the law not to add a breeding kink), mating press, PIV, slow burn, brief mentions of death (Illumi eventually shows you his crazy side), time skips. Please let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR THE LOVE OF HADES. I started rewatching hunter x hunter and I forgot how much I adore Illumi. This man has me on my knees so quickly even tho he is TOXIC. Stayed up till 8 am writing this story about this sexy bug eyed man cause he deserves it. Yet another fan fiction where I listened to a song and went oh shit it’s this character. Not proof read. Enjoy!
Currently listening to: In the Middle of the night by Ellen Duhé- “I’m getting what is mine, you gon get yours.”
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You took a deep breath as you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bags under your eyes indicated that you had gone a few days with little to no sleep. You couldn't remember the last time you got a good nights rest especially with the impending occasion coming up. There was a light knock at the door and with the turn of the knob your door was opened. Your mother cheerfully walked into the bathroom all dressed up for tonight's dinner. Your eyes drifted to your room which had been disturbed with the evening sunlight pouring, curtains you could've sworn were closed before you dragged yourself in here.
"Darling you really should open those curtains more often. It feels like a morgue every time I come in here," She huffed out.
Ah, so she took it upon herself to open them.
"I brought the necklace I wore on the night of my engagement dinner." She said turning her attention to the dark blue velvet box, setting it gently on the counter.
She quickly frowned upon seeing the state you were in.
"Why haven't you gotten ready yet? You don't look at all delighted; you know how important this dinner is tonight! We've waited twenty years for-"
"I know mother." You quickly said trying to save yourself from the lecture that would no doubt make your family late to the dinner if she rambled on.
You met her strict gaze in the mirror and mumbled an apology as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Her face softened as she walked over to you; her hands finding their way to your shoulders.
"Please try to understand this will make both our families stronger. You were practically raised as a Zoldyck, but we need it to be official." Your mother said as you looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"I grew and trained with Milluki," You said as you shrugged her hands off your shoulders. "Shouldn't I be marrying him instead? I know nothing about Illumi."
You watched in the reflection the way your mother rolled her eyes clearly displeased with your response.
"You are well aware of our agreement that the eldest daughter goes to the eldest Zoldyck son. Honestly darling you act as if this is the end of the world? Your father and I knew nothing about one another and we turned out just fine. Now please get ready, we wouldn't want to keep your husband to be waiting anymore than he already has!" She exclaimed as she made her way out of the bathroom.
You knew that your parents had an arranged marriage like their parents before them. You've lost count of the times your mother would tell you stories about how your father wasn't who she chose to marry but that didn't mean that he didn't eventually become the love of her life. They built an entire life together which lead to the successful artillery business they ran and you. You knew the ties your family had with the Zoldyck's had been strictly business but now that you were of age it meant that bond would be taken from business to family. No matter what your parents told you this was nothing but another business deal to you.
You hadn't always dreaded being married to the oldest of the famous assassins. In fact you recall on several occasions Milluki teasing you for getting lost in thought and scribbling Illumi's name over and over again when you should've been studying up on jobs you'd taken on. However, despite training day and night with Milluki for years you had only laid your eyes on Illumi twice. You were around nine years old when you saw him for the first time. You and Milluki were were practicing ren when Illumi came home from a successful training mission at Heaven's Arena.
You couldn't take your eyes off the way he moved so effortlessly; you punched Milluki for teasing you for staring at his brother for longer than needed. The second time you finally came face to face with Illumi at the age of thirteen. You had learned you were a transmitter with your speciality being in poisons. Although you had successful learned how to use nen Silva knew you had a long way to go before you'd be able to use it flawlessly. He wanted to teach you the important lesson on when to back down from an opponent where success wasn't guaranteed.
You knew Illumi was stronger than you and Milluki combined but you refused to let him believe you were weak. After all you had been training day and night with all the toxins you could get your hands on. You cringed at the memory of Illumi looking down at your defeated body, you groaned as you held onto your side only to look up to meet his emotionless eyes.
"This is all you've been able to accomplish? You are the weakest out of us all. You won't be much use to me when we marry. Train harder or I'll kill you." He said flatly as you watched him turn to walk away not missing the way your heart skipped a beat.
You made a promise to yourself then to get stronger even though you didn't have much of a choice. Not only would you be a disgrace to your family but you'd pay for it with your life. Now at the age of twenty it had been seven years since you had seen Illumi and you dreaded it. You didn't trust your mind or your body around him; all logically thinking out the window when he was near. Although you'd gotten stronger and the training you completed with Mulluki had paid off part of you felt you'd never be enough for Illumi.
Not smart enough.
Not strong enough.
Not pretty enough.
You rolled your eyes knowing you were stalling at this point because this engagement was going to happen whether you liked it or not. And with that you started to get ready for the dinner with your future husband and family in law. Once you showered you wrapped a towel around yourself, walking back to your mirror to quickly do your makeup and hair. You carefully put on your black octavia dress, making sure not to ruin your work. You opened the box your mother had left behind and ran your fingertips over the smooth texture of the pearls. You removed the necklace and put it on yourself. The cool pearls making contact with your warm skin caused you to shiver.
Here goes nothing.
The flight to Kukuroo Mountain was about an hour long; you stared out the window as your parent's reminded you to be on your best behavior as if you were a child. You knew what the Zoldyck's expected of you so you chose to nod every once in a while as if you are paying attention, to give your parents the peace of mind. Before you knew it you had arrived to the testing gate and passed through it with ease. You reached your hand out to pet Mike as he bent down to receive your affection. You and your parents made your way up to the butlers quarters where they escorted you to the Zoldyck mansion. The memories seemed to flood back once you set foot inside. From all the times you ran up and down the halls playing hide and seek with Killua to nagging Milluki to get out of his room for once and train with you. You couldn't help but genuinely smile as you passed by the many portraits of the Zolydck family on the way to the banquet hall. Your parents pointing out the few paintings you were in when you were younger, voicing their joy about how tonight would officially make you apart of the family. As tradition you were seated at the end of the elegant dinning table; you ran your fingertips over the fine wood as you looked to see those around you. Your parents sat to the left of you while the Zoldyck's sat at the right. You sheepishly waved at Milluki who scoffed at you and looked else where. You couldn't help but pout at your childhood friend. Silvia took notice and leaned closer to you.
"He envy's Illumi." He said.
You paused for a moment then looked back at Milluki with wide eyes. Jealous of Illumi? For being engaged to you? You shook your head at the thought of the hidden feelings Milluki had for you.
"He shouldn't." You mumble as you look over to the empty seat next to you.
"Of all the day's to be late!" Kikyo hissed.
The butlers began bringing out courses of the meal out. You were able to start eating when you felt a presence causing you to look to your left towards a door leading into the banquet hall. That's when you saw him. You felt yourself exhale a shaky breath as he made his way over to you. His hair was much longer than the last time you had seen him, he'd gotten taller, and more toned. Yet his dark eyes remained the same and they watched you just as closely.
"Y/n." Illumi spoke as he took his place next to you.
You were at a lost for words as Kikyo chimed in.
"You're late! You left your bride to be waiting!" She exclaimed only to cause Silva to raise his hand to calm his wife down.
Silvia suddenly rose from his seat and cleared his throat. He had prepared a speech about the agreement of a proposal to the two oldest of each family. Illumi stood at one point as his father continued on; he grabbed your hand which caught you off guard. You felt Illumi's cold fingertips slowly slide a sliver band on to your ring finger. You gazed up at Illumi as he held on to your hand a little longer before letting go and returning to his seat. You were going to officially be a Zoldyck. The rest of the evening was filled with your parents talking with the Zoldyck's about planning the wedding and future business deals. But once your mother uttered the word grandchild you couldn't help but start choking on the glass of water you had been drinking. Everyone turned their gaze to you as you coughed; Illumi wrapped his arms around you and helped you stand.
"Excuse us." He said as you both walked out of the banquet hall.
You managed to calm yourself down once you were away from the judgmental stare your parents were giving you.
"I'm fine Illumi," You said as you realized you were still walking so closely to one another. "Really I am. We can go back." You said as you broke out of Illumi’s grasp.
"Would you not like to take a walk with me?" He suddenly said.
"Sure." You finally said after hesitating for a moment.
You walked in silence down the hall and out a door that led you into the courtyard. You took a deep breath of fresh air and slowly exhaled. You looked up at the night sky that glistened with millions of stars. You both stayed silent as the creatures of dusk seemed to come to life; chirping and croaking around you.
"May I ask you something?" Illumi finally said.
"Of course." You said.
"Are you uncomfortable around me?" He asked which made you look over at him.
"Well," You hesitated as you started to fiddle with your ring. "It's been seven years since the last time I saw you Illumi. We haven't spoke much these past few years and you just slide a ring on my finger just an hour ago signifying that we are to be married."
He looked over at you and cocked his head to the side.
"It isn't a surprise to you is it? We've been arranged to get married since you were born." He said plainly as if he were talking about the weather or what he had for breakfast.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that it all happened so fast," You bite your lip knowing you couldn't hold back what you had been wanting to say since you saw him this evening "It's nice to see you again Illumi."
He hummed and stepped closer to you; his fingertips brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.
"You've grown up." He said, rubbing his hand lightly against your cheek. "You're quite beautiful and not nearly as annoying as you used to be."
You groaned and pushed his hand away from you as if he was nuisance yet your face heating up said otherwise.
"Way to ruin the moment." You huffed out.
"I can tell you've gotten stronger as well." He said and you nodded your head.
"I've been training hard. There's no shortage of poisonous plants to learn from." You said.
Silence fell between you again yet this time it wasn't uncomfortable. You felt yourself relax as the tension slowly slip away.
"You're more sure of yourself now." He said abruptly.
You paused to think back to all the long training sessions you endured, the painful limits you pushed your body to, and the long nights you'd longed to see Illumi and prove to him that you weren't the weakest.
"I just want to be a good wife for you." You said. "This may be an arranged marriage but I hope along the way you can see me as more than a business deal."
You watch as Illumi picked up your left hand and place a soft kiss onto the silver ring he had placed on your hand earlier. His warm lips were a significant contrast to his cold fingers that held onto your hand. You let go of a breath you didn't even know you were holding watching how gentle he was being with you.
"I've waited for so long to see this ring on your finger. You'll make a fine wife." Illumi said softly.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
It had been a month since the engagement became official and you felt like it was all just a fever dream. You hadn't seen Illumi since the night of the dinner and you couldn't help that sinking feeling that had followed you for so many years; was he distancing himself from you again? You couldn't even get your mind off things because the mother's on both sides insisted that the wedding happen immediately. Which also meant your mother forbidding you for taking on any jobs to help with planning; the lack of work and his absence caused your mind to stir. You were in your old room at the Zoldyck mansion, gazing at your reflection as a few maids fixed the long train of the dress your mother surprised you with. You nervously played with the ring on your finger as your eyes traveled to the intricate pattern in the lace, there was something so familiar about the dress but you couldn't exactly pin point what. Your eyes traveled to the tall window that was in the corner of the room where your mother and Kikyo sat at a small table drinking tea. The same table you sat at countless nights looking out into the courtyard yearning for Illumi to come home to you. The maids stepped to the side as you turned to face them, you placing your arms behind your back. You watched as your mother's eyes watered as she stood from her chair and made her way to you.
"What do you think my dear?" Kikyo smiling before taking a sip of her tea.
"It's beautiful." You say as you brought your hands to your sides to run your fingertips over the fabric.
"This use to be my dress,' Your mother said as she grabbed hold of your hands. "And it fits you wonderfully!"
You turned to look at yourself in the mirror once again feeling like a fool for not recognize the dress immediately. Your mother had shown you endless photos of her wedding day and the dress was the focal point of every photo.
"This means so much to me. Thank you mother." You said and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
"I have a gift for you too my dear." Kikyo said as she made her way over to you.
You turned to see her holding a beautiful silver necklace with a small blue gem dangling from the center. You leaned down as Kikyo placed it around your neck.
"I wore this on my wedding day. A good luck charge from your mother and I." She said as she stood back with your mother to admire you.
You ran your finger tips over the necklace and smiled.
"This is perfect. Thank you both." You said.
The next few hours were spent sitting at the table listening to the two women bicker on who to invite to the wedding of the century they called it. You rolled your eyes and looked over to your door as you watched Milluki walk down the hall looking down at his phone. You excused yourself from the table which was useless because they were both stuck in their own world of wedding planning. You quickly made your way out of the room and chased after Milluki down the hall.
"Hey Luki wait up!" You shouted after him which only caused him to turn around quickly. The irritated look you knew all too well.
"I said stop calling me that stupid nickname." He sneered as he looked down at his phone once again.
You couldn't help but giggle as you followed him into his room. You leaned against the doorway as you watched him walk over to his desk; your eyes widening at the amount of computers that were turned on, each with something different flashing on each screen.
"So what have you been up to?" You ask as you walked over as you looked over at his figurine collection.
"Killua is asking for a favor," He grumbled as he looked up to one of his monitors. "He needs a copy of Greed Island."
"The rare video game?" You questioned as you looked over his shoulder to the screen which caused him to chuckle.
"Papa always said you were too smart for your own good." He said as he looked over his shoulder.
"Smarter than you for sure." You teased.
"Shut up!' He yelled as he turned back to his computer typing away vigorously.
The only thing that filled the room was Milluki's fingertips against his keyboard as he looked into getting more information on the legendary Greed Island for his younger brother. You had wondered what Killua had been up to since leaving to go take the hunter exam; you hadn't been around when he lashed out Milluki and Kiyko but you couldn't help the chuckle you let out when you found out. Being under the same pressure from your families it was inevitable for you and Killua to become close.
"You don't seem too thrilled to be getting married." Milluki suddenly said bringing you out of your thoughts.
"What makes you say that?" You say flatly.
"Your eyes don't light up the same way they use to when anyone mentioned Illumi." He replied, looking between two monitors.
"It's just a lot to take in," You sigh out. "I went from being a kid learning how to become an assassin like the Zoldyck's to becoming an actually Zoldyck by marriage.   It's hard being in love with someone sees this as nothing more than a business deal"
Milluki stopped typing to turn to face you again; that irritated looking back in his face.
"You really are stupid aren't you? He may have never said it when you were around but he's made several remarks about you to me. It sickening how he only seems to care about his jobs and you." He turned his chair completely around.
You couldn't help but laugh at the confession, searching in his eyes for the truth. Your smile faded as he stared right back at you and you knew that look all too well.
"Now get out cause I have work to do." He said as he turned back to his work and dismissed you with a wave of his hand.
You hesitated only for a moment then walked out of his room; you turned and looked to see Milluki talking on his phone to Killua if you had to guess.
"Thank you Luki." You whisper to yourself and with that you took your leave.
Before you knew it the evening turned into night fall and Kikyo was pleading for you to stay, trying to reassure you that Illumi would be back soon. You agreed thinking back to what Milluki had said earlier. After saying your goodbyes to your mother you returned to your room to find the maids making your bed and bringing a few of your belongings you had left here when you traveled between your home and the Zoldyck's. You thanked the maids as they bowed and left the room. You let out a long sigh as you threw yourself onto the bed as you listened to the clock on the wall tick away the minutes wondering when Illumi would be home; your hand brushed over the fabric of your t-shirt around your stomach as the butterflies seemed to dance around gleefully. Here you were again waiting and yearning for Illumi; aching for his gaze, his touch, and his words to overwhelming your senses. You sat up quickly at the idea of a game; a game that you dominated when you played with Milluki. Assassin 101: tracking and locating your target. If Illumi wanted you as much as Milluki said he did then prove it. Game on.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You sighed, rubbing the soreness out of you neck, and clocked out for the day. It had been a year since you left everything behind to test Illumi; what better way to prove his worth than a game of hide and seek. If he successfully found you then Milluki was right and you'd happily go through with the wedding, if he didn't seek you out then you had a fresh start to live your life free of the expectations of everyone. You had gotten an office job which was quite an adjustment from what you had been trained to do originally. However, doing work as an assassin didn't require long hours behind a desk staring at a monitor.
You lost count of how many times you had to stay overtime to finish a team project. It was finally Friday which meant your coworkers attempting to get you to go out to a local bar but you yet again declined their invite and opted for a another night in with dinner from the convenient store. Your heels clicked against the concrete, a breeze hit your skin causing you to shiver. You walked faster, holding onto your paper bag tightly and cursing yourself for forgetting your sweater back at the office. Luckily the convince store wasn't a far walk from the apartment.
Going into hiding meant getting a new identity and with a new life meant new struggles; applying for jobs and apartments with no credit or job history under the new identity proved to be a challenge but you came out victorious in the end. You walked up the flight of steps to your apartment; you smiled and greeted your elderly neighbor as you put your keys in the lock. You promised to go visit her soon to keep her company while she ate dinner and watched her weekly tv drama. You walked in as you told her goodnight, closing the door behind you with your foot, and reached over to turn on the lamp that sat on a side table. You tossed your keys along with your heels haphazardly on the table and floor.
You walked through your small living room that connected to your kitchen. You set your bag on the counter and putting your food to the side. You suddenly froze in place as an uneasy feeling came over you; you could recognize that blood lust from anywhere. You slowly turned to Illumi standing in your living room playing with one of his many nen needles in his hand. His lips slowly curved into a smile that you had never seen grace his face before.
"So this is where you've been hiding all this time," He said as he started to walk over to where you were. "I'll give you credit this is just inconspicuous enough to make it hard to track you. Not to mention using zetsu to conceal your presence." He chuckled to himself.
You braced yourself against the counter as he stood in front of you. He grabbed your face with one hand as he lightly pressed his needle against your throat with the other.
"You actually found me?" You asked dumbfounded which only made him scoff. He actually came looking for you, and you welcomed the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.
"Do you know how many people I had to kill just to see you again?" He asked as he leaned in close enough for your lips to graze one another's.
"It took you long enough." You breathed as you looked into his eyes.
He cocked his head to the side as if he was confused but you could tell by the rest of his body language that this little hunt excited him. He removed his nen needle from your neck and took a step back. Silence fell between you both as the tension grew. You could have sworn Illumi could hear your heart beating out of your chest from where he stood. Here he was after a year of being apart and better yet he sought you out. Without thinking you grabbed onto Illumi and crashed your lips against his. He immediately moved his hands to your hips, his grip would leave bruises no doubt but you didn't care. Without breaking the kiss he lifted you onto the counter, his hands leaving your waist for a brief moment to wondered up to your blouse; he ripped it open effortlessly as the buttons flew off hitting the counter beside you or the floor. He started to kiss his way down your jaw to your neck causing you to sigh. You felt his hands slowly move back to your waist, pushing your skirt up, as he started to place open mouth kisses on your neck. You let out a soft moan as he found your sweet spot close to your ear.
"Drove me crazy looking for you." He breathed into your ear. "Hiding what was promised to me since birth."
"Needed proof you were serious about this. About us." You softly said as your fingers found their way to his hair.
"Proof? You needed proof that you're one of the only things that's been on my mind for years," he huffed out. "You and this." He said as he pulled your damp panties to the side and easily slid two fingers into your cunt.
He moved his fingers in and out of you agonizingly slow; you hated the way he teased you.
"Please Illumi." You whimpered out as he chuckled pulling his fingers out of you.
He stepped back to look at you, eyes darkening at you disheveled form. You hair in disarray, your blouse ruined just enough to show off that lace bra, and your skirt bunched up around your hips. He watched your chest rise and fall as you pant . This was what he had chased after. This is what he wanted, no needed. This was his wife. He smirked as he turned on his heel and made his way to your couch. Your eyes followed the way he gracefully sat down and spread his legs; he lifted his hand and motioned for you to come to him. You quickly got off the counter and made your way over to him but before you could touch him he stopped you.
"Strip." He said plainly.
You kept your eyes on him as you removed everything one by one till you stood in front of him naked. You wished you were embarrassed about being completely nude with eyes looking you up and down; his eyes looking at you like you were his prey. He leaned back into the couch and you stood in between his legs. He patted his lap and you couldn't help but let your eyes wonder to his crotch. His facial expression read as if he disinterested yet his cock straining against his pants said otherwise. You climbed on top of his lap and placed your hands on his shoulders. You felt his cold hands run over your sides and down to your hips once more giving a light squeeze; he chuckled at the gasp you let out. His hands moved away from your hips briefly as his hands made quick work of freeing his aching cock. You lifted your hips as he lined himself up to your entrance. You slowly lowered yourself down onto him, both letting out a moan as he bottomed out. His large hands moved back to your hips as you started to move up and down against him. You soon found your rhythm, closing your eyes taking in the feeling of his cock; he leaned up placing soft kisses against your neck.
"Fuck Illumi I've wanted this for so long." You moaned out.
Suddenly you were flipped onto your back as his hands moved under your thighs and pushed them to your chest. Without hesitating he started to pound into your pussy with hard, deep thrust. You let out a loud moan as your eyes rolled to the back; your hands grabbing onto the fabric of the couch to steady yourself.
"This is finally mine. All mine.' Illumi huffed out as he watched the way his cock bullied your pussy. "Isn't that right?"
"Yes." You managed to moan out as you felt yourself already nearing your climax.
"Going to give me the next Zoldyck heir like the good little wife you are." He said which caused your eyes to shoot open.
You watched as he moved one of his hands against your stomach putting pressure causing both of you to moan in sync.
"You're going to make me a father aren't you?" He said and you frantically nodded your head to cock drunk to object.
"Yes Illumi, please." You begged. "Want to be your good little wife."
You felt his fingertips travel to your clit and rub harsh circles as his hips continued on his brutal pace. You threw your head back and moaned Illumi's name as you reached your climax.
"What a good girl you are." Illumi cooed as his eyes traveled to the white ring around his cock.
With a few more sloppy thrust Illumi finished inside of you as you both panted. He pulled out of you and watched his cum slowly seeping out; he ran his slender fingertips along your slit just to shove his fingers inside you to keep it all inside.
"I'm taking you back home tonight. We are to be married tomorrow. We've kept each other waiting too long." He flatly said which caused you to laugh.
"Anything for my soon to be husband." You hummed.
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Text
Battlefield
Characters: Geralt x reader
Summary: When you feel a battle brewing you reach out to the people you believe could help, only you are not entirely sure the one person you want to see will show up for you.
Word Count: 1182 words
Prompt: Battlefield by SVRCINA
A/N: The brilliant, wonderful ray of pure sunshine that is @iwillbeinmynest was one of my reblog draw winners many moons ago, and as their prize requested some Geralt to go along with this song. I am sorry it’s taken me so long but I hope you like it.
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The moon was drifting lower in the sky, the only real indication of how little time had passed since this night had begun. A dense mist washed over the uneven ground, covering the fallen like a blanket, erasing the massive loss as if trying to sterilize the scene in some way. The quiet was disconcerting, but you knew the peacefulness was deceptive, that both sides were simply regrouping, licking their wounds and recalculating their next attack.
It was wholly unfair, one side never stood a chance, the mage had ensured that much. This was yet another example of those with power taking whatever they wished with no concern for those they stomped into the dirt. You hated that. Magic was not supposed to be used for this, it was for healing and growing, not destruction and death.
You walked across the battlefield, crows circling above you, your black cloak billowing behind as you felt hot tears caress your cheeks. It had been the same dream, night after night for weeks now. This was not purely images your slumbering mind had conjured, these were things that would come to pass and you had to make a decision. Was this going to be the line in the sand? Were you going to stand by and watch another kingdom obliterated, stripped of its resources and left baren and nothing more than ash?
When you woke, you could still taste the coppery tinge to the air, smell the decay of death lingering in your nostrils. Who would choose to live in a world like this? Gathering up whatever supplies you could carry, you decided to set out and do what you could to help the small kingdom about to be ground into the dirt.
It was a long journey, and during your travels you attempted to recruit as many friends to your cause as you could. This included sending letters to the one man you had believed was firmly in your past. There was no way he would actually show up, not after your last encounter, but the possibility of a Witcher on your side would definitely cause the vindictive mage to pause.  
“Letter for you.” The barman grunted, sliding the envelope across the wood, snatching his hand back before he could accidentally make contact with the creature opposite him.
Geralt simply growled, snatching up the paper with little regard for it. Another cry for help from some place that was desperate enough to need him, but didn’t really want him. He was about to toss it into the fire when a flicker of recognition crossed his face, something about the handwriting was familiar, but that couldn’t be. There was no chance that you would reach out to him, not when he had so successfully broke you the last time your paths crossed.
Retiring to his room, he sat in the candlelight, staring at the envelope, torn between opening it and being crushed by disappointment upon discovering this was not written by your fair hand, and bubbling anxiety that this letter had been sent by you and contained ill news. He had pushed you away to keep you safe, to keep that air of hope and positivity that you exuded. You were a healer, someone who brought light into the world. He was a destroyer, someone to whom the stench of death clung like a second skin. It had pained him to treat you so cruelly, but it was the only way he could save you. At least, that is what he told himself whenever the memory of you crept into his mind.
Closing his eyes, he brought the envelope to his nose, softly breathing in the scent of the paper, the ink, and the faintest traces of your perfume. His fingers had torn the letter from its confines before he had even opened his eyes, his heart racing, eager to feel connected to you even for a moment, even if the news was dire.
My dearest Geralt,
I hope this letter finds you, and if it does, I hope it finds you well. I imagine you have not become adept at taking care of yourself in our time apart, although I hope you have at least taken to eating better and drinking less.
He chuckled to himself at that, you had always tried to take care of him, had regarded his life as something worth caring for. Perhaps with you by his side it had been, but he had to admit his vegetable intake was down and his ale intake had increased. He continued to read.
I have been plagued by visions over the past year, recently one in particular. I cannot stand by and allow such injustice to continue in our land. I am not a warrior, but I believe this is a fight worth joining. I would very much like you to join me, even if it is just to see your face one last time. Everything could stay the same, or we could change it all.
The letter went on to detail where you were headed, where you believed the battle to be and Geralt found himself on his feet, already packing his things and yelling for Jaskier. You needed him. You were putting yourself in danger. There was no way in hell he wasn’t going to show up for you, to protect you, to see you, hold you.
You knew they would wait until nightfall to attack, you just were not entirely sure from which direction. Their forces were camped to the North, pulling attention, but that did not mean it was where this battle began. Your little band of friends had done what you could to boost the small army; potions and illusions, reinforced armor and upgraded weapons where possible. There was a real sense of hope in the air, the idea that this battle could be won and when the sun rose once more it would be on a glorious victory, but there was a chill running up your spine telling you different.
“We give you this one chance to surrender.” The mocking call from the mage rang out over the fields between the two sides. One chance. This was your one chance to make a difference, to change fate. You had to believe it was possible.
“Yeah, don’t think we will take you up on that, but I will give you one chance to surrender. Any of your men who do not wish to partake in this battle, feel free to leave. Now.” A familiar voice called out and you peered over the rampart, your heart fluttering wildly when your eyes fell on the broad frame and white mane of the man who would forever hold your heart.
As if sensing your presence, Geralt turned and looked up, his eyes finding yours easily. He was not sure how this night would go, but he did know he would fight with everything he had to ensure your light was preserved, your belief that things could change remained intact. Perhaps, for one night, destruction could be used to preserve healing.
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miss-lumiere · 10 months
Text
Redemption | Part V
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x female!reader
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Summary: A young sith apprentice on their first mission. Although a chance to prove yourself to your dark masters presents itself, you do the exact opposite of what is expected of you. Putting yourself at the jedi master Kenobi’s merci, you plead him to lead you from the dark side and show you the way of the light. But will your attempt to redeem yourself be futile and the pull to the dark side be too strong?
Wordcount: ~3,800
Warnings: canon violence, jealousy, Anakin I guess…
A/N: Hey guys <3, I know it’s been a while, but I haven’t given up on the writing. In fact, I am already working on the next chapter with some newfound motivation! Have fun reading and give me a comment!
Also write me if you wish to be tagged!
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The scent of smoke filled your nostrils as your black robes flowed around you. You knelt before your master your head lowered. As you looked up you met his eyes, his expression one of pride. The Sith nodded once in approval before turning his gaze to something behind you. As you followed his line of sight your yellow eyes fell upon the fallen Jedi temple, smoke rising from the flames devouring the building you once called home. A sad smile played around your lips.
You shot up sitting on your bed, sweat making your garments cling to your silhouette. Running a hand across your face you took a deep breath. It had only been a dream, right? Or was it more than that? You had heard of some force-sensitives possessing the gift of premonitions. But how would one tell them apart from dreams? Maybe you should confide in one of the Masters, perhaps Obi-Wan. But then again, you were trying to gain their trust, not make them question your allegiance. Showing them your inner conflict would certainly not aid that.
Sighing, you rose from the bed making your way to the refresher, knowing that you would not be able to fall asleep again. You would have to get up early anyway.
“There is no way that I will let her near the Senator.”, Anakin Skywalker stated, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed as he mustered you. In the early morning, you had been called to the Council to debrief you on your mission. Everything went smoothly until the man-child himself showed up, obviously unhappy at the fact you would be involved. The masters themselves had given you the benefit of the doubt, seeing that you would be accompanied by multiple Jedi, especially since Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had taken on the responsibility for your actions, was one of them. There was no way you would let this mission fail.
“Anakin, we all know how close Senator Amidala and you are, but I can assure you there is no need to worry.”, Obi-Wan replied with a cocky smile at which a flush seemed to rise to Anakin’s cheeks. “And why is that Obi-wan?” “As I just said, she will only accompany us as reinforcement. She will have a chance to prove herself.” Not looking entirely convinced, Obi-Wan’s former Padawan clenched his teeth and crossed his arms. “Besides, I trust her, Anakin. Just as I did once place my trust in you.” The younger man seemed to ponder his answer before giving in. “Fine. But don’t let her out of your sight.”
After Anakin had stormed out of the chamber at which you had rolled your eyes, you turned back to Obi-Wan. “You know, he actually means me not letting you out of my sight, old man. He knows you need the protection.”, you whispered to him as the council had moved on to another matter that needed their attention. Huffing, the Master Jedi gestured for you to follow him out into the hallway.
“I am not that much older than you. Besides, Master Yoda is close to 900 years old, so I believe I still have time before I have to turn my back on missions.”, he replied nonchalantly. You came to a hold, your mouth gaping open.
“900 years?!”, you whisper-shouted in disbelief. Obi-Wan simply chuckled watching you in amusement. Your eyes lingered on each other for a second too long and you could feel your face heating up.
“So, about this mission…” “Yes, right.”, Obi wan cleared his throat, back to his dutiful self. “The gala that we will attend is hosted semi-yearly by the Senate here on Coruscant. Senators, Diplomats and Aristocrats from all over the galaxy will be attending to form diplomatic connections with the Republic.” “And our role will be to protect this Senator Amidala?” “Yes, she requested our assistance, since she believes there to be a target on her head.” “The republic has captured a separatist they believe to hold important information, if I remember correctly?” “Not captured, he surrendered himself offering information. Nevertheless, the Senate appointed Padme Amidala to interrogate him.”
“Strange. Anyways, I will see you at the shuttle then.” You said, before the two of you parted ways.
Entering the shuttle an hour later you immediately recognised Obi-Wan leaning on one of the walls with both of his arms crossed. Two other Jedi were standing further away, engrossed in conversation, who you had never seen before. Eying Obi-Wan’s garments you noticed that he was wearing a tunic and pants, resembling the style of the Jedi but made out of richer material and with less layers. His hair was neatly combed back and his beard had been trimmed a little shorter. You had never seen him in anything else other than Jedi apparel and seeing him like this made your heartbeat pick up. You did not want to admit it to yourself, but he did look quite dashing.
The clothing you had been given consisted of an elegant dress and flat sandals. You supposed the Council wouldn’t want you to be immediately recognized as Jedi. The dress was still simple, matching Obi-Wans attire. Enough to fit in without drawing too much attention. You hadn’t been able to take your lightsabre with you, seeing as there would be no way to hide it, but at least the clothes were relatively easy to move in. You thanked the force, you had not been given shoes with heels.
Nevertheless, you stumbled a bit as you moved to stand next to Obi-Wan, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your appearance. Smiling he swiftly looked you up and down. “You look quite beautiful.”, he stated softly. “Well, you do clean up nicely too, Master.”, you tried to hide your nervousness with a smile. What was wrong with you? It was surely only the excitement of the up-coming mission. “A shame that those clothes are not very practical on the battlefield.”, he retorted with a laugh, before your conversation was interrupted by the pilot announcing you would take off in two minutes.
Right as the pilot attempted to close the shuttle’s hatch, the last person you had wanted to accompany you entered. “Anakin, what are you doing here?”, Obi-Wan asked the taller man standing at the entrance, seemingly as surprised as you.
“I decided to take it upon myself to make sure she won’t endanger Padme.”, he stated confidently, letting both of you know that there was no room for arguing. “Anakin…”, his Master responded with a sigh, while shaking his head in disbelieve. Stars, this was going to be a long day.
The gala was hosted at the Skydome Botanical Garden in the Fobosi district on Coruscant. You had already marveled at the tall building from a distance, the evening sun reflecting from its transparisteel dome. The pilot landed the shuttle a few streets away as to not raise suspicion. Although that was probably in vain seeing as a certain idiot didn’t think of wearing something that were not his Jedi robes. You had heard that Anakin was not one for subtilty, but if he endangered your one chance of proving yourself you would kill him in his sleep. At least he had had the decency of not carrying the lightsabre in the open, otherwise he could have just as easily worn a nametag with ‘Jedi’ written on it. Your group walked towards the entrance of the building, your face still in a scowl as you watched the back of the man’s head. As Obi-Wan followed your line of sight he let out a sigh, obviously also not very happy about Anakin’s approach to the situation. The object of your frustration seemed to feel your gaze on him, turned around and rolled his eyes.
“Relax. You don’t really think that whoever has targeted Senator Amidala will not automatically identify us as Jedi, do you?”
“Well, now they definitely will. Do you ever follow the plan?!”, you exclaimed in exasperation. “I do. I just improvise a lot.”, he answered cockily. Before you could open your mouth Obi-Wan chimed in. “Enough, you two. Having you two bickering like an old couple will certainly pull everyone’s attention to us. We need to focus now.”, he explained with a stern voice. Through all the heated discussion you hadn’t noticed reaching the steps leading to the buildings entrance. A droid was positioned outside asking you to show him your invitation at which Obi-Wan pulled out a data pad. After the droid scanned your invitation the five of you entered and proceeded to make your way to the elevators.
Having reached the penthouse you are immediately taken aback by the see-through dome spanning above you. The transparisteel enabled your view of a few stars already appearing in the late evening sky. The air was rather humid with a soft smell of flowers coming from the open terrariums lining the walls. The variety of plants ranged from exotic trees, of which the canopies almost reached the dome to colourful flowers and succulents. Seeing so many plants in one place on Coruscant was a very unusual experience and almost overwhelming. Fairy lights adorned many taller plants bathing the room in a warm hue. Only now did you notice the many people of different species with posh clothes gathered into smaller groups all over the floor. At the very end of the floor was a bar positioned where people thirsty from dancing gathered for drinks. On the opposite side, a door led to a huge balcony overseeing the skyline of coruscant.
After taking in the scene, you turned towards Obi-Wan patiently waiting for instructions. Before he could answer though, Skywalker announced that he would go and find the Senator, advising you to observe the crowd before he walked off. You scoffed. Of course, he would be trying to order you around.
“You two spread out and verify that all entrances are covered by security personal before reporting back. Without attracting more attention than necessary, please.”, Obi-Wan informed the two other knights strictly, who had entered behind you. As you watched the two go off into different directions the master turned back towards you, his demeanour softening. “We could pass the time while Anakin comes back with the Senator, what do you think? Meanwhile we could make ourselves more familiar with the floor.”
 “We should attempt to fit in.”, you agreed taking the arm he offered you. Strolling alongside the terrariums you watched the flora in awe.
“Did you know that the plants presented here are all rare and endangered?”, the older man offered in an attempt to socialize.
“Maybe then they should not be taken from their natural environment and displayed for rich people to gawk at.”, you replied in thought whilst shrugging your shoulders.
“A true observation.”, Obi-Wan replied stroking his beard absentmindedly. You caught yourself staring at his fingers for a little too long.
“So... this defector. What do you know about him.”, you asked trying to redirect your focus on the mission at hand.
“As I said before he was a former separatist sympathizer that approached the senate claiming to have invaluable information.”
“And it’s probably not a secret that Senator Amidala was appointed to be a part of his interrogation?”
“No. The separatists have their eyes and ears everywhere. And it would be enough for one corrupt politician to catch wind of the operation for there to be a leak. Since there has already been an attempt on the man’s life since he arrived on Coruscant, the Senate and the Council are worried for the Senator’s life.” Reaching the main seating area surrounding the dance floor, the man let go of your arm. “The interrogation will take place tomorrow, which is why we are exceedingly cautious.”
“I take it you know this Senator Amidala? Are they to be trusted?”, you asked with furrowed brows.
“She is. I have known her for a very long time.”, the Jedi assured you with a soft smile. The fondness he expressed about the woman evoking a strange, unknown feeling in your chest similar to a stab. “You seem overly suspicious?”
“The Senate is filled with corrupt officials, working for other parties of interest like the Separatists or the Trade Federation. I have witnessed it first-hand.”
“You don’t seem overly fond of the Republic.”, Obi-Wan observed with a surprised expression, letting your arm go to face you.
“How could I? I was raised alongside people seeing the darkest parts of this system.”, you stated matter-of-factly. Furrowing his brows, the older man took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding.
“Yes, there are corrupt politicians in the senate. I am not overly fond of politicians myself. But I cannot believe it to be as grim as you make it out to be. The Republic stands for freedom and democracy, fighting for those who cannot protect themselves.”
“That has always been my reality, perhaps your experience is different.”, you answered to which the master responded with a thoughtful nod. Perhaps a topic for another place and time.
Taking a moment to view your surroundings you noticed a bar to the right side of the room where guests were seated with fancy looking beverages in hand. “Would you like a drink?”, Obi-Wan suggested having noticed your line of sight.
“I have actually never tried one before. Such indulgences were deemed unnecessary by Dooku.”, you explained as both of you moved towards the bar. As you followed his lead, the Jedi contacted the other knights, discretely requesting an update on their position. Everything was going as planned. At the bar, Obi-Wan motioned for you to take the only empty seat, while he stood next to you ordering the drinks.
“I’ll have one Ardees and one Corellian Wine for the Lady, please.”, he addressed the Bith bartender. The drinks arrived almost immediately after. “The Jedi also dislike such indulgence but since we are supposed to fit in, I’ll make an exception.”, he continued the conversation, winking at you. Averting your eyes you tried to cover the sudden shyness that overcame you by taking a hesitant sip of your wine. Before you could have embarrassed yourself further, the Jedi master changed the subject.
“How do you like the wine?”, he inquired with curious eyes after you had started coughing from the liquid burning your throat.
“It’s terrible.”, you expressed with your face distorted into a grimace. “What is that bitterness?”
At your reply, Obi-Wan immediately broke out into a laughter. “That would be the alcohol. Most people do not enjoy its taste the first time. Or ever.”
“I wonder why.”, you remarked dryly, but couldn’t hold back a grin at watching his amusement. You had never seen him this light-hearted, you could have almost forgotten why you were here in the first place. You imagined the Jedi rarely had time to relax and enjoy themselves like this.
Before you could continue the conversation you were interrupted by the band starting to play a cheerful tune. Couples of different species flooded to the center of the room, the dancefloor. The people twirling in their beautiful and extravagant gowns seemed to experience a lot of joy at moving to the music.
“I have never danced before.”, you stated in awe at the strange choreography. Obi-Wan simply extended his hand towards you and at first you didn’t understand. Obi-Wan simply nodded towards the dance floor.
“No, I don’t even know-“, you started to protest, but Obi-Wan simply grabbed your arm grinning mischievously at you.
“Simply follow my lead.”, he explained positioning your arms correctly and pulling you a little closer. You had never been this close to anyone before, not without the intention to kill. Your heart started pounding at the unfamiliar proximity. The band started playing a slower song and the two of you fell into a rhythm of steps and occasional twirls. The steps were fairly simple, nevertheless it took you some time to memorize the choreography and you had to apologize for stepping on your partner’s feet from time to time. As Obi-Wan twirled you around the next time, you caught a glance at a couple approaching the dancefloor caught up in conversation.
It was Anakin accompanied by a beautiful, smaller woman. Her attire was simply breath-taking. She wore a delicate, almost transparent rose-coloured gown that flowed around her feet. The hair was held up, braided with delicate flowers in-between complimenting the dark curls.
You noticed that the two of you had stopped dancing, Obi-Wan having also turned towards the two.
As the woman smiled at something Anakin had said, she seemed to light up the entire room. Anakin returned the gesture seemingly genuinely happy. It must have been obvious to anyone watching that there was something unspoken between them.
“I have never seen Anakin smile like that. She must mean a lot to him.”, you said directed at Obi-Wan who had pulled you back into the dance. Sighing he averted his eyes from the couple.
“So you have noticed too? Padme and Anakin have been romantically involved for some time now, even though I have advised Anakin against pursuing her.” So the beautiful woman was indeed the Senator you had been sent to protect. Of course, Anakin would get involved with someone behind the Council’s back. Somehow, the knowledge of their involvement lifted the strange feeling you had experienced earlier.
“Why is that?”
“Attachments are prohibited for Jedi. They distract us from our duty and make us choose other people over what is right. It is dangerous to let those feelings control you and cloud your judgement.” You had not been aware how strictly the code regulated the Jedis’ lives. It seemed almost impossible to you not to form any attachments.
“But everyone longs for intimacy and meaningful relationships. Isn’t it inevitable for attachments to form?”
“That is why we must learn to not let our emotions control us.”
“Do you truly believe in that?”
“I do think it is the right thing, yes. Those feelings will only bring ruin to those not able to control them.”
Somehow, and you didn’t understand why, his statement filled you with sadness. You wanted someone to look at you like Anakin and the Senator looked at each other. You had not been shown kindness and affection most of your life and you wanted to experience it just like they did.
“You want to tell me you have never felt this way for someone?”, you inquired with a mischievous grin on your lips.
“Oh no, I have. Although, I am not proud of it.”, his eyes filled with sadness, and you almost regretted starting that conversation.
The song ended and the two of you stepped apart as Anakin, holding the Senator’s arm, approached you.
“You look truly beautiful this evening, Padme.”, Obi-Wan initiated the conversation. The Senator smiled at his compliment reaching for him to touch her cheek to his. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. It is nice to see you today.” As she stepped back she noticed you, mustering you with a curious expression.
“And you must be the new addition to the Jedi Order.”, she stated surprisingly without any contempt. You would have assumed that Anakin would have told her about you, not putting you in the best light. As the knight in question noticed her focus on you, he protectively reached for her arm meaning for her to refrain from speaking to you. She simply put her hand over his finger and with a reassuring glance he let her step forward.
“Not an addition yet but I hope to be soon.”, you answered her a little taken aback by her openness. You understood why Anakin was under her spell. She radiated elegance and kindness everywhere she went.
“Good, and I assume you have already been briefed on the situation?”, she questioned in a soft but direct tone.
“I have.”
“Thank you for coming, but I still believe your concern is unnecessary, just as I told Anakin. I already have my people here to protect me.”, she explained glancing to a man at the other side of the room watching the crowd intently.
“The council insisted on our involvement. They seem convinced you are in danger, Padme.”, the Master Jedi explained, before being approached by the other two Jedi knights. “I am afraid duty calls. The pleasantries have to wait.” After exchanging some words with the knights, the two and Obi-Wan walk off deep in conversation.
“Anakin, would you please give me and your colleague some room to talk?”, the Senator approached Anakin softly touching his arm. The young man protested yet ultimately moved away. Of course, not before throwing you a threatening look.
“Anakin seems very protective of you.”, you observed watching him disappear into the crowd, probably going after the other Jedi.
Sighing, she followed the direction where her lover had vanished with her gaze. “Yes, he is always concerned for my safety.” Watching her worried expression for a moment, you retorted. “I imagine it was him who convinced the Council to get involved.”
“Yes, that would seem like him.”, she agreed a chuckle escaping her lips, revealing her perfect teeth. The Senator motioned for you to walk alongside her. “I hate to agree with him, but perhaps he is right. It’s reasonable to believe you have a target on your head.”, you added with a sour expression at the thought of giving Anakin any credit.
“That has been true for almost every day of my life. It was as true back when I was Queen of Naboo as it is now as a Senator of the Republic.”, she exclaimed with a serious expression, something that showed you that she probably had to grow up far to fast just like you.
“So you have been a politician your whole life. You must really believe in the Republic to devote your life to it.”
“I truly do. I –“, she continues, but you freeze as you see a red dot appear on the senators chest. Without further thought you push forward pulling her to the ground with you.
A fraction of a second later the sound of shattering transparisteel fills the room, which descends into utter chaos.
To be continued...
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madmarchhare · 3 months
Text
The Monk and the Traveller Ch.3
Cherry woke up late, groaning as he felt as if his head had been bound to the floor, twisting under the cover of the futon he had pulled over himself. The exhausted taste of alcohol reminding him of last evening, pressing his eyes shut, hoping that if he shut them hard enough he could sober himself up. He practically could hear the chiding voice of his father, saying how this was recompense for going against the word of Buddha. How, no pious monk would drink, while still smothered in the perfume of geishas[1]. He opened his eyes, feeling them strain at the thin light that bled into the room from outside. He felt that he was still in his kāṣāya, having slept in it.
He threw off the covers, dragging himself to his feet, rubbing his face with a hand as he did, feeling his eyes rock I their sockets from the inertia. He attempted to adjust his robe to look more sensible, then wandered out of his room to wash his face, hoping to resuscitate his senses. He barely registered his unlocked door as he wandered down the hall until he found a large tub of cold water and dumped his entire face in. He held it under for a couple of seconds then whipped his head back, shaking his head and flexing his face. He turned over to look at Surogasu’s daughter, not that he knew that, who looked at him with perplexed and unnerved expression before handing him a small towel she had been clutching to her chest. He took it with an appreciative nod and draped it over his wet hair, not doing much else as he went back to his room, water soaking the collar of his robes. She watched him go, torn whether to be concerned or confused.
As he came to his door, he locked eyes with Surogasu himself, the older man looked at him for a moment, studying him up and down as he carried a few boxes in his arms then nodded knowingly, a solemn look on his face. Cherry went into his room, finally able to keep his feet firmly beneath him, and attempted a serious effort to get dressed. He pulled off the outer cloak of his robes, laying it on the floor to straighten it, the smell of sake and herbs wafting off it as he did. He cursed Collier under his breath, swearing how he had taken him and tempted him, conveniently forgetting how many drinks he had poured for himself, or how much he had enjoyed the evening and the food he had been given. He stood over his overcloak in a white kimono[2], one he wore under the garment, a purple hakama[3] below it, which was often obscured. He moved over to a chair at one side of the room and sat down, resting his head in his hand, his palm to his brow, sighing slightly as an O-juzo[4] rattled on his wrist.
Some time later, Surogasu’s daughter opened the door carrying a tray of food and tea, wearing a blue-white wave patterned yukata and white obi. Cherry looked up at her bewildered, not having asked for anything and opened his mouth to say something, but she simply smiled at him. “Don’t worry, it’s a gift from my father. On the house for, ‘someone who fought a great battle he was familiar with’,” she replied, smiling cheekily at him as she placed the tray on a table near the man, who wore an exasperated expression in response hiding his face.
“I see,” he groaned, pulling his palm down his face as he looked up at the young woman with a sour expression. “Thank you, for bringing it to me then. Blessings be upon you,” he replied, offering a prayer.
“I’m not sure what a prayer from a hungover priest is worth,” she replied cheekily, smirking at the man as she sat down opposite him.
Cherry looked at her haughtily, “I see you have your fathers crassness,” he replied innocuously, taking up a pair of chopsticks in his hand and picking up a boiled egg.
“More quickness to honesty than crassness, as I see it,” she replied in an off handed manner, turning to look at the rising sun, “may I?” she asked, looking down at the platter she had just brought him. He looked between her and it for a moment.
“You brought it to me, it is only fair I suppose… ‘Give, even if you only have a little’ as it is said,” Cherry replied, taking the tea in his hands and smelling the brew, before taking a sip, relishing the drink as it soothed his head. The daughter and the monk continued with their meal, the girl snatching up the choice bits of meat while the monk was chewing, much to his silent chagrin and her visible amusement. “By the way, how did I get to my room? I can’t exactly remember what happened after…” he asked, trailing off as he expected she knew the rest of his sentence.
“Oh, the other man, Collier-Sama took you back. I saw him practically dragging you from the room,” she replied, biting down on a piece of sushi just after. Cherry made a noise of ascent, slightly upset that he owed the man yet another favour, but appreciated the help on some level.
“I suppose I should go and thank him for his kindness,” he declared, shifting from where he was sat to stand upright.
“There’s not much point in going now, he won’t be back from hunting yet,” she replied simply, taking a sip of tea, holding it slightly in front of her with both hands, looking down at the table.
Cherry stopped, shifting back down to sit, “he’s out hunting again?” he asked bewildered.
                “Yes, I saw him early this mourning, I think he’s hunting deer today. He was discussing it with father a day or two ago,” she responded, turning to look at him, light smile on her face. Cherry’s face settled back into its half sour expression, resting his forehead on the bottom of his palm.
“Well, thank you for bringing me a meal Surogasu-San,” Cherry muttered after a moment, turning away slightly.
“call me Suro,” she replied simply but firmly, Cherry looking at her slightly surprised, “Surogasu always sounds like people are talking about father[],” smiling sternly at the monk.
“Ah, uh, right…” he replied, having been caught off guard, taking a long draught of tea after as Suro looked at him warmly, snatching up one last piece of food on the tray. They heard a someone knocking on the door a second later in a quick, rapping pace.
“Chitose! Are you in there still? After you’re done go fetch some wood for the kamado[5], Collier-Sama asked to use it to boil down a skull of something he shot!” Surogasu called to his daughter through the thin door, his footsteps being heard as he walked away shortly after. Chitose shifted and rose to her feet, Cherry looking up at her as she moved, straightening her light blue yukata as she did.
“Well, it seems I am needed elsewhere,” she replied, collecting up the tray and placing her cup onto it, leaving Cherry with his tea.
“Right… thank you, Suro-San. May you be well,” Cherry replied, bowing to her slightly. She smiled down at him, a slight cockiness in her eyes.
“Thank you, I appreciate it. And, when you go to thank Collier-Sama, tell him I hope he enjoyed his hunt,” moving to the door as she spoke, “he should be in the parlour. He likes playing games and chatting when he comes back,” she finished, ducking through the threshold then closing the door behind them. Cherry stayed sitting down for a while, slowly draining his tea, before taking a deep breath and standing up and walking over to the door. The hall was lit by the sun that hung outside, tatami mats feeling soft under his feet as he walked down them. He mostly guessed where the parlour was, turning left as he came into the reception, a wide open door at the end opposite from the entrance. He saw Collier at a table with a set of playing cards spread out in front of him, along with a stack in his off hand. He was still dressed in his hunting garb, his hat absent from his head, with both of his revolvers still in their holsters, though sans everything else.
He noticed Cherry as he approached, turning his head slightly to look at the approaching footsteps, his face lighting up like the rising sun as he saw him. “Ah, there you are good chap! How are you? You drank rather heavily last night,” he called, turning in his chair to look at the approaching man, who then moved over to the seat across from him.
“I am as well as one would expect, considering the negative karma that is now afflicting me,” he responded, attempting to be grandiose as he grunted slightly, rubbing his head.
“Is that what you call a hangover then?” Collier quipped, smiling cheekily at him as he placed down a card, then quickly moving a few onto the ace piles above them. Cherry looked at him with a slight pout, grumbling to himself.
“In any case, thank you for yesterday. Both for the meal and taking me to my room,” he said, turning away slightly, Collier smiling at him in response.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied, waiving it off as he placed down another card, sifting through the pack in his other hand, “food always tastes better with company. Besides, is It not good virtue to help holy men? ‘If you light a lamp for someone else, it will also brighten your own path,’ as the Buddha says,” he finished in a slight sing-song tone, manoeuvring the cards in front of him onto the various piles for the aces until they were all stacked. “There we are,” he declared, stacking them all together again, the monk looking at the rectangular cards curiously.
“Care for a game?” Collier asked the man, shuffling the cards in his hands deftly. Cherry looked slightly confused, then sharpened his expression.
“No, it is wrong to gamble,” he replied, managing to sound respectable in his response, the foreigner smiling contently at him.
“I did not mean to gamble, just a friendly game of cards. To pass the time more than anything,” he replied innocently, flipping a card in his fingers before inserting it back into the pack. Cherry looked at him critically, before giving a tired sigh and leaning closer to his benefactor. He did owe his room to the man, and he didn’t have anywhere for tonight either.
“Fine, what are we playing?” he asked, exasperated, looking up at the ceiling as he asked.
“What do you know how to play?” Collier asked, smiling at his competitor.
“I know the basics of Rummy, but I’m not too familiar with European card games,” Cherry replied honestly, though coldly.
“Rummy it is then,” Collier replied, swiftly dealing out two hands of seven cards and moving one towards Cherry, facedown. He placed the stack of remaining cards down on the table, over turning one to start off the discard pile, a seven of diamonds. Cherry picked up the cards, the pattern on the back being a deep blue, covered with white liveries, along with two cherubs riding bicycles towards the back face of the cards, surrounded in a circle. “Standard rules, though I do let runs wrap around… You go first,” he stated, gesturing with his hand for Cherry to begin.
They continued on, calmly playing the game as Cherry tried to keep track of the Arabic numerals on the cards, not quite familiar with them. After a while, Collier having three sets out, and cherry only having one and a card laid on his opponent’s, Cherry asked a bored question, hoping for some conversation to distract him from his poor performance. “By the way, why do you still have your revolvers on you? There’s not exactly much you can hunt in here. Unless you plan to shoot someone’s main course,” he asked drolly, leaning his face in his hand, letting his other hand flop down across his chest as it gripped his cards.
Collier looked up from his cards to his companion, then down to his holster, “Oh, well I didn’t see much reason to take them off. And, I was worried they might get lost. They are much smaller than my rifle or the like,” his voice matter-o-fact as he responded.
“Mhmm,” Cherry murmured, not saying much more as he looked at the holster. It was an odd design, made of one piece of tannish leather, the top revolver, the Merwin and Hulbert, being pointed down near a 45o angle, the grip pointing up wards and the barrel down. The revolver in the lower slot in the piece, the Webley, however, was nearly horizontal, the barrel being only slightly pointed down behind him. Both revolvers seemed to cross each other, though the top revolver was slightly further from Collier’s side, the holster being hung from the belt around his waist. “Where did you buy that holster then?” Cherry asked as he laid down a set of three, hoping to distract the man.
“Oh, I had it custom made. I wanted something to hold both revolvers on the same side, so I can keep the expense pouch, and not have to remember which revolver is which side,” Collier replied pleasantly, picking up the card Cherry had discarded and laying down his entire hand, ending the game. “It’s quite nice looking, isn’t it?” Collier put to the monk, who balked at his near instant loss, not even having to count up his score to know he had lost.
“Yes…” Cherry replied, slightly irritably, though a note of bewilderment entwined within it. The cards were re-shuffled and the began again, idle conversation occurring throughout. After Cherry’s third consecutive loss he fumed silently, staring down at the cards with a determined expression, pressing his lips together.
Collier removed a cigar from a case in his jacket, glancing around for a second before setting it down and moving to leave his seat. “One moment please… I just need to find and ash tray,” he declared, his voice dragging out as he searched around.
“Of course,” Cherry snapped brusquely, not looking up from the mediocre hand he had dealt himself. Collier rose up and walked away from the game in search of an ash tray, leaving the inflamed monk to himself. As he left earshot, Cherry began muttering a mantra under his breath, praying to himself. As he did, he heard a light chuckle from behind him. He spun his head around to find the origin and saw Suro holding an emptied tray of food behind him, an amused expression on her face.
“Is it right for a monk to pray for luck when gambling?” she asked cheekily, covering her smile slightly with her free hand as she balanced the tray on the other.
“… I’m not gambling, it’s just a friendly game,” Cherry huffed, slightly deflated as he turned back to look at his cards.
“And that makes all the difference then?” she chided, amused as she leant down to him, still stood behind him.
“Don’t you have work to do?” he growled back, slouching into his own shoulders.
“Yes I do, but this was more fun,” she replied mischievously, then moving away from the grumbling monk.
“…Do you know where the ashtray’s are?” he called out after a moment, a sour tone still clear in his voice.
“Father will have some with him at the counter, or in the kitchen. He only puts them out when people ask for them, or late in the evening. Stops people from pinching them easily then,” she called back as she walked towards the kitchen, stopping near the door to finish the conversation. As she turned back to continue she saw Collier walking back holding a cast-iron ash tray, smiling warmly at her. She returned the smile and continued on her way. Collier walked back over to the table, the monk glancing up a him as he approached before he snapped his eyes back to his cards, pressing a hand to his chin.
“Found one then?” he remarked, moving some cards around in his hand as the taller man sat down in the chair he had been. Collier flashed a smile at him, placing the cast-iron disk on the table and picking up the cigar. He checked his hands from the table, bending them up to look at them before taking a card from the stack and tossing one away, getting out and striking a match. He puffed the cigar while he held the flame against its end, sending up plumes of pinkish smoke like a furious dragon, waving the flame out before dropping the burnt out match in the ash tray. Cherry reached for a card from the stack as the other man leant back in his chair, pinching his cigar between two finger as he pulled it away from his mouth. Cherry smiled smugly as he took the card, prising out the run of cards he had just got and laying them down. He wore a proud expression on his face, tipping his head back slightly as he crossed his arms, the other man wearing a bemused expression in response. The game continued, the fragrant smell of tobacco smoke hanging over the game. After a number of turns, Cherry triumphantly placed down the remainder of his hand, winning the game by a good margin.
Collier looked at him with a cheeky expression, “congratulations,” smiling at him as he nocked away his ash into the tray on the table. Cherry looked at him with a slightly insulted expression, thinking he was being made fun of, though to some extent he was. Collier collected up the cards again as the monk looked at him sourly, a toothy grimace on his face as he rested his face on his palm, his elbow on his knee as he slouched forward. He began shuffling them, puffing lightly on his shortened cigar, when he heard the sound of someone entering the parlour with them, turning his head to look at them. As he did, he smiled widely, “Ando-San! How are you?” he called out, keeping his cigar in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. Cherry looked up to see the man his opponent had seen and shivered slightly as he recognised the veteran from the day before.
He was reasonably short, with close cropped hair featuring flashes of grey around the ears, which were pressed against his head, and resembled cauliflowers. He still wore the tightly bound glasses on his long face, a his nose long and flat, the two twine handles that held the lenses to his face being a greenish colour, likely woven from some natural plant in the region. A long scar ran from the top of his crown to just under the bend of his cheek bone. He was wearing a very casual yukata, dark grey and blue in colour, a medal pinned on his left chest. Specifically, ‘The Order of The Golden Kite’, a blue ‘X’ cross, petals at the tope arms, on top of a red enamelled sun with thin rays pushing past the arms.[6] Two spears were on top of the ‘X’, red banners either side of the ‘X’s centre, a twisting ribbon going up it’s centre crested with a gold eagle. It was held by a light blue ribbon square at the top, then becoming triangular as it came down to the star.
He turned his head over to Collier, curious who had called him as he was chatting to Suro, then let a smile break across his face. “Collier-San! I’m well, how was your hunt?” he asked, walking over to the pair as Suro walked over to one of the other tables.
“It went quite well, they should be serving some of it today,” Collier replied warmly, looking up at the man.
“That sounds splendid,” Ando replied, sitting down at the Englishman gestured them to do so.
“By the way, are you willing to sell me your rifle? The Type 35?”[7] Collier asked, placing the stack of cards down on the table, Cherry looking down at them dismally, before pushing the expression off his face. Ando looked at him slightly confused.
“Why’d you want it?” he asked, shifting in the chair.
“I like to do some shooting with rifles from the country I’m in sometimes, aside from that, yours is a beautiful thing, and it’s easier to get ammunition for it that for my Lee Speed,” Collier explained, taking a quick puff on his cigar as he finished then pulling it away. Ando seemed to consider it for a moment, pressing his lips together as he squinted up at the ceiling.
After a moment he put up one finger, “alright, beat me in a game and I’ll give it too you!” he declared confidently, crossing one leg as he leaned back in his chair.
“No, I’ll pay you for it, I don’t mind,” Collier replied, Cherry watching the conversation with relative disinterest, though looking nervously at the scarred man.
“Come on, let’s have a game! It’ll be fun!” Ando pleaded, smiling at him as he leaned forward.
“Alright, let’s do this. If you win against me three times, I will add, hmm, let’s say add thirty yen to whatever price you want for the rifle,” Collier replied, slightly exasperated, though smiling at the man.
“Done!” Ando cried, the other man shaking his head slightly as he lightly chuckled.
“What do you want to play then?” Collier asked curiously, cocking his head slightly.
“As you’ve been playing something you’re familiar with,” referring to the European card deck by the other man’s hand, “this time, let’s play a Japanese game. Hana-Awase,” he said grandly.
“…Alright then,” Collier replied after a moment. Ando smiled confidently, standing up to grab a pack of Hanafuda[8] cards. When he came back he opened the deck and began dealing them out, including Cherry in the game.
As he dealt, Collier made a noise of discontent, “it feels odd with just three people…” he muttered, then noticed Suro walking by, “ah, Suro-San! Come join us! We need a fourth player,” he called catching the girls attention.
She looked over at the trio with slight confusion, glancing around as she opened her mouth to say something. “Don’t worry, the place isn’t too busy and if Surogasu-San kicks up a fuss I’ll explain,” he called to her, Ando nodding in agreement.
She huffed to herself, sighing slightly as she walked over, occupying the one open seat.
“I presume you know the rules?” Collier remarked cheekily.
“You presume correctly,” she chided, flashing a witty smile at the older man. She had her straight black hair let down, trimmed somewhat shortish-hanging just about jaw level. Still in her light blue kimono, a bracelet on her left hand and slippers on her feet. She was a rather thin woman, yet she seemed strong in presence when she was close, taking after her father in that way, along with his sharp tongue.
“But do you know the rules?” Cherry asked plainly to Collier, speaking for the first time in a while.
“I know the basics. I’ll pick it up as I go,” he replied dismissively, smiling at the other three. Ando smiled evilly at the Englishman, confident in a victory. He dealt each player five cards, then laid eight cards face up on the field, placing the remainder of the stack near them. In some ways, it was a more complicated version of Snap!, or Koi-Koi as it was called in Japanese. Ando, as the dealer, went first. He laid down a card from his hand in the field, matching one of the cards laid down then picked up a card from the stack and laid it face down, this one unfortunately not matching so he left it. The turns rotated counter-clockwise, meaning Collier went next. He considered his hand for a moment, Cherry trying to suppress his enjoyment of the sight, then place a card neatly on the field and one form the stack, neither being a match. He placed his hand up to his face, resting it just under his lip as he watched the cards, Ando glancing at him with a slightly cheeky but friendly smile. Suro went next, her first card matching one Collier had placed down and the other matching nothing. And so on and so fourth until the game had finished. In the end, Ando won, Cherry coming in second, and Collier in last.
“Don’t worry my friend,” Ando began smarmily, smirking at the other man, “I wont ask too much for it anyway,” he continued, already presuming his victory.
“Thank you for your concern my good chap, but I think I’ve got the hang of it now,” Collier explained calmly, smiling at the other man as he then put out his cigar in the ash tray. Ando wore an expression of mock agreement, while Cherry grinned at him with his Cheshire cat smile. Cherry dealt this time, then took the first go. In the end, Cherry won that round, smiling proudly, to himself, getting amused looks from both Suro and Collier. But, Collier had come second, Suro remaining in third. After that they continued, Collier winning the next, then again. After the second win, Ando grimaced slightly at the cards, reaching in his clothes for a packet of cigarettes and pulling one out before he shuffled the cards.
Suro looked up at him, “your daughter doesn’t like you smoking you know,” she chided, startling the veteran and making him stiffen.
“It’s just one, to help me concentrate on the game,” he replied nervously, flapping his hand in Suro’s direction, hoping to dissuade her from telling his daughter. She looked at him flatly for a moment before sighing slightly and rolling her head.
“Fine, just make sure you don’t smell to strongly of smoke or she’ll come after me as well,” she replied half exasperated, though sounding serious. Ando smiled at the young woman as he gripped the cigarette in his teeth, Collier handing him a box of matches. After he had lit the cigarette, pulling the ash tray over to himself, he shuffled and dealt out the cards. After a while, Suro won the game by a large margin, smiling plainly at the men. Then when Cherry had dealt she won again. By the end, it morphed into a competition between Collier and Suro, Cherry carving out one more win, as Ando looked down dismally at his cards.
In the end, Suro won the most, smiling contently at the other three, Collier smiling widely at her. “Well done,” he said simply, not surprised in the least. Ando sighed slightly then let a small smile on his face. “Well, as I lost, I shall buy us all dinner,” Collier declared, standing up to order from the kitchen, “we’ll discuss the rifle after we’ve finished,” he added, turning back to Ando who nodded slightly, waiving his hand in acknowledgement. The shopkeeper sighed slightly, having hoped to win, more for the simple sake of it than the extra money. Though it wasn’t as if he had disliked the idea of it. Suro smiled to herself, pleased to have won, looking arrogantly at Cherry who eyed her with his standard, sour expression. She shifted slightly in her seat, unsure whether she should stay any longer, in case her father needed her help. She darted a glance to the entrance hall, seeing if she could spot him while not moving her head too much, bringing her curled fingers up to her mouth in worry.
She saw him sweeping in the hall, rhythmically moving the broom to direct the admittedly minute amount of dust on the ground into a pan. The man seemed to sense his daughters eyes on him and lifted his head to look at her, still gripping the broom. He waived his hand at her, as if to encourage her to take a break. There wasn’t much to do at the moment, and she did enough anyway. She flashed him a wider smile than the one that often decorated her face, then turned back to the table. Ando had collected the hanafuda cards back up, leaving Colliers in a stack on the table for the other man to retrieve. Cherry leered out at some middle space ahead of him with a tired face, still in the waning throws of his hangover, despite his activity. Collier came back in the room a moment later, carrying a tray flanked by a fanfare of two of the chefs, Suro presuming the third was still in the kitchen. He smiled widely as he placed his tray on the table, pressing it near to the centre as he moved out of the way of the other two chefs, young men who were training under the man who had stayed behind. He sat down as the other three gazed at the meal, turning up to thank the chefs who had come with him. They returned his thanks and walked off, the older man picking up his cards, placing them in the packet they came in, then into a silver cards case he pulled from one of the pockets on his jacket.
It wasn’t the largest meal, but it was not modest either. Covered with fresh meat and fish, sushi and various pastries, a number of dumplings and other sweets at one side meant for later. The other three began, pulling their respective cups of tea closer as well. Ando smiled at the meal, moving to the edge of his seat as the other two began, Suro and Cherry instantly reaching for the meat and giving each other challenging stares. Ando smiled over the meal, but seemed to be searching for something, a key component of the meal. Collier reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a silver flask grabbing a small cup with the other hand, then pouring brandy into it, the veteran smiling widely as the hunter handed it to him, raising the glass to him. “Thank you, Collier-San,” he said, the other man nodding in return, selecting a piece of seasoned pheasant in front of him, neither of the younger two noticing as they battled between themselves over the food.
“I’ll go get the rifle, then we can talk about it after we finish,” Ango declared, standing up after he took a long draught of his drink and stuffed a dumpling into his mouth. Collier glanced up at him with a questioning look, but decided the man knew what he was doing, and nodded to him in temporary farewell, the other giving a snappy waive before bustling out of the parlour then out the door into the darkening night. Collier turned back to the meal, taking an egg roll in his chopsticks and plopping it in his mouth as he looked at the other two. Cherry wore a sour countenance, grumbling at Sugo, who chuckled at him, amused by his reactions as she snapped up food. They calmed down after a moment, idly chatting, chewing the fat as they chewed their food.
Ando came back shortly after, slightly pale from only just avoiding a chewing out by his daughter, Collier pouring him a heavy drink to help him recover from the trauma of it. They discussed the price of the rifle over their meals, Suro leaving part way through, thanking Collier for the meal, and the three of them for the game. The two older man returned the appreciation enthusiastically, while the monk muttered something resembling it as he looked away. She smiled at them all then marched off. The two men resumed their talk, Cherry feeling lethargic from the food, perking up when the pair finally settled on a price of about two hundred yen. Ando gave him the rifle, along with some accessories that came with it such as its bayonet. He left shortly after that, receiving a send off like he was going off to war as he returned to his angered daughter, now smelling of booze as well as smoke.
After a while, collier himself got up from his seat, collecting his newly acquired rifle and its extras in his hands. “Well, thank you for the game my friend, I truly enjoyed it,” he declared boisterously to the smaller man, catching his attention as he looked up at Collier with a shocked expression.
“Ah, sure, no problem… thank you very much for the food. It was greatly appreciated,” he responded, slightly flustered to start with then, settling into his usual confidence as he offered the man a prayer.
“I am glad you enjoyed it my good fellow,” Collier declared, rocking on the balls of his feet, “I hope to see you in the future, but, until then I wish you a good evening,” he called as he walked away. Cherry watched him go, the man swiftly disappearing from sight. The monk remembered only then that he hadn’t a room for the night and disliked owing the man any more favours. He got up and walked to his room, ducking in quickly to snatch up the clothes he had left in there, pulling them on, though leaving his sandals off, holding them in his hands as he walked back to the entrance. He saw Surogasu near the entrance, where he had seen him the day before, reading the same book, though noticeably further through it.
He looked up the monk who had been his guest and bowed to him, “thank you for your patronage, we hope you’ll visit us again,” he droned in a practised tone, though not without some sincerity, despite his blank face.
“… May you receive the Buddha’s blessing,” Cherry replied, levelly with his usual half-displeased expression, nodding to the man and tipping his hat as he slid on his wooden sandals and walked out the door, the chill of an approaching rain nipping at his exposed neck, shutting the door behind him with his free hand. He looked out into the black night, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust before striding forward, using his staff like a walking stick. The town was near pitch black as he walked, one or two buildings still allowing light to trickle through their thin windows, the night winding itself down. He walked out into the other side of the wood that surrounded the town, hearing the night-time chatter of animals as he went.
After about an hour of walking, the lethargy of a long day and a large meal tugging at him, he found a section of trees that sloped nicely, branches and other vegetation having clumped up between two trees at the peak of a small hill. He went over to it, piling a few dry ferns nearby on the ground to act like a mat then laid down. He felt his eyelids hang low, hearing the departing sounds of oncoming rain as he dropped off to sleep.
He woke up to a feeling of damp around his neck and the top of his back. He pulled his eyes open, finally rid of his hungover as his head felt cool. He shifted on the makeshift mat so that he was sat upright, pulling a hand over his face then resting it over his thin moustache, as he looked out ahead of him. Rain tumbled out of the sky in great cascading tears, smacking hard into the face of the ground, heartily embraced by the soil and the trees. The world was dimly lit, the sun hidden by storm clouds, leaving the world a cold yet comforting of blue-grey. A great glob of water smacked onto Cherry’s head, making him wince as he felt the chill on his scalp, running down the strands of short black hair on his head. He looked up at the natural cover above him and saw great beads of water collecting on it, a section at its base near where his head had been having washed away completely, a flow of water dribbling down it. He grimaced at the water as if it had said something unpleasant then huffed tiredly, grabbing his paddy hat and shoving it on, grabbing his staff as he moved to stand, just barely avoiding clonking his head on the cover. He instantly heard the rain quickly rapping on his hat, like a cat desperately wanting to come in, his hands quickly becoming sodden with chilly water. He kept walking, doubting the downpour would relent any time soon. He didn’t dislike the rain, it was far too common to keep up a dislike such as that.
He kept walking for a long while, making slow progress as the ground became marshy and unstable underneath him. Then, at the edge of a disused and forgotten path he noticed a small covered shrine, the wood stripped of paint by age and nature. He crept closer to the place, noticing the toppled remains of a torii[9]gate half subsumed by tall grass. As he come up to it, he respectfully opened the door, bowing as he did. He removed his sandals before he ventured further in, kowtowing to a small effigy in the centre of the small room, an even smaller plate below it for offerings, long disused. The effigy in the centre was of a wolf, it’s name written in faded and illegible kanji just below it. Cherry reached into the sleeve of his keysa[10] and pulled out a small self wrapped parcel and unwrapped it, releasing two meat buns. He placed one on the offering table and bowed to it, muttering a request to stay in the shrine to wait for the rain, bowing in silence until he then moved to the statue’s side and began eating the other bun.
The rain smacked against the roof overhead, visible through the holes in the walls, rushing past like a horde or charging cavalrymen. There was no real light in the structure, a few ancient candles stuck nearby taunting the matchless monk with their unburning wicks. He sat, meditating as he let his thoughts turn blank in his head, surrounded by the white noise of rain. After a while, the rain eased off, leaving a light breeze that brough cold air into the abandoned shrine, one of its two occupants shivering slightly as the cold crept down his back. He broke his position, sprawling himself in a more relaxed fashion on the floor as he looked grumpily through the age eaten walls at the outside that had given him chills. He grumbled slightly, but decided it was a sign he should move on. He bowed again to the statue and the Kami[11] that it represented, then opened the door and left. The ground was sodden, rain having soaked the forest around him as small insects moved around in the now humid air. The ground sank slightly under his sandals, but not enough that it was a concern. Birds began to flit about overhead, racing to snatch up the worms now emerging due to the rain.
The wind snapped and buckled around him, playing with the forest as well as his robes like a dancing child, echoing gusts ringing like innocent laughter. The natural world continued on around him, watching him with a mix of curiosity and fear. It was about late morning-early afternoon when he stopped. He found a pleasant clearing, lit by a few opalescent rays of light that had broken through the blockade of cloud and branch above. He pulled himself onto a large rock in the centre of it, subsumed by moss on one side, cold to the touch. He sat down on it, adjusting himself into a sitting position and placing his hands together, deciding to meditate as he rested.
He sat, surrounded by the pleasant orchestra of nature and lit by warm rays of light. He remained still and relaxed, smirking to himself as he reached a perfect position. Though it was to be expected, he was a highly skilled priest after all, he thought, a wide smirking breaking across his face. Then, quite suddenly, as if a suspension wire had snapped, rain slammed down in a monsoon. Cherry grimaced, instantly soaked, the water winding its way through the seams on his hat simply by virtue of its weight and soaking him top to toe. He scrambled to his feet, muttering curses as he dashed for some form of cover from the rain.
Pride always comes before the fall, well, rainfall in this case.
[1] A Geisha is a female class of Japanese preforming artists and entertainers trained in traditional Japanese arts of entertainment, as well as being good conversationalists and hosts. They are not prostitutes, the idea coming from a Western misunderstanding, conflating them with other extant professions.
[2] A Japanese wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and rectangular body, and is worn wrapped left side over right unless the owner is deceased.
[3] A style of Japanese loose fitting trousers, often pleated. Some may be undivided and more resemble a skirt.
[4] O-Juzo: Juzo is the name in Japanese for a Buddhist bracelet, with ‘O’ being a common honorific for objects.
[5] Kamado: A type of traditional Japanese stove, fired through a hole in the front where the tender is placed, the top having holes where pots were hung by the rims in the flames. Some, following the Edo period, were raised so they could be used while standing.
[6] The Order of the Golden Kite [金鵄勲章: Kinshi Kunshō] An order of the Empire of Japan established on 12 February 1890 by Emperor Meiji “in commemoration of Jimmu Tennō, the Romulus of Japan”. It was solely a military award, conferred for bravery, leadership or command in battle.
[7] The Japanese naming convention for rifles and general military equipment is ‘Type’ followed by the year of its adoption in the reign of the Emperor. In this case, the 35th year of Emperor Meji’s reign, roughly 1903.
[8] Japanese playing cards. The are arranged in sets of months, with various images on their obverse faces varying in colour but usually featuring flowers, fruits or birds each with differing points.
[9] A traditional Japanese gate found at the entrance to, or within the borders of a Shinto shrine. They are typically used to mark the transition from the mundane to the sacred.
[10] The name for the outer robe of Japanese Buddhist Garments.
[11] Kami: Spirits of Nature and the surrounding region, central to Shinto beliefs, but also viewed by Japanese Buddhist sects to be incarnations of the Buddha himself.
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1016anon · 1 year
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Title: Kate Is a Governess AU Author: 55anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma Summary: Daphne's presentation
A/N -- Dialog taken/modified from Season 1. Anthony and Kate's serious conversation will be in another part. This is after (mostly) everything is resolved.
-5-
"Miss Daphne Bridgerton, presented by her sister, the Right Honorable, the Viscountess Bridgerton!"
All those gathered in the room immediately looked at one another, whispering furtively to their neighbors in surprise and confusion.
Benedict watched the crowd, carefully suppressing the giddiness which bubbled up from his chest.
Anthony only had eyes for the opening doors.
--
Brother
What, Benedict
You want to introduce Kate to the ton as your Viscountess
Yes, what of it?
And circumstances are such that the public courtship you desire is not possible
Is there a point to this conversation, Brother? Or are you merely reciting statements which are known to be true.
I have an idea
--
The doors opened.
The entire room gasped in shock.
--
What about the special license?
I have a friend who owes me a favor. He can easily secure a license on your behalf.
I'll have to speak to Kate about this
Of course
But Daphne will not mind?
She's ecstatic, Brother. I've never seen her so excited
--
Daphne emerged, resplendent in her presentation gown, hair perfectly coiffed, her gold tiara accented with the finest white ostrich plumes money could buy. The diamonds of her necklace were mounted on a band of white gold so thin, they seemed to float like a blessing from Aphrodite.
Kate had the necklace specially commissioned so that every diamond, while they might be small, was of such exceptional clarity and cut that the faces of each jewel sparkled brilliantly even in the dimmest light. The effect was unforgettable-- it seemed as though Daphne's very soul was shining incandescently from the top of her sternum.
--
Yes
Yes?
Anthony, there is nothing I want more than for the whole world to know-- I belong with you. I belong to you. You hold my heart, and there is no one I love more
You are bound to me
My body, life, and soul
My wife
Your wife
--
Anthony's heart glowed with pride as Daphne passed through the doors, her every step taken with seamless grace.
But his heart stopped when Kate appeared, exactly one step behind Daphne. She was wearing her wedding gown-- Anthony saw that by some sort of mystical tailoring magic, it no longer had the long train. She wore a more modest tiara and had no veil but aside from that, she looked exactly the same. His breath caught to see her in that dress again, walking down the long presentation room to the Queen. Kate's entire being was suffused with that measured, regal confidence.
Anthony remembered: Yesterday morning, Kate walking down the aisle, smiling at him with a sweet, radiant happiness he'd never seen before. It was so carefree and innocent, as though she was an eighteen year old debutante who had never been robbed of her girlish dreams; whose hopes had never burned up with her promised future.
Here, in the presence of the Queen with the eyes of the ton upon her, Kate was the picture of a viscountess.
His Viscountess.
Everyone gathered in the room understood this appearance for what it was: it was Daphne's debut, and it was Kate's formal presentation to society as the Right Honorable the Viscountess Bridgerton.
Benedict had called it a statement and they had intended it to be such. But Kate could never do anything by half measures.
This was a declaration.
She was taking her rightful place now, beside him, for what god hath joined together, no man shall put asunder.
--
You know we will not be able to have a wedding breakfast, if Daphne's presentation is to be the day after the ceremony.
We shall have a wedding breakfast with the family.
And the ton?
Well my Lord, Mrs. Wilson and I have already discussed the matter of hosting a ball at Bridgerton House.
A ball.
Yes.
--
"Flawless, my dear."
The Queen leaned over and kissed Daphne's forehead.
She then turned to Kate and put her hand under her chin, bidding her to rise.
"I expect great things, Viscountess Bridgerton."
The ripple of shock which went through the room was palpable as a thousand sheets of gossip were written that very moment, for publication later in the day.
Anthony nearly forgot himself and almost put his hand to his heart; it was bursting to full with pride for his sister, love for his wife, and a mixture of relief and exhilaration, that the Queen gave them both her blessing.
Her Majesty returned to her throne as Daphne and Kate stepped back, making another deep curtsy.
"Did that truly just happen?" Daphne whispered, though she needn't have worried. The room was buzzing with excitement.
"It did," Kate replied softly. "You were marvelous, Daphne."
As they both rose, Kate continued, "We shall celebrate properly with the family later. Right now, we must remain focused. It would not do to trip at the finish line."
Daphne held her head higher as she and Kate made their exit.
Her smile might be one of the debutante, but her eyes held only triumph.
--
I know that face-- you've not only discussed it, but you've already planned it.
There's no need for you to scowl at me like that.
Ah, so it's even worse than I thought. You're in the midst of-- you've already made all the necessary arrangements?
Indeed I have.
From the way you're smiling, you've gone so far as to hire musicians.
Mrs. Wilson has managed to secure a French chef for dinner.
--
"You absolutely sparkled, Sister," Hyacinth giggled.
"Come, now. I merely simpered and minced in a pretty dress like everyone else."
"Not exactly like everyone else," Francesca replied. "Is that not so, Kate?"
"It is, Fran. Daphne, would you say I merely simpered and minced in a pretty dress like everyone else?"
"Oh Kate, you were wonderful!" Hyacinth said.
"Yes, and now you must live up to her Majesty's great expectations."
"Ah, but I'm a Bridgerton now, Eloise, and Bridgertons never run from a challenge."
"Very true," Eloise returned to her Whistledown. "What was it the Queen called you again, Daphne?"
"Flawless," Kate answered for her.
Daphne blushed as Rose helped her change into her gown.
--
Is this why I overheard Burke speaking of a card room and a smoking room?
Likely so. Oh, and let us not forget the ever important lemonade.
Heaven forfend. It would be the greatest of travesties indeed.
You jest, but my reputation as your Viscountess would never recover, to make such a silly mistake.
--
"Trust I was astonished her Majesty offered me, out of two hundred young ladies present, a most gracious remark."
"Most gracious and deserved, Daphne" Kate said.
"Yes, it was quite a distinction. And now two hundred young ladies have a common adversary," Eloise snarked.
"Only two hundred?" Kate asked. "Surely double that-- you've forgotten to include all the young ladies now entering their second and third season, Eloise."
"Kate!" Francesca protested.
"I tease, dear Fran. But to have so many adversaries is a reflection of one's own strength and power. To have two hundred adversaries signifies Daphne is truly a formidable young woman."
"Ugh, Kate! Why must you always be so--" Eloise made a vague motion.
"Wise?" Daphne suggested innocently.
"I think Daphne is worthy of a thousand adversaries!"
"Thank you, Hyacinth," Daphne smiled widely. "And Eloise, my success on the marriage mart influences your prospects."
"Daphne," Kate stood and took her hands. "Anthony and I do not want you to place that burden on yourself."
"Anthony has promised I shan't have to marry if I don't desire to do so," Eloise said.
"That is true for all of you."
--
Darling, why are we hosting a ball?
I would have thought it obvious. To celebrate our wedding.
Rather short notice to send out invitations.
You forget, my love, we shall be the talk of the town. Every member of the ton will covet an invitation.
--
"But we will all need to find love one day," Daphne protested. "Indeed, a love as pure as what you and Anthony share, and what Mama and Papa once shared. I merely hope I am able to continue such a grand tradition."
"Your brother and I did not always love each other, you know."
"Anthony has always loved you, Kate. Since the moment you arrived."
"And where did you hear such stories, Fran?"
"Benedict," Francesca replied without an ounce of shame for telling on her brother.
"You love each other very much now," Hyacinth added. Then: "Why does Daphne need to marry? You and Anthony weren't married for years."
Eloise laughed, hurriedly disguising it as a cough.
"I'm afraid is very complicated, Hyacinth. There are certain rules in society which people follow."
"What rules?"
"Hmm, why don't you ask Benedict? Since he's such an authority," Kate smiled with mischief. "Now, I believe--"
The door opened and the maids brought in several boxes.
"Dresses for everyone!"
All the girls, including Eloise, rushed over to open the boxes.
--
Do you really think it wise to do this?
I think it is necessary.
Why?
Anthony, don't whine. It's not becoming of a viscount.
Hush, you.
--
"They're all staring, Kate."
"You stare at me all the time, my Lord."
Daphne hid a smile behind her hand while Anthony glared at Kate. She simply smirked.
"Anthony, stop glaring at everyone."
"I'll glare at whomever I wish, Lady Bridgerton."
"I shan't dance with you tonight if you continue acting this way."
"Kate, I--"
"Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton... Lord Bridgerton."
While Kate knew who the gentleman before them was, she decided to wait and see what Anthony would do.
Which was stare in a menacing fashion.
Kate dug her elbow into his side quite hard.
"Ambrose," he finally said, grudgingly. "You have already been introduced to my sister, Daphne."
"Uh, yes. We met at your brother's levee," Ambrose said to Daphne.
"If I recall, my Lord, you had just won your first race at Newmarket."
"His first and only, I believe," Anthony said in that superior way of his.
Kate suppressed an internal sigh.
"Well, in that case, let us hope his Lordship has found himself a new horse."
Ambrose chuckled weakly.
This one was not right for Daphne, but she elbowed Anthony again when she felt him take a breath to speak.
He glared at her, but grit his teeth.
"Miss Bridgerton, would you honor me with a dance?"
"I would be delighted, my Lord."
As he led her to the dance floor, Daphne smiled back at Kate, a bit nervous but also excited.
Then, at the first opportunity she dragged Anthony to a suitable corner to act as chaperone.
--
Is it so wrong that I would like to limit our social obligations as hosts this season and have you to myself?
We do not need to host anything else this season, we can--
I already have to share you with Daphne.
Anthony.
--
"Kate, what are you doing? Ambrose is a cheat!"
"Then it is a good thing Daphne is at a ball instead of at the club."
"I thought we were agreed that a man of any honor ensures his debts are fully paid."
"He asked her for a dance, Anthony, not marriage," Kate glared. "No, are you going to deny Daphne the courtship you wish we could have had, my Lord?"
"But this is--"
"Anthony," her voice trembled.
He was immediately alarmed to see her suddenly close to tears.
"Anthony, do you know how much I longed for this as a girl? The balls, the dancing, the attention? I told myself to focus on practical things, educate myself to become a governess, but I still--"
She blinked rapidly.
"Let her have this, Anthony. Please, let her have this," she nodded her head to the dance floor. "Look at her. She's so happy."
And Daphne did look quite happy. Only a moment later:
"She's grimacing."
"Ambrose trod on her foot-- see? She's going to ignore him at future balls."
"I'm still going to tell her he's a cheat."
"And I agree, but let her decide first."
--
This is a battle I've already lost, isn't it.
I know you hate hosting balls.
We've never hosted one before.
--
"Do you want to know a secret, Husband mine?"
Anthony turned to look at her; Kate's expression was wistful but also amused.
"Dances are the length of rope with which a man hangs himself."
He blinked.
"Pardon?"
"Give a man a chance to have a woman's complete attention and within the first five steps, he will reveal himself to be a cad, a boor, a villain, or a gentleman."
"How exactly does a woman determine this?"
"Would you like to dance, my Lord? To see which of the four you turn out to be?"
"Oh, I am most certainly the cad," he smirked.
"And here I was going to guess a gentleman," she teased. Her expression changed again, the pain of her past creeping in.
He hated seeing that pain.
"Daphne has worked so much for this moment, Anthony, and now she has been named the Diamond. She will never want for dance partners. Let her have this."
--
As Viscountess Bridgerton, the ton will expect me to host either a ball or at the very least several dinners.
Several?!
I thought you would prefer we host one large event rather than several smaller ones.
--
His sister and Ambrose were still dancing.
As it happened, Ambrose glanced in his direction for half a second and upon seeing Anthony, stumbled into another pair, thus humiliating himself before Daphne and the ton. Anthony hadn't directed his glare at Ambrose, per se, but the man was in his line of sight as he'd surveyed the room, angry at the nameless fever which had cost his wife-- cost them both-- so much.
It made Anthony feel much better when Ambrose slunk away, only for him to become irritated by the next man who approached Daphne, gallantly offering his arm to escort her off the dance floor.
Daphne and the other man, Lord Lumley, approached them.
Anthony managed to decrease the intensity of his glare; he and Lumley knew one another and were not on unfriendly terms. It helped that Lumley was one of those annoyingly good natured individuals who took nothing personally (even when he was meant to). After introductions were made, Lumley asked for Daphne's next dance, and his sister was whisked away once again to the ballroom floor.
--
You are right.
It will be easiest to have it over and done with early in the season, when you and I are not full up with our duties and chaperoning Daphne.
Why must you be so reasonable. It is unfair.
Because I love you.
--
"I will stop," he said softly, kissing his wife's hand.
"Thank you. If Daphne is charmed by a gentleman you dislike, tell me why you dislike him. I will nudge Daphne a different direction."
He nodded. Then looked at her with the full force of his charming eyes and dimpled smile.
"Shall I tell you my own secret, Lady Bridgerton?"
"I am honored to be entrusted with your confidence, my Lord."
"Dance is a language of its own," he paused. "If one has the right partner."
"And what would you say to me, my Lord, in this language of dance?"
"I think it best to show you directly."
He held out his hand.
"Lady Bridgerton, may I have this dance?"
It was there again-- that girlish delight hiding shyly in her eyes.
"You may, my Lord."
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hidemikozume · 1 year
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Manjiro Sano x OC, Mikey kills the founders and close friends before leaving for the Philippines.
A/N: Honestly got very emotional writing this!
Cw: Angst, use of guns, blood, death (don't think I missed any but let me know if I did!
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After Takemichi left Toman, it started to change under Mikey's rule. He was never the same as he used to be, almost as if something was controlling him that no one could see. What people didn't know is that is exactly what was going on.
Due to this, Toman was starting to take a more violent approach, causing most to either leave or follow orders out of fear. Hidemi would have been following under Mikey down this path since she didn't have much regard for her own life after losing Keisuke Baji. Yet sadly, Hidemi was forcefully taken back home and moved to a more remote part of Japan, which only meant for her a life of suffering and pain of various levels.
Losing the light in her eyes, as well as losing countless battles of abuse from her father Hidemi was now littered in scars all over her face and body. Her personality changing entirely to that was a shattered being.
When she could, Hidemi left home and moved back to Central Tokyo but she didn't return to the life of delinquency and when Mikey caught wind of this, he took it as a betrayal of a different kind. Having already killed Hakkai, Chifuyu as well as Mitsuya and Draken, Mikey knew he had one last job to do before he could flee the country and lead a different life.
Once finding her, Mikey stood in mostly silence until Hidemi looked up and saw Mikey, forcing a small smile to don her face even if her eyes were sunken and heavy. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Mikey?" She asked, voice void of any previous happiness she had. Her eyes soon landed on the gun in the man's hand, looking up to him once again. "Seems you have a plan for me, huh?". Mikey stared at her blankly for a moment, formulating a sentence in his head before speaking, "You never came back to me once you arrived here. Why?" He waited for her to reply, but she shook her head a little and smiled more "C'mon take my hand whilst I go?" She asked, feeling her eyes start to water." At least you can put my suffering to an end..." she muttered. Mikey, albeit confused, decided to comply and took the outstretched hand into his own.
*bang*
Briefly feeling her heart stop and skip several beats upon feeling a bullet enter her lower abdominal area, she shakily smiled to Mikey. Her frail hand now clutches the pale man's in her own as her dead purple eyes met his equally dead grey ones. "I always wanted to return to you, M-mikey... I just...w-wanted to be strong enough for you. " This causes Mikey's heart to skip a beat, for the first time out of the 5 victims before he felt something he hadn't before. Guilt. As guilt filled his system he dropped the gun and carefully took Hidemi into his arms, but not letting go of her hand as she lifted her head weakly to meet his "Thank you Mikey...I'll make sure to watch over you with Shinichiro..." she uttered with her fleeting breath. Tears formed in Mikeys eye's as he kept them locked with his dying friend and childhood partner in his arms, knowing there was no way he could stop this. "Until we meet again...sad its raining so heavily."
With that, the light finally left her eyes and the final fated breathe left her scarred mouth, head lulling against his chest and hand going limp. Mikey held onto her a little longer, basking in the last moments he would ever get to share with her before slowly carrying her to the river bank where they shared so many memories at once before. As the sun started to rise, he took his leave and made his way to his new life in the Philippines.
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Art Credir: @foxinthewoodstudio (Instagram)
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jinwoosungs · 2 years
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{ 11 }
like a beautiful afterthought.
ken ryuguji x fem.reader
warnings: angst; smut; minors don't interact
by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have willingly consented to viewing something nsfw despite the warnings.
you gasp each time you felt ken's hips ram into yours, tears nearly brimming from how overwhelming everything felt. you were pinned beneath ken's hard form, feeling his hot breath in your ear as you bit back the moan that was threatening to spill from your lips.
"emma." he was whispering- no, whimpering her name again, even when he was fucking you with such a desperation in your bed. your face was pressed against the pillow, and you were glad because then he wouldn't see the tears that streamed down your face. gone was the feeling of pleasure as an icy coldness began to spread throughout your body.
the ache you felt- it burned from deep within you as you allowed ken to finish, coming with a grunt into the ruined condom before landing against your naked back. he catches his breath, and you could only feel the his gentle lips descended upon your shoulder before he pushes himself off of you.
running a hand through his unruly blond locks, he begins putting on his clothes while tossing the ruined condom into your trash can. wiping the last bit of your tears against the pillow, you refuse to face him- to watch him leave you like he does every single night after your body satiates him.
you knew what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to be ken's little fuck buddy, yet you didn't count on falling for him so fast.
he was your mechanic, and you were drawn to the man. there was a rugged beauty in him that captivated you, and you wanted so badly to touch and feel him against you.
you began to play your little games with him, smiling at him innocently with your lips painted in a seductive red. you would often bring your car with minor nicks and dents in the paint, asking him oh so sweetly if he could make your ride all pretty again as you cling to his muscled arm.
you would make sure your dress or miniskirt would ride up enough over your luscious skin to tease him with your lace panties peeking through,
and lucky for you, it worked.
ken had taken you in the back of his shop, pressing you against the wall while fucking his long and thick cock into your aching core. yet each time his hips met with yours, you could feel him whisper in your ear, "you're nothin' like emma. my girl- she was as sweet as can be. you may not be as sweet as her, but damn are you pretty. even for a slut."
you gasp upon hearing his words, unable to think as he fucked you into oblivion while whispering hedonistic praises in your ear, "you've been wanting this for a while, huh? dressing all pretty and prissy like that just to be able to get my cock."
his words were enough to send you over the edge, your release flowing out of you, squeezing ken's length the tiniest little bit before he pulls out of you and comes all over your thighs with a grunt.
with a post-fuck clarity, ken helps clean you with a towel, and your eyes became dazed when you ask about who emma was. there was an unreadable expression on his face when he reaches behind his pocket to pull out his phone. he showed you his lock screen, and you saw him smiling brightly with his arms wrapped around a pretty blonde girl.
to say you were jealous would have been an understatement.
it was clear that the ken in this picture was a lot younger. it had to be him when he was still in high school along with the beautiful girl in his arms. "emma was my light, my entire world. and she was taken from me due to an accident. i may sleep around and use women for the comfort of their bodies, but no one can keep my heart like emma."
you could feel the hurt and pain clawing at your throat, the jealousy almost eclipsing your every rational thought-
but more so than your pain was the look of melancholic anguish that filled ken's gaze. the dark abyss of his eyes seemed unreachable now that he looked back at the picture on his phone, thinking back to better days where he still had his true love.
"i don't need your heart, but i just wanted to tell you that you can use me."
you had no idea what prompted you to say something so fucking stupid. all you wanted to do was erase that look from ken's eyes. he looked so broken, and you didn't like how his pain made your heart squeeze in response.
"i don't need love, that's why you can come to me on days that you miss emma so much. i'll keep you warm as you keep the memory of her alive."
you think back to that fateful with another tiny whimper, feeling so small and stupid for doing this. it was absolute torture for you. each time ken came to you for comfort, you found yourself falling even deeper for him. you would do everything in your power to give him the greatest pleasure.
sometimes, when you went too far with your teasing, ken would press your body against the sheets before sheathing himself inside of you, fucking you with so much passion that you could almost pretend that he loved you, too.
only when he would call out her name would you be brought back to reality, and the heartache you felt for him would increase by the tenfold. it hurt so much that you felt as though you were already at your limit.
you hated being treated like this; like nothing more than an afterthought. you could never compete with a ghost so why did you agree to do something so painful?
you let out another whimper, turning back in bed so that you now lay on your back with an arm thrown across your aching eyes.
"it's simple, because you're an idiot in love." you answered your own question, knowing you were doomed from the start.
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
it's been a few weeks, and ken didn't make a single attempt to contact or visit you at your apartment. this of course, gave you time to think and for your heart to heal.
you could never replace emma in ken's heart, and you figured it would be best to just end it all and move on. ken was a mature man, so you were positive he would ultimately accept your decision and move on with his life.
the morning you decided to end it all with ken, you were busy munching on your favorite bowl of cereal when you heard someone knocking at your door. fixing your hair and smoothing out your pajamas, you answered it only to see ken directly in front of you.
he wasn't dressed in his usual mechanic uniform as he leaned his tall frame against your door, "what are you doing still in your pajamas? it's 9am already."
"it's my day off, i'm allowed to laze around if i want to." you had to hide the slight tremor in your voice. ken just looked so good dressed casually in a shirt and jeans, topping it all off with some combat boots.
you wanted to kiss him, to lick him all over and-
dammit. i can't do it after all. i can't leave him.
ken notices how your gaze suddenly became faraway and pinches your nose, earning a squeak of pain from you, "ken, that was mean! what was that for?!"
"you were daydreaming again, and i haven't got time for that shit." he gestures toward the parking lot, "get changed already, i'm taking you out."
feeling your heart race and the heat pool against your cheeks, you give him an eager nod, nearly bumping into your sofa due to the fact at how excited you were. you were almost dizzy with anticipation when you put on something cute, yet comfortable, completing your look with your favorite pair of sneakers as you met with ken.
ken gives your form a look, dark eyes trailing from the shy smile that adorns your features to your outfit. and you felt your heart do somersaults when the unthinkable happened-
he smiles, telling you "you look beautiful. come on, let's go."
as he helped you lock your door, ken kept a hand behind your back before stopping in front of a motorcycle, "you ever ridden one before?"
you shake your head, feeling nervous as you played with the ends of your shirt, "n-no, never. is it safe?"
his rich chuckle fills you, and you swore to yourself to always keep the sound of his laughter in your memory as he tosses you a helmet, "no worries, babe. you're always gonna be safe with me."
trusting ken with everything, you put on the helmet and hold on to ken's abdomen. as you lean against his powerful back, you couldn't stop the warmth that spread through you as you nuzzled your face into him.
you detected the faint scent of his cologne, something spicy yet sweet as he kicked off his motorcycle and revved the engine into high speed. with a laugh, you held on to ken tightly, enjoying this little joyride with the man you loved with all your heart.
the ride took about thirty minutes total when he parks in the corner of a crowded parking lot. as you took off your helmet, you realized he had taken you to an amusement park.
your eyes were sparkling, and you were thanked him for taking you here. he gave you that soft smile once more, all while stroking at your cheek, "it's not a problem, baby. all you need to do is keep smiling like that for me."
your heart was pounding in your chest, and if you thought long and hard enough, then you could almost believe that he loved you too. you could feel your body acting on its own accord, hands reaching out to touch his braided hair-
yet ken stops you, holding your hand instead as he leads you toward the park all while hiding his face, "let's go, before the park closes."
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
ken did an amazing job distracting you from the rejection of your kiss. he took you on all sorts of rides, allowing you to bask in all of the fun as your laughter was heard all day.
this truly felt like a date, and you didn't dare bring up emma. you knew how important she was to ken even in death, but today you wanted to be selfish.
you wanted ken ryuguji all to yourself with no ghosts between the two of you.
and it certainly felt like you were a couple, with the way ken kept an arm hung around your shoulders, keeping you close so that you wouldn't run into or get lost in the crowd.
your eyes were just wandering, thinking of what else to ride when they landed on a gift shop. in front of the window was the cutest penguin plush you had ever seen, and you couldn't help but coo in absolute adoration for the plush.
"ken look, isn't that penguin with the sailor hat so cute?" you point at the gift shop window with a giggle, "i bet it would be so warm to cuddle him."
"hn." ken merely grunts at you, leading you to a nearby bench when he tells you, "wait here for a minute. i gotta run to the bathroom."
"o-okay ken." with one final nod, he leaves you alone, allowing you to sit back on the bench as you swung your legs back and forth.
you decided that after today, you need to call it off with ken. he was giving you so much false hope, and it was killing you deep inside. it would hurt leaving him, but it would hurt so much more if you stayed.
you are not emma.
you can never be emma.
ken will never love you.
and you will always love him.
something soft and fluffy was felt placed upon your head, breaking you out of your thoughts as you gasp only to look up to see ken smiling down at you. "here, for you."
you touched at whatever ken had placed on your head and felt the tears overflowing from your eyes upon seeing it. he had left to buy you the penguin plush you had wanted, and your heart was in so much pain.
"i can't do this anymore! why do you have to be so nice to me now!"
your cries echoed throughout the park, but you didn't care, "i love you, i fucking love you okay?! that's why i did what i did! i always have loved you and i always will, but you will never love me like you do emma and i can't take it anymore! i can't take being an afterthought and a substitute for someone you can't hold anymore!"
you threw the penguin plush back at ken, needing to just get away from it all as you ran past the people crowding around you. the tears were making it hard for you to properly see.
so when you felt a powerful hand tugging at your wrist, you couldn't fight him as he was much too strong for you. with your tear filled face pressed against the front of ken's shirt, he comforts you with kisses against your hair, "sssh, baby i'm sorry. i'm an idiot who ruined a good girl's heart, a total asshole who took advantage of the one woman who loves him despite all his baggage."
"i'm so sorry, i'm a good for nothing asshole who's spoiled. babygirl i know you're not emma, just like how i know you could never replace her. like i know how no one can replace you."
"w-what?" you allowed yourself to finally look at him, seeing his pale cheeks dust with a faint pink, "i love you, too. i realized it by the fifth or sixth time i made love to you and didn't think about emma."
"b-but that night, you said her name."
"because i was forgetting about her, darling girl. by that time, you had taken over my thoughts, and i broke my promise to emma about loving her forever."
he gives your forehead a kiss then, "i wanted to say her name one last time, asking her to forgive me for breaking my promise. when i left that night, i was in shambles. i drank so much that night because i knew i had hurt you beyond comprehension due to my own selfishness."
"that night, when the alcohol consumed me, i dreamt of emma one last time. i saw her smile at me, all while telling me to be happy and to let her go."
ken keeps you against him, swaying back and forth while ignoring all of the people around them, "i love you, i was just too blind and stupid to realize it."
with your tears quickly becoming replaced with one of happiness, you fling your arms around ken's neck and kiss him deeply, whispering against his lips, "take me home. i need you, ken."
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
ken settles your penguin plush against the couch the moment you return home, kissing you with a desperation of a starving man as he carries you back to your bed.
with his knees pressed against your core, he settles back in bed and allows you to ride out your pleasure against him. ken kept spoiling your body with kisses, taking off your clothes as you were left in your panties and bra.
using his nimble hands, he takes off your bra with ease before latching on to your nipple, tongue playing with your hardened bud as you gasp. he keeps your legs on either side of his lap, moving your hips against his lap as you whimper at the sheer amount of pleasure of it all.
you were dimly aware of how much ken was spoiling you with all the pleasure, yet when you tried to undo the zipper of his jeans, he lightly slaps your hand away. "no, tonight's all about you, baby. let me make it up to you."
when your panties became drenched with your arousal was when you couldn't take it anymore, calling out ken's name in a whine as he settled you back in bed. taking off his clothes until he was down in his boxers, he peels off your soaked panties with his teeth, eyes glazed over with lust once your core was visible to him.
not caring that your panties were hanging by your ankles, ken makes quick work of your sex. he delved his tongue within your sweet honey, groaning at the taste before inviting a thick finger inside of you.
he teases your walls, admiring the squelch of your walls as it tried to take in his fingers, "fuck, i'll never get over how tight you are; how you seem to fit me so goddamn well."
"ken, please, it hurts...! need you so bad!"
"hmm?" he lets go of your cunt with an audible 'pop!' "dammit, you nearly made me cum right then and there."
he moved away from you momentarily, most likely fumbling for a condom when you wrapped your legs around his waist with a desperation, "no baby! no ken, let me feel you, wanna feel you inside of me forever...."
"FUCK!" with your words egging him on, he simply pulls down his boxers, pumping himself into full hardness before completely sheathing himself inside of you. the force of it was enough to make you cum immediately on his cock as you let out a cry of his name. you cling to him, nails clawing at his back as he fucked himself into you.
the pleasure was searing, red hot, and all consuming as you held on to him. with each of his passionate thrusts, you felt your breasts bounce as you did your best to meet with his thrusts before it became too much for you.
"ken, i'm gonna c-cum, ah!"
with a shout of your name, ken buries his cock deep within you, and you felt him grow before shooting his seed inside of you, panting when you felt your mixed releases drip out of your still convulsing cunt.
knowing you couldn't move, ken settles himself back in bed, using his strength to pull out of you as he laid back and allowed you to settle your sex over his mouth where he lazily cleaned you with his tongue. feeling sensitive, you tried to pull yourself away from him, only to have him keep your hips still over his eager mouth. he forces you to ride his face, making you moan even more as you couldn't do anything to stop him.
"fuck, ken, stop, i'll cum again- ooooh!" only when he felt you release inside his mouth did he finally stop, laying back in bed as he allowed you to settle within his arms once more.
"i had no idea what a dirty old man you were." you huff, feeling ken chuckle against your ear as he kisses you, "it's your fault for being so damn beautiful and irresistible all the time."
feeling beyond satisfied, you let out a yawn and cuddle closer to your lover's naked chest. ken places a kiss against your temple, whispering how much he loved you and how there would be no ghosts between the two of you from now on until forever.
and ken intended to keep this promise, with the hope of making you his forever sometime in the near future...
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all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.
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briinstardust · 3 years
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Thank you for that Maddie! But also I’d like some context for the Buck comment. are we to assume that Maddie spent a lot of the time “raising” Buck when they were younger? because Maddie still has her hands full.
They’re so cute together, throwing popcorn in the kitchen! and like omg they both throw the sarcasm back and forth so well, I’m so into it omg.
“To eviscerate someone?”
This is too good. I love Howie too in this scene, adjusting to not being a kid himself. I feel that 100%.
A firm maybe. someday.
Buck. except Buck has his Christopher.
omg so okay. here we go okay. They had this conversation at the staion house about Buck, being upset, staying in bed all day. The next thing we see Eddie do is go over and try to get Buck out of his rut. ok. okay I see you.
The second, Buck saw Christopher, his entire face lit up. holy shit.holy shit.
Buck learns something everyday, from this child.
And yes, I’m absolutely crying rn. leave me alone! this man and this child.
Christopher is out here, roasting Buck, and I stan.
You’re gonna be okay, kid.
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kyberphilosopher · 3 years
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Androphobia
Requested? No Word Count: 7014
An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.
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Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.
  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 
This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 
There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 
This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.
 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.
Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 
Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 
(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”
“Shut the hell up.”)
The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 
You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 
And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 
And then...
As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.
So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 
[Sort of.]
“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”
“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”
“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”
He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 
“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”
Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 
In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 
“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”
“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”
“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 
He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 
You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 
“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”
Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 
But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 
It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 
You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 
The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 
You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”
Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.
“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”
Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”
“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”
Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 
“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”
“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 
“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”
“But the bias is the whole point.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 
“You talked to Connor about this?”
“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”
Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”
You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 
“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”
“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”
“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 
And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 
But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...
You snap your drawer shut. 
What’s wrong with you today? 
You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 
“Doctor L/N?”
You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 
And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 
“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”
“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 
“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 
Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 
“When?” you question. 
“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”
Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 
“I know that this must be difficult for you-”
“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”
The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”
And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.
“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”
“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”
“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.
“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”
There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 
And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 
And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 
“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”
Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”
Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”
Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 
Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 
“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”
You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”
“It’s just-”
“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 
As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 
Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 
A man, as usual. 
Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 
On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 
You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 
“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 
“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 
“The kid?”
“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 
Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 
“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”
You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 
“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 
“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”
Yep. Thanks, Hank. 
The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 
Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 
“You coming?”
“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”
“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”
“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”
“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 
Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 
“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”
“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”
“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 
“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”
Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 
“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 
Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 
Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 
You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 
“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 
“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 
“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 
“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”
“Alright. I’ll get you some.”
And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 
“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 
“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 
“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 
“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 
“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”
“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”
“Well... how would you like to address me?”
Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 
“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 
He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”
“What would you prefer?”
His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”
This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 
“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 
Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”
“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 
Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”
“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”
“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”
Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.
“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”
“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”
Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 
“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”
You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 
The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 
It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 
“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.
“Yes, thank you.”
You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.
Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.
“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.
“Hello,” Connor chirps back.
You just shoot Hank a glare.
“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.
“It was fine,” you tell him.
“Fine?”
“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 
You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 
Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 
Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 
Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 
The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 
“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 
“Doctor L/N?”
No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 
“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 
You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 
“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 
“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 
“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 
“You have... drool on your lips.”
You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”
“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 
“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”
“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
That night, it rains. 
Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 
You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 
A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 
You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 
You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 
Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.
Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 
And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 
A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 
Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 
“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 
“Can I come in?”
Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 
As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 
“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 
That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?
Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 
“Are you alright, Y/N?”
You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”
Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 
“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”
Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”
“I just- I can’t-”
You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 
“Can’t sleep.”
When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 
He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 
“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 
He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 
“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”
Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”
You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”
“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 
You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 
“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 
“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”
A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 
Then it goes quiet.
“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”
You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.
Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”
Connor’s led goes yellow.
“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”
Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.
It sounds like he really cares.
You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.
“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”
The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.
  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ・゚ * ✭ ˚・゚✧*・゚  *
This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.
1K notes · View notes
from-the-clouds · 3 years
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Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader
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Masterlist | Part Two 
Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song. 
Words: 2.5k
Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.
A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!
----
“I’m going for a walk.”
Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him. 
Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.
“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up. 
Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite. 
“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.
“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.
Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch. 
Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.
Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.
“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command. 
“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly. 
“I have to celebrate.”
Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.
“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.
Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.
He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”
They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good. 
“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.
“What?” he asked, turning to face her. 
“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said. 
“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin. 
A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years. 
They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long. 
“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”
She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”
“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it. 
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest. 
“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”
His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”
“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”
Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”
Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them. 
“Would it be so bad if I was?”
Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted. 
“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway. 
“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.
Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.
The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.
“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”
Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. 
Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control. 
Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest. 
Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far. 
As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt. 
Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away. 
Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.
He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.
Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.
He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion. 
She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”
As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always. 
“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch. 
Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?” 
“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. 
Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
“You just seem a little jumpy.”
“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”
Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked. 
“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”
She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes. 
“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.
The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks. 
“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her. “We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.
---
PART II out now!
If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!
2K notes · View notes
notnctu · 3 years
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backseat chronicles - n.jm | ridin’ club
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━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series
genre ➠ slow burn, smut, fluff, lil angst  wordcount ➠ 8.5k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jaemin, badboy!jaemin, college!au ━ where Jaemin brings you to his club races as his arm candy. warnings ➠ explicit language, overstimulation, flirty banter, pet names, softdom!jaemin, car sex, praise kink, hittin it raw (y/n on the pill), oral, daddy kink, slight corruption kink, fingering synopsis ➠ There is no reasonable explanation as to why or how you always end up in the backseat of Na Jaemin’s beloved car. Almost routinely, he picks you up around ten in the evening with the stereo blasting the raunchiest lyrics for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. The entire night remains purely friendly, a dabble of flirtatious comments because well, it’s Jaemin for fuck sakes. But all it takes is one suggestive gaze from his dark, lustful eyes and a drop in his voice that rumbles your core to have you climbing over the seats to get to the back. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi​​​ ; @darkneogotmyback​​​ ; @im-lame-irl​​​ ; @p-mini​​​ ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck​​​ ; @saniahmichael​​ ; @jaehy9ngs​​​ ; @danyxthirstae01​​​ ; @jaehyunoos​​​ ; @pikijaemin​​​ ; @suhweo​​​ ; @yunoyeol​​​ ; @lanadreamie​​​ ; @ta3ilmoon​​​ ; 
a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! thank you for over 1k notes on this series, im beyond impressed by the amount of attention this got! it really blew up and its so crazy!! i wrote this one with more of a romantic plotline i realized its too hard to keep it pwp with all the story building and characterization i have :)) it’s almost over yall! pls pls leave me feedback im sorry it took so long to write ):
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While college lecture rooms are too big to interact with other students, discussion classes are there to ease the difficulty. A classroom for about twenty students from a three hundred person lecture. It’s administered by a clueless TA, who barely began his second term in graduate school.
Unlike lecture, attendance is mandatory for participation points. You show up every time without a fail, so it came as a shock to you when a certain blue haired student finally appeared from the list of absent students.
Na Jaemin. The notorious playboy with looks that kill and partakes in some illegal racing club. It’s as if every person in the room fawns over his aura, Jaemin drips with an inexplicable alluring confidence. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he never shows up for class and rumors about how he’s slept with the entire cheer squad.
But he’s drawn to you like a magnet: always sitting in the available spot next to you, asking about your day before the TA arrives, developing an odd staring problem. You don’t feed much into his attention, minding your own business when he starts with his notably flirtatious greeting.
“You just take my breath away, (Y/N).” Jaemin cocks back in his seat with legs stretched wide in an overly comfortable manner. The smug smirk on his face cannot be ignored, he’s doing the absolute most to get you to pay the smallest attention to him.
“I didn’t do anything in particular to do that, Jaemin.” You respond bitterly, pulling out your notes for today’s discussion class. The TA enjoys wasting the first twenty minutes going over the past lecture slides and running through the most obvious topics.
You pay no mind to Jaemin peering over at you with the single handedly most dreamy eyes and smile --- stars shining in his dark orbs and a dazzling twinkle in his wide toothy grin.
“That’s why you’re so amazing. You do nothing and it still leaves me breathless.” His sneaky eyes examine your clothing choice for the long day. On this warm afternoon, the short tank top does nothing to hide much of your skin and the denim shorts that ride up a little too well drive Jaemin insane. And when you cross your legs together, he swallows the spit that pools in the back of his throat.
Your ears catch onto the murmurs of the rest of the class, the midterm is next week. The wretched midterm that is half of your grade dooms you, it is going to take an endless amount of completely undistracted dedicated hours of study--- “On a more serious note, can you help me with this class?”
His voice shatters your inner panic, if anything, adds to the stress that already beats down on your shoulders. You look up to glare at him, but you’re entirely taken aback by the new styling of his hair and the exposure of his tattoos.
The sweet blue cotton candied strands are ruffled lazily above his brows, messy from him constantly running his hand through them. Jaemin sits relaxed in gray sweatpants that are extremely baggy on his slender figure, hands are shoved casually into the pockets.
But what has you staring for longer is the long sleeve of tattoos that wrap around his left arm. Not that you’re surprised that Jaemin has tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve, but this is your first time seeing it as this is the first time he’s come to class without his leather jacket on. Something about the intricate lines and shadowing make Jaemin seem much cooler, almost more attractive.
When you meet his eyes, his lips curl slowly into a sly side smile and he’s practically eating you up under his gaze. He definitely knew that you were staring and what comes next out of his mouth will haunt you for it. “Like what you see, beautiful?”
“I don’t have the time to help you.” The best way out of this situation is to simply ignore it. Jaemin is overly adored and admired by many, he’ll find someone else to help him.
“Jaemin, do you want to study together?” There you go, folks. The random girl snickers with her small huddle of friends in the upper corner of the room, like a crowd of crows, they’re all waiting around for Jaemin to accept her offer so he can be easily integrated into their little group.
However, you watch how his glances bounce between you and her. The most sickly sweet, kind smile is almost too fake to consider it to be genuine. His final choice surprises you, “thank you for offering, but I only want (Y/N)...”
Your breath hitches and gets caught in your throat as you hope for him to finish his sentence, the drumming of your heart distracting you even more. Jaemin wants you? While the thought is flattering, it puzzles you greatly.
“... to help me with my studies.” Jaemin finishes his sentence after a rather long pause, his eyes finally resting upon your figure shying away and finding any way to seem uninterested in the conversation. “Is that going to be okay, (Y/N)?”
“What do I get out of it?” You can’t believe that you are actually considering it. But this is a man that only wants you to help him. Jaemin is an impossible, yet charming man and whatever comfortable attire he is wearing today is really aiding in his request.
He lights up, ears perked up and eyes attentive. His hands fold together on the empty desk, leaning forward towards you. “Dates with me.”
Rolling your eyes, you groan slightly at the arrogant answer. “I don’t care about that. I want something that benefits me.”
“I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” There is a tiny plea in his tone, a remarkable shift from his cool aura. “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”
“I guess I can’t turn down free food…” there is a hang in your sentence as you contemplate what chaos you’re about to dive into and what life changes are about to be explored with Jaemin.
“Before you agree,” Jaemin chuckles, “there’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”
You’re quick to shoot a daggering glare at the overly enthusiastic boy, “why do I suddenly owe you favors?”
“Because I say so.” He deadpans, a chill running down your spine at the deep dip in his octave. The playfulness that was present all this time suddenly vanished, a serious look that intimidates you, but sexy enough to where it erupts something in your core. He blinks at you with dark clouded eyes and you nervously anticipate what he is going to ask next of you.
“Accompany me to my races.” He speaks lowly as if he’s afraid of someone else eavesdropping in the conversation.
Here’s your issue with that request: you’ve never really been part of that scene. You’ve lived pretty mundanely, even in college. It’s simple, you like to stay within the boundaries of what you enjoy to do and what you have to do. But you’re always open minded and willing to try something to determine whether or not you’re fond of it.
Partying and drinking copious amounts of alcohol weren’t your favorite things to do, especially to the point of forgetting your nights. You wanted to remember your nights as much as you do your days. The youth isn’t here for long, why waste them by blacking out in the middle of a large party? Also, whoever said that alcohol goes down smooth is a blatant liar.
Illegal racing could possibly be an extension of people who participate in those things, which is fine, but does place a crippling fear of coming off too boring or unrelatable inside your nervous system. But just because you don’t do those things doesn’t mean that you’re not as cool, right?
Since when was your status based nonsensically on how often you spend your nights in socializing crowds full of sweaty bodies and how much cheap booze you can drink? It had to be all in your head --- you’re just dreading any awkward socializing with people who race cars when it’s absolutely illegal.
“Why me?” It’s a genuine answer, possibly stemming from your insecurities of not being on the same level of charm as Jaemin exudes. You’re not a fool, you’re well aware of the many different people he comes across on campus so, why you?
Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to answer, “why not you? You’re just my type. Hot and smart. Cute and a little shy. The greatest duality, if you ask me.” His words seem so genuine that it has you believing these things about yourself as well.
Nonetheless, you’re taken aback by his observations and his choice of descriptions. “We’ve barely ever talked. How can you say these things so confidently about me?”
Jaemin slightly pulls your chair closer to his own and you yelp in response to the sudden movement and lack of space that separates the two of you. He leans into you, breath hot on your skin and obvious eyes darting between your shocked ones and pretty lips.
“So let’s get to know each other. I can already tell that it’ll just make me fall for you even more.” His finger lightly traces your jaw, stopping at your chin to give it a small lift to meet his focus. Jaemin loves how you squirm underneath his intensity, you’re too cute to let go. “Plus, my boys will love you. I’m sure of it.”
The TA rushes in quickly and is utterly distressed from the traffic that had pushed back his schedule. “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He rummages through his things to find his notes, but groans to see that the monitor of the computer is off. It’s going to take him another ten minutes to input all his credentials.
But your attention doesn’t stray from Jaemin, especially with his delicate touch at the bottom of your chin. His gentle smile enacts nothing but a soft love, and a peak of interest. Na Jaemin, the one and only. He’s like an adventure waiting to be explored, an open bottle of fun for you to take a sip.
“What would I have to do?” Your voice comes out shaky.
“Just be there as your pretty self.” Jaemin comes off as the type to always have women around him, “you’ll be my lucky charm. For some reason, I always feel better around you.”
The escalation of this conversation is possibly more action you’ve had to handle in the last two years. Jaemin drops your chin and falls back into his own seat with his arms crossed. He is about to turn your life upside down and whether that be a good or bad thing, you don’t mind. You’re excited for the new thrills that come with being by Na Jaemin’s side.
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Jaemin’s hot hands lift your shirt quickly, throwing it towards the front seat of his car. His lips return to your soft neck, nibbling at your skin tenderly and with love bites that will remind you of his gentle touches. The streetlamps outside flicker impatiently as you feel the eagerness soaking your panties and he lifts you up to take them off.
“My sweet girl,” his voice is light and airy that it becomes almost lost in the heat of the car. “You’re excited tonight. Did you miss me?” The devilish smirk can be felt upon your collarbones.
“Yes, I haven’t seen you for almost five days.” A peculiar whine settles in your pout and Jaemin’s low growl sends shivers down your spine. The only barrier are his own tight jeans and your hands are fast at unbuckling his belt. Jaemin relaxes back, forearms resting on your soft thighs and watching the neediness in your expression and the speed of your hands. He smiles to himself seeing you this way, wanting him so badly that you can’t wait to get him out of his jeans.
Throughout the two months that you and Jaemin finally became well acquainted, he’s fallen inexplicably into your trance. His friends made it very clear to you that he doesn’t keep the same girl around for more than a few weeks. But he’s brought you to almost every race so far and despite the initial shock of your appearance after the third time, you didn’t let the passing comments phase you.
Why he hasn’t replaced you is unknown and truthfully, there is no reasonable explanation how you always wind up in the backseat of his car by the end of the night. It’s become part of your routine. Jaemin picks you up around ten in the evening with raunchy lyrics blasting out of his personalized car for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. More often than not, Jaemin has food ready for you to devour and a cozy blanket for your exposed legs.
You’ve learned a bit more about him through your backseat chronicles. Jaemin is possibly one of the only people in your life with a heart bigger than his own body, while also being as carefree as he can. Oddly enough, he cares about you as his friend and as his companion. Not to mention the ridiculous, yet endearing nickname, “Lucky Charm”, that he has coined upon you.
Jaemin has been the best adventure you’ve had in ages. While he takes you on intoxicating thrill rides on the leather of his back seats, every street race has been more than unforgettable. He shares one of the same values as you --- wanting to remember the present. You both know that you’ll remember each other enough for it to transcend into your next lives.
You have him to thank for your youthful experiences, to learn and dive into this new found world of mischief under his care. Jaemin treats you extraordinarily well, he’d never hurt a soul. He showers you in appraisal and carefulness, he’s attentive to your behavior and remembers your favorite things. And he reminds you almost every time you see him that he’s so grateful to have you in his life.
“Have you been touching yourself?” Jaemin’s bold question catches you off guard as it causes your hands to shyly hover over his unzipped jeans. When you glance up at him with soft innocent eyes, as if you’re guilty of a crime and wish to beg for forgiveness, his facial expression is serious and intimidating. 
“Continue, baby. You can be honest with me. Daddy isn’t going to punish you if you did.” His tone is sweet and light, but his eyes are dark and piercing. His lips are drawn tightly into a thin line, no curve in sight.
His finger grazes down your cheek gently as he admires your slightly parted lips and the way your eyelashes dance every time you blink. However, his other hand urges you to continue your previous action of getting him out of his restrictive jeans.
You nod, while rubbing his erection through his gray briefs that hug him so tightly. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you pull the waistband of his underwear down and his cock stands against his lower abdomen. “Do you think of me when you do?” His voice gets caught in his throat when you take him in your warm hand.
“Always.” You kiss his jawline and fix your position above his dick. Your slick pussy presses down against his shaft, coating it in your juices and rubbing his tip to your clit for a delicious sensation. Jaemin groans, his gaze dipping between your lower bodies and back to your face.
“My sweet (Y/N) thinks about her daddy fucking her senseless while she touches herself.” Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding his hips harder against you. There is a shift in the atmosphere as he grips your hips and slowly enters your dripping hole. “That’s cute, baby.”
You hold onto his shoulders as his raw dick fills you to the brim, stretching you out like past nights. Gasps leave your body when he starts pulling all the way out to only have you sink back down. “Daddy, please just fuck me.”
Jaemin picks up his speed, knowing that you have a quiz due at midnight that you scolded him for forgetting earlier. The grip on his shoulders tighten as this man navigates your body all too well. He knows you like the back of his hand, fucking the spot that causes your body to lose control.
One of his favorite sights in the world is the view of your lips parted open with loud whimpers falling effortlessly. Your eyes roll back into your skull as his hips roll deeper into your walls, the tip hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.
“You’re always the best girl for me, aren’t you?” His hand wraps around your neck when you throw your head back, choking you lightly and your walls grip around his shaft. “I know you’re close. Cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl.”
Jaemin’s tattoos shine under the moonlight when you peer down at him. His hooded eyes are intoxicated by the pure image of your fucked out body and he’s truly in love. “My good girl, come on baby.” He continues to encourage, his other hand giving you a smack on your ass when he drills mercilessly into you.
The familiar bubbling occupy your lower half and the feeling of release unravels all so suddenly. You fall forward, Jaemin lets go of your neck to hold your limp body close to him, your head on his shoulder as your orgasm overtakes you. He grinds his hips into you to prolong your shaking climax, cooing sweet nothings in your ear as his other hand takes a whole handful of ass to squeeze.
He bottoms out, filling you up to the rim to cum deep inside of you. Jaemin moans loudly, his cum spilling all over your walls. You two sit like that until he grows soft, pampering your temples with gentle kisses. Jaemin remembers to take care of you, no matter what.
While you’re in his arms, he reaches for sanitary wipes in the side compartments. He lifts your hips slowly to pull out and you sigh at the emptiness. Gently, he swipes at the dripping cum from your pussy and makes sure that you’re all cleaned up before getting dressed.
“So, you want to tell me why you’ve been MIA for the past five days?” Rolling your eyes, you pull up your panties and fix the last decency of your hair.
“Car meets that are too far for me to take you.” His thumb rubs your chin lovingly and Jaemin’s eyes are so bright and mesmerizing, you find that it’s hard to look him in the eye at times.
“Not because you’ve been hooking up with other girls?” There is a tinge of sarcasm that laces your rhetorical question and though you don’t expect him to give you an actual answer, you take note of his reaction. Jaemin raises an eyebrow, clearing his throat and looking out the window away from you.
“And if I was?” Truthfully, that question hurt you more than your’s hurt him. His hand rests underneath his chin as he patiently waits for your answer. He admires the clear night sky and the rundown abandoned liquor store that stands all by itself.
“What do you want me to say?” Question after question, a stiff tension replaces the sex of the car.
“I’ll take you back now.” Jaemin crawls back to the driver’s seat, completely ignoring your confused figure. He has always been quite like this: going aloof whenever he wants to dodge something. However, it’s been happening more frequently the past times you two have been seeing each other.
The truth is simple, yet entirely complex at the same time. You and Jaemin aren’t dating, despite always going out together and him posessively introducing you to other men. You and Jaemin aren’t dating.
Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop you from growing feelings for him and you can tell that this happens too often for the attractive boy. He can’t have a fuckbuddy that won’t fall head over heels for him. But who could really blame you? Even if all this time Jaemin was pretending that he cared about you, he still pampers you like a princess; he still tells you he does.
But when it comes to discussion about advancing into something more, he hides and grows silent. This has you wondering, maybe this entire thing to him is all sex? And he can’t love you back the way you do.
No one knows his heart, not even himself. He’s never wanted to complicate his life, it’s always been about two things: racing and having fun. There is no easy way to explain it all, the thoughts that flood his mind and heart, so he chooses every way to ignore it. Overall, he’s genuinely lost. You are one source of stability in his life that he isn’t willing to let go, ever. But just because he won’t let you go, doesn’t mean that you won’t take the chance to leave when you’re fed up with him.
This has him wondering, how far can he push before he pushes you too far?
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” Tonight is unsettling, it usually doesn’t end like this. Jaemin locks the car doors and turns around to reach for your hand. “Jaemin, open the door.”
“I want you to say that you hate when I sleep with other people.” Jaemin confesses all too wildly as his hand lightly squeezes around your wrist. “And I want you to mean it.” He’s only speaking words of truth that haven’t had the time to process in his own thoughts.
“I hate when you sleep with other people.” And you do mean it. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said to this man. Jaemin just sighs, bringing your wrist to his lips for a lasting kiss.
“Can I drive you home?” Jaemin asks softly, eyes dipping down to the leather seats and avoiding all need for eye contact.
“Yes, Jaemin.” He pulls you back into the passenger seat and drapes the soft blanket over your exposed legs. “Hopefully, I still have time to take my quiz.”
“Can I come inside?” Jaemin coolly turns his marble wheel to reverse out of the parking space, a hand resting on the shoulder of your seat as he does a double take behind him for any pedestrians, even if you two are far out in the middle of nowhere and there isn’t anyone around; Jaemin knows you have the hots for him when he does that specific move.
“What do you mean? You’ve already cum inside.”
It’s the sound of disappointment as his tongue tsks at you and he flicks lightly at your forehead. He steps on the acceleration, revving the annoying engine that roars throughout the peaceful night. The multicolored lights illuminate around his stereo and at your feet, creating the Rainbow Road right out of Mario Kart. 
Jaemin isn’t like the others who pay close attention to the details of his car. His motto goes, “if I like it, I’m going to have it.” Whether or not anything matches goes beyond his worries.
In some ways, his car is a mirror of his own personality --- wild and free, colorful and welcoming. And his skills as a driver? Safe, no matter how far the speedometer goes, Jaemin always makes you feel safe.
“I mean come inside your room for aftercare. You know how much I hate leaving you without a proper cuddle.” He pouts and almost immediately his cute baby tone comes out with his beg. Almost subconsciously, Jaemin lays his right palm open facing up to invite yours in. Almost routinely, you lace your hands to complete his hold. Getting Jaemin to smile has never been easier as his hold grows tighter.
“You can’t stay over tonight though. My housemates are doing some Single Girls Only house event tomorrow and it starts immediately when we wake up.” You laugh as the ridiculous words fill the air.
“And you’re participating in that?” Jaemin mindlessly asks and you’re unable to differentiate his implications from the question. Is he asking because the idea is horrendously nothing you’d like to do or he’s implying that you’re not single?
“Why wouldn’t I?” Sounding rather harsher than intended, Jaemin finally realizes how poorly he had worded his previous question. Yet, a part of him feels disappointment whirling in his chest and a desire to feel wanted by you.
“Doesn’t seem like something you’d like: wallowing in your singleness.” He chuckles, remaining lighthearted and playful.
“I really don’t.” Jaemin brings your knuckles up to his lips for a lingering kiss, his eyes darting quickly on the road ahead now that you’ve entered the metropolitan areas and his speed drops significantly to avoid getting ticketed.
“I’ll come pick you up. Instead of being single tomorrow, you’ll be on a date.” When you turn to examine his facial expression, the serious tension in his jawline and focused eyes alarm you. Your stomach twists into knots and if he couldn't already tell, your palms grow sweaty at his offer.
“That’s such a slap in the face to them.” Pulling your hand away from his, you cross your arms and lean your head against the cold window. “I don’t think I can do that to them.”
“I have a race tomorrow.” He starts, his head tilting over at you with his round gorgeous begging eyes, “at least, come to that with me.”
“Okay, but only because I want to see Haechan.” As if it wasn’t moments ago, Jaemin was the one balls deep in you and now you’re spewing enthusiasm for another man. It’s all a joke, a way for you to conceal your undying attraction for Jaemin.
You still remember the first time you met the sunshine that is Haechan and the jealousy that seeped from Jaemin’s words when he noticed the exchange of flirtation. Haechan is someone you’d knowingly gravitate towards: a man with a loud personality that just knows how to conduct every personality in the room. And at that moment, Jaemin couldn’t tell if being more observant was a good or bad thing.
Jaemin never saw himself as outgoing as his other friends, staying more kept in his own circle, but he had the confidence to fake it. He’s bold, rather impulsive and slightly narcissistic, Jaemin knows how to use his strengths very well. 
However, when he saw the soft smirk on Haechan’s face and your shy mannerisms, a small tinge in his chest ignited a died out flame. He didn’t realize it before, but that was the very start of his long tumble of feelings for you.
“Do you say those things to purposefully get me jealous?” Jaemin rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze. His eyes never leave the road and his tone reverts back to his dominant tone.
“Well, are you jealous?” It’s like you two dance in circles, answer questions with a question does not stop.
And as bratty as your tone is, you don’t expect the quick “yes” that answers back and the smoldering look he gives you briefly before focusing back on the drive.
“Then good.” You huff, ready to hop out of the car after the odd, yet sensual tension. Jaemin pulls up to your house and double parks the car to lean in for a nightly goodbye kiss.
“You’re not coming in?” You try to read his facial expressions, but he hides his emotions too perfectly.
His lips curl into a smile before saying, “I think it’s better I cool off tonight.” And you mindlessly give him a peck, but he holds your face to deepen it. Through the kiss, you can feel the neediness by the way Jaemin shoves his tongue into your mouth. The taste of lust against your palette is difficult to ignore, but your academically responsible mind screams at you about your forgotten quiz.
Your hand lightly taps at his chest and he pulls away, his eyes drinking up your swollen lips. “I have a quiz, Jaemin.”
“I know, sorry. It’s just so easy to get lost in you.” Jaemin kisses your cheek once more before you exit. You smile back at him as his words have grown a strong effect on you lately. Bidding him goodbye, he wishes you sweet dreams as he patiently makes sure you’re fully inside your house.
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“Is the music too loud?” Jaemin checks over at your hunched figure in the passenger seat. You’re diligently flipping through your thick textbook, a yellow highlighter in one hand and the other comfortably holding Jaemin’s.
The worst part of college is the never ending midterms that are given at any time. Studying in his car isn’t a rare sight, if anything it is more expected than you not doing anything related to your academics. But Jaemin genuinely doesn’t mind, even being mindful about his own actions to ensure an optimal studying space for you.
He really is an ideal guy. Like his first promise, he keeps you well fed and never once asks you for any monetary pay back. Jaemin adjusts the car temperature before you even step into the vehicle, knowing that you prefer wearing less clothes rather than more. Though he isn’t academically responsible, he still makes the effort to try and understand enough information to pass his classes.
The sole flaw would be the lack of open communication. It’s genuinely difficult for you to read his emotions or intentions. Jaemin always has a dazed look in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it’s an internal fight about whether or not you’re being delusional.
“Music is fine, honey.” The mindless use of a pet name slips from your lips, but your concentration on neoliberalism and globalization doesn’t allow for you to notice.
Nevertheless, Jaemin catches on immediately to the usage. While he showers you in ridiculous nicknames, you’re not one to do so. “Honey?”
“Yes?” You answer back carelessly, not entirely actively listening to him as you highlight an important concept in your book.
“No, you called me honey.”
Looking up from your page, you blink at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “I did?”
Jaemin chuckles and finally pulls into the overly crowded parking lot, a whole mass of fanboys cheering at the arrival of his flashy vehicle. Everyone just loves Jaemin.
This familiar scene plays like a reel --- several high beams cast light under the dark sky due to the lack of functioning street lamps, dizzy multicolored cars that blaze the tracks, and the all too distinct smell of musky cologne in the chilly air. Oh, and the wide eye admirable stares when you get out of the car.
“Hi, you’re stunning.” A bold new recruit blinks at you in complete awe and awkwardly clears his throat once he realizes his rash comment.
Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him, then at how you plan on handling the situation. You’re flattered, nonetheless, but know that Jaemin didn’t bring you here to flirt with other men. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your membership in the Ridin’ Club.”
The gracefulness in your delicate voice has the youthful recruit swooning and subtly giddy as he runs off to join a group of others that have been eying you across the parking lot. Jaemin casually drapes his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders, knowing the temperature change is going to result in you most likely catching a cold and because you never bring a jacket despite his plea.
“The power you hold.” Jaemin winks at you before pulling you into a larger crowd to socialize with more impressionable recruits.
“Ah, so you’re (Y/N)!” The stranger is unrecognizable, but you giggle to acknowledge his confident statement. “We haven’t met before, but Jaemin was talking about you the other night at our motorcycle meet.”
Your eyes light up, as if you’ve unlocked a new fun fact of Na Jaemin. “You drive a motorcycle too?” You’re truly shocked at the talent of this man.
Jaemin snakes his arm around your lower waist to draw you closer to his side. “Yeah, but I can’t fuck you in a motorcycle, can I?”
Before the other men can comment on the obvious sexual tension that Jaemin created, he leans in to whisper into your ear. “Actually, I can, but we’ll save our decency from unwanted exposure.” His hot breath grazes against the shell of your ear and you just know where you two are going to end up tonight.
“Bro, you guys probably fuck in the backseat of his car.” One of them chimes recklessly, punching at each others’ chest playfully as if he made a decent joke.
“Why don’t you stay to find out?” Jaemin retorts and the grip on your hip becomes tighter. You’re too flustered to add much into this odd form of competitive banter, distracted by none other than the way Jaemin keeps glancing over at you with a delicious gleam in his eyes.
“So what? You don’t care about us now?” You’d know that bratty tone from anywhere as Lee Haechan pushes past everyone else to rush over to the both of you.
“Aw, are your feelings hurt?” Jaemin sticks his tongue out at his friend before cordially sharing a handshake with him.
“Just slightly.” Haechan looks over at you with a wide grin and playful eyes, “hello, my pretty girl.”
“Drop the possessives, Haechan.” Jaemin rolls his eyes with an irritable twitch on his lips.
He hates how obviously jealous he gets. It’s something too difficult for himself to control, he’s exhausted his efforts to bite his tongue whenever it comes to other people’s flirtations. The thought of someone else calling you theirs doesn’t sit well with him.
“I understand your jealousy, Jaem. If someone was flirting with (Y/N), I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.” Haechan fixes the falling jacket on your shoulders. “But she can handle herself, I know those pretty lips have a mind of their own.” His gaze drops momentarily, yet obvious enough for you to grow shy at how strong Haechan is coming off tonight.
“Stop trying to corrupt her, that’s my job.” Jaemin playfully pushes at Haechan’s chest and they both break out laughing.
“I haven’t said one thing and you’re both talking about me as if I’m not here.” Your small pout is literally the cutest thing to Jaemin. He physically has to stop himself from planting the sweetest kiss on it.
It’s blatantly clear that you’re hot stuff. You’re the perfect example of a head turner, your captivating aura has its ability to suffocate those around you. However, Jaemin has seen all sides of you, but overall finding you so entirely cute. And oddly enough, Jaemin has a knack for cute things.
“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” Huang Renjun engulfs you in a hug, showing clear affection and doesn’t mind doing so. “How did your project go?”
“It went well. You accomplish a lot when you don’t procrastinate.” Renjun gleams at your statement and if Jaemin is delusional enough, he’d probably mistaken the twinkle in his eyes for infatuation instead of admiration.
“You’re so responsible, why are you messing with Jaemin?” Renjun sighs and though his question is more of a joke, there is some truth behind his words.
Your friendship with his friends differ immensely compared to other girls who have come around. Like Jaemin had said before, his boys were going to like you and they do, a lot. Sometimes making it obvious that you’re too good for him.
Jeno comes up from the side, an unidentifiable bruise on his neck and a new cut on his brow. Lee Jeno being such a rough character, his appearance speaks well about how his day has been.
But when he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all his pain is replaced with joy and security. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in so long!” The enthusiastic boy rushes over to greet you with a warm smile.
“I’m pretty sure I was here a week ago.” You laugh, but welcome him in your arms for a tender friendly hug and pat his head out of habit.
“It’s been a week?! That’s so long.” Jeno narrows his eyes at Jaemin and flicks his forehead.
“Ow!” Jaemin exclaims while rubbing the pain away. “You act like she doesn’t go to the same school as us and therefore, can see her any time you want to.” The tone in Jaemin’s voice raises some eyebrows as they all exchange glances to each other before bursting into laughter.
“Like your jealous ass would allow for that?” Haechan remarks and Jaemin doesn’t outwardly react. However, Jaemin’s hand is squeezing you so tight that you’re more than certain he’s bothered by the comment.
“Oh, stop it. You all know I’m Team Jaemin. He does have the most wins this past month.” You only know that through Jaemin’s proud boasting, anything else in the racing world is unknown to you.
Jaemin situates you in between his legs as he slightly sits on the hood of his car. His arms wrap around your middle and chin rests on your shoulder. Public display of affection isn’t a problem for him, and you learned much earlier that Jaemin can’t keep his hands off of you.
Renjun scoffs at your whimsical fact, in absolute disbelief. “It hurts more hearing you say it. I’m getting my car upgraded, but once it’s done, I’m going to blaze his ass on the tracks.”
“Are you racing today?” Jeno asks the blue haired fellow that clings onto you like a koala.
“Yeah, against a newbie. Apparently he’s really good, so I’m not too sure I’ll win.” Jaemin mumbles into your hair.
“You say that every time, yet you win!” Renjun crosses his arms, weight shifting to his left leg as he pops his hip out. There is always a sense of competition between anyone with Renjun.
Jaemin perks up behind you and when you turn around in his arms, you’re face to face with a beaming smile. “That’s because I have you.” Eyes lock with yours, he isn’t saying that directed to Renjun. Na Jaemin has you wrapped around his pinky, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach are too hard to ignore.
“Alright, lovebirds. Get in your car and let’s start this shit.” Haechan groans and claps his hands to draw the crowd’s attention. Cupping them around his mouth, he roars into the starry night, “let’s roll!”
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During the race, Jaemin’s number one priority is to keep you safe. While you’ve sat in his car for a number of times now, it’s different once the loud bang goes off and he’s hitting 100 mph. Tonight’s track is much more dangerous, with twists and turns that can have the vehicle flying weightlessly if he’s not careful.
“You trust me, right?” Jaemin has both hands on the wheel and the engine rumbling as you both anticipate the start of the race.
Spectators watch on the sidelines as if it’s the ultimate battle, but Jaemin doesn’t pay them much mind. He’s more concerned about you instead. “Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’ve proven yourself that you’re an excellent driver, so let’s win this.”
Jaemin smirks at your encouraging words, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “I’ll tap out any time you want me to, okay?”
You nod and the initial whip of the car is so intense that you didn’t even register the sound off. It’s not your first race, but it’s been awhile since the last one. When you adjust to the pressure, the lanes in front of you cause a slight queasiness in your stomach.
It’s a two lane windy road that wraps around the mountain side and Jaemin happens to be in the outer lane. All it takes is a second of lost control and you two will hit the metal railings that guard the cliff below. Despite your inner panic, Jaemin guides you through the pooling anxiety that leaves you restless.
“(Y/N), look up and out the window. We’re coming up on the cliff side view, I’ve always wanted to bring you here.” Your eyes land on the dazzling glitter that dances on the ripples of the lake. It’s so vast, the moon high up in the sky is reflected on the water below. It’s a romantic scene of melancholy and bliss. Suddenly, you feel at peace in the middle of this high speed race.
“It’s beautiful, Jaem.” You whisper calmly and he’d reach for your hand to hold, but races take too much wheel control. And he’d turn to look at you, but races take too much concentration on the road ahead.
But throughout every obstacle, he hears the gentleness and the solidarity in your cadence in the midst of all the high stress. He, too, feels peace. He feels calm knowing that you’re simply by his side, even in the face of danger. So, he can finally admit to himself… he genuinely developed feelings for you.
Before you know it, you’re thrusted side to side from the sharp turns and the adrenaline kicks in when the other racer catches up right next to Jaemin. “Fuck,” Jaemin curses underneath his breath and steps harshly on the acceleration. “Baby, I’m going to go a bit faster so hold onto something.” He warns and your hand finds the grab handle. It’s neck and neck at this point.
Usually, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid becoming too overwhelmed by the sights in front of you. Tonight is different, not entirely knowing why, you’re observing every element that circles around the perimeter.
The finish line is up ahead, but there is no sign that the other racer is slowing down. Then, you see it: the fatal mistake that can cost you both of your lives if you didn’t catch it. “Jaemin, watch out!” You yelp when the other car inches dangerously close, your warning allows Jaemin to make a controlled swerve away from a possible hit.
Jaemin shakes his head and tsks at the recklessness. “Now I know why he’s good. It’s foul play.” He blows his bang out of his eyes and casually says, “thank you for warning me. This is why I need you by my side.”
He makes it to the finish line barely before the other, winning the race by half a second. Jaemin brakes smoothly, tire marks scrapping the concrete below, and you both exit the car to celebrate with everyone else.
But before the mass of eager shouting men make their way over to you two, Jaemin hurries to your side to pull you into a steamy, rewarding kiss. The scene is just like the movies; his hand on your lower back and yours on his chest lightly. His lips taste like triumph, like he had won more than just a simple race against a random stranger. He’s won the best person he could ever have.
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You two fled the scene after cussing out the other racer. It was a rare sight to see: Jaemin being all bothered and angry, practically fuming after scrambling back into the driver’s seat. However, your mind had mischievous plans of its own and all it took was one look from his hooded eyes for you to announce that you wanted him --- badly.
Back in your usual abandoned parking lot, Jaemin pauses before following you to the back seats. With the engine off and the dead of the night being absolute silent, the tension remains thick around you two. “(Y/N),” Jaemin is about to confess something he never thought he’d admit. He turns to you sitting in the middle seat with just your panties on and a curious look on your face.
His heart burns and despite being so incredibly aroused, he controls his urges enough to be able to say, “I’m into you.”
“I know you’re into me, that’s how we ended up like this in the first place.” You giggle cluelessly to his words, still not understanding the odd shift in mood and intentions. It’s always his unclear, messy intentions.
Though he can’t entirely figure out his puzzle pieces, he has plenty to connect the dots. “I like you. I want to be in a relationship with you and call you my girlfriend.”
You’re stunned. Did Jaemin just confess to you as you sit in your panties ready to fuck? This softness is different from the sides you’ve seen of him. It’s similar to a lost bunny, wandering grasslands to find a purpose. He looks so fragile, one intense stare and he’d crumble. This softness is vulnerability.
“So do it.” The boldness catches him off guard, but switches on the dominance in him. “If you want me, come show it.”
He climbs over the middle console to push you into the leather seats. “Not acting shy anymore, are you?” Practically ripping your shirt off of you, he cups your breast lightly and flicks at your nipples. Your immediate reaction results in a rush of wetness down your core.
“Before I forget,” sitting up, you share a passionate kiss that you’ve held back long enough. You give it every ounce of feeling you have for him. “If it isn’t obvious enough, I like you too.”
“It’s obvious, baby.” Kissing your nose, he wraps a hand around your throat to lightly push you back down. “But hearing you say it out loud makes me happy.” Jaemin smirks, hand still choking you gently and pampering your jawline with soft kisses.
His free hand reaches down into your dripping panties, circling your clit with your wetness. The sensation causes you to whimper for more. “Daddy, give it to me.” You wiggle in his palm, knowing that the nickname is more than effective.
“My sweet (Y/N) wants to get fucked?” Jaemin rolls your underwear off and rids himself of his own bottoms.
“Yes, please.” Through the darkness, his hard dick stands proudly. Jaemin lines himself up as he thrusts into you without another second of hesitation. He waits for you to adjust to his size, his tip barely grazing your sweet spot. “Fuck…”
“You take me so well, my pretty baby.” Jaemin starts moving his hips, slowly at first to build a rhythm. Taking your legs, he presses them into your chest to fuck you at a deeper angle. And you feel him practically in your guts, his cock pumping against your walls deliciously and bumping into your g-spot. “Do you want more of me?”
Your train of thought is in utter shambles and whatever Jaemin is saying to you barely processes. You’re overwhelmed by a pleasure that fills every system, every part of your body. To answer him, you let out an incoherent noise of approval.
Jaemin pulls your hips down while thrusting forward into you, maximizing every inch of his strokes. This single action causes you to scream and grip onto the headrest. “Who knew my sweet girl could be so fucking dirty?” Jaemin chuckles darkly, his cadence dropping several decibels. “When I first met you, I wanted to ruin you.”
All of his filthy words edge you closer to your release as he continues to repeat his previous motion. He holds your hips in place to grind into you, the feeling of his tip rubbing your walls has your eyes rolling back. “Do you want to cum, (Y/N)?”
“Yes!” You yell, the tight ball in your lower abdomen is bound to break any minute. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You beg and moan, the arch in your back lifts you from the seat of the car. Jaemin snaps his hips into you, drilling you quickly to reach your high. And you break. An euphoric cry fills the air as your walls clench around his length. You hear the extra wetness create a slick noise, but Jaemin isn’t done with you yet.
“You wanted to cum so fucking badly. I’ll reward you with one more for being such a good girl for me.” His thumb flicks at your clit and you convulse into spasms from the sensitivity. Your violently shaking legs can’t hold themselves up anymore and Jaemin rests them on his shoulders. He lines kisses along your ankle as the pleasure overtakes you.
“I don’t think I can do it.” You whine, your fingers twisting and toes curling.
“You are going to try, okay baby?” He coos, but it’s most definitely a demand. He sits back on his knees to pick up more speed, fucking endlessly into your swollen pussy and thumb rubbing fast strips against your bud.
“I’m going to snap, Jaem.” You cry, tears rimming your eyes and before you know it, a second wave hits you. Your second orgasm is ruinous and has you squirming around to regain some sense of control.
“Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jaemin slows down as your walls grip around him again, tighter this time. “I’m going to fill you up with cum,--- watch it drip out of you.” He grunts while releasing into you, his dick twitching and spraying your insides with white.
He pulls out as hot, white cum spills from your pussy. You take this moment to catch your breath and relax your legs. However, Jaemin coats his two fingers and shoves the cum back into you. “Jaemin!” You exclaim at the sudden intrusion.
He curls them into your plushy walls and finger fucks you into another oblivion. “Wait, again?” Your hands wrap around his wrist, but Jaemin moves too fast for you to catch it.
You’re a moaning mess again, louder than before. Jaemin leans down and flicks his tongue against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Your back arches automatically and a low animalistic scream rises from your throat.
He observes your body lines underneath the moonlight and the last remaining light the broken street lamps have to offer. Your face contours and you’re so far out into ecstasy that you don’t notice how intensely Jaemin watches you lose yourself.
“It feels too good!” With one last thrilling orgasm, you almost pass out and you see small stars of dizziness. He soaks up every last bit of your cathartic reaction and festers a small sense of pride that he can make you feel all this pleasure.
“Such a good girl. You’re beyond impressive, baby.” Jaemin pulls his fingers out to lick them clean and finds some wipes to help you out of your sticky situation.  
“Now that you’re my girlfriend, can we cuddle at any time now? Not just as after care.” He peers up at you and the one word enacts a burning warmth to spread across your chest. That is the best nickname he can call you by.
“I think the Singles Girls Only house event is still going on, but after that, yes a million times.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him into a big loving hug.
Jaemin feels right at home. All the long years of living carelessly and wild, he’s finally found someone worth the extra mile. While Jaemin was a thriving adventure to be explored, you were his comfort to run back to.
It is through the intimacy of your backseat chronicles that Jaemin was able to fall deeper for you. You’re his lucky charm, for some reason, he always feels better around you. 
5K notes · View notes
v-hope · 3 years
Text
Sweet Night
Pairing: Artist!Taehyung x Heiress!Reader, Heir!OC x Reader
Genre: Fluff (yes, only fluff today, enjoy), Ex Roommates AU, Enemies to Lovers AU, Arranged Marriage (Heir!OC x Reader)
Word Count: 4.8k
Summary: Neither you nor Taehyung were expecting you to show up to his art exhibition, let alone when everyone was already gone, for the two of you were well aware that you didn’t have much of a choice when it came to attending your possible future husband’s charity event instead. Then again, neither of you were counting on your brother and sister in law to take your side and drive you all the way over to him so you could surprise him before the day was over.
A/N: Helloo! This is part 24 of my Social Media AU “Belong”, but you can read it as a stand-alone one shot if you want! I would like to make a shout out to my 🇫🇮 anon for giving me the Jimin idea (you know which one, I changed it a bit to make it fit the story better, but still). I hope you guys enjoy!
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Looking away from the backseat’s window, your eyes focused on your trembling hands instead — the city lights as you passed them by being the only source of light as your brother drove through the streets of Seoul, which for some reason seemed to be extremely long that particular night.
The light music Miyoung had taken upon playing on the radio from the passenger seat, in an attempt to create a somewhat calm atmosphere for you and the nervousness she was sure you were feeling, had yet to make you actually calm down. If anything, you could feel your shaky hands become sweatier by the second as you felt a tingle of anticipation in your chest.
Although you wanted with everything in you to attend Taehyung’s art exhibition, you had got out of bed that morning being mentally prepared to spend the entire day at the Lee’s charity event.
You had been ready to spend most of the day with your parents pretending that everything in your relationship was alright, perfect even. You had been smiling for the cameras all day, greeting people you were sure were just pretending to have the perfect life as well, and being forced to make small talk with the ones who used to be your friends yet had turned their back on you as soon as they had found out you were choosing a more modest life over the luxurious one — the same so called friends of yours that had to keep quiet about your little secret if they didn’t want your parents to destroy their family’s business. After all, your family was with no doubt the most powerful one in Korea. And honestly? You couldn’t help but see it now as a curse, after having spent a lifetime believing it was a gift.
Not only that, but you had also spent most of the day next to Sungjin, lovingly posing for the cameras and holding hands, making you wish every single second it was Taehyung instead. You were sure that way it would’ve been more bearable. What you hated the most was the fact that you knew said pictures were being posted right away, meaning Taehyung would see them, and you hated the utter thought of having the man you had feelings for see you acting like a happy couple with someone else — even more after you had to cancel on him to attend an event with the one guy he had asked you not to bring with you to his art exhibition to begin with.
And yet, after having to endure all of that, here you were — a little over an hour after Taehyung’s exhibit was done, being driven over there by your brother and sister in law, while Jimin held him back at the gallery, and you not even knowing what you were supposed to say at all once you saw him. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this whole impromptu apparition of yours was a good idea at all. It had been a long day for him, you knew that for sure, and although he had told you earlier that day that he would’ve loved to have you there, maybe by this point he just wanted to go home and get some rest.
You didn’t have much more time to think about that, though, for just as you remained deep in your thoughts, Seokjin pulled up right in front of the address you had given him before. Looking up from your fidgeting hands, you were met by two pairs of eyes already focused on you.
“Do you want us to go with you?” Seokjin asked, hand on his keys, ready to pull them out at your command.
“Um…” you hesitated, leaning closer to the window as your eyes travelled around the rather isolated street in search of any paparazzis, finding yourself to be quite relieved when you saw none of them around. “Maybe just until I find Tae”.
They nodded, exchanging one last look before they made their way out of the car right as you did. Feeling the cold breeze of the night as soon as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but hug yourself, sticking close to Jin and Miyoung as if you were a kid heading to school with her parents after being called by the principal.
Right as you were about to reach the entrance, however, Yoongi made his way out of the building, looking the other way before his eyes fell on all three of you.
“Hey,” he greeted, politely bowing his head, which you didn’t wait to reciprocate. “I came to see if you were anywhere near, Jimin is going crazy trying to come up with more excuses for Taehyung not to leave”.
You chuckled at his comment, imagining just how troubled your friend must have been. After all, and to be fair, you had taken a good while to get there. “Well, I’m here now”.
“That I can see” he sarcastically replied, eyes travelling from you to Seokjin, and then focusing on Miyoung. “Are you all coming in?” his eyes went back to you.
“Is it just the three of you inside?” your brother spoke up before you could nod. As far as he had understood, it should have been only Jimin and Taehyung inside.
“Oh, no” Yoongi denied. “Namjoon-ie is with us, too”.
“Namjoon?” Miyoung wondered, puzzled eyes going up to your brother. Given her reaction, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she knew what the rest of you didn’t when it came to those two.
Seokjin bit the inside of his cheek, giving her a knowing look before his eyes went back to Yoongi. “Actually, I, um… I just remembered Miyoung-ie and I have things to do, so…”
Although your sister in law looked troubled for a split second there, she wasted no time in nodding her head. Looking at Yoongi, she struggled to get the words out of her mouth. “W-We do! So, um…” her eyes focused on you. “We should probably leave. Is it okay?”
“Sure…”
“You’ll be okay?” she pushed it, earning a small laugh from you over his motherly ways.
“She’s in good hands” Yoongi reassured her, receiving a genuine smile from her that only caused his lips to part into one of his own as well.
“Okay” she sweetly replied, giving him a small nod as a sign of gratitude.
Seokjin playfully nudged her, grabbing her hand so the whole marriage thing could at least be a little bit more believable. “Shall we go then?”
“Mhm…” she replied.
“Call me when you’re done here” your brother demanded.
“Oh, I’m sure Taehyung will drive her home” Yoongi’s words got chills running up your spine.
“Okay,” Jin’s eyes travelled from Yoongi to you. “Call me when you’re home then”.
“I will” you obediently complied.
With that said, your brother and sister in law turned around, leaving you alone with Yoongi, who didn’t wait to motion towards the door for you to go inside.
“After you” he politely said.
You smiled, taking in a shaky breath before you took a step in. Suddenly all the nervousness you had felt on your way here came right back to hit you in the face, not knowing at all what to do once you were in front of the guy you had ditched the Lee’s event for — not even knowing how he would react at all, yet hoping he would be happy to have you there.
You didn’t get too much time to mentally prepare, for as soon as you entered the place being followed by Yoongi, you caught a glimpse of the backs of the other three men inside as they faced one of the many paintings that brought some life to the neutral white covering every single wall of the gallery. And it was a matter of you taking a few steps towards them for three pairs of eyes to be set on you. However, yours were only focused on one particular pair of them — those chocolate ones that displayed a mixture of surprise and pure happiness in them.
“You’re here?” Taehyung asked the obvious once you reached their side, causing his friends to chuckle in amusement.
“Seems like it…” you nervously managed to get out.
Silence took over as big smiles were plastered all over your faces — on yours and Taehyung’s, as the two of you were happy as hell to see each other, and on his friends, for they were having a blast watching the two of you awkwardly stand in front of one another with those dumb smiles of yours, not knowing what to do next.
“Come on,” Jimin chimed in, placing his hand behind your back and lightly pushing you towards Tae. “Your girl fooled her parents into coming here, the least she deserves is a hug”.
With a giggle escaping Tae’s mouth, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you when your body was about to collide with his. Feeling your heart going wild at the warmness of his touch, you wrapped your arms around his waist as well, resting your face on his chest and taking in his scent right as he lowered his head just enough to bury it in your neck.
“Thank you for coming” he mumbled.
A light chuckle abandoned your mouth, deciding to say nothing and instead just nod your head and wrap your arms tighter around his figure.
“Okay, I think this is our cue to go” Namjoon’s voice broke the comfortable silence you had fallen into.
“Yup” Yoongi agreed, patting Jimin’s back to catch his attention, as he was shamelessly taking pictures of the two of you to remember the moment his friends somewhat got together. “Let’s give the love birds some privacy”.
Nodding his head, Jimin shoved his phone back into his pocket — neither of them bothering to say goodbye not to kill the moment the two of you were sharing, and just quietly leaving the gallery instead.
Once you heard the front doors being closed, Taehyung pulled away, cupping your face in his warm hands and smiling at the sight of you. “I never thought seeing you would make me this happy”.
“Yah, Kim Taehyung” you called him out. “I’m sure you can be sweeter than that”.
He chuckled, rolling his eyes at how spoiled you had become when it came to him and his show of affection. “I’m happy you’re here, princess”.
You smiled, resting your hands over his and drawing small circles with your thumbs on his skin. “I’m happy I’m here”.
His smile turned sweeter somehow, lightly pressing his forehead on yours before a chuckle escaped his mouth and he amusedly shook his head.
“What is it?” you wondered.
“Nothing,” he laughed, pulling away and letting go of your face. “It just makes sense now why the guys were trying so hard to keep me here. Specially Jimin”.
“Was he losing it?” you laughed.
“Totally” he nodded. “He made me go over the whole exhibition again and explain each one of my paintings at least twice to him” his eyes travelled to one particular spot on the wall right next to the painting they had been admiring when you walked in. “When he ran out of pieces to ask me about he pointed at this small crack on the wall and asked me how I had come up with such a deep concept”.
This time, you couldn’t help but tilt your head back as a throaty laugh escaped your mouth — one that had Taehyung giggling, absolutely loving the sound of your laugh.
“He’s an idiot” you stated. “But he kept you here for me, so…”
“That he did” he smiled, biting his bottom lip as his eyes unconsciously travelled down your body — that pink dress of yours sure did look even better in person. “Aren’t you cold?”
Your eyes instinctively went down to your uncovered legs and then to your uncovered arms, remembering how you had hugged yourself outside minutes ago because of the cold air of the night. “It’s alright in here”.
He nodded his head. “My coat is by the entrance, in case you get too cold”.
You smiled sweetly, yet it didn’t wait to turn into what seemed more like a teasing smirk. “So you told me earlier today that you wished you had got to see me in this dress and now you want to cover it up?”
Taehyung rolled his eyes in amusement. “Don’t get me wrong, princess. I already told you I think you look beautiful and am most definitely enjoying the view right now” his bold words brought heat to your face. “I’m just looking after you”.
“How sweet of you” your sarcastic tone didn’t really match your flustered expression. “I’m okay for now. Will let you enjoy the view for a little longer”.
“How considerate of you” he was quick to follow your sarcastic antics, silently enjoying that particular choice of yours.
“I know, no need to say it” you playfully squinted your eyes at him, later taking a look at the whole gallery. “You think you could show me around?”
He nodded, a bright smile already taking over his face. “It will be my pleasure” his dramatism got a playful roll of eyes from you. “Where would you like to start?”
“This one is alright” you pointed out, moving closer to the painting you already had in front. “So,” you began, eyes tauntingly going to the crack next to his painting. “Tell me about how you came up with such a deep concept”.
“Shut up” he amusedly rolled his eyes.
“No, but seriously now” you smiled, this time staring at the piece of art in front of you. “Tell me about this one”.
Taehyung’s art, you had found out quite a while ago, tended to be on the abstract side. Therefore, it was even harder for you —or anyone for that matter— to interpret.
This one piece, just like the tag placed above it on the wall let you know, was called ‘Winter Bear’. You could clearly see the winter, the palette of colours he had used just screamed cold days and melancholy. Nevertheless, the bear mentioned in the title was nowhere to be found in the painting — instead, you managed to tell apart what you thought was a little boy, somewhat hidden in between all the colourful strokes surrounding his figure.
“That’s me” he pointed out when he could no longer deal with the confusion in your face, managing to draw your attention back to him.
“What?” your bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “What is the word ‘bear’ doing in the title then?”
He chuckled. “It’s art, you dork. You can name it anything you want”.
“I think it must mean something, though…”
Taehyung bit his bottom lip. Of course you would know better.
“That’s what my grandparents used to call me” he confessed.
You nodded quietly, understandingly — not really knowing what to say yet not wanting to stay silent. “You must miss them so much…”
“Sometimes,” he nodded. “I mean, not a day goes by in which I don’t miss them, it’s just that… it’s been years so… you kinda grow used to it” his shoulders moved up and down, in a shrug that tried not to make it seem like a big deal. “The whole exhibit was related to winter, so it naturally reminded me of them and how they used to call me, and… I guess I got too personal with this exhibition”.
You gave him a sweet smile of reassurance, reaching for his hand and holding it in yours. “It’s your art. It’s supposed to be personal”.
The boxy smile that he gave you right then was all it took for your heart to skip a beat, later taking in a shaky breath when he intertwined his long fingers with yours and his thumb drew small circles on the back of your hand.
Your eyes went back to the painting in front, trying your best not to let him know what his touch did to you. “I love it” you stated, much to his pleasure. “Love the way it seems to make no sense when you only read the title, yet it makes complete sense after you explain it”.
He smiled wholeheartedly. “I think it just makes no sense” his words had you furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “Not everyone is lucky enough to know the true meaning behind it”.
You giggled. “Lucky me then”.
“Lucky you” he agreed.
Tugging at his hand, you moved on to the next painting, and then the next one, and so on. Not a second had gone by in which you had let go of each other’s hand as you commented on the different paintings and the meanings behind each of them — the two of you finding yourselves having the time of your lives as you gave him your take on them and he confirmed whether or not it was what he had tried to portray.
That was what each of you liked about art so much, the fact that there was no wrong answer and you could discuss it so freely. Sure, he had something in mind the moment he painted each one of his pieces, but it was always fun to see what the rest of the people would feel when they looked at them.
And, for some reason, it was particularly enjoyable to him when it came to discussing art with you. So he had found out back when he invited you to one of his friend’s exhibits. It was different than talking about it with his friends, and he didn’t know if it was the fact that, unlike them, you actually knew about art, or just the fact that it was you.
Maybe both.
Tightening your hold on his hand when there were only four more artworks left, you moved on to the next one, having your jaw drop at the sight of it.
“Hey, this is the one I fixed” you blurted out in both surprise and excitement, unconsciously moving closer to it and dragging Taehyung with you so you could appreciate it better.
Although you were excited to see it there, you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up at the memories it brought back — the fact that you had collided with it and spilled coffee on it, still being both upsetting and embarrassing as hell.
You remembered quite well the way you had ran out in search of an art shop to find the necessary supplies to fix it before Taehyung could get home. Maybe you should have been faster. Not like that would’ve been of too much help, though, for whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not, you knew very well he would’ve noticed something was off with his newest creation right away.
Looking at the different shades of blue and touches of yellow right then brought you back to that night you pulled an all-nighter, meticulously trying to recreate his painting — the hardest part being that you had only got to see it for a split second before the coffee that used to be on your —by then— broken mug had ruined it. You could only be thankful that it had been just a particular part of the painting and not all of it.
Staring into the picture, you had to stop yourself from reaching your hand out to it and trace your fingers over the pair of eyes you could tell apart in yet another one of his abstract works. You had not truly paid attention to them that one night you spent in Taehyung’s living room fixing his painting, for you had been way too invested in the details you had ruined. And you couldn’t help but feel relieved over the fact that the hot liquid had not touched the eyes he had so perfectly portrayed, for although they looked quite familiar somehow, you weren’t sure you would have been able to do any justice to them.
“I didn’t think you were actually displaying it” you mumbled after a few seconds, eyes still fixed on the painting.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he cocked one of his eyebrows. “Not to be that guy, but it’s quite good”.
“Yes,” you agreed in a heartbeat. “But you can tell one part of it is quite different to the rest of it”.
“You did a good job fixing it, princess” he recognized. “No one could really tell the difference”.
“I can tell” you mumbled.
Taehyung laughed under his breath. “Will you just look up to its title?”
Doing as told out of curiosity, your eyes darted up in a heartbeat — feeling them well up with tears when you read what the label above the artwork said.
“Sweet Night”, ft. Ariel.
Looking up to hold back the tears you felt so dumb for even having in the first place, you shook your head as the corners of your lips curved slightly up. “You did not just credit me after being the one to ruin it to begin with”.
“Hey, I wasn’t taking full credit over something I didn’t completely paint” he stated. “Plus, it’s smart, don’t you think? No one will ever know this Ariel person is no other than the infamous Kim Y/N”.
“You really didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to” he stated.
You bit your bottom lip, no longer being able to hold back your smile and letting it part your lips like it had been threatening to. Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh under his breath over how adorable he thought you were, not even dreaming of stopping himself when he let go of your hand and placed his arm over your shoulders instead, pulling you closer to him as the two of you stared into the artwork in front.
“Why ‘Sweet Night’?” you wondered, leaning your head on his body.
He shrugged. “It’s silly”.
“Come onnn,” you pouted, pulling slightly away so you could look at him. “Out of all the paintings here, you can’t leave out the explanation to this particular one”.
Taehyung sighed, knowing well enough that, one, you were right, and, two, you were not letting this go until he told you.
“It was inspired by that one night I came home to you and Sungjin” he said rather bitterly, remembering pretty well how he had not been fazed at all by the fact that you and said guy had obviously been making out right before, yet feeling his blood boil at the mere thought of it now. “We stayed up late eating lots and lots of sweet popcorn because I had way too many of them and you became addicted to them and how well they went with wine” a small laugh escaped his mouth at the memory. “So I just went with that. Plus, you were being really sweet that night and it was the first time I got to see that side of you, so…”
“That is really sweet” you mumbled, feeling the heat reach your cheeks.
“Don’t” he pleaded.
You laughed. “It truly is sweet, Vante” the way your eyes had softened at the sight of him, had his heart skipping a beat. “What do the eyes mean, though?”
“You just want to torture me by now” he called you out.
“I’m just asking!” you defended yourself with a giggle.
Taehyung rolled his eyes, feeling the heat reach his face as he intently focused on the painting, evading your eyes as he spoke.
“I’ve never been a fan of people having their full attention on me, I don’t like being the center of attention… I mean, I told you today how I was not looking forward to the moment I would have to give a speech in front of all my guests” you nodded, remembering how you had tried to cheer him up when it came to that. “So I don’t really talk about my art… or about art in general, to anyone. I just show it to them and let them interpret it, that’s what art is about, after all. But that one night you asked me a lot about my art and I actually felt like talking about it with you, and I remember the way your eyes were fixed on me almost as if you were scared you would miss some kind of important detail,” he laughed lightly. “And for the first time I liked the attention. I guess that inspired me enough to paint this”.
“So those are my eyes?” you asked.
He shrugged. “It’s up for interpretation”.
You shook your head in amusement, staring down as you felt your face burning. “You’re the worst”.
Taehyung chuckled, pulling you closer to him with the arm that was still around your shoulders, and using his free hand to place two fingers under your chin and make you look up at him. “Am I now?”
You felt your breathing become heavier the second his nose faintly bumped on yours — his lips only centimeters away from your anticipating ones. Too intimidated by him right then, knowing well enough he had you wrapped around his finger, you managed to shake your head no to answer his question, without taking your eyes away from his for even a second. Or well, that until his chocolate ones travelled down to your mouth.
Staring down into his tempting lips as they slowly came closer to yours, you looked up to his eyes for a split second, just enough to catch a glimpse of the way his remained fixed on your mouth. And then, you saw nothing — eyes instinctively closing when his lips softly trapped your bottom one.
Just one touch of his lips made you wonder how you had managed to go on all these weeks without getting a taste of them again.
“I thought you didn’t do this whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing?” you whispered against his lips, opening your eyes to find his dark ones already fixed on you.
A small, breathy laugh escaped his mouth, leaning in so it would faintly brush against yours. “I’m not kissing you as a friend”.
Your lips parted into a smile, not letting another second go by before you pressed your lips to his, making him smile and cup your face in his hands just like he had done weeks ago with the intention of deepening the kiss.
With your arms wrapping around his neck, you pulled him closer to your body, letting go of the kiss for a second to catch your breath and having him take advantage of your slightly open mouth to trap your bottom lip in his eager ones again, this time tracing his tongue over it and slipping it inside your still open mouth — meeting your awaiting one in the middle just the way he wanted.
Letting go of your face, one of his hands travelled down to your lower back so he could feel you even closer, fingers tracing their way down your bare arms as he did so, and feeling goosebumps form on your skin.
“You’re cold?” he asked, taking one second to catch his breath before his wet lips were back on yours.
You shook your head no, a small, shy laugh escaping your mouth. “I didn’t get chills because I’m cold”.
Taehyung bit his lip, feeling the corners of his mouth curving up and pressing one last kiss to your lips before finally pulling away from you as his eyes were intently fixed on yours.
“I will keep my coat to myself then” he teased you.
“Nope,” you were quick to deny. “I am taking you up on the coat offer when we leave”.
“Okay” he laughed lightly, the hand that was still on your face travelling down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Shall we go?”
You shook your head no quite effusively. “We’re not done with the exhibit yet!”
“I’m hungry, let’s go eat something” Taehyung whined. “We can come back some other day”.
“Yah,” you called him out. “I came all the way here just to see your artworks”.
Your words earned a somewhat bitter pout from him. “Thought you had come all the way over here to see me”.
You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at that, tugging on his hand to pull him closer, and then making him replace said pout with a smile when you pressed two chaste kisses to his mouth. “It was implicit” your teasing words had him rolling his eyes. “We only have three more to go and then I’m all yours”.
He smirked, pulling you with him to the next piece. “I like the sound of that”.
“I meant it as in, then we can go get some food” you mumbled, feeling your face burning for what felt like the millionth time that night.
“I know” he pecked your lips. “Doesn’t change that I enjoy the sound of that”.
1K notes · View notes
wri0thesley · 3 years
Note
thank you for infecting me with total naoya brain rot, nat. can i request a breeding kink scenario with him and curvy, thick reader that he thinks looks perfect for bearing him an heir 👀 feel free to make him as nasty as you want, i love to read about this absolute trash fire of a man
Covet - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.6k)
Naoya wants something from you - you see a chance to get something you want too.
warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. breeding. power imbalance (reader is a maid at the zen’in estate). talk of pregnancy, knives, misogyny, fingering, coming inside/creampies. the mandatory warning that this fic is about naoya.
You are fairly certain that Naoya Zenin does not know whether you exist. If he has ever noticed you attending to your duties, so much lower and less important than he, he probably doesn’t like you.
At least, you did not think he liked you before this moment. Even now, with his hands on your hips and your body pressed flush against the wall outside his chambers, you’re not certain – there’s a weight to the way he’s holding you, a twist to his lips that you can see from where your cheek has met cool wallpaper. He looks like he’s considering you; sizing you up.
Your cheeks burn as he sizes up your lower half, eyes tracing your hips and ass and thighs without even a hint of remorse, as if it’s his god-given right to look upon you like this even though you’ve barely ever spoken more than a cursory polite; ‘I brought you this, Sir’. That’s what you’ve been taught to do.
Be respectful, stick to the shadows, do what you’re told. It’s an honour to serve the Zenin clan, it’s an honour to be here in the estate – it’s an honour to get a brief moment of any of their time, even if they’re just making demands on you. You sometimes hate yourself, for not being born one of them - you want, you want, you want, like a physical ache. The luxury. The nice treatment. People to think that you merely blessing them with a look is an honour--
It’s an especial honour to be worth Naoya’s time – everybody knows that he’s going to be the next leader. There are always rumours buzzing around the grounds about him; about his power, about his temper, about his personality . . . about which pretty young woman he’ll make his wife and have beside him to rule the clan.
You’re brought back to what’s currently happening by his hands sliding down from where he is clinging onto your hips, generously tracing the curve, admiring just how broad they are.
“Pity you have to hide beneath that,” he says, smirking. Your cheeks are hot. “You’re pretty, you know. At least. . .” One hand moves from your hip, thumb and forefinger squeezing your cheeks to turn them more thoroughly towards him. He looks entirely unruffled by the situation, every inch of him at ease that you will bend to what he wants. “Your body is pretty.” Eyes scan over your face, and you’re suddenly aware of every imperfection, every feature you’ve ever scrutinised. “Hm. Not bad either.”
“I . . . I don’t understand,” You find yourself breathing. He raises one elegant eyebrow. The hand that’s on your hip moves, tracing the plush of your ass through fabric, his lip curling into a smirk. He presses a little bit forward and you feel something stiff press against your other cheek (the one not occupied by his hand) – and your throat goes dry as you realise precisely what he means.
Oh.
Oh.
You should run. Good girls do not do what Naoya wants you to do. You have duties to attend to! You have things that must be done, lest your seniors sigh and tut at you and punish you for neglecting your work. But your throat is very dry and your heart is pounding and there is suddenly a strange twist of heat low in your gut, as Naoya Zenin looks down at you with the air of a man who will devour you if you let him.
You can’t deny it’s thrilling to be wanted – more thrilling to be wanted by someone like him.
“I’ll give you ten seconds,” he says, and his tone is patronising. “If you don’t want me to take you to bed and fuck you, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”
He says it so openly, so brazenly – you suppose that’s what comes of being born into this family. He has nothing to fear in these walls. Not like you.
You imagine yourself underneath him for a second, his hair in disarray, hakama abandoned, his perfectly composed face twisted in pleasure. You should not go to his bed. But . . . you want to. And don’t you deserve something you want, when you’ve spent your entire life watching other people enjoy it?
“You don’t need to,” you breathe, swallowing. Naoya pulls back in amusement, his eyes darkening. He seems so much taller and stronger than you. Even swathed in fabric, it’s clear that there is muscle and strength beneath the clothes. He has been trained to within an inch of his life since the day he was born. He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat. A thumb trails over your cheek.
“Are you sure about that?” The smirk in his voice says that he knows you are. “I won’t be gentle with you, you know. I don’t have all day to romance you. I just want to get you on your back . . .” His thumb slides over your jawline, past your earlobe, until he’s taken a hank of your hair and yanks it back roughly, exposing your throat and making you gasp. “And fuck a son into you.”
He must see the look on your face, because he laughs, the sound cruel even to your ears. He’s still pressed so close to you. Nobody who walked down this hallway would mistake the embrace the two of you were currently in for anything clandestine. You suppose he has nothing to worry about – but your reputation? He’d ruin you for marriage.
“Come on,” he murmurs, chuckling. “Have you seen yourself? You’re made for bearing a child, sweetheart.” The pet name is almost mocking, but your heart skips a beat anyway. “Don’t worry too much. You don’t think I could take care of you, if you carried my heir? You’re a servant, right? You already know how to behave.” His smile is like a wolf. “So, I give you my word that if it takes, I’ll take care of you. Sounds fair, huh?” He jerks on your hair again. “Ten seconds,” he reminds you. “If you want to get out of it. You don’t think there are girls lining up around the block to have me?”
(Judging by the whispers about him, you actually don’t think there are – but judging from Naoya’s eyes, he certainly thinks so.)
He lets go. He steps back. His eyes are still on you, but he raises his arms either side of him as if to show you that you’re free to go. And you do consider it – you let the possibility of running flicker through your head. It’s quickly replaced by the thought of Naoya on top of you, an end to the aching between your legs, and the knowledge of just how you might be treated if Naoya did succeed in his mission.
It’s fine to want nice things, every once in a while.
“Five,” he says, warningly, but his eyes are dark with hunger. “Four. Three.”
You turn towards his bedroom door and grasp the handle, and he laughs, the sound very loud.
“Oh,” he says, “so you’re going to be fun.”
The minute his bedroom door clicks behind him, Naoya wastes no time on being on you. He’s full throttle, immediately – hands pulling at your clothes, rough, his mouth on your neck. He avoids your mouth, like he doesn’t quite want to kiss you – but as you bite back a moan as he nips at your throat and he groans in response at the noise, you realise that he wants to hear you.
Figures a man like that wants the reassurance that you’re enjoying yourself. Figures he wants to crow over every whimper that drops from your lips. Hands pull at your kimono, almost ripping it in his hurry to have the fabric out of his way and on the floor. You barely even notice he’s been pushing you across the room until you’re pushed hard down, and your back meets pillows and sheets instead of the floor.
The way you fall makes a perfect tableaux; the material of your outfit pooling around you, your body in the middle of it, clad in only your underwear. His light eyes rake over you hungrily.
“Fuck,” he says. His hands immediately go to your hips, thumbs pressing hard into the soft flesh. You barely fit in his hands, the curve of you dramatic. “You’re going to be perfect for this, huh? Look at you. It’s a fucking shame you’re not knocked up right now--”
Your body reacts to his touch and his look, though you can’t help but be embarrassed by it – it’s one thing to be entranced by someone pretty, you think, but it’s another thing to be entranced by the idea of how pretty someone will look when their stomach is swollen and their breasts have swelled and their hips have filled out because they’re bearing your child.
He doesn’t bother with unclipping your bra. He reaches into his hakama and panic flashes before your eyes when he pulls out a knife, but he uses it merely to slice the gore between your bra cups, right between the cute bow adorning them.
“I—I liked that,” you say, but your voice sounds very wobbly in the room, under Naoya’s gaze, under his hands. He snorts.
“I like you better without it,” he says shortly, as if your likes and dislikes are not a consideration to be taken into account. For him, you suppose they’re not. “Besides.” Hands travel from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the meat of the mounds so that you groan and arch your back, desire pooling between your legs. “I wanted to see these. I wanted to touch them.” He grins. “I wanted to imagine how nice they’re going to look when they get bigger.”
He squeezes the point of each of your nipples, so hard that the pleasure almost becomes pain.
“I think I’ll leave marks on you,” he says, conversationally. He pulls an arm back and suddenly has slapped you, your breast stinging, a brief imprint of his hand showing on your skin. He admires how your breast moves with the force – you’re too surprised to even make a noise of pain. “Good girl. I want you to remember how I feel when we’re done.”
You don’t think you could forget. You definitely can’t forget the sting of the second slap, this one making you moan – it hurts, but part of it feels good to be marked by him. You definitely can’t forget his thumbs hooking into your underwear, dragging it past your thighs – the way that he drinks in the wet patch on the fabric. You definitely don’t think you’ll be able to forget the chuckle that leaves his mouth as he spreads your thighs and sees your sex for the first time, already slick.
“You like being treated rough, huh?” He asks you. There’s that grin again; a predator, a man who has never been told no, a man who doesn’t know what it’s like to not have everything he has ever wanted at his fingertips. “Good. I like playing rough.”
He still doesn’t kiss you. He dives his head down, though, his teeth once more nipping at your neck, at your breast, tongue lathing across your nipples. One of his hand delves between your legs, spreading the plump labia, fingers briefly stroking your clit and sending a hot bolt of lightning all through you.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, as he pushes a finger inside of you. You’re slick and tight around his digits, hot and silky – one of his fingers alone is like a vice. You’re going to feel so good. He doesn’t much care whether his cock hurts you or not – but he wants you to be so fucked out by the time he’s come inside you that you don’t care about him leaving your legs propped up so not a single trickle of come leaks out of you. He doesn’t want a whimpering little bitch in his bed – he wants someone who’ll lie there, patiently, prettily, and let him make sure it takes.
You’re going to be good for that, he knows it. With a body like that, and eyes like that, and a clear longing for something better than the shitty hand you’ve been dealt? Oh, yes. You might not know it, but Naoya likes you immensely.
That you’re a servant, who’s been taught your place - that you’ll look at the ground respectfully and walk behind him and agree to whatever he says, like women should? Even better. Perfect. Fuck any of those snooty young women of a clan who think that just because they were born with a name, they were somehow more than a cunt for breeding--
Two fingers. This one gets a cry from you, almost too full – Naoya clicks his tongue against his teeth. He’s not patient, but he slows down, scissoring you open. One of your hands seems to flex out as if going to grab his bicep – but thinks better of it, clutching for purchase on the bed instead. Cute.
He can’t help but watch his fingers dive in and out of you, already coated in your liberal slick. They already look so good – he can’t even imagine how good his cock will look, hilted so deep in you he’s all you can feel.
Three fingers. You’re making soft little noises, circling your hips – there’s a coil in your belly that Naoya’s fingers are stoking in a way you didn’t expect, one that you feel like you’re so close to getting to spring forth – he slides his fingers out of you as he feels you tightening and tensing around him. If you’re close enough to come on his fingers, he reasons, you’re close enough to take his cock.
He didn’t expect to be so entranced by how pretty you looked, all curves and soft on his bed – but there’s time for that later. Right now, his cock is driving a hole through his own underwear. The thought of fucking his seed into you, of having you coming around his cock . . . you moan in frustration at the lack of stimulation as his hands busy themselves peeling off his own clothes.
“What’s the matter?” He asks you, a little breathless. You don’t notice that – good. He hates people witnessing weakness. “You need to be filled up?”
“I—” your teeth dig into your bottom lip, and Naoya has the urge to kiss you that he pushes back.
Not now. Not yet. Not while you’re still scum. He can transform you, and maybe you’ll be worthy of that – but right now, you’re an empty shell, and Naoya needs to mould you into something fuller and better before he’ll lower himself to brush his lips over your own. That’s too intimate. That’s too much.
“You don’t need to use your words,” he purrs. “You’re soaking wet.”
You urge your thighs further apart as Naoya’s clothes slip off of him and you see his cock jutting proud against his stomach. You haven’t had much experience to know whether it’s a nice cock, whether he’s big – but Naoya grins when he sees you looking, ferocity sparking in his expression.
“You may as well look at it,” he tells you, “because it’s going to be buried inside you in just a moment--”
He’s on the bed, his body on top of yours. His hands are clinging to the hips he’s admired so much, his grip tight enough to mark. His face is close enough that you can see the sculpt of his lips and the fan of his eyelashes, the dark pupils. The wet head of his cock smears precome on your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance – and as he sinks inside, your body welcomes him.
He hisses in fluid pleasure as his cock descends inside of you inch by slow, inexorable inch – the stretch, the burn, the slick fluid pleasure. This time, one of your hands does find purchase on his shoulder – but Naoya is enjoying the feeling of your walls kissing his cock, embracing him tight and deep, too much to snap at you for being such an insolent thing. Your nails leave little crescent moon marks in his shoulder that he decides to forgive. After all – you’ll have bruises in the shape of his handprints tomorrow, he knows it. He doesn’t have a single crumb of shame about it.
If he gets his way, you’ll have more than just those as a mark of tonight. He hilts inside you, his skin pressing hot against yours. You’re so full – he feels so very deep, buried as far as he can go. All of your breath has been knocked out of you.
Your eyes meet his for just a moment.
“Better hold on,” he tells you. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle.”
The first pull out is swift, immediately thrusting back inside you with such force that your body rocks on the bed. He wasn’t lying about not being gentle; his hips quickly establish a punishing rhythm, helped along by the slick glide of your channel, the wetness leaking around his cock. He pulls you a little with every thrust, the hands on his hips assisting him being able to watch his cock drive in and out of your sex. It’s a mark of the strength he has that the only sign that you weigh anything at all is a huff of breath in between his thrusts – you’ve never exactly felt delicate  in your life, but something about Naoya’s way of handling you makes you think that he could break you in half if he tried.
That is, if his rough thrusts in and out of you don’t split you in two first. You give up trying to do anything other than hold onto him, your mouth dropping open in a series of wordless wails and moans.
(Naoya prefers quiet women, he has to admit – but there’s something endearing about you giving up in bed, giving yourself to him in voice as well as body. Perhaps he doesn’t mind a loud woman, as long as the reason she’s loud is because he’s fucking her silly).
His skin slaps against your skin. The sound mixes with your own whimpers and gasps, Naoya’s quieter breathing, the embarrassingly wet sounds of his cock plunging in and out of you. The release that was denied to you earlier with his fingers is creeping back up on you again, all hot pleasure and tight tension. With every thrust, Naoya is hitting a spot amongst your plush walls that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your body all hot and needy. He doesn’t care if you come, really – this isn’t about you – but . . . just another of those things he supposes he could get used to, as the ball of pleasure inside of you finally unravels and you feel yourself come.
And oh, he could get used to that feeling too – how your walls pulsate around him, pulling his cock tighter inside of you, practically milking him. His hips just get faster, snapping against you like a man possessed – heh. Isn’t that funny?
Your chest is heaving, but he’s enjoying the feel of your hips too much to play with your tits again. When they’re all swollen with milk and bigger and rounder, he’ll probably fuck you again, slower . . . and then, he’ll get his feel of touching them. Just like he’ll get his feel of your thighs even plusher, your stomach rounder, your hips even better in his grip--
It’s those thoughts that push him over the edge. Your body softened and rounded with his child – his son, his heir. You’re fucking perfect for it. He groans, his hips snapping and driving so deep inside you that you think he’ll break – and then, he’s groaning, and his cock is pulsing inside you as the sensation of his come painting your walls hot and thick overtakes your senses.
He pumps his cock a few more times inside of you after the initial release, as if he’s trying to push his seed even further within you. You’re shuddering, exhausted, your body aching – and so, you don’t argue beyond a soft noise of pain at the unpleasant prickle as he pulls his cock out of you. You don’t argue when he slides a pillow beneath your hips and says;
“Keep your legs bent like that.”
Naoya takes a moment to admire you. Your pretty cunt is darkened from his aggressive fucking, clit swollen, slick with your own desire-- he frowns as he notices a drop of something whiter and thicker. That won’t do. Two fingers roughly push his come back into you, pressing it deeply, making you groan and your hips weakly thrust against them.
It’s cute that you’re still welcoming to his fingers; that your sex still sucks them in as if it’s greedy to be fucked again. Your eyes are half-lidded, glassy – your lips bitten dark. He thinks he could fuck you again and you wouldn’t even complain.
Yes. He grins at you. Give it a little while, to make sure his come takes – and then, he thinks, he will fuck you again. There’s no harm in being thorough, right?
901 notes · View notes
wkemeup · 3 years
Text
Back to Bourbon Street
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summary: When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 6.7k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, poison, brink of death cuddling, angst with a happy ending
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There is a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of the battlefield; a brief, impossible moment that allows Bucky to take hold of a peace he’s been missing for decades. The perfect storm of violence and adrenaline is one he’s familiar with, something he knows well enough to allow his mind to take a step back and give control to his instincts.  
Left jab. Right hook. Kick. Swipe the leg. Shoot.
The sound of the chopper above is muffled. The shouts of the men rushing at him with weapons and malice are indistinguishable. His body moves of its own accord and this is what makes him untouchable. Even with the Winter Soldier buried to the deepest parts of his mind, Bucky finds a relief in letting go of the control, of allowing an untethered detachment to rise to the surface just long enough to get the job done. 
Bodies in his wake, blood on his hands, and his mind elsewhere.
That is, until you come into view.  
Elegant in your movements, exceptional in your ability, you’re teasing Sam on the coms as you duck under the swing of a mercenary and clip him on the chin on your way up. You’re laughing, bright enough that it carries the several feet away to where Bucky is in hand to hand with a combatant half his size.  
He pauses, taken back by how clear your laugh comes through when the rest of the world seems muffled and distant. It’s not enough to give the scrawny opponent an advantage, because even as Bucky watches you with an awe and disbelief, his left arm snakes around the man’s throat and hurtles him fifty feet away with little effort.  
Amongst enemy lines filled with bad guys and guns, amongst the blinding snowfall and the blistering wind, amongst blood staining crystalized white upon the frozen dirt, you capture the entirety of his focus. Clear as day. Spotlight down from the sky. A wonder to behold.  
You catch his eye and for a moment his heart skips completely because you smile at him. A light breaking through a sea of shadows, wrinkling up by your eyes, a giggle in your chest, and Bucky’s knees nearly give out from under him. 
You must notice the fluster burning hot on his cheeks and you start to laugh; that same beautifully, sweet sound that shouldn’t belong on a battlefield. He smiles back.
But the moment lasts longer than it should. It’s something too kind for the evil you’re surrounded with and it’s taken away in a matter of seconds when Bucky sees the sharp reflection of a blade flicker under the haze of sunlight.  
His stomach drops as if he’s stepped off the edge of the cliff, as if he’s falling hundreds of feet into a dark ravine to the icy waters below, and he barely feels the sharp burn of a bullet as it skims his right shoulder.  
“Y/n!” he screams, wasting no time in firing fatal shots to the men around him before he rushes towards you.  
But he’s trudging through mud and quicksand and his limbs are fighting through the resistance of ocean currents. He’s trapped in a nightmare, he’s certain of it, because his body is failing him in the one place it’s not supposed to. Time slows down as he watches the flash of panic in your eyes.
He’s still a few feet away when the knife embeds itself in your stomach.
Something else takes over; maybe it's the Winter Soldier, maybe it’s something darker that has always resided inside of him, lying in wait, but his vision fills with red as he watches you clutch at the shoulders of your assailant, lips parted in shock, chest heaving as you glance down at the knife buried in your gut. A sickening smile curves up on the man’s face and he drops you to the ground.  
Bucky only vaguely registers the bodies that fall around him as he empties his clip. He can't look at you now, not as blood starts to seep around your suit and drip into the snow, so he focuses the brunt of his tunnel vision to the man wielding the knife. The satisfied grin drops as he notices Bucky raise his weapon. It only takes one shot, but Bucky fires six.  
By the time he reaches you, he’s skidding on his knees into the snow. It soaks into his suit and sends shivers into his spine in unpleasant memories of the ice, but he pays it little mind as he bends down to assess the damage. His hands hover over the blade, almost afraid to touch you, and he resides to keep the knife secure until he can safely remove it.  
“Hey, Barnes,” you mutter weakly and it snaps Bucky from his trance. He looks up to see you smiling at him, though your eyes are fluttering shut. Your breathing is shallow.  
“Don’t talk right now,” Bucky warns you because he can see the energy draining away. It’s happening too quick. The blade doesn’t appear as though it’s nicked any major arteries, and yet, you look as though it plunged straight through your heart.
You chuckle, though it’s faint and you wince in the effort. “Sick of my voice already?”
Bucky shakes his head, astounded how you can still tease him in your position. “You kidding me? Not a chance.”
He reaches up to press a finger to the coms to get ahold of someone, anyone, to get you airlifted out of here, only to find it slipped out of his ear in the struggle. A quick glance back behind him and he knows he’ll never find it amongst the snow. He clenches his jaw and tried not to let the panic show as he looks for yours.  
“Lost mine, too,” you mumble, gesturing to the broken pieces in the snow beside you. One of your attackers must have hit you hard enough to dislodge it and slammed it under his heel to cause that much damage.  
Bucky pulls in a deep breath, glancing up to the sky in search of Sam, only to find a dark cast of clouds carrying over. On the ground, dozens of mercenaries are engaged with the rest of the Shield team and more are piling out from the woodwork.  
“I have to get you out of here,” Bucky resides. He doesn’t have a plan, but he knows it’s not safe where you are. He slips a hand under your knees, another around your back, and hoists you into his arms. He’s lucky the blade is small enough that it stays nestled in place as he carries you away from the field.  
He tries not to think of what would happen if a mercenary caught up with him now. He was defenseless with you in his arms and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sacrifice you to save himself.  
The wind whips around the trees, snow stinging on his cheeks as it builds in the scruff on his cheeks. You curl into his neck as best you can and he knows it’s subconscious, that it doesn’t mean much more than you seeking out the warmth of his body, but it doesn’t stop the trace of a smile that pushes at his cheeks.  
“Stay with me, alright?” he pleads, though he’s not sure you can hear him. It earns a tired hum in response.  
A storm is approaching quickly judging by the dark overcast of clouds and the snow on his boots that inches up higher along his shins with every step. If the blade doesn’t kill you, the exposure will, and Bucky starts to pick up his pace.  
The field is nothing but a distant haze by the time he reaches an unmarked dirt road. He must have walked miles with you in his arms, fading in and out of consciousness, waking you up every few paces when your eyes started to flutter closed. The relief is overwhelming when he spots a cabin at the end of the road, obstructed by trees and overgrown weeds. Abandoned.  
“Almost there,” he tells you and you curl up tighter against him. A whine leaves your lips and he picks up the pace.  
Bucky doesn’t bother with picking the lock and slams his foot to the most vulnerable angle of the door instead. It whips open to reveal an empty living room; dark, with cobwebs hanging in the corners and dust upon the mantle. He rushes inside to escape the painful sting of the wind and the snowfall as it piles outside the door. His footprints are already swept away in the impending storm. 
“You’re alright, hold on,” Bucky mumbles, blindly searching around the room until he can lower you onto the couch. He wipes away as much of the dust as he can as he eases you against the cushions. Your face scrunches up in pain and he knows how hard you’re trying to hide it from him.  
He brushes a hand over your forehead and it startles him when he finds it burning hot. He doesn't have a lot of time.  
“I’ll be right back.”
“No! Wait--”
He freezes, stunned when he hears your voice so clearly. Your hand wraps at his wrist, clenching so tight it would have hurt if it wasn’t constructed of solid metal. When he meets your eye, he finds a pain stab straight through his chest, because he’s become so used to your light and joy and charm that the fear etched into your features ruins him completely.  
“Bucky, don’t go.”
His heart splinters.  
“I need to find a first aid kit. I’ve got to clean that wound before it gets infected,” he explains as gently as he can, sinking down to his knees beside you. You nod at his words, but you’re unconvinced.
“I won’t leave you,” he adds with a little more conviction.
His relationship to you is complicated; filled with teasing smiles and playful tension in the sparring ring, late night talks and comfortable silence. You were the first person he trusted in Shield outside of Steve and Sam, the first to make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the first to accept him completely and entirely as the man he is, not who he was in his youth or what Hydra made him to be. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect him to be anything he wasn’t.  
He cares for you and he knows, at least on some level, you must care for him, too. He can't imagine that anyone would be as sweet as you are with him if you didn’t. There’s too much violence to overlook, too much evil ingrained into his veins. You don’t seem to mind and Bucky wonders most days if you’re not simply an angel sent from heaven itself with the extent of absolution you grant to him. 
So it’s not a question. There’s no second guessing. He won’t leave you.  
“I’ll be right back,” he presses again, eyes flickering to the knife in your side. “I promise.”
You nod, letting go of his wrist, but he can tell you’re still afraid. He recognizes it in himself, how he’s felt as though if he closed his eyes for even a second, he might convince himself it was all a dream and he’ll wake up right back in Hydra’s cell. He realizes then that you’re wondering if Bucky steps out of your view, he might disappear entirely and you’ll be alone, facing the impending darkness on your own.  
“Hey, remember that summer in New Orleans?” Bucky starts, hoping to ease your panic through the sound of his voice as he slips from the room. “Sam was walking around Bourbon Street with a dozen beaded necklaces and tripping over his own feet?”  
Bucky can vaguely hear you chuckle weakly from the living room as he rummages through the drawers in the bathroom.  
He continues. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam that wasted before. I had to carry him up three flights of stairs to his room.”  
Shifting through old toothpaste containers, wash rags, makeup brushes, Bucky knelt down under the sink in search of anything he can use. He grabs the clean towels and an ace bandage hidden behind the pipes and moves onto the first bedroom. He still needs something to close the wound.  
“Idiot passed out on me before midnight,” Bucky calls out to the living room, stealing a glance at you to make sure your eyes were still open. You smile at him, faded and faint, but he continues on. “You called when we didn’t show up to the bar, remember? You didn’t think you could keep up with Natalia’s tolerance and you wanted to push some of your drinks off on me.”
Bucky is surprised when his lips curve up into a smile at the memory. It was the first time anyone managed to convince him to stay a few days passed the scheduled mission. He always had such a hard time saying no to you.  
“Think that might have been the first night I went out dancing since the forties. It was a little different than what I was used to but the music had the same soul to it,” Bucky continues as he searches under the bed, through the closet, shoving aside old clothes and shoe boxes. He can feel the panic rising, though he keeps his voice as calm as he can manage. His hands are trembling until he finds a small white box tucked into the back corner. Red cross on the top.  
It’s missing a few pieces inside but it’s enough. Relief surges through him and Bucky makes his way back out to the living room.  
“Don’t know if I would have let anyone else drag me away from the bar long enough to get a whole song out of me,” Bucky says as he holds up the kit for you to see and quickly moves to the kitchen to wash his hands.  
“You’re a good dancer, Barnes,” you mutter out feebly, smiling fondly at the memory.  
It’s a good memory, he thinks. A little faded with time, but he can still recall how you felt pressed against his chest, how his left nestled along the small of your back, his right intertwined with yours. Slow movements, swaying gently to the soft strum of the guitar. 
Bucky smiles backs at you, pauses for just a moment to memorize the way your lips curve up so beautifully into your cheeks before he turns to the sink to wash his hands. The water comes out brown for the first few seconds before it clears up. He washes his hands quickly and gathers a bucket of water before he makes his way back to you.  
As he kneels down at your side, he tries to mask the flash of panic that courses through him as he catches sight of the blood seeped into the couch under your back and the sweat dripping down your temples. It’s wet in your hair and you don’t seem to be in much pain anymore. Just tired. Your eyelids fall heavy.
“Hey,” Bucky calls sharply, shaking your shoulder a little harsher than he intended. Your eyes snap open. “You need to stay awake for me, alright? You know I’m lousy at this stuff. Need you to make sure I’m doing it right.”
You laugh, though Bucky can tell it’s forced. You both know he’s lying. He’d tended to wounds of his own far worse than this before. But Bucky doesn’t care about causing himself pain. He powers through it, uses it as a means of strength. He knows how badly this will hurt you and he hesitates as he holds a pair of scissors to your suit.  
“I trust you,” you say so quietly Bucky isn’t certain he even heard it. You nod at him.  
Bucky takes a deep breath as he cuts away at your suit and removes the fabric away from the wound.  
“It’s going to bleed a lot,” he warns. “Don’t let it scare you.”
You nod, staring up at the ceiling as you try to prepare yourself.  
Bucky doesn’t say anything else, because he knows it will make this harder. Your chest rises a little quicker, hands clench into fists, and it takes nearly everything Bucky has not to hold your hand instead of the hilt of the knife.  
It happens quickly. He pulls the knife from your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasp at the sudden sensation, a cry in your voice as you bite down on your fist to keep yourself from screaming, and Bucky presses a towel to your side to absorb the gush of blood and it drenches the cloth in a matter of seconds.  
He removes it in favor of a clean one and drops the bloodied rag onto the floor. The next towel doesn’t turn red as quickly and Buck begins to exhale a sigh of relief. The blood flow is slowing down. It’s a good sign. It’ll give him the chance to clean the wound and stitch you up enough to keep you together until rescue shows up.  
It takes a while before Bucky dares to lift the cloth. It’s heavy in his hands and dripping with blood, but the wound doesn’t appear to be freshly bleeding. Bucky gets to work, humming quietly to himself as he cleans the wound as best he can. He can feel your eyes on him, watching as he tends to the wound and mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t mind. You’re awake. It's all that matters to him.  
“You really need to do that?” you ask nervously as Bucky begins to thread a needle.  
Bucky shrugs. “There’s a stapler in the office if you prefer that?”  
You laugh, enough to cause a bit of blood to seep out from the cleaned wound and Bucky presses a hand to your stomach to stop the bleeding.  
“Hey! Don’t mess with my work!” he teases, thankful for a moment where you feel more like yourself than you had since he picked you from the snowbank on the battlefield. You nod, trying to contain your smile, though its weak and fading.  
“My apologies, Sergeant Barnes.”
“That’s Dr. Barnes to you,” Bucky quips back, distracting you long enough to slip the thread through your skin. You wince, hand gripping in tight to the straps on his shoulder.
“Yeah?” you mutter out tensely. “What decade did you get your medical degree in, Doctor? Feels pretty amateur from where I’m sitting.”
“You should be nicer to me, doll. I’m the one with the needle in my hand,” Bucky smirks. Only two more threads to go before the wound is closed and you’re taking it like a champ. Pride swells in his chest and he has the urge to kiss you, but quickly pushes the feeling down.  
“Imagine how I must feel,” you scoff playfully, exhaling a heavy breath of relief as Bucky sits back and cuts the thread.  
Bucky grins, brushing a clean cloth over the surface to wipe away the excess blood. “You did good. Try to get some rest now, alright? I’ll be here.”
He lifts a blanket up over your body and lets it lay against your chest. You smile at him again and he’s certain it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He stands to clean up the mess around the couch when your hand catches his.  
“Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, rub your thumb over his wrist, something so tender and loving that it nearly jolts his heart straight from his chest.  
“Anytime, doll,” he replies as even as his voice will let him. By the time he finishes cleaning the bloodied rags and rinsing the red stains from his hands, you’ve already fallen asleep.  
Bucky takes his time as he gathers a few stray blankets and lays them down on the floor beside the couch. He knows there’s a room with a decent bed just a few feet down the hall but he meant what he promised you. He wasn’t going to leave your side.  
So, he lays down on the hardwoods, rests a pillow under his head, and stars up at the ceiling; content to listen to the soft sounds of your breathing until they too lull him to sleep.  
***
He wakes abruptly a few hours later. It’s dark outside, nearly pitch black in the cabin, and Bucky rubs his hands over his tired eyes before he realizes what woke him up.  
Quiet whimpers above him, muffled, pained. You’re crying.  
Bucky jolts up in a panic. He kneels beside you to find you curled up on your side, knees tucked to your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks. You're sweating again, and it drenches into your hair.  
“Y/n?” Bucky begs, hands hovering over you, terrified to make it worse. “Y/n, talk to me.”
“It hurts,” you cry, barely able to mutter the words out. “It hurts... bad. S-Somethings wrong.”
Bucky nods, rushing up to the fireplace to give some light. It takes him longer than it should and he nearly shouts out in frustration before it sparks and a flame bursts onto the wood. It’s a faint flicker, but it’s enough.  
“Let me see,” he requests, and you release the blanket to let Bucky's slide it off of you. He helps guide you to lay flat on the couch and he knows how much it hurts you because you’ve bitten down so hard on your lip, it’s bleeding. You choke back a cry.  
“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, running a hand down your arm to find you shaking so badly it trembles right into his palm. You’re fully sobbing as he tries to pry your hands away from the wound. “I’m so sorry, but you have to let me see it, honey. Come on now. It’s alright.”
You pull your hands away, clutching them tight into the couch cushions and it's then that Bucky sees the series of large, angry, purple veins extending from the wound. Jagged lines protruding out across your stomach, stretching up towards your chest to your heart.  
Bucky can’t find his breath as he stumbles back. On the ground at his feet, the faint flicker of the knife catches his eye in the dim light of the fire behind him, and he bends down to pick it up. On its surface, hardly visible, is a sticky thin substance; green in color, bitter in its stench. Poison.  
“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
Bucky’s eyes snap up to you as the knife slips from his hand. It clashes against the hardwoods and echoes through the painful silence in the cabin, only obstructed by the muffled whistle of the wind outside and your faint attempts to stifle the sob etching its way through your throat.  
“No,” Bucky replies quickly, though his voice wavers. You’re unconvinced as tears slip past your eyes and you drop his gaze in favor of the ceiling tiles.  
“No,” he tries again, firmer as he kneels by your side. He runs a hand over your forehead to brush away the sweat, soothes his palm against your face and traces the line of your cheekbone until you dare to meet his eye again. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not letting you die today; you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”
“Bucky...”
“You’re going to be fine,” he says again, determined. “Starks probably got a whole branch of the military searching for you by now. We both know how much of a soft spot he’s got for you. Hell, I’m lucky you’re the one I’m MIA with. Stark wouldn’t waste an AI suit on tracking me down. But you? Come on. He won’t sleep until you’re home safe.”
Bucky doesn’t know why he’s trying to draw a smile out of you. He’s terrified and he knows you are too, but dammit, all he ever wants to do is make you smile.  
“Tony would send more than an AI for you.”
Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “You underestimate how much he dislikes me.”
“It’s been better, hasn’t it?” you ask, and he knows you’re trying to distract yourself from the pain, so Bucky nods.  
“It has. He hasn’t tried to kill me lately, so I’d consider that an improvement.”
You smile and Bucky’s whole world brightens around him. Sunshine through the night sky, past the dark clouds and the blizzard outside the window, flowers blooming through the snow. It's perfect. You’re perfect.  
But then the pain sweeps in again and steals your smile away, warps it and twists it until you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe and Bucky is helpless but to watch.  
There’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t know what the poison is, let alone how to counteract it. He doesn't often wish Stark was around, but he does in this moment. He’d know what to do. He could save you, take away this pain, in a way Bucky couldn’t.
He finds himself looking to the windows, watching as the snow continues to fall in blurring sweeps enough that he can’t see the trees beyond the clearing. He figures at least another foot of snow has piled up in the last hour but maybe if he could find the right layers in the back bedroom, he could make himself useful, venture out to find a nearby town or a phone or --  
“Don’t.”  
Your voice is barely a whisper but it punctures straight through to Bucky’s heart.
“Please don’t go,” you mutter out. “I don’t want to be alone when... when I...”
“Hey,” Bucky exhales, shaking his head, “hey, come on. What did I say? You’re not dying today, remember?”
He tears his eyes away from the window, forgets his plan because he knows you’re right. He can’t leave you. He wants to believe that his hope is enough, that his insistence will sway fate herself, but the truth is he doesn’t know. He can’t do much of anything at all, but he starts to wonder if there is something he can do to shoulder even an ounce of your pain.  
Slowly, Bucky slips an arm under your back and gently guides you forward just enough so that he can slide into the space behind you. You mold against him as he eases his way onto the couch beside you, gathering you up into his arms. He runs a tender hand over your stomach along the spidery veins around the knife wound and you don’t wince. It seems to come and go in waves.  
The next wave comes quickly and Bucky holds you through it the best he can. He’s never felt so helpless in his life; arms wrapped tight around you, a hand soothing along your arm as he tries to reassure you that this will pass, that Stark’s on his way, that you’ll be okay, but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth anymore.  
You exhale as the pain subsides again and you’re drenched in sweat. Bucky is too, but he doesn’t mind, not if it means he can give you even an ounce of comfort through this. You curl against him, careful of the fresh stitches in your side.  
“I’m scared.” It comes out broken and aching and Bucky’s heart lurches.  
“I know, honey. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”  
It’s all he can say.  
His own helplessness makes him sick.  
There’s a prolonged silence and Bucky finds himself keeping a finger against your pulse, just to be sure. He feels like screaming or crying or maybe both, but he exhales a steady breath and tries to calm his heart rate instead because he knows you can hear it.  
“I’m glad it’s you,” you say after a while, voice barely louder than a whisper. It’s faint, fading, and Bucky bites down on his cheek. “I’m glad... that if this is... if this is it... you’re here.”
It breaks his heart, shatters it to pieces. He’d trade places with you if he could, absorb your pain tenfold if it meant you’d survive this, but he knows it’s a fantasy. Bucky Barnes stopped allowing himself to indulge in such dreams a long time ago.  
So, he holds you a little tighter, dares to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and rubs gentle circles along your spine. He can feel your pulse weaken, how it slips to beats a little longer apart, how your breaths fall shallow and he’s not ready to lose you yet. He’s not.
“How about when we get out of here, we go dancing?”
You don’t say anything, but he can feel your smile against his chest, the warm of your breath as you exhale a tired chuckle. It takes nearly all of your energy.  
“Been thinking about it a lot since New Orleans,” Bucky continues. “It could be fun, you know? Get dressed up. Listen to good music. Beautiful woman in my arms. Sounds nice.”
“You should... You should go,” you tell him and he barely recognizes your voice. He clenches his jaw until it aches, brushes at the tear in his eyes you’re too weak to lift your head to notice.  
“I’m not going with anyone but you, so no deal.”
“Bucky...”
“No deal. You or nothing, doll.” Bucky finds himself smiling through the tears. “You’re my only dance partner, okay? Can’t be having just anyone step all over my toes.”
You hum and it’s so faint he can hardly hear it. 
Bucky clears his throat, swallowing back the lump that threatens to choke him. “We’ll have to go back to that bar, okay? The one off of Bourbon Street. Live music only. I can show you how we used to dance back in my day. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it.” 
A smile breaks through the tears as he imagines spinning you under the soften glow of amber lights and the reflection of the moonlight through the windows, the roar of trumpets settling in his chest and the echo of your laugh etched right into his soul. You’d smile at him and his whole world would stop spinning. 
“What do you say, doll?” Bucky sighs, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. He brushes the hair away from your eyes, sticky and wet with sweat.
But you don’t say anything and suddenly, it’s impossibly silent.  
Bucky stops breathing because he can’t hear the crackle of the fire place or the wind barreling against the cabin walls. He can’t hear the heavy snow as it brushes against the windows. He can’t hear your breaths, can’t feel the pulse as he reaches up to your neck, and that silence begins to feel like a void, like he’s screaming, but it’s all inside his head.  
“Y/n?” he chokes out. There’s no reply, but still, as if to break his own heart a little more, he tries again. “Y/n? Please... don’t do this. Come on. Come back to me.”
Nothing.
“No... no no no... don’t give up on me,” Bucky pleads, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Y/n...”
He barely notices as the cabin door is blown open, as the wind screams outside and snow barrels in through the frame. He can’t focus on much of anything else as he tries to move your lifeless body in his arms, trying to wake you from the edge of a paralyzing darkness. He doesn’t recognize the blur of red and yellow as it crashes into the room.  
“Banner! I need the antidote, now!”
You’re being pulled from his arms and all Bucky wants to do is hold on tighter.  
“Barnes, you need to let go of her.”  
The voice is calmer now, gentle, and Bucky allows himself to meet Tony’s eye. There’s a kindness there he doesn’t expect, an understanding. Tony’s helmet has been discarded and Bucky notices quickly he bares the same redness in the whites of his eyes, the same dark circles beneath. Tony’s hand lays upon your shoulder.  
“Let me save her, Barnes,” Tony tries again as Bruce barrels in through the door in a parka a few sizes too big for his frame. He’s clutching a syringe in his hand, desperately trying to hold up the hood around his head.  
Bucky nods numbly and releases you from his hold. Tony and Bruce lower you carefully down to the ground, laid upon the blankets he slept on less than an hour earlier. Tony presses his hand to your chest and an electrical spark jolts through your body. He tries again, and still, nothing.  
Bruce pulls off the cap of the syringe and without hesitation, plunges it directly into a vein and releases the serum inside. He sits back on his heels and waits.  
It's agonizing. The seconds feel like hours and Bucky is certain he’ll never learn to smile again, until suddenly, the purple veins along the knife wound begin to retract. They crawl along your skin and shrink back to the wound until they’ve disappeared entirely.  
But then, the most beautiful sound.  
You gasp for air, chest rising high off the ground before you sink back against the blankets. FRIDAY reports your pulse, says you’re stable, and Bucky presses his hands over his face to stop the sob before it consumes him whole. It’s made of relief.  
“You did good, Barnes,” Tony says as Bucky lowers his hands.  
He’s suspicious of the praise, but as Tony runs a hand over your hair, soothes it away from your face, Bucky knows he meant what he said.  
“We should get her to the cradle,” Bruce says, shivering as he glances back to the door. “Helen will want to fix that wound up and run some tests to make sure the antidote worked.”
Tony covers you with the blankets as best as he can and gathers you into his arms. Bucky tries to ignore the lurch in his stomach as you press your nose to Tony’s neck, seeking out his warmth. He doesn’t say anything else before he flies out the front door, back to the quinjet.
Bruce starts to make his way to the door when he realizes Bucky isn’t following behind. He pauses and glances back at Bucky over his shoulder.  
“How did you know?” Bucky asks weakly, staring at the empty syringe.  
“A few of the Shield agents came back from the field with the same symptoms,” Bruce explains. He scratches the back of his neck. “We wanted to be prepared if either of you were infected by the poison.”  
Bucky nods. He feels empty.  
“She’s going to be alright, Barnes,” Bruce says and he places a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It surprises him but he can feel the tension slip away as Bruce squeezes the muscle tightly. He gestures to the door. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
***
Bucky’s right hand is throbbing. Blood trickles down from the open scars on his knuckles and it smears into the punching bag. Beads of sand embed themselves into the wounds but he presses on because it’s better than the pit in his stomach, of seeing you laid up in the med wing with wires attached you and a monitor displaying the weak rhythm of your pulse.  
It’s been days since you’ve been home, since the antidote was administered and Helen properly stitched up the stab wound in your stomach, and yet you’re still unconscious, barely breathing on your own. Banner can’t make sense of it, but he suspects it’s because the poison was in your system longer than the others.  
Bucky can’t help but wonder that if he never left the field with you, if he had just stayed put and fought off whoever tried to come near, that maybe they could have saved you. Maybe he’s the reason you're still fighting for your life. Maybe if he wasn’t around at all you'd be safer, you'd be alive.
The bag dislodges from the ceiling and slams into the wall in an echoing thud.  
Bucky sighs, slumping his shoulders down as he kicks at the sand streaming from the bag onto the gym floors. He turns to pick up the next bag in the long line leading from the storage closet when he stops dead in his tracks.  
You’re standing in the center of the gym, still dressed the pale blue scrubs from the med wing, holding onto the edge of a weight machine for support. There is a mark in your arm from where the IV line should be, tape residue around your mouth from the tubes. It’s a miracle you’re on your feet at all and all Bucky wants to do is run towards you, wrap you tight into his arms, just to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re standing right there, but instead, he holds his ground. He’s turned to stone.  
“Thought I’d find you here,” you chuckle, your voice raspy and airy, but it has a strength to it again. It sounds like you.  
Bucky grips his hands at his side. “I didn’t... I didn’t know you were awake.”
You shrug. “Don’t think the nurses do either. Helen might be mad at me when she finds an empty bed in my room.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Y/n,” he says, his gaze focused on the floor. He pushes aside the heavy stone sitting in his chest as he starts to walk towards you to usher to towards the med wing. “I should get you back...”
“What else was I supposed to do when I woke up and you weren’t there?”  
You’re smiling, teasing. There’s a laugh in your voice, and still Bucky can’t help the pang in his stomach. It twists and turns and threatens to consume him whole.  
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe not wander around the tower after being in a coma for four days?”
The smile lingers upon your face despite his tone. It doesn’t seem to bother you at all, doesn’t throw you off your game, doesn’t puncture even a crack into the shield of your charm. No – you smile at him.  
“You broke your promise, Barnes,” you say simply. “I’m here to scold you for it. Think you may owe me a few takeout nights before you’re out of the doghouse.”  
Bucky narrows his eyes, daring to challenge your gaze. “What promise?”  
“You left.”
Bucky feels the hitch in his lungs before the flash of guilt sweeps over his gut. You notice it just as quick because the teasing smile falls in an instant. He stumbles back away from you, slipping out from the extent of your outstretched hand.  
“It’s better that way, Y/n,” he mumbles. “I’m the reason you ended up there.”
“Don’t you dare do that,” you snap, enough so that it startles him. 
You struggle to walk the few steps closer to him, your legs wobbling underneath you and he wonders how you even made it across the tower and down five floors to the gym without anyone stopping you. You reach for his hand and because Bucky can’t bear to see you struggle, he offers his support. You balance yourself on the edge of the weight machine beside him, one hand anchored in his left forearm.  
“Y/n,” he starts, taking in a deep breath, but you cut him off quickly.  
“No. There is no room for the Bucky Barnes guilt parade here, okay?” you argue. “You saved my life, Bucky. You can’t possibly stand there and think for a second that you’re somehow to blame for anything less.”
He shakes his head. The guilt and shame that burns deep into his chest is one he knows well. It lives inside of him, festering, waiting for moments like these.  
“If I hadn’t taken you from the field, if I got that blade out sooner, Banner could have given you the antidote hours earlier and you wouldn’t have—”
“I would have bled out before he had the chance,” you press, pulling yourself a little closer. “Those other agents? They had scrapes, Bucky. Nicks. The poison only started to affect me after you removed the knife. Bruce thinks it reacted to the oxygen in the air. Waiting to remove the blade, closing the wound... Bucky, you prolonged it as long as you could have. You gave me more time, gave Bruce and Tony time to find us. You saved me.”  
Your hand squeezes at the solid metal of his forearm and Bucky knows he can't really feel it. He can only register the synapses faintly, as if they were distant, far away; it reads it like data and numbers, but there’s something in the way the pads of your fingertips press into the divots of vibranium that makes his breath hilt. His stare focuses on your thumb as it rubs soothing sweeps along the crevices and it takes him a moment before he dares to meet your eye.
When he does, all that is waiting for him is that same smile that lit up across a battlefield, that pushed through when you were on the brink of an endless darkness, that cast away the shadows and demons that swarmed in his chest just with the wrinkles up by your eyes. He felt lighter. Safer.  
“Now,” you start, sliding your palm down his forearm until you can intertwine your hand in his own. You curl your fingers around his and you don’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the harsh chill of the metal. You smile at him and for the first time in a while, Bucky finds himself smiling back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Sergeant.”
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your-highnessmarvel · 3 years
Text
From Bleak to Bright
Requested by Anonymous: the world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. you’re Bruce’s little sister. you want to go with him during Avengers 2012 because you’re the only one that “can calm the beast” if ever he pops out. so you’re just chilling with the avengers in the flying thing. then they bring Loki in. the world goes to bright, bright colors. you don’t want it to be him. but it is. no one knows. no one knows but him.
AN: IM BACK. YES. AFTER LIKE A WHOLE YEAR. the flying thingy. me too i had to google it, ahaha
Warnings: angst, language
*gif not mine
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You spun on the stool, facing your brother with a sigh. He scratched the back of his head, the glow from Loki’s scepter reflecting on his specs in a grey light. 
“One more hour?” he asked with a wince. 
You rolled your eyes. “Okay,” you groaned. “But then we’re off to bed. And I’m putting Celine Dion on the stereo to sleep.”
“Not her again,” he groaned. 
You raised a finger, brows crawling up your forehead. “You made me come here on this ridiculous flying tank with the God damned Avengers, of all people, and we’ve been here for four days listening to sounds of water dripping and Cap’s fifties music.”
Bruce sighed, leaning his forehead into his palm. “Fine.” His hands went up in mock surrender. You could see the tension in his shoulders, straining against the material of his chemise. 
Not that you could see the color of it. You imagined it was blue. Bruce liked blue. Bruce knew colors. Of course he did. He’d met his soulmate such a long time ago, you’d forgotten she even existed. 
But not you. You’d gone through life in the dreary black and white of a world without a soulmate. But now you were curious. You knew the colors by name, but not sight. What does green even look like? Bruce had told you trees and grass were green. Some people’s eyes. Ever since he’d told you that, green became your favorite. Maybe blue could beat it, since Tony Stark had told you the sky was all shades of blue combined. 
An alarmed blared overhead, and your first instinct was to run to your brother’s side. Bruce’s eyes met yours, his mouth tugging up at the corners. 
He’s fine.
Your hand found the curve of his forearm, still. No one really knew what actually triggered the Hulk, and you, being his little sister, were the only human alive able to tame the beast. 
You heard footsteps, many, clambering loudly down the hall. The door to Bruce’s workspace was wide open, and you heard the telltale sound of security making their way down the hall. You frowned. What could they be doing so late at night, and so many all together?
At first, from the windows in the workspace, you only saw the black suits of the security patrol, their reflective masks bright in the hall. They walked in patterned, simultaneous movements, guns held firm in their grasps.
You saw the top of a really - no, seriously, really! - tall head, black hair. White skin. And as the small platoon of security walked passed your door, you saw the man walking in their midst, tied in shackles. 
He turned his head, buzzing in your mind, something deep in your chest tightening. And then you saw the color of his eyes. 
You couldn’t tell at first. Because the world became so vivid, so bright. He went from black and white to stark and bright and whole before your eyes, stealing the breath from your lungs. 
A ringing started in your ears, a burning in your throat. You couldn’t help but stare, watching his eyes drink you in as well, watching his own world turn from ash to bright as the sun. 
No, you thought. No. Not him. 
Anyone but him.
And just before he rounded the corner, his lips stretched into a smirk. 
A cold hand on your arm brought you back. As if slamming back into your body. 
“You okay?” Bruce asked. 
You gulped. Nodded. Felt your cheeks blooming with heat. “Yeah, of course.”
You could see the colors on your brother, now. Albeit, not being able to tell which specific color it was. And yet he was beautiful. Later, after hours of searching online for colors, you’d be able to tell his hair was black, his eyes a warmest brown, his skin a shade of white a few degrees darker than yours. 
But now, it took everything in you not to scream. 
You could finally see the entire world for what it truly was and all because of a demi-God wrought with darkness. 
No. It couldn’t be him.
You separated from your brother, your mouth dry, feeling his eyes on you. He could always tell when you were troubled. But there was just no way, no freaking way, you’d tell him that you’d just met your soulmate. If he knew who it was... No. You wouldn’t tell him. You wouldn’t tell anyone. 
You went to the computer and turned the screen away from Bruce, clearing your throat. Bruce went back to his own computer.
You didn’t even search up colors yet. You searched up the possibility of soulmates being wrong for each other. The computer spat out articles and data from hundreds of years, all proving that the soulmate trigger worked. That the signs of color all proved one had met the person right for them.
You sighed, dropping your head in your hands. 
You rubbed at your eyes, steeling yourself for what you were about to ask. 
“Bruce?”
“Hmm?”
“Did they just bring in Loki?”
His head raised from his computer. “Yeah.” He frowned. “I’m going to go ask why. Does it disturb you that he’s here?”
You scratched your jaw. “No, not at all,” you said quickly, too quickly. You cringed internally, hoping your face didn’t mimic the shame you felt. “Just - why?”
“I’ll go ask,” Bruce said. If he had any inkling as to why you were suddenly intrigued in God of mischief, he didn’t give any clue. 
He left. You took a second to steady yourself. You counted your fingers. Felt the shape of your face. 
Then you took a breath in and all but flew out the door. 
You followed the maze that was the inner organs of the Helicarrier until you reached the “jail”, which was, upon inquiry, meant to hold your brother if ever you weren’t there to calm him in time. 
You watched from outside the doors as Fury talked to Loki. You couldn’t help the fire in your chest as you watched. Loki seemed trapped, looking discreetly around the room, around his glass cage, his green eyes keen on any weakness.
You felt the sweat collecting in the palm of your hands. You waited patiently, praying whatever Bruce was up to would keep him long enough that he wouldn’t come looking for you. You heard broken pieces of the conversation on the other side of the steel enforced doors, but Loki’s voice was even, steady, unafraid. 
He knew he wouldn’t be beat here.
You counted to one hundred the moment Fury walked out. Your heart beat vehemently between your ribs, battering your bones. Your knees were putty when you finally, slowly, opened the doors.
The air ruffled your hair, blowing it out of your face. 
He stood tall, straight, unmoving, statuesque in the middle of his prison. Hands at his sides. Eyes mild. Mouth straight. He gave no indication that his world had finally shifted after millennia of black and white. 
“I didn’t have to wait long.” His voice sent shivers down your spine, your body so reactive to even the sound of his words that you wondered, for just a second, what his touch would do. 
You closed the door, tentatively approaching the control board. You saw a big red button and decided maybe touching random buttons wouldn’t do any of you any good. 
“What’s your name?” he asked, following your movements with his sharp emerald gaze. He still stood there, like cement was poured down the length of his spine. 
You darted your eyes back to his. He was glad in - what you later learned - was a green and gold ensemble, a green cotton cape grazing the floor of his cage. He was beautiful, really. Cut by the finest knife to the most perfect edge. 
He smiled then, creasing his cheeks in what you could only feel as adorable. 
“Didn’t expect it to be moi, did you, princess?”
You tried not to react, but heat bloomed across your cheeks, giving you away. 
“Why?” you asked.
He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically, breaking his statuesque stance to throw his arms up. “By the Gods,” he groaned, accent thick on his tongue. “You humans are so pathetic. Why this? Why that? Why me? Oh, you want to be so special that you question the straight line of fate as if the entire meaning of the world revolved around you.”
You raised your brows. Wow. He’d been thinking of that for a while.
“Do you know the colors?” you asked, approaching the glass that separated you from your soulmate. 
He took you in, green eyes drinking you in from head to toe. He didn’t seem to think anything negative about his soulmate. “I’ve taken sense-enhancing drugs in my lifetime,” he said. “I’ve known colors briefly. Thor taught them to me.”
You nodded. “Your eyes are green.”
His lips split in a grin. “You’re very perceptive,” he chuckled. “And you’re wearing a powder blue sweater. Childish.”
Something in you shifted and you wanted to say something, something bad. Something along the lines of, “what is your favorite color?” and then run and wear it.
Instead, you approached the glass even more. By this distance, you could see he was significantly taller than you. He eyed you down his nose. 
“A human,” he said with distaste. 
“Maybe that’s your punishment,” you ventured, your heart railing against your ribs. “Maybe that’s your conundrum. You’ve thought nothing of humanity but the possibility to dominate and squander us under your boot like ants. Isn’t it fitting?”
You saw the anger cross his face before his lips spat the vile things he thought in his mind. “You are not worthy of a God, you fleeting, imbecile, nothingness of a human. I will outlive you before I even grow a white hair. Our children will watch you wither before they’ve even gone to school.”
“Our children?”
That seemed to faze him. 
Wow, you thought. Of all the things Loki was, he was traditional. He very well intended to follow through with the soulmate script; to marry you and have children with you.
The thought first amazed you, burning bright in your mind’s eye. Then you thought twice and feigned disgust. 
He laughed. “Oh, please, you’re the luckiest woman in the universe to have been bound to a God.”
“Aren’t you a demi?”
His gaze placated you. “I am, but the fact remains that I am greater than you, greater than anything your pathetic little human brain can conceive.”
You rolled your eyes with audacity you didn’t know you had. “Well,” you sighed, shrugging, hands in your back pockets. “What now?”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Are we to start this - thing, or are we to go back to our normal lives and, hoping you don’t obliterate the planet, we never see each other again?”
His jaw clenched, working. “You know it’s physically impossible now for us to be apart.” He said this through clenched teeth, hands in fists. 
You shrugged again. “I don’t know about you but I wouldn’t mind never having to look at your ugly mug ever again.”
He frowned deeply. “Try it, then, you’ll see, mortal.”
You sighed apathetically, turning your back to him. 
“Before you go!” Loki called. You turned slowly on your heel, offering him nothing but your side profile. “Let your brother know I’m hoping to meet him soon.”
The blood in your veins went cold. 
Part 2? Anybody?
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