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i-am-the-doctor · 8 months

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Red Tides a' Rollin CHAPTER 2 //TW: Graverobbing, violence, animal attacks, mention of suicide, funeral

CHAPTER 2

“Friends and Family, We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Olivia Moira Johanneson, who was born on September 30th, 2023, and tragically passed away on January 1st, 2042, in the Woodfork Spiker Massacre. May we forever remember her smile and her willingness to help others, May we lift her name up to the heavens, and may we keep her memory in our hearts, lest she be forgotten. Let us pray..”

As Fredrick and the rest of the congregation of friends and survivors and family bowed their heads, he pondered his plan that he and Jonathan agreed upon that very night. When he first entered the funeral home’s gates, he surveyed his surroundings, as it would be imperative to remember where everything was for tonight. The only noise in the solemn graveyard now was the director reciting a prayer for Olivia’s soul, but such prayers aren’t needed, Fredrick thought to himself. After all, she will be back, better than ever, practically immortal to do whatever she pleased, to live the adulthood that was stolen from her at 18, to have a spouse or kids if she wanted. They rose their heads afterwards, clean-bandaged survivors and friends came up to read their eulogies and kind words about their friend, and after that, a final prayer was said for her, and her casket was lowered into a shallow grave and covered with gravel.

After the funeral had ended, the two men briskly walked back to Fredrick’s truck, a maroon 1998 Chevy Blazer, and as Fredrick approached the driver’s door, he felt a wave of drowsiness overcome him from his lack of sleep. He attempted to shake himself awake, but it was futile. Jonathan then tapped him on his shoulder, jolting him awake.

“Fredrick, are you alright? Maybe you should let me drive!” “No no, Jonathan, I’m perfectly fi-” Fredrick mumbled before getting cut off by jonathan, whose eyes were wide with worry. “I Insist! You look like you’re about to fall over!”

“...Agh, Fine. Heres the keys.” He muttered, handing him the keys to the truck before walking over to the passenger’s side and opening the door to hop in, to which Jonathan followed suit.

“So, now we go to my place to get that ice-chest and the shovels?” Jonathan asked, making sure he was correct, to which Fredrick nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah, thats right. You still have that ice-chest in your garage, huh?”

“I should, Last time we ever used it was when we had that barbeque back in July…” Jonathan replied as he started the engine to the truck and began backing out of the parking lot and onto the road. No more words were said, as Fredrick leaned onto the door, looking out the window and into the vastly varying scenery, between graffiti-abundant ghost towns, abandoned farmlands void of animals and crops, and woods and swamps abuzz with rabbits hopping along ditches, and foxes leaping across logs. As he gazed upon the everchanging environment moving by, he allowed himself to close his eyes and relax as his breathing slowed. After all, he was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, maybe a little nap would help him…

…

When we finally awoke from his dreamless sleep, he found himself in the dark interior of his truck, parked in front of a house , with dark blue and white paint, flowerbeds on either side of the door, and a statue of the Virgin Mary in the front yard. He then sat up in his seat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked out the window once again to find that it was nighttime now. Where was Jonathan, he asked himself, but it was quickly answered by Jonathan opening the driver’s door, visibly sweating, and out of breath.

“H-Hey, Fredrick! You’ve been out for quite awhile! I finally found my shovels and ice-chest! I… Oh god.. I thought i would never find it- I need to clean my garage out!” he huffed, leaning on top of the seat.

“Well why didn’t you wake me up? I would’ve helped you!”

“You hadn’t slept a wink since last night! You would’ve probably passed out while standing and fall into some of the bullcrap I have stashed in there and lose an eye!”

“Yeah, thats probably true!” He chuckled, stretching his back. “So, wheres the chest and shovels now?” “I went ahead and put them in the trunk while you were asleep!” “Well good! Now, we just need to pick up some ice from the gas station and head on back to the gas station! ….What was that gas station called again?”

“Elbertsons.” Jonathan pipped as he hopped back into the truck and started the engine once again, setting back out on the roads. “Hopefully they’re still open!” “I hope so too! Ugh, I hate time changes..”

“Me too..”

After 10 minutes of driving along, they finally arrived at the Elbertson’s Gas station, a homely little mom-and-pop buisness in the middle of an old community, with old-fashion gas pumps, and a big “ICE-2-GO” Ice machine to the front-left of the lot. Jonathan parked the truck in front of the building, and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Alright, I’ll be back, i’m going to go ask if they have change for a dollar. Need anything?” “No, not at the moment.”

Jonathan nodded, and hopped out, and made his way towards the establishment. When he made it, he attempted to open the door, but it only rattled, as the door was locked. He then checked his wallet to see if he had any change, and he felt his chest tighten when he realized that he had no change, and had to ask Fredrick. What kind of moron doesn’t have change nowdays, he panicked to himself. ‘Now I’ll look like an idiot in front of my best friend!’. He then trudged back to the truck, red in the face, and opened the door once again.

“Hey.. Fredrick? They’re closed, and i just checked, and i…. Uh..” “Don’t have any change?” Fredrick asked, confused on why he was so visibly embarassed about something as trivial as a lack of change.

“....Yeah.” “Hey, it happens. I got some here in the center console.” He chuckled as he opened up the center console and gave him four shiny quarters and an oxidised penny. “Here. let me know if you need more.” “Thank you Fredrick. I’ll be back!” He said with a slight grin as he closed the door once again, grabbing the ice chest and swiftly sprinting to the ice machine, which was lit with a singular streetlamp hanging above jonathan’s head. He then put the coins into the slot, and within minutes, the ice poured into the ice chest, filling it up halfway. He then picked it up, the weight of it almost popping Jonathan’s shoulders out of place, but instead of crying out in pain like he oh so wanted to, he sucked it up, and slowly made his way back to the truck. Afterwards, he popped the trunk open, and pushed it in, huffing and puffing, clutching his chest to feel his heartbeat. He opened the door to the truck once more, his face as red as a can of strawberry soda.

“I… I got the ice!” he wheezed.

“Jonathan, Are you alright?!” “I… I’m okay, i think! I… I think you should probably drive now, I can barely move my arms, I-I’m sorry, Fredrick!”

“Hey, don’t apoligize, you’re doing a lot- take a rest!” Fredrick said as he hopped out of the passenger’s seat, allowing Jonathan to take his place as he jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the truck once again, and finally driving back to the graveyard, passing by the same landmarks that he fell asleep watching.

…

When they finally reached the graveyard, Fredrick found that the area was silent. Eerily silent, with the only light being the full moon above and the headlights from Fredrick’s truck-- which were quickly turned off after they had parked as to not bring attention to themselves.

“Are you ready, Jonathan?” Fredrick asked, getting out of the truck to fetch the Ice-chest and shovels.

“Yeah, i am. but.. What what if people notice the gravel got moved around or something? I don’t think graverobbing carries a light sentence, Fredrick!” “Relax, Jonathan. I don’t think they’ll notice- theres hundreds of graves here! And besides, sometimes spikers dig up the gravel sometimes and eat people- thats why Chris Morales had to be creamated! they’ll just think that a spiker tried to get in… Don’t worry, no one will notice a thing..”

Jonathan nodded, wanting to believe what Fredrick was saying.

“Here, you take the shovels, they’re lighter.”, Fredrick said as he handed Jonathan the shovels while he lugged the Ice-chest out of the trunk. They then slowly entered through the gates of the graveyard, silent and cold as death itself, in fact, it felt like the spdead were scowling at them as they made the walk, judging them from beyond the grave. Fredrick however, shook off the feeling. He was already so close, and he wasn’t about to let the feeling of paranoia overtake him. After a minute or so of passing the quiet mausoleums and shallow graves from years and decades before, they finally made it to Olivia’s gravesite once again. Jonathan looked up at Fredrick as he handed him a shovel, and finally, he asked in a hushed voice:

“Fredrick, I know I have asked this countless times, and forgive me, but are you sure you want to do this? After we start digging, theres no going back.”

Fredrick Nodded.

“Of course. We’re already so close.. But when we get her, we’re not going to immediately start working on her… No, we need a subject, maybe two, because if I mess something up and i can’t get her back, I won’t forgive myself.” He explained. They then prepared their shovels to dig.

“On a count of three… one… two.. Three.” They then began digging, with Fredrick doing most of the heavy lifting while Jonathan routinely checked to see if there were any strangers or spikers about. 15 minutes would go by, and when all was said and done, the grave would be uncovered, revealing a polished wood casket with Olivia’s initials engraved into the upper lid. Fredrick held his breath, preparing himself for what he was about to see, while Jonathan looked away. Fredrick noticed.

“Jonathan, are you alright?”

“I-Its just that… well, she’s your daughter, and uh.. I thought you might like some privacy.” he mumbled nervously. Fredrick shook his head. “Jonathan, You were like an uncle to her, this is your moment too!” he whispered, briskly looking around to make sure no one overheard them. Jonathan said not a word, but nodded, taking a glance at the casket. This would mark the very moment that Fredrick’s project would start. A project that would test his hypothesis of whether the dead can be brought back.

“Jonathan… I’m going to open up the casket.. And when I open up the casket, we’re going to gently pick her up and put her in the ice-chest, and rebury the casket, understand?” Fredrick instructed as he crouched to grab a hold of the heavy lid.

“Got it.” “Good.. now on a count of three… One.. Two..”

And on the count of three, he opened the lid, closing his eyes tightly. After a minute or so, he finally opened his eyes once more, and within the casket was none other than Olivia, cold and lifeless, yet she looked like she was sleeping, with her arms draped over her stomach, cane in both hands, still wearing her new-years outfit , except for her blouse, which was replaced with a black blouse. As Fredrick looked on, he found every emotion one could experience rushing towards him like a freight truck. Rage, sorrow, guilt, disgust with what he was doing filled his thoughts as he clenched his jaw together. He wanted to scream, He wanted to cry. He wanted to dig his own grave beside her and plunge his shovel through his heart and never feel anything ever again, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Not to Olivia, and not to Jonathan. He looked up at Jonathan, and even though shadows were cast over his eyes and glasses as he stood above the crouched Fredrick, you could tell that he too was processing the sorrowful sight. Fredrick then picked Olivia up gently, as if he were handling a delicate flower with white gloves, cradling her in his arms.

“....I’ve got her, Jonathan…” He whispered through tear-choked vocal chords. Jonathan nodded, not saying anything, and opened the lid to the frigid ice-chest, where Olivia would rest until they got to the lab in Baton Rouge. Afterwards, they closed the lid to the casket, and reburied it, making sure not to leave a single piece of gravel out of place. Now, all they have to do is put the ice-chest in the back seat, and make way to Baton Rouge.

“Alright, next stop, Baton Rouge.” Fredrick grunted as he picked up the ice-chest, using his chest and stomach to carry it as Jonathan carried the shovels back to Fredrick’s truck. Afterwards, they popped the trunk and set the shovels and the chest containing Olivia in the back seat, and they both got back in the truck, started the engine, and headed on the road towards Baton Rouge. 30 minutes would pass where they did not say a word to each other, and instead gave each other quick glances, and listened to the radio. It was only after a commercial for Aximin, a meal-replacement pill turned highly addictive drug, came on the radio, that Jonathan spoke up.

“Hey, Frank Kemper was the guy that made Aximin, right? Whatever happened to him?” “Well, they say that he was getting reports that when you bit into the pill, it released a sort of smoke or steam that made you… well, h1gh, and he didn’t believe it until he tried it for himself, and got addicted. According to some people who knew him, he went insane and ran into the woods!” Fredrick huffed, keeping his eyes on the road to make sure no spikers or robbers would grab them. “Its a dang shame, too! He was a good guy, we worked with him! “Oh yeah, thats right! He wasn’t really all that involved in Prometheus though, was he?” “No, not really. He knew more about medicine and brains than cybernetics anyway.” Fredrick shrugged. A couple of minutes later, Fredrick saw a sign riddled with bull3t holes that read:

Baton Rouge 2

“Hey, We’re almost there!” Fredrick beamed as he looked over at Jonathan, to which he also smiled.

“Good! I hope the power is still on there!” “It should, it’s powered by Korsa! No power bills here, Gomez made sure of that!”

Two miles later, they arrived in what was once Baton Rouge. Icicles hanged from abandoned houses and buildings, rubble scattered every which way, the city was barely recognizable. Now all it was was a place for rebellious teenagers to group up and chew Aximin, raiders to rob people or for wild animals to hunt for prey.

“Are you sure the Lab is still here?” Jonathan whispered as he looked around the place, to which Fredrick nodded.

“Yes, of course it is! It has to be! See? There it is!” he announced as he pointed to a grey building with a flat roof, high windows, and scuffed paint, most likely from rocks hitting it or shrapnel. Jonathan raised his eyebrows, surprised that the building was even standing after all these years.

“Wow, you were right! I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Fredrick!”

As they pulled into the parking lot and got out, Fredrick scanned the locked building, noticing a broken window that was just out of his reach, and even if he could get up to that window, he wouldn’t be able to fit, as the window was a bit too small around for man to squeeze through.

“....Hey Jonathan!” “Hm?”

“You think I could give you a boost and you could go through that window and unlock the door?” “Hell, Probably! Looks big enough!” Jonathan pipped as he walked towards Fredrick and the window. Fredrick then found a stick to break the rest of the glass so that Jonathan would not get cut, and afterwards, Fredrick boosted Jonathan up to the window, to which Jonathan successfully crawled through, entering the same building he used to work at all those years ago.

“Do you see anything, Jonathan?” Fredrick called out through the other side of the window.

“Thats the thing- I can’t see a thing!” Jonathan yelled back, choking down a cough as he looked around for the power closet.

“It should be somewhere near the door, I think! Glass Doors, can’t miss ‘em!”

Jonathan then made his way into the lobby where sure enough, the glass doors were, and next to the doors-- or more accurately, adjacent to the doors, was the electrical closet.

“Which ones do i flip?”

“You flip all of them!” Jonathan then flipped all 10 of the switches, and within seconds, the flourescent lights lit up, revealing white tables, shelves with solutions of every kind, and dark malachite tiled floors, riddled with dust.

“Got it!” As soon as Jonathan got the words out of his mouth, he heard a low gutteral growl from farther into the facility that echoed off of the walls..

“...Hello?” Jonathan called out, which would soon prove to be a mistake, for as soon as he finished his sentence, two spikers lunged out of the darkness towards Jonathan, sending him running back toward the window he came out of.

“SPIKERS! SPIKERS! FREDRICK, THERES TWO SPIKERS IN HERE!”

Fredrick froze when he heard Jonathan’s scream the name of those monsters. No, No! This can’t be happening again, He thought to himself frantically. He tried his best to jump through the window to help him, but it was no use. It was then that Fredrick remembered that he had his favorite p1st0l with him in case of raiders or spikers, and he immediately drew it out of his holster, trying his best to aim it through the window, sending a few sh0ts towards the spikers that unfortunately missed. Realizing that his position would only result in him wasting amm0, he threw the p1stol to Jonathan, who caught it mid-air.

“SH00T, JON, SH00T! AIM FOR THE EYES!” He yelled, his voice momentarily distracting the spikers as Jonathan aimed into their cold unforgiving white eyes…

POP! POP-POP! POP-POP POP!

The spikers let out a horrid wretching scream as they collapsed to the floor, twitching as their last nerves die out. Finally, the two spikers that would’ve likely made Jonathan their meal were dead.

“I… I Got them, Fredrick! Thank you!” “Don’t mention it- Now, are you gonna open the doors?” Fredrick laughed nervously as he scanned the rubble to make sure no other spikers were lurking about.

“Of course! Let me go open the doors right quick!” Jonathan huffed as he ran back into the lobby to open the doors, finally letting Fredrick in.

“Wow… this place has been virtually untouched! I’m surprised that no-one has broken in besides those spikers!” Fredrick exclaimed as he noticed all of the dust and cobwebs on the shelfs and in the corners.

“Yeah, I’m amazed that this building is even standing after the cluster-bombings and for how long its been here unmaintained!”

Now that the two men were safe and sound, Fredrick brought the ice-chest containing Olivia inside, and gently placed her into a cryogenic pod for safe-keeping and preservation.

“Alright, now that she’s safe, we should clean this place up! If we’re going to be doing any science in this place, the last thing we want is dust and spiders getting in our work!” Fredrick declared as he picked up a broom from the closet and began to sweep the dust and dirt off of the floor. Jonathan agreed, and picked up a cloth to dust the rest of the things, like the beakers, the machinery, the tables, and any other things that need cleaning. 2 hours later, the lab was finally clean and presentable, and a wooden board was put over the broken window so that neither cold nor spikers would get in.

“Ha…. now this is a lot like how I remember it..” Fredrick sighed as he set down on one of the roller chairs next to the testing tables.

“Yeah, We did Project Prometheus in this very lab, didn’t we?” “Haha! We sure did! We were a lot younger, and I was a lot skinnier!”

“Fredrick, thats because you barely ate anything during the entirety of the project! You look a lot better now then you did back in the 2020’s!” Jonathan chuckled nervously as he brought out two cots out of the back room that were to be used in the event the lab became a fallout shelter.

“I forgot we even had those cots back there!” Fredrick exclaimed with a smile, to which Jonathan smiled back.

“Well, I didn’t think we’d wanna sleep out in the cold truck, huh? I even found some blankets and pillows.” “Well good deal! Here, i’ll get the other one!” Fredrick offered as he took one of the cots out of Jonathan’s arms and began unfolding it, snapping the bars that held it open in place. They then unfolded the blankets and put them over the cots, finishing the job by putting the pillows in place.

“Its not much, but its better then sleeping on the damn floor, eh Fredrick?” Jonathan laughed. Fredrick chuckled and nodded, stretching his back until it made a quiet pop.

“It sure is, Jon! It sure is. Y’know, it kinda reminds me of the sleepovers we used to have as kids!” Fredrick reminisced as he undid his necktie and unbuttoned his dress-shirt and took off his belt and shoes to get ready to go to sleep, leaving nothing but his tank-top undershirt, pants, and black socks.

“Oh, I remember those days! I remember we would hang out in your room playing video games, watching cartoons, and eating cheese balls and drinking root beer!” Jonathan said with a smile as he also took off his shoes and belt, trading in his periwinkle turtleneck for a baggy black t-shirt that he found while searching for the cots. Afterwards, Jonathan turned off the overhead lights, leaving one table lamp on so that he could see, and the two scientists entered their cots.

“....Hey, Jonathan?” Fredrick whispered to Jonathan as he stretched out on the cot, letting his forearms dangle on each side while his tired pine eyes looked over to him.

“Yeah, Fredrick?”

“...Thank you for helping me with this project so far. You’re probably one of the only people I can trust right now, and you being here to help me is just.. It helps more than you know.” He whispered, his voice nearly being choked over by tears.

“Hey, thats what best friends do. I want you to be happy again, and if it means that we go back to doing science in this old lab, then I’m gonna be with you each step of the way.” Jonathan whispered back with a warm smile. Fredrick smiled, and looked up at the ceiling as Jonathan pulled the covers over himself.

“.....Goodnight, Fredrick.”

“Goodnight, Jonathan.”

#book #bookwriting #writing #writeblr #red tides a' rollin'#writers of tumblr #book writing #RTaR

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smoooothoperator · 3 years

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Monaco (Charles Leclerc)

Summary: Y/N is Tom Holland's manager and this year she attends with him to the Monaco GP. What if she meets one of the Ferrari drivers?

Word count: 1896

A/N: Sooo this is my first work. Hope you like it❤

Since I was little, Tom and I were friends. I grew with him and got to see every step made into Hollywood. I met all of his friends and become a little group were Zendaya and I were the only girls. Harrison and I worked with him, he's his assistant and I'm his manager, so we travel together a lot. This year, after all the press interviews of his last movie he wanted to take us to a vacation to Monaco, the same week the Formula One is taking place there. The city is full of cars and people, and it's easy to be caught by some Tom's fans an the streets.

"Man, look at those pretty cars" Harrison was living his life, watching all the Ferrari and Mercedes parked in front the building "Haz you are drooling" I laughed looking at my friend "I mean, they are cars..." "Are you for real? Y/N look at those beatiful machines" Tom sighed walking near a Ferrari "Oh, so fucking gorgeous"

I laughed looking at my best friends being in love with two cars and when two men dressed with red shirts came near them they stood up real quickly.

"Are you Tom Holland?" one of the asked with an strange english accent. "Oh God, and are you Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz? The Ferrari drivers?" Tom has his fangirl mode activated. "Yeah" they laughed and Harrison started to talk with them.

I'm standing away of them, letting the four men talk, while I'm talking on my phone with one of Tom's sponsors, and I started to feel a pair of eyes locked on my back. When I turned around I saw one of the drives, don't know his name, looking at me with a smile on his face.

"And you are?" he asked turning all the attention to me "I saw Harrison with Tome in media, but... you?" "Oh, I'm his manager" I answered walking near them, placing myself between Tom and Harrison and touching Tom's shoulder "Y/N L/N, nice to meet you" "The pleasure is mine"

Oh damn, flirting are we?

The drivers said goodbye to us the doors of the red Ferrari that was near us and the one who filtered with me started the engine of the car making Tom and Harrison shout of happiness.

"Will you see the race?" the driver asked me with a smile on his lips. "I think so" I smiled at him feeling how my checks started to burn. "I'm Charles, by the way, Charles Leclerc"

Tom and Harrison laughed loud signaling my blushed face and I kicked both of their arms. We started to walk to our after graving something to eat on the steet and when we arrived to our suite OK the hotel I booked I started to call one of Tom's sponsors who is here in Monaco.

"Come one, Y/N. Stop working, we are here for relax and forget about work." Tom complained taking my phone from my hands. "But..." "No buts, enjoy." Harrison interrupted me covering my mouth with his hands "Plus, can we talk about how Charles Leclerc started to flirt with you? He had heart eyes" "Oooh, that's true!" Tom started to jump in his seat, clapping and laughing "He even asked you if you were going to see the race" "He wasn't flirting, he was just... being polite" I sighed rolling my eyes. "And why did he started following you on Instagram?" Tom took my phone on his hands when it turned on with a notification "Oh! And he sent a message to you!"

I stood up front the couch and walked to my bed with my phone between my hands, opening Instagram and reading his message.

charles_leclerc: Hey it's me, Charles Leclerc. I wanted to know if you can come to the Ferrari paddock with Tom and Harrison?

I smiled reading his message while bitting my lip.

me: Hi Charles, sorry we already have an invitation from RedBull... but of course we're going to walk near! I think Harrison wanted to have a look to the cars

charles_leclerc Oh, well... So, do you like Monaco?

I laughed softly. He changed the topic so quickly that o even se that coming.

me: I haven't seen too much, only the harbor and some nice shops... but it's pretty

charles_leclerc: Do you want me to show you the city?

I gasped in surprise, sitting on my bed and looking at the screen of my phone.

"Guys?" I shouted, hearing their footsteps coming near me. "What?" they shouted looking at me worried. "I think Charles Leclerc asked me to go with him on a date" "I KNEW IT!" Tom exclaimed "Okay so, what did you said?" "Nothing! I mean, what if he's joking? I'm sure he is..."

Tom rolled his eyes and started to tap on my phone, writing a message for Charles. He smiled and then put the phone on the bed.

"You have to get ready, he will come in an hour" "He what?" "Go on. And put something red" Harrison smiled and they left me alone on my room.

Sighing I opened the suitcase and searched for something to wear but nothing red. I dressed with a midi black dress and some sandals and painted my lips with a red lipstick.

"He's here" Tom said looking outside the windows, waving to someone on the street "And he has the Ferrari we saw this morning. Damn Y/N, enjoy the drive and then describe to us how the car was" "You are a freak" I laughed opening the door.

Leaving the hotel Charles opened the door for me with a big smile and started to drive on the streets. He showed me all the important places and personal places like his mother's house or the school were he studied when he was a kid. Some fans who recognised him started to cheer for him and he waved to them with a smile on his lips.

"Is like that everyday? Like you walk on the street and everyone knows who you are. Aren't you stressed about that?" I asked him looking at all his fans. "Not really. Well, it's true that when I race here I feel a lot of pressure because you know... it's home and they are my people. But you know... is really good to feel the support of them" he explained smiling to me. "I guess so..." "And how it is being Tom's manager?" "Is like if I'm taking care of a child! I'm always looking that he doesn't spoil a movie, or swear on public TV... but I love him, he's my best friend since I was little" I smiled, moving my hands while I speak. "I have to confess that the first time I saw you Carlos and I thought that you were his girlfriend " he sighed. "God, no! Never in a million years" I laughed.

He smiled to me and parked the car. I looked outside and when I saw that we are on the top of Monaco I sighed with happiness.

"Wow, what a wonderful view" I smiled looking at the sea "Thank you for the ride, Charles" "I hope you enjoyed it" he smiled grabbing my hand and walking to a bench.

None of us talk, instead we enjoy the silence looking at the sea. I didn't notice that his hand is still holding mine but I don't care, it feels right.

"You know... when I saw you this morning the first thing I noticed was you, not your friends" he said, squeezing my hand "Like, yeah they are Tom Holland and Harrison Osterflied, but... you are beautiful" "Charles..." "I don't want you think that I say this to every girl a see" he interrupted me "I mean it. You are gorgeous, Y/N"

I smiled and placed my head on his shoulder, leaning on him I little.

"Come to my garage tomorrow at the race" he whispered. "But I already talked with RedBull" "Only you" he insisted, interviewing our hands and caressing my skin "Please" "Okay..."

He laughed softly and stood from the bench. He drived me back to my hotel and I promised to meet him tomorrow at his garage, waving goodbye to him. Opening the door of the suite I'm welcomed my Tom and Harrison asking me about the date.

"It was... fine" I answered with a smile "The car, I mean. The date was actually really good." "Do you like him?" Tom asked with a smile. "Well... I only know him since this morning, but he's kinda cute"

The next morning we walked to the track, Tom waving to all the people who recognised him and laughed when McLaren started to put the SpiderMan theme song on their garage. When I reached the merchandising shop I stopped to by a Ferrari shirt and put it on me quickly, making Tom and Harrison laugh.

"What? I'm going to their garage, at least I should wear something for them" I sighed at them. "You like Charles " Harrison singed hugging my shoulders ", and that's really cute." "Yeah, whatever"

I stopped in front of Ferrari garage and Charles waved at me with a smile on his lips, dressed already on his driver suit. I followed him and sat where he indicated me before he reached to the car.

The race started, and he was first because he finished first yesterday on qualification. But after some minutes something happened to his car.

"No. No. No." He said via radio.

He can't race anymore, his car stopped working only at the warm up lap. The garage started to move stressed and requested for a safety car to bring Charles back. My phone started vibratting and the screen lighted up with a Tom's message.

Tommy: That was Charles, right?

Me: Yeah...

I heard the door of a car closing and the next thing that happened was a surprise to me. Charles started to walk towards me and he hugged me in front of everyone.

"Hey, are you alright?" I asked caressing his back. "I'm not" he whispered on my neck.

He started to shake and I searched for help with my eyes. A woman watched us and she waved to me catching my attention, making me go away from him and catching his hand walking in front of him. The woman lead us to an empty room and she smiled at me before closing the door.

"Hey" I put my hands on his cheeks lifting his head up. "No, please. Just... hug me."

I sighed and hugged him. He started to cry on me, wrapping me with his arms and making me caress his hair.

"It's okey to cry, Charles. I'm here, not going anywhere " I whispered softly.

He sat on the couch and I sat on his lap, humming on his hair trying to calm his nerves. When he stopped crying I took his face between my hands and dried his cheeks with my fingers.

"Everything is fine" I smiled to him.

He looked at me and started to lean on me, looking between my eyes and my lips. Our foreheads are touching and in one second his lips are on mine.

"I only know you for a day... but I already like you, Y/N" he sighed on my lips making me smile. "I like you too, Charles"

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles lecrelc #formula 1 #f1

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the-hidden-pages · 3 years

Text

Let Me Worship You: Part 1 - Zemo x Fem!Reader

The fact that this man is the one who dragged me out of my refusing-to-write-fanfiction grave and let me post old work while working on new stuff is...Impressive. Damn you Daniel Bruhl.

Synopsis: With all the horrible things you had heard of Baron Helmut Zemo, you hadn't anticipated just how badly he wished to win you over. To a further extent, you certainly hadn't anticipated how tempting it would be to give in.

No bad NSFW this chapter - this is the lead up to the main course.

You were not an Avenger.

Unsurprising, really, given what you perceived to be your lack of talent and marketable super-heroine prowess, and so when Bucky called you up asking for a favour, you were pleasantly surprised.

You had only met Bucky on the rare occasion he let you help him, often expressing that he viewed you as a worrywart, a particularly bad day of his leading to him accusing you of trying to be his mother. He later apologized, hearing your explanation that you wanted to help in any way you could, and since you didn't have a superhero serum or fancy suit or arm, you relied on what you could - your mind and your giving nature.

He must have remembered this conversation, because he brought you with him and Sam to what appeared to be an underground parking garage.

"What're you talking about, you wanna break Zemo out of jail? Where the hell are we Buck? Have you lost your mind?!" Sam was raving as you followed behind the two men, silent as you stew over what Bucky had told you.

Babysitting duty.

You were effectively on glorified babysitting duty of an incredibly dangerous criminal.

"James..." you hesitated when he discussed this with you, how could you not? "I don't know how useful I'll be here."

"Very," he countered, his voice dull while his eyes were pleading. "Sam’s an Avenger, I have the serum. But you, you're just a person. Zemo will be less likely to hurt and immediately betray you because of that fact alone."

"He's killed people who've been in his way before. Normal people."

"He won't kill you. I'll make sure of that."

A heavy sigh escapes you as Sam and Bucky continue to bicker about the logistics of breaking Zemo out.

"I don't like how casual you're being about this, it's unnatural - and - where are we man?"

"I wouldn't mind an answer to that too," you supply, but any answer is interrupted by the sound of a door unlocking.

The three of you turn to approaching footsteps, and find no one other than Helmut Zemo striding towards you, dressed in a prison guard's uniform.

Sam responds immediately, arguing to throw him back in jail, while Bucky tries to calm him down. But you can't help but stare at the man before you as he removes the cap on his head, arms raised in an attempt to calm the men down.

"If I may" his voice rasped, but he was stopped short by Sam and Bucky in unison.

"NO!"

Zemo nodded, looking away almost sheepishly. "Apologies," came the quiet response.

If it were any other situation, you would have laughed - those two had the dynamics of a married couple and they couldn't stand each other. And for them to completely shut down the killer in front of them was...incredibly funny.

But you had a job to do.

As the boys continued to bicker, you took slow steps forward towards the man now looking you up and down, trying to place your part in all of this.

"Don't mind them," you spoke quietly, not wanting to distract Sam and Bucky, but still intending to speak with the criminal. "They're having some troubles in paradise. You must be Zemo."

His eyes take you in, a small smirk beginning to form. "So I must. May I have the pleasure of your name, Liebling?"

You offer your name hesitantly, and he repeats it back to you, as though he were sampling what it might taste like.

"Beautiful name, thank you." He turns to face the two men still arguing, not noticing your introductions. "I really think I'm invaluable..."

"Shut up..." Sam warned, before turning back to Bucky, looking between him and you.

You nod reassuringly to him - this is necessary, if the super soldiers are to be dealt with.

A sharp sigh leaves Sam. "Okay. If we do this, you don't make a move without our permission. And she is watching you every step of the way."

Bucky interjects. "And if anything happens to her, you're going to wish we left you in that cell."

Zemo nods, looking to you once again. "Fair."

You tilt your head slightly, unable to read his eyes as they examine you. You brush it off, chalking it up to him appreciating not being thrown back into a cell immediately. "Okay Zemo. Where do we start?"

*************************************

Zemo wasn't sure of what to make of you, he realized as you were on the jet to Riga.

You weren't an Avenger, you weren't a soldier, super or otherwise. You seemed to just be a person, one constantly offering her help where she could, even when it was to her own detriment.

He also took note of how rarely your help was appreciated or reciprocated.

You would offer help any moment you could, carrying supplies, offering to fetch food, simply offering and ear to listen. You were quick to attempt to smooth over Sam and Bucky's disputes, and you would play along with the role Zemo would assign you without much question - anything to help, you would say.

You were kind, he noticed as well. Smart, and shrewd, and clearly with trust issues, but you were kind and polite. You spoke with him as much as you might Sam or Bucky, you offered him your trust under the promise he would aide you find the super soldier serum. With your kindness, he thought it might be easy to manipulate you, to slip away from the group, maybe even to ask you to join him.

But there was an issue with his theory, he quickly noticed - any attempt to woo you, attract you, win you...didn't seem to work.

He hadn't been at the task long, mind you, but he had hoped you would be impressed with the jacket, the Baron title, the jet, the offer of wine. Instead, you simply seemed uncomfortable. Come Madripoor, you were happy to play the part of eye candy to escape much attention, yet when he offered you to keep the stunning dress, shoes, and jewelry ensemble you simply waved it off, claiming that you'd reimburse him if he insisted on you keeping it. You were happy to dance near him, unable to hide your laughter at his moves, yet he offered you a drink and you promptly declined, claiming it unnecessary.

Zemo's brow furrows as he observes you, awake and quietly reading as Sam and Bucky both sleep on the flight.

"What's your motive, Liebling?" he questions, and you glance up from your page.

"Don't tell me the criminal doesn't trust me," you respond wryly, turning your gaze back.

"No, I don't mean like that," he shifts, leaning forward to continue to observe the woman that was his guard. "I wonder what keeps you going. Some are motivated by riches, and dreams. Others from spite and anger. What do you want from life, my dear? What causes you to wake up in the morning?"

You pause, looking up to search his eyes to see where this question was coming from. You weren't sure what game he was playing, and you weren't sure how to answer him either. You eventually look back down to your book, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Nothing wakes me up in the morning, given I rarely get to sleep most nights."

His brows furrowed as she goes back to her pages, eager for the conversation to end. Her difficulty doesn't seem to be that he's a criminal - she's spoken plenty freely to him, she agrees to his plans...

The difficulty, he begins to realize with a smile. Maybe he's beginning to see what the difficulty is after all.

*************************************

You weren't sure what to make of Zemo, you think as you lie awake at night in the Riga safe house.

This criminal coming out of nowhere, apparently being rich as hell, so far doing nothing to cause you to believe he would betray you (yes, Sam and Bucky were shocked by his killing of Nagel, but really? You weren't shocked) ...but what shocked you the most was how badly he seemed to want to win you over.

You could justify it, sure. You're supposed to be his guard, he's likely trying to get you to let your guard down so he can escape. Yet when he's so charismatic, the way he holds himself, that voice...

Your eyes snap open sharply.

You were attracted to Zemo.

The man you're meant to be watching.

No, you told yourself. You're just lonely, and he's the first man offering you attention in a long time. It doesn't matter that his eyes examining you makes you blush, that you want to run your fingers through his hair, that a quiet voice your head wished that he would kiss you when he pulled you aside with one arm, other hand aiming at a pipe in Madripoor to blow up some poor saps...

It's the heat of the situation, you told yourself. Your options are Sam, Bucky, and Zemo...

Trust you to pick the worst option.

But how could you not, your mind whispers. When he danced like a goofball in a club your heart warmed. When he sat, filled with confidence and righteousness in the jet, legs splayed enough that you could perch on your knees in front of him, worship him, pleasure him. When he left the bathroom this morning in that damned robe, the deep V drawing your eyes down his chest before you could help himself.

You groaned. Of all the thoughts to keep you awake, why did it have to be your assignment on your mind?

It was too hot, your mind was swimming, you knew sleep wouldn't come soon.

And so, you stood, wrapping your arms around your book and padding downstairs in a loose t-shirt and shorts. Zemo had said that you were welcome to whatever resided within the safe house, and you were ready to take up his offer and steal a cup of tea.

You weren't expecting to find anyone else still awake. And yet, you weren't fully surprised to find Zemo sitting in the kitchen, bottle of whiskey at his side, a glass in his hand. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a soft smile on his face.

"Good evening, Liebling."

"Zemo. Can't sleep?"

"Unfortunately, not." He leans backwards slightly, examining you. "Another sleepless night for you as well."

"So it would seem."

You take a seat across the counter from him, not wanting to sit too closely to the man you were just fantasizing about. You were good at keeping a straight face, but you wondered if you got too close if he'd somehow be able to smell it on you.

He pushed his bottle forward, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"Drink?"

Your finger caresses the binding of your book as you hesitate to find the words.

"Actually, I had come down to make myself a cup of tea, if you don't mind."

Zemo's eyes lit up slightly, and he stood, motioning for you to stay where you were. "Allow me."

"You don't have to-" you begin to protest, but he's quick to cut you off.

"Please, Liebling, let me spoil you."

The heat that washes over you is clearly visible, if his chuckle is any indicator.

Silence falls and you quietly open your book as Zemo busies himself over the tea. In mere minutes a steeping mug is delicately placed in front of you. You smile graciously and nod, though you falter slightly as he doesn't return to the other end of the counter - rather, sitting on a stool right beside you, inquisitive eyes not leaving your face.

"Can I help you with something, Baron?" you question, taking the tea and blowing on it to cool it down somewhat. His eyes follow your movements, before travelling to meet yours again.

You could drown in those eyes -

"Day after day you offer your help, sarcastically or not," he begins, leaning forward slightly as he rests his chin on his hand, examining you. "Who offers help to the helper?"

You take a sip of your tea, tilting you head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Your refusal of my gifts, your reluctance to let me even make you a cup of tea - at first I wondered if it was in distrust of me, Liebling -"

"Well, you have killed people."

He quirks an eyebrow, and you motion for him to finish.

"I realize now it's because you're uncomfortable being cared for. You spend so much time looking after everyone else, you give no one the opportunity to worship you as you deserve."

You choked a bit on your tea at that.

"I don't know that I deserve to be worshiped, I just...exist. And do what I can to help others."

Zemo leaned forward further, slowly, so as to not push you away in result. "We haven't been acquainted for long, my dear, but from all I've seen from you with Sam, with James, and with an undeserving man such as myself...the strength in your soul and the empathy in your heart...It alone rises you so far above the men and women placed on pedestals because of their supernatural abilities."

You lean forward to match, but your eyes have steeled over. "Your sweet words won't make me let you go, Zemo. I won't betray Sam and Bucky."

He didn't miss a beat. "I should be so lucky to be held captive by you for eternity, Liebling. I don't ask you to betray your friends on my behalf."

"Then what do you want from me, exactly?"

You should be very afraid. The man who singlehandedly tore apart the Avengers is staring at you as if you were a last meal, his knees touching yours, his hand finding its way to lightly perch on your arm.

You should be afraid.

Yet despite your better judgement, you aren't.

"I want you to tell me every one of your desires, so I might fulfill them. I want to see you stand tall in the finest clothes money can buy, to whisk you away to Paris, Vienna, Rome, every beautiful local this world has to offer, local that pale in comparison to the beauty in front of me. I want you to let me bring you tea, wine, food, chocolates, and anything else that might please you. I want you to relax against me, to feel the tension you've had all mission to wash away in the most luxurious bath of your life, while I wash your beautiful hair, while I taste every inch of you."

His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, and you couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward more to hang off his every word. "I'm not a stupid man. I know it's only a matter of time before I'm back in a prison cell of some kind. And even if I weren't, you may not believe the sincerity of my words. But tonight, little bird, I want you to let me worship you."

Your eyes fluttered as his hand reached forward to cup your cheek, thumb caressing over your bottom lip. You had the strength to look him dead in the eye with one final warning.

"If this is a trick of any kind, Zemo, I won't hesitate to let Bucky rip you to shreds."

The laughter that leaves him fans over your face, drawing your eyes to his lips.

"I'd expect nothing less, Liebling."

His eyes still search your face. A gentleman, you realize. He's waiting for permission.

You lean forward to close the gap, slowly letting your mouth brush over his, tasting him for the first time, as your hand raises to card through the locks of hair in his face. Your body thrums with anticipation of what's to come, with the anxiety that this may be a dangerous move, with pure, undiluted arousal from his words.

Yet you break away gently, both hands cupping his face now as he looks at you, curious as to why you stopped, pleased that his initial seduction worked.

Your hands slowly travel down to his own, and you stand, backing towards the way you came when you first gave up on sleep for the night.

"Come on then. You want to show me what being spoiled is like?"

A grin curls its way onto his face as he spins you in his arms, twirling you so that your back is against his front, his arms around you, his breath hot in your ear.

"Little bird, I'll give you everything you crave and more."

#zemo x reader #zemo fanfic #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #x reader #baron zemo x reader

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ejzah · 2 years

Note

Different anon, but could you write a second part to your Callen and Deeks undercover story? I could use some comfort to go with the hurt.

A/N: If I didn’t mention it before, this takes place before Kensi and Deeks are together.

***

Proof

“Eric, I need an ambulance to our cover location,” Callen ordered tersely, packing Deeks into the passenger seat with a little less care than his battered torso appreciated. He ran around to the other side, sliding into the drivers seat, and starting the ignition.

“No, I’m fine,” Deeks insisted, cutting in before Eric could respond.

“Deeks, you need to be in a hospital.” In the dark, Deeks could see Callen’s mingled concern and anger. He’d lost his Russian accent sometime during the trip from the warehouse to their car. It made it harder for Deeks to pretend that this was all part of the plan. “I felt at least one of your ribs crack.”

Deeks winced, not appreciating the reminder. Callen had beat him for what felt like hours until Parham lazily told him to stop. Then they’d negotiated while Deeks lay in a semi-incoherent heap. It was only partially an act; Deeks heard some potentially useful information from Parham’s men while they thought he was unconscious, but honestly, he probably wouldn’t have gotten up under his own power anyway.

“I know.” His words were blunt as he stared at Callen from under his sweat, dirty hair. “But you know how suspicious it will look if an ambulance shows up anywhere around us or if I go to the hospital. We’re not the type of guys who seek out that kind of help.”

“Deeks,” Kensi breathes over comm.

“No, he’s right,” Callen agreed reluctantly. He sighed deeply, eyes distant as he thought. “Meet us at the cover house, but make sure no one sees you go in.”

***

“They should be here by now,” Kensi said, worrying at her thumb between her teeth. She hadn’t been able to stop moving since Callen had delivered the first blow to Deeks. She’d wanted to intervene then, but Sam held her back. Sam didn’t say anything now, just giving her a dark and measured look.

He said nothing now, his tense, grave expression doing nothing to alleviate her concern. They’d had no visual, but Kensi winced at the sound of flesh meeting flesh. She could only hope that Callen managed to pull some of his punches.

“They just pulled up,” Sam announced urgently, pulling Kensi out of her thoughts. She rushed over to the window, but couldn’t see anything other than the back of the black sedan Deeks and Callen were using for the op.

After a another three minutes, which Kensi silently counted down, there was the sound of the front door unlocking and it swung open. Callen had Deeks’ left arm slung over his shoulders and stumbled through the door. Kensi took a step back, momentarily horrified into inaction by the sight of Deeks slumped against Callen, most of his body weight supported by the other man, head hanging low between his shoulders.

“Help me get him to the bed,” Callen said gruffly and Sam grabbed Deeks’ other arm, nearly carrying him to the single bedroom in the small apartment.

Despite Sam’s obvious attempt to be gentle as he laid him down, Deeks hissed loudly, lashing out defensively when his back hit the bed. He managed to inch away a few inches and then his face went slack, all the fight leaving his body.

“Oh my god,” Kensi murmured, nausea rising as his face became fully visible. Blood coated the right side, from temple to chin, beneath that a wealth of bruises and swelling. She brushed past Callen and Sam and crouched in front of Deeks, carefully easing his shirt up his torso.

Dark bruises covered the majority of his stomach and she swallowed harshly. It looked bad. Really bad.

“Can one of you get me a first aid kit?”

“Sure thing,” Sam said, his voice quiet. She heard him whisper something and belatedly realized that Callen was standing behind them. She spared him a half glance, seeing the concerned look he shot Deeks before leaving the room.

His guilt, or whatever he was feeling, would have to wait. For now, her main concern was ensuring that Deeks wasn’t about die from a punctured lung or something. Deeks was still limp worryingly limp, although his chest moved at regular intervals. That was a good sign at least.

Bracing herself, Kensi placed her hands on his sides, just above his hips where the bruising was lightest. She applied pressure, firm enough to feel if anything seemed too out of place or swollen. His skin was a little warm, but nothing to unusual. She worked steadily, systematically shifting across his stomach and towards his chest

“Agh!” Deeks shouted suddenly when she just barely pressed against his fourth rib.

“Deeks?” She shifted over him, relieved when he turned his head, and squinted at her while grimacing.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” he whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh my god, you are such an idiot,” Kensi said, laughing hoarsely in relief. She cupped the very edge of his jaw, the only part of him that wasn’t injured. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t have internal bleeding.”

“I don’t.” He squinted again, nostrils flaring as he pressed his arm over his torso. He breathed slowly for a few seconds while Kensi waited, instinctively brushing her thumbs across his jaw.

There was more blood matted in his beard and hair, which stuck to his skin. Kensi eased a piece back, taking a moment to assess the extent of his facial injuries. The main source of the blood seemed to come from a long cut just above his eyebrow. That was somewhat of a relief.

“Here’s the kit,” Callen offered, silently appearing by her side and interrupting her examination.

“Thanks.”

He paused again, unusually hesitant, hands twitching a little as he stared down at Deeks.

“You gonna say something?” Deeks asked unexpectedly, squeezing one eye open. Even that looked fairly painful. Callen smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes and gestured to Deeks’ battered face.

“I’m sorry. I should have figured out a different way to deal with Parham,” he said earnestly. His fingers clenched again as though he were remembering the violence they caused.

“Don’t sweat it, Man.” Deeks shrugged, or as much as he could without hurting himself more. “I’ve had a lot worse, believe it or not. And I’ll take getting beat up by a friend over a bullet in my head any day.”

“The only reason that didn’t happen is because of you,” Callen insisted. “There aren’t a lot of guys who could withstand what you did and make it look convincing. Parham wouldn’t have agreed to go forward otherwise.”

“Thanks,” Deeks said. Callen hesitated again, then reached down to squeeze his shoulder. In that moment, he seemed to share something unspoken with Deeks, who nodded once, his expression silently offering forgiveness.

“Let me know if you need anything, Kens.” He nudged her shoulder as he walked back out.

“Ok, well, let’s see if I can clean you up a little,” Kensi said with forced brightness. Callen’s reminder of what Deeks had endured had her on edge and oddly emotional again.

Avoiding Deeks’ gaze, she examined the supplies Callen brought, which included a few damp towels, the first aid kit, and a few additional rolls of bandages. She grabbed one of the towels and set to wiping away the blood covering his face.

Some of it had already started to dry, which meant Kensi needed to scrub a little more firmly than she intended. She noticed Deeks’ hands ball into tense fists, but he didn’t complain.

As she suspected, there were more injuries hiding beneath the blood and grime. His right eye was swollen and dark, the puffiness extending out towards his cheekbone. She prodded it gently, relieved when she didn’t find any signs of fracture. There were also a few more, less serious scratches here and there.

Kensi winced in sympathy as she cleaned the blood away from his mouth. His full bottom lip was split straight down the middle.

“So, what’s the verdict, Nurse Blye?” he asked a few minutes later. He sounded drowsy and his eyes were glazed, even though he hadn’t taken any kind of pain medication.

“I still think you need a doctor,” Kensi started tersely, tossing the towel to the side. She grabbed a large butterfly bandage to apply to his cut. “It’s a good thing you’re hair is ridiculously long because you’ll probably have a scar, and if you’re thinking about me in a slutty nurse costume, I’ll punch you in the ribs.”

She managed to keep her voice calm as she smoothed the bandage down. There was still some blood that crusted around his hairline. For some reason that made her hands tremble slightly and she quickly grabbed a role of bandages for his ribs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Here, we need to get your shirt off.”

“Now that’s definitely how several of my fantasies started,” Deeks commented as she started tugging at his shirt again. “Though you might have to wait until I can stand again without passing out.”

Something about his joking comment made tears spring to her eyes and Kensi hastily turned away from him, pressing her fist to her mouth.

“Kens.” He sounded worried now and she heard the bed shift.

“Don’t sit up, you idiot,” Kensi told him, pushing him back down. Unfortunately that also meant he got a clear view of the tears running down her cheeks.

“Kensi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…do whatever I did,” he said. Kensi heaved a wet, heavy sigh.

“When Callen started hitting you, I…I wanted to help you. I should have been there, but all I could do was listen to you get be tortured. She wiped furiously under her eyes. “I was terrified, Deeks.”

“Hey.” Deeks voice was unbelievably soft and his hand cupped her wrists, easily encircling it. His touch was soothing, instantly calming some of the fear running through her. “Look at me Kens.” She did reluctantly, finding only concern and tenderness in his eyes. “I’m ok,” he repeated firmly, emphasizing each word. “I hurt like hell, but I promise I’m not dying.”

“You better not,” Kensi whispered, twisting her hand to curl her fingers around wrist so they were firmly entangled. “Cause I need my partner.”

“Always.”

Squeezing his hand even more tightly, Kensi pressed her lips together. Deeks’ upper lip was quirked with a hint of a smile, his eyes half-shut with exhaustion, and suddenly she was overwhelmed with intense affection for him.

Ignoring the voice of caution in her head, Kensi leaned forward, and kissed his the small patch of his forehead that wasn’t bruised or cut.

“You can rest now, Deeks.” She brushed her free hand through his hair, still firmly clutching his wrist with her other. “I’ll be here the whole time.”

Deeks’ smile widened a hint and his eyes slipped closed as she watched over him.

***

A/N: I hope this satisfied your desire for comfort.

Thanks for the prompt!

#ncis la fanfiction #kensi blye #marty deeks #callen #Sam #angst #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 3 years

Note

IFJAJHWJJF OKAY ONAY ONAY HI I JUST SAW YOUR POSTS PLESE WRITE YANDERE ORC STUFF NO ONE DOES FHANKZKA IM SO EXCITED

Hello my fellow orc loving anon, I hope you enjoy the food, Smutty second course will be on it's way (at some stage). Also since you let me choose I had to pick Risotto.

Of monsters and men

(yandere orc Risotto x female reader)

For generations your family had established peace between your village and the clan of monsters that ruled the land. In exchange for part of your village's crops they would spare you all from rampage.

Everything seemed like a nightmare as you saw the same clan betray centuries of trust. Houses were on fire, men were mutilated and women were forced upon. It all made you sick to the stomach to watch as you ran in the scanty outfit you had to wear. Today was meant to be the day where the village and clan would indulge in festivities, yet it was all chaos instead.

Tears threatened to spill as your dreams of following in your family's steps broke like porcelain. You looked to your side as you heard the wails and screams of young children being forced into a cage like vermin by two ogres. You stood by and watched. Part of your mind telling you to keep running but the other half wanted to save the poor children.

You sighed as you ran towards them and grabbed a nearby pitchfork and hit one of them with the hilt, knocking them out for sure before hitting the other.

"You have to get out of here kids!" You ordered them.

'but I can't find my parents" one of the young girls cried. A frown formed on your lips, you felt so bad for them.

"I know, but you can't stay… your parents would want you to be safe" you explained as you kneeled down and scruffed up her silken hair, trying your best not to cry.

"Do it for your family's sake" you continued.

"Will you come with us lady (Y/n)?" Another asked.

"I can't… as a member of the noble family I have to try and figure out a way to fix this" you explained. You had hoped that maybe your father was already talking to the clan leader, coming up with a solution to the issue.

You helped guide all the children to the edge of the village with the pitchfork you had used to knock out the ogres firmly in your hand before something delivered a low sweep. You fell to the ground and watched them all scream and scatter into the dark forest as something pulled you back.

You were yanked up by the arm and forced to confront your captor as their long forked tongue slid up your neck, leaving a trail of saliva and venom that burned your skin like acid.

"You're a rather feisty lady" a seductive tone hissed as a scaly tail that glimmered like obsidian wrapped around your lower body. Stray locks of lavender coloured hair came into view as the male leaned into you.

"You smell so fertile… I expected nothing less of a noble" he chuckled before turning you around so you could finally see him. A tall Naga with an asymmetric bob, bearing his long fangs.

Your blood froze as you realised the gravity of your current situation. Your heart pounded inside of your chest, threatening to explode any minute.

"What… whatever you intend to do with me… please make it quick" you plead though your shaky breath as you squeeze your eyes shut.

The Naga reacted with a cruel laugh as he watched you squirm in his tails tight grip. Almost prideful of the fear he was inducing.

"Oh I don't intend to do anything with you, but I can't say the same about our ruler" he chuckled.

Your eyes lit up a little, you could try to negotiate with him to leave the village and return to prior times. Yet your stomach also twisted in fear, you had no idea who the ruler of the monster clan was. No human dared to speak of him, not even your father.

"Please take me to him, maybe we could come to some agreement!" You please.

The lavender Naga laughed before leaning in towards your face. His long, forked tongue feathering over your cheek.

"The perfume of fear is intoxicating, Lord Nero could smell it from a mile away" his comments made the hairs on your neck stand.

"But if you are so insistent, then I can only let you try" he continued, his words dripping in sweet venom.

"Yes I do want to go!" You almost yelled.

"Oh so eager, I can't refuse to that" he chuckled as his form wrapped around you more before tightening his grip on you till you couldn't breath. His long body slivered over ground with ease as he deprived you of oxygen. You coughed and weezed as your vision impaired. Your neck hung loosely like an old doll as your limbs starved. Shortly darkness fades in and out of your vision as you struggle to stay conscious.

You closed your eyes and when they opened once more you were in your house. It had been trashed beyond belief, like someone had been searching for something.

Finally the Naga let you go and let you drop to the floor. You took a few deep breaths as you got to your hands and knees. You knew something was hovering above you but you couldn't bring yourself to look up at whoever it was.

"Melone, you can leave now" a deep voice ordered. The Nagas named Melone slivered back before leaving you with whoever the voice belonged to.

"(Y/n)" the male said your name, a sweet and soothing tone on the edge of the previously gravely tone.

"How do you know my name?" You finally asked as you looked. Your blood went cold as you finally saw the large pale orc in front of you. You swallowed your saliva as you studied the intimidating monster's features.

Short hair as white as fresh snow, ruby eyes amongst jet black sclera and a single tusk protruding from his lower jaw. He was extremely tall, even for an orc, his chest broad and exposed with a black leather straps decorated with various jewels. To put it simply, he was an orc of a high class and ruling over a clan of various monsters further proved his status as a ruler.

"I saw a few photographs of you over the years. However your father never spoke of you, so I had to find out more about you myself" he explained. You remained quiet towards the creature.

"Quiet are we? I thought you would have tried to say a few words at least after attacking two members of my army" He muttered before kneeling down.

"I came here to make a deal with you, in exchange I want you to stop this attack" you responded.

"Well I doubt your father is going to repay his debts" he said before pulling you up.

"What are you talking about? We had our taxes raised numerous times because of your demands!" You hissed as you pulled your arm out of his grasp.

The orc gave you a stern look before his features softened.

"Well I was told that there was little money amongst the town, I was kind enough to ask him for alternative payments" he explained.

"He's been paying me almost nothing for the past two years" he continued.

You looked at the orc, trying to figure out if he was lying or not but deep in your heart you could tell he wasn't trying to trick you, he had no reason to.

"Perhaps we can end this conflict now and I can repay you the debt" you suggested.

"I'm not going to just let this brush off so easily, I want a payment now!" he responded with slight anger in his tone.

"I'm sure I can talk this out with my father-" you were saying however the albino orc quickly interjected.

"Do you not realise that your father had abandoned this town" he mentioned.

"No he wouldn't, I don't believe it!" you argued.

"Well read these for yourself" he replied as he grabbed several notes from one of the pockets of his striped pants.

"I found these in your father's quarters" he explained as he handed them to you.

You read only one of them before you dropped them all on the floor. I was undoubtedly your father's hand writing, such a scandalous conversation between him and a woman who was obviously taking him for his money. You were in absolute shock, he had left you all to die.

"Surely I can offer some form of payment here, give me a chance" you begged.

"I doubt it, I've looked everywhere and there is nothing" he replied.

“However if you really want to save this town so badly, I think I could reach an agreement.” he mentioned trying to hide the lust in his eyes.

“State your terms” you stated.

“Eager” he responded.

“Well… I will stop this attack and our clan will leave your village in peace but I have one requirement, I want you” he explained before grabbing your hip.

#yandere jjba #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #halloween au #fantasy au #risotto x reader #risotto nero #yandere risotto

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headoverhiddles · 3 years

Text

The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage.

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.

Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust. “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

“Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

“I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting– it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

“Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together.

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love.

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact."

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now."

"King!"

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning."

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

#dr king schultz #dr king schultz x reader #king schultz #king schultz x reader #django unchained #quentin tarantino #christoph waltz #christoph waltz x reader #django #django fanfiction #tarantino fanfiction #dr schultz #reader x dr king schultz

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stufftippywrote · 3 years

Text

a suggestion

For @anonprecious on Twitter, who requested a Nielan kiss "as a suggestion" many moons ago. This takes place during the Sunshot campaign, so Mingjue is not yet Xichen's "da-ge."

The Sunshot Campaign has been hard on him.

This Lan Xichen can tell in a single glance. Even if he were meeting Nie Mingjue for the first time and not another in a series of a thousand strategy meetings, he’d be able to tell. The others, maybe not, because Nie Mingjue holds himself so upright, conducts his affairs with a practiced stiffness that discourages anyone from looking deeper. But the signs are there, as he leads the meeting, even if Lan Xichen is the only one who can see them - an exhalation, the grip of his hand on the table loosening, the circles of grey under his eyes.

The strategy session mercifully ends, and the other young military leaders make their way out of the room with all the tireless enthusiasm of youth. Lan Xichen remains. Nie Mingjue sits on a bench with his head low, propped up on one weary palm. He lets out a heavy breath. Lan Xichen approaches him carefully, as though he was a cobra that might strike if disturbed. But Nie Mingjue only looks up at him, and if anything there's relief in his eyes when he sees who's there.

"Xichen," he says, the name breaking halfway through as his voice gives.

"Mingjue-xiong," Lan Xichen returns. Nie Mingjue's shoulders slump. He would never slouch like this in front of his soldiers. It gladdens Lan Xichen's heart to know that this upright general can relax in front of him. He drives himself hard, and he deserves to be able to relax somewhere, with someone. Luckier still that Lan Xichen is that someone.

He steps forward and eases himself onto the bench next to Nie Mingjue. "When was the last time you slept?" he asks.

Nie Mingjue shakes his head and mumbles.

"How about your last meal?" Lan Xichen prods gently.

"I ate." Nie Mingjue evades his gaze.

"When?"

"This morning."

Lan Xichen wants to laugh. This serious, justice-minded man can be as stubborn as a toddler. "Well, you're eating again tonight," he says. “Come to my room, I’ll have dinner brought in for us.”

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, but there’s no conviction in it. “I need to look at these maps,” he says, even as he lets Lan Xichen pull him up and away.

He follows Lan Xichen through the passageways and tents like a guilty schoolboy, and they come at last to Lan Xichen’s quarters, a remarkably lovely room for the temporary nature of it. There’s a low table, some ornaments, an incense holder. Lan Xichen finds a stick and lights it, letting the soft perfume disperse into the room. “Sit,” he urges, and Nie Mingjue follows. “And remove your armor. We won’t be attacked tonight.”

Nie Mingjue grumbles a little at this, but he pulls off the heavy breastplate and belt, letting them sit unceremoniously beside the cushion where he sits. As he does, he can’t help letting out a little groan of relief. Lan Xichen hears it and tries not to smile.

He has food brought; the two eat in relative silence, though Lan Xichen tries to lighten the mood with a few observations about the state of the camp, the little dramas by the younger soldiers that play out under his nose. Nie Mingjue is not really listening, or at least he has nothing to say in response. He just eats -- trying not to appear rushed, though his bites are ravenous -- and “mm”s an assent once in a while. It’s fine. Lan Xichen is just happy to have him there, not behind his desk or hunched over a scroll, peering at faded characters in dim light.

When he’s finished, Nie Mingjue of course tries to get up and go. Lan Xichen is there, with a hand on his arm, tugging him back down. Nie Mingjue glares at him, taken aback. Lan Xichen scoots closer to him, pulling his cushion to sit side-by-side with him, and lets his hand wander down from arm to weathered hand. “Stay for a while,” he urges.

“I have things to do,” Nie Mingjue protests, but Lan Xichen shakes his head gravely. He’s learned from years with his brother that sometimes a protest is also an admission. Nie Mingjue wants to stay. He just needs Lan Xichen to insist.

So he does. “I told you, no one will attack us tonight,” Lan Xichen tells him. “You might as well stay and put your worries aside for a time. I can play for you if it will help ease your mind.” He conjures the silver-blue xiao into being in one hand.

Nie Mingjue looks at it, then at him, and shakes his head firmly. “I don’t need music,” he says.

“A game, then?” Lan Xichen gazes at the shelf, where a worn go board and two pots of stones sit. “Or would you prefer a drink? I can fetch some wine for you…”

“No, no.” Nie Mingjue waves a hand, dismissing both the suggestions. “I need--”

“--to go back to work?” Lan Xichen finishes. “Don’t you think you’ve worked enough for one day?”

“People are fighting and dying while I--” But Nie Mingjue doesn’t have the strength to continue the sentence. He pulls his hand out from under Lan Xichen’s and hides his face in it. “I have to carry on,” he says, his voice muffled. “I have to be strong.”

It’s almost comical. This man, who is the essence of strength to so many people, worrying he cannot be strong. Lan Xichen, not for the first time, envisions taking him in his arms and allowing him to rest there. He wants to be that haven for him. But this moment isn’t about him, and hope is a dangerous creature. He lifts his hand to Nie Mingjue’s back, just daring to stroke it gently, and shakes his head.

“What you have to be is healthy,” he corrects. “What good is a Mingjue-xiong who can barely read a map because he hasn’t slept in days? Without eating, will you have the strength to carry your sword?”

“I’ve eaten,” Nie Mingjue says. “And I can’t sleep.” He sounds weak. Defeated. Lan Xichen’s heart aches.

“Then release your tension,” he advises. “Surely you have a preferred way to do that.”

Nie Mingjue pauses, looks up. “Yes,” he says cautiously, “Battle.”

Lan Xichen almost wants to laugh. “Not battle. Something to calm the spirit and release the resentment. Meditation.” Nie Mingjue scoffs. “Or take to the woods and hunt game. Challenge one of the soldiers at camp to wrestle you. Whatever it is. Do what you need to do so you can return to that war table with your mind and body whole. But leave that saber alone for the night.”

How Lan Xichen despises that saber. It’s a priceless, high-level spiritual weapon, but every time Nie Mingjue wields it, it takes a piece of his soul. Lan Xichen remembers, long ago, a gentle, serious boy who nonetheless loved fiercely -- loved his brother, loved his friends, loved the trees and the sky. Loved justice, and he still does, but his love used to come with a brash grin and a light in his eyes. That saber, and this war, have crushed that.

There are several long seconds of silence. Nie Mingjue appears to be thinking. Lan Xichen can usually tolerate extended silence, but now, the quiet unnerves him. He has no idea how Nie Mingjue will respond. He sits as one would sit upon a cushion of pins, uncomfortable and itching to move.

But eventually Nie Mingjue seems to shake himself out of it, and catches Lan Xichen’s gaze with his own. There’s something soft in his eyes, and also something like interest. It’s a rare, unguarded look -- and it makes Lan Xichen catch his breath. “Do you have any other suggestions?” Nie Mingjue asks, and there’s something in his voice not unlike humor.

“Women?” Lan Xichen is hardly the person to suggest it, but he knows that’s a preferred tactic for many a soldier. “We could ride to the nearest town. Find a girl who’s willing.” Or for sale. Lan Xichen isn’t about to cast aspersions in the heat of war.

“Not interested.”

NIe Mingjue looks ready to check out again. Lan Xichen stumbles over himself in an effort to keep his attention. “Then -- then men, if that’s your preference,” he says.

But he gets a glare in return. “I’m not taking a stranger to bed.”

The words strike Lan Xichen funny. There’s nothing odd about them, surely, but between the lines there’s something to discover. First, that he didn’t immediately say he wasn’t interested in men, which is the reaction that question would get from many a soldier. And he made it sound like there was someone he’d consider -- someone he already knows. A bright spark of hope lights up in his chest. Is it possible? “Then--” he says. Carefully.

Nie Mingjue eyes him. This time it isn’t the angry glare, but a sort of caution -- as though he half-expects Lan Xichen to make some move. Again, that spark of optimism catches in Lan Xichen’s chest. Perhaps it would be okay if…

He leans in, lifts his hand to that weathered face. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, leaning closer to Nie Mingjue than he’s ever been, “then…”

He’s very careful as he presses his lips to Nie Mingjue’s closed mouth. Afraid to drive him away.

He isn’t driven away. Paralyzed, perhaps, as Lan Xichen pulls back again and gazes at him as beatifically as he can muster. Shocked, if the wide eyes and the slight part of his lips are anything to go by. But he doesn’t flee. Or pull back, or get up. He just stares, and slowly lifts a hand to his own lips.

“If you are interested,” Lan Xichen says, barely above a whisper.

And then Nie Mingjue lifts an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips twitch. “Really?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

Lan Xichen shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“A suggestion--” The words echoed back at him are devoid of any artifice. The Nie Mingjue before him is the boy Lan Xichen knew all those years ago. The one capable of so much love. Any shame or trepidation that Lan Xichen felt at offering that kiss vanishes. What he wanted to communicate, he has. Be the consequences what they may.

“Or we could play go,” he says, truly meaning it. Whatever he needs, Lan Xichen is willing and happy to give.

“Let’s do that.” Nie Mingjue says with some determination. Lan Xichen nods. Perhaps he feels a bit of disappointment, but not enough to regret what he’s done.

As he rises to bring the board and stones to the table, Nie Mingjue surprises him once more.

“Make your suggestion again afterwards,” he says.

#nielan #nie mingjuexlan xichen #stuff tippy wrote #mdzs fic #cql fic #nielan fic

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 12*

Chapter 11

(i fucked this up by editing on my phone and now I have to post the next chapter link like this. )

Whoooo buddy! The angst is REAL, y'all.

I apologize for this, but also I really don't. And I made it normal length to make up for that short shitty one earlier.

Enjoy!!!! Mwahahahahha

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

---------

It seemed like forever for the ambulance to get there, Rafael just sat there trembling and crying while you started to convulse in his arms. Finally the door busted open and EMT’s threw you on a gurney and took you downstairs. Rafael sprinted behind them and jumped in the back of the ambulance as it sped away.

“Y/N….Carino please, please don’t die on me…” Rafael stroked your hair as you were hooked up to oxygen and anti drug meds. It was like literal hell having to watch this all over again, even worse that it was someone he actually...loved.

“Please, please don’t die…” He looked up to the sky.

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

Rafael paced the hospital waiting area furiously, they wouldn’t let him go back with you once the ambulance got you both there. When he saw Sonny running up the hallway towards him, he grabbed him by the neck and shoved him up against the wall.

“I TOLD YOU!!!!” He screamed violently, while several nurses ran over and pulled them apart.

“Rafael! Jesus Christ--” Sonny was breathing heavily while he tried to recover from Rafael’s ambush.

“I told you something was wrong, I told you I knew her better than you did!” He tried to wrestle away from the nurses.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m sorry alright?!” Sonny yelled, tears starting to fill his eyes. “I should have listened to you--”

“You’re god damn right you should have!!!” Rafael continued to scream.“ She could die right now, do you realize that?”

“Of course I realize that!” Sonny screamed back while looking around them, trying not to make a scene.

“God dammit Carisi, she knew better than you. Why didn't you listen to her?!” Rafael was beginning to cry; he was so upset.

“Barba I--” Sonny started to apologize.

“Excuse me, is Miss Y/L/N’s family here?” An orderly came out from the back.

“I am!” Sonny forgot about Rafael and ran over to the man, Rafael did the same.

“I’m sorry sir but this is really just a family conversation--” He started to dismiss Rafael, but Sonny put his hand up.

“He’s fine,” He assured the doctor.

“Right, well--” He cleared his throat as he led them to a more quiet area. “The damage to Y/N’s body is pretty bad,”

“....God,” Sonny muttered, putting a hand over his forehead.

“The mouthwash has several chemicals that aren’t in traditional grain alcohols, mostly lethal. And her pancreas, liver and gallbladder were already severely damaged from the years of alcohol abuse,” He explained as he looked gravely between the two men.

“No…” Rafael put his hands over his face.

Flashbacks of a very similar conversation happening between a doctor and his mother filled his mind. The way his mother fell against the wall when she heard the doctor say there was a good chance his father was never waking up.

“How bad is it, doc?” Sonny’s voice quivered, and Rafael instinctively took his hand.

“Well, we had to completely remove the gallbladder, and parts of her pancreas so she’s most likely going to develop diabetes,” He further explained. “...And she most likely will need a liver transplant, depending on how the next 24 hours go,”

“Christ…” Sonny whipped his hand from Rafael’s touch and put both of his hands over his head while he paced.

“Can we see her?” Rafael asked.

“Yes, you know your daughter is very lucky to be alive,” The doctor informed them.

“...Excuse me?” Sonny asked while he and Rafael exchanged confused looks.

“...Are you two not her dads?” The doctor waved his pen between the two men.

“Oh my god,” Rafael muttered in horror, wanting to vomit right there.

“Uh, no sir-- no we’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “I’m her uncle and this is my partner,”

“Excuse me?!” Rafael practically screamed in disgust.

“...Do you want them to let you back there to see her or not, honey?” Sonny said through his teeth.

“Right,” Rafael nodded uncomfortably, taking Sonny’s hand once more. “We’re her...Uncles,” He tried not to grimace.

“Oh, right. So sorry sirs,” The doctor apologized once more as he led your “Uncles” to the room you were in. You were unconscious, but breathing on your own.

“She might be out a while from the meds, if you’d like to come back tomorrow,” The doctor informed them once more.

“Uh, I think we’ll wait at least for a little while, if you don’t mind doc,” Sonny replied while Rafael walked up to your sleeping body and just stroked your hair lovingly.

“Whatever you two want to do is fine with me,” He nodded. “I have other patients to see, if you’ll excuse me,”

Sonny nodded to him and he walked out of the room leaving the three of you alone. Sonny ran his hands through his hair while Rafael pulled a chair up next to your bed, still stroking your hair.

“...Barba I think you should leave,” Sonny said softly.

“...What?” He laughed. “Are you...are you fucking joking me, Carisi?”

“No look,” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I didn’t hear her. And I’m sorry that I just...gave up, protecting her,”

“Yeah well--”

“But I hear you now, and-- and she’s going to need to go away,” He looked at your sleeping body sadly.

“She’s in no shape to go anywhere, Carisi,” Rafael clutched your hand as if he was protecting you.

“Not now, no,” Sonny agreed. “But when she’s better--”

“We don’t know if she’s going to get better!” Rafael suddenly stood up and walked towards him; Sonny backed up as he approached, afraid Rafael was going to grab him again.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t be here!” Sonny argued.

“What?”

“Barba look,” He cautiously put a hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “I...I get that you two have some kind of-- I don’t know, connection,” He glanced at you.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that you barely know her, and she barely knows you. You have a job and a life waiting for you tomorrow, you can’t be sitting here sitting vigil for some girl you slept with once,”

“How dare you fucking say that to me, Carisi,” Rafael’s eyes narrowed as he snapped his shoulder from Sonny’s grasp.

“How fucking dare you. First you don’t want me anywhere near her, then you tell her she’s nothing to me, then suddenly you think that I’m in love with her, and-- and now that I’m finally...attached to her-- you want me to just leave her alone again?”

“No, I never wanted you near her because of this exact situation!” Sonny hissed, trying not to wake you. “I told you straight up that she was complicated, and that you weren’t about that life,”

“I am about that life-- I’m serious, about her,” Rafael corrected himself, rolling his eyes at the terms Sonny used.

“Well I don’t think you should be,” Sonny crossed his arms.

“This is the jealousy thing again, isn’t it?” Rafael licked his lips angrily. “You and your stupid ego can’t stand the fact that we--”

“That is NOT it Rafael and you fucking know it,” Sonny narrowed his eyes.

“Then what is it?” Rafael crossed his arms. “It’s clearly not because it’s too much for me, because I’m flat out telling you it’s not,”

“Rafael--” Sonny placed his hands over his face. “I have spent my life protecting this girl, okay? And I may have dropped the ball here, but that just means that I will sure as hell not do it again. And that means that I have to have her best interest at heart,”

“What does that even mean?” Rafael looked at him quizzically.

“Her whole world is different now, Barba!” Sonny gestured to you. “You heard the doc. She has no gallbladder, whatever the fuck that means, she will probably get diabetes, god knows what will happen even if she needs a liver transplant, but my guess is it ain’t good!”

“...Well she won’t be able to drink alcohol,” Rafael said softly.

“Which will make her sobriety that much more urgent and permanent, Barba,” Sonny stepped towards your bed.

“She’s gonna have a long hard road ahead of herself no matter which way this goes right now, and keeping her on track is the only way she is gonna get through it. You think she’s gonna be able to focus on anything but you if you stay here?”

“I can help her--” Rafael insisted, glancing down at your innocent sleeping face. It broke his heart you were hurting, now all he wanted to do was take care of you and make sure you never hurt again.

“You don’t have the time or the freedom to do that, Rafael,” Sonny said sternly. “And you know it,” Sonny’s statement brought him back to reality.

“And you do?” He looked back up at Sonny.

“I’m a detective, Barba. It’s not like I do that much,” Sonny shrugged. “And I have enough PTO for a bit to take care of her. And she’s my responsibility! She’s MY family, Liv will understand that. What she won’t understand is you sitting Shiva at some young girl’s bedside who you barely know,”

“....And what are you going to do when she gets better?” Rafael ran a finger down your bare arm, wishing you would wake up and stop this nonsense your cousin was spewing.

“I’ll ask around,” Sonny now sat next to your bed. “I’ll find her a good place, somewhere she can be taken care of the right way, not some creepy mental hospital,”

“...Alright fine,” He sighed, looking at his watch. It was getting late, and he had an early court date.

“I’m coming back--”

“No, you’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “Look I promise you if she gets worse and needs your emergency liver or kidney or somethin’, I’ll let you know. Other than that, just-- leave her be,”

Rafael flashed back to the last time Sonny had used those words, and how as soon as he agreed, you heard him and it destroyed you. He couldn’t do that again, what if you could still hear him?

“No, I’m coming back--”

“Barba if you come back here I’m gonna tell the nurses that we broke up and you are no family member of hers,”

“You,” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that--”

“If it keeps you away from her, I’ll do anything right now Barba, I’m sorry,” Sonny gave him a sympathetic look.

“...She’ll never forgive you for this, Carisi,” He warned Sonny. “When she finds out you kept us apart she will never forgive you,”

“What are you Romeo and Juliet all of a sudden, counselor?” Sonny scoffed. “Give me a friggin break. I’m sure she’ll get over it, when she’s clean and sober and thinking straight,”

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” he growled with a death glare.

“...Yeah, well--” Sonny stood up and started escorting Rafael out the door. “I guess that’s something I’ll just have to live with,”

Rafael glared at him once more before turning on his heels and stomping down the hall, just as you stirred from your med nap.

“Sunshine?” Sonny quickly ran to your bedside.

“Rafa..?” You sleepily asked, you swore you heard his voice just moments ago.

“It’s Sonny,” He nervously looked back at the door, making sure Rafael hadn’t heard you wake up and came running in again.

“Oh,” You blinked several times, trying to get your vision back. When the blur in your pupils resolved, you saw Sonny’s smiling face beaming at you.

“Hey there,” He kissed your forehead. “You scared the shit outta me there, Sunshine,”

“...I’m so sorry, Sonny,” You began to cry in remorse.

“Hey hey hey,” Sonny took you in his arms and shushed you while he rocked you. “Shh shh shh, you’re alright. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you when you were asking for help, I just--I just let you go,”

“...But Rafael didn’t,” You sniffled as you looked around the room for him. “Where is he?”

“He uh--” Sonny stammered. “He left, Sunshine. Early court meeting tomorrow, y’know. Lawyer stuff,”

“Right,” You nodded.

“...He said he wouldn’t be coming back,” Sonny added with a sympathetic look.

“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Had he really just taken off? Without even saying goodbye?

“Well it’s just,” Sonny took your hands. “Honey you’re-- you’re gonna have a lot to go through these next few weeks, maybe months. And Rafael--”

“He doesn’t have time for that,” You finished for him, accepting the truth.

“Yeah,” Sonny nodded slowly.

“Right,” You picked at your blanket as you stared down at it morosely. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything more than him dropping me here. He tried telling me that he was--”

“He was what?” Sonny quirked an eyebrow. You thought about telling him that Rafael had said he was in love with you, but you weren’t entirely sure that happened anymore, given how out of it you were at the apartment.

“...He was ready for a relationship,” You lied. “But I guess he wasn’t ready for a dumpster fire of a girlfriend,”

“You’re not a dumpster fire, Sunshine,” Sonny assured you.

“...Yeah clearly this doesn’t scream ‘damaged goods’,” You gestured to all the wires you were hooked up to.

“You’re not--” Sonny sighed and shook his head as he wrapped his arms back around you. “You’ll find someone,”

“...Not someone like him,” You whispered sadly, tears dripping down onto your IV tube.

“Well hey,” Sonny coughed as he tried to change the subject. “I better get goin’ make sure you get some good sleep,”

“...But I was just--” You tried to say you had been sleeping this whole time.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow, kay?” Sonny kissed your head and started heading towards the door. He hated to do this, but he had to keep you safe. He turned around and gave you a sad smile.

“Hey, Sunshine?”

“Yeah, Son?”

“I uh, I don’t wanna rub it in or nothin’, I just--” Sonny cleared his throat. “Barba wanted me to tell you not to contact him anymore,”

“...Oh,” You looked over at your phone, which was charging on the table next to your bed.

“He just thought it would be easier, y’know? Clean break and all,” Sonny lied with a sad smile.

“Yeah, sure no of course,” You nodded, trying to keep it together.

“Alright well, I’ll see ya,” He nodded one more time before shutting the door, leaving you alone.

You immediately grabbed your phone and began typing a message to Rafael, telling him how you were sorry and that you never should have tried to kick him out, and that he saved your life and that you knew you were a huge mess, but that you would clean yourself and do everything in your power to be good enough for him if he just let you--and you just stared at it.

You re-read it a thousand times, tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn’t send this, it was pathetic. He already made his choice, he tried to tell you he loved you and you had blown him off by almost dying in his arms. And he ran. You couldn’t blame him either, you’d run away faster than a Kenyan track star if you were him.

After going through all that bullshit with his dad, he’d never want to relive that with you, some girl he barely knew. There was no way. And begging him to come back to you after all the shit you said to him at your apartment was just pitiful.

You deleted the message and then started to delete his contact info, but you knew you needed to be drastic. If it was a clean break he wanted, you’d have to give it to him. You’d already put him through way too much stress and punishment than he deserved, you had to be stopped. You highlighted his number and hit “BLOCK NUMBER”, before deleting it from your phone.

There. Now there was no way you could find him, or vice versa. Clean break. You put the phone down next to you and laid down, realizing what you had just done. You had just deleted the potential love of your life from your existence, forever. You cried yourself to sleep, only dreaming of Rafael.

=============

Rafael laid down in his bed after getting home and showering the bad day off of him. He opened the text thread of your messages, and saw the ellipsis light up, signaling that you were typing. It was there for a long time, he became more and more anxious as they just flashed in the darkness, taunting him. He was so happy you were okay, he had to tell you what Sonny said but that he would never be able to keep him from you. He waited and waited, and then the dots were gone. He waited a moment for you to send it, but soon got impatient and just texted you

“Y/N I’m so glad you’re okay, you had me so worried. I miss you,”

He hit SEND, but was met with the most horrifying response:

“The number you have texted has blocked you from contacting them.”

“No…” He muttered alone in the dark. “No, this can’t be happening,”

Did Sonny have your phone? Did he do this? Did he tell you something to make you do this? Did you do this on your own when you realized he had left. Sonny had to have told you something bad, something diabolical. He had no way of contacting you now, and he would never get into the hospital to see you.

What was going on?

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

The next morning after his court session, Rafael headed over to the precinct to talk to Sonny. He practically sprinted through the door into the bullpen, to find it empty.

“...Where’s the SVU squad?” Rafael asked a cop at the front desk.

“Do I look like a concierge, Barba?” The cop rolled his eyes. “Does my badge say ‘doorman’? I don’t keep tabs on you people!”

“Thanks Louie,” Rafael rolled his eyes as he walked out of the station, dialing Sonny’s number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“What did you do?”

“Barba?”

“What did you do, Carisi?!”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N blocked my number,”

“Well good--”

“NO, not good. Carisi. What did you say to her?”

“Y’know Barba, maybe you should take the hint and move on,”

“Oh fuck you, Carisi,” He growled into the phone. “I’m going to the hospital,”

“Yeah well, good luck getting in here counselor,” Sonny shook his head with a small laugh, glancing over at you in your room, while he stood outside. “I’ve told the nurses you were a deadbeat dad who wanted to kidnap our niece for yourself, so they’re on alert not to let you anywhere near her,”

“You’re evil,” His voice was low and horrified.

“I’m doing what’s best for my baby cousin, Barba. If that makes me the bad guy, so be it,” Sonny spoke like a mob boss, tracing the glass on the window to your room.

“I’ll see her when she gets out,” Rafael sneered.

“Well that might be difficult, seeing as I’ve found her a very nice place to go as soon as she gets outta here. Somewhere far away from here, and you,” Sonny couldn’t help but smirk.

“No, Carisi don’t do this,” Rafael became desperate, his angry threats turned to pathetic pleas. “Please don’t send her away-- I love her,”

“If you love her you’ll let her go, Rafael,” Sonny simply said, ending the call before Rafael could say anything else.

“GOD DAMMIT!!!!” Rafael screamed in the middle of the foot traffic, making people turn and stare at him.

He had to fix this. He couldn’t let you leave thinking he didn’t want you. He couldn’t lose you, not now. Not after everything.

Was he going to lose you forever?

#rafael barba #rafael barba angst #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba fanficton #law and order svu #sonny carisi #sonny carisi angst #law and order svu fanfiction #weird secret friends

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Bolero

Javier PenaxReader pairing

Rating: Explicit (duh)

7.4 K

What starts as just a job as an informant quickly turns into an attraction to Agent Javier Peña.

Essentially what I think it's like to dance with Javi. Plus having sex.

If you want to listen to the song I picture them dancing to it's called Dos Gardenias by Buena Vista Social Club. I know it didn't come out until the 90s but I really don't care.

___

You didn't like this part of the job. Hated it, actually. Your feet hurt in your heels and the humidity was making you sweat. But tips were tips, even if it involved fake flirting with old men.

The music ended and José spun you into a dip as the small crowd clapped. José was an excellent dancer and he made for a good partner when it came time to actually perform for the guests, rather than try to drag them onto the dance floor. Most people assumed you were a couple you danced so in sync, but it wasn't like that.

He was a good friend though. He'd gotten you the job at the bistro, and for the small pain of three choreographed dances a night plus a few private salsas, you were paid handsomely. Of course, this wasn't your dream, performing in a smoky, humid bar for tourists and old handsy men. You would rather be on the stage as a professional, performing only for the people who could afford a ticket, not just a watered-down tequila. But work was work and money was money.

Now your least favorite part. You leaned an elbow on the bar, sweeping the crowd for whatever gringo looked the least gross. The manager insisted you interacted with the customers, reeling them in with a sexy pose and a few awkward steps on the dance floor. They tended to drink more when you did that, which was good for the bar, and you usually ended up with a couple of extra bills in your hand, which was good for you. So you complied.

An older, slightly less creepy-looking gentleman had caught your eye, and you were about to approach when you felt a gentle hand on your elbow.

"Mind teaching me a few of those steps you just did?" The music was starting up again with a bolero, your cue to find the dance floor, so you figured you'd comply with the request. Except when you looked into the face of the stranger who had spoken those words, you were taken aback. He was young, or at least younger than most of the men in here, and taller too. Shining from his tanned face were chocolatey brown eyes, surprisingly sincere and kind. His dark hair was combed into place, though a few stray curls peeked out from behind his ears and at the base of his neck.

"Sí, señor." The Spanish came out as a force of habit, though he had addressed you in English and a perfect American accent. Men liked it when you spoke Spanish, even if they couldn't understand. It gave them the impression that you were exotic. But the man half expected that from you. He'd been watching you most of the night, analyzing the way you moved, the way you beguiled the guests into a dance and then a drink, the way you controlled a man's mood with the flick of your hips and slide of your hand up his arm. The perfect skill set of a secret plant.

Without any hesitation, the man took your hand in his and led you into the crowd of dancing people. He placed his other on your hip, though he left a respectful distance between the two of you. It was uncharacteristic of the guests to do so; they generally felt they had some right to press up against you as they stumbled around.

But this man was different. He already knew the three-quarter timing. He seemed a bit tense, like he was having trouble letting loose, but he wasn't clumsy at all. "I don't think you need my instruction," you said.

The man smiled, his mustache curling up to reveal a single dimple on his smooth cheek.

"No, hermana, I don't."

Maybe there was some Latino in that tan after all. But his reply caught you off guard. You hoped pulling you onto the dance floor wasn't his attempt at flirting. You'd made a pact with yourself to never sleep with the guests, and so far you'd held true.

But he wasn't flirting, though he desperately wanted to. You were exactly the type of girl he'd pick up on a boring night, or pay to have sex with him and share your secrets. But tonight was strictly business.

"Do you work here every night?" he asked. It was a strangely specific question, though maybe he was hoping to see you again, you thought.

"Only Thursday, Friday, Saturday," you replied. The bistro only ever needed you on the busiest nights of the week, which was fine with you. Three days of work made you plenty of money, and then you had the rest of the week off. "Why? Are you already planning a second dance?"

The man ignored his question to ask another of his own. "Do you make a lot of money?"

His questions were starting to sound a bit bizarre and he wasn't answering yours either. Why did he care what you made?

"Unless you're planning on hiring me and paying me more, I don't see why you need to know." It wasn't good to be snappy with paying customers, but this enigma of a man didn't seem like the average customer to you. And instead of getting defensive at your tone, his mood shifted quickly and he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh, just as gravely and melodious as his voice. He liked your confidence and your attitude. But then he was back to business just as quickly.

The man led you towards the back of the dance floor, away from the crowd and the watchful eye of the bartender, a move that made you worry and caused you to doubt his intentions. His eyes had gone serious, a wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows and crowding out the kindness.

"Actually, I would like to hire you."

You came to a stop in surprise but the man pulled you forward, urging you to continue dancing so as not to draw attention to the pair of you. He drew you closer so he could speak directly into your ear, forcing you to breathe in his scent with the proximity, cologne and cigarettes and the saltiness of a light sweat.

"You have a club or something?"

He didn't answer your question, just asked more of his own. "Do you know runs this place?"

You shrugged. "I think his name is Manuel, but I've only met him once."

"Keep an eye out for him, will you? See when he comes and goes, if he gets any shipments or deliveries. I'll pay you for providing information."

It was your turn to finally get some answers. "Who are you?"

"My name is Javier Peña." Javier spun you out before pulling you back into his chest.

"Well, Señor Peña, I don't know who you think I am, but I am not a spy and I don't give a damn about what my employer does. So why do you care what he does?"

"Let's just say the government has a special interest in your employer. But we'd like to keep this little piece of knowledge under wraps."

You eyed Javier suspiciously. Why would the government be interested in what your boss did with his bistro? And why would this man, Javier Peña, trust you to deliver secrets? But again, money was money. Little did you know, Javier Peña was aware of your lack of loyalty to anyone, as long as they were paying you, and he gambled on this fact to ease you into a deal.

"How much are you offering?"

"I'll double whatever you make now."

Double? Mierda. "Bueno, double it is. Not sure what you expect me to find, but I'll keep my eyes open."

That full smile returned, white teeth and all. "Un secreto, sí?"

You nodded in return as the song came to an end. Letting go of your waist, Javier pulled a pair of aviators from the deep vee of his shirt and slipped them on before handing you a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. He instructed you to call him if you saw anything, anything at all. Javier gave you a salute and turned to leave, though not before asking you one more question.

"And your name?"

Now is when you usually lied, telling whatever slimeball you'd just swayed into oblivion a made-up name, like Rosa or Maria. But something about this time was different. This time, you gave him your real name.

"Adiós, bailarina," he said with a grin.

"Adiós, Señor Peña." It wasn't until you were home that you noticed he'd slipped a small stack of bills into your pocket.

---

Standing in the living room of your apartment, you held the card Javier had given you almost a week ago. You hadn't been exactly sure what he was asking you to look out for. You rarely saw your boss anyway. But then tonight, as you'd arrived at work, a truck had been parked by the employee entrance of the bistro. Manuel was still nowhere to be found, but stacks upon stacks of boxes were being unloaded into the dry storage of the kitchen. And you had taken note of it all.

Finally, you picked up the phone off its cradle and dialed the number on the card, wrapping the thick cord around your fingers as it rang. A moment of silence, and then a deep voice spoke on the other end of the line.

"Javier Peña speaking." It sounded like he had just woken up, his voice softer than you remembered and groggy as well. It was a bit late, after midnight, but you figured this was something he wanted to hear sooner rather than later.

"Hola, Senior Peña, it's me from the bistro." Another silence, some shuffling, and was that a voice in the background? "Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all. What's up?"

"You wanted to know if Manuel had a shipment, right?"

"Yes, yes, what did you see?"

"Hm, I could tell you. Or I could get my mi dinero first."

Javier sighed on the other end. "Right, of course. How much do I owe you?"

"Let's see, including tips, I made 300 this week."

"Fine, 300 pesos it is. Where can I meet you?"

"You want to meet right now?"

Apparently, he did. You gave him the address to a twenty-four-hour diner you liked and he hung up, saying he'd meet you there. You gathered your purse, double-checking that the small handgun you carried for self-defense was still there. Not that you were worried the mysterious Javier Peña was someone to be scared of. But better safe than sorry.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out into the heat of the summer air. The darkness of night did little to reduce the temperature, but the humidity had dissipated enough that you rolled the windows of the car down and blasted your music into the silent night.

Though you were sure you looked a bit frazzled and worn out when you parked, Javier only noticed the flush on your cheeks and the curl of your windswept hair as he watched you step out of the car through the window of the diner. You hadn't bothered to change out of your dress and heels from work, which left little to the imagination in the way of your long legs and curved waist. When he'd first approached you last week, he'd been polite and reserved, only letting his hands fall where they were meant to in a dance. But tonight, the ruching of your dress at your hips called out to be touched. Javier knew it was all part of your job, but part of him wished you'd dressed up like that just for him. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about you like this.

A little bell jingled over the door as you drifted into the warm restaurant.

Javier steadied his hands and composed his face, not wanting to reveal the true thoughts running through his mind as you plopped into the booth seat across from him. He looked ready to get down to business, but you were hungry and held up a hand to silence him before he could begin to speak. The waitress came and took your order, a burger and fries, before turning to Javier. He relented to whatever game you were playing and ordered as well in perfect Spanish.

"Where are you from?" you asked as the waitress left to place your orders.

"This little meeting isn't about me," Javier replied, sounding a bit preoccupied, distracted even. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his neck and chest, as if he'd dressed in a hurry.

"Eh, that's not very polite. Did I interrupt a little midnight date with your amorcita?" You were pretty sure that had been a woman's voice in the background when you called him earlier. His response, or lack thereof, told you everything you needed to know. Emboldened by his reaction, you continued on with your one-sided conversation.

"I love American food. Are burgers better in Texas? That is where you're from, no?"

The look of shock that flitted across Javier's face was enough to satisfy you and you leaned back in your seat with a smile. You tried your best not to show how pleased you were with his reaction, but your comment got you thinking about what he was like in bed. That was not a direction you needed your mind to wander, especially when it caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

"Okay, detective, I think that's enough. You want your money or not?" Though he acted annoyed, Javier was secretly impressed. What had given it away? His accent maybe?

"Sí, sí. Although I am a bit interested to know where my money is coming from."

"I told you. The government."

"You haven't really proven that to me though. Besides, what if you're trying to put my boss out of business? Then I'm out of a job. A good-paying job."

"I am trying to put your boss out of business." The withering look you gave Javier didn't put him off, though you wished it did. If looks could kill and all that. But it did provoke him to pull something from his back pocket and hold it up to your face. "DEA. You know what that is right?"

"Mierda, was it drugs in those boxes?" You couldn't help the shock that spread across your face.

"Maybe."

You pulled a notepad from your purse as the waitress returned with your food. In between bites, you read off of the notes you'd taken.

"I got to work at 4:30. The truck was already there. Manuel was not. Some men unloaded the boxes into the kitchen."

"How many."

"I don't know."

Javier raised his eyebrows. If he'd learned anything from this conversation it was that you were an observant person. He doubted that you hadn't bothered to count them. He had only to wait for you to continue on your own.

"Bueno, forty or so. This big," you indicated with your hands, about the size of the box the tomatoes came in.

"And it wasn't just food in there? You're sure it was something different than normal?"

"Come on, don't you trust me?"

"No," was his swift reply, though it was said with a smile.

"Alright, then. I looked in one. Not food, for sure."

Javier nodded in understanding and pulled a billfold from his back pocket, ready to hand over your cash.

"Espere, Señor, you think that's all I've got?" you said teasingly as you finished your fries and sucked the grease from your fingertips. "You really have no faith, dios mío."

Javier watched you intently, scrutinizing the way your tongue licked away the grease from your thumb. He took a deep breath that sounded like exasperation to you but was really meant to release an uncomfortable knot building in his stomach as he tried not to imagine what else your tongue could do.

"At 5:30, a woman named Victoria called looking for Manuel. No one answered the phone so I did. She left this message." You read directly from the notepad. "I like chocolate ice cream better than vanilla. Maybe you can take me to la heladería tomorrow."

"You're joking."

"Not at all. She said that," you said defensively. "Even gave me an address."

You ripped the paper from your notebook at handed it to Javier as he rubbed a hand along his strong jaw.

"So what are you going to do? Maybe a stakeout, arrest some people, wave your armas around?"

Javier rolled his eyes. "The DEA isn't all about stakeouts and guns. But no, we aren't going to do anything yet. There's no need to reveal our plant. And we don't want you to end up dead so don't get caught either."

"How reassuring. I'm glad the United States has me in their best interests," you deadpanned.

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Oh, so you want to see me again? Next time you can buy me a drink."

"Don't flatter yourself."

You laughed in response. Sure, this was all about money, but it was nice to have a real conversation with someone who was witty enough to keep up with your banter. But he was still too easy to tease and you took advantage of it. You liked the way his eyes narrowed and his brows creased when you got under his skin.

"You know, I'll just take it as a compliment that you're only paying me for information and not sex as well," you said as you stood, placing a couple of bills onto the table as a tip.

Javier groaned in frustration. Talking to you was like walking through a hailstorm of bullets. He was bound to get grazed no matter how careful he was. "Eh, mujer, give me a break, por favor."

And yet, despite his protests, Javier liked your sharp tongue. It intrigued him. Normally, he didn't care much about who his informants were or where they were from. But Javier was curious about you. You were smart, skilled, and good at influencing people to comply with your desires. And yet you spent your weekends on a sticky dance floor, performing for gringos like him.

The glittering smile you gave him as you left him sitting in the booth lit a small flame in his heart.

"Buenas noches, Señor Peña," you said to him as you left, almost out the door before he called your name. You turned back. "Qué pasa?"

"Javi. Just call me Javi."

---

Several weeks went by like this, with you calling Javier late at night to let him know what you'd seen. The check-ins came every Saturday, as the shipments had been consistent and seemed to run on a schedule. Eventually, you got comfortable enough to let Javier come to your apartment and exchange information for cash on your couch. You had no idea, but Javier was beginning to expect your calls, anticipating the ringing of his phone around midnight and hearing your voice on the other end.

But when you didn't check in one week, he began to worry. It was past one in the morning. Surely you would have called by now. Maybe he had missed it? There was no way; he'd sat next to the phone all night. So Javier did something he never did. He called you instead. When you didn't answer, he started to suspect something was wrong. Javier told himself to calm down, that you had probably just forgotten, or that maybe nothing of note had happened this week, or you were already asleep. But he couldn't get it out of his mind that something had gone wrong, that you'd been found out and someone had hurt you.

It was nearly two when you finally got home. For some reason, the Saturday crowd had been extra lively tonight, keeping you much later than you wanted. As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped into your apartment, you pulled off your heels and unzipped your dress, peeling it from your sticky body right there in the living room. You needed a shower and you needed to call Javier, but all you wanted was sleep. It could wait until morning.

At last, you were ready for bed, windows pushed open to let in a breeze, sheets turned down, and in nothing but your dressing gown, when a knock sounded at your door. Who would be up at this time of night and disturbing your peace?

Looking through the peephole, you were shocked to find the last person on earth you expected to be standing in the hallway of your apartment building.

"Javi?" you said in confusion as you opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame, one hand on his hip, as if trying to look relaxed but totally failing at it. On Javier's face were written lines of worry, but they relaxed at the sight of you. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good, you're home. I was worried."

Maybe it was the exhaustion fogging your brain, but he sounded genuinely distressed. The normally confident, almost arrogant Javier had been replaced with someone entirely different. "Sí, of course I'm home, where else would I be?"

"Well, you didn't call. And then you didn't answer your phone. So I was worried something had happened." Javier had managed to miss the state of your dress, or lack thereof, when you had first opened the door. But now, he noticed you wore a cream-colored dressing gown and little else. One sleeve had slipped off your shoulder in your hurry to dress, revealing the lack of anything beneath.

Javier's breath hitched in his throat as he desperately tried to tear his eyes away from your shoulder. It was a just shoulder, for god's sake. It's not like you were standing naked in front of him. But then he was thinking about you naked and that was an even bigger problem.

For a whole month, Javier had gone without a woman in his bed and it wasn't until he saw you that he realized why. He wanted you, but in a way that was different from the way he wanted anyone else. He didn't want you for information or even a quick release, but something more intimate and intense. What was wrong with him? He had to leave before he said something he might regret. You were an informant, a contact, a player in this long game of chess, and nothing more.

"I'm gonna go," Javier said, finally looking away. He was acting strange, even your tired eyes could tell. He looked disheveled, the buttons of his salmon pink shirt left open at the top and half-tucked into his jeans. His hair was no longer combed flat, the way it usually was when you saw him. Instead, it stuck up in all manner of directions, curly and unruly. Javier rubbed the back of his head as he turned to go. You weren't sure what exactly compelled you, but you called out to him before he could leave.

"Do you want a drink?" So much for sleep.

Javier had been in your apartment plenty of times. So why did he suddenly not know what to do with himself? He stood stiffly in the living room, eyeing the discarded dress you hadn't picked up yet. When you handed him a glass of whiskey he barely noticed. His mind was clearly not in the apartment, though his body was. Finally, he sat on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees, the glass balanced precariously in one hand.

Javier's thoughts drifted from one place to another, relief that you were fine, embarrassment for having thought that you weren't, bliss at your invitation inside, and then shame for having accepted.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Only if you share," you replied, sitting next to him on the couch with your own drink. The pair of you sat like that for a while, in complete silence, passing a single cigarette back and forth. Javier had no way of knowing but your thoughts followed a similar path to his, a rollercoaster masked by a sense of calm.

Your fingertips lightly grazed his as Javier passed you the cigarette. He watched you take a long draw, pulling the smoke deep into your lungs and letting it numb the strange feeling inside you. You were hyper-aware of Javier's presence beside you, his shoulder and knee barely grazing yours, even though you stared straight ahead at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning, it read. Perhaps it was something about the early morning hours, or the dim light of your living room, the only source from the kitchen, but the next words out of your mouth were the most sincere you'd ever spoken to him.

"Are you alright, Javi?"

"Sí."

"You don't seem alright." His voice was too calm. "Is it work?"

"No."

"Friends? Family?"

"No."

You paused, pretending to contemplate for a moment.

"Ah, I know. No pretty girls to warm your bed?" You couldn't help it, falling back into teasing him like that. But he didn't want to talk and it was the only way to draw him out.

"It's disturbing how observant you are," Javier said. It wasn't a true answer, but it was answer enough. He sighed and put the cigarette out before placing his head in his hands. "We aren't friends, you know."

It was a strange comment, almost like he was trying to convince himself of the fact, not you.

"Wow. I should be offended. But for your sake, I'll pretend like I'm not."

"That's not what I mean," Javier tried to explain. "I mean-- I mean I shouldn't be doing this." He waved his hand around as if it indicated anything about what 'this' was. But you understood. He shouldn't be accepting drinks after midnight and sharing cigarettes in dimly lit apartments. It was unprofessional. Then again, everything about your relationship was unprofessional, even the work only parts.

It had taken you a while to admit to yourself that you were attracted to Javier. But when you actually started to look forward to Saturday night, to your conversations, even though they revolved around your work, that's when you knew. It was something in the way he looked when he was listening to you, his eyes holding contact with yours, eyebrows furrowed, hand on his chin, that made you think maybe he felt the same way. His hands, what was it about them? They were big and strong and you hadn't yet forgotten the way they had held onto your waist as you danced the night you met.

Dance. You knew how to communicate with that. It was second nature. Perhaps it would let you both open up. So you stood and moved to the record player. The space wasn't big enough to truly dance, but you kept plenty of records on hand to practice new choreography alone. You pulled out your favorite, a gift from José, and carefully placed down the needle.

"The bolero is danced in 3/4 time," you said, holding out your hand to Javier. "But I think you knew that already."

Javier seemed to understand and only hesitated a moment. The music swelled and he took your hand in one of his, the other finding its place on your back between your shoulder blades. There wasn't much space to move, but he led you through the steps anyway. Rock forward, step right, rock back, step left. Repeat. Tonight, Javier held you close, your hips and chests pressed against one another in a way that was much different from the first time you'd danced. He was more relaxed as well, allowing his hips to move in time with yours. Javier leaned his cheek against yours.

When you'd invited him in for a drink, Javier hadn't been sure what your intentions were. He still wasn't, though something in the way you let his fingertips glide up and down your spine as you danced gave him an idea.

And yet, he couldn't read you at all, though it seemed he could have no secrets around you. You had picked up instantly on his strange mood and though he hated to admit it, he liked the way you were persistent in trying to draw him out from his shell. He found you alluring. You were beautiful, yes, and he imagined as he fell asleep at night what you might look like under your tight dresses and this deliciously thin robe. But he also liked you, liked talking to you, liked being around you, liked your incesant teasing.

The song ended and the next one started up again, but neither of you moved away. Somehow so starved for physical contact, you were drunk on one another's touch, swaying gently in the dark. "We shouldn't--" Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him.

"Stop with the should or should not, Javi. It's too late for that."

"Why did you invite me in?" Javier figured it was worth asking, just to be sure.

"Why did you show up at my apartment, uninvited, in the middle of the night?"

"Fuck," Javier cursed under his breath. "I'm tired of this. Your half-answers, my unanswered questions, dancing, literally dancing, around whatever truth there is between us. I just want to know what you're thinking and it's impossible to tell."

You were taken aback. You had been so preoccupied deciphering Javier for yourself you'd forgotten he was probably trying to do the same with you. The look in his eyes was desperate, needy, and untamed.

The sensible thing to do would be to kick him out, to end it here because this wasn't right. It wasn't professional. And it was breaking your biggest rule: never sleep with the customer. But you were anything but sensible with a drink swirling around your veins.

You pushed Javier away gently, and he looked slightly crestfallen before he saw what you did next. The drink may have given you a boost of confidence, but this desire was all your own. With a gentle tug at the tie of your robe, you let it fall from your shoulders, the silk pooling at your feet as you stood bare before him. Javier was frozen in place, but then his eyes widened in surprise before raking up and down your body unabashedly.

"Well, I guess that's some type of answer," he whispered. The clock ticked on the wall, counting down the moments.

"Your move, Javi." Your words stoked the flame in his heart that you'd lit so many weeks ago. But his brain struggled to keep up, still in shock at the sudden sight of you naked for him and him alone. He wanted to take in every inch of you and ravish you all at the same time.

Javier reached out a hand, hesitating slightly as if unsure if you were real or just a golden vision before him. In the dim light from the kitchen, you seemed to glow, wild hair swept behind your shoulders, chest rising and falling with anticipation. Finally, Javier's fingers made contact with your skin, the back of his knuckles gently grazing the plane of your stomach. You trembled when he finally offered you his touch, goosebumps following the path of his hand as he moved up your body toward the curve of your breast. His thumb brushed across your nipple, causing you to gasp and nearly jump out of your skin. But his hand didn't linger, instead tracing the lines of your sternum to your collarbone and up your neck.

Javier's hand found its place on your cheek, his thumb sweeping across the ridge of your cheekbone. You closed your eyes softly, relishing in the sensation of his skin on yours. His hand was calloused but surprisingly smooth, as if worn by years of the same work. You turned your face toward his hand, pressing your lips to his palm.

You kept your eyes closed, expecting him to kiss you, your lips burning with apprehension. But the kiss didn't come, only the soft sounds of him moving and his hand leaving your face. You opened your eyes, worried he'd changed his mind and was leaving you there vulnerable to the world.

Instead, you found him kneeled before you, like a subject before his queen.

A shiver had run down Javier's spine when you'd kissed his palm as he pictured placing his own lips to yours. But something about the way you looked in that moment, ethereal, celestial, divine, forced him to his knees in worship. He wanted to taste every inch of you, learn every curve and crevasse of your body. You were just as beautiful--no, even more beautiful--than he'd imagined alone in his bed at night. And here you were, offering up that smooth skin, those thighs, those lips. And he would fucking worship you.

One hand found your waist, gripping gently but firmly to hold you in place. The other pulled a knee over his shoulder, causing you to stumble forward and forcing you to grab onto Javier for stability. But his hands held you firmly as his fingers sunk into the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer to his face, mouth sinking into you fluttering lips.

You gasped, fingers tangling into Javier's unruly hair and holding on tight, the sensation of his tongue against your clit making your legs go weak. A groan came from between your thighs, sending vibrations through your core and twisting your stomach into knots.

"Fuck, just like I imagined," Javier mumbled under his breath.

Like he'd imagined?

"You've pictured this?" you managed to ask between breaths. You could barely speak, the moans tumbling from your mouth leaving little oxygen in your lungs for anything else.

"Amor, you send me to sleep at night and wake me up in the morning."

Oh mierda, his tongue was continuing to swirl around your clit, leaving you unable to control your thoughts or your movements. Your hips shifted of their own accord, grinding against Javier's face as he ate you out. At some point, he would need to come up for air, but for now, he was perfectly content to suffocate between your captivating legs, drinking in your scent and swallowing the taste of you.

Javier was guiding you languidly toward your climax, savoring every shudder and twitch he pulled from you. The muscles of your pelvic floor seized and you let out a delirious moan. The tension that preceded your orgasm curled up through your stomach and into your lungs, drawing the strength from your limbs. Suddenly unable to hold up your upper half, let alone stabilize your legs, you slumped forward, chin hanging heavily against your chest, hands sliding down Javier's back and gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"Javi, please, I can't hold on." You needed to sit, lay down, anything, before you collapsed in ecstasy here in the living room. At your words, Javier picked up the pace, taking you from a gradual climb to a swift ascent. His acceleration told you everything you needed to know. Come for him, and he'd take you to the bedroom.

So you did, your orgasm shuddering through you at a staggering pace. It rushed through you, searing and urgent, and something told you this was only the beginning. A warm-up of sorts, leaving you unable to stand yet shivering for more. The last waves of your orgasm spread through you, Javier drinking them from you until your trembling subsided and your breathing came back to normal. He caught you as you eased back into your body, picking you up by the waist and slinging you over his shoulder. You giggled at the sudden change of perspective, now hanging upside down with an excellent view of Javier's ass.

"What are you doing?"

Javier didn't answer.

With a flop, you landed on the bed on your back. Javier stood over you, taking in the sight of you. Little did he know, you were doing the same, even though he was still fully clothed. You sat up on the edge of the bed and tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his tight jeans. Javier undid the buttons, letting out a soft groan as you took advantage of his proximity to palm the bulge in his pants. You wanted a taste.

His shirt now discarded, you worked at the button of Javier's jeans, placing a soft kiss on his stomach as you tugged them down. No underwear, why weren't you surprised? Javier's fingers curled into your hair, taking hold with a gentle yet solid grip as you freed his cock from confinement, precum leaking from the swollen head.

You looked up through your eyelashes, wanting to watch Javier's face as you swiped your tongue across the tip of his length, savoring the taste and earning a strangled moan from Javier's mouth. His eyes sunk shut and the image of you in the diner, licking the grease from your fingers danced behind his eyelids. He realized he was about to have that fantasy fulfilled, about to know exactly what your tongue could do.

The expression on Javier's face and his tightening hands in your hair made your stomach flutter. The absolute control you held over this man was ten times more satisfying than manipulating those men in the bistro because you were enjoying this too. Lightly, you dragged your tongue up his quivering cock, causing Javier to buck his hips and let out a hiss of dissatisfaction.

"Mierda, princesa, you gonna take me or just make me beg for it all night."

"You know I like to tease you, Javi." But the time for teasing was over. With one hand wrapped around him, you took him into your mouth, lowering your head as far as your gag reflex would let you. You began to move slowly, Javier's hands still in your hair and guiding your movements. Your other hand reached up and fondled his balls, pinching and massaging the tender skin. The sensation sent Javier hurtling toward the edge and he began to thrust into your mouth, matching your pace. It was good, too good. He was going to cum soon if you kept going.

Suddenly, Javier pulled away with a grunt, panting your name.

"Fuck, princesa, you're gonna finish me off fast like that." His voice was ragged with hunger. He wanted to taste you again, feel himself inside you as you came. "I'm not done with you yet."

Javier untangled his hands from your hair and placed them tenderly on your shoulders before pushing you back onto the bed again. He grabbed your ankles and hooked them over his shoulders, giving him full access to your cunt which was aching in anticipation of his cock, the size of which you had just fucked with your mouth.

You could feel the heat of him, so close, but Javier took his time, kissing his way down your thighs, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin until your legs shook. And still, he didn't slip inside you, instead caressing the tenderness of your stomach with his mouth. He'd kissed all the way up your body, from the jut of your hip bones to the freckle below your bellybutton to the supple fullness of your breasts. Javier's attentions left you squirming under his touch, but he wasn't done. He wanted to taste every inch of your exposed skin, both salty and sweet under his tongue.

Suddenly, Javier's touch left your body and he flipped you over. You squealed at the abrupt movement, your face in the pillows and hands gripping the sheets. Behind you came the sound of a condom opening. And then you could feel Javier hovering above you, his cock teasing your entrance, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair. And then his voice spoke next to your ear.

"Are you ready, princesa?" Javier asked, his voice heady and ragged.

"Fuck me, Javi." That was all the invitation he needed. Without a moment's hesitation, Javier lined himself up with your entrance and slammed into you. Your gasp of surprise, and all the screams that followed, dissipated into the pillows, muting the sounds that you knew would have been heard by the neighbors otherwise.

Javier crashed into you again, stretching and filling you more with each thrust. He started slow, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The hand in your hair pulled your head back, releasing the sounds trapped in the pillow to mingle with Javier's moans. The hand at your waist wrapped around to find your clit, his calloused fingers teasing the delicate bud, and Javier leaned over to run his tongue up your spine, chasing the shivers he was causing.

The combination of sensations, his tongue on your skin, fingers on your clit, cock buried deep in your pussy, built you again toward orgasm. You rose up onto all fours, trying to find that angle you knew would hit your g-spot, and Javier seemed to understand. He began to thrust harder and faster, rushing toward the edge he had narrowly avoiding sailing over when his dick had been in your mouth. But this was better, so much better. Javier's untangled his hand from your hair and wrapped his arm around your chest, lifting you so you were on your knees and pressed flush against his back.

This was it, the perfect angle. A tumble of incoherent Spanish curses flew from your mouth as Javier reached up to squeeze your tit in his large hand.

"Fuck, Javi, right there," you mumbled in between breaths. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Cum for me, princesa," Javier growled into your ear. "I won't cum until you do."

Javier's tongue flicked along your neck and up toward your ear, where he nibbled lightly. He thrust, deep and strong, into your trembling pussy and you came, in a searing white light of ecstasy. You choked out your sounds of pleasure, unable to breathe properly. As your walls clenched around his cock, your orgasm rushing in waves against him, Javier could hold it no longer. With a groan, he fell apart, grunting your name over and over as his twitching member spasmed inside you.

The two of you held still for a moment, unwilling and unable to move. Finally, Javier slipped out of you, leaving you feeling cold and empty. It didn't last long, however. Javier laid on the bed and pulled you down with him, holding you close to his chest. You curled against him, relishing in the warmth of his skin against the cool breeze drifting in through the open window.

"I have to admit, this isn't how I thought my night would end," Javier said. You giggled, still high on the euphoria of your second orgasm. The dopamine that clouded your brain began to clear and you looked into Javier's face, the tension and worry absent and replaced with a languid look of satisfaction and pleasure.

And then you realized something that made you sit straight up in bed. "You bastard," you said accusingly, pointing a finger at Javier's chest. He dragged a hand across his face.

"Oh mierda, what did I do now?"

"You never even kissed me."

It was true. He hadn't. He'd been so preoccupied with tasting the rest of you he'd failed to do the one thing he actually desired most.

"Alright, that's a valid accusation," Javier said, dragging you back down and rolling on top of you, pinning you to the bed. "I am a bastard, a lucky one."

Finally, with one hand on your face and the other lacing his fingers in yours, Javier kissed you. A real, proper kiss, teeth scraping your bottom lip and tongue gliding along yours. He kissed you until he could hold his breath no longer and then came back for more, tasting of your orgasm and the shared cigarette. At last, he pulled away and buried his face in your neck.

You pulled the covers up and over the two of you. And then you wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him to your chest as tightly as you could.

"Have any plans for tomorrow?" you asked.

Javier grinned into your shoulder. "Ready for round two already?"

"Only if we get to sleep in first."

"Anything for you, princesa."

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena #pedro pascal #"javi smut #javier pena x reader #I just want to dance with Javi is that too much to ask #reader #xreader

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

Text

Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

155 notes · View notes

moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

part v: true north

genre: college au, neighbor au; fluff, humor, slow burn pairing: 3racha x femme reader in poly relationship part word count: 9.2k part warnings: 18+ content, suggestive, explicit language, mild angst, alcohol consumption request: no a/n: this in no way reflects the actions of stray kids’ bang chan, seo changbin, or han jisung. it is a work of fiction. !! important !!: if you are under 18 years of age, you may not read this series. the author requests that readers be mindful that there is 18+ content in this piece and read only if age appropriate. thank you. and, remember to always get continued and enthusiastic consent as you practice safe sexual habits.

~ read other parts first! ~

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

“So,” Jisung said evenly, “when exactly were you going to tell me that you’re seeing Y/N?”

Facing him on the sofa, one leg tucked under the other, Chan let out a surprised huff of air. “I- Why do you care? I thought you were in an open relationship?”

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t tell each other when we’re dating someone new!” Jisung retorted, trying to keep his voice even.

Chan’s eyes widened. “I just assumed she would’ve told you…”

“She didn’t,” Jisung said flatly.

Silence descended for a full three minutes, the tension growing by the second, as both young men refused to speak. Jisung struggled to keep his features fairly neutral, even as he seethed, because, as much as he admired Chan and loved their friendship, his friend was a real bastard when he wanted to be.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Jisung.” Chan’s tone was flippant as he continued to stare at the ceiling. “Take it up with Y/N.”

“What?” Jisung demanded incredulously. He couldn’t believe Chan could be so… So cold.

“I said—“

“I know what you said,” Jisung interrupted, “but I can’t believe you’d betray our friendship like this!”

“Betray our friendship?” Chan ran a hand through his hair. “What the hell, Jisung? It’s not like we’ve told each other about relationships in the past?”

Jisung scoffed. “What relationships, Chan? You haven’t had time to so much as have a quick fuck, let alone an actual relationship.”

“Thanks, Jisung. That’s real nice.”

“It’s not like I’m wrong!” Jisung shot to his feet and pushed the coffee table further into the room with his boot, unable to sit still anymore.

“That doesn’t mean you can insult me.” Chan countered, also rising, arms crossed.

“Likewise, Chan,” Jisung spat, gesticulating wildly. “And just by not telling me, you’ve insulted our friendship.”

“Great!” Chan exclaimed, keeping his distance at the other end of the couch. “I’ve gone and insulted our friendship. Why is this my fault all of a sudden? What about Y/N? Aren’t you going to acknowledge that some of this is on her?”

Jisung spluttered. “Yeah, fine. It is. But you’re my best friend and you should’ve told me, especially since you seem to think you and she are this great power couple or something!”

“I do not!”

“Then why’d you give her that necklace, huh?”

“Jisung,” Chan said placatingly, holding his hands out like he’d calm a wild animal, “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I do care about Y/N.”

Jisung fought not to roll his eyes.

“I really like her,” Chan continued. “She’s just— I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like I’ve been spinning out of focus, away from my center. And then she just appears in my life one day, and suddenly I know where I am again.” He paused to take a breath, as if steeling himself. “Being with her feels amazing.”

Jisung finally did lose control of his expression, sneering as he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, that’s not what I meant,” Chan said flatly. “I’m talking about her personality, her laugh, her mind, everything, Jisung. You know what it’s like, I know you do.” Jisung’s lips pressed together in a tight line, but he remained silent as Chan sat down on the sofa again. “She’s so easy to be around, to spend time with. I honestly feel I’ve been waiting for something all my life and now I’ve found it—I’ve found her.”

Jisung sighed and acquiesced to perching on the arm of his sofa, if not fully sitting again. “Fine. I know what you mean about being drawn to her.” Chan looked like he was about to crow. “But still, you could’ve said something, man.”

“I wanted to, but didn’t know how!” Chan blurted. “And I thought… Since I gave her the necklace and she wore it… But she didn’t tell you?”

“Nope, she hasn’t said a thing, besides saying that she was going on dates. Which were casual. So she didn’t need to tell me anything else.” Jisung tried not to smirk. “You might want to check how serious she thinks it is with you,” he said in mock warning.

Chan seemed to deflate like a balloon losing air, but rose to his feet again nevertheless. Jisung just watched, his heart pounding. “Whatever, Jisung,” Chan mumbled as he stopped halfway across the room, then let himself out. “Bye.”

Jisung didn’t move from where he’d collapsed on the couch for a long time, thinking about everything that had just happened. Sure, he probably shouldn’t have said something so inflammatory to Chan, but that didn’t excuse the facts of the situation. But then again…

Over the past hour, it was as if every feeling of inadequacy, every insecurity had clawed their way out of the deep, mental grave Jisung had worked so hard to dig for them. Knowing that Chan—his best friend, the man he looked up to as a musician and as a person—was seeing you in some capacity made him doubt his own worth. How could he compare to the paradigm that was Bang Chan? Well, maybe not a paradigm, but he was certainly admirable. Jisung still couldn't believe he was dating someone so wonderful as you, so Chan dating you felt too much like him winning some competition of which Jisung hadn’t even known he was a part. Just the thought made him feel like vines were slithering under his skin, constricting him from within. He wondered if Changbin knew, since he lived with Chan, and what he thought if he did.

Jisung couldn’t help thinking that you wearing Chan’s necklace when neither he nor Changbin had given you anything like that felt like Chan was staking his claim. He knew it sounded ridiculous, like Chan was some wolf unable to control his instincts, but you were wearing jewelry that Jisung had seen around his friend’s neck for the past three years, without fail, which he knew meant the world to Chan. So, did that mean that you meant the world to Chan? That you were Chan’s more than his and Changbin’s, even though they were both actually dating you and Chan was, as far as he knew, simply seeing you casually? You hadn’t told him about seeing Chan, so it couldn’t be that serious, right? But that necklace… Seeing it on your neck made your tie with Chan seem more, well, real than his own.

Chan’s insistence that you were the one for him didn’t soothe Jisung’s anxiety, either. And, the fact that Jisung suspected he felt something similar made it all more complicated. He sighed and held his head in his hands, rubbing his temples as his elbows dug into his knees slightly more painfully than he would have liked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep or do something mindless, to not worry about his relationships or anything else. With a whining groan, Jisung stood and made his way to his bedroom. Maybe some alone time and a nap would help.

↠↞

You kissed Jisung goodbye as he and Chan headed next door, and Changbin tried not to look too forlorn at not being able to kiss Jisung, too. He didn’t much like how there were starting to be more and more secrets between the four of you. When you came back into the kitchen from retrieving your cardigan from exactly where you thought it was—not in the laundry as Chan had assumed—Changbin was washing the mixing bowls you’d used, trying not to splash water all over your kitchen and himself (again). You joined him next to the sink, drying whatever he handed you and putting it away.

Once the last fork had been washed and returned to live among its pointy brethren, the two of you made your way into through the living room where the tins of cookies still sat on the coffee table.

“How mad do you think Jisung would be if I ate all the chocolate chip cookies?” Changbin asked, grinning as he reached for a tin.

“Very,” you replied, knowing your boyfriend wouldn’t really eat the cookies Jisung had already claimed for himself. “But you should still give me one of those.”

Changbin opened the tin and gave you two before heading toward the bedroom.

Kicking off your shoes, you flopped onto the bed next to Changbin, slinging an arm around his shoulders to run your fingers through his hair. He rested his hand on your thigh, gently massaging your muscles—it was nothing erotic, just comforting. The dull light of the winter afternoon filtered through your curtains, catching the two silver rings Changbin had started wearing.

“So,” Changbin began, “how was your week? I’m sorry I’ve been so busy and haven’t been able to talk to you as much.” He leaned over and kissed your cheek, making you smile softly.

“No, no, no! Babe, don’t worry about it! Eh, my week was okay,” you shrugged, now twisting a lock of hair at the base of Changbin’s neck between two fingers. “I got cleared for graduation, so that’s something. But I still have way too much to do before spring break.” You sighed, letting your head sink further into your nest of pillows as you turned to Changbin. “Weren’t you in the studio a bunch this week?”

A sly look crept over Changbin’s countenance as he said, “As a matter of fact…”

You waited a beat for him to continue and when he didn’t you prompted: “Yes?”

“I was in the studio this week—most nights, actually.” Changbin made to rise. “Here, I’ll be right back.”

Before Changbin could return to the bedroom, you snatched one of the cookies he’d left on the bedside table; after all, why should you eat one of your own and have one cookie fewer for later when you could just steal one of your boyfriend’s? It was so delicious that you thought that whoever had written the recipe for these cookies was a genius and deserved a medal. As Changbin walked back into the room, you tried not to look too guilty as you licked the crumbs from your lips. He looked from you to the bedside table and back again.

“Y/N, I— Are you eating one of my cookies?” Changbin said in mock outrage, coming over to your side of the bed and standing over you.

You just stared up at the ceiling, feigning innocence. Changbin leaned down and caught your lips with his, kissing you so thoroughly that you were left breathless. When he straightened, you noticed that your pocket felt one cookie lighter. Sure enough, he’d stolen one of your cookies while he’d been kissing you.

“You little shit!” you cried, quickly sitting up and playfully jabbing Changbin in the stomach, causing him to let out a huff of air.

“Well, you stole one of mine, so it’s only fair,” he said loftily, popping the cookie into his mouth. All you could do was shake your head.

“Close your eyes, love,” Changbin said, and you made a noise of confusion. “Just wait a minute and you’ll know.”

You heard some strangely slithery noises, then felt something come to rest on your bed that was not your boyfriend. Once he’d climbed back up onto the bed and laid down beside you, he gently pulled your hands down from your eyes. “It’s a gift, love.”

The first thing you saw was your old boombox at the end of your bed, an extension chord trailing from it and across the room. In front of you on the bed was a small, rectangular package that looked very familiar….

“Did you…? Is that what I think it is?” you asked, hoping your guess was correct.

“How about you open it, love,” Changbin said, smiling.

You held the gift in your hand, then tore the brown paper from it to reveal a cassette tape.

For Y/N, the most beautiful and wonderful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Enjoy, love ♡

“A mixtape,” you breathed, turning it over in your hands. “So this is what you were working on this week, babe?”

“Mhmmm,” Changbin hummed, nuzzling your neck. “I hope you love it.”

“I know I will, babe. Let’s listen to it now!” you said excitedly, and leaned forward to slip the cassette into the slot on the boombox, then pressed Play. Changbin held out his arms and you leaned against him, sinking into his chest. As always, Changbin arms were strong and warm around you as the mixtape began to play.

The first song was slow and mellow, setting the mood for the rest of the mixtape and how Changbin felt about you. You’d always known that he had a romantic nature and he’d demonstrated that many times, but the way he described his feelings for you in the lyrics he’d written… You couldn’t help the tears that began to tumble down your cheeks. As you listened to the mixtape in silence, breaking it only with laughs or sighs of deep emotion, you were stunned by the depth of emotion.

“Oh Changbin,” you murmured, turning in his arms to caress his cheek, “you have no idea how much this means to me.” Your hands twined behind Changbin’s neck as you brought your lips to his, lingering at the corner of his mouth before you kissed along his jaw up to his ear. “I feel just the same,” you whispered, and Changbin’s quick intake of breath felt like the fluttering of a bird’s wings against your chest.

“Love, oh love,” Changbin breathed as he drew you down onto the pillows, his body covering yours like a shield. “I’d hoped you did.”

Just then, raised voices came from Jisung’s apartment. You and Changbin looked at each other, wide-eyed. It was unusual for both Jisung and Chan to argue, let alone yell, so something must truly be wrong.

“Should we check on them?” you asked, coming out of your music-induced haze. “That doesn’t sound good…”

“I think they’ll be okay,” Changbin replied, sighing and staring up at the ceiling. He had a feeling he knew what the argument was about, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Not yet, at least. He hoped nothing would happen to 3racha because of the conflict, but he didn’t recall Jisung mentioning anything to him.

“Are you sure?” you prodded, hoping it had nothing to do with you.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll hear about it at some point.” Changbin tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Shall we get back to kissing, then?”

You laughed and nodded, craning your neck to catch Changbin’s lips with yours.

The next morning—Sunday morning—Changbin awoke slowly and simply laid there, admiring you the way the sunlight seemed to shimmer over your hair like quicksilver. He was struck by how lucky he was to be with you, to know you, to-

“Mmmmm, ‘morning, baby,” you mumbled, rolling over to snuggle into Changbin’s chest—his bare skin was warm and soft, the perfect counterpoint to the cool air of the room. He kissed your hair, wrapping an arm around and shifting so you could fit yourself against the curve of his body.

After a few minutes of gently stroking your back, following the same lines he’d frantically raked nails down the night before, Changbin murmured, “Y/N, love . . . pancakes.” You giggled softly at your boyfriend’s seemingly one-track mind—he’d been exclaiming his joy of making pancakes even before you’d gone to bed.

“Y/N….” Changbin repeated, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck and sending little shivers down your spine. You threw a leg over his, bringing your bodies even closer and noting that pancakes were not the only things Changbin desired. Still not answering, you scrunched your nose against his chest and began to leave little kisses along the lines of his muscles.

“Mmmm?”

“Love, Jisung’s going to be here soon and we should make pancakes so we can all have breakfast.”

You moved your hand from just under your breastbone to between you and Changbin. He moaned as your fingers slid over him, and, suddenly, pancakes were all but forgotten. Changbin pressed himself into your hand as he hardened under your touch, and he began to kiss along your neck, nipping at the skin. You traced the very tip of him with a finger, then ran your hand up and down, still with the same lazy slowness. Changbin’s hands moved to grip your ass, squeezing and placing you on top of him as he rolled onto his back.

Now that you were pressed firmly to Changbin, the obvious hardness of him teased you to no end. His hands still on your ass, gently massaging, your boyfriend pulled you further up his body so that you were chest-to-chest and nearly nose-to-nose. Your lips met, soft and gentle, and you kissed languidly; Changbin swiped his tongue along the seam of your mouth, slipping inside to explore each and every hollow, plane, and crevice of your teeth, your tongue, your lips.

Propping yourself up a little, you sighed as the brush of your skin against his sent pleasurable shivers down your spine. “Baby, please,” you breathed against Changbin’s lips as you slid your body up and down over his, imitating the motion you craved, hungrily kissing him.

“I don’t have a condom on, love,” Changbin said, a laugh coloring his voice. “I—“

“I’m on the pill, Changbin, you know that. And I know that you’re incredibly healthy.” You nipped at his jaw, then begged again. “Please.”

“Y/N, love,” Changbin said not unkindly, “I’m not taking any risks, okay?” He reached out to your bedside table, hand scrabbling a little, then came up with the little foil square.

“You’re right—I just got carried away,” you said, conceding.

“It’s okay, love, really.”

Sighing, you sat back on Changbin’s thighs as he slid the condom on, then stroked him so sweetly and lovingly that he rose and swelled immediately—you may have licked your lips a little. Changbin’s moans at your ministrations were soft, like the sigh of the wind through a field of wheat.

You leaned forward to kiss Changbin and you groaned with pleasure as you joined together, your boyfriend letting you slowly adjust. Changbin’s hands came up to hold your breasts, thumbs flicking over them as you continued to kiss, and you rolled your hips, luxuriating in the sensation of him inside you.

It was utterly exquisite.

As you kissed and kissed, sharing breaths and moans of pleasure, you moved together like the ebb and flow of the sea. The little words of encouragement and affection you shared seemed to bare your innermost feelings through their simplicity. Everything was slow and easy, just enjoying the feel of each other—your body felt tight and utterly molten at the same time, your core turned white-hot with desire.

Shifting so Changbin could find that perfect spot, you kissed along his neck, tasting the fine sheen of sweat that had begun to form on his skin. The new angle drove, even pulled, Changbin into you, and his brows knit as little groans low in his throat escaped his lips. Your pleasure began to slide down your spine like the inexorable glide of a glacier, gathering more and more power with every inch.

And finally, the pulsing deep inside seeming to reverberate through your bones, and all you could do was cling to Changbin as you gasped and cried out. The sense of overwhelming bliss was so intense that you thought you would surely cry. Changbin did not slow in his pace, even as you came down from that wondrous high, until his hips stuttered and with a few quick thrusts that forced moaning whines from you, he, too, found his release.

He held you to him, the warmth of your bodies nearly melding you together as your body seemed to refuse to relinquish its hold around him. Once both of you had regained your breath, you once again became two separate people and helped clean each other off.

Cuddling among your nest of pillows, you contented yourself with tracing the planes of Changbin’s stomach as he lazily ran a finger up and down your bicep. Your foreheads nearly touched on the pillow, and when your eyes met from time to time, your smiles were luminous. As always, with Changbin, you felt absolutely serene.

With a jolt, you woke from a light doze next to Changbin and realized that if you didn’t get out of bed right at that moment, there was no way you’d ever get up. Maybe you’d tell Jisung to join the two of you in bed and make a lazy day of it… Just as you were reaching for your phone, though, Changbin slid out of bed and stood with his hands on his hips; you looked up guiltily at him.

“Pancakes,” was all Changbin said.

It was now a tradition for Jisung and Changbin to come over to your apartment on Sunday mornings for pancakes, tea, and more cuddling and soft kisses than you knew what to do with. As Changbin helped watch the pancakes, you could tell something was on his mind, but knew that he’d say something if it was that important. You pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder before finding a spoon with which to scrape the pancake batter down the sides of the bowl.

A moment later, Jisung ambled into the kitchen, hair still slightly disheveled from sleep, his arms entirely swallowed by the hoodie he was wearing. “Hey, babe,” he said, coming over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. “These smell delicious!” He kissed your cheek, and you hummed in reply, not needing words to express your happiness in seeing him or having his arms around you.

You took the spatula from Changbin and began turning the pancakes, trying your best not to fling them off the griddle. Jisung gave you a tight squeeze, let go of you, and moved two steps to the right to throw his arms around Changbin. “Hey, babe,” he said to him, too. Changbin turned in Jisung’s arms and smoothed his boyfriend’s hair before lightly kissing him.

He leaned against the counter, hands clasped together at the small of Jisung’s back so that Jisung could simply lean into him. You turned your head to see Jisung draped against Changbin’s bare chest so he could look up at the other young man, a syrupy grin on his face.

Your heart swelled with affection for both of them, and you had to brace yourself against the counter for a moment. It was genuinely easy to be with both of them in this new, wonderful relationship. There was so much trust built between you already—Jisung and Changbin’s three years of friendship lending an even firmer foundation to it all—and you knew, with as much certainty as you’d ever felt before, that the three of you were meant to be together.

Soon, the pancakes were done, the tea had brewed, and Changbin and Jisung were still kissing—although, they did pause for a moment to allow you to kiss both of their noses and say, “Time for breakfast, hot stuff.” You lead the way into the living room where you usually ate together, as Changbin went to finally put on a shirt.

↠↞

Changbin leaned back on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest, while Jisung leaned against his shoulder, lightly rubbing his pleasantly full stomach. On Changbin’s other side, your mug of tea was warmth enough for you at the moment.

“Um, I think we need to have a talk,” Changbin said quietly after awhile.

“Is everything- What am I saying, of course something’s up,” Jisung said, concerned—your brows furrowed.

Changbin ran a hand through his hair, then spoke. “First, I want to say that I’m in no way blaming anyone or making them bad or wrong. I just kind of want to know what’s going on.” He took a deep breath. “So, last weekend when I woke up, I ran into Chan in the hallway outside our rooms with a tray of breakfast. I knew he had to have somebody over, since he’d asked me to be somewhere else.” He looked at Jisung, who gave him a wink. “But of course I wasn’t going to ask who, right? But um, Y/N? I think I heard your voice coming out of Chan’s room, and then a lot of giggling. And, well, a really loud moan and Chan saying to be quiet because I was home.” Changbin’s gaze was so earnest and open, while Jisung’s was a bit… pained, perhaps.

You let out a sigh, having known this day would come at some point. “Shit, yeah… that was me,” you admitted, embarrassed despite the fact that both Changbin and Jisung had made you moan and beg and scream far louder than you’d done that morning. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that, Changbin. I had no idea you were home or anything.”

“It’s okay,” he said, resting a hand on your knee in reassurance.

Jisung made to speak, but you held up a hand. “Could I explain first? Yes, I’ve gone on a few dates with Chan. Yes, we’ve had sex. Once. I hadn’t told you yet because it wasn’t serious and we agreed—“

“But it’s Chan! He’s our best friend, babe,” Jisung blurted.

“And I just met him a couple months ago,” you replied evenly. “Just because he’s your friend doesn’t mean I was going to treat him any differently from any of the other people I’ve seen.”

“So, you’ve been seeing other people even besides Chan?” Changbin wanted to know.

“Not since the middle of December—I’ve got both hands full with you two,” you said, smiling and winking. “Things with Chan kind of snowballed, if that makes sense? After winter break, we came back and he wasn’t so weirdly flirty anymore. And you’ve got to admit, he’s attractive!”

“Y/N, just because someone’s attractive, doesn’t mea—“

“That’s not what I meant, Jisung. Not being flirted at every other day over break allowed me to see that he’s a perfectly lovely guy. It’s been fun.” You shrugged. It wasn’t as if you felt at all toward Chan like you did toward Jisung and Changbin. They were… The bond between all three of you was iron-clad and effervescent, the threads between you weaving together to form a rich tapestry of feelings, responsibilities, and priorities. “I didn’t start going on dates with him with the idea ‘Let me see how fast I can fall in love with this person’ running through my head. I- I thought I made it clear to him that things were just casual. I never promised anything, and he knew we were taking things really slow. I guess something slipped through the cracks.”

There was a beat of silence, then Jisung coughed nervously, looking down at his hands twisting in his lap. “So, you know how I talked with Chan yesterday?” he began, and you and Changbin nodded. “I asked—okay, fine, confronted—Chan about you two.”

“Oh, so that’s what the arguing was about!” Changbin said with exaggerated, only partially feigned surprise.

Jisung blanched. “Um, yeah, sorry. I saw you,” he turned to Y/N, “wearing his compass necklace and kind of lost my head.”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, grimacing. “Are you serious?”

Jisung cackled. “Yeah, sorry. You know how he— Well, I guess you don’t necessarily know, but sometimes he gets really solemn and serious, to the point that it’s almost funny. That’s how it was… Once I finally got it out of him.” Changbin put his head in his hands, knowing just what Jisung meant. “He’s head-over-heels for you, Y/N.”

“Well, shit," you grumbled, not having expected this. "And yet again, Bang Chan is cheesy as hell."

“Yeah… kind of,” Jisung sighed. “But this is different. I don’t think he knows the significance of what he did. I mean, do you even know the significance of what he did?”

“Jisung,” Changbin warned.

“No, you don’t understand. In the three years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Chan take that necklace off. Not even to go swimming. And now he’s given the thing to you!” Jisung threw up his hands, knowing that he probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this; but, he didn’t exactly care right now. “He thinks you’re the one for him, his compass. He was going on and on about how he’d felt like something was missing but now it’s like everything’s fallen into place because of you.”

“I don’t even have the thing anymore,” you felt the need to add quickly. “I slipped it back into his jacket before he left! Wearing it for a week was more than enough. I don’t like to wear chokers much, anyway.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows, not expecting you to have done that. “Really?”

“I mean, it was pretty and I thought it would be rude not to wear it.” Your statement curled up at the end like a question. “It’s not like it’s a binding promise or anything.”

“Oh, okay!” Jisung said with more excitement than was wholly appropriate. “But you might want to tell him that you’re not into him as much as he’s clearly into you.”

“I know, I know, Ji,” you said with a sigh. “I will.”

“Good. I’m glad we got that cleared up,” he said, nodding proudly. “I was worried that you’d somehow decided to break our trust by not telling us you were actually dating him.”

“What?” The word sounded like it had been punched from your gut. “I would never— I- Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t want to think that, but he made it seem like things were more serious than you say they are. I know he falls hard for people, and I trust you, Y/N—I didn’t want to think the worst.” Jisung curled his legs under himself as he settled back into the sofa.

“And what about you?” you demanded of Changbin.

“Me?” Changbin asked, his eyes wide. “I didn’t let myself make assumptions until I’d talked to you.”

Your heart hurt a little at their faith in you, that they didn’t want to believe that you’d go against your agreement, especially with their best friend. “You- You really believed me more than Chan?”

“Eh, it wasn’t between the two of you—not exactly,” Changbin responded. “Since he does fall in love or whatever with surprising depth and speed, and you're definitely sensible and cautious, it was more likely that he was the one misinterpreting things.”

You didn’t know what to say, and so simply leaned forward to gently kiss your boyfriends each in turn, leaving them smiling.

“You know, Jisung,” you said after a minute, “you and Changbin still need to tell Chan that you’re also dating.”

The two young men looked at each other, and you could almost see the words passing between them:

Shit, I didn’t tell him. Did you?

No, I thought you did. Shit.

You giggled.

“Um, yeah you’re probably right.” Jisung tried his best not to look too guilty as he looked away from Changbin. “That’s going to be such a fun conversation.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay, babe,” Changbin reassured Jisung, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Yeah, I guess.” Jisung leaned his head against Changbin’s shoulder, and a quiet moment stretched between you.

“So, we’ll tell him we’re dating if you tell him that you’re dating both of us. Deal?” Changbin said more understandingly than you thought you deserved.

“Deal,” you said, smiling a sideways grin.

“Deal,” Jisung agreed.

“Okay, not to totally break the mood or anything, but I have to pee,” you stated, standing up. “I’ll be right back, babies.”

A moment after you left the room, Jisung curled closer to Changbin. He absolutely did not want things to change between the three of you. Of that much he was certain, especially not when you’d just affirmed an even closer relationship than before. He didn’t want Chan’s relationship or whatever it was with you coming between what you already had with himself and Changbin. Jisung whispered, “I just didn’t want him to take her from us. Am I a bad person for wanting that?”

Changbin took a deep breath. “No,” he replied, “I don’t think so. I was thinking the same thing.”

“What should we do, then?”

“I don’t think we should do anything, Ji,” Changbin said simply. “It’s their relationship.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Love, it’s their relationship and they should figure it out. In terms of us, it’s clear she’s not going anywhere.” His tone was firm, as if Changbin couldn’t—wouldn’t—consider an alternative.

Jisung nodded and turned his face into Changbin’s shoulder to plant a kiss there, holding his lips against his friend and lover’s body. Just then, you came back into the room and sat squarely in Changbin’s lap with your legs over Jisung.

The two young men adjusted their positions slightly to accommodate you, the three of you falling into each other with such ease that one would have thought you’d been dating for years. You sighed and relaxed into Changbin’s chest, Jisung pulling you closer across Changbin’s lap as the two of you now nuzzled your boyfriend. The smell of your soap still clung to Changbin’s skin, and, despite having only been awake for three hours, you felt yourself drifting towards sleep in the comfortable embrace of your boyfriends. Jisung’s hand gently rubbed circles into your hip.

“You know,” Jisung said after a while, “I stopped seeing other people back in December when you said were jealous and had deeper feelings than you’d previously thought.”

“Where’s this coming from, Ji?” you mumbled, shifting a bit so that you sat nearly between him and Changbin. “You don’t have to reassure me or defend yourself or something.”

“It’s not that—I just wanted to tell you that because once we got together, I was so comfortable and into you that I didn’t feel like I wanted or needed to see anybody else.” Jisung leaned forward and somehow managed to wedge himself between you and Changbin, successfully resting his face against your breasts—this was not uncommon.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm” was his only answer as he closed his eyes.

“Not that I’d been dating other people at the same time as you,” Changbin added, kissing your hair, “but I care about you just as much as I know Jisung does. And that’s a considerable amount, love.”

You smiled softly, hardly daring to believe that you had two such caring and devoted, not to mention sexy, boyfriends who also cared just as much about each other. It was more than you’d ever expected or dreamed. As you sat there in the blissful place between sleep and wakefulness, you were overcome with the depth of your feelings for Jisung and Changbin. It didn’t scare you, no. And for that, you were glad.

A twinge of remorse flitted through you at the knowledge that your feelings were not nearly as strong for Chan, but you didn’t know him as well. Even when you’d known and been seeing Jisung and Changbin for the same amount of time, your feelings had still been stronger than what you felt for Chan. Plus, there wasn’t the same sense of being pulled inexorably toward both Jisung and Changbin like you were magnets. You couldn’t escape it even if you’d wanted to—and you most certainly didn’t.

All you could do was bring your lips to Changbin’s and kiss him over and over, until Jisung sensed what was happening and sat up to pull you against him instead. Jisung’s lips were soft and warm, like the most silken caramel you could imagine, and you were soon fully awake and kissing passionately as Changbin’s hand smoothed the muscles up and down your back. Jisung’s little moans at being so thoroughly happy and comfortable were the sweetest thing you’d ever heard.

When you raked your fingers through his hair, he became utterly lost to your touch, whining and running his hands over as much of you as he could. Changbin’s hand had moved from Jisung’s shoulders to his thigh, slowly moving higher and higher; he wouldn’t stray any further, but it was enough to make Jisung wriggle. You continued threading your fingers through his hair as Changbin smoothed his thumb along your cheekbone and you kissed along Jisung’s jaw until you encountered the slightly calloused but soft skin of Changbin’s palm. Your lips simply slid from one curving line to another as you leaned into Changbin’s touch.

Limbs, breaths, kisses utterly intermingled and where one person ended and the others began was nearly indistinguishable as the soft caresses between the three of you continued. As wave after wave of tenderness washed over you, the intensity of emotion you felt threatened to make you cry. You knew that what you felt came very, very close to love.

↠↞

Seated at the small table by the window of your usual cafe and sipping on a latte, you waited for Chan to arrive. Snow flurries danced along the street, whipped about by a surprisingly insistent wind. It had been a week and a half since Jisung had confronted him about seeing you, and, while you’d texted and called each other, this was the first time you’d seen Chan. The bell above the door of the cafe tinkled as he came through the door, shaking snow from his hair. Chan’s ears and cheeks were bright red from the cold, making him look ten years younger and extremely cute.

You stood as he approached and squished his cheeks a little between your hands while kissing his nose… to warm him up, of course. Chan laughed, and pulled you into a one-armed hug as he began to shrug off his jacket before taking a seat.

“So, what’s up, darling?” he said, leaning forward on the table to face you.

“Well, I wanted to talk about us,” you said frankly, wishing you could muster more tact and failing.

“Oh, okay.” Chan looked only marginally surprised, and waited for you to continue.

“Jisung told me that he talked to you that one day we all baked cookies together,” you began. “Do you- Do you really feel that way?”

Chan was silent for a moment. “What way?”

“Like I’m… Like I’m your compass?”

“Yeah, I do.” His voice was absolutely serious.

“Oh, Chan,” you breathed, putting your face in your hands. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Y/N…” Chan said, not understanding and reaching across the table for you.

“Chan, I’m really not sure what to say,” you murmured, looking back up at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to feel that strongly for me so soon.”

Chan’s hand paused just inches from your hand and he slowly drew it back to his side before speaking. “Is it that you don’t feel the same?”

“I—“ You paused. “Sorry, this is surprisingly hard. Chan, it’s not that I don’t like you or am not interested. I’m just not at the same level of feeling as you, that’s all. I don’t want you to think that I’m ready to be yours forever or something.”

Chan balked slightly, your words clearly hitting just a little too close to home. He looked down at the table, his throat bobbing once as he swallowed. “I understand. Is this why you didn’t tell Jisung we’d gone on a couple dates? Because it wasn’t as serious for you?”

“Yes,” you said simply, knowing you were treading on dangerous ground.

“Ah. Well, we can go slowly, Y/N. It’s okay.” Chan’s tone was resolute, as if he wanted to simply make everything better by stating that it would be.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to somehow shackle you when you could be with someone who’s on your same level emot—“

“I’d much rather be with you, darling,” Chan interrupted with a soft smile.

“O-okay,” you nodded. You sat there for a moment, just staring at your hands as fiddled with your thumb.

“Shall we have some tiramisu, then?” Chan asked with a wink, trying his best to break the somber mood.

You let out a huff of air that could have been a laugh. “Sure, Chan, that sounds good.”

↠↞

Changbin sighed happily as he leaned back on his couch, a glass of wine in one hand and Jisung’s hand in the other. They’d been watching a television show earlier, but now just sat together, reminiscing. Now that they’d realized and admitted their feelings for each other, and were dating, they both saw the myriad ways in which their mutual attraction had manifested over the years, unbeknownst to them. Mostly unbeknownst to them.

Jisung sat facing Changbin on the couch, one leg thrown over his lap and the other tucked under himself, tracing the lines of his boyfriend’s body. When he reached Changbin’s ear, he took his time following the spiraling shape until he then moved to his jaw.

“Bin, whatcha thinking about?” Jisung said, tilting his head to the side as he traced the faint scar on Changbin’s chin.

“The first time I realized how I felt about you,” Changbin replied, smiling lazily.

“Was that the day by the lake? With the duck?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, you know,” Jisung purred, “I thought you looked cute as hell that day, too.”

“I- Really? I could’ve sworn you had absolutely no interest. None. I still can’t believe this is real.” Changbin’s tone was wondering.

“Yeah, I did. And yeah, this is real,” Jisung reassured him, kissing his earlobe and making Changbin shiver. “I’ve definitely liked you since then. So much, babe, you have no idea.”

Changbin turned his face to Jisung and caught the other young man’s lips with his own, smiling at the slightly sweet taste of him. Jisung swiped his tongue along the seam of Changbin’s mouth and he moaned as they came together, searching every hollow and plane of each other’s mouths. Kiss after kiss, some lingering and some heated. Jisung’s hands were in Changbin’s hair as their passion consumed them, while Changbin took care to hold Jisung like he was the most precious thing he’d ever known.

They broke the kiss, gasping slightly, and Jisung brought Changbin’s hand to his lips, kissing the space behind his thumb before turning his boyfriend’s hand over to kiss the inside of his wrist. Changbin’s mouth quirked up in what might have been a smirk before the other side joined its opposite to create a softly radiant smile that made his eyes sparkle.

Just as Jisung was leaning in to kiss Changbin again—and maybe more, if he had anything to say about it—the door to the apartment clicked open and Chan’s voice floated down the hall.

“Changbin? You home, man?”

“Aw, come on,” Changbin groaned, and tried to think of a nice, freezing cold bath.

Jisung quickly scooted away down the couch from Changbin, running a hand through his hair before taking a sip from his own glass of wine. “We should really tell him,” he murmured just as Chan entered the living room.

“Oh, hey Jisung,” he said, smiling happily at having his two best friends there.

“Hey, Chan.”

“So, what were you two up to—wine?” The latter part of the question was said with only a small amount of surprise. Chan enjoyed a nice glass of Pino Grigio every now and then.

“We were just watching TV and drinking a little,” Jisung answered.

“Hey, Chan,” Changbin started, “could we talk with you about something? It’s important.”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“Well, I have no idea how else to say this— Um, yeah. We know we’re all friends, so this should be okay and all… And we know you’re accepting and understanding.” Changbin sounded more nervous than he’d been in a long time, even to his own ears. “So, yeah. We’re dating. Jisung and I are dating.” Jisung nodded in affirmation. “And we’re both dating Y/N. We’re all dating each other, actually.”

Chan stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, okay. I see it. I’d wondered if there was something more going on back at the beginning of the month. So, you two are happy? The three of you are happy?” He tried his best not to sound accusatory, despite having no reason to be; he just wanted the best for these three people he cared about so much.

“We are,” Jisung said, beaming and gently rubbing Changbin’s knee to help soothe him. “And I know Y/N is, too.”

Chan just nodded again and said, “Well, I’m glad that you two have found even more happiness. And I’m glad that you can make Y/N happy, too. Oh, and don’t worry—this doesn’t affect 3racha.” He smiled. “Look, I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll see you both later, yeah?”

“See you!” Changbin and Jisung chorused, then went back to cuddling as soon as Chan left the room.

Chan opened the door to his bedroom and sighed. He was happy for his best friends, he really was. They had something together that he didn’t have with either of them—not in a romantic way, but just as friends. And… He sighed again, leaning against the now closed door. And, he was happy that you had both of them in your life so thoroughly.

It was just that, well, he felt a little pushed to the side. After all, he was friends with Jisung and Changbin, and he was seeing you—albeit casually—but he still didn’t feel like everything had shifted properly into place. Maybe there was something missing with you. Maybe 3racha just needed to get in the studio again…

↠↞

It was the beginning of April, and the pollen had started to get to you. You let your head thump softly onto the desk in front of you, your pen slipping from your fingers to fall onto the what was soon becoming the bane of your existence: your final poetry project. It was maddening, trying to find just the right words and scansion, not to mention metaphors and allusions. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t eaten since noon, but your body felt like a withered corn husk. And, your mind would burst, if you weren’t careful; you couldn’t afford to let that happen, not three-quarters of the way through your last semester.

On the desk beside you, your phone buzzed and you checked it to see a text from Chan:

channie: hey darling <3 are we still on for tonight?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

You’d almost forgotten about your date with Chan, and now that he’d so kindly reminded you… Well, it would be rude to cancel now but you just didn’t have the energy.

You didn’t have the energy to be with Chan more often than not these days. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him—you were just busy. Really fucking busy. He was fun to kiss and cuddle and be intimate with, but you didn’t have the mental fortitude to actively be interested.

It was difficult to describe… You were certainly physically attracted to Chan, and found him engaging and fun to be around. But, there was something missing. Perhaps you’d been thrust into a time-loop where Chan was concerned—that would explain the way every single one of your dates felt the same these days. You didn’t feel like your, for lack of a better word, relationship was going anywhere, like your emotions and the time you spent together were static.

He was so deeply interested in and attracted to you that you sometimes wondered if you actually felt anything for him and if all of this was simply you reflecting his own desire back at him. But then you’d come to your senses and remember how much seeing his little dimple appear would make you grin and giggle to no end.

And now, you should really respond to Chan.

y/n: hey channie. um, i’m absolutely exhausted from this poetry project… could we maybe not do anything tonight? channie: sure baby! want me to just bring over some food and we can do or not do whatever you like! y/n: i- chan, i’m sorry. i meant: can we not get together tonight. i literally don't have the energy to deal with other people channie: aww sorry you’re feeling like that. sure, darling, whatever you need. maybe we can see each other tomorrow! y/n: wow your optimism knows no bounds…. [UNSENT]

Now you were even more tired and just wanted to curl up under the covers and never come out. That would solve all your problems, right? So, with the blanket snugly pulled over your head, you drifted off to sleep.

An hour later your phone buzzed again, waking you up, but it was Jisung this time. You weren’t quite sure how he knew you needed comforting, but he did and said he’d be over soon. You rolled over at the feeling of another body depressing the mattress, and let Jisung enfold you in his arms.

The next day, Chan did come over to find you sitting on your couch with a mug of tea in one hand and a scone in the other. (Jisung was going through a bit of a baking phase, and had insisted that you try one of his cranberry and orange scones). You hadn’t gotten out of bed until an hour before Chan was due to arrive, and your hair was still piled on top of your head in a messy topknot. Chan, on the other hand, looked far too awake and put-together, even in just jeans and a sweatshirt, for a Saturday morning.

“I brought us lunch,” he said, setting a bag down on the coffee table and flopping down beside you. “I hope you’re in the mood for sandwiches, because that’s all I had time to make.”

“It’s fine, Chan. I’ve got more scones than I know what to do with. Did Ji give you any?”

“No,” Chan said, shaking his head, “I think he must have given them all to you and Changbin. That little traitor.”

You stood briefly to turn in place and curl your feet back under you on the couch, much like a cat would, then took a sip of tea. Your heart pounded slightly faster than you would have liked. “I’m sure you’ll get scones at some point.”

“I’d better…” Chan began pulling four sandwiches from his bag, clearly having thought that Jisung and Changbin would stop by.

“You didn’t have to bring all of those,” you said, frowning. “They’re not coming over.”

“Hmm? Oh, no. I brought two for me and two for you—they’re not that big, so I’m almost certain that you’ll want two.”

“Pffftt, really?” you asked incredulously, then took a closer look at the food. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

The two of you sat and stared at the sandwiches for a moment, Chan clearly wanting to break into them, while you couldn’t care less. You stared out your window at the new growth on the trees.

“Don’t you want to eat?” Chan finally asked.

“Eh, not really. Like I said: scone.”

Chan seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Um, well… Damn it.” You sighed gustily, and set down your mug before turning to Chan on the couch. “Chan, I have no idea how else to say this…”

“It’s okay, I’ll listen, darling.”

You pursed your lips, biting your bottom lip. “Chan, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t try to feel things I don’t. I can’t try to sustain a relationship that feels like an obligation. I hate feeling like that because you don’t deserve to be with someone who can’t put one hundred percent into their relationship with you.” Chan’s face fell. “Things are just so busy for me right now, what with graduation coming in less than two months, all these projects and papers—everything. Plus, there’s Jisung and Changbin.

“I do like you Chan, and I do like spending time with you. And you’re wonderful in bed, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. I’ve just— If I’m going to be with you, too, then I want to devote the proper time to building that relationship, instead of catching bits and pieces when there’s time. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” Chan admitted resignedly. “I respect your feelings and choices, if you want to stop seeing each other. I’m sorry you feel like us being together has become an obligation. That must not feel good, yeah?” You shook your head, grateful for how understanding he was being. “If you only want to see each other randomly or just have it be like friends-with-benefits—whatever’s fine with me. I’d just love to keep seeing you somehow.”

You thought for a moment, sipping on your tea again. Not having any expectations for your relationship with Chan would certainly make things easier…

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed. “Maybe we can just see each other when we have time and if we decide to make-out or go to bed or whatever, then okay? More like just enjoying each other’s company rather than trying to date?” You looked to Chan, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you the entire conversation. “How does that sound?”

“Anything you want, Y/N. Anything.” Chan gave you a sad little smile, then stood. “I’ll just leave the sandwiches and everything here. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, anyway. I- I just need to go be by myself, if that’s okay. Bye, Y/N.” With that, Chan hurried from your apartment, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head as he did so.

You sighed to yourself once the door clicked shut, and got up to make yourself another cup of tea. By the time the water had boiled and you were back on the couch, your thoughts had ordered themselves.

Sure, Chan thought of you as his compass, the thing—well, person—guiding him and keeping him on track; he thought of you as an anchor. But you had something similar. You had a far stronger compass forged from two beings who, no matter how far you strayed, would always point you toward each other, toward home. Jisung and Changbin were your true north.

#inkidz #stayhavennet #stayracha #0325net #ultkpop #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #bang chan #seo changbin #han jisung #3racha #.moonlight

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

The Widow 🖤

Warnings: nonconsent (fingering and intercourse)

This is dark!(mob)Buckyand explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: It’s the 1920s and everyone’s having a roaring time but you.

Note: What is this? A one shot? Possible series? I’m posting this at 930 pm and I don’t even know anymore. But anyway, hope you enjoy.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You thought yourself fortunate not to have worn black for Billy during the war, but the day had come regardless. You clutched his dog tags as the rain poured over your hat and soaked through your wool coat. Painfully ironic to think he evaded a thousand bullets in France just to catch one at home.

An unfortunate ending followed by an even more tragic send-off. No one but you and the priest. None of the corpsmen could make it to the funeral and his family hadn’t spoken to him since well before the war. It was better they stayed on their farm and tended their fields. They always said Billy would die in the city.

Would they be smug to know they were right or sorry for it?

You stared at the casket as the wet dirt was piled atop it. Each landed with a duller thump than the last. The police officer told you they found him in an alley. You supposed it was better than a bloated corpse at the bottom of a river. At least you knew he was gone. You could move on… but to what?

When there was nothing left to mark Billy but a flat headstone and a low mound of dirt, the priest left. He offered you a ride but you refused. You needed to be alone. You had to get used to that.

You didn’t move until you heard the thunder. You glanced up at the howling sky and felt the cold metal on your finger. Billy bought the ring after he came home; you’d spent the war with a loop of twine as its placeholder.

His job at the banker saw him well in those first months after but he was always a man who wanted more. You warned him against the thoughts you saw twinkling in his eyes. One night a week he went down to the speakeasy and gambled; never enough to see you out of more than a loaf of bread or two. He liked the thrill, though surely the danger lured him more.

You overheard him on the phone. He was helping the men down at the drinking hole case the bank. A one time hit wasn’t going to keep him so long as his teller position. You argued as he tried to wiggle out of a thin lie; you misheard him. It ended with him promising you nothing would happen.

Maybe he had been honest. Maybe he tried to back out and got the bullet as his penance. You couldn’t know for sure but what you did was that it was those men at the speakeasy who did this to him. They had paid him with a coffin; not a very nice one as you couldn’t afford more than pine.

You trudged away, your heeled boots wet from toe to ankle. You tore your veil from your hat and let the rain run down your face. You still hadn’t cried. Why?

You neared the brick building and let yourself in. You climbed up to the small apartment you and Billy shared. Had shared. You shoved the key in and your numbness disappeared all at once. It was unlocked. Through the muffled thunder and constant patter, you could hear movement within. It was too late to turn back as the door opened from the other side.

The man who greeted you wore a finely tailored suit;grey lined with blue. He stared back at you, his mouth a firm line framed by his square jaw. You swung without thinking, the chain that held Billy’s tags still around your fingers. The stranger caught your hand just before it could hit him and one of the metal tags bounced off his chin.

“Hey,” He grabbed your other arm and wrestled with you. “What are you doing?”

“Get off,” You struggled as his arms slipped around you and crushed you against his chest. Your arms were trapped between your bodies as he grunted. “Help me! Someone--”

“No one’s gonna help ya, doll,” He sneered. “Even if they do hear ya.”

“Stop!” You tried to wriggle free. “Please, I don’t know what you want but--”

“I want you to be still. You won’t like it if I have to make you.” He squeezed until the air was forced from your lungs. He was terribly strong. “And you seem like a lady’s who faced enough pain today.”

“What do you want?” You gasped as you tried to stomp his foot blindly.

“Not gonna tell you until you calm down.” He insisted.

You bared your teeth and reluctantly stilled. You glared at him and huffed. “Just take whatever it is you’re looking for. Please. I just buried my husband… maybe you’ll do me the favour of digging me in next to him.”

The tension in his jaw relented just as little as he looked at you. He pulled you through the door and turned around so that he was between you and the hallway. He let you go and kicked the door shut. You gripped the chain tighter.

“Now don’t you go trying that shit again,” He scowled as his hand settled on his hip just above a pistol. “I really don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

“That’s not my name,” You bristled. “Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

You turned your head as you heard shuffling from the other room. He was silent as he listened too.

“You’re Billy’s wife?” He asked.

“Widow,” You corrected. “Though I suspect you knew that already. Now tell me--”

“What’s your name then, doll?”

You reluctantly told him and he gave you his; Bucky, as his men knew him.

“Come, sit,” He gestured you further in. “I said calm down.”

You pursed your lips and slowly turned around. You entered the front room and frowned. The sofa was the only piece of furniture not overturned. You crossed your arms and as you neared it.

“You should take that coat off,” He intoned. “You’ll get a cold sitting in that.”

You didn’t respond, merely unbuttoned the wool jacket and slung it over the arm of the sofa. You slipped the tags in your pocketbook and set it atop the coat. You sat and looked to him as he tucked his hands in his pockets. He strode around the room as the noise of intrusion continued from the other room.

“How long were you married to good old Billy?” He asked.

“Does it matter?” You said.

“Judging by the photos,” He neared the corner and lifted a cracked frame, “I’d say you’ve been with him since before the war. That’s a long time. At least eight years together, wed or not.”

“What are you looking for?” You asked.

“Something that if you knew, you’d not tell me anyway,” He considered the picture as he neared. “And poor Billy took to his grave. My condolences.”

You scoffed and unpinned your hat. You tossed it onto the floor with the rest of the mess.

“I don’t want them,” You hissed. “So better get on with your search and leave me alone. Not taking any of this mess with me, anyway.”

“Taking it with you?” He repeated. “And where would you be going?”

“Don’t see how that’s of concern to you,” You countered.

He chuckled and looked around. He grabbed the armchair and righted it before dragging it over. He sat before you and leaned forward.

“Billy definitely learned a lot from that bank. If you must know, he lifted some money off my organisation and with the amount left outstanding, you’d have quite the life.” He said. “So you leaving all sudden is suspicious, isn’t it?”

“My husband is dead. I haven’t a job and I can’t pay the rent with grief.” You replied. “I’d say it’s practical.”

He smiled and leaned back as he crossed his legs. He bit his thumb as he watched you. Your possessions crashed and shattered in the other room. You looked at the clock then the window. The sky was grey and foreboding.

“So, if you got no money, where would you be going?” He asked at last.

“Again, I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” You uttered.

He tapped his bottom lip with his fingertips. He nodded and reached into his jacket. He checked the time and stood.

“Stay.” He jabbed his finger towards you. “You won’t make it far.”

You sighed and looked at your lap. His footsteps walked down the hall and his voice followed.

“It’s not here, Steve.” He said. “He was foolish but not stupid. He wouldn’t hide it under his pillow.”

There was an answer but you didn’t listen. Billy stole money and in return he got a bullet. Just another small town boy dead in the city. And he hadn’t even told you. You were all alone, penniless, and soon to be homeless.

“Head back to house, have the men scour the city. Worse comes to worse, we visit that fancy little bank,” The voices grew louder and you looked up as another man appeared from the hallway.

His dark blonde hair was slicked back and his blue eyes twinkled in contrast to his black suit. He peeked over at you then back to the other man. He lifted a brow but shrugged.

“Alright, boss,” He said. “See ya there?”

“Shortly,” The other assured and followed him to the door.

When the second man left, the first closed the door and turned the lock. He returned to you and pulled the chair aside. He began to pace again as he thought. You stood and he turned to you abruptly. He raised a hand.

“Where are you going?”

“You going to be here all day?” You wondered.

“Bit of patience,” He coaxed. “I was only trying to think of a way to help a poor widow such as yourself.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“But you need it.” He smirked.

You stared at him. The curve of his lips made your stomach curdle.

“The way I see it, your man’s gone. Got himself killed for being a thief.” He neared you slowly, “Most men of my stature would go so far as you see you in the ground next to him… but I am not any man.”

You watched him uneasily as he stopped before you.

“Well, now you’re gonna need one of two things. A job,” He held up a finger, “Or a man. And I can see that you get neither in this city without my say so.” He flicked up a second finger then suddenly turned his hand. He cupped your face in his palm as his thumb rubbed along your lip. “I’m not hiring though so I suppose I can offer the latter.”

You shoved him away and stumbled back. “You killed my husband. Why would I--”

“He got himself killed and while I bid the trigger pulled, I didn’t do it myself,” He argued. “Hard snake to catch, that Billy.”

“Get out of my apartment.” You demanded. “What you want isn’t here so go!”

“Oh but what I want is here,” He trailed you as you stormed to the door. “Because if I can’t have what Billy took from me, I’ll have what’s left of his in this world.”

You unlocked the door and opened it just an inch before he slammed it shut with his hand. You turned to slap him but your hand froze as the barrel of a gun gaped back at you. You dropped your arm and leaned against the door. He slowly lowered the pistol and dragged the muzzle along your neck and chest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya better than he did.” He slithered. “Place like this? Nothing to what I can give ya.”

“Please, go--”

“You know, I was hoping to be out of here before you got back. I hate dealing with widows, but you, oh, I see what Billy saw… and more,” He carefully sheathed his pistol at his belt. “I can see why he wanted to give you more. Give you everything.”

His arm rested against the door beside your head as he got even closer. You could taste his breath on your lips.

“I’m gonna give you everything and then some.” He growled.

He bent suddenly and scooped you up. He forced himself between your legs as he pushed you against the door. You beat on his shoulders as he pressed his lips to yours. You grunted helplessly as his hand crawled beneath your skirt and past your stocking. He played with your garter as his tongue poked between your lips.

You bit down but he was quick. He pulled away before you could catch his tongue and he sneered.

“You make me bleed, I’ll have to make you bleed,” He pinched your thigh. “And you don’t want that.”

His hand crept up your pelvis and he gripped the top of your underwear. He tore them easily as his other hand kept your right leg propped up against his hip. You grasped at his suit and begged as the heat pricked at your flesh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” He purred as he bent and nipped at your throat. “Better than he did.”

You grunted between your teeth, unable to free yourself from between him and the door. His fingers slid down your folds and pushed deeper as he drew them back up. He twirled them around your bud and you shuddered. You closed your eyes in shame as your body spasmed.

“Woman like you can’t be alone,” He cooed. “And I can tell you don’t wanna be.”

He flicked his fingers back and forth until you were writhing, your nails embedded in his blazer as you bit down on your lip. He rescinded his hand and fumbled with the front of his trousers. His buckle clinked loudly and stoked another wave of panic in you.

He was quick to line himself up with your entrance. You brought your hand up to claw at his face and he just as swiftly batted it away before he gripped his cock once more. He pushed inside as his other hand released your thigh and went to your throat. Your leg remained hooked over his hip as he sank to his limit.

You whined and he thrust sharply. You threw your head back against the door and scratched at his shoulders. He kept his pace slow and steady, as if to tease, knowingly drawing the pleasure from you as the friction filled you with a terrible fullness.

He choked you harder as he sped up little by little. You could barely rasp past his clutch but your strangled moans escaped nonetheless. You closed your eyes and tried not to think of how thin the walls were; how clearly any in the hall could hear if they happened to pass by.

You couldn’t bear it anymore as your core began to pulse. You slapped his shoulders as you came and the tension snapped in a whirlwind. You drowned in the waves of ecstasy as he fucked you harder and harder. Your pitiful mewls only seemed to feed his lust and your shame.

The door shook as he fucked you against it, his head beside yours as he trapped you between him and the wood. His groans were wild and loud. He nibbled at your ear as his hand slid down to your chest and cupped your tit through your black dress.

His other hand hit the door in a fist as he cried out and your eyes sprang open. His body quaked as he spilled inside of you. His body twitched as he slowed and he threw his head back as he panted. He swallowed his hand grazed along your stomach lazily.

He eased out of you and let your leg fall. Your legs threatened to collapse beneath you as you clung to the door. Your skirt slowly slipped back into place as your underwear sat disposed between your feet. He did up his pants and cleared his throat. He took out his watch again.

“Get your coat, doll,” He said. “No time to waste.”

🖤🖤🖤

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob au #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #mafia au #marvel #mcu #captain america #one shot #?

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rpf-bat · 4 years

Text

My Cellmate’s A Killer

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 22. Prompt: “Prison”.

Gerard is a convict, currently serving time for murder. When he receives a serious injury, the prison warden brings him to the hospital, where you work. As you nurse him back to health, you form an unexpected bond with him. But, can you really trust a killer?

Trigger warnings for mentions of past violence, and sexual assault.

The doctors told you that the patient was a criminal. He “lived” at the maximum security prison on the edge of town. Apparently, he’d gotten injured in his cell, and the guards had no choice but to bring him here, to the hospital, to receive surgery.

You didn’t care. You were a nurse - that meant you would treat any person that needed medical help. You nervously approached the police officer, who was guarding the front door of the hospital room.

“It’s time for Mister, uhh….,” you glanced down, checking your chart. “Mister Way’s next dose of medicine.”

“Alright,” the guard nodded, allowing you past. “Be careful in there, miss. He’s a dangerous man.”

You peered through the window, before entering the room. The dark haired man lay calmly on his cot. His hands were handcuffed behind his head.

“Was it really necessary to restrain him like that?” you frowned.

“We can’t allow him an opportunity to escape,” the guard reasoned.

“He just got thirty stitches in his leg,” you pointed out. “I don’t think he could walk out of here, even if he wanted to.”

“Just go give him his pills,” the guard huffed. “And stop asking me questions.”

“Yeah, alright,” you sighed, and entered the room.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“Hi, Mr. Way,” you smiled, trying to treat him like any other patient. “It’s time for another dose of hydromorphone, okay?”

“Call me Gerard,” the man said softly. “What’s your name, Nurse?”

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself. You began puncturing the blister pack that contained his painkillers.

“Is it a pill you’re giving me?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir,” you nodded. “A standard eight milligram dose.”

“I don’t exactly have a free hand to take it from you,” Gerard chuckled, glancing at the cuffs, that held his hands fast. “What are you gonna do? Feed it to me?”

You blushed at this suggestion, taking a closer look at him. His long, dark hair framed a pale and handsome face. He looked more like a magazine model, than a convicted felon. The idea of bringing your fingers to his lips sounded….both appealing, and wrong, all at once.

But, if his hands are incapacitated, you considered, stepping closer to his bedside, what other choice do I have?

“Come here,” Gerard chuckled, “I promise, I won’t bite you.”

“The cop at the door says you’re dangerous,” you hesitated.

“Well, yeah,” Gerard said dryly, “I was convicted of second-degree murder.”

“M-murder?!” you gasped, jumping back. He confessed to it so casually, as if it was nothing.

“It’s true,” Gerard said, sounding frighteningly unrepentant. “I killed a man. But, I had my reasons.”

“What reason could possibly justify taking a human life?!” you cried, horrified.

Is he some kind of sociopath?, you wondered, shuddering. Should I be scared, being alone in a room with him like this?

“....Do you really want to know?” Gerard asked, gazing up at you, with his cold, hazel eyes.

The truth was, you’d always had a weird fascination with true crime documentaries. It intrigued you, hearing the motives, that would drive seemingly ordinary people to kill.

“...Yes,” you decided, setting down the pills, and taking a seat, beside the bed. “Tell me.”

“I have this little brother,” Gerard explained. “His name is Mikey. He was in his junior year of high school. Some classmate of his, decided that he looked gay. Whatever that means. And then he decided, that he needed to beat him up, just for, I don’t know, existing too gay-ly.”

“That’s terrible,” you frowned. You never understood, why kids bullied each other, for such stupid and prejudiced reasons.

“They beat Mikey so bad, that they put him in the hospital,” Gerard recalled with a pained expression.

“I’m so sorry,” you said sympathetically. You wondered if little Mikey was okay.

“It’s okay,” Gerard shrugged. “I paid the bastard back, by putting him in a grave.”

You gasped, at this chilling admission.

“You don’t understand, Nurse,” Gerard said insistently. “The son of a bitch hit my brother in the face so hard, that he went blind in his right eye, for the rest of his life!”

“That poor kid,” you frowned.

“Well, he’s not a kid anymore,” Gerard clarified. “I got revenge against the worm who hurt my brother, in 1997. I was sentenced to fifteen years in prison….and I’ve already served seven years of that.”

“So, you have eight more years to go?” you calculated.

“Yeah,” Gerard said sadly. “Mikey will be thirty-two, by the time I get out.”

“What does he think about your decision to avenge him?” you asked curiously. You imagined how much you would miss your own siblings, if you were separated from them, for over a decade.

“He visited me in lockup,” Gerard replied. “He said it brings him peace, knowing the bastard can never hurt him again. So, say what you want. But I ain’t sorry, for putting a bullet between his eyes.”

“This hospital is the first place you’ve been, other than that prison, in such a long time,” you realized.

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. “I ain’t sorry for what I did to get sent here, either.”

“What did you do?” you asked, eyes wide.

“I got a new cellmate,” Gerard explained. “His name’s Bert. He just started a five-year sentence, last week.”

“What did he get convicted of?” you asked curiously.

“Drug trafficking,” Gerard replied. “One of the harder ones. Prison life is gonna force him to get sober, though. By the looks, withdrawal has been a real bitch for him so far.”

You recalled the symptoms of drug withdrawal, from your medical textbook. Shaking. Vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Seizures. It was nothing you would wish on anyone - even a dealer, who had sold the poison to others.

“I’m sorry he’s going through that,” you said empathetically.

“Well, he almost went through something way worse,” Gerard grimaced.

“What could be worse than that?” you wondered anxiously.

“We were in the showers,” Gerard recalled, paling. “Some big guy, from Cell Block A, tried uh….he tried to…..touch Bert. In a way he didn’t want to be touched.”

“Oh,” you gasped. You heard about these things happening in men’s prisons - but it was still a sickening thought.

“I clocked the sick fuck,” Gerard snarled. “Knocked him the fuck out.”

“....Good,” you said, without thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t encourage a confessed killer, to commit more acts of violence. But, if he hadn’t done what he did, his friend would have been sexually assaulted. Preventing such a thing, was a noble motive.

“Problem was, the guy was in a prison gang,” Gerard sighed, continuing his story. “After I bloodied him up, all over the bathroom floor, his buddies came after me. One of them had a shiv. Shanked me right in my fucking leg.”

“.....That’s why you needed all those stitches?” you realized.

“Yeah,” Gerard replied, sinking back into his pillows. “That’s how I wound up here.”

“Let me give you your pain medicine,” you said, standing up. His stab wound must hurt him terribly.

“You’re not scared of me?” Gerard asked softly. “After everything I just told you I did?”

“You’re a violent man,” you considered. “But, I don’t think you’re an evil man, Gerard.”

“....Really?” Gerard’s eyes widened.

“Truly,” you nodded. “You attacked two men, yes. But, they were bad men. Men who hurt innocent people.”

“I’d never hurt a nice lady like you,” Gerard whispered.

You took the pain pill, and put it between your fingers. “Open up,” you instructed.

Gerard, to your surprise, blushed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I haven’t had a woman this close to me in seven, long years, Nurse,” Gerard said shyly. “Let alone such a beautiful one.”

It was your turn to blush. He thought you were beautiful?

“C-come on, now,” you stammered. “Say ah.”

Gerard opened his mouth wide. You glanced down at his pale pink lips, as you leaned over him. Your hair brushed his cheek, making his whole face go red.

You gently placed the pill on his tongue. His lips closed around your fingertips for a moment, almost sucking them. You drew back from his touch, startled.

“What’s the matter, Nurse?” he asked, a sly look on his face, as he swallowed the tablet.

“I -I told you,” you mumbled, looking away, “my name’s Y/N.”

“Can you do me one more favor, Y/N?” Gerard asked quietly.

“What is it?” you asked, heart pounding.

“....Ya think you could scratch my nose for me?”

You burst into laughter, at his odd request. It wasn’t what you were expecting.

“I’m serious! It really itches!”

Overcoming your giggles, you glanced again, at the handcuffs on his wrists. The guard had, perhaps unwisely, left a key on the bedside table.

“....I really don’t think you need to be tied up like this,” you confessed.

“They don’t want me on the loose,” Gerard shrugged. “Told ya, I’m a killer.”

“If I were to unlock the cuffs for you,” you asked, your voice a whisper, “do you promise to stay in your bed?”

“I won’t try to escape, Y/N,” Gerard said seriously, staring up into your eyes. “I promise you. If I went on the run now, I’d never see my brother again. It’s not worth it to me.”

“...Then, I’ll do it,” you decided, grabbing the key. You prayed that you were not going to regret this.

The key turned in the lock, and the cuffs unclicked, releasing Gerard’s hands. He didn’t lunge at you, or jump up. He simply scratched his nose - exactly as he said he would.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

“I know you got other patients to look after, Nurse Y/N,” Gerard said, looking suddenly sleepy, as the medication started to kick in. “So...have a good night, alright?”

“Good night, Mr. Way,” you smiled, and walked out of the room.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next day, you came to provide another dose of hydromorphone. The guard glared at you, as you approached the door.

“What the hell were you thinking last night?” he asked. “You gave the prisoner an opportunity to escape!”

“.....Did he escape?” you asked, your heart suddenly aching. Had he manipulated you, into feeling sorry for him, so he could go on the lamb?

“....No,” the guard shook his head. “I guess we got lucky. The prisoner is still sittin’ in there, like a good boy. Exactly where you left him.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Gerard had kept his promise.

“...May I give him his medicine, Officer?” you asked, staring the guard down.

“Yeah, lady,” the cop said, with a defeated look. “You go on ahead.”

You entered the room, shutting the door behind you. “Hi, Mr. Way,” you greeted.

“I told you, Y/N,” your new favorite patient smiled, “the name’s Gerard.”

“Hi, Gerard,” you corrected yourself. “How are you feeling today?”

“Not so good,” Gerard confessed. “As you can see, Officer Jackass put the cuffs back on me this morning.”

It was true - he was, once again, shackled to the bed.

“I guess I’ll have to feed it to you again,” you mumbled, cheeks aflame.

“You kinda looked like you were enjoying it, the last time,” Gerard smirked.

“N-no!” you denied, blushing harder.

“Oh, really?” Gerard teased. “Well…..I know I sure did.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you stammered. You were a medical professional. He was a patient in your care - and a convicted murderer, to boot! You shouldn’t let him flirt with you like this.

But, although you hated to admit…..he was right. Something about your fingers in his mouth, had been strangely attractive to you.

“What can I say, Nurse Y/N?” Gerard shrugged. “I got nothing to lose. As soon as I’m healed up, they’re gonna take me back to the penitentiary. I won’t see, or touch, a woman again, for the rest of this decade.”

“That must be...lonely,” you breathed.

“I knew the price I was gonna pay, when I got Mikey his justice,” Gerard sighed. “It’s far too late, to start having regrets now. But…..if I could have just one wish….”

“What would you wish for?” you asked, your heart hammering.

“Just one kiss,” Gerard begged. “Before they lock me back up, and throw away the key.”

“....I’ll grant your wish,” you decided, in a whisper. You felt so hot, all of a sudden.

“Wh-What?” Gerard stammered.

“Sssh,” you shushed him. “Hold still, and say ah for me again.”

You leaned down, beside his bed, and kissed him softly, on the mouth. Despite the sterile scent of disinfectant in the room, the taste of the moment, was incredibly sweet.

He struggled against his chains, trying desperately to bring his body, closer to yours. You sat on the bed, closing the gap.

Now practically in his lap, you kissed him harder.

“Ahhh!” he cried.

“....Did I hurt you?” you gasped, pulling away. “Did I sit on the leg that was injured?”

“....No,” Gerard panted. “That…..wasn’t a noise of pain.”

“....Oh,” you flushed.

“I’d be greedy to ask for a second wish,” Gerard said seductively. “But, if I could have one….oh, pretty, please, Nurse, would you do that again?”

You nodded, pushing him back, into the bed. “You can wish for it, as many times as you like.”

#gerard way imagine #gerard way x reader #gothtober #violence tw

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 3 years

Text

Lost in Translation: Part Two

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE AUTHOR’S NOTE TRANSLATIONS ON AO3

What had she done?

Every one of her nerves was still tingling and pulsating, but she still bent down and snatched up her nightgown and dressing gown, sliding each one on with quick, aborted movements.

Laurie snapped out of his own shock at her motions. “Amy?” he asked hesitantly.

She didn’t say anything. She had begun hurrying towards the door, snatching up a pair of slippers and tying her dressing gown as tightly as she was able.

He blinked at her in confusion. “Where are you-“ his words were cut off by the soft shut of their bedroom door and the sound of bare feet running on the floor.

————

It was late and Amy wasn’t sure where she should go, but she knew she couldn’t stay at the house.

He’d find her at the house, and she needed some time to process what she’d confessed to him, and to prepare herself for his rejection.

And prepare herself for her rejection of all… future advances.

Eventually, she decided on Jo’s new house. It was slightly farther away than her mother’s and therefore, she was very much hoping Laurie wouldn’t think to look for her there.

And, if she were truthful, she just wasn’t up to interacting with children, even Meg’s, although her house was closer, too. She’d be alright with it one day, but, well. Not yet. She wasn’t sure when she’d be able to see a child and not think of Laurie.

Jo answered the door. Still up writing, Amy assumed.

“Amy?” her sister asked, clearly shocked at Amy’s presence. And also possibly the fact that her face was streaked with tears. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

Jo ushered her sister inside. She’d be marrying the professor soon, and as such, he’d yet to move in.

As soon as Jo got Amy into the light of the fireplace and saw the true extent of her state of dress, her eyes widened. “You must be freezing!” she exclaimed. “Come sit by the fire and warm yourself.”

Amy nodded, obeying her sister’s command and wiping away a few tears.

She was soon wrapped in a warm blanket with a hot cup of tea in her hand, and Jo was demanding answers.

“Did Laurie do something? By God, I will slaughter that boy-“

Amy laughed through her tears. “He’s three years older than you!”

Jo waved a dismissive hand. “Once a boy, always a boy.”

Amy laughed again.

“Now then,” Jo continued, ready for an assault. “What did he do? I could get away with his murder, you know.”

Amy sighed and shook her head, taking a sip of her tea and setting it aside. “He didn’t do anything. It was me who made a mistake.”

“Alright,” the elder of the two said slowly. “Then what did you do?”

Fresh tears began to fall, and Amy watched them plop down onto her shaking hands. “I told him I love him.”

Jo raised her eyebrows. “And that’s… bad?”

“Yes it’s bad!” Amy exclaimed. “Of course it’s bad! It’s disastrous!”

“Why? I mean… you’re married. Isn’t it a good thing to be in love with your husband?” After a brief pause, Jo added, “you do mean you’re in love with him, I assume, and that you made that quite clear?”

Amy nodded tearfully. “It was incredibly obvious how it was meant.”

“So, again,” Jo said, “how exactly is you confessing being in love with your husband a bad thing?”

“Because he doesn’t love me back,” Amy whispered miserably. “Or if he does, he’s not in love with me, at least.”

“Whyever would you think that?” Jo asked, surprised.

Amy watched the flames in the fireplace, listened to the crackle of the logs burning.

“I’m just a replacement for you,” she said softly.

Jo blinked at her. “Amy,” she said patiently, “please know that this is meant in the most loving way possible, but you would be a terrible replacement for me.”

Amy looked at her in mild surprise. Partially at her words, and partially that they clearly weren’t meant to be offensive.

“We’re very different people,” her sister went on, “and I’m quite sure it’s impossible for anyone to be with you if it’s me they’re yearning for, or vice versa.”

The younger of the two sighed. “He doesn’t want me. He just wants a wife he thinks is pretty.”

Jo let out an incredibly unladylike snort that almost certainly made Aunt March roll over in her grave.

“No,” she said. “Clearly you weren’t paying attention to how he looked at you during your wedding. Through the entire thing, I might add.”

Amy leaned back against the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Again, he just thinks I’m pretty. That’s all.”

“No,” Jo said again, shaking her head this time. “Men don’t look at a woman like that just because they think she’s pretty. You really ought to pay attention to how he looks at you.”

Amy didn’t quite believe her. She must’ve been misremembering. Still, she asked, “how does he look at me?”

“He looks at you like…” Jo thought for a moment, sipping her tea as she did so. “Like you’re the moon as well as every star in the sky.”

Amy opened her mouth to rebuke this, but a sudden banging on the front door interrupted her before she could speak.

She looked at the door, and then at Jo, her eyes wide and terrified.

There was a slight neigh of a horse outside. How had she not noticed it before?

“Josephine March!” came Laurie’s voice through the door. “I’m fairly certain my wife is in there, and I swear to God, if you don’t bring her out right this minute-“

“Oh, dear,” Jo whispered conspiratorially, taking another sip of her tea. “He’s using my full name. Whatever shall I do?”

Amy would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so scared.

“Jo,” she hissed desperately. “I know- I know what he’s going to say to me, and I need a day, or a week, or preferably a year, to prepare myself for it. I can’t see him now!” Amy pleaded.

“You don’t know what he’s going to say,” her sister pointed out.

He was still banging on the door.

“And you know he won’t leave until somebody answers,” she went on. “He knows very well that I'm home.”

Amy thought for a moment, trying her damnedest to ignore her husband at the door.

“You’re right,” she said with a nod, standing. “Give me a minute or so. I’m going to go hide. You tell him I came by, but I left, and I don’t want to see him anyway.”

Jo gave her that look older siblings often do that says, “this is a terrible idea, but I’m not going to fight you on it.”

And so Amy rushed off to the smallest guest bedroom. Laurie would expect her to hide in Jo’s room, not a tiny guest room.

The bed was high up off the ground but had a bed skirt, so Amy wedged herself beneath the bed, being sure to keep the blanket around her. It was cold without the fireplace lit, after all, and the slippers she wore weren’t exactly insulating.

The sound of a door opening reached her ears.

“What do you want, Teddy?” she heard Jo snap.

She had to strain her ears to hear his reply.

“Is Amy here?” he demanded.

“She was, but she left,” Jo lied expertly, having been covering her sisters’ tracks since childhood. “She doesn’t want to see you, anyway, though, so really, you should just- hey!”

There was a scuffling, and then the sound of shoes on hardwood floors.

“Oh, sure,” her sister snarked sarcastically. “Come right in and make yourself at home!”

“Did she tell you?”

Jo sighed in annoyance. “Tell me what?”

“That she told me she loved me, and then she just- just left!” he nearly spat the words.

Oh, dear. Oh no. He wasn’t just mad. He was furious. She’d only seen him this way a handful of times in all the years she’d known him, and she really, really hoped he didn’t find her.

She could practically hear Jo cross her arms. “That,” she said firmly, “is between my sister and I.”

“She’s my wife now, Jo!” Laurie insisted, sounding tremendously frustrated. “You were just at the wedding!”

“Hm,” Jo hummed. “I do seem to recall something like that, now that you mention it, but even so, she doesn’t want to see you, and would very much like for you to leave her alone.”

She heard her husband snort. “Yeah, well, tough.” There was silence, and then more shuffling. Amy heard her sister sigh again, and then Laurie raised his voice. “Amy!” he called out.

She tried to ignore it, ignore the way he said her name, the way it echoed around the house.

“Amy,” he called again, “if you don’t come out and I find you, I’m going to be very upset indeed,” he warned.

Jo groaned, and Amy could picture her tilting her head back in frustration. “Honestly, Teddy, just go home-“

“Not without my wife,” he insisted firmly.

She heard him step into the room to the left of her; Jo’s room. There was another bedroom to her right, as well. He was rifling around, she could tell. Jo was objecting quite vocally, but he was clearly ignoring her.

He left the room and she heard him shut the door behind him.

Footsteps.

Closer.

And then-

The door opened.

Amy stopped breathing. Her heart stopped. She ceased all movement. She didn’t even blink.

Don’t look under the bed, don't look under the bed, don't look under the bed, she chanted over and over again in her mind, and then she resorted to prayer. Dear Lord, please don’t allow my husband to look under the bed and see me. Don’t allow him to find me. Just give me some more time.

For a few heartbeats, Amy couldn’t hear a thing. She didn’t even hear Jo’s groan of, “fine, have it out, but do not spend your wedding night here!” over the roaring in her ears. Then the padding of bare feet across hardwood floors.

She kept praying he wouldn’t look, wouldn’t find her.

No such luck.

Because Laurie’s stupid, attractive, beautiful, stupid face appeared in her line of vision.

“Amy,” he breathed in relief.

The woman in question squirmed, trying to scoot herself away from him, further underneath the bed.

“Nuh uh,” he said firmly. Oof. There was his angry face. “Either you come out or I’m getting under there with you.”

She blanched at that. She did not want to be in such close proximity to him, so she extradited herself from beneath the bed and promptly squeezed herself in the space between the wardrobe and the wall before he could process what she was doing.

He could neither reach her nor join her, and he hadn’t even said she couldn’t hide there, only that she couldn’t hide underneath the bed, so she’d found a loophole.

Problem solved.

Except, no, not so much, because he was in front of the crevice in just a few seconds, looking very cross indeed.

Even more so, if that were possible, than he had been before.

“Amy,” he said, sounding more dangerous than she could ever recall hearing him, “come out of there.”

There wasn’t enough space for her to shake her head, so she said, “no, I… I don’t think I will. I’m perfectly fine right here, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes blazed.

“If I don’t mind?” He sounded disbelieving. “Of course I mind that my wife ran from me, is hiding from me!”

She flinched when he called her his wife.

He noticed, letting out an agonized groan and raking a hand through his hair.

“Amy, come out,” he begged. “Please. Let me…” he trailed off, looking at her terrified expression, the way she squeezed herself further against the wall behind her. “Let me take you home.”

“No thank you,” she squeaked. “I’m quite well right here, but I appreciate the offer.”

He sighed and looked at the beams in the ceiling.

her husband briefly, only to find him smiling softly at her in a way she found most unsettling. She looked away from his gaze, doing her very best to ignore it, and allowed him to wrap an arm around her waist.

“We’re going to talk about this as soon as we’re home, you realize,” he told her as they walked through the quiet house.

Jo must’ve gone to sleep.

Upon being told this, Amy immediately decided that that wouldn’t do. She knew Laurie cared for her, of course he did. She didn’t doubt that. Perhaps he even loved her. But was he in love with her? No, of course not. She was fully cognizant of that face, and would vastly prefer not to hear it, as it would simultaneously be both incredibly painful and tremendously unnecessary.

————

The ride back was silent, Amy refusing to let him anywhere near her, scooting away whenever he tried to touch her.

Upon their arrival, she attempted to head in a different direction as soon as they stepped through the elaborate doorway.

Laurie grabbed the sleeve of the coat he’d given her. “Where are you going?”

She looked at the floor silently with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Amy,” he said slowly, “were you going to run and hide from me again?”

“…no?” was her hesitant squeak.

“Good God, woman,” he groaned in frustration. “Just- just come back to our room with me, alright? I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

Well, no, she thought bitterly. Not physically, at least.

She said nothing, so he stepped around her to face her, cupping her cheeks and looking into her eyes.

“Amy,” he said softly, his gaze flicking briefly down to her lips. “Come upstairs with me,” he begged. “Don’t run from me. Don’t hide from me.”

God, but when he looked at her like that, spoke to her like that…

Amy nodded, earning a sweet, gentle smile.

Leading her back to their bedroom, he shut the door quietly behind them and lifted the coat from her shoulders.

Shucking off his shoes and socks once more, he sat on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to him with a small smile.

Not wanting to argue, she sat as far from him on the bed as she was able. He rolled his eyes slightly but seemed to accept it regardless.

“Amy, why would you run from me?” he asked her gently. “Why would you hide from me?” When she said nothing, he spoke again. “Did you not mean what you said?”

Well. Not much point in lying to him about it, was there?

“I meant it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Then why?” He scooted closer to her, and she looked away from him until he cupped her cheek, turning her face towards his. He was far too close for comfort. When had he moved towards her? “Did you think I’d be upset?”

“No,” she said hoarsely, shaking her head. “That’s not it, I…” She couldn’t tell him. She didn’t want to be rejected. Why bother if she already knew the answer?

“Tell me,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb. “Tell me, mia amata.”

Tears filled her eyes again, and she looked away from him again. “…I don’t want to hear your response,” she told him miserably.

He blinked in confusion. “Why not?”

“I already know what you’ll say,” she explained, “and I don’t want to hear it out loud.”

He was silent for several seconds, looking at her with wide eyes. “Amy,” he said slowly. “Do you think I’ll… reject you? Me, your husband?” He sounded almost like he couldn’t believe his own words.

“Of course you will!” she snapped through her tears. “I know you don’t love me- at least, not like that- but I- I don’t want to hear it!”

Then both of his hands cupped her cheeks, and he was leaning forward. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m very, very much in love with you.”

Amy squinted at him, finding herself very skeptical indeed.

He chuckled at her expression. “I love you, Amy,” he told her again, his voice still soft. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone the way I want to be with you.”

She examined his face, the lines of his features, the look in his eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

“No?” he laughed softly. “Well…” he trailed off, sliding a hand down her neck and into the neckline of her dressing gown. “I suppose I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life convincing you, won’t I?”

And then he kissed her, and fireworks exploded in her veins. Too overcome to stop herself, she kissed him back, pouring all the love she felt for him into it.

He pulled her against him, and she whimpered when his tongue brushed against hers. Sliding her fingers into his hair, Amy allowed herself to have this, to have him.

“Laurie,” she moaned when he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck.

“Esatto,” he murmured against the skin of her neck, kissing her there again. “Gemi per me, amore mio.” He began to suck her neck then, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“What- what does that mean?” she panted. “Translate, remember?”

He hummed against her, untying the ribbons that held her dressing gown closed. “It means, ‘that’s right, moan for me, my love’.”

“M- my love?” she squeaked. She had not been expecting that.

Sliding her dressing gown off of her, he kissed her shoulder. “Mhm,” he agreed. “Amore mio.” He slid the sleeve of her nightgown down her shoulder and kissed it again. “Mia amata.” Another kiss. “Il mio tutto.”

“What about- ah!” her words were momentarily cut off when he closed his teeth around a tendon in her neck. “What about those?”

“Mia amata means ‘my beloved’,” he breathed against the newly tender skin of her neck. “Il mio tutto means ‘my everything’.”

Amy pulled back from him. “Do you mean it?” she asked sharply. “Are you certain you’re not mistaking what you’re feeling for something other than being in love?”

He grinned. “I’m certain,” he assured her. “Let me show you how much I love you.” With that, Laurie was pulling off her nightgown and guiding her to lay down on their bed, kissing her collarbones and cupping her breasts. “God, Amy,” he groaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

Then he was trailing kisses down the length of her torso until he reached her hipbones. “Do you remember how I touched you here?” he asked with a gentle kiss against her flushed skin. Amy nodded, biting her lip nervously. “I’d like to kiss you there, as well.”

“Why?” she asked breathily, feeling terribly nervous.

“Well,” he began with a grin. “A multitude of reasons, really. First, I love you, and I want you to feel good. Second, I want to be the one making you feel good. Third, watching you fall apart was the most incredible thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I’m quite eager to see it again.”

Amy gulped.

She was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he truly did love her.

“So,” he went on, “may I?”

She nodded, still hesitant but choosing to trust him (he loved her, he loved her, he loved her, God but she hoped he loved her) and he slipped between her thighs, spreading her open for him. She could’ve sworn she heard him growl, but her observation was lost when he flicked his tongue over that same part of her he’d focused on before, sliding his fingers in a teasing circle around her entrance.

Recalling how divine it had felt when he’d put them inside of her, she canted her pelvis towards him with a whimper. He hummed against her, licking at her again, slowly with barely-there touches, and oh, but she wanted.

Fearing she’d sound lewd, sound vulgar, she clamped her mouth shut against her moans as he laved at her.

“Let me hear you, amata.” Yes, that was most definitely a growl, no mistaking it. “Hold in your cries, quiet them at all, and I’ll stop,” he warned, his breath fanning over her sensitive skin.

No, no, not that! Amy thought desperately. Anything but that, don’t stop-

Clenching her eyes shut nervously, she nodded her understanding.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against where she needed him. “I want you to see who’s pleasuring you.”

She obeyed, and he smirked in satisfaction, resuming his delicious ministrations.

The pressure of his tongue was firmer now, and when he thrust his fingers inside her, she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried.

She screamed.

It felt incredible. Laurie didn’t so much as flinch; in fact, he seemed encouraged by her reaction, reaching up to grip her breast and lifting his eyes to meet hers as he lapped at her.

Amy didn’t know whether to be ashamed or delighted by the way he was looking at her. He looked like he wanted to consume her.

“Laurie please Laurie Lauriepleasepleaseplease-“ she moaned loudly, lifting her hips towards him.

Trailing his hand down from where he’d been squeezing her breast, he pressed down on her hipbone, holding her in place. His other hand continued to pleasure her, his fingers thrusting in and out repeatedly as he licked her until she thought she might explode.

Her moans were essentially nonstop by that point. “Laurie, God, please- I need you, please, I need- don’t stop, don’t stop, Laurie-“

She was barely enunciating, her words blending together like paint on a canvas, and he still wasn’t stopping. He didn’t even slow down; just kept going, and she knew it was nearing, what he’d given her before. Her fingers fisted in the blankets of their bed, her toes curling, her hips trying to lift up of their own accord only to be stopped by the hand that held her down.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it. And then he closed his lips around that part of her and sucked, and she burst.

Amy let out a long, high-pitched scream that more than one of the household staff heard. Her body convulsed. Her legs shook.

When it was over, her entire body continued to tingle, as if there were bubbles in every nerve, every vein.

Barely processing that he’d pulled his fingers out of her and was crawling up her body, she kept her eyes closed until she felt a hand on her cheek.

“Amy?” came her husband’s soft, gentle voice.

Blinking her eyes open blearily, she found him gazing at her with obvious adoration.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he stroked her cheek. When she nodded, he smiled. “Did you like it?” Unable to speak, she nodded again. “Good,” he said with a grin and a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Because I would very much like to lick you as frequently as you’ll allow.”

After several seconds, she was granted the ability to speak again. “Can I… can I do that for you?” He froze, his eyes widening. She quickly rushed to explain. “I’m…

I’m fairly certain we won’t be able to…” Amy gulped, finding herself unable to finish her statement. “So if possible, I would like to give you what you gave me.”

Laurie smiled at her then, as sweetly as ever. “It’s possible,” he assured her. “But making love is most certainly possible, as well.”

“Is, um.” She gulped. Again. “Is that what it’s called?”

“It’s called a number of different things,” he told her with a tilt of his head. “Making love is one, yes. Sex is another. Copulation or intercourse are also used.” He thought for a moment. “Shakespeare called it the beast with two backs.”

Amy stared at him. There were so many different terms for this thing she’d never heard of a mere twenty-four hours ago. “And what do you call it?”

“Making love, as I said,” he told her with another smile. “But that’s primarily with you,” he murmured that part, brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

Her lips parted.

He stared at them and continued. “I’ve been known to refer to it as sex. Or even fucking, on occasion.”

She blinked. He’d mentioned that one before. “Fucking?”

He groaned and leaned his forehead against her shoulder, as if he hadn’t expected her to repeat it.

“It’s, well. It’s the same as the others, essentially,” he explained patiently, his voice muffled by her shoulder. “Although, if it’s called that specifically, it’s usually a bit more… animalistic.”

She squeaked, not knowing what to say to that. Animalistic sounded painful.

“That isn’t to say it hurts,” he rushed on, raising his face to hers again when he heard the sound she’d made. “It’s not something I’d…” he coughed. “Do with you, not right off, and only if you wanted me to.”

Amy could barely breathe. “Why would I want you to?”

He was blushing rather terribly. “I’d make it feel very, very good,” he assured her.

Finding herself very skeptical indeed, she raised an eyebrow at him. “And you… want it that way?”

“I want you any way you’ll have me,” he responded softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Plus,” he said, “I’d like to… claim you, I think.” His hand slid from her cheek down to her waist, brushing the side of her breast as he went.

She thought for several moments. “What makes you so sure it would work?”

“Well,” he began with another grin, trailing his hand from her waist to between her legs again, where she was still wet and quivering. “I’ve prepared you for me already,” he explained. “And I think I’d like to prepare you further.”

He then proceeded to do just that. Twice. She’d screamed so much her throat was raw with it.

She was positively drenched. She could feel it.

He kissed her neck, then sat up on his haunches and gazed at her in such a way she briefly thought of a blazing fire. “Touch yourself,” he rasped as he yanked his shirt over his head. “Put your fingers between your legs and touch yourself as I touched you.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I can’t do that!” she insisted, scandalized.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he assured her with a sweet smile. “It’s just me.”

“You say that like I haven’t…” loved you since I was a child, she finished mentally.

Leaning over to shower her face with kisses, he spoke softly. “There is nothing you could do that I wouldn’t cherish,” he assured her. “Please touch yourself for me, bellissima.”

“W- why?” she managed to force out.

“Because I want to watch you.” He was unlacing his pants one moment and kicking them off the next, and he nodded encouragingly at her.

Feeling horrifically embarrassed, Amy obeyed, pressing her fingers in the same place he had.

Untying the cord that held his undergarments up, he yanked those over his hipbones, too, and she noticed that they protruded from his body, and then…

Dear Lord, Amy thought. It had only been a few hours prior, but she’d forgotten, somehow, how very terrifying that part of him was.

And then he did the strangest thing: he wrapped his hand around it and began to stroke himself, watching her all the while.

“Cup your breast and pinch your nipple,” he commanded softly. She did so, continuing to rub between her legs.

This only lasted for a couple of minutes before he launched himself at her, attacking her with kisses and grasping hands.

“Amy,” he groaned into her mouth. “I need you.”

She felt empty. Terribly, terribly empty. Thinking of his… what had he called it? His cock? Yes, his cock. Thinking of his cock, she found herself rather liking the idea of him putting it inside of her.

“I love you, Laurie,” she told him quietly. “I’m yours to do with as you will.”

He slipped a hand into her hair, kissing her like a man starving, then trailed more kisses down to her jaw and along the length of her neck.

“And I’m yours,” he swore against her skin. “Always, dolce moglie.” She gave him a look and he chuckled before adding, “sweet wife.” Pressing a kiss between her breasts, he went on, “never feel as if you have to say yes to me, Amy.”

She blinked in confusion. She’d sworn to obey him, after all.

“I want you to enjoy this as much as I do,” Laurie explained. “I want to make you happy, make you feel loved, because you are.” He trailed more kisses up her neck and continued. “I want to make you scream again,” he murmured. “I want to make you just as desperate for me as I am for you. I want you to be begging for me, to be shaking from needing me so badly.”

Amy gnawed on her lower lip pensively. “If… if you’re sure it’ll work…” She was being uncharacteristically timid, she knew.

“It will,” he promised, kissing her deeply. “Let me show you how I can make you feel, amata.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and he kissed her again, his tongue brushing against hers. He cupped both of her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly, and she whimpered into his mouth, feeling a muscle deep within her clench when his cock brushed against her skin.

Then he pulled up from her, spreading her legs so he could kneel between them. Fighting down her embarrassment at the exposure yet again, she watched as he took his cock in hand and pressed it against her center, his eyes never leaving hers.

Then he rubbed the tip against that spot, and she jolted with a gasp that ended in a whimper.

“So wet for me, aren’t you, darling?” Laurie groaned, rubbing himself against her entrance now without actually going inside. “So ready for me.”

That muscle clenched again.

Empty.

“Laurie,” she pleaded. “I- I need-“

“I know, love,” her husband assured her. “I know.”

Then, slowly, very slowly, he began to push himself inside of her. Barely anything at first, and then-

Ouch.

That hurt.

It was a strange sort of pain; reminiscent of if she’d held her arm up whilst painting for too long.

He’d stopped, however.

“I was afraid of this happening,” she grit out.

He shook his head. “No, it’s temporary, I promise. It’ll go away.”

Amy looked at him skeptically.

#my writing #fanfiction #amylaurie #amy x laurie #amy march #theodore laurence #little women #little women fanfiction #amy x laurie fanfiction #fanfic

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