#this thing is like two inches thick. it has art in it. its beautiful. i could kill someone with it though. phonebook | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gyllenhaalstories · 3 years

Photo

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me, gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #marvel imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #tfatws #one shot: champagne problems

331 notes · View notes

quietmyfearswith · 3 years

Text

suitkovia ; baron zemo x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

warnings — SMUT SO MINORS GO AWAY, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), cursing, cheek and clit slapping, groping(ish)

word count — 3,457 words

pairing — fashion designer!helmut zemo x model!reader

a/n —zemo is such a fucking hot daddy and daniel bruhl is just as hot — and what was i gonna do?? not write about it??? psh no way! also blame the suitkovia video because he was so fucking hot andgoofy there.. enjoy this self-indulgent fic! also idk if you can be a baron and a fashion designer but let’s pretend that that’s possible okay? feedback is appreciated and hope u guys have a lovely day !! :>

also the ones in italics are in sokovian, i just didnt want to translate it into something lmao

tagging @art-estrange

masterlist

“Sir, your newest model has arrived,” Oeznik informed with a smile; and just as he announced it, the mentioned woman walked in and into the line of sight of the famous Sokovian designer.

Putting down the now empty glass of whiskey he earlier downed, he stood up and approached her, “Hello Y/N,” He huskily greeted her as his hands gently landed on her arms which allowed him to lean over and plant tender kisses on both her cheeks, “I am eternally grateful for your endorsement and modelling of our line of clothes.”

The kiss caught her off guard — but in a pleasant way — and she could only smile coyly, “If anything it is my pleasure to be able to wear your masterpiece of garments, Baron; I’m honoured that you thought of me.”

Releasing his grip from her he then held out a hand for her to take, once she did she was being led in front of the racks of clothes that were lined up — waiting for her to be worn. “Did you want a drink? Perhaps a Turkish delight?”

Eyeing the coffee table where a small platter of sweets and food lay along with some refreshments, she shook her head no and politely declined. “You can leave us now, Oeznik. And we are not to be disturbed, yes?”

“Of course, Sir.”

When the two men spoke in Sokovian, it made her quite uneasy but when she watched the designer run his hands along the fabric of the gowns that were hung, she thought that he was talking about one of the dresses. The wooden doors noisily shut behind her as the assistant left the two of the alone in the room.

“Thank you, again, for coming in here a day earlier than the arranged photoshoot,” He grabbed a gown off the rack and carefully carried it in front of her. “Of course, I understand that it was necessary to ensure that the clothes would fit me well.”

Nodding, he then handed her the silk tulle gown with a smile, “May you try this on first?” Taking the soft gown from him she silently complied and headed to the dressing room he pointed at.

While waiting for her to get changed, he sat down and poured himself another glass of whiskey. Perhaps it was due to her training or attributable to her various ramp model gigs, she quickly changed into the gown; there was one setback however, there was a zipper on the back that was too far for her to reach.

Walking out of the dressing room, she cleared her throat — effectively catching the attention of the Sokovian designer, “Baron? I need some help with the zipper.” She turned around and his breath was hitched in his throat as he saw how beautiful she looked.

“Of course I can help, darling,” He snapped out of his adoring gaze and stood up quickly to zip up the dress. Feeling the pad of his fingers along her skin resulted in both of them feeling a rush of electricity run through. “All done, love.”

It was comical how the fabric whirled around in slow motion as she twirled around to face him; he took a few steps back to admire her fully, “You look exactly like the goddess Persephone, darling.”

Walking in front of the the full length mirror that was placed in the far back part of the room, she observed herself in the eloquently-designed gown and smiled, “The gown looks like something straight out of a fairytale; and it fits me well,” She faced him as she remembered the last part of his statement, “Persephone? Is that your inspiration for this new line?”

Finishing off the remaining liquor he had poured out before nodding and explaining, “The recent books that I’ve been reading are about the Greek gods and goddesses.” He then stood behind her and gently touched her waist, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke, “And Persephone stood out to me the most.”

“Not Aphrodite? Is she not the most beautiful goddess in Mount Olympus?”

“Touche,” He smirked and removed his hands from her sides and went back to the racks and fetched the blue, floral gown that was the first design he made for his most current collection, “But the Olympian beauty wasn’t my focus on all, for I was far too intrigued with Persephone.”

A pout formed her lips as she was confused with his reasoning, “Change into this one first then I can answer the questions you have,” He assured her as if he could read her mind.

Thankfully the second gown that was handed for her to try on was easier for her to zip up; but at the same time she was dismayed at the realization that she wouldn’t be able to feel his hot touch on her skin. Upon stepping out of the velvet dressing room, she announced, “I think this is my favorite gown by far. This really makes me feel like a goddess.”

“To be fair, princess, with or without the clothes you would be crowned a goddess.”

The blunt comment had her biting her lip as she felt undeserving of his praise; standing next to him in front of the mirror, she shook her head and replied, “Well I’m not Greek so your argument is invalid, Baron.”

Once again, his hands roamed around her body — but this time his hands settled on her bare shoulders, “Not all goddesses are Greek; there are Nordic, Celtic, Indian — to name a few.” Looking to her right, where he had rested his chin while his hooded eyes took in every inch of her, she gulped down, “Cultured and intelligent all on top of having a great eye and sense of fashion — is there something you’re lacking?”

“Just my Persephone,” He muttered after placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. That piqued her interest, she created some distance between the two of them but she laced her hands with his as she smirked, “You think of yourself as Hades?”

“In a way, I do,” He disconnected himself from her and was skimming through the different dresses he had planned for here to wear, “Are you the king of the underworld?” From her tone it was obvious that she was slightly teasing him, but he decided to give her a serious answer either way.

“Despite how magnificent that would be, I am not,” His eyebrows lifted up in excitement as he picked one of the next gowns that Y/N would try on, “But I do admire his passion; he and I share that same thing, you know?”

Handing it over to her, she got the signal that it was her next frock she was to try on; silently, she nodded and took the dress and headed to the dressing room. As she slid on the crepe gown, she then nodded to herself and smiled.

A low whistle was heard when she stepped out in front of the mirror, with a smile Zemo’s fingers danced around her neck as he fastened the cape in its place, “Now you look like something carved out of marble.”

Trailing down from her neck, his hands settled themselves on top of her breasts, “Is the neckline too much?” Her chest heaved up in anticipation as she shook her head no, “I don’t think it is, Baron.”

Smiling, he nodded and placed a kiss on the intersection of her neck and shoulders, “I’m delighted you feel so, darling. I feel like you have questions regarding my earlier statement.” Her small nod encouraged the designer to explain further, “Hades is often dismissed for he is the king of the dead. But, if anything, I think it is his passion for Persephone that he should be known for.”

“Oh?” Was the only word that escaped her with a shaky breath; a simple kiss in her skin had reduced her brain into a puddle, but the simple word spurred him to continue, “After finding the woman of his dreams, he did everything in his power to keep her in his arms.” His hands then slid down from her breasts and to her waist, pushing her body closer to his. Taking in her heavenly scent, he smiled upon feeling goosebumps against the skin of her shoulder where his lips were.

“Have you found your Persephone then?”

“I have now,” He gruffly spun her around and latched his lips on hers; she quickly welcomed his soft lips as she opened her mouth and moaned out as his hands nestled themselves on her ass, occasionally squeezing her cheeks. Her hands ran along his bearded cheeks and pushed him closer to her.

She whimpered when he tore off the cloak hastily and sucked on her neck, “You’re so fucking beautiful, darling.” As soon as he unzipped her dress she automatically shrugged it off her shoulders, exposing how she didn’t wear any kind of underwear underneath it. Amused, Zemo smirked as he ran his hand along her stomach, “Do you always go about without any kind of underwear?”

“No, not really,” She denied, “It’s easier to slip in between dresses without underwear holding me back.” Holding onto her waist he then carried her to lay on her back on the velvet couch, “Well that just makes it easier for me to please my goddess.”

He dipped down and licked her clit with his thick, wide tongue; and with just one lick of his tongue she was placing her legs on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. “Fuck, more please,” Hearing her moan out for her, egged him to shove his tongue in her tight canal as he swirled around and tasted her sweet juices.

“What got you this wet, my little goddess?” It was a rhetorical question — which was a good thing for she was so deep in pleasure that she couldn’t process anything in her pleasure-riddled brain. His thumb rubbed her clit vigorously while his other hand inched upward and grabbed onto her nipple, twisting and pulling on it.

“Were you this eager to be fucked, darling?” The vibrations of the filthy words had her locking her legs behind his neck, further nudging his tongue deeper into her pussy. A loud whine erupted from her mouth when he pulled his face away, “Does that disappoint you, love?”

“Please, Baron. I need you,” She moaned out, her eyes blinking as tears of pleasure threatened to spill out. Wordlessly, he slid two of his fingers in her pussy and lowered his mouth so he could lick her clit. He didn’t break eye contact with her as she watched him lap her juices while his fingers were being squeezed by her damp walls.

“Is this what you needed, darling? Wanted my fingers?” She nodded as tangled her hand into his har, “Fuck! How am I going to fit my cock when you are already struggling to take my fingers.”

Her chest was heaving up and down in pleasure as she thrashed around, “Want you, want you so bad.” Her declaration had his chest rumbling with pride as he pulled his fingers away and kissed her hardened nub one last time.

“Is that so? Can you take all of me inside you then?” He lifted his face right in front of hers, she moved to slant their lips together. Dribbling down from his mouth to hers, she got a faint taste of her juices; and in the model’s opinion, it tasted better when it was mixed with his saliva.

“Want to please you first baron,” She clawed at the ends of his sweater, hands loving the feel of his warm back, “Can I taste you first?” The way she pleaded for him had him smirking at the realization that she was just as desperate for him as he was for her. Giving his consent silently, he helped lift off the cashmere sweater he was wearing and toss it on the foot. Switching both their sides so he lay under her posed as a challenge for her kisses went south — from peppering kisses on his beard, she lowered them until her cold mouth met the wide expanse of his chest.

“You really have a way,” He paused his train of thought as her lips gave his nipple a gentle tug; his eyes darkened with desire as he watched her give the opposite nipple the same treatment before kissing her way down his stomach, “With that precious tongue of yours, darling.”

The way her eyes peered up at him innocently contradicted the way her hands expertly unbuckled his pants; and once his pants, along with his underwear, was being moved off of him she licked her lips in anticipation. One hand stroked the entirety of his length while the other rested on his thigh, anchoring herself.

As if to test the waters, she placed kitten licks on the tip of his cock, “Fucking hell, darling,” The designer moaned out once she lowered herself and allowed her mouth to enclose around half of his cock. The way his cock poked around the inside of her mouth was a delightful intrusion for her; soon enough the tip of his cock was poking the back of her throat.

His short nails were digging themselves against her hair as his chest rumbled in pleasure, “You got me so close, love. Want to have a taste of Sokovia?” The chuckle he let out quickly died down when she fondled his balls with one hand as she shook her head a bit as she deepthroated him long enough until she gagged a bit.

It wasn’t long before he spilled all over her mouth, “Fuck, darling,” He moaned out as she milked him. Easing his grip on her head, he smiled upon seeing her lick her lips and open her mouth — showing him how he swallowed every single drop of his cum.

“You taste delicious, Baron,” She said with a smile as she rose up from where she was kneeling and moved to sit on his lap, “Can I please ride you?” Her meek petition had him even harder. Wordlessly, he snaked an arm in his cock, tapping it against her pussy before sliding it in her; in one motion he was already halfway inside her.

“Already so wet for me, darling,” Helmut moaned out when he lifted her by the asscheeks, leaving only his tip inside her; her nails were leaving marks on his shoulders as she mewled out, “Please fuck me, Baron.” Just as she spoke the final syllable, he then rammed his cock all the way in her, causing her to lurch forward, pressing her chest against his. It gave him leverage to fuck her fiercely yet slowly, as if savoring every moment inside her.

With her mouth pressed against his ear, she was moaning out loud for him which sounded like music to the designer’s ears; whereas his mouth was focused on leaving marks of his desire on her shoulder. “Been wanting you for a while, love,” The Baron rasped out as his thrusts sped up when he felt her walls squeezing onto his thickness even more, “Saw you walk down the ramp at Milan and I just knew,” He groaned mid sentence when she moved away from him and leaned down to kiss him tenderly — a juxtaposition from where his cock was now mercilessly and swiftly entering her tight canal, “Just knew I had to have you.”

The declaration of his admiration had her feeling oddly more confident in herself, “Am I like everything you ever wanted, Baron?” He rapidly nodded before moving his head away to get a good look of her — she was biting her lip, yet it couldn’t contain her delicious whimpers from reaching his ears, whereas with every bounce she made resulted in her breasts hypnotizingly moving along. Enclosing a nipple in his mouth, he pulled on it hard enough for her to rake her hands in his hair and shove him harder against her hardened nub.

“I’m so close, Baron,” She moaned out at the absence of his mouth, but was quickly satisfied when he took on the other nipple. Even without her verbal forewarning, he would have known that with the way it was getting more difficult for his cock to slide in and out of her clenched, wet walls. “Are you gonna claim my cock as yours, darling?”

Feeling the presence of his cock surpass her sweet spot and hit her cervix was too much for her as she weakly nodded, “Want you so bad,” She moaned out as she was starting to feel overwhelmed. The designer could feel his own cock pulse upon seeing her current state; he unwillingly removed his mouth from her now swollen nipples — much to both of their dismay — yet he tried to make up for it by lowering a hand to the front of her pussy, alternating between rubbing and pinching her clit. “I want you to cum for me, love,” He rasped out as his other hand was on her cheek, urging him to focus on him. “Your juices should be running down on my cock, okay?”

Slightly turning her head, she sucked on his thumb as she continued to rock herself harder on his cock — the thought of an impending orgasm sounding wonderful. A gasp escaped her lips when the Baron slapped both her cheek and clit when he did not receive affirmation from her, “I need your answer, darling, will you cum for me like the good girl I know you can be?”

Whether it was her desire to be his or the fact that she just didn’t want that added stimulation, she nodded her head vigorously as she indistinctly muttered, “Gonna cum for you, Baron. Want your cock all for myself.”

Pleased with her response, he then drove his cock in her deeper and harder while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as her lips were quivering right under his thumb was tucked in safely. With one particular harsh thrust, she came and bit on his thumb too hard; despite feeling a sharp pain, Zemo smirked and continued to ram his cock in and out of her as he too was on the brink of another orgasm.

As she was placing kitten lick on his thumb as an attempt to calm herself down, she allowed him to take control; it was incredible how much strength he had because with one hand latched on her hips, he was matching the way her body rose and fall matched the pace in which he was fucking her. “I’m never gonna let you go now, darling. You’re all mine now.”

Delighted with that, she removed his thumb in her mouth and looked at him — fondness and lust portrayed through her eyes — and said, “Cum in me, Baron.” As if her words set off a trigger, he came load after load of his cum, painting her walls as his. Panting heavily as he pressed his forehead against hers, taking in the glow that encompassed her entire body.

Lovingly stroking both her cheeks they both smiled at each other; she spoke up first, “I hope you don’t always sleep with your models.” Despite the overwhelming pleasure she had just experienced, she couldn't prevent her from feeling insecure about the repercussions of their little rendezvous. The hairs at the nape of his neck was something she distracted herself with since she was too nervous for his response; tilting her head to get her to meet him eye to eye so he could reassure her, “No, my love, I don’t make it a habit to go and sleep around. Truth be told, from now on I only plan on sleeping with you.”

His line had her chuckling and lightly shoving his shoulder, still in disbelief with the words that left his mouth. “You’re my Persephone, the one I have been searching for; and I have no plans of letting you go,” He spoke and looked at her wholeheartedly and genuinely, hoping that he would solidify his claim and hopefully get her to believe him.

As her lip quivered and eyes watered, she hugged him close and showered every inch of skin of his that she could reach with kisses, “You don’t know how much that means to me, Baron. I, too, would not do the foolish thing of letting you go, ever.”

It was only then that the designer knew what true happiness was as he rubbed her back gently, pushing her body even more closer to him, “You’re with me now, darling, for life. I’ll treat you like the goddess that you are.”

#helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x fem!reader #baron zemo x fem!reader #baron helmut zemo x fem!reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x fem!reader #its not living if its not with queue

224 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

Text

Artistic Instinct Chapter 10

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, grief, loss and some second base action.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who reads, re-reads, points out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary - Xan Oku

Chapter 10

Your eyes fly open - heart pounding, mouth dry- as the nighttime movie that played behind your eyelids finishes abruptly. Hugging your arms around yourself, you try to steady the impact of that injection of adrenaline into your veins, drawing deep breaths into your lungs as you gaze into the oil slick of darkness surrounding you. The sounds of day are yet to kick into being as your phone screen illuminates 03:02 - the trains not yet pulling out of their sidings, sirens still silenced for the most part. The night air is just punctuated by the rhythmic pitter patter of rain upon the roof and the sweetest little snores still rising steadily from your…

Your boss.

For fucks sake.

Once could be called a mistake, even if it was a twelve year long one. But back doing this shit again? Sheer fucking stupidity. Your head drops into your hands as a stab of pain cuts through your gut. What the fuck do you do now? Marcus so honestly put his heart on a platter for you last night- could you be the cold hearted, callous bitch that throws it back in his face? All of your body fizzes with fear - your muscles twitching with the cortisol so rather than irritate him with your fidgeting, you slide out of his bed.

Bare soles on the night-cooled wooden floors help to ground your flighty soul as you walk around the unfamiliar apartment. Whilst the exterior dampness can only come as far as pretty patterns on the window pane, the chill causes tiny pinprick goosebumps to stand proud against your skin. You finally settle cross-legged on the floor by the French doors leading out to the balcony, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass - mentally cheering on your favourites as they glide towards the inky pools gathering beneath them.

With your mind so lost in your new-found sport, you aren’t entirely aware of the arrival of a warm, breathing blanket that curls itself around your body languidly before you are tightly encircled by long limbs and gentle nuzzling into the side of your neck, “What’s up, honey?”

A small, precious kiss is pressed into your temple before the sleep-thick murmur continues in your ear, “Thought you’d left. So happy to find you here.”

Leaning back into his broad chest, you allow the expanse of his form that is wrapped around you to consume your body whole, “Bad dream. Couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘M sorry,” Marcus slides you slightly to his left so he can search your face for the answers that you are so incredibly reluctant to give, “Your heart is racing - do you want to talk or just have things that will make you feel better?”

Initially, you don’t feel able to catch his gaze, having thought about breaking his heart only minutes prior to his soothing arrival but when you do, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. The deep pillow creases of his cheek, sweetly mussed up hair and the earthy hues of his questioning eyes make your fist fly to cover your eyes as your tears echo the deluge of rain.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds you close. Cradling you in his arms as your body shakes into his. Marcus allows you to sit with your pain awhile - not pressuring you to speak or offering any empty platitudes to solve it- allowing the hurricane of grief to rip through you, all the while tethering you to the ground.

As the tears exhaust themselves, Marcus leaves and your eyes dance in panic at the loss of his soothing touch. The relief of hearing his kettle start to boil and then the gentle roar of taps filling a tub, stretch a ghostly pair of arms back around you, soothing the ache beneath your ribs. A hand reaches down to you offering a way out - gently hoisting you back onto your feet.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Marcus pulls you back into his chest, pressing a line of kisses along your hairline, “I’ve made you a cup of camomile tea and run you a bath.”

He makes to leave you but your haunted eyes and tight grip upon his wrist beg him to stay, “Honey, I don’t want to overstep the mark here. I’m sorry that I asked you to stay. Overwhelming you like this, isn’t fair of me.”

Trying to eloquently respond to him comes out with just a snotty sad gasp so you vehemently shake your head tugging his hand towards the bathroom. Once inside the metro tiled space - pausing between heaving breaths - you manage to squeak out in your juddery voice, “Please stay with me.”

“Please don’t feel guilty - this is just shit I need to work through,” you mumble as you fiddle with the hem of Marcus’ t-shirt, feeling his skin twitch as you accidentally make contact, “I’m sorry that it’s having a knock on effect for you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he leans in to sweetly kiss your forehead, “I’ll turn around while you get in but I promise not to leave.”

“I don’t care if you see me naked - it’s just a body,” you mutter slightly confused by this sentiment when he’d been stroking your breasts earlier. As you start peeling off the t-shirt you’d borrowed from him, Marcus swings to face the bathroom door quickly.

“No,” the sharpness of Marcus’ response steals the air from your lungs momentarily - you stand in front of him like a rabbit caught in headlights, “I’m sorry, sweetheart - didn’t mean to be so forceful. No - it’s not just a body. It is your body and I wanna enjoy it properly when you’re not so upset. It would be taking advantage.”

Slowly lowering yourself into the delicious expanse of Marcus’ bath, you allow the warmth to soak into your aching bones. The water cocoons and hugs every inch of you as you permit it to unknit every knot of tension within your body.

“You can turn around now.”

A kind smile plays upon the deep creases set by Marcus’ eyes, “Tilt your head back.”

Reaching behind you, he turns on the shower attachment - the water bursting forth in a perfect summer rain across the skin of the bath water. Like a parent with a child, he checks the temperature until it reaches a soothing heat and runs it over your hair, soaking every last strand, washing away the mix of salt from anxious sweat and tears. Dropping the shower head in the bath, he then grabs a generous squirt of shampoo in his hands, lathering it into your scalp, massaging until you feel like a gelatinous blob under his skilful touch.

After rinsing every last bubble and sud from your hair, Marcus then squeezes out some conditioner - the bottle releasing the most indecent sound that has you both giggling like small children. Having coated his digits well, he starts to run his fingers through your hair - combing every strand with his hands, ensuring there isn’t a single knot to be found. A gentle finger beneath your chin tells you to tip your head back again as the shower rinses the excess away.

Settling back on the plush bath mat, Marcus passes you your tea silently and you just sit. Sit there in companionable silence - without an ounce of awkwardness- just both sipping tea as your body gradually accepts its need to sleep again.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready,” Marcus gazes softly after your disappearing form as you spin into your bedroom to get dressed for work. It takes every bit of gentlemanly restraint that he possesses not to follow you, run his hands over your silken skin and get a hit of your delicious taste. Instead he re-settles his mind by looking around your flat having finally been allowed a peek inside your inner sanctum.

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t this. It feels an odd mix in there- piles of cushions and blankets but no photos. No pictures decorating the place yet multiple empty frames propped against walls, waiting for their stories to be told. Your home isn’t really a home at all - it is just a roof over your head with nests for you to curl into exhaustedly.

“Have you been here long?” he asks quizzically, spying the battered moving boxes that have obviously been rummaged through for a missing necessary nick-nack or two but never having been fully unpacked. Marcus runs his hand over the coarse, corrugated cardboard and light spattering of dust coating them, wondering what secrets you wish to keep hidden in there and if you will ever open fully to him, to allow him to lighten your load.

“Almost two years,” he hears you muffledly answer through the jumper you pull over your head as you momentarily reappear in the doorway of your bedroom - a vision of radiantly soft curves- just knickers and a mess of limbs arguing with the item of clothing, before your breasts get hidden under the striped knitwear.

As much as Marcus tries to stop himself, his body takes the required steps forward so that his fingers can be satiated with the warmth of your skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet - the heat of his breath just dusts the shell of your ear as he inhales the scent of his shampoo in your hair.

“Look at you,” he murmurs - shaking his head in disbelief as he grabs your wrists and pulls you into him, “Beautiful.”

Using the back of his hand to release the hair caught in the collar of your jumper, Marcus takes a moment to drink in all your features. The flecks of gold in your eyes, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the streaks of wisdom in your hair - how were you, the beauty that you are, interested in him?

And then you’re kissing him. Your mouth open, soft lips inviting him into your inner sanctum. He feels your fingertips stroking into the nape of his neck, your nails scratching into the hair that twists and curls there. Shivers of pleasure run down Marcus’ spine, making him pull you closer as your touch sparks life across his body. Your gentle push causes Marcus to startle - to stumble backwards, falling back onto the sofa, sending cushions scuttling across the floor.

Feeling his jaw tic as you clamber into a kneeling position above him, Marcus tries to steady his breath by focussing on the small details of you. The darker spots of pigmentation where the sun has permanently kissed your skin. The divots of your collarbones just peeking above your sweater. The small reminder of a childhood misadventure just above your right eyebrow.

Nope. This is not working. God, I want her.

“Lower those goddamn hips,” he growls, “Sit down.”

“I can’t,” he hears you whimper, eyes shut tight, “I’ll make a mess of your trousers.”

Marcus groans as he considers the sweetness that is encased by those bright pink, lace edged panties - still not quite believing that it is him who has had this effect on you. When you grab his hands that have been stroking little circles by your knees and pull them to your ass, the heat in him rises as he squeezes and needles the delicious flesh beneath.

“This is gonna be hard having you work so close,” as soon as he hears the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The little twitch between your eyebrows. The tremble of your bottom lip. The slight shift back of your weight upon his lap. Marcus catches them all.

“I’m sorry. Nush, I shouldn’t have…”

As your weight rocks back away from him, leaving his body quickly cooling with your absence, the air is punctuated with your muttering of one word over and over. Each utterance a bullet coated in guilt hitting him sharply.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrunching his eyes tight shut, he rocks forward, head in hands. Should he come after you? Should he leave? Fuck, Pike.

Hearing the creak of your bedroom door, Marcus lifts his head in your direction - his eyes throwing a million apologies to you, “Nush, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing that I’d ever want to do.”

He watches as you walk across the floor - smaller shuffling steps rather than your usual confident stomp, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy and your breathing a little jagged - and feels like he’s just crushed a butterfly in his hands when all he was trying to do was appreciate its beauty. Water starts to pool in the corners of his eyes as he blinks hard to warn them off - after all, he didn’t need to give you any other reason to walk away from him. A small grateful smile creeps across his face when you settle between his knees, resting your arms across his lap - your tear-streaked face looking up at him.

“I’m frightened,” he hears you whisper, “Repeating past mistakes is sheer fucking stupidity.”

Marcus freezes, the blood in his veins turning to ice as he awaits your verdict.

“I can’t do that again. You cannot become another Jasper to me. The relationship that never was with all the hiding.”

“I don’t want us to hide,” he hears his voice betraying him as fear courses through his synapses, his hands aching to touch you. Hold you.

Please don’t let me lose her.

Please don’t let this be it.

“Can I touch you?” Marcus quietly, carefully checks before daring to reach out. He watches as a cloud of confusion washes across your face at his request.

“Of course you can. What? Hang on, did you think,” you pause, brow furrowed, “Did you think I want to stop whatever this turns out to be?”

With his shoulders slightly hunched, one hand reaching behind to rub the base of his neck, Marcus nods, “Yeah, a bit. I…”

“I don’t wanna fuck this up, Nush,” he reaches forward to stroke your wrist.

“Me neither, but we will,” your words take a moment to register with him, “We have both experienced so much - good and bad - that we will put our proverbial foot in it with each other.

“But, I hope that in time, with our collective pasts and the streaks of grey in our hair, we may also slowly learn how to communicate and say when things are a bit shit for us and why. Why my instinct is to run screaming from things and why you think everyone you love is going to leave.”

Marcus curls forward so he can rest his forehead against yours before placing a small kiss there, “Now you’re really gonna have to be two minutes if we’re gonna get to work on time. I’m just gonna shut my eyes until you’re dressed so I’m not tempted to make us late.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Chuckling at the wink you throw at him over your shoulder, Marcus starts to allow that tiny ray of hope he’s been burying for years to shine again.

✪✪✪✪✪

As Marcus opens the door for you, an overwhelming wave assaults your senses. Noises from tapping keyboards, phones ringing and computers blaring, the overwhelming scents of fatty, sugary yet discarded breakfasts and coffee hits hard but it’s the tiny, surreptitious stroke at the base of your spine gives you the kick you need to go in and start your day. A steaming coffee is thrust towards Marcus behind you and some case files are handed to you by a smiling Andy, “Morning Sir, morning Nush. What time did you manage to get cleared up?”

“Between the two of us, it didn’t take too long,” you grin at the PA before looking over your shoulder to find Marcus smiling at you, “Think I was asleep by eleven.”

“Snoring away,” Marcus barely audibly whispers, making your eyes widen.

“Ready for the meeting at nine o’clock, Sir? I have everything set up in the conference room, ready to go…” Andy sweeps Marcus away from you as you head over to your desk, spying the hot cup of Java awaiting your arrival.

New piles of paperwork seem to litter your desk, replacing the ones you’d tried so hard to clear on Friday afternoon. Office life. That it is a life is a bit of a lie, as every soul within your office space looks like it is in some stage of decomposition. Kiri appears to be in need of another weekend to get over the two days of rest just gone, Dian is yawning into her coffee and as for Harper, well, there’s a part of you that doesn’t quite believe she’s fully human with the way she’s already ploughing through her work.

When 9am finally rolls around, it feels more like two in the afternoon. Marcus sticks his head out of the door to call everyone into the meeting and is met by several groans from the team as they reluctantly shake themselves from their chairs and drag their Monday fatigued bones towards the conference room. At the oval, walnut table, you sit sandwiched between Dian and Kiri, directly opposite Andy in a hopefully not too obvious ploy to not be too close to Marcus.

“Good morning everyone, I’d ask you if you’d all had a good weekend but I think we spent enough time together to know that we all did,” a chuckle rises from your office mates as Marcus welcomes everyone, “I wanted to have a catch up this morning as the Soutine that Agent Pierce and I checked in Lyon, has come back as a definite fake. The verdict was reached late Friday afternoon and the French authorities are currently trying to trace its origins.

“We also received word this morning that a Modigliani has turned up in Sotheby’s - they have their own art fraud team but hopefully we will get a look in soon. Agent Pierce, I know I haven’t asked you to prep but could you explain to the team what the issues are around his work?”

“Sotheby’s?” you question, staring straight at Marcus and entirely ignoring his request, “I can get in there now as my best mate works in the fraud team.”

“Hephzibah?” Andy catches your eye, “Didn’t realise she’d transferred over from Scotland Yard.”

“More money,” you shrug as Andy presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“No, Agent Pierce, I’d like us to hang back for now,” Marcus responds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “If you could give us some of your insight about Modigliani’s pieces, please?”

Slightly taken aback by Marcus’ firmness, you take a moment before responding, “Modigliani’s back catalogue is a fucking mess as he used to give out sketches like a fortune teller.

“Jean Cocteau said that he was drawn by Modigliani roughly fifty times but he only ever owned one picture. Prices have skyrocketed over the past decade with one going for $170.4 million dollars so he’s very much a member of the $100 million club along with Warhol, Picasso et al but not quite at their ethereal prices.

“One of the main things about Modigliani is that the love of the man is not easily separated from his art. Over the years, he has been painted as somewhat Byronesque in his exploits by salacious biographies and films - very much sex and drugs and rock n roll. A bohemian who lived in Montparnasse and Montmartre at the Fin de Siecle - he was known by all the artists who lived there at the time - Picasso even said he was the only man in Paris who knew how to dress.

“To be honest, whilst he was hot - soulful dark eyes, ebony, wavy hair and a beautiful bone structure with an extraordinary amount of intelligence and eloquence-”

“Ah, so you have a type?” Harper mutters into her notes.

Your cheeks flush and eyes dart around the room, hoping that Marcus didn’t hear that as you desperately try to summon a consummate professional performance for the others, “-It is hugely difficult to separate the man from the myth but the main issue due to his profligacy with his art, unlike the other greats who get over $100 million for their work, Modigliani’s work is often questioned. You could easily find a Modigliani in an attic with a letter attached from the man himself and people would still raise an eyebrow at it.

“So, um, the main thing according to all the auction houses is that unless it is in the catalogue curated by Ceroni, it ain’t a Modigliani. This is problematic in itself as that was published in 1958 and even some of the pieces on his list are questionable. People have ended up in prison over their dubious dealings with Modigliani’s back catalogue as you can see in the case of Parisot.

“So if a piece comes to auction that isn’t on the list, they’re damned if it is a Modigliani, and damned if it isn’t?” Dian questions you.

“Pretty much. And he worked at a time when a lot of advances and changes happened in artist’s products. In the first half of the twentieth century, both the production of paint and paper changed massively as everything was slowly more industrialised and made more stable. By industrialising these things, it made the equipment cheaper quicker as more could use it rather than being made Etsy-style in tiny batches that were way beyond the means of most artists.

“Normally, with older pieces we can look at how the artists use paints and the type of paints they use but with more modern artists everything becomes a bit murkier as it is harder to date. And I will stop there before I piss off Harper by rabbiting on too much more.”

Even Harper has the decency to smirk at your comment before returning to her notes. Marcus’s gaze has softened again as you finish speaking, “ Thanks, Agent Pierce. Perhaps we could hear from you now Agent Gleason and Youngerson?”

Harper raises her eyebrows in Marcus’ direction before starting, “So, Agent Youngerson and I have been looking at various right wing groups currently active across the world and what their links are to the art world. The main ones who have thrown up scents for us to chase are The Old School Society, Hydra and The Order.”

Dian looks up from her pad of extensive notes, “Yeah, we've been tracing money routes with those three and when looking at the main donors to these groups, they’ve all had dealings with art galleries and auction houses recently. So we’re now looking into each donor carefully and may need to do some in the field meetings with them as prospective buyers - so my darling work wife, Nush, we may need notes unless you fancy being our cover girl?” she comically winks at you. Making a little heart with your index finger and thumb, you send an equally cheesy wink and click of the tongue back at her.

Marcus huffs a chuckle out at the two of you before turning his attention to Kiritopa, “How have you been getting on with your catalogue of fakes relating to this case?”

“Yeah, alright - slow going collecting all the data as it seems some auction houses are reluctant to reveal how many fakes pass through their doors,” Kiri frowns before glugging some more coffee.

“It’s understandable, they don’t want their reputations dashed. Doesn’t make our work any easier though. Agent Morrison - if you can show me what you’ve compiled so far that’d be great,” Marcus gives the agent a small, sincere smile before turning to address the room again, “Right, I have a meeting this afternoon that’ll keep me out of the office for the rest of the day so I’ll leave you all to get on. Have a great day everyone.”

✪✪✪✪✪

You:

Hey sexy lady, I hear you’ve got a tasty little number at S’s - can I take a look?

Hephzi:

Off the books? Course you can. Change into civvies and I’ll get you in this afternoon.

You:

You’re a fucking ⭐️. I’ll make it worth your while

Hephzi:

Do you mean cake and coffee? Because if you do, I’m fucking yours.

You:

Urm obviously! See you around two?

A small knock on your desk makes you put down your phone and you look up into Marcus’ face, “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Yes, Sir,” as you push your chair away from your desk, you throw your mobile in your desk drawer and follow him into his office.

His desk is immaculately tidy and warm to the touch with its honey and caramel tones washing back and forth in undulating waves as if across a beach. There’s not a hint of Marcus in his office yet - no personal treasures - it stands in stark contrast to the warmth of the man you’re getting to know.

“I just wanted to check you were ok. I heard what Harper said,” he reaches out to straighten the ribbing at the bottom of your jumper, his thumb stroking your tummy lightly.

“She’s not wrong,” you grin lopsidedly at him as you step in closer, placing your hands on either side of his face, “Dark soulful eyes, beautifully high cheekbones, delightfully luscious lips that are perfect for kissing - hard not to fancy Modigliani, really.”

“You’re mean,” Marcus squeezes your hip as he shakes his head, “When would you like to speak to the others? I think being up front with them will help us in the long run.”

You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back slightly, your face illuminated by your smile, “Maybe we can have our first date and then think about the long run?”

When you see the flinch from Marcus, a pang of guilt echoes through your gut as you recall your earlier conversation, “I think you’re right- once we’re truly confident we know where this is headed, we should speak up. I am not going to lose my job or risk my reputation for you… but I also already know that I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Me neither,” his hand reaches out for you, fingers entangling, thumbs stroking - eyes crinkling as they meet yours, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, I was a bit distracted when I got dressed this morning - there was this really hot guy in my flat…”

“Uh huh, tell me about him,” Marcus slowly drawls, looking down at you amusedly.

“Oh you don’t want to know, Sir. Wouldn’t let me get dressed. Just kept groping me.”

“How... inappropriate of him.”

“Yeah - so I was almost late to work because of him wanting his wicked way with me and accidentally ended up putting on two different shoes.” Marcus steps away from you and having looked down, notices the one extremely dark navy and one black ballet pump with a gently shaking chest as he tries to swallow his chuckle.

“Going home to change? Your mind really must have been elsewhere,” you nod at him -slightly embarrassed by your initial genuine mistake that has now become a cover story. His gaze intensifies as he cups your face, his eyes focussing on your lips, “I’m sorry honey, I don’t think I’ll have time to drop you there and back before my meeting - will you be ok?”

“Of course, Marcus - I’ve worked here for years,” you tease him, feeling awkward as fuck when the half truth you are spinning for your boss feels awkward and bitter in your mouth.

But his kiss doesn’t. Marcus quickly closes the gap between the two of you, leaning towards you - his head tilted, lips soft and welcoming with their desire for you utterly apparent. Deepening the kiss, his mouth gently opening, tongue searching as his hands drop from your face to your waist, you find yourself forgetting to worry that anyone could walk in. Forgetting the regret of lying to him. What had you even been talking about? Should you be doing this? Fuck it. You pull him the final distance so that no air could pass between you - just you and Marcus refusing to pause for breath until your lungs run out of air.

Pulling back to gaze at him with lust blown pupils, wanting him so much more, you eventually find the energy to push away from him. Swiping at your lips with your thumb in case anyone spots the remnants of this moment as you walk towards the door on brand new baby deer legs.

“Hey Nush,” you swing back to look at Marcus, still standing, equally dumbstruck as you, before he winks with a cheeky grin, “Nice shoes.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Gripping the cardboard carrier that holds two steaming cups of black coffee in your left hand, you ring the bell to the magnificent Bloomsbury building that has sold multiple pieces of multi-million pound art. The Georgian façade is impressive in its structure and beautifully kept without a sign of peeling paint, decrying its almost 250 year history - a far cry from the shatterproof glass and steel at HQ. Hephzi opens the door to you with a wide grin upon her face, “Bang on time, missus - I swear the only way to get you places quickly, is with the promise of fine art to get you salivating!”

You can’t really respond eloquently to her as you are absorbed into the cool of the elegant building. Whilst kept modern and minimalistic, the space has retained some of its more charming period features - the cornicing and ceiling roses are still firmly in place despite the stark white of the walls. Oh, the pieces that have passed through this space! The very thought makes you tingle all over through excitement.

Currently bedecking the walls are a collection of women artists about to go up for auction the next day. To you, there was no true money in those frames - just a conversation between you, the spectator and the artist about their emotions in picture form. A discussion that spanned centuries as you follow Hephzi’s soft footsteps through the gallery, enjoying every single one from a still life of flowers surrounded by butterflies and other insects by Rachel Ruysch to one of the copies of Blinding by Tracy Emin - the upside down nude female form shaped in neon pink tubes. The artists speak through ages, through the art upon the wall, in the language of your soul.

Marcus would love it here. Oh to bring him and enjoy it together, walking through the space, hand in hand. My head on his shoulder...

“...Hello? Earth to Nushka? Ah, welcome back,” Hephzibah is shaking her head at you, “You’re here on work experience if anyone asks, yes?”

“Yup,” still only half listening to your friend, you begrudgingly continue on to her workspace in the fraud and forgeries department, reluctantly walking away from the art you long to submerge yourself in.

“Right, hand over the coffee and cake- I take payment in advance, Madam,” Hephzi demands, hand outstretched, “So tell me about the new job. What’s your new boss like?”

“Marcus is nice,” you quietly offer into the rim of your coffee.

“First names already?” Hephzibah’s eyes are round with surprise, “And you mention him before the job… Who even are you? What have you done with the real Nush? Oh! Oh Nush, do you like him?”

You stand there blinking hard, feeling an absolute idiot for being so awkward in front of the person you call your best friend. A small, barely perceivable nod through the steam of your coffee has the arms of your best friend wrapped around you, “Nush, tell me more - has anything happened? Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I think so. Made a curry last night for the team at his flat, and ended up staying the night - nothing happ.. Well, we didn’t have sex but I think he likes me,” you nervously chatter at her before drawing a deep breath, “He’s pretty fucking amazing. Seems to be genuinely a nice guy - just straight talking, gentle, kind and holy shit is he good looking! His kisses and touches just turn me into fucking jelly.”

“Better than Jas?”

Your heart thuds in your chest so hard that there is a point where you fully expect it to wrench open your rib cage and run across the floor. You stare wide-eyed, your mouth open

“What?”

Hephzi steps forward, her gaze gentle as she places her hand on your arm, “You weren’t quite as good at hiding it as you thought you were. It was pretty obvious you were together and loved each other very dearly - I just knew that if I ever brought it up that you would run a mile.

“I tried telling you that I knew before. It was after he died and I wanted you to know that I knew it wasn’t just the death of a co-worker. Not that there’s ever any just in those situations for us either but I knew. When I asked about meeting someone the other day, it was more of me just trying to figure out if you were ready to date again.”

With that, the floodgates open and the grief flows you like a river, eroding your defences away. Hephzi holds you as you utterly soak through her expensive blouse, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”

“What I’d think of you - are you fucking kidding me, you absolute idiot?” she tucks your tear drenched hair behind your ears, “I’ve held your hair back in pub toilets as you’ve thrown up from too much alcohol and gotten you out of so many other scrapes but that, a relationship with a man from work is what you think I’d judge you for? Nah, that's not how any of this works, mate. Firstly, you can’t help who you fall in love with and secondly, where else are you ever going to meet someone when all you do is work?”

“N...N...Need a tissue. You made me get all snotty,” you tearfully stammer, all blotchy-face and tear streaked.

Hephzi can’t help but laugh at you blaming her for your tears. As she grabs a tissue, she also grabs the cake and the serviettes from the bag, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up - cake and a masterpiece.”

Following her into the studio beside her office, there it is. A supposedly lost version of Modigliani’s Nu Couché sur le Côté Gauche - her sheer sensuality rolling off her in waves. The way that she gazes out of the piece beguilingly, inviting you to join her on the bed, the sheets ruffled and rolling beneath her delicious curves.

Hephzi laughs at your reaction to the piece, “She’s hot isn’t she?”

“Yep - I’d definitely do her. I’d like to say that it is her almond eyes enticing me but really, it’s that entirely biteable bum,” you say before biting into the pastel de nata.

“Agreed - although for me, it’s her back and her thighs. They are edible - as you rightly say,” she says into her coffee.

“How’s the provenance?”

Hepzhi pulls a face as she turns back to you, “Traceable, but this one isn’t in Ceroni.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts entirely. Look, love, I can’t let you touch it but feel free to take photos, measurements etc. As soon as my own tests come back, I promise you’ll know before the guys upstairs do,” Hephzibah asserts before sitting back on the desk in the room, “Just remember, you’re here on work experience.”

You throw a thank you over your shoulder at the rapidly retreating figure of Hepzi as you set to work. Using a Canon with a macro lens, you instantly photograph the major features and then take several overlapping pictures so that you can look close up on your computer at work. Whilst not quite a microscope, it would have to do given the circumstances. You trusted Hephzi’s sample taking but it was good to see it in person, even if Marcus had asked you to hold fire.

Whilst you were taking measurements of various points and aspects of the picture, you realised there were multiple footsteps coming up the corridor. Hephzi, obviously heard them gaining on the studio too and rejoined you, to back the story of work experience rather than letting her old friend backstage for some covert readings. She threw her notebook at you with a pencil to have the pretence of you taking notes as she worked.

“Well, Hephzibah, that is the first time I’ve ever seen you entrust your beloved notebook with anyone other than yourself. You have never even shown me the secrets you record there, and I am the person paying your salary,” a truly plummy voice cut through the room, “Whoever this work experience girl is, we will have to see about hiring her if you trust her this much.”

Hephzibah plasters a smile onto her features, “Sir, she is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Such a keen eye.”

Refusing to turn around, you carry on making notes in Hephzi’s journal, attempting to concentrate on the words written in front of you, instead of the intrusion.

“So what d’ya think? On first impressions, is it real?”

Shit.

That voice.

Stepping up in response, Hephzibah firmly states, “Sir, I am terribly sorry but I am not currently at liberty to be able to fully disclose that info…”

“Oh no, it is quite alright, Hephzibah - this gentleman is Marcus Pike. He is currently fronting an investigation into white terrorism and art forgeries with 5 Eyes. One of your old lot, you know,” Hephzibah’s boss winks as if he was letting her in on the national secrecy act.

“Marcus Pike?” Hephzi shoots you a surreptitious look before the smile is back, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Shame we haven’t crossed paths before now.”

Marcus offers his hand in greeting to Hephzibah, “I hope we can put that right in the future. I was wondering if we could hear from your work experience person. I am always open to fresh eyes.”

Dread courses through your veins as you turn towards Marcus, not wanting to look him in the face, “It would be remiss of me to make a declaration without reading through and tracking back the provenance as well as undertaking the necessary infrared and paint samples.”

“Sensible,” Marcus nods, his face not betraying a single emotion.

Your face creases at his lack of response, something that Hephzi’s boss picks up on, “Are you alright, dear? You don’t look terribly well.”

“Sudden headache, sir. I should probably get going for today anyway,” you virtually throw Hephzi’s notebook at her before grabbing your bag, “Thank you for today, I will be in touch, Hephzibah.”

Running out of the building as fast as your feet and lungs can carry you, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Sir Agent Marcus Pike:

Hey,

We need to talk. My office at 5?

You:

...

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @day-off-inkyoto @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @lawfulgranola @agirllovespancakes @theravenreads @lv7867 @ezrasbirdie @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader #marcus pike x fem!reader

84 notes · View notes

obutsuwrites · 3 years

Text

salt water (seamonster!shiggy x f!reader)

summary: “Of course not! I like talking to you.” Inky black tentacles twitched under the curtain of waves. ‘She’d cower. Make herself as small as she needed to be; pathetic and crawling.’ Tenko grinned at the thought. She was nothing more than meat on a slab. xxx or the time i write monster shiggy ft. ocean imagery warnings: dubcon, drowning, mind control, tentacle sexey times, vore, smut, oviposition word count: 4,468 taglist: @kaccatus @sadjealouswhore @tenaciousgothstudentauthor masterlist | tipjar | twitter | commission info

The ocean lapped against her knees in gentle waves. It was refreshing and cool; a morning breeze she wanted to submerge herself in and never leave. This was her sanctuary, her home. The ocean -- in its inky blackness -- was almost like a lover. The waves were little arms that entangled around her ankles and upper calves. Simple, harmless flirting until the woman finally took the plunge and allowed the ocean to swallow her whole. She would only tread lightly; growing up in a little sea-side shack carried the reality of her lover; silent waves could shift and evolve into violent tides.

She squinted as the afternoon sun pierced her eyes. It sat high in the cloudless, cobalt sky. An orange giant that radiated such intense heat, despite the forecast claiming otherwise. The sun was hot against the small of her back; skin exposed and soft. The woman allowed her body to sink further into the salty brine. She shivered at the chill, but it was a welcome distraction from the humidity. As she waded further into the deep, bits of seaweed danced around her legs. Slimy and unpleasant. The woman shoved down her discomfort, it was only temporary.

She swam apathetic laps. Her body was now accustomed to the chill. In the benign quiet, the woman’s mind began to wander. The sea allowed for more than just cooling off; peaceful and cerebral. After several soft loops, she rescinded herself to float atop the navy sea surf. The woman’s lazy gaze was glued to the sky. Her body was delicately rocked, a lullaby she wanted to submerge herself into for eternity. Sometimes, she wondered if the ocean was capable of violence. To her, it was nothing but serenity and placidity. The woman knew tales of drownings and bizarre, awful sea creatures… However, she had experienced neither within her rather mundane life. Fingers grasped at the azure water, eyes shifting to stare into the great abyss. Despite squinting, the woman couldn’t see to the bottom. She wondered if it was so deep that light simply didn’t refract.

A crackle sounded off in the distance; the beginning of a storm, she noted. Storms were something she knew all too well. Humidity and the frigid ocean mixed together often to form thunderous, dark clouds that beat against her shack. Angry and fierce. Eventually, the waves would pick up, as if to respond with equal force to the storm, like two lovers fighting.

Reluctantly, she began her trek back to shore. Perhaps, she could watch the rain beat on her windows. The wind picked up; the smell of the sea working its way into her nose. Salty and fresh. However, seaweed was strong and wrapped around her ankles. This wasn’t unusual for the woman; the sea could be a difficult lover. The shore was still far away, not even within her reach. Her feet hadn’t even touched the smooth surface of rocks. Slight panic wove into her chest, the sensation tight and heavy. Kicking her legs, the woman tried to swim past the monstrous clump of plant matter. She had done this before. Seaweed wasn’t thick like this and despite her best efforts, her legs were still knotted in the dense foliage.

The woman continued to kick her legs, the movements morphing into desperation and anxiety. This was foreign to her. The sea wasn’t a maze of fear and panic, yet here she was, arms flailing and face red.

“H-help!” It was a futile scream; the beach today was empty and she was alone. The sea was going to swallow her and she was alone. Her mind raced with images of her barren skeleton nestled between dead plants and sunken ships. A bleak resting place.

The sky twisted into a dark caricature of itself; bleak with clouds hiding the sun. Her terror was tangible now as sea foam bubbles seeped into her mouth. Coughs and spit erupted from the woman. Static portraits of her life played like a macabre theater. ‘No! Please no! I don’t wanna die!’ The ocean was a lover scorn; waves began to pick up. The woman feared her body would disappear beneath the current, but the seaweed kept her anchored. Safe.

Her throat grew dry with cries that fell on deaf ears. This is how she would die; crushed beneath azure crests with an angry sky. She gave up and became complacent in her fate. Tears flowed freely down puffy, coral cheeks.

Suddenly, she felt a long tendril wrap around her thigh. This material wasn’t seaweed, it was different. Spongey. Organic. The coil traveled down her leg and freed her lower form.

Breath caught in her throat expanded into the salty, swampy air. “T-thank you!”

Fire crackled and the air was balmy; the woman was determined to expunge any cold. Overcast clouds brought in a certain chill, which was only compacted by her waterlogged clothing. Her brassiere had started the slow process of becoming solid again; a fuzzy towel wrapped around jittery shoulders. She believed the suction cup lined tentacle was an octopus.

“They can be quite helpful. Suction cups are made for -- for sticking.” Truthfully, the sentence was tangible and real for a simple reason; it felt more real. It was far too horrible to believe sea monsters had invaded her paradise.

She awoke with a start. Electricity already burning obnoxiously in her veins. The thought was a joke at first; throw out food to the anonymous ocean critter that had rescued her. It was fair. She wanted to repay the kindness. No animal was suited for her sea excursionist. Her love was the ocean firstly; everything came in violent crashes next. Purely no room for animals. However, this being -- this animal. She needed to remind herself it was an animal. Animals can just be smart.

“Like octopi. Or maybe -- maybe a squid.” ‘Octopi’ was a new word; something the woman picked up from long study sessions in the town library. The building was a crypt, dusty and decrepit. Relics from before the second war, chalky volumes of history and academics… but they held the most beautiful anatomical drawings. Precise lines formed into a web of a body on delicate paper. She wanted to rip them from their pages and exhibit the art upon her walls. It was a guilty feeling the woman had to bury. Deep.

Octopi were carnivores, which meant they ate meat. Things like fish, sharks -- even birds. On occasion, the invertebrate would drown their prey. She loathed the vulgar imagery of an octopus immersing a bird into her sea -- into the great blue only to disappear under murky depths. The mental painting seemed so far off -- so distant from her benevolent savior.

There was a certain click in her step, her movements jovial and careless. Her limbs were wire and ethereal. After a masochistic study session, the woman felt confident enough to pursue the octopus. The plan itself was half-baked, but she was… hopeful. Her wallet wouldn’t survive otherwise; she was too naive, trusting and allowed a butcher to sell her a suspiciously warm steak. Little flashes of the overripe meat squirming with maggots skipped through her mind.

“I hope you like this!”

She threw the steak into the ocean. A smile had eased onto her face.

After several minutes a bitter call echoed from the sea. “Not this, stupid.” The voice was scratchy and harsh; like a sweater. Goosebumps developed and her lungs burned.

‘What an unfortunate sound.’

Tenko wasn’t a beast per se. He was merely acting on instinct, but he wasn’t all bad. That idiot woman carried a delicious fragrance; her pores were just leaking it. His primal instincts demanded Tenko to clamp his beak over her clavicle. He wanted to peak at her flesh until only ribbons clung to her skeleton… but he was lonely. Tenko was lonely and needed a friend -- needed her. The woman’s cries seemed so inviting. She made pathetic little sounds that were like music to him. He decided to play along, in the hopes of revealing in her fear again.

Women weren’t unknown to Tenko; they were little sacks of meat that nourished him. However, this wench was something entirely different. She didn’t belong within the predetermined hierarchy and Tenko absolutely fucking hated her for it. Her gestures were carefree and swaying; large hips on full display. The woman wench deserved to know her place.

‘No one else would do it. It has to be me.’

An uncomfortable silence inched between them, the steak long gone. The realization wasn’t kind to her. This wasn’t an octopus; this was something worse. Something bad that could speak. Her skin felt slimy and dirty now. She rubbed at her ankles. Waiting for a response was becoming a real experience -- complete with the bells and whistles of anxiety. The woman’s back was on the sea. She refused to greet the monstrosity.

“I’m… sorry. It’s been so long since I had company.” A soft reflection was in the voice; gentle regret. How could she resist? Tenko was being vulnerable now, if not a little sad. But it was necessary. Feigning humanity would lead his prey in with wide, innocent eyes.

With a back turned, the woman took a step away from the benign waves. “You talk?” She didn’t want to ask anymore -- she didn’t want to engage the abnormality any further.

A low whistle crept across the oceanic landscape.

“Yes. Can we be f… friends?”

‘Her little brain must weigh nothing,’ Tenko thought, ‘A stupid broad like her is lucky to even be alive.’ The mortal was braindead enough to put trust in him, he didn’t even have to beg. Well, he didn’t have to beg as much as he anticipated. Her vibrating fear could be felt even within the depths of his domain. Tenko found it pathetic, in all honesty, but saliva pooled at the thought of her. Naked. Afraid. All primed and ready to be devoured… ‘Such a delicate body. It’s really a shame I’ll leave blemishes.’

Within a week’s time, the raspy, sea-salt coated voice was the woman’s dearest friend. Her only friend. It was unnatural at first. The ocean wasn’t sentient, it couldn’t have a soul, and yet something would respond to her questions and ramblings. Always patient and kind hearted. She was curious if the voice was even a sea creature.

‘What if you’re the sea?’

Her mouth opened and closed, mimicking a question. She was curious if the voice had a name. There was certainly nothing offered up; the voice had demanded the woman never swim again -- never look into the great depths. At her sheepish request, the voice shook with rage that trembled and quaked in their words. It was the first time the woman remembered that this voice wasn’t human and maybe it didn’t -- maybe they didn’t function by the natural laws of man.

A wave bumped against the beachfront. Her name carried off of the breeze, followed by a pause, and then, “What was your question?”

“It’s… uh, it’s stupid, really,” she replied, eyes stuck on her modest shack. Confidence was lacking in her voice; the woman now shrinking before Tenko.

The stench of her was in the water now; Tenko scrunched his face in response. Focusing on her was a part of the plan. His desire for the broad would be found eventually, but he needed to bite down any residual lust that floated around. Her smell was so pungent that it made Tenko’s stomach burn and twist. Like a heated wrench.

He was growing bored. Impatient. Hunting was never a show like this. Hunting was hunting -- killing and eating with bits of flesh mixing with crimson. The sea looked best like that; bloody, a massacre of sin. Tenko should have eaten her a week before. She was stupid and within his grasp… but he let her go. A mistake he wouldn’t make twice.

“Of course not! I like talking to you.” Inky black tentacles twitched under the curtain of waves. ‘She’d cower. Make herself as small as she needed to be; pathetic and crawling.’ Tenko grinned at the thought. She was nothing more than meat on a slab.

His words of encouragement were like a shock to the system. Something was in those words, something the woman craved. Her chest tightened and words washed upon shore, “Can… can I see you?”

It was a simple question, and yet Tenko hated it. He knew this day would come, but he prepared little in the way of comfort. His face twisted into a scowl as little angry bubbles surfaced.

“Why? Aren’t you afraid? I can feel your tremors from here.” Tenko wanted to squash her curiosity. This game of cat and mouse shouldn’t end so abruptly. He wanted more play time with his food. Fear was a seasoning that couldn’t be wasted. A precious resource only for him.

The ocean was quiet now, its rage worn down and tired. The woman looked out into the azure water and tried to gather her remaining courage. Tenko’s voice was unlike the kind tone she was accustomed to; his response was harsh and laced with seafoam. This wasn’t her disembodied companion. This was a creature.

“N-no,” she hesitated. Her words were anchored in her belly. She looked away from the azure abyss, fear creeping into her chest. The woman knew nothing of her companion -- only that he saved her. Surely, he couldn’t be some monstrous bundle of tentacles and eyes. He had to be more… human.

Silence sat between them. Tenko began to impulsively curl his tentacles. He found the quiet annoying and somehow a little frightening. Perhaps his meal was reconsidering their arrangement. ‘You couldn’t,’ Tenko thought while the sun shrunk behind a cloud, ‘you’re too stupid.’ Befriending him -- feeling sorry for such a gluttonous horror was a fool’s mistake. His heart hummed at the thought of her bare and bloodied.

The death of their conversation was awkward, if not heavy. Truthfully, the woman blamed herself for it. Feet nestled in warm sand; her mind straying back to Tenko. She knew he was beneath the oceanic canvas. Hidden away. ‘Hiding from me.’ Mournful eyes watched the sea. The day was dreary. No clouds. Sun scorned and resting. The sky held a drab palette; rainbows of blacks and grays formed into being. She wondered if the ocean was ever this ugly.

Tenko came to his great conclusion; ‘I can eat your pea-sized brain now, can’t I? You’re probably stinking with guilt. So worried about your only friend.’ Slowly, Tenko lifted the tip of his beak into the air. Her pungent rot was like driftwood; moldy and earthy. She sickened him, but his body and mind weren’t one. Two muddled pieces that ached for both devouring her whole, and filling her disgusting guts with him. Tenko wanted to breed her -- watch his mewling little mortal stretch with his eggs.

Tenko’s stomach growled.

“What -- what’s your name?”

His beak quickly retracted back into the salty brine. In his chest was a heart pounding against his rib cage. She was so close. She was so close. ‘Stupid and trustworthy. You’d do anything for a friend. You’d do anything… for me.’ Tenko realizes this and seizes his dinner bell, “T-Tenko. Can you come into the water?” Saliva pools at the back of his throat, “I’m lonely.”

The voice was heartbroken. His Tenko’s vocal cords were raspy, as if he gorged himself on salt water. A certain note of despair lingered in his sentence. The woman gave one last look into the vast blue before plunging her toes into saline waters.

It was as cold as the grave. Yet the coolness of it was relaxing. Hypnotizing. The ocean was calling out to her, its wet claws draped around her ankles, pleading with her to stay. She thought her ears caught a whisper from the depths; “Don’t go.”

Everything was falling into his lap. First, she decided to trust him. Then she found comfort. Now, she belongs to him. Every chunk of flesh, every spec of marrow -- all his. He would suck her bones dry and drain her. ‘I’m going to devour you in the worst way.’

Her voice trembled with an alien sort of fear, “Tenko…” Water soaked into her dress, the cotton sticking to her shivering form. “Tenko, I’m scared.” Salt water was plugged into her nostrils. The strong scent was almost nauseating. There was a dull twinge in her heart. ‘Magical octopi,’ she chanted, ‘enchanted animal that speaks!’ Despite her conviction, salivation was unheard. The icy water rested just under her collarbone. Its gentle current nipped at her skin. She suppressed a shiver, keeping her legs kicking. The woman waited until something spongy -- familiar -- grabbed her calf.

“You’re here.” The woman released a forgotten breath. Her chest was unraveling; the feeling of him was… comforting. This was her friend. ‘He wouldn’t hurt me.’ Her salt stained lips pitched into a grin.

Tenko envisioned violently dragging her squirming body. Little bubbles trailing behind, her last breaths. Gentle face painted into horror. He wondered if she would fight back; maybe pitifully grab at his tentacles? Tenko’s eyes widened in excitement, her legs sending waves. ‘Finally you made it, moron girl.’

His words were like a haunting chorus, “It’s okay,” her name was honey in the air, “Can… can you swim to me?” Tenko sounded cautious, ‘He’s worried about me.’ Her one friend -- her one true friend was concerned about her! The woman’s eyes were bright and alive. A smile played on her lips. Tiny butterflies felt like they were gathering in her chest. Tenko needed her. Needed his friend. The loneliness seemed to melt off while her legs worked against the sea, water splashing in every direction. Her body was numb; skin nothing more than drenched. She noted her dress was slowing her down. Tenko was leagues away -- almost impossible. Yet she persisted.

His tentacle was the thread guiding her home -- to him. The rubbery flesh was a trail behind her. It was a reminder that Tenko was close, somehow obscured under blankets of briny water. Looking into the blue void made her stomach tangle together in a mess of anxiety. There was an unknown factor -- a certain fear to the ocean now.

Tenko held a delicate grip. ‘I can’t squeeze you to death just yet.’ He hoped the woman’s death rattles were soft, nothing like a dying creature. Tenko knew she would struggle and seafoam would kick into her lungs, but a part of him wanted her to coo at him. Make little creamy pleas. Stuck in his mirth, Tenko began to pull. The sensation was lost on his meal; her mind too preoccupied with determination. Her feet no longer tapped against slimy seaweed. Instead, the abyss greeted her. Negative space gathered. Nothing to keep the woman afloat except for her own flailing limbs.

A rather thrashing limb caught Tenko in the beak. Instinct took over as he yanked the woman. Aggressive and without tolerance. His beak was strong enough for her kick, but the accidental assault felt purposeful. Her lungs filled only once; to scream. Blue fluttered into her line of sight while bubbles erupted into view. Water rushed into her lungs. She managed a cough, salt in her nose.

The woman fought against the pull. Waterlogged fingers slipping. She clawed at the tentacle as her expression froze in open-mouthed terror. Tenko wished he could see it, but the vibrations of her panicking body would have to do. He wanted to eat her panic. Swallow her whole and stare into the bloody waters she’d create.

“St-stop… struggling so d-damn much,” forming a sentence was hard. This woman -- this squishy little mortal -- continued to fight. Tenko wished she would claw at scratch at him, fear added a certain spice to his meals, but her insensent kicking must stop.

Tenko releases the woman, her little head shooting up and bobbling amongst the current. Greedy lungs sucked in sour sea air. The saline burned down her throat, but she was relieved. ‘I was going to die. Tenko… Tenko wanted to kill me!’ The realization hits like a sandbag. She has to leave now. This creature, no, this monster was nothing but death.

Before she can will her tired body, a melody drifts into her mind.

“Please don’t go.” He sounded so mournful. Grief laced into every word.

She looks into the great blue before responding, “I have to.” Tears brim her eyes, making the world glassy. This was her only friend and yet he wanted to harm her. There was something dangerous to this creature.

Tenko grew impatient. She should simply accept him as he is. This doesn’t need to be unnecessarily difficult… but she was making it difficult. Couldn’t this broad see Tenko only wanted to fill her half eaten, frail body with eggs? It’s a compliment, an implied attraction, and she just had to ruin it. Her little brain cannot even begin to comprehend the damage she’s done.

With great effort, Tenko continued his heartbreaking colloquy, “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t m-mean it.” It’s burdensome to speak such lies, even more of a bother to project them into such an idiot. However, Tenko knew this woman had kindness tucked into her heart. She had no other choice but to forgive. “You want to see me, don’t you? The curiosity must be suffocating.”

She did… She had wondered what Tenko looked like; her mind’s eye wasn’t content with a mermaid. The woman had to see him in all of his glory. His voice was mesmerizing, like sharp ocean currents beating against rock. Her heart slowed to an acceptable pace. The organ no longer hammered into her. Her pulse wasn’t in her ears and the only thing in her stomach was an airy bit of hope. ‘Tenko probably hasn’t had any visitors before. I’m -- I’m his first.’ There was a strange comfort in being Tenko’s only friend.

Something hard bumped against her leg. “Tenko?” She asked, voice small and soft. A vortex of salt water swirled underneath her as a head peaked from beneath a crest of waves. Tenko wasn’t quite as she imagined; her friend resembled a kraken more than a man. His beak was half-way submerged, stringy white hair clung to his worn face. He wore a gentle expression. Her eyes softened at his humanity. Tenko was so close she could smell him. The sharp scent of brine and seaweed permeated the air. A certain warmth settled into her belly.

“Can I… touch you?”

The woman nodded. His tentacle -- slimy now -- interlocked around her arm. The appendage was spongy and its suction cups held onto her with care. She melted into his touch while Tenko guided her into his bare chest. She looked up at him, big doe eyes that held nothing but admiration for the monster. ‘A pity,’ Tenko thought, ‘You didn’t really struggle, did you? You want to be full of my eggs.’ Tenko asserted this belief as another tentacle found the small of her back. Another snaked up her waist and landed on a clothed breast. She shivered in his embrace, the frigid water now soaked into her bones.

Ancient words danced in her mind, “Give yourself to me.” No emotion was behind her eyes, no hint of a human. Instead she steeled herself -- perfect and waiting for Tenko. She was a gift for him. Roughly, his tentacles roamed her body. His suction cups latched and unlatched onto bits of sodden flesh. She was mushy and delicate, like algae. Tenko could break apart her body, bone by bone, until she was dust stuck in his suction cups. A hushed mewl fell from her lips once Tenko brushed against a sensitive nipple. Her face was flushed and glistening. There was a crinkle in her eyes; a foreign ecstasy. The woman’s body hadn’t experienced such a fiery, electric sensation before.

“Don’t…” She buries her face in his chest, “don’t stop, Tenko.” It was too mortifying to allow such a divine creature see her like this. Body peppered with pink and chest heaving against him. She leaned into his touch. He kneaded her skin, spongy suction cups tweaking her nubs. Tenko could feel himself begin to swell, tentacles fat and aching. He looked down at her, drool trailing down his beak.

An eager tentacle harshly grabbed her drenched garment and quickly discarded it to the sea. The woman’s body instinctively shivered, nerves still tender. “Stay still,” Tenko commanded as a tentacle slithered down her stomach, stopping at her waistband.

“Please.” Her eyes are like saucers, innocent and begging. Tenko indulged and a tentacle stroked her wet cunt. The sloppy noise mixed with her insensent moans. It was a chorus of vulgarity. Tenko, however, made no sound. His vocal chords vibrated with animalistic grunts as he explored her body. Another obscene groan finally encouraged the beast; a single tentacle slipped between her thighs.

Her pudgy walls gripped his swollen tentacle like a vice. “S-slow down, Tenko.” The woman felt violated. Tenko was going too fast, not allowing for rest. His tentacle plunged into her, prodding her womb. “Stop! It hurts!” The woman grit her teeth while trying to stifle a cry.

“Quit whining,” Tenko sneered, sharp beak biting down on her collarbone. Iron flooded Tenko’s mouth and a whine played on his lips. She was sweeter than anything -- anyone he had tasted before. Her tainted scent was nothing compared to the meat before him. A piercing yelp sounded from the woman. The shrillness of it only spurred Tenko; his beak gnawing at her open wound.

An orgy of violence and bliss swirled in her mind, twisting into one. Divinity itself was biting into her and marking her as his own. His fat tentacle stretched her to an almost inhuman degree; her face sweaty and mouth open. Drool pooled into her wound and mixed with Tenko’s spit. She wanted to reach up and touch it, feel the feral brand he left. She adjusted to his size, an unfamiliar hotness gathering between her legs.

“F-faster, please.”

Another ethereal voice called to her, carried from the breeze, “You want me to fill you with eggs, don’t you? Say it.”

Dribble spat from her mouth, “Tenko, I want -- please make me fat with your eggs! Breed me!” Painfully, Tenko hammered into her doused cunt, pushing against her cervix, the spongy flesh almost like a pillow. Welcoming. Warming. Wanting him. Her pussy fit perfectly around his engorged tentacle, milking him for every bit of slimy pre-cum.

“Take my eggs, broad,” Tenko growls as a miry egg sloshes into her womb.

A cry permeates the air. “Too big, Tenko. Too big,” the woman heaves. Her mind swimming with one simple phrase; “You’ll be such a good moma.”

#shigiraki x reader #tenko x reader #yandere bnha #smut

281 notes · View notes

novelconcepts · 3 years

Text

fic: something to hang on to

When Jamie buys a camera, she isn’t really thinking about it. They’re driving through Virginia, stopped off at a little gas station; Dani’s outside filling the rental Jeep, which puts Jamie on snack-duty. At the counter, she spots a display of disposable cameras and, almost without thinking, adds one to the pile of sugar and caffeine. It isn’t a plan. Isn’t for any particular reason.

Dani, pawing through the plastic bag of their spoils, raises it from a mess of M&Ms and Pringles and says, “You like photography?” She asks it the way she asks everything, like every little detail she learns about Jamie is another brand-new color added to the shine of the world. Jamie shrugs.

“Never was much for it, but this brave new land is pretty enough. Don’t mind keeping track of it for later.”

It’s more than that, she thinks as Dani raises the viewfinder to her eye and clicks a photo of Jamie behind the wheel, one hand steering, the other stretching across the center console to rest on Dani’s knee. I almost lost you once, Poppins. Wouldn’t have had anything but my own memory to remember you by. This...this will help.

Later, much later, years later, Jamie will look back on that moment as one of her wisest. Later, on a bed she can no longer sleep in, holding a thick album between shaking hands, she’ll think some of the most important choices you ever make are split-second recklessness. A camera, tossed in at the last second. A habit, built on nothing more than needing Dani’s smile immortalized.

Open the album. Take a breath. Flip the page.

***

A photo: Dani sprawled on a red-and-white beach towel, chin propped on folded arms, gazing out away from the camera as though she has no idea anyone is watching.

They’re with Henry and the kids--the first time they’ve seen the Wingrave family since the events at the house, and, though they don’t know it, one of the last times they’ll see them all together--in Florida. It’s strange, Jamie reflects, watching Miles chase Flora across an endless strip of sand. Strange how much world can fit into one country. England was green, rolling with hill and fog and haunted by things older than any of them can imagine. Florida feels...young, somehow. Too warm, too bright, too perfect on a Saturday afternoon.

She’s hugging her knees, seated on a blanket with Dani sitting just an inch further away than she’d like. It’s the safe thing, the smart thing, but she misses her--misses the way they sit in hotel rooms and empty bars, knees touching, pinkies overlapping. Dani, in a sundress that matches the blue of her right eye, is laughing as Miles grabs Flora around the middle and tries with all his ten-year-old strength to hoist her off the ground.

“Miles,” Henry calls, his voice laden with the anxiety of a man who has only just begun learning how to parent. “Miles, be careful--”

“They’re all right,” Jamie interrupts, tossing a handful of warm sand toward Henry’s precarious perch on a plastic chair. "Have you been wound this tight the whole fucking time?”

He looks pained. “You’ll excuse me for never having raised two children before. They’ve been a bit...”

“Precocious?” Dani suggests brightly.

“Demonic?” Jamie says at the same time. Henry sighs.

“Adventurous, shall we say, to meet in the middle.”

“They haven’t been...” Dani’s smiling, the way Jamie has grown accustomed to over the last few months: a beautiful smile that never entirely reaches her eyes. It’s the way she smiles when she thinks she needs to wear a mask of stability, when she needs everyone to think she’s doing all right.

Henry frowns. “Haven’t been what?”

Dani shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Scared? Having nightmares? I don’t know...”

She’s asking-not-asking about that night, like she told Jamie she wasn’t going to do. They don’t need me bringing it up, she’d said back at the hotel, holding tight to Jamie in a way that said she very much needed to talk about this against her own will. They deserve to just live their lives.

Henry looks puzzled. “Strange, but no. No nightmares. Flora had a few at the very start, before we left London, but...no. Not since arriving here.”

Dani nods like this is all she wants to hear, and rubs her cheek with one slightly-sunburnt hand, the moment passing into obscurity as Flora shrieks and Miles trips directly into an oncoming wave. It’s all good here, all sunshine and ease of temper, and Jamie watches Henry stand. Brush off shorts that look truly insane set against his pale legs. Go awkward-jogging into the surf to lift a giggling Flora heavenward.

“They make a fine little family,” she says, pitching her voice so only Dani can hear. Dani nods. There’s a tightness to her mouth that says she’s only half here, only half able to let the sun bake away the shadows. Jamie touches her ankle lightly, wishing they were somewhere less requiring of distance.

“I’m all right,” Dani says. Not a lie of intent, at least, though Jamie suspects it’s more that she wants to be all right. She watches Dani roll onto her front, eyes on the endless ocean, the children tumbling around in its gentle grasp, the man doing his best to keep up.

Could watch her forever, Jamie thinks, knowing it’s far too early to say something so catastrophically huge. She’s been having these thoughts more and more, wild notions of turning this brand-new adventure with Dani into a lifetime event. It turns a key somewhere deep within her chest, some far-off engine making a deep rumbling sound that sends her tripping toward a very real, very powerful feeling of terror.

Her hand slips toward the bag of sunscreen, paperback novels, sliced oranges. A camera, small and yellow and used mainly in moments like this one, emerges. Dani never notices as she brings it to her eye, frames Dani’s blonde ponytail and sun-pink skin, snaps a photo.

Later, when the pictures are developed and spread out across a hotel bedspread, shots of Miles with an orange-peel grin and Flora standing before a monster of a sandcastle intercut with Dani’s far-off pensive expression, Dani will touch the print. Lingeringly, fingers trembling just the slightest bit.

“Why this one?”

Because I loved you more than words could capture, Jamie will know it’s far too early to say. It’d be reckless. It’d be testing the bounds of something still fragile, still one-day-at-a-time hopeful.

“Why not?” she’ll say, and tuck the photo safely back into its sleeve.

***

A photo: Jamie and Dani, backs to the freshly painted Leafling sign, standing carefully apart with shoulders back and a small bouquet of flowers clutched in Dani’s hands.

They keep to themselves, mainly, but some of the nearby shopkeepers have been kind as The Leafling goes from mad late-night concept to brick-and-mortar reality. They bring welcome-to-the-block plants and casseroles that are mostly-edible, and Dani accepts each one with true Midwestern courtesy. Jamie leans back, watches the art of neighborly behavior being painted before her eyes: older women who compliment Dani on her earrings, young men bullied into helping move heavy boxes into storage by their mothers. Dani, in the middle of it all, wearing a soft pastel sweater and a smile that has finally remembered its own strength.

She wasn’t sure how this would go, if Jamie’s honest about it. She’s been telling Dani not to worry for weeks, telling Dani they don’t need to know much about a business to run this one. I grow, you arrange, we make out like bandits with all the nice Americans who value pretty things. It’ll be perfect, Poppins. She’s been saying it, and she thinks she even believes her own words most of the time, but there have been dreams. Anxiety running its red thread through her sleep, telling her she has no skill in this arena, no education to speak of, no idea how to survive in American business while hiding her relationship with her “business partner”.

The day the shop finally opens, Jamie has been saying “it’s going to be great” for so long, she almost surprises herself by rushing into the bathroom and vomiting into the toilet. Dani, expression warm and just the tiniest bit teasing, leans against the doorframe.

“You all right?”

“Perfect,” Jamie gasps, staggering to the sink and thrusting a toothbrush into her mouth. “Jus’ great.”

“Too late to turn back now,” Dani points out. “What would we do with all the business cards?”

Jamie groans, spitting mint foam and rinsing out her mouth. “You could show just the slightest bit less glee, Poppins. I’ve just run us into a brick wall of imminent failure.”

Dani laughs, coming up behind her to hug her tight around the middle. “We should probably at least unlock the doors for the first time before you decide it’s time to shutter them again.”

She’s good today, Jamie senses--not the fake-good where she tries her best to pretend she isn’t listening for some deep-down movement Jamie can’t register, but truly happy. Her body is relaxed, her hands certain as she tips Jamie’s cheek and kisses her calm.

“How,” Jamie gasps when they break, “are you not out of your bloody mind right now?”

Dani shrugs. “It’s like the first day of school. Spend all summer planning and worrying, but now it’s happening. Just gotta jump in.”

There are already people waiting when they arrive, to Jamie’s mingled horror and delight. Most of them are their fellow shopkeepers, waiting with the brilliant smiles of people who have already lived this particular nightmare themselves, and just want to pay forward the relief of customers actually turning up. They’re kind, these people--they don’t know Jamie in the least, don’t have the first idea what shadows lurk behind Dani’s eyes, but they take their hands, squeeze, and congratulate them all the same. Jamie thinks they even mean it, most of them. Americans are complicated, boisterous, scandalous people--but they can have such heart.

One woman, old enough to be Jamie’s grandmother, presses a bouquet of peonies against Dani’s chest. “For luck,” she says croakily, patting Dani’s cheek like she’s known her since Dani was three feet tall. “Dry ‘em, hang ‘em somewhere in the back. Remember we’re all rooting for you.”

“Rooting,” a man who owns a nearby pizzeria hoots. “Good one, Carol!”

Jamie almost rolls her eyes, but Dani is beaming. When the others make flapping get in front of the sign gestures, they can’t help but obey, standing with a perfectly-maintained half-person between their shoulders. She wants so badly to reach over, to take Dani’s hand, to kiss her with all the terror and relief she’d never known she could feel at once. Instead, she smiles as professionally as she knows how for the camera someone produces. It’s enough.

Later, tapping a finger against the print the photographer drops on their counter, Jamie says, “Look like I want to pass out.”

Dani glances toward the window, takes note of the empty street, presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’d have caught you.”

***

A photo: Jamie, sitting just behind Dani on a plush couch, arm wrapped around her waist, cheek pressed to flyaway blonde hair. Dani, grinning her widest, cheesiest grin, leaning back like she knows there is no world in which Jamie would ever let her fall.

There are parties, occasionally--usually thrown by other under-the-radar couples they get along with well enough for drinks, not so much that they truly build relationships. They like the quiet life, the two-person road trips, the easy silence after a long day. But, sometimes, life is grand and big and loud, and on those nights, they venture out into the world.

There are a pair of men maybe five years their senior who have been together for “a decade”, if you ask Mike, “a century”, if it’s Paul telling the tale. They’re good people, and their home is a safe space Jamie doesn’t anticipate finding.

Friends are hard, she thinks. Always were, but they’re so much harder once you’ve lost a couple.

Still: when Mike and Paul are set to celebrate a round ten years together (”An eternity,” Paul clarifies, leaning against the Leafling counter to invite them over), they go. Dani wants to, and it’s good seeing Dani want things like this. It’s been almost a year together, almost a year of exploring the map and one another, and Dani’s been getting softer around the edges, less prone to jumping at shadows. The Dani Clayton of a year ago wouldn’t want to attend parties, lest the beast inside leap while her guard is lowered; the Dani Clayton of tonight is holding up a dark green dress, brow furrowed.

“Too much?”

Jamie hums a moment to buy herself time. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’d like to actually leave the house tonight.” Jamie wiggles her eyebrows, buttoning a black shirt and searching for a good pair of suspenders. Dani laughs.

“I think you can keep your hands to yourself for a few hours.”

“You,” Jamie points out, sidling up behind her and kissing her neck, “have always had entirely too much faith in me, Poppins.”

Dani is, however, a woman of her word when it comes to accepting social invitations, and soon they’re sitting on an exceptionally soft couch in an exceptionally loud living room. Jamie glances around, reading the environment, registering the two women holding hands by the coffee table, the men dancing near the kitchen, the way even the male-female pairs seem not to see anything odd. Mike and Paul have been doing this a long time. This is as safe a space as their own home.

She likes the way Dani relaxes, a little more with every drink tucked into her hand, a little more with a lit cigarette pulled from Jamie’s, a little more still when Mike nudges her and mutters, “Your girl looks good tonight, Clayton.”

She likes, most of all, the way Dani doesn’t flinch away when a Polaroid comes out. These are good people, brave people, smart people. If there are photos taken tonight, they will be pressed straight into the hands of their subjects, gifted away before the chemicals have even processed.

Dani presses back against her, seated on her lap, laughing at some joke Jamie hasn’t really been paying attention to. She’s too busy watching Dani’s profile, the way her head tips back when she’s really laughing, too hard to care what she looks like. Too busy reveling in how it feels to hold Dani in a setting so much more public than usual, her fingers stroking the soft material of Dani’s dress, her body burning and the most comfortable it’s ever been.

Later, with the Polaroid on the nightstand, the green dress on the floor, and a sheet tucked up against the fall chill, Dani says, “We should do that more.”

Jamie chuckles against her shoulder, kissing a patch of freckles. “This?”

“Yes.” Dani wriggles a little, giggling. “But also that.” She’s gesturing to the photo, propped between a lamp and copy of some old Shirley Jackson novel. “It was nice, wasn’t it? Not...”

“Hiding,” Jamie supplies. Dani makes a humming noise soft in her throat.

“I like not hiding you.”

***

A photo: Dani, eyes dark with a smolder only Jamie ever sees, a cigarette between her lips, hair loose around her shoulders.

Nights spent home with Dani, nights where there are no groceries to pick up, no accounting to be done, no errands waiting to be noticed, are Jamie’s absolute favorite thing in the world. There’s just something about this sense of home they’ve been building together, this sense of locked door and secured window and no one else invited to partake that gets Jamie the way nothing else does.

Especially Dani. Dani at home is less reserved, less careful. With every month that passes quietly, no sign of anything but her own mind, Dani gets a little less tight. A little less prone to gazing off into the middle distance. A little less likely to disappear from an otherwise-normal conversation, emerging several minutes later like she’s pulling herself out of a dream.

And, some nights, she’s not just here--she’s utterly present, every atom of her tuned to Jamie like they have no need of space between them, no need of separation. These nights, the nights where Dani strides into the room on a mission, are Jamie’s favorite of all.

“Why,” Dani says, leaning back in a kitchen chair with legs spread and head tilted to exhale smoke toward the ceiling, “are you looking at me like that?”

“Me?” Jamie teases. “You’re the one gazing at me like I’m some terribly interesting new buffet.”

She’s half-joking, but there’s something about the way Dani looks at her on this very particular sort of night, with every line of her body tuned toward Jamie’s, that makes her feel a stupid kind of brave. A reckless kind of excitement unwinds outward, until her fingertips itch to grab at Dani’s hair, her knees weak with the desire to pull Dani close.

She’s doing it now, smoking that cigarette with all the languid energy of a woman perfectly at home, watching Jamie with a faint smirk playing around her lips. No one else sees that smirk, Jamie understands, and it makes her a little faint every time she thinks it. To have something of Dani, some integral comfortable part of Dani that belongs solely to their apartment, their life together, is still a good fortune Jamie can’t entirely parse out.

Her hand moves toward the camera, small and plastic and containing some of the best memories of Dani she desperately needs to keep. Dani lets her snap off a shot, shakes her head when Jamie lowers the camera.

“That’s going to be one of yours.”

She says it every time Jamie tries to capture the white-hot energy of this kind of evening. Dani doesn’t like to see herself through this particular lens, gets fidgety and embarrassed at the sight of her own face etched with such a confident hunger. Jamie asked the first time if Dani wanted her to stop taking the photos altogether, and Dani had shaken her head.

“I don’t mind. But they’re yours, okay?”

She sets the camera aside, moving to take the cigarette out of Dani’s hand, taking a long drag and dropping it in an ashtray. The rest doesn’t need anything in the way--no lens, no embarrassment, nothing but the way Dani’s mouth opens beneath hers, hands already roaming. The rest is not Jamie’s, but theirs, a joint ownership of soft moans and soft skin and soft assurances that this is still, always, home.

Later, with Dani asleep, one hand thrown loosely over Jamie’s hip, Jamie will look at the photos that are hers and hers alone. Dani, mouth wet and swollen from a night spent confined to their bedroom around their anniversary. Dani, grinning and half-asleep, glancing over her shoulder to coax Jamie into putting the camera down, joining her among the blankets. Dani, smoke-haze around her face, wine glass in her hand, looking just past the camera at Jamie’s own desire.

Dani’s choice to share a life with her, Dani’s decision to share every inch of herself with Jamie, is more than Jamie feels anyone deserves.

***

A photo: Dani in front of the Eiffel Tower, sunglasses on, arms spread wide.

A photo: Dani kneeling at the Grand Canyon, gesturing bewilderment at the sheer scope of the place.

A photo: Dani standing before the alleged largest ball of twine in the world, looking rather like she regrets letting Jamie pick the destination this time.

They travel until Dani can’t stomach it anymore, can’t take the uncertainty of unknown roads and unmapped hotel beds--but, first, years of travel. Years of postcards and rental cars, of Jamie turning maps upside down and Dani being shockingly savvy in small-town situations.

These photos, more than any other, feel like they have to be taken for someone else’s idea of posterity, and Jamie feels a little strange, at first. Dani’s already seen much of Europe by the time they meet, and has no photos whatsoever to show for it. Jamie, who started turning up in photos for the first time as an adult, says, “It’ll be good to show ‘em off,” while never quite bringing herself to the edge of an unspoken follow-up question: to whom, exactly? It isn’t as though she and Dani are having children, isn’t as though there will be grandkids tottering around down the line to tune out their stories. Who, exactly, are these mementos for?

Dani is far too kind, far too pragmatic, to put the question to her. Dani only poses, grins, lets Jamie take all the pictures she wants, and then--camera tucked safely away once more--grabs Jamie’s hands and leads her into living it: the food, the outdoor markets, the snowstorms, the sun-kissed hikes. As the years go by, Jamie takes more and more photos, never quite able to explain to herself why it’s so critical. Never quite able to look away when Dani finally covers the lens with one hand and brings her close, kissing her like it’s the first time.

They stop looking at these photos together, after a while. Stop trying so hard to go back, as the days grow shorter and the exhaustion begins to steal the warmth from Dani’s smile. At first, it’s about moving forward--always one foot in front of the other. At first, every photo taken is set aside as a gift to another life. And then, finally, it’s about the moment they’re in, nothing more. Jamie sets the camera on a shelf. Refuses to look at Dani through any barrier but her own two eyes. Dani doesn’t like the snap-click of the camera anymore, anyway--each time, she flinches, like Jamie is about to show her a glimpse of whatever horror she’s been seeing in the mirror.

I only see you, Jamie promises, the ache in her chest so great, she’s sure it will swallow them both. But Dani can’t bring herself to look. Can’t bring herself, just in case Jamie is wrong.

Later--so much later, with eyes stinging and arms empty--she flips through the album and remembers Spain, California, Minnesota, Greece. Later, she finds Dani sticking her tongue out, spinning like a deranged nun out of musical, sitting quietly in a cafe with a small cup of coffee warming her hands. Dani, stiff-shouldered and trying not to laugh as Jamie made faces the one time they ever ventured back to Iowa. Dani, hair blowing back into her face, arms looped around Jamie at a terrifying, exhilarating first Pride parade.

And, in the back, the photos of Dani as only Jamie knew her. The sly grin a second before pinning Jamie to the couch. The sweet surprise from Jamie coming home early with dinner. Shot after shot of no make-up, or smudged eyeliner, or ruined lipstick, of Dani in pajamas on Christmas, or Dani in bed after a shower, or Dani laughing herself silly at nothing Jamie can remember now.

They’re all here, and they’re all Dani--all of Dani Jamie’s got left now--and still, they’re wrong. They sit, plastic and unyielding, beneath flimsy protective sheets, and they don’t laugh like Dani, don’t breathe out against her skin like Dani, don’t smell like Dani’s shampoo or swear like Dani tripping over a shoe in the dark or look at her with that solid, palpable love like Dani did and should still and never will again.

Jamie sits, album in her lap, staring down at Dani with paint smudged on her cheek and their then-new bedroom behind her, and suddenly can’t remember how to breathe. Had she known? Somewhere in the back of her mind that day in a gas station, picking up a little yellow disposable camera, had she known that one day, this would be all she had left of Dani? Surely not. Surely, she hadn’t believed it would go this way, all the way back then. Surely, it was one day at a time, and we’ll have time, and any day with you, Poppins.

Had she known? No. No, of course she hadn’t.

And yet, the idea of not having these in front of her--the idea of Dani’s face slowly, surely, washing away over time as Jamie fails to find her in a world so uncompromisingly cruel...

She touches a shot of Dani with her left hand covering her mouth, her ring gleaming gold against her smile, the day the state had legalized civil unions. Dani as gold as sunshine, in one of the last truly clean moments, before old ghost stories dug rotting fingers into their life. Her vision grays, her head suddenly too heavy to hold up.

She hadn’t known. But she’s glad. She’s glad she has, at least, this much to hang on to.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #put it on the list of stuff you can blame jess for #as with everything I have ever written I thought it was going one way and then it did something else

182 notes · View notes

straydawg-writing · 3 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦.

- 𝓚. 𝙯𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙮𝙘𝙠

• hunter x hunter series!

summary:

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

��𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮.

𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙝.

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨.

ˏˋ♡̩͙♡̩̩̥͙♡̩̥̩ ⋆ ♡̩̥̩♡̩̩̥͙♡̩͙̩͙ˊˎ

- 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙆𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙖. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩. (𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙩 𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙘)

┕━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┙

Chapter 1 —

⋯✰⋯

"Book."

"Gain!"

Bisky's eyes shined like stars as a smooth blue gemstone appeared in front of her. You could spot tears of hers spring up as she cradled the glittering rock like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"What should I name it? Blue-chan? Planet-chan?" she gushed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. You stifled a laugh, catching a glimpse of Killua's dumbfounded expression. If one thing were true, it's that he does not understand women.

While Gon and Killua endured Bisky's brutal training during Greed Island, you had grown to like her. Despite her being 45 years older than you, you imagined she was the closest thing to what a big sister would be like. Or maybe a mom? You wouldn't know.

Unfortunately, you weren't special enough to escape her unforgiving training either. Bisky knew no mercy. While training their physical bodies, she also trained the trio's nen abilities.

Gon developed his special punch move by using the rock, paper, scissors of Chinese martial arts. Killua learned how to better channel his electricity, though Bisky had looked concerned when he first demonstrated it to her. You couldn't blame her. Killua's ability to withstand electricity only came from years of shock torture, and you noticed how he rarely mentions the fact that he still feels the pain. You caught on to it the night you watched his Heaven's Arena match, remembering his voice floating to the stands.

"𝘐'𝘮 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴."

Your heart clenched for him every time you remember this fact. He has a tendency to hide his pain, in order to not burden his friends.

Then there's you, who Bisky took upon herself to help.

Since the day Wing opened your nen pores and declared you a Manipulator, you practiced your nen with Gon and Killua daily. When the time came to decide your special ability, the answer was as clear to you as a cloudless sky.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

Since then you'd been seen carrying around leather pouches of dirt, water, and vines wherever you went. It was a nice start, but it sure did make your back hurt. And of course, Bisky would not accept that. Ordering you to dump out all of your pouches to the ground, she had you draw out your power from the scattered elements that had begun already mixing with the dirt.

Unsure, you had hesitantly stretched out your arm and tried pulling from the water. It took you a number of tries to get it right. You had squinted long and hard, focusing on extending your nen to the elements around you. To your giddy surprise, small, sparkling droplets of H20 were separating from the glob of inky mud to float just a few inches above your hands. Concentrating harder, the droplets began orbiting one another. They looked like little planets.

Sensing the vines, you were able to control their movements too, even manipulating ones that hadn't originated from your leather pouch.

Bisky's wide smile was all that you needed.

From that day on, you only practiced manipulating whatever was around you. The earth was your ally.

"Well, what will you do once you find Ging?" Bisky's voice snapped you out of a daze.

"Naturally, I'll introduce him to Killua, my best friend in the whole world!"

"What am I, a roach?" You mocked, but couldn't keep a smile from spreading across your face.

Gon's unyielding positivity and bubbly voice was like honey to your ears. No one could ever doubt the adoration he held for his best friend.

"Stupid, cut that out! It's embarrassing," said Killua, turning red as a tomato. He looked away in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, except you were right there to catch his blush.

You flashed a mischievous smile to Killua. "You know, I think an I-Love-You-Too-Gon-I-Also-Think-You're-The-Best would suffice once in a while."

"Shut up."

Killua was as stubborn as ever. You are playfully rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to the rest of the group. Gon was inviting Bisky to come with them and meet Ging, but she had said something about not being interested in men who already have kids.

"If I stay with you any longer, I really will get too attached..." Bisky tried to mask it, but you've always been good at noticing little details. She was going to miss them. And truth be told, you were going to miss her too.

"The hunter world is a small place. We'll all see each other again in no time!" you reassured your friends. "See you later, Bisky."

"Take care, Bisky." Gon said his goodbyes, Killua nodding next to him.

⋯✰⋯

"Accompany on."

"Nigg!"

At that, a bright light enveloped all of them, streaking them through the sky. Every time you did this on Greed Island, you had always shut your eyes tight. You'd never get used to the feeling.

The next thing you knew, the three of you landed in an area thick with white fog. It was slightly chilly, causing you to shiver. A hundred feet in front of you was a tall sakura tree with roots so large they could be mistaken for a magical beast. It had to have been there for at least a couple hundred years. Soft, pink petals drifted in the wind, dancing around you and your friends. As your eyes focused, you noticed a shadowy man reclining on the tree's roots. Could it be Ging?

Before you realized what was happening, the mysterious man turned towards the three of you and opened fire on Gon.

Then, Killua was diving in slow motion and pulling Gon out of the way and the two of them were rolling on the ground holding onto each other. Getting a hold of your senses, you looked down at dozens of bullets that had made holes in the ground and noticed an injured ant lying motionless on the floor. The thing was completely decapitated.

"Now look what you've done, you killed an innocent soul!" you exclaimed to the man, pointing at the poor bug.

"That's not Ging..." Gon whispered.

"What was that all about?! First, you push us down, then you fire at us. Stop messing around!" Killua accused the Not-Ging.

After helping Gon back up, Killua examined the insect too. That is, before it ruthlessly attacked him.

"Oh. It wasn't dead," you stated the obvious.

The man quickly finished off the ant biting Killua's leg with his machine gun before scoffing at you. He took off the black jacket he was wearing, unveiling straight, platinum white hair so long it almost touched the floor. You could get a better look at him now. He was lanky, and the beret he wore casted a shadow over his eyes. If you had to guess, you'd say he's about 6'3. Just who was this man? Had God finally sent an angel to cleanse you from your sins?

"I was being dead serious. If I hadn't opened fire, you would have been attacked. That was no ordinary ant, it was a Chimera Ant."

"A what?"

"An aggressive, carnivorous insect that's been designated Quarantine Level 1. You three didn't realize it, but you were standing right in front of their nest. If I hadn't fired the moment I did, an army of Chimera Ants would have consumed all of you by now," the angel explained.

You gawked at his beautiful long locks, gracefully flying in the wind as he turned to leave.

Gon seemed to have recognized the man, asking something about if he were the one who had saved him back then. Gon told a story about being rescued from a fox bear, though it looked like he had remembered something else because he held his cheek as if he'd just been hit. For the first couple of seconds, the man looked at Gon like he was in denial about the person right in front of him. Then, like it was nothing, he called Gon by his name. And if by a miracle, he also knew Ging.

"My name is Kite. Ging was my master."

You nudged Killua, "Did you hear that?! He knows Gon's dad!" Killua looked just as shocked as you.

The three of you followed Kite to a small campfire as he told them stories about Ging, himself, and his current mission. You were thankful for the heat source, warming your hands against the flame as it was only getting colder as night fell. You cursed yourself for not being like Gon and Killua, who always had their long sleeve layers and could just strip them whenever the weather deemed it necessary. All you were wearing were burgundy shorts, combat boots, and a black t-shirt. And of course, your necklace. You reached your hand and held onto the choker pendent around your neck. It was all you had left of your home. Just holding onto the pink pendent brought you enough comfort to warm you from the inside out again.

The sun was beginning to set by the time you met Kite's friends and the cute dog that had taken a liking to Gon. Your eyes softened as you watched Gon play with the puppy, having found its sweet spot right behind its ear. He caught you staring, and flashed his pearly whites.

"Y/N, come rub his belly! He's so soft!"

Getting up from your spot next to Killua and wiping the dust off your shorts, you traveled to where Gon was now teaching the dog new tricks.

"How are you gonna teach him anything without any dog treats?" you asked, petting the little dog.

"With this!" Gon pulls out a handful of goldfish from his pocket. He tossed one to the pup, who caught it in midair.

You held in a laugh. "Gon, why do you just have goldfish lying around in your pockets like that?"

"You don't always have time to snack when you're training you know.. Plus, It's in a baggy!" He showed you the zip -block bag that was stuffed inside the pocket of his green shorts, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. This time you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Oh I see, as long as it's in a bag, right? Can I see one?"

Gon nodded and put some goldfish in the palm of your hand. Looking for Killua, you spotted him sitting on a log watching as the sun set under the ocean's horizon. He looked so ethereal as the orange light reflected off of him. The light made his fluffy white hair shine, and a slight breeze made delicate strands wisp in the wind like snowflakes. You almost felt bad for disturbing the picturesque scene in front of you.

"Hey, Killua! Come feed this dog Gon's two-year-old musty goldfish with me!"

Yeah, you had ruined the moment.

"It's not two years old! I bought it in Yorknew," he whined.

"But it's musty?"

Killua walked up to the two of you with a questioning look, and you paused your bickering to hold open his hand and transfer the goldfish. The dog barked.

"I'm not sure, animals typically run away once they smell Mike on me," he said, referring to the oversized human-eating guard dog at the Zoldyck estate. Considering it's job was to deter people, you guessed that made sense. Still, you had faith that this innocent pup could show Killua some love. He needed the free therapy.

"Just try it!" Gon pushed.

Killua succumbed to Gon's request, holding the treat out to the tail-wagging puppy. Though, instead of taking the treat, it knocked Killua clean over, licking his face.

"What the heck— Help!" Killua desperately tried wiping the slimy slobber off of his lips.

"I think he's trying to kiss you." You giggled.

Mission accomplished!

"Kite did say that hunters are well-liked by animals. This means you're a great hunter, Killua!" Gon excitedly shared.

Killua offered a small smile. "I haven't passed the test yet, dummy."

⋯✰⋯

author's notes: hope you guys liked the first chapter! i'm excited to keep this story going!

#hunterxhunter #killua x reader #killua fanfiction #hunter x hunter fanfiction #killua zoldyck #self insert #killua zoldyck x reader #chimera ant arc #kite #gon

89 notes · View notes

kurosara · 3 years

Text

Hongjoong x Reader

I didn’t proofread this or anything. I just wrote some middle of the night comfort I needed.

Angst, sad

I felt my spine unconsciously shiver as yet another cool breeze fluttered heavily past me. A quick glance at my phone told me it was nearing 3 in the morning. The dim light of the screen faded, as my eyes cast back to the bare sky. It was a new moon tonight, and there weren’t many stars out either. There wasn’t anything interesting in the chilly fall weather, unless you counted the never slowing raindrops falling down my cheeks.

Why was I even crying again?

I couldn’t remember. I’d been crying that long. It hadn’t felt like it, but I’ve been sitting on the balcony of my bedroom, suffering in the chilled air, for nearly 6 hours. How long could such an overwhelming feeling last?

An eternity…

A cynical voice taunted me further with evasive thoughts similar to this. It’s dark, and lonely. I’ve whispered curses and wishes to no one. I’ve replied to… no one. Because all I could wonder was if anyone was really listening. The neatly decorated interior, fit with (f/c) furniture and various art pieces and large photos of me and my boyfriend hanging on the wall, felt eerily cruel the moment I walked in. The fleeting thought of my boyfriend stuck for a moment, like the breath hitching in my throat as I visualized his soft smile, a bit of nervousness from smiling at me for the very first time. The happy thought turned sour, the smile fading into a blank stare.

“I’ll be home late…”

The image dissipated with his words. I could barely taste the remnants of the ramen bowl I’d forced down before coming out onto the balcony. The taste was bitter and dry as I forcefully swallowed the growing lump of anxiety. My fingernails, or rather the remaining nubs since I’d chewed off all my nails earlier, felt sticky as they scratched nervously at the cold concrete I was sitting on. I could only assume it was blood from the scraping contact. The balcony’s railing taunted me similar to bars of a jail cell. But at least in prison there are other people.

But here? In this dark and lonely space I created for myself? There is no one. I’ve self-isolated. And every attempt to escape has never been followed through. If I unlocked my phone you’d see the contact pulled up where I’ve nearly called him. And before that a lengthy text that boiled down to one thing; I need you. The text was never sent of course. However, even now as I describe these feelings and sensations, I don’t feel them. They aren’t processed in my mind or my physical body. I simply sat in the corner of the balcony, knees pulled to my chest, staring into pure dark, as my body and the world continued past my racing thoughts of how this is where I should be.

I deserved to be alone.

Keys jingled in the background and it was painfully obvious the individual tried being quiet, but it wouldn’t matter. He could’ve kicked the door in screaming, and I wouldn’t budge an inch.

Hongjoong removed his shoes and hung up his coat on the nearby rack. His bag made a soft sound as he tried to gently slide it onto the couch, hoping his partner was sleeping peacefully, and trying not to disturb that. As he typically did when he ended up home this late, he trekked to the kitchen for a bottle of water to carry to bed. As he exited the kitchen, a cold breeze caught his attention.

Where’s that coming from?

Just like Hongjoong. He knew how much I hated being the slightest bit cold, so the house was always a warm temperature. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he gazed around the empty living room, noticing the cracked balcony door. Cautiously, he approached the door, peering out just the slightest bit and hoping there was no intruder lurking around.

Though he’d really hoped for that to be the case right now versus the sight he was met with.

His eyes barely made out my trembling figure in the corner, huddled against the wall. Immediately Hongjoong turned on the outdoor light and rushed to my side, carefully kneeling beside me.

“Y-y/n?” The worry was so thick in his voice, yet sweet. Like honey.

There he was. My boyfriend. Acknowledging my presence as he always does, yet I hadn’t heard a word. There was no light, though he very clearly turned one on. For a moment Hongjoong panicked. His eyes worriedly scanned my body, searching for any signs of hurt or reason for my being like this. He saw the bloody fingers and the tears still flowing. He knew what was happening, for sadly he’d seen it too many times even before they were dating. At least more times than I’d like. By now though, Hongjoong knew almost how to help. He adjusted his position to sit in front of me, his knees pulled up like mine. He touched his knees to mine, gently pulling my hands from the concrete as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs.

I felt the tingling of sensation from the touch, still all I saw was a never ending tunnel of darkness. Hongjoong brought my knuckles to his lips, placing gentle kisses on them before resting them onto our knees. His thumbs didn’t stop caressing the top of my hands as he simply stared into my eyes and mustered the kindest smile he could as he looked at my broken state.

“I know you probably won’t process what I’m saying right now, and that’s alright. Just focus on my voice ok?” He took a shaky breath, feeling his own tears well up, “You’ve been having a hard time lately haven’t you? I know you’ve been eating well and everything because I’ve seen it, but that doesn’t mean you’re alright. And it’s ok to not be ok. It’s not your fault.”

There was a flicker of light, like a shooting star passing across my vision. I swallowed another lump, feeling a bit of warmth from the original tingling sensation.

Hongjoong squeezed my hands, trying to urge warmth into your shivering body. Just the thought of how long you could’ve been freezing made him sick to his stomach. Nonetheless he continued to talk as calmly as he could.

“Just remember that there is someone here for you. I know you don’t always believe that, but it’s true. I am here. Right here.” A single tear rolled down his cheek unwillingly. “I’ll help you pick up the pieces you feel are broken and hold them together for you. I’ll be here to hold you steady when you’re shaking and keep you warm when you’re cold. I’m sorry I was late this time. There’s no telling how long you’ve been here.” Another tear. “But I’m here now baby. I love you.” He squeezed my hands gently once more.

Like a thread, his words formed a silver lining in the dark tunnel. My vision corrupted from pure black, to blurry shapes and images. The feeling of being frozen to my core was slowly warming in the places where his body touched mine. And finally, his beautiful, kind smile. So bright, and such a contrast to the dark space I’d been suffering in. There was a soft ringing that slowly got louder, as I realized his lips were moving. Hongjoong was speaking, yet I could only hear the ringing. Hongjoong saw the way my eyes scanned his face just the smallest bit. His smile grew a bit.

“There you are. It’s ok. Take your time.” He leaned forward, never breaking eye contact as he kissed the back of my hands lovingly.

I squeezed his hands gently, the feeling, or void of feeling, was quickly fading, and in its place a crushing weight on my throat and lungs. My chest heaved at my increased breathing pace, worrying Hongjoong as he realized the anxiety was setting in more than the previous emptiness. Without releasing my hands, he scooted to sit beside me. He let go of one hand to wrap his arm around my shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss on my temple as he whispered sweet nothings.

His voice trickled in like a small river, every other word registering before his kindness fully processed. My beating heart didn’t slow, but it became easier to breathe as I buried my head in the crook of his neck silently. He pulled me closer with one arm, resting his forehead on my hair.

“Do you want to go inside and get under the blankets?” The first full sentence I’d registered in my mind.

I absentmindedly nodded, but before I could attempt to move, Hongjoong was picking me up bridal style, careful like I was an expensive glass or diamond jewelry. Once in our shared bedroom, he placed me on the bed before tossing back the covers and tucking them around me like a child. With a reassuring smile he left the room. Although I knew where he was going, I gripped the covers tightly anxiously waiting for his return.

In a matter of minutes Hongjoong returned with two cups of hot chocolate with small marshmallows, and a pack of hershey’s kisses tucked under his arm too. He set one cup down and offered me the other, which I had to fumble from under the covers to shakily take the cup. The warm liquid felt comforting, with just a splash of caramel the way I loved it. A soft melody played as Hongjoong connected to the bluetooth speaker on the dresser, playing soft instrumentals he had been working on the days prior. Hongjoong climbed into the bed, careful of me and my drink, and opened the chocolates, feeding me one as he grabbed his own drink.

He took the drink gently from me, and pulled a small first aid kit from his pocket, beginning to tend to my wounded fingers. He tried to be as gentle as possible, though I couldn’t stop the involuntary flinching everytime there was direct contact to the broken skin. He continued mumbling soft apologies and comforting words nonetheless. Once he finished wrapping my fingers, he continued with his early motion of serving me my drink and feeding me hershey kisses.

I’m not sure how long we sat like that. Hongjoong rested his head against the headboard, one hand gently playing with strands of my hair, while the other held my own hand. Originally, he had alternated between feeding me chocolates and bringing his now cold drink to his lips. The time on Hongjoong’s phone read 5:52 am. I had long since finished my drink and passed out with my head on his shoulder sometime after 4 I think. Hongjoong hummed softly to the still playing music, like a soothing lullaby. He wanted to make sure I was fully asleep before deciding to move.

Hongjoong gently laid me on the pillow, going to turn off the lamp he’d had on and turning the music down a little more, before crawling back into bed. He cuddled me from behind, his warm chest pressed against my back as he pulled me closer to him in a tight embrace.

“Goodnight my love. Have sweet dreams. When you wake, I’ll be here. I promise. I won’t let you be lonely in the dark if I can help it. I love you. So I hope you use that love as a light. It’s not too late. So don’t give up, ok? We can do this. I love you.”

With a simple kiss to my head, he nuzzled closer, leaving me with floating thoughts.

It’s not too late. I’m not alone.

#hongjoong x reader #fanfic #ateez

9 notes · View notes

themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

Text

Time of Realisation

Happy New Year, everyone! May 2021 be everything you ever wanted. Since I just finished writing for part 8 of this series, I wanted to post this one a bit earlier than the usual Fridays as a New Year’s Treat. So here we go! Part 7 of the ‘Successors of the Future’ is here.

(My Premium Grammarly account disappeared all of the sudden so please excuse any stupid grammatical or spelling errors you might find. I’ve edited this chapter thrice now and it should be ok??)

Before we start, we must do our ritual and give thanks to the ever amazing @tri3tri for letting us all expand on her Draconia Family series. Hope you’ll have a great year as well, Tri-senpai!

“To be honest with you Ren, I don’t remember much about Sebek. Just his voice. I still remember how loud his shouts were.”

“Eh, don’t sweat it too much. Take it as a blessing.”

Renata and Sherrie are in her room. The underwater aesthetic of Octavinelle is so beautiful to take in from the inside. It almost makes Renata wish that she’s a mermaid. Or a killer whale type of mermaid. Now that is a badass merfolk.

Just like Renata, Sherrie was given a room all to herself instead of sharing it with a dorm member due to her gender.

And her little sister did not waste time transforming her room just like her old one back at their home. Already her gaming computer has been set up on her study table, cosmetic sets of well-known brands - Nyx, My Pretty Zombie, and Fenty Beauty - are organised neatly on her shelves beside the standard textbooks and stationeries. One of the open drawers beside her cupboard full of her school uniforms as well as her Pastel Goth clothes display tins of green teas and stacks of instant foods.

Clearly, Sherrie has made herself right at home in Octavinelle. And less than a week too!

Actually, how much luggage did Sherrie brought from their home?

After the Entrance Ceremony, Renata waited two days for Sherrie to acclimate herself to Night Raven College, letting her talk to some of her dorm members, get a feel on the teachers before slipping into her bedroom to catch up. It was a mild surprise to see the state of her room after her little sister told her to plant her ass on the bed while she prepared a pot of hot green tea for them.

While she’s busy with the kettle, Renata wasted no time to explain what Ace told her during Winter’s Break when she inquired about Sebek. It was good to know that due to the dense magic in the Country of Thorns, technology is almost non-existent in the land due to magical interference. It also helps that despite being in the First-Year Forever group chat, Sebek barely checks his phone at all. Over time, Ace and the rest of their group forgot that Sebek is even in the group chat!

“Still, it’s good to know that Mama’s friends drifted away from Sebek over the years. That’ll help us a lot in the long run.” Sherrie commented after Renata wraps up her report. She handed a cup of tea to Renata and lean against her study table, facing the bed where her older sister is cooling her hot tea by channeling ice magic onto her fingertips. “What about the student body here? What are they like?”

“Everyone walks around as if they got a twelve-inch dick.” Renata’s sarcasm is as thick as the kelp forest outside of Sherrie’s bedroom window.

Sherrie couldn’t help but laugh at her deadpan tone; she had to put her cup of tea on the table before it spilled everywhere. “That bad, huh?” She giggles helplessly, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes.

Renata was about to roll her eyes but stop herself and ponders. Despite their flaws, Hoyle and Rex are good friends. Hell, even Bakari vibes with her. Not quite friendly, but he hasn’t yet turned her away when she scurries over to intrude herself in whatever he’s currently doing. That, and she secretly enjoys finding little treats and snacks in her backpack after hanging out with him. “Ok, some of them aren’t so bad once you can get past their ego. Remind me to introduce Hoyle and Rex to you soon.”

Sherrie raises an eyebrow. “And what about that one guy who keeps giving you food?”

“You’ll see him around.”

“...Right.” Sherrie eyed her older sister with a knowing look when Renata nonchalantly shrugs. She’ll get back to that little topic later. “Have you prepare the little surprise for Mama?”

“Yup.” Renata affirmed and took a sip of her tea. She lets out a happy, little sigh when warmth travels across her body. “We’ll do it this weekend. That’s the only time that they’re free.”

The two talk a little more until Renata had to leave when curfew looms. The passing Octavinelle students gave her a side-eye for a few seconds but otherwise, no one batted an eye at seeing a Diasomnia student walking about their dorms. The whole school is aware that Renata and Sherrie are siblings by now. Renata wonders if her sister will receive the same cold politeness because of their horns.

Meanwhile, as Renata made her way to her own dorm, Sherrie is scrutinising the lock on her door with a frown. The previous used cups and teapot are all washed up and the lights are dim slightly since she’s planning to hit the bed right after she figures out how to secure her room thoroughly. There are just too many sensitive and important information about their family and plans against their father kept here. She straightens her back and tosses a glance at the computer and tablet lying on the table beside it. Sherrie had made sure to cultivate a habit of not storing the complete set of important materials in a single device - one can never be too careful after all. Especially when there’s a dorm here dedicate to Technomages. Hmm... perhaps she should befriend one of the students of Ignihyde to help her with the security of her electronic devices?

Though there’s still an issue with the simple lock of her door. Anyone can just force it open with a pick. Sherrie made a mental note to consult with her sister for some sort of spell that can solve this problem.

And with that, she quickly changes into a simple loose shirt and a pair of shorts before slipping under the duvet and turns in for the night.

Life as a halfling and an Octavinelle student quickly proves to be unlike anything Sherrie has ever experience.

Renata offhandedly advises her to shrug it off when her dorm members stare at her horns a little too long; they’ll get used to her soon enough. Sherrie cursed under her breath when her sister left and wondered if she could attend her classes virtually instead, but when she brought that up to her Dorm Leader, the shark merman raised an eyebrow and simply asked her if she’s an Octavinelle student or Ignihyde’s. Needless to say, Sherrie set on digging any dirt she can find on her Dorm Leader ASAP.

Other than the uncomfortable stares and shady Dorm Leader - Sherrie quite enjoys the scarf that comes with her uniform - as well as her dorm leader, tend to keep it to themselves. Underneath the polite offers of tutelage in classes and tours around Mostro Lounge, Sherrie can blatantly pick up the insinuation underneath those favours.

A favour for a favour - that’s how life in Octavinelle works. Information is worth more than Madols and dealings under the table is practically the norm.

Sherrie adapts in Night Raven College faster than Renata ever could.

Speaking of Madols, Sherrie needed to do something about their financial situations in Twisted Wonderland. Currency exchange is not a thing here so their dollars are practically worthless. Fortunately, Octavinelle expects its dorm members to pull their weights in Mostro Lounge. By the second week she’s in Night Raven College, her Dorm Leader already distributed the First Year’s schedule of their shifts around the café. The pay might not be much but it’s a good start.

There’s got to be a Twisted Wonderland equivalent of Youtube. She made mad revenue as a Youtuber and game streamer back home.

Today, Sherrie is working at Mostro Lounge with several other First Year students from other dorms. Customers flooded in during lunchtime and kept her busy manning behind the bar, preparing drinks and desserts.

“Presentation my ass...” Sherrie mumbled under her breath as she struggles to beautify the ice-cream sundae. She had to redo the whole thing when one of the staff - her Third Year senior - saw how plain her work was and taught her to make an art out of the dessert.

She was in the midst of deciding how many cherries would be enough to make the sundae look prettier when a rich, baritone voice broke her concentration. “Has the ice-cream offend you in some way, MC/S-san?”

Sherrie moves her face away from the towering glass to see a fellow dorm member smiling at her. How curious, his eyes are like hot, molten gold.

“No. I was just adding some finishing touches.” Sherrie reply, her voice remained neutral. She hasn’t seen this one around before.

Her dorm member continues to smile. It comes across as calculative instead of genuine. Renata would’ve spat fire at him already. “My, it looks wonderful. I’ll be sure to inform the customer that his sundae is prepared by your meticulous hand. I’m sure he’ll forgive you for the time he had to wait.”

Sherrie promptly turns around to store back the cherries into the fridge to hide her smirk. This nobody came forward trying to pick a fight with her? This could be fun. “I’m more than happy to receive our customer if he has any complaint with his sundae.”

“I’ll be sure to inform him.” He nods once and place the sundae on a tray and left the bar. Sherrie made sure to keep an eye on him after that.

He’s tall, taller than her, and play the perfect part of a waiter with ease. As if he grew up in this sort of environment. The way how he balances two heavy laden trays of food and drinks on his palms while weaving in between tables, greeting the customers with an impeccable smile is telling. This guy mastered the art of customer service for sure.

“Who’s the hotshot?” Sherrie asked her partner as she carefully wipes the clean glasses. Her shift partner - a Second Year manta ray merman, who was kind enough to introduce herself to her without any subtle jeer - glances at Sherrie’s line of sight, and his mouth made a small ‘o’.

“That’s Amber Leech. He’s one of the promising First Year students we got, according to the Vice Dorm Leader. You’re more of a wild card, though. Dorm Leader still doesn’t know what to think of you.”

Sherrie ignores that titbit about herself; she just hums. Didn’t Mama mention that she knows a Leech? “He’s good at handling the customers, I’ll give him that.” Sherrie admits, stacking the last dry glass onto the rack before her attention is capture by a server with a list of orders. Sherrie was too preoccupied with her job to scrutinised Amber any further after that.

Later when a Scarabia student relieved her of her shift with a quick exchange of pleasantries, instead of leaving, Sherrie decided to stick around and enjoy some free food in the kitchen. As long as she stayed out of the way, no one really minded her presence.

“Good job today, Leech-san. You can join MC/S-san in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll be taking up on your kind offer then.”

Sherrie paused, tilting her head up from her small tub of ice-cream to see none other but Amber Leech step into the kitchen. Their eyes met and his calculative smile greeted her.

“Is this seat taken?” He politely asks her, gesturing to the vacant chair opposite her. The round table at the back of the kitchen is a bit small, barely enough to fit more than three people but it was far enough away from the kitchen staff so that they won’t be a bother.

“Knock yourself out.”

“Very well then.”

By the time he took out a red bento from the fridge, heat it up and takes a seat near the table, Sherrie has already polished the tub of ice-cream. When Amber noticed the empty tub, he frowns. It was so sudden that Sherrie couldn’t help but defensively blurted out, “What?”

“Is that all you having for lunch?” There’s a disapproving tone in his voice and Sherrie doesn’t know what to make of it.

“That? It was a snack. I had my lunch before my shift.”

For some reason, her dorm mate nodded, strangely pleased at her answer before he tucks into his lunch. By the looks of it, his bento is artfully made with a variety of colourful foods.

The two said nothing, simply enjoying the clatter of cooking utensils, sizzling fire on the stoves and the cooks hum under their breath. Here in the back of the kitchen, the chatter of customers outside is almost muted.

It was peaceful. So peaceful in fact, Amber Leech feels like it’s his sworn duty to shatter it.

“I suggest consulting either Aeacus Shroud or the other students in Ignihyde’s Basic Magical Technology group as your solution. Shroud-san is the only First Year student in that group but I heard he’s the most approachable of the lot.”

Sherrie’s heart froze. “What?”

Amber took his time to put away his now empty bento, dab the corner of his lip with a folded napkin that was on the table before replying, “For security of course.”

His answer is vague. Purposely so as he levels a stare at Sherrie.

“...How do you know that?” Sherrie all but demanded under her faux, indifferent voice.

Amber dared to smile and point his eyes, no word escape his lips.

A Unique Magic then. It has to be. Are his similar to Renata’s?

Sherrie’s mind races, for once, trying to decipher this strange student beside her.

And suddenly, Sherrie realises who this boy really is. The eyes were a give away.

“Amber Leech. Jade Leech’s son, I presume?”

“Mama, I’m home!”

“Welcome back, sweetie. How was cheer practice today?”

“It went really well, Mama. We nailed down the new routine without anyone falling off.” Lucien shuts the door close with his feet. He’s sweaty and still in his cheerleading uniform with a duffel bag sling over his shoulder. Seeing that his Mama is nowhere in the living room, Lucien padded into the kitchen.

The house is, unfortunately, a lot quieter now that his sisters are off at Night Raven College. Before Sherrie left, she and he talk about how their Mama would feel lonely now. Even more so when it’s his turn.

Lucien assured her that he’ll keep an eye on their Mama closely.

His friends would playfully tease him that he’s such a Mama’s boy; constantly texting her of his whereabouts, what she and his sisters want from the convenience stores and Mama always make his favourite desserts more often compare to Renata’s apple pies and Sherrie’s matcha cupcakes.

And Lucien has no shame in being spoiled by their Mama.

However, when he steps into the kitchen to witness their Mama re-arranging the dishes in the cupboard for the second time this week, it’s time for Mama to be spoiled in return.

Lucien can’t wait to see her reaction when they spring the surprise tonight.

“Mama? Do you need some help with the plates?” Lucien asked instead of pointing out the fact that Mama has been restless lately. Without waiting for a reply, Lucien has already dropped his duffel bag to walk around the island counter towards her.

“It’s alright, Lucy. I’m nearly done here anyway.” MC wave Lucien’s waiting hands away as she pushes the last stack of plates into the lower cabinet and got up. She shot him a smile but it’s wobbly. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? We still have some leftover dinner from last night that I can heat up real quick. Hang on, just give Mama a second to take it out - ”

“Mama, it’s alright. I know. It doesn’t feel the same without Ren and Cherry.”

MC froze before she got up and smile sadly. The sight made Lucien’s heart clench painfully. “The three of you have always been close to me ever since you were born. Your Father was... many things,” MC grimace but she soldiers on. “But he would never separate your sisters away from me. I’m not sure what to do with myself now that Ren and Cherry are away...”

Sherrie’s voice suddenly pops in Lucien’s head like how Renata enjoys busting through his door without knocking: “Mama needs a distraction. ASAP! Go, go, go!”

Renata interjects after her: “Psst! Try something calming yet engaging. That’ll do.”

Distraction. Right. Lucien can do that for Mama. At least until the surprise tonight.

“Would Mama help me with my origami? I could use some help with filling up my new empty glass jar.” Lucien suggests.

MC blink; didn’t expect Lucien to suddenly ask for an extra pair of hands with his hobby, but she took it in stride. “Uh, sure thing, honey.”

Lucien beams like a blooming sunflower. “I’ll go shower first then. Be right back, Mama!”

“Don’t run in the house, Lucy!” MC reminded him but lets him went upstairs with a small smile. She needs to get out of this funk. While Lucien is freshening up, might as well finish up her chores for the day.

By the time Lucien came back down carrying an empty glass jar and a stack of colourful scented papers and they didn’t waste time to clear the dining table of the bowl of fruits and their cups so they could get to it.

Lucien is remarkably patient. More so than MC or his older sisters - he made sure to slowly show how to fold the paper into stars to his Mama and when she’s confused, he would show her some videos online to help her. As the mother and son gradually fill up the glass jar, Lucien talks about anything and everything under the sun. How everyone in his team at school is helping him ease to the role as the captain of the cheerleading squad, how he’s getting a hang on the new subject material taught in Math class and who’s dating who in his circle of friends.

MC hums and would give an appropriate reply in-between Lucien’s story. Typical teenage shenanigans, albeit, a lot tamer than what she went through but she’ll never get tired of listening to her children’s school life. Yes, even when Renata and Sherrie tried their best to hide whatever blunder they did at times.

It was when Lucien threw a purple star origami into the jar that he suddenly changes the subject. “Oh yeah! By the way Mama, Ren and Cherry said that she has a surprise for you tonight!”

“Oooh, a surprise? I wonder what your sisters are planning.” MC murmurs a bit absentmindedly, too focus on folding the papers. Her eyebrows scrunch in concentration and she would beam proudly when one star came out perfect before tossing it into the jar with a happy hum.

Lucien is relieved. Looks like the distraction works.

They had a simple dinner once the glass jar is filled and once the dishes are done, Lucien hurriedly ushers his Mama into the living room. On the sofa, MC watches Lucien draws the rune on the mirror, bemused at the grin on his face.

When the rune vanishes, MC opens her mouth to greet her daughters. Her open mouth gapes and she could feel the corner of her eyes are suddenly wet when she saw the people on the other side of the mirror.

“Ow! Deuce, you idiot! I told you not to shove me with your elbow!”

“Who are you calling an idiot!? And quit hogging the mirror already!”

“I’m not hogging the mirror! You’re the one who keeps pushing me!”

MC couldn’t help it. She laughs, tears now freely running down her cheeks. Lucien quietly excuses himself to fetch a box of tissue for her.

Her laugh shuts both Ace and Deuce up. “Oh geez, what are you crying for, hah? It’s just us.” Ace said, supporting a bittersweet smile. At that moment, seeing his best friend releases the tension festering inside of him all these years.

“We miss you, Prefect!” Deuce shouted with a sniffle, his eyes are teary as well. He hurries to wipe off the tears with his knuckle. “Miss you so, so much! I’m so glad you’re OK!”

“Are you really though?” Ace interject, he doesn’t even bother to conceal his blatant check on MC’s body. Looking for any sign of injuries or illness.

MC guessed that one of her daughters have told them what happened to her...

But she refused to let thoughts regarding Malleus damper her happy mood. Not when she could finally see her best friends again.

“I’m ok now. We’re... we’re ok.” MC honestly reply with a lightened heart.

The three of them have grown; each of them has their own children now, at this moment, it feels as if they have been transported back to their teenage years all those years ago.

MC realises that she’s truly no longer alone now.

And we’ve reached the end of this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it!! MC finally meet Adeuce once more, even if it’s just through a mirror. With the three of them together again, there’s nothing they can’t do.

Here are some titbits about Amber Leech’s background:

1. His Unique Magic is called ‘Witness of the Past’

2. His Mum is a beautiful mer Sea Lamprey (if you don’t know what a Sea Lamprey looks like, uh, prepare yourself before you google search them.)

Speaking of Unique Magic, I’ve compiled a list of all the kids with their UMs already. Haven’t decided yet when I’ll post it, but I’m thinking of posting the names as a sort of teaser? Meh, we’ll see how that goes.

#twisted wonderland #fanfic #malleus draconia #ace trappola #deuce spade #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x mc #Draconia Family series #Second Wive AU #tri3tri

122 notes · View notes

venushasvixens · 3 years

Text

Your Nervousness - Kylo Ren x Reader

Warnings: angst ( talks of anxiety) fluff, some sexual references

The towering scenery of the planet Actlyon always intimidated you. As one of the many bases of the First Order throughout the galaxy, these was one of your least favorites. When asked what you hated about the planet, you could save them the time of a few hour conversation and just saying "everything". But as companion of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, you have to put a lid on the subject and just deal with it.

It had been two weeks since you had seen Kylo. You were used to him being away for a long time, but he had never been gone this long. When you last saw Kylo, you were both in the control room of the Finalizer, watching as they determined where a small portion of the Resistance was, and the plan to destroy it. Instead, the Resistance caught wind of the First Order's presence, and escaped before any of the plan was put into place.

"All the better." Hux stated, " by fleeing, they'll lead us right to the Resistance."

You watched as Kylo walked past you, the Knights of Ren following suit. You immediately took after them, jogging just to keep up with the intimidating crew. You were not going to be just sideswiped by him.

"Master Ren!" you called out. Due to protocol with your high status of a prominent family of the galaxy, and your relationship with the Supreme Leader, you had to keep formality in public. But right now, you didn't know how this was going to play out, and it could've been the last time you would see Kylo ever again. Kylo continued his way down the hallway, ignoring you.

"Fuck it." you muttered under your breath , "Kylo!"

Kylo and his Knights came to a halt. He tuned to approach you, the Knights parting through the middle. His footsteps echoed through the cold, metallic hallway. Your boldness melted into obscurity as you weren't sure what was going to happen in the next few seconds. You could see your reflection in the visor of Kylo's helmet, taking note of the closeness between you two.

"Aren't..aren't you going to say goodbye before you go?" you said softly. "I don't know how long this is going to take."

Kylo stayed still, and the sudden bass of his voice startled you. "It won't be long at all, I assure you, (y/n)." That was complete bullshit, and you knew it.

Your eyes traveled down, knowing that meant it was going to be a long mission. Tears welled in your eyes. Kylo sensed your nervousness, hurting him to see you so worried of his departure.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice not loud enough for the vocoder to pick up. He lifted your head up with his hand, cusping your chin gently. "I will be back. In the mean time, I want you to be strong. For me please."

That was the last exchange of words before Kylo set off on his shuttle. You had received word from Hux that the shuttle was approaching Actlyon by evening, and with it, the Supreme Leader in one piece. Waiting was such a pain, and your anxiety was through the roof. You were so worried, you hadn't changed into your nightwear, still wearing the clothes you placed on since the early morning meeting with Actlyon First Order officials.

You jolted as your door buzzed. "Come in." you called out.

"Supreme Leader Ren is awaiting your presence in his office, my lady." the female officer announced.

You were so relieved you could've hug her. You quickly walked out, hurrying your steps to Kylo's office. As confusing as this starship was, Kylo's office was one of the few places that you knew exactly where it was. You approached the door, which was guarded by two Stormtroopers.

"The Supreme Leader has sent for me." you said, pushing past the guards. As the door closed behind you, you were standing in the small hallway, smoothing out yourself, emotionally and physically. Before you could open the door, Kylo beat you to it. Mask off and his clothes caked with substances unknown to you, Kylo looked like shit. He grabbed you and pulled you into his office.

Before you could get anything out, Kylo arms wrapped around your waist, picking you up and holding you tightly. Your arms wrapped around his neck, smiling that he was finally here with you. You held Kylo's face in your hands, kissing all over his face. Kylo's gloved hand gripped the back of your neck gently, moving his lips to yours. You melted into his kiss, feeling all the pent up anger and stress being released between you. You both pulled away, breathing heavily as Kylo rested his head on in the crook of your neck. The smell of burnt leather and fuel filled your nostrils, and should have repulsed you, but instead was very much welcomed.

"Why didn't you send me a message?" you mumbled, twirling your fingers in his long dark locks. "You had me worried for so long."

"Shh." he hushed you, "Let me just relax for a moment."

You nodded, scratching his head softly and slowly. That's all you needed to hear. Not long after did Kylo tell you how he and his Knights tracked down the Resistance, going from planet to planet, to city to city, until eventually they caught up with them, but to a dead end.

"And that's when we killed them." Kylo finished, sparing you the details of the Resistance spies gruesome deaths caused by the Knights and Kylo. You furrowed your brow in disappointment, hoping that Kylo would've spared them. Even after all this time that you both had been together, it still got to you that you were in a relationship with the mighty Kylo Ren, supreme leader of the First Order, and a killer feared by many.

Taking note of your troubled expression, Kylo brushed his hand over your cheek. You leaned yourself into his touch, placing your hand over his. A faint smile spread over the Supreme Leader's face. That was something you haven't seen in a while, and you would give up anything to see it a million times.

"Now, my love, its time for me to bombard you with questions." you said, getting out of Kylo's lap.

"Like what?" he scowled, leaning back into his chair.

"Have you ate today?" you asked, "have you showered, slept?"

Kylo sighed. "One at a time, (y/n). And no to any of them."

You chuckled. "Okay, that's all I needed to know."

While you ordered a meal to brought up, Kylo supported his head on his fist, watching you take care of him. He always loved to just look at you. And it could be you doing anything, from doing your makeup, to you getting angry over some small thing. To him, you were a walking piece of art, a masterpiece. A strong feeling of affection and love filled Kylo, almost like a fire was lit in his heart. It was like this ever since you and him met. There was never a dull moment, your relationship always filled with intense passion.

Kylo got out of his chair, walking over to you. As you made preperations for the night, you felt two hand snaked around your waist. Kylo placed his chin on your head, rocking you both back and forth slightly. The Kylo Ren that you saw was definitely not the one the galaxy feared.

"I love it when you order people around." he whispered in your ear. You giggled, interlocking your hand with his. "Come to my room tonight."

"Hmm, what for?" you teased, expecting to hear some raunchy responses.

"To sleep, obviously." Kylo replied.

"Ah, sure. To sleep." you said, air quoting. "Because that's all we do when I sleep over in your room."

"This time, I just want to sleep." he said. "I promise, my sweet." Kylo pulled back your hair to the side, exposing your neck. He placed kisses from your shoulder all the way up to your cheek, his soft lips causing goosebumps to spread all over your body.

"N-now, see this right here.."you whispered, your voice wavering from Kylo's teasing, "this is what I'm talking about."

"Just trust me. I want to sleep next to my wife, that's all." Kylo really knew how to reel you in, and you fell for it every time. Heat radiated off your face, burning your cheeks. "And if you would like, we could fuck all day tomorrow. I know that you have been wanting it as badly as I do. We both crave it. Would you like that, my sweet?"

And now, you knew for sure you were going to catch on fire.

Stars, it was so good to be home

"I'm beat." you said, yawning.

"How are you beat? You haven't done anything all day." Kylo teased nonchalantly as he dimmed down the lights in the bedroom.

"I waited for you, I cried for you, I even put up with Hux for you. So don't say I didn't do anything all day." you smiled, throwing your robe onto a chair.

"Yeah, sure." Kylo mumbled as he snuck himself underneath the black covers, watching as you brushed your hair thoroughly. You set the brush down, giving yourself a once over to make sure you looked alright.

"You're still beautiful. Come to bed." Kylo begged sleepily, laying on his side.

You blushed. "Alright, I'm coming."

Kylo held out the comforter as he always did. You laid right into his chest, his arms, along with the thick black comforter, engulfing you in darkness. The difference between Kylo's room and yours was definitely astounding, to say the least. You would think that the Supreme Leader's girlfriend could get some decent sheets, or maybe some more comfortable chairs.

You laid your arm around Kylo's torso, your leg wrapped between his. You closed your eyes, sighing peacefully. Kylo gave you one last kiss on your head, before turning over on his side. As betrayed as you felt, you needed some air from the sudden heat of another person and his thick ass comforter. It felt like forever laying down, and Kylo was out like a light.

But you were still wide awake. Thoughts swarmed your mind about multiple, worthless topics. Is there a guard at the door? What's Hux thinking right now? Matter of fact, what does Hux even do in his free time? Not like you cared, you just wonder if Hux had a life out of the First Order (which you concluded, he did not).

I want to sleep, you thought. And you kept thinking it, over and over, as if repeating it would inch yourself closer to some shut eye. You shifted positions, fluffed your pillow, counting backwards, forwards. Thinking of leaping fathiers could've helped.

But not one hint of sleepiness.

Eventually, you just said fuck it and got up. You carefully got up, as to not wake Kylo. You grabbed your robe and headed to the living area. You took your datapad, and flipped through the numerous events and special occasions that were coming up. You read up on the planets that you were to visit alongside Kylo, and their customs. Embarrassing yourself in front of Kylo was the last thing you needed, but knowing him, anyone who would point out your mistakes would be swiftly met with a blazing lightsaber.

You started planning your outfits and speeches while you heard shuffling from the other room. Looking up, you saw Kylo emerging from the bedroom. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at you as you continued working on your datapad.

"Its too early, starlight." Kylo said, crossing his arms.

"I couldn't sleep." you replied, meeting his gaze.

Kylo strolled over to the couch, and plopped down next to you. He placed his hand on your back, rubbing small circles. "You're stressed. I can feel it."

You hummed in response. "I am."

"Tell me why." Kylo murmured. He gently took the datapad out of your hand, placing it on the other side of him. "What's stressing you out?"

You shrugged, honestly not sure what was stressing you out. You've had trouble with anxiety ever since you were a teen, but you weren't sure why you where it came from, and why you had it. It came out of nowhere, making minor situations into paranoia and doubtful thoughts in your mind. Sometimes, you had control over it, and other times, you let it run rampant. Right now, it was running everywhere it could reach.

You felt a small pressure on your head, knowing that Kylo was trying to read you through the Force. As much as it annoyed you when Kylo did that, you were glad he did it this time. It was hard putting into words what was bothering you, and this is exactly what was needed.

"Ah."

The pressure left from your head. The use of the Force by Kylo was more comforting than it was strange. For some reason, it was how you and him bonded. For prisoners, you couldn't say the same.

"Well?" You replied softly, "what's your diagnosis?"

One beat of silence. Two beats of silence. Finally, Kylo motioned you to come closer, taking a hold of your hand. "You're stressed about me."

"Of course." You replied, "we discussed this earlier." You intertwined your fingers between Kylo's, his palm sweaty.

"We did." He mumbled. "But there's a difference between hearing it and feeling it. I thought I really understood what you were feeling, but.." Kylo shrugged. "Fuck, I feel guilty."

"Why? Because I'm stressed about you?" You said, sitting up. You took Kylo's face in your hands, his eyes averting from your gaze. "Yes I do stress about you, but my love, please don't feel guilty. At all." Kylo quickly met your gaze, and looked away.

"I'm not just saying this to make you feel better, you know. I understood what was in store when you asked me to be yours, and I still keep it in mind. Always." Kylo eyes shot up to yours after hearing your voice crack. "But I always think you're going to leave, and never come back. T-that someone will hurt you, and I'm not there to save you. And that fear weighs on my conscious all the time, Kylo."

Your tears flowed down your cheeks, your soft sobs racking your body. He hated seeing you cry, and at every opportunity that you were going to, he would try his best to stop it immediately. But by doing just that, Kylo realized, while gazing in your pained eyes, that maybe that was one of the contributing factors to your stress.

This time, he was going to gladly welcome your emotions, and ease his starlight's anxiety.

"I-I'm sorry." You croaked, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Please don't be mad at me."

Kylo shook his head, facing you as he wiped your tears away with his hands. "I could never be mad at the one person who is my reason to fight."

You laughed softly. "You're bullshitting me."

The corners of Kylo's lips upturned into a sympathetic smile. "I've never lie to you, have I?"

You sat in his lap, your head on his chest, your eyes gazing up into Kylo's. "Not once."

Kylo stroked your hair, kissing your forehead. "Is there any way that maybe you could put me to sleep with the Force?" You asked, the lines between joking and actually asking blurred.

"That's not how the Force works." Kylo said. "So what I need you to do is sit here and relax."

"That sounds like you're trying to use the Force, it really does."

"I'm not. Please shut up."

You giggled, your chin resting on his shoulder. Kylo lazily traced his fingers on your back, your back muscles relaxing instantly. It wasn't the Force, but it sure did feel like it. Maybe that's how Kylo knew how to do this. How and when did he learn how to do this? Who help him, he didn't just read these techniques in a book, someone must've taught him but who-

"I can hear you. Loud and clear. No it's not the Force, and you taught me."

You patted his chest, letting him know you heard him. Kylo moved his hands to your hair, massaging the nape of your neck, up to your scalp. Tugging gently, scratching behind your ears, your busy continuing to melt into his. Your mind wandered into off into thoughtlessness, nothing to think about or to care about, except for one thing. One little piece, a message now ingrained into you, for you to carry from now on. That you were not alone in what you were feeling, and that someone will be there for you.

And that's what helped you finally drifted into a deep sleep.

"(Y/n)?" Kylo whispered, patting your back. Hearing your small snores, Kylo got up carefully, carrying you to your bedroom. Placing you gently in your spot, Kylo took the comforter and placed it on you. You grabbed ahold of the pillow, softly cradling it. Your face was so much at peace, compared to how you looked earlier. But it didn't matter to Kylo. Every face you shown each other had been a gift, and any emotion you had is better than no emotion.

Kylo quickly made his way to your side, slipping underneath the covers. You flipped yourself to face him, your noses just inches from each other. As Kylo closed his eyes, he wondered what brought him ease. It didn't take him long though, because it was right in front of him.

Over anything, above all everything, you were his peace. His relaxation. His purpose.

——

(A/N) Thank you guys for reading, it means a lot. I'm sorry I have not posted in a while, 2021 has definitely had a rough start for me and my family. I'm hoping for the rest of the year to have mercy on me and everyone else. This is going to be a bunch of one-shots that I'll make in between the Spike Spiegel x Reader fic chapters, which I know for sure another chapter is supposed to be out neeoow.

#kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren #kylo x you #ben solo #adam driver #star wars #rey #the force is strong with this one #the last jedi #general hux #lukeskywalker

25 notes · View notes