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bearseokie · 4 years

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you're being clingy | GOT7 Reaction

request: got7 reaction to the reader being clingy?

[warnings]: mentions of nervousness

A/N: bam's is kind of more about holding on to him during an anxiety attack than being clingy? i was told it still fits, so sorry lol

got7 m.list | navi.

Mark:

You were temperamental, everything seeming to upset you. Going about your day, you stomped around the house doing chores. The cord of the vacuum trapped your leg and made you trip, your dryer wouldn't dry loads of laundry properly, and you were fed up.

Finding Mark sat on the couch in the living room scrolling on his phone, you fell into his lap, your body wrapping tightly around him.

"Bad day?" he asked, a pout on his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

With a short nod, you fidgeted, finding comfort in his hold. Settling against him, he sighed, shuffling to slide you onto the couch. Whining, you clung to his neck, forcing him to place his hands under your thighs and clutch you to him. Carrying you, he went into the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush to brush his teeth.

"Are you going to hold on the entire time?" he questioned with a laugh, your legs tightening around his waist with a nod. "Alright then, I guess."

Jaebeom:

Trailing him around the kitchen, he finally stood in place to stir the meal cooking on the stove. He laughed at your following pace, smiling as your arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Laying your head against the middle of his shoulder blades, he hummed, the vibrations rattling your head.

"You could wait until dinner is finished to hug me? You know, for safety." he chuckled, lifting his apron up and over your arms in order to keep from the hot food splashing on them.

Shaking your head, he let out another laugh while proceeding to cook the meal. Setting your plates, he carried them over to the table as you held on to him.

"Let me guess, you want to sit in my lap and have me feed you too?" he jokes, the laughter growing as you instinctively sat in his lap and nodded. "Well, I'm in for a long and fun night, aren't I?"

Jackson:

Opposite of Jackson, you were the one sending chain messages of single words that could have been put into one message. He was running late getting home from work, overtime killer. You laid on your bed wishing he was already beside you. Your texts had delivered but had yet to be read. Huffing, you threw your phone beside your head, a ding echoing in the dimly lit bedroom as you sat up. The bright light of the screen made you squint as you tapped the voice message.

"I'm on my way home, had to make a pit stop," he said, a slight lift in the pitch of his voice at the end. He was up to something.

Laying flat on your back, he overheard the door to the apartment open, sounds of struggling coming down the hallway. Swinging his body sideways, he stepped into the doorframe within your view, a container in his hands.

"I brought dessert for us to share in bed," he said, handing you a plastic spoon as he sat beside you.

Nose scrunched, your arm wrapped around his, head on his shoulder as you got a bite of the sweet inside the container. Pulling your legs up to sit on your knees, you kissed his cheek, pushing him back onto the bed with a hug.

"Did you really miss me that much?" he asked, you nod answering him. "Okay, but like how much?"

Jinyoung:

The distance between his side and your own was too much, rolling your body closer to his. Enclosing your arm around him, he stiffened for a second, your warm body startling him awake in the middle of the night.

"I don't like being the little spoon," he said calmly, lifting your hand from over him as he gently let it fall between your bodies.

Whining, you threw it back over, his sigh loud in your ear. Flipping to his back, he gave you a hard side-eye. Watching your cheeks blush, his lips rose into a small smile knowing he couldn't be annoyed with you. Turning to face you, his arm delved underneath your body, pulling you into his chest.

"Now I'm suffocating you. Is this what you wanted?" your giggling against his chest making him vibrate out a chuckle.

Pulling away from you slightly, his head tilted down for his eyes to meet your own, a smirk on your lips. He was always wrapped tightly around your finger.

"You better be glad I love you," he said, pulling you against him even tighter as your arms wrapped around him. "We can't do this long. My arm is already falling asleep under you.

Youngjae:

The day was freezing outside, Youngjae's return from work early making you hop to your feet and press your cold body against his warm one.

"Jeez, you're freezing," he said, watching you lift up his overly-large sweatshirt, which was still on his body, and crawl into it.

Standing in the entrance of your shared home, he stood idle, watching you curiously as you slithered against him within his hoodie.

"Is this necessary?" he laughed at you, your hold around his bare waist making him jump from the temperature difference of his body versus yours.

You held him close to you, making him shuffle to walk into the home more to set his bag down. Making your feet move before him, he huffed from the difficulty, lifting you from the ground as your toes stood on his. Laughing with a nod against his hot chest, you both worked in tandem, pacing like the tin man's stiff legs to get over to the couch.

"You're," he laughed loudly. "So ridiculous sometimes."

BamBam:

Parties weren't your thing, and BamBam knew this, but he insisted you that join him at a business gathering. You didn't know a single person, so your hand stayed in his out of sheer nervousness.

"Hold on to me tighter." he smiled at you, the pad of his thumb running along the back of your hand. "I've got you. We won't stay long."

Trailing behind him in some areas, the main hall was filled with his coworkers, the entire place packed. Pulling you along, you met some of his friends, others gifting you a smile as you passed. Worry gathering on your face, BamBam took notice, finally excusing both of you to leave respectfully.

Your hand was tightly around his, tugging him along before you finally made it outside into the cold, dark night. Able to breathe, you turned, arms folding around his neck to pull him close to you.

"Wow, you really hated that. It's okay, sweetheart. It's over with now." he said, your grasp only growing tighter, people passing sending concerned glances.

"Why don't we head home? I'll stop and get us hot chocolate so we can cuddle in front of the fireplace."

Yugyeom:

You and Yugyeom's confidence had grown in the relationship tremendously. You gained a regular pattern of sending each other pictures and videos hourly when you were separated, but the conversation had fallen silent one day for no clear reason. Checking your phone every five minutes, your brows were creased in confusion as your notifications sat empty.

You sent a video of your outfit to him, no response. Sent a picture of your food, nothing. Even went as far as going outside to get a picture of a passing dog just to pique his interest, still no response.

Sat at your desk at home with your eyes fixed on the small screen, Yugyeom snuck up behind you, trapping you in his hold.

"Don't be mad at me." he laughed, watching you jump from the chair into his arms, tackling him backward onto the bed.

"I'm sorry! I knew I should have answered you, but I wanted to surprise you," he whined, watching your eyes grow glossy from the silence you suffered that entire day. "Extra hugs and kisses today as an apology for making you worried." he grinned.

#got7 #got7 reaction #got7 reactions #got7 scenarios #got7 x reader #got7 fluff #got7 angst #got7 imagine #got7 imagines #mark tuan #im jaebeom #im jaebum #jackson wang #park jinyoung #choi youngjae #kunpimook bhuwakul #kim yugyeom #bambam #got7.headcanon

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uglypastels · 3 years

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Z first off...you are amazing and I am too shy to actually ask but I would love to be friends!! For the Spotify themed blurb could you do a smut with Tom and Mr. Brightside? I love you sm!!

Nooo don’t be shy, you can come to talk to me any time. I’m sorry this took so long to respond, but I try to get through my requests in the order that I get them and there are just so many haha, I didn’t want to lose the request either. I hope you enjoy this :). This is some kind of au but who knows which one.

> There will be smut under the cut, 18+ < (this is filthy cheating, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex - please use protection!)

> catching up on my Spotify Blurbs

Song: #18 - Mr Brightside by the Killers __________________________________

It made Tom sick to see you standing there, at his side. He didn’t know what you saw in the guy, let alone what made you want to marry him? Probably money, and in that case, he admired your endurance. Because, as he saw you from the other side of the room, your waist tightly pulled into his side with his sleazy arm around you, he could see from the distance how miserable you looked.

It pained Tom to see you because he knew how much better he himself could be for you. And you knew it too. You turned your head and locked eyes, pleading for Tom to help you escape, just for a moment. He nodded as he took a sip of his drink and made his way through the banquet hall.

“Phillip,” Tom smiled to him, “y/n,” when he looked at you, his smile finally reached his eyes.

“Thomas,” you answered respectfully. Your husband took out the cigar from his mouth, at least blowing the smoke away from your face this time, before greeting Tom. They made polite small talk before Tom made said his goodbyes, but not before kissing your hand as a farewell. And a sign. You knew what to do.

“I have to powder my nose if you’ll excuse me, darling.” You smiled to the man you lost all affection to and hoped he would let his grip on you go. He did, but not before squeezing your ass harshly. You jumped up surprised and tried to laugh along to the echo of howling that came from your husband's entourage. You turned away and made your way out of the hall, making a corner into a smaller hallway to the bathroom, passing those doors and walking into a door that was overlooked by most people visiting the building.

Down the stairs you went, your heart beating faster and faster at the thought of being alone with Tom again. You were still young, but any day spend with Phillip seemed to be taking away double the time and energy out of you. Not Tom, he made you feel anything but that. With him you were yourself, if not better, not just some pretty arm accessory.

You pushed open the door of the supply closet. The dim light was on, illuminating your lover’s features. You could see his smile as your eyes locked once again. You didn’t waste a minute in making your way over to him. Your arms found their way around his neck, and his were on your hips as your lips crashed into a passionate kiss of need.

He had already loosened his tie before you came in, as well as opened his leather belt. When he took the zipper off your dress and pulled it down, you thanked him with a moan. The material pooled around your legs, and you stepped out of it, kicking it to the side with your heel.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said. “Too fucking gorgeous for him.” He liked to remind you this any time you met, and still, you weren’t sure if you could accept that compliment. It felt so far out there. But no matter how fantastical, Tom made it feel true. For the short moment that you could be together, you were in your own little world.

Your hands reached for his trousers, helping them make their way down to the ground as well, together with his underwear. The task was slightly more difficult since Tom had already grown hard at your sight and the anticipation of what was to come. You really drove the man insane.

Another moan escaped you when you felt his fingers over your heat. Sliding through your wetness as his thumb drew circles over your clit. You took a step forward, he followed and clashed with his back against the wall. The next second, he pulled you closer and spun you around so you were the one locked in. His lips were now on your neck and his moved down, his fingers had now pulled away from your panties to the side, giving him the full access and ability to give you the pleasure that your husband never could.

You watched as Tom’s head moved down, leaving a trail of kisses over your body. He held up your leg to put over his shoulder, before leaving one final kiss to your clit. With his fingers now pumping in and out of you in a steady rhythm, he had the freedom to give every part of your the attention it needed. You had to hold in your screams of pleasure, for fear of being heard and found, as he continued.

“Fuck, Tom,” you slipped past your lips while grabbing his hair in your hand. Tom replied with a humming sound that directly vibrated through your body. The one leg you still used for ground support was shaking, your chest heaving heavily. You could feel yourself reaching the end as Tom didn’t even think of stopping. Not now. Preferably, not ever. He loved it. He loved making you feel this good. He loved bringing you to your climax and tasting you.

But eventually, the overwhelming sensation of the orgasm was coming down and you needed that one moment, just a second, to rest. You tapped his shoulder lightly and he pulled away. His pink lips glistening in your juices. As you took some deep breaths, Tom continued to pepper kisses on your thighs, but he made his way back up to kiss you again. You could taste yourself on him. It was a funny feeling, but nothing you didn’t enjoy.

You were about to move down on to your knees but Tom stopped you.

“What do you think you’re doing, dove?” he asked, cupping your face in his hand.

“Why, repaying you the favour, of course.” you giggled.

“It was no favour, it was the best gift I could ask for.” He kissed you again quickly before continuing, “You taste divine.” One more kiss, “besides, if you had to repay anything, which would be ridiculous, I’d much rather have your tight pussy around me.”

“Oh, so now my mouth is not good enough for you?” you joked.

“If only we had the time,” he brushed his lips against your ear, so his next whispers send shivers all through you, “Then I could correct that little attitude of yours.”

You whimpered in response, it only you had the chance.

“You know I fucking adore whatever you do, but I think we both much more prefer if I fill you up right now.”

All you could do was nod. When you looked down you could see how hard he was, tip already red, practically ready to burst. Tom helped you up so you could wrap yourself around him as he pinned you against the wall. Slowly, making sure you could adjust to the feeling, he trusted into you. Of course, his previous words were right, you needed him inside you, filling you completely, stretching your walls, hitting that spot that sent you over the edge- over and over again. It was a wonderful feeling, not only the physical side of it, but do be treated like this with the intention of showing care and adoration, that alone was amazing. Tom’s cock pounding into, that was only a bonus.

He kept going. The kisses as sweet as they were, were now mostly a way to soften the loud sounds coming from your mouths. But if it wasn’t for the moans, someone might have just as well heard the noises of the shelves in the room rattling as your bodies moved together. Tom’s hips moved faster, deeper, harder. You wanted to scream so badly. You wished everyone could know who made you feel this good, but all you could do was bite his shoulder to muffle yourself.

“Fuck,” Tom groaned. He never said it, but you knew he enjoyed it.

Eventually, he had to slow down, his moves turned irregular, he was close, and so were you. So close.

“Come for me baby, c’mon,” he encouraged you. But it was that one final thrust, hitting your deepest point, that made you roll your eyes back as the release of tension in your body flooded over you. Your entire body was shaking but Tom helped you through it. He held you close, kissing every inch of your skin he could reach in the position until you could get back up on your own two feet.

He also helped you get back in your dress. One final farewell kiss sealed the end of your secret rendezvous. You slipped out of the room, making sure no one else was there. Tom would leave a few minutes later, just to be safe.

He came back to the banquet hall and was walking by, just close enough to hear you choke out your made-up alibi. He smiled into his new glass of champagne, thinking if you could feel his cum drip down your legs as you lied to your good-for-nothing husband.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland au #tom holland filth #smut #filth #au #fanfic #blurb #fanfiction #imagine #fic #spotify blurbs

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 37 - Seven Months

Title: Irreverent Pt. 37 - Seven Months Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5302

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Rape/Nonconsent

Irreverent Series Masterlist

*The events of this chapter take place in the seven months during which Emily Prentiss was presumed dead.*

Penelope had decorated Derek's new office. He hadn't taken over Hotch's office - he'd felt weird about that. It was where you found him usually now, late at night after everyone else had left. You'd found yourself staying late quite a bit more.

Reid was taking Emily's death harder than anyone - you know that JJ had been over to his place a lot along with Penelope. Rossi was trying to take him under his wing and make sure he was keeping it together enough to still do the job. You were struggling to get your own oxygen mask on to really help Spencer with his. You hadn't slept more than a couple of fitful hours any night since Hotch left.

The team was down three people and none of you had wanted to go through the hiring process of bringing in and training someone new. However, this meant a lot of extra work for Derek as the new Unit Chief. Rossi was chipping in a bit, but with JJ also gone and no media liaison, his job was becoming impossible. You and Rossi had split up some of the remaining work, with Penelope automating case selection using an algorithm she'd designed. You'd taken on most of the media liaison work in order to spare Derek when he was already on edge. You were all on edge though - all the time.

*------------*

The four of you - Derek, Reid, Rossi, and yourself - were in Austin for a case. There was some sort of convention going on and the killer seemed to be targeting attendees. They'd found two dead already. The team had arrived earlier in the morning and made some progress, but had nothing more to go on for the moment, so you'd all arrived at the hotel for the night.

"They only have two rooms," Derek tells the rest of you, returning from the front desk. With the convention, there hadn't been much space available and the two rooms available were only free because their occupants were dead. The hotel had worked quickly to flip over the crime scenes back into functioning guest rooms.

The three men turned to look at you. "I'll bunk with Derek, if that's okay," you respond, looking at him to confirm if he was alright with it. You didn't want to console Reid tonight and didn't have it in you to deal with Rossi's insistence on talking.

Derek nods and the four of you head up in the elevators to your respective rooms. Reid and Rossi get out on the third floor while you and Derek continue on to the fifth.

"You wanna shower first?" he asks you, opening the door and letting you in first.

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks."

You go to get clean and when you return, Derek has the case files laid out on the room desk. Upon your exit, he goes to shower himself, leaving you to look over the files and browse through the snack bar. You hadn't had an appetite during dinner and a late night snack was definitely the right call.

By the time Derek got back, you'd made it through half the pack of peanut m&ms and were sitting on the edge of the bed. You look up at his emergence, pajama pants slung low on his hips, and for a second, you have to admire how incredibly fit he is.

"Is that from the boxing?" you ask, eyebrows raised as you more or less ogle his abs.

Derek laughs - a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes but the gesture is there. "You should let me train you, princess. I think you'd like it. Work off some of that aggression."

"Hmm, if you can promise me results like that, you're on." You scooch yourself up towards the headboard and pull the covers up, starting to feel just a little awkward about having picked him to bunk with.

"You got it."

He senses your hesitancy as he climbs into bed on the other side. "You're sure you're okay with this? I can take the couch."

"No, I just," you pause, unsure of how to explain. The only other person on the team you've ever shared a bed with is Emily. Emily who holds you and brushes a hand through your hair until you fall asleep. "Sorry, no. It's not you. It's…," you stop again, knowing you really shouldn't say anything at all. And yet, maybe… "Emily used to cuddle," you mumble, your face immediately becoming warm.

You're not sure if it was because of how obviously embarrassed you are or because he too wouldn't mind having someone to hold right now, that Derek just smiles understandingly. "Come here, princess. We can cuddle too."

That's how you find yourself in a hotel room in the middle of Texas, Derek Morgan's strong arms wrapped around your waist, his lower half tilted respectfully away, and his lips grazing the top of your head in the sweetest way. He was no Emily, but he was exactly what you needed in that moment. You slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

*------------*

Strauss had shut down the investigation into Doyle. She'd cited jurisdiction and said that no one on the BAU was permitted to continue looking into it. You knew that both Derek and Rossi had protested against it, but it was to no avail.

This was the time where you felt angriest with Hotch for leaving. He would've stood up to Strauss way more. Nothing against Derek and Rossi, but Hotch no longer cared about the politics of the Bureau - you knew that by the way he'd stood up to her countless times before. Rossi didn't either but he also had an odd relationship with Strauss - something told you he actually liked her, so he was choosing to respect her decision on the matter.

Derek had far too much going on to wage a war against Strauss and keep running the team at the same time. You were on your own. You took out the card Easter had handed you at Emily's wake from the drawer it had sat in, along with the pearl earrings you'd worn that day. Pearls were for old women and funerals, as your mother used to say.

*------------*

"The Unsub is suspected to be a white male in his mid-to-late twenties. He will have poor social skills - he's probably someone who makes you uncomfortable but you can't figure out why. He will have a low income job which he does not like. He perceives himself as being better than those around him and likely had an older female figure in his life whom he feared. We ask that the public keep an eye out for any individuals meeting this description. Thank you."

You had just delivered the profile at the press conference for a serial rapist who was breaking into women's homes when they were alone, raping them, and then tattooing them with his signature, before leaving them unconscious, naked, and tied up outside their homes. It had been a harrowing few days and the entire city was on edge after the fourth victim had come forward, having been found by her neighbor early the next morning.

Derek looks up at you as you enter the room again. "You alright?"

You simply nod, sighing and lowering yourself into the chair next to him. Reid was working on the geographic profile and so far it seemed that you had your work cut out for you - there wasn't a pattern that was emerging. Rossi had gone out with the lead detective on the case to the newest crime scene. You watched Derek turn back and you could feel the frustration radiating off of him in waves. You have to wonder how much more these cases hit him.

It took another two days and one more victim before a real pattern emerged and after finally getting the results back from the lab, Garcia was able to track down the Unsub using a specific dye he was using in all of the women's tattoos. Everyone was upset with themselves - this was hardly a victory. You take note of how aggressively Derek puts the Unsub in handcuffs and shoves him towards the car.

It's evening by the time the plane lands in D.C. and you get back to the office. You're about to head out, but decide to swing by Derek's office to check on him. Grabbing your bag, you walk down the empty hallway towards his office.

"Hey," you say, arriving in his doorway. He's sitting in mostly darkness, only the light from his desk lamp illuminating his office.

He looks up at your voice, a soft smile gracing his face. "What're you still doing here?"

"Wanted to check in on you, boss," you tease, smiling back at him, and make your way into his office. You drop your bag to the floor and settle into the chair across from him, pulling your legs up. You had a feeling he wasn't leaving anytime soon, and you didn't really want him to be alone in the office on a Friday night.

He shakes his head as you make yourself comfortable and grab the top half of the files sitting directly in front of him, plucking a pen from the holder on his desk.

"You should go home, you didn't sign up for this."

You look up at him, taking in the eyebags and tired shoulders. "Neither did you."

The two of you work together and make a significant dent in the files that had sat on his desk. The growing stack of completed folders was motivating you to just barrel through. The more you two got done tonight, the less he would take home with him for the weekend.

You find yourself watching him as you work. You know this case was hard on him - both because of how brutally the victims had been treated as well as his own history with Carl Buford. Merely the thought of Buford was enough to piss you off - you were glad he was serving a life sentence, because when he'd first been arrested, it had taken everything in you to watch the detective put him in handcuffs and not punch him in the face. You'd barely known Derek back then, and yet you could tell how completely Buford's act had hurt him, changed him, and stayed with him.

"How are you doing?" you ask softly, pausing your work and watching Derek's face carefully. He'd know what you meant.

Derek stops and looks up to meet your eyes. He puts down his pen and leans forward in his chair, across the desk. "I'm alright. They're always rough. Him being in prison didn't make this part any easier. But…I'm hanging in there, I guess."

You nod. He's not alright, but it doesn’t really help to vocalize that unless you have the time and capacity to deal with it. It's easier to say you're alright until you are.

"Are you?" He'd noticed you had been just a little off - just a little too nice to the victims, a little too eager to rough up the Unsub in the interrogation. He'd been on cases like this with you before, but it was the first time since Hotch and Prentiss were gone. Everything about you lately was like a raw nerve and he knew something wasn't quite right.

"What do you mean?" You hadn't expected him to ask you that.

Derek fixes you with the same look he gives you when he's coaching you in the ring and you try to pretend you hadn't carelessly left yourself exposed. That was the bad part about getting close to people - it becomes harder to cover yourself.

You take in his expression, knowing he wouldn't just let you avoid it. You shift to put the files on his desk, adjusting to pull your knees in front of you, feet planted firmly on the seat of the chair, and wrap your arms around your legs. The darkness of the office helps you feel less exposed.

"It wasn't the same as you. I wasn't a kid," you tell him, your voice low and eyes trained on his hands which lay on the desk. You'd been old enough to know better and you should've been strong enough and confident enough to stop it. It was so different from how it had been for him.

His brow wrinkled as he took in what you'd revealed. Standing slowly so as to not startle you, he comes around to your side of the desk and crouches down to be eye level with you. His hands rest on top of your, sending warmth throughout you. You look to meet his eyes, expecting to see something akin to pity - you didn't want him to see you that way. However Derek's eyes are warm and kind and so very him - not a hint of pity in them.

He appears to hesitate for a moment, but seems to convince himself to go through with it. "Who?"

You move your hand to grip his and he squeezes. Your voice is barely audible. "My ex, Matthew."

Derek sucks in a breath at the familiar name. He'd had some indication in the past that your ex-fiancé was bad news. After all, you'd ended an engagement with him and he knew you well enough to know you didn't make decisions like that lightly.

There was a lot you didn't talk about when it came to Matthew - while the truth about Julian's death had been the nail in the coffin, propelling your escape, your relationship with Matthew had been rocky for months preceding that. In hindsight, you wondered when it had ever been actually good.

You know you owed Derek more of an explanation, however. After all, he'd trusted you about Buford.

"It was towards the end," you continue, your voice scratchy as you blinked back tears. "I didn't really want to sleep with him anymore, but - ." You stop. You hadn't realized how hard it would be to share this with someone. Derek's thumb is rubbing soothingly against your hand and you decide to focus on that. "Fulfilling your duty - that's a big deal in the circles I'm from," you explain. "I was set to be his wife. I wasn't allowed to say no to my husband. So I just…let him do what he wanted."

Derek could tell it hadn't been a one time thing but he didn't think he could stand knowing how often that bastard had forced you into it. All he could see was how small you looked in the chair - he didn't have a doubt in his mind that the woman in front of him today was more than capable of dealing with a monster like that. But back then, with no one to teach you how to protect yourself, he could just imagine how scared you'd been and how going along with it had been your safest option.

He tries to stifle down the anger he feels but his hand is shaking and he knows you can tell. But he also knows what it's like to share something awful and then have to comfort the other person instead. So for you, he takes a deep breath and forces a sense of calm that he doesn't truly feel. To be fair, calm wasn't a feeling he was familiar with anymore.

"You being an adult doesn't change anything. You being in a relationship with him - that's not an excuse," he says, his large hand cupping your face, looking into your eyes. "What he did - only someone rotten to the core could do that. And you still got away. You won."

You lean into his touch and allow yourself to fall into him. Derek shifts on the floor, back against his desk, bringing you down next to him. His hand still clasped tightly in yours as your head comes to settle on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

And you know you don't have to ask him to not tell anyone. Of all people, he wouldn't.

*------------*

You had spent the entire day at the Zoo - Jack, Sophie, and Evan had wanted to see every single animal and had dragged you through the entire place twice. You got a ton of photos of the three of them posing adorably in front of every exhibit. Jess would want a copy of every single one, you were sure. She and Andrew were spending the day at home without the kids and had plans to go dancing in the evening.

By the time you got back to Jess's place after grabbing burgers for dinner, it was late - late for children at least. Sophie and Evan were quick to clean themselves up, thanking you for everything, before turning in for the night. Jess had raised two really good kids and you got why it was easy for Hotch to leave Jack with her. You might not fully understand how he was able to leave Jack in the first place, but you could see that it was a little bit easier knowing that someone like Jess was there to help.

You and Jess had grown closer these last couple of months with Hotch gone. The first time you'd showed up at her door unannounced, she'd greeted you with a hug and welcome you in to see Jack. You'd been so grateful for her understanding. Seeing Jack made things feel a little better, if only for a few hours.

You approached the door to Andrew's office, which had been converted into Jack's bedroom. Knocking softly, you turned the knob at Jack's invitation. He had changed into his pajamas and was sat at the little play table in the room.

"Hey baby," you whispered, trying to keep your voice low so as to not disturb the other two kids. "What're you doing?"

Jack was sat in the little chair, his tiny hands gripping a marker in one hand. You walked towards him and sat on the ground next to his chair.

"Y/N, can you help me?" He mimics your soft tone, understanding that it was time to be more quiet.

"Of course I can. What do you need help with?"

"With my Val-Valem-Valentine's Day card," he explained, stumbling over the long word.

You smiled encouragingly. He was really getting better with the big words.

"Yeah, I can help. What do you need me to do?"

"Auntie Jess said we can mail it to Daddy," he said, pointing at the blue piece of construction paper that he'd folded in half. "Can you please draw the heart? Mine doesn't look right." The little pout on his face was too adorable to resist.

You looked at the card he was making. It already had Daddy written on it in Jack's childish handwriting and about a hundred stickers. Jack was indicating towards a small spot at the end right above his name.

Your heart aches, knowing that this is the kind of thing that Haley would've done with him. You're happy that at least Jess is around to make sure that Jack and Hotch both have some of these sweeter moments. Jess would think of something like this. Most of your actions around Jack were driven off of asking yourself what your own parents would do - and then doing the exact opposite. But things like this, you couldn't help but feel out of your depth - you wouldn't have even known to do it. Your parents hadn't been the kind to appreciate things like children's artwork and homemade gifts.

You smile at Jack and ask him which color marker to use. He picks out a red one. You carefully outline a heart right where he'd pointed and then hand him the marker to color it in. Once he's done, he blows on it to make sure its dry, before closing the card.

"Jack, did you put all your love into the card?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

He turns to you, confused. "I put hearts everywhere," he replies, pointing at all the stickers on the front of the card.

"That's good, but I think its missing that extra little something. Has anyone ever taught you how to put all of your love into a card, before?"

He shakes his head and you can tell he's intrigued.

Your voice is low as if revealing a secret, making him lean closer to you to hear. "Cards are special because they come from people we love," you explain, "But you can make them extra special. All you have to do is hold the card in your hands, close your eyes, and think about the person the card is for. Think about everything you love about them and let that feeling fill you up. Then you place a kiss on the inside of the card and when the other person opens it, they'll feel it. They'll feel all of your love for them when they read the card."

Jack is quiet for a bit as he thinks through what you said. You watch as he gets up and pushes his chair out of the way to sit by you on the ground. He looks up at you, card clenched tightly in both hands. "Will you do it with me, Y/N?" he asks, his brown eyes shining up at you, a perfect reflection of his father's. "That way Daddy has more love so he gets back home okay."

You force yourself to smile at his request. You can't tell a child that you're still pissed at his father for running off to Pakistan. "Of course baby, come here." Pulling Jack into your lap, you wrap your hands around his, clutching the card. "Alright, remember, close your eyes and think about everything you love about Daddy."

You know Jack is going to take this extremely seriously, so you know you have to as well. Closing your eyes you (temporarily) let go of the anger you feel towards Hotch. Instead you choose to remember his smile that brings out his dimples, the warmth that radiates off of him and penetrates you anytime he hugs you, that time he drove out forty-five minutes in the rain to help change your flat tire, the way he makes you feel completely safe anytime you're with him, and how good of a father he tries to be to Jack. You take a deep breath and let the good memories of him permeate through every part of you. When you open your eyes Jack is waiting for you, card open. You watch as he places a small dry kiss to the center of the card and then holds it up towards you. Tightening your hold on him, you lean forward and brush your lips against the same spot.

Jack quickly closes the card shut, as if afraid the love would float away otherwise. You stand up, lifting him along with you. After tucking the card in a safe spot, you help him get into bed and pick up the book on the nightstand. He's out before you even get to the second page.

*------------*

You hadn't heard much from Easter in the way of Ian Doyle. Part of you thought you should tell Morgan and Rossi that you'd contacted him, but you knew they'd object. You figured it was better to wait until there was something concrete. Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. However, you couldn't help but feel dejected at the complete lack of progress. Doyle seemed to be underground and there was no intel on his whereabouts.

Work hadn't improved - if anything it appeared the cases were even more rapid fire, as though Derek was taking on more and more to avoid being home at all. This was only the first night you were back in two weeks. The last two cases had come back to back, so you'd flown straight to Tampa from Utah. You did understand Derek in a way - staying busy was the only way to stop wallowing. But he was running everyone, especially himself, ragged.

You and Rossi had put your foot down with him on the jet and insisted on no new cases for at least two days. Penelope was under strict instructions to not even hint at a case to him. Rossi had promised her a nice bottle of Chianti for her trouble and she'd been easily persuaded after you told her how tired Derek looked.

As you parked and got out of the car, you felt an overwhelming sense of unease. You'd been around someone or the other for the past two weeks straight with hardly a moment alone. Derek and you had gotten oddly comfortable sleeping next to one another, so even in a room with two double beds, you'd found yourself in his bed or vice versa most nights. Walking into a large, empty house all by yourself felt intimidating.

You opened the door and set your bag just inside, before locking it again. You drove first to the corner store and picked out some supplies, before driving again towards your destination.

When Derek opened his door to you, you could see the slight surprise on his face at the sight. There you stood, still wearing the leggings and sweatshirt you'd changed into on the plane, clutching a bottle of scotch in one hand while your other was wrapped around a box of the powdered sugary donuts that were his ultimate weakness. He finds himself letting out a small chuckle as he waves you inside.

"Thought you'd gotten enough of me already. Isn't that why we're on mandatory time off?" He follows behind you as you flop yourself onto his familiar couch.

You rolled your eyes at him. "You know we all needed the time off."

He sits down beside you, reaching for the box of donuts. Your last meal had been an early lunch before the plane ride home and you reckon he hadn't eaten anything since then either. You take the top off of the bottle of scotch, and not bothering with a glass, just take a swig straight from the mouth.

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. "Something you wanna talk about, princess?" His mouth already had the sugar dust around ,it as he reaches for a second donut.

"Just didn't wanna be home alone," you mumble out, handing over the bottle to him and breaking off half the donut in his hand for yourself.

You sitting on his couch - that wasn't an unfamiliar sight for him. You drinking scotch straight from the bottle, however, that gave him some pause. You weren't really a cheap liquor straight from the bottle kind of girl - that had been more Prentiss's thing. Even though it was the higher end of the bodega scotch, it still wasn't at the level of stuff you kept stocked at your place. He had to surmise that you hadn't even bothered to go inside.

"Are things ever going to go back to normal, Derek?" You settled in closer to him and he could feel the warmth of your thigh against his own. Your question caught him by surprise, but it was really the way you sighed out his name that made his brain stutter.

He had to really think about the question. He'd asked himself that countless times and each time he'd give up on crafting a response - he didn't have one. It had been more than five months since Prentiss died and Hotch left him in charge. That hadn't been how he'd wanted to get the job and every day he became more and more certain that he actually never wanted it. Hotch had managed it all, on top of a kid and made it seem effortless. He'd known it wasn't of course - Hotch worked harder than anyone else in the Bureau, but he was also working his way into an early grave. Derek didn't like seeing himself on the same path. But he couldn't quit now. Not when you'd lost both Prentiss and Hotch. He wouldn't leave you or Reid like that.

Normal though, he couldn't even wrap his brain around the concept anymore. None of this was normal. Strauss was pressuring him to hire someone already but he was resistant still. Keeping the team as it was - you, Rossi, Reid, and Garcia - that was the closest thing within his grasp to normal. He wasn't ready to let that go.

He realizes he's been quiet for too long and you're still waiting for some sort of response. He turns and he's met with your large doe eyes looking right at him and your face is so close to his. For a second he thinks you're drunk already, but the bottle of scotch barely has a dent in it. You hadn't drank more since you'd passed it off to him.

"I don't know," he says, his voice low and deep, sending a pang deep in your stomach. His face is so close to yours but you know it's your own fault for moving to be right beside him. Derek hadn't done anything wrong. You'd shown up at his door, at night, a bottle of liquor in hand. You weren't sure what you were thinking - all you'd wanted was to not be alone. It was Derek and right now he was the only person that made you feel not alone.

Your head is still rested against his shoulder and his face is tilted towards yours. There's a look that passes between you. You're not sure which one of you leaned in first, only that his lips are pressed against yours. In the next second, you're hauled up and placed on his lap, knees resting on either side of him. You'd opened your mouth and he's exploring yours, drawing a moan from deep within as his large hands wrap around your back. He tastes like sugar and scotch and you know you taste the same. Your own hands travel under his shirt, mouth never once leaving his, the trail of your light, cold fingers sending a shiver down his spine. He's pulling you impossibly close against him and wow it's Derek but oh my goodness it's Derek but it's Derek and it's Derek and it's Derek. You're panting into his mouth and grinding yourself into his lap and it feels so good. You've managed to slip his t-shirt up and he breaks away from your mouth to pull it off all the way, giving you a moment to breathe.

Your eyes meet his again, only this time neither one of you leans in. The moment to breathe was a moment of clarity and you both watch one another with uncertain eyes. He breaks first, and the sound of his laugh - the first truly happy laugh you've heard from him in months - sets off yours as well. It feels incredible to laugh again - like it’s a high. To laugh and to have it reach your eyes and to see it reflected in his - you hadn't realized how foreign that had become to you.

His chest rumbles underneath you as you come to grips with your situation. His hands drop from your waist and yours come back to your side as you swing your leg to get off of his lap. The remnants of laughter still linger between you as he slips his shirt back on over his head.

His hand finds yours on the couch and squeezes. "Are we going to be okay?" he asks, the laughter finally subsiding.

"We are okay," you tell him swiping at the sugar on his chin.

He nods, pushing up off of the couch and then reaching back to pull you up as well. "Alright then, princess. Let's go to bed."

Hand still gripped in his, you follow him to the bedroom.

It had been five months too long of this new not normal.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotchner x you #hotchner x y/n #irreverentseries #hotchner x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader

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shinebrite97 · 3 years

Text

Welcome Back to the Devildom - Part 3

read part 2 here

She wasn’t sure if it still technically counted as the same day when Yuri heard prominent footsteps approaching the catacomb, heavy shoes moved with authority and she stood up expecting to see Diavolo there, preparing herself for the look of sadness when he saw her again.

But it wasn’t him.

Seeing Lucifer again sent her heart racing. Her skin felt warm as she raised her head to meet his eyes. Those sharp dark eyes with the shock of red under the pupil, that same easy smile on his lips, the one that wordlessly reminded anyone who saw him that he was better than them.

“Yuri…” He said. “It’s been a while.”

“Lucifer.” She bowed her head respectfully before looking back up, meeting his eyes head-on almost like a challenge.

“Lord Diavolo told me that you were here, and yet I didn’t feel like I could believe it until I saw you for myself. And seeing as you’re back without the aid of magic, I can only assume the worst.” Yuri nodded sheepishly and hIs easy smile fell, lips stretching instead to a frown.

“Yuri Ivanov...Did you shoot yourself in the head?” He demanded.

“Yes,” She replied in a low voice. When no one said anything, she lowered her head away from their stares. “I wanted it to be quick…”

“Yuri…” Lucifer tsked. “Did you even think about your family? How they must feel? How could you do something so merciless?”

“Like you can talk about ‘mercy’, Lucifer!" She snapped, whirling around to face him. “My parents lost me for a full year, they thought I was dead… And then I just show up out of the blue with no memory of where I've been, and they're supposed to just accept that?" Her voice was cracking now and fresh tears fell from her eyes, each beat of her heart sent another wave of pain to the side of her head, but she didn't care now. She finally had what she needed. Someone to blame. He'd told her before, he was the one who chose her out of the files, and Diavolo hadn't thought to manipulate time in the human realm while she was gone.

With a resigned sigh, Lucifer nodded.

“I suppose you are right.” He said. “I never thought the day would come when I’d be scolded...by a human.”

“But…” Yuri sniffed as she dried the final tear that slid down her cheek . “I’m not a human anymore, am i?”

“You are not.” he replied with a smirk. “You are a demon now.”

“Just like you.” She said.

“Correct, thus my brothers and I can finally treat you equally without your human limitations.” He smiled. “For now It only feels right hat I start off with saying this.” He stepped back, expanding his arms just as Diavolo had done when she first arrived, with a sly smile he spoke again, this time his voice sounded lighter, more joking. Something she rarely ever heard from him. “

Welcome to the Devildom, Yuri.”

With a flick of his finger, he unlocked the cell that kept her in, letting the door hang open, she raced out and immediately rushed out and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him in for a hug.

“I missed you, Lucifer!”

He was taken aback by her haste. Hesitantly, he brought up his hand, unsure of where to place it, until he felt the soft smile force its way up and out across his lips. He patted her shoulder briefly before holding her at arm’s length.

“I have missed you as well, Yuri,” He replied. “But now we must return to RAD. My brothers have grown far too impatient, I believe they missed you more than I did.”

* * * * *

Lucifer led her through the threshold of the student council office, and the six demons froze. Conversations quickly ceased as they all glanced over, regarding her carefully. She stood before them, feeling like a sacrificial lamb among darkness, an oppressive energy that was only broken once Lucifer snapped his fingers.

“Come now,” He said. “You’re acting like I’ve just unleashed Cerberus.”

“Yuri?” Satan ventured as he stood up first.

“Yes, Satan?” She replied with a thin smile. He huffed out a sound that could almost pass for a chuckle, remembering her ability to find humor in that response, an irony that was so purely human, so purely Yuri. His chest tightened at the thought as he stood up, eager to embrace her once again.

“Hey!” Mammon barked. “Who said ya get to hug the human first?” He asked. “I’m her first guy, remember?

“You heard what Lucifer said. She’s not a human anymore, Stupid,” Belphegor replied, hopping out of his seat and rushing over for his turn. “The pacts don’t apply anymore.” His arms were tight around her waist, desperate it seemed, and for a moment, she expected the pain of suffocation, but the feeling didn’t come, even when he lifted her off the ground, holding her only by her ribcage. Once her feet were firmly back on the ground, Mammon was there, hands on his hips, with a cool look on his face.

“Hi Mammon.” She said.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me, baby demon,” He muttered. “Looks to me like I gotta remind these jerks who ya belong to.”

“Yeah, right…” Leviathan interrupted, elbowing Mammon aside. “Your turn’s up. Hey there Yuri-chan!” He grinned before pulling her into an embrace. Yuri let out a giggle as the weight of his chin came down on the top of her head.

“I missed you, Levia-tan!” She beamed.

“Y-you...did?” He asked.

“Of course I did!” She grinned, hugging his waist just a bit tighter. “I missed all of you so much!”

With the sudden warmth of the massive presence behind her, a familiar feeling overwhelmed her. A feeling of such content that it made her heart flutter, her eyes stung as fresh tears began to needle their way out, slipping fluidly down her cheeks as Beelzebub held onto her firmly.

“DOn’t cry, little Kitten,” Asmodeus simpered as he joined in on the impromptu group hug. His fingers in her hair caused her to hiss in pain, recoiling harshly from what Asmodeus thought was a gentle touch.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

“Yuri,” Lucifer asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my head…” She said softly. Lucifer waved his brothers off of her, commanding her to stand still while he checked.

It was clear almost instantly what had happened, and how she had ended up here in the first place.

“Yuri…” Asmodeus murmured.

“Please, don’t judge me.” She replied softly. Her eyes were down, settled on Asmo’s shoes. The ringing pain in her temple still drummed to her pulse, and with the sensations of eyes all over her, the worry, judgement, and morbid curiosity encased her like a prison cell. All of their entangled emotions overwhelmed her, hitting like waves crashing down, threatening to knock her over.

“Hey Yuri…” Beel murmured as his hands slid up her arms, gently holding onto her shoulders. “Does it still hurt?” He asked.

“The pain isn’t so bad now,” SHe admitted. “He just accidentally touched it.” She felt something light on the back of her head, warm lips skirting dangerously close to the open wound, but Beel was careful, placing just a bit of pressure on the back of her skull to distract her from with waves of pain on the side.

"I did what I did as a last resort." Yuri scrunched her face as the pain intensified. Mammon held his hand out for her, flexing his fingers before she took hold. Her knuckles flushed white as her grip tightened.

“Wow, that pain must be really bad.” He murmured.

“It’ll heal,” Satan said, gently lifting her hair to take a better look. “But it will give her a devil of a migraine until it does.

“Hand her over, Beel.” Leviathan said quickly.

“What for?” He asked, holding on tighter to her.

“I’m going to clean the wound.” He replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not the Grand Admiral of Hell’s navy for nothing.”

Beelzebub obeyed silently, gently nudging Yuri over to Levi who held her carefully at arms length, taking in the damage before him.

“Let’s get you to the infirmary. I can fix you up there.” She nodded slowly, barely raising her head to meet his eyes, and glanced back as he led her out of the council room, throwing up her hand in a sheepish wave as the others watched on in worry.

“She’ll be fine.” Asmodeus said. “Levi may be an awkward otaku. But he’s right, he doesn’t have the position for nothing.”

* * * * *

"I didn't even know there was an infirmary," Yuri said as Levi opened the door for her.

"Of course there is," he replied. "Demons get hurt too." Yuri nodded, feeling it to be sound logic. After all, here she was three days after her death with a killer headache and a gaping hole in her temporal lobe.

"Why did you guys never bring me here when I was hurt before?"

"It wouldn't have helped." Levi explained as a light blush crept over his cheeks and onto his ears. "You were human then, and we're only stocked with demon supplies."

"I see." She replied. Yuri had never seen the inside of the infirmary when she was an exchange student at RAD, and upon first view it seemed like a regular old medical office. A few beds, a table with a host of soft tools, a cabinet with gleaming metals and sharps and lozenges of odd colors, as well as a few oddities, like a jar of eyeballs and another of firey red bugs.

A Little D stood on the tips of their pointy little toes on a rolling stool counting out a pile of small gray crystals, but other than them, there was no one else around. The little D stood up quickly, hobbling over to them and raised their spindly little arms in appraisal.

“Is that Miss Yuri?” They asked. “Back down here so soon?” It took her a moment to remember, but the red eyes in the center of the void and the matching ribbon on their hat gave it away immediately. It was the Little D of gluttony, one of the four lesser demons who worked with her on her tasks. Yuri smiled weakly at the greeting.

“What can I say, I missed everyone.”

Levi cleared his throat, interrupting the little reunion.

“I need some gauze pads and the antibiotic water, do you have any?”

They bustled about for a moment, hopping up onto the stool and then onto the counter, rummaging through cabinets and letting jars fall. With plastic clatters and cracks, Levi ducked down to catch the glass jar of eyeballs just before it shattered against the tile floor.

“Here it is!” They said, hopping down to hand it up to Leviathan.

“That’s some pretty serious stuff,” they said. “Any particular reason?” “Bullet wound.” Leviathan said.

“Bullet?” The little D asked. “We don’t have any… oh...oh Yuri…”

Is it really so bad? She thought. Why do a bunch of demons care so much that I committed suicide?

“I will take care of her.” Leviathan said. “Leave us to it.”

“Yes, Sir!” The little D said, hobbling back to the other side of the infirmary. Leviathan smiled as he sat down in front of Yuri, he rolled the stool closer to her and used a light touch to twist her head until he had the wound in better light.

It was ghastly, something he hadn’t seen himself since the war. Something so ghoulish on the face of the human he had become close to, an act he had never imagined this precious person would be capable of. So many questions swirled around in his head, but with each grim thought getting darker and darker, he cleared his throat, swallowed hard on the questions he would never ask her and smiled thinly.

“Keep your head here,” He said. “I’m almost done cleaning it, then I’ll put some gauze inside to avoid infection.”

“Thanks Levi.” She said.

“So did the purgatorial ghoul give you any trouble?” He asked.

“Ghoul?” Yuri responded. “Oh you mean the one who gave me my sentence,” She smiled. “No, they were trying to be sympathetic to me, probably because I was the youngest in the bunch.”

“I’m sure,” Levi replied. “Now hold still, I’m gonna go in with the gauze.”

She silently obeyed, keeping as still as she could while he worked. The air was wordless now as he concentrated. The feeling was strange. His touch was pleasant, but the coiled gauze entering the mushy mass of muscle and eroded skin made her shudder.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She replied with a shaky breath. “No pain, it’s just weird.”

“Next time don’t go blowing your brains out, baka...” He laughed as he taped up the final gauze to the outside. “There, all done.” He said.

“Thanks Levi,” She said.

She had stood up, gingerly reaching up to feel the bandages before turning to leave.

“Yuri…” He murmured.

“Yes?” She asked.

“Uh...nothing,” he quickly turned his gaze away, pink stains lit up his cheeks as he placed the back of his hand to his mouth, as if to conceal the words he hadn’t yet spoken. It was cute, she thought. He often did that when he felt embarrassed, just another little quirk that she never realized she’d missed so much.

And while the overwhelming urge to hug him hit her again, she kept her arms at her side. She knew how quickly he could clam up, and how uncomfortable he was with her spontaneous displays of affection.

“Let’s get you back home, Yuri…” He said.

“Home?” She asked.

“To the House of Lamentation!” He replied happily. “Or did you have enough of that place during your exchange?” Yuri giggled, stepping up beside him and trying to match his stride as they wandered down the corridors of R.A.D.

“I’m more than happy to be home.”

#CW: suicide mentioned #obey me! shall we date?#Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeus #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! Belphegor #fanfic #angst #Obey me!OC #Part 3

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retroateez · 3 years

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Fourteen

hi my loves! probably the last update of the year so in advance, happy holidays and a wonderful new year to all my lovely readers! i adore every single one of you <3

Prophecy Masterlist wc; 3199

No. Absolutely not. Not a chance in hell.

"We've been through this, Iris." Yeosang sighs. "You have to go!"

You stare up at your mentor, gritting your teeth and trying to contain your rage as best you can. He had found you in the castle gardens, sitting contentedly amoung the radiant blooms to completely ruin your day by telling you Hongjoong was arranging dancing lessons for you.

Because you didn't 'look as though you knew how to dance', apparently. (He was right.)

The prospect of going to the ball was bad enough, let alone have one of his stupid cronies teach you how to dance.

"Why can't you teach me?" you splutter, bursting into your room in an attempt to get away from him.

"Because I won't be dancing." he explains, following you into the room and standing in the threshold. "I'm just a guest. But you, you're an honourary guest."

Honourary guest?! What does that even mean?!

In the end, Yeosang pleads with you to please just do as he asks, and not to cause a fuss. So reluctantly, you agree. He tells you that he doesn't know who your dance teacher will be, and that you should also look for a dance partner to go to the ball with.

"You can't attend a ball alone." Yeosang says as if that is common knowledge.

He turns to walk away, but suddenly remembers something he had forgotten to tell you.

"You also have a dress fitting, by the way. You'll have to talk to Hongjoong or someone about it."

And with that he leaves your room, missing the way you collapse onto your bed with an overwhelmed grunt.

A ball, a dance partner, an elegant ball gown? It was all too much at once, especially for somebody who had never been introduced to anything remotely regal before. How were you supposed to act? What were you meant to say? What if the others could tell you came from a poor background and laughed at you? How were you supposed to dance in a dress? What if-

"Hey, are you alright?"

You snap your head up to the door frame, where the sight of Wooyoung's concerned face soothes your growing panic. He strides across the room and sits down beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you against his chest. He's wearing a billowy white shirt, which you've noticed he likes to leave fairly unbuttoned, plain black trousers and shiny black boots, that you assume have just been freshly polished.

"Are you alright?" He echoes his previous question, knitting his eyebrows together and leaning closer to your face, causing you to flush and rapidly turn your head away.

"Yes," you lie. "I'm just worried about the ball, that's all."

"You're worried? Why? It's going to be so much fun!"

Glancing up at him, you notice how genuinely excited he is, and it settles your worries for a split second. You imagine Wooyoung is an excellent dancer, incredibly graceful on his feet and one who loses himself to the feeling of the music.

"I have no idea how to dance." you shyly admit.

"Really?" The elf shoots up, grabbing your arms along the way. He tugs you roughly so you're standing before him, yet he fails to understand his own strength, and you crash into his chest. Luckily he catches you, with your arms trapped uncomfortably between you both, and he grins, hot breath fanning over your face.

"Then I'll teach you."

"Is that so?" You question sarcastically, wrenching yourself from his grip to hide how flustered you are.

Wooyoung pulls your body back towards him, this time wrapping your arms around his slim neck and settling one his large hands comfortably on your waist.

"Yes." He answers confidently. "All good elves know how to dance."

You glare up at him for a few moments, but you quickly realise his mind is set, and that he isn't letting you go anytime soon. So you yield, relaxing your arms and your legs and Wooyoung grins triumphantly as you do so.

"First of all," he instructs you. "You move your left foot backwards, and simultaneously, I move my left foot forwards.

Hesitantly, you take a step back with only your left leg, and Wooyoung follows suit and moves his left forward.

"See?" He breathes, smiling warmly at you. "Just like that."

He takes you through some more steps, moving your right leg this time, how to move your torso fluidly, and not 'shifting it bulkily from one place to another like an orc'. He teaches you where you should rest your hands, one on his shoulder, and the other clasped firmly, but not tightly, in his own. He scolds you for being too tense, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a ragdoll to loosen you up a bit.

Soon, the two of you are twirling about your shared bedroom. Clumsily twirling, but twirling nonetheless. Wooyoung's grip on you is gentle, guiding and despite how cheesy it sounds, it's right. In the last few weeks you've felt increasingly comfortable around him. He is your comfort zone, your safe space and happy place all rolled into one, lanky, pointy-eared, star-loving, amethyst-eyed living being. It's shocking too, how long it has taken you to realise just how much you care about him.

And it's shocking how you remain oblivious to how he feels the exact same way.

To the way his heart speeds up when he knows you're close, the way his stomach lurches when your hand squeezes his as you spin around the room. His gaze on you growing softer as you both relax into each other's hold. Even to the way he subtley glances at you when you're both attending meeting with the king. Like he knows deep down it's wrong, that the two of you shouldn't be getting close in this way.

But it makes him so happy.

And that's all Wooyoung wants.

And heaven knows what Yeosang would say if he found out about Wooyoung's feelings for you.

But he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it, he thinks, and decides to instead concentrate on not stepping on your toes and not letting his hand accidentally fall too far down your waist.

You both continue to dance in silence. There's a definitive lack of music in the room, but you're both hearing the same melody in your heads, feeling the same beat in your bones and nothing could interrupt the harmony between you.

Wooyoung guides you once more through the room, but this time, in one grand gesture, dips you down whilst keeping a secure hand in the middle of your back. You tip your head backwards and close your eyes, trusting that Wooyoung won't let you fall.

Your eyes pop open to see Wooyoung leaning over you, his face so close to yours you can feel his breath on you.

"See?" He pants, flashing his killer smile. "You're a natural."

You shrug shyly, and he pulls you up so you're both stood facing one another.

"So, about the ball..." Wooyoung begins, suddenly looking nervously down at the floor and beginning to play with your fingers. "Can I tak-"

"Iris!" You and Wooyoung jump apart at Yeosang's bellow into the room. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Where on earth have you-"

Yeosang stops in his tracks, taking in the sight before him; Wooyoung's hands planted firmly on your waist, the deep blush spread across your cheeks.

"What are you two doing?" He asks suspiciously. No answer. "Whatever. Iris, you're late for your dance lessons. And Wooyoung, Hongjoong wants to speak with you."

Wooyoung bows his head respectfully, shot you a half sad smile and quickly hurries out of the room. Yeosang's curious gaze watches after him, then the mage suddenly turns to you.

"Well?" he snaps. "Off you go!"

With a start, you jump and scuttle off towards the grand hall where your mystery dance instructor was waiting for you.

Panic begins to flow through you then; who are they? Do they dance better than Wooyoung? Probably not. Are they going to be a strict teacher? You don't think you could handle anybody barking orders at you today.

You round the corner and discover the giant doors held open, not firmly closed like they usually are. Standing in the threshold, you take in the sight before you.

A collosal hall, stretching so far either side of you, you think it could probably fit double the entire kingdom's population within it. The floors are a pristine, freshly polished beige tile that looks perfect to dance on. You can imagine how amazing the clicking sounds of twirling heels would sound ricocheting off each of the mountain-high, stone walls. Embedded into the walls are multiple stained-glassed depictions. To name a few, you spot a man of impressive stature working away at his glass anvil, smithing something you've never seen before, something both round and spiky. You'll ask Yeosang later, you think. He'll know. On another window, there's powerful bears made out of honey-coloured glass, tearing into their prey; a venison of sorts. Through the years, the crimson dye of the wound had bled through the other panels, making it look as if the venison truly was writhing in pain and trying to escape the picture.

You frown.

The long, mahogany tables are pushed against the wall opposite you, presumably to create space for your lessons. There are benches stacked atop them neatly, and you salute the poor soul who was forced to put them there.

To your left, set proudly on a platform so as to raise its occupant higher than everybody else, is the throne. The centerpiece, the main focus, the pièce de résistance, is Hongjoong's special, reserved seat. Carved out of the richest, darkest wood the entire continent has to offer, you know that there probably isn't a finer throne to be seen. The backrest boasts an intricate design of swirls and stars, which run all the way across the armrests and even down to the bottom of the seat. The ends of the armrests curl inwards, and then curl in on themselves even more like a snailshell. A velvet cushion the colour of Wooyoung's vibrant amethyst eyes sits on the seat of the chair and you can't even begin to comprehend how comfortable it must be.

What catches your attention most though, is the exquisite, intricately detailed fox head, sculpted into the middle of the backrest. The light from the vast windows behind the throne shines through the gaps in the carving, forming the face of the fox in a natural way.

You imagine Hongjoong lounging in the chair, glittering crown upon his head, royal cloak draped over the armrests as he watches his subjects with a bored expression. The king strikes you as somebody who would find balls and banquets just as mundane as you do.

Seonghwa is stood in the middle of the hall, facing your direction and is mid-conversation with somebody else. He spots you and waves you over, extending a long arm well above his head. The other person turns to face you, and you scowl as your eyes meet with-

"San." you growl as you approach the men.

"Good morning, Iris." he smiles at you, but the look in his eyes is pure poison.

The kingsguard doesn't catch on however, and claps his hands togther before addressing you both.

"Great, you're finally here! San here," he gestures to the younger man who is sporting an incredibly unimpressed frown. "will be teaching you how to dance, and how one should conduct themselves at a royal function."

"Lovely." you speak through gritted teeth.

Seonghwa wishes the two of you luck, and informs you he will be back in two hours to check your progress. If you haven't gotten any better, he says, you'll have to keep practising until Hongjoong decides you're good enough.

Brilliant. A minimum of two hours being stuck with an-

"Idiot." San snarls. "You're holding your arms completely wrong."

You glance at your arms which are rung hesitantly around his neck.

"Shut up, clown. My arms are perfectly fine."

"I'm a jester, not a clown." He seethes. And no, your arms are too heavy. You need to relax them, or you'll crush the poor soul who has the misfortune of dancing with you."

You glare furiously at him, but relax your arms nonetheless. As much as it bruises your dignity to listen to him, you don't want to spend any longer with this insufferable human being than you have to.

"Fine." you huff, and let your arms hang more loosely.

"Better." San nods.

Luckily, your training with Wooyoung proved extremely helpful. You could see on San's face he was impressed with the way you moved your feet less clumsily than he had originally anticipated. Of course, he wouldn't ever admit that to you. Dancing with San was fairly straightforward, but it felt totally different to dancing with Wooyoung.

Probably because you couldn't stand San's guts. But whatever.

San's hands on your waist were easy to ignore, the fact that his face was ridiculously close to yours didn't bother you in the slightest. Almost the polar opposite to the way your heart would race and your palms would sweat when Wooyoung even breathed near you. All you could hear was the echoing of shoes on the polished tile floor and San's steady breathing in your ear.

The jester was in the middle of teaching you a new step when Seonghwa entered the room, tailed by a certain, nervous looking elf.

"So," Seonghwa looked at San. "how's it going?"

"Well. She seems to know what she's doing." San replied simply.

You shot Wooyoung a knowing, shy glance and his heart lurched up into this throat.

"Satisfactory enough for the ball?"

"Most likely, your time will be better spent teaching her royal manners rather than dancing."

You glare at San, about to berate him for insulting you, but you're interrupted.

"What exactly are you implying?" Wooyoung spits, his pupils narrowing in anger.

"The pigs in the courtyard have more elegance than she does." San retorts. "Step down, elf, I wouldn't try anything. I'm sure you're more than aware of what your fate will be if you even dare to start anything."

Wooyoung grits his teeth, knowing full well what would happen to him. He growls lowly in frustration before falling back to your side, and you can almost feel the anger radiating off him.

"Anyway..." Seonghwa's gaze flicks between the three of you, awkwardly trying to defuse the situation. "I think we'll leave the dancing lessons at that for now. San, join Mingi in the music room. There's a new routine for both of you to go over."

San nods, shoots both you and Wooyoung an irritated look, before hurrying proudly out of the hall.

"Apologies for him." Seonghwa addresses you both, straightening his posture and fixing the black strand of hair that hangs over his left eye. "He doesn't take to newcomers very well, I'm sure he'll warm up to you both in no time."

He adjusts his pristine uniform, bows shortly to you and follows San out of the room, leaving you and the elf alone in the hall.

"How stra-"

"Go to the ball with me."

"W-what?"

Peering up at Wooyoung, you notice his pupils are still dilated in fury. His nostrils are flared too, yet he speaks in the same calm tone he always holds.

"Go to the ball with me." He repeats, this time grabbing your hand tenderly in his and bending his head down a little to match your height. "Nobody has asked you already, have they?"

"No, but-"

"Then, I would be honoured if you would accompany me to the dance."

"Wooyoung I-" you lock eye contact with him, searching his amethyst eyes for any hint of malice or intent to humiliate you, but you find none.

He's dead serious.

And just like that, you're frozen. Of course your brain is screaming at you to say yes, and your heart is roaring at you to say yes. In fact, every part of you is blaring 'say yes', but the shock renders you speechless. You could sense something between you and Wooyoung had changed, but does this mean Wooyoung had sensed it too?

Sure, friends could dance at balls together too but-

It was different.

"Yes." you blurt, finally. "I would love to."

His face lights up like a kingdom parade, his eyes practically sparkle in the light and he smiles wider than you've ever seen, flashing a glimpse of his sharper, elfin canines.

"Really?" he grins. "Okay. Okay!"

"You're going to have to teach me more dancing, I'm still pretty bad at it."

"Nonsense." He says, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. "You're an excellent dancer."

Wooyoung waves goodbye to you then, stating he has some 'important business to attend to, immediately'

You wave back meekly, stunned from the peck on your nose. He disappears into the hallway and now your worries about the ball have increased tenfold. Now that you actually have somebody to impress? You'll be tripping over your feet and stepping all over Wooyoung's toes. But the thought of Wooyoung wanting to go with you makes you feel giddy.

So giddy in fact you practically skip up the castle stairs to your room. You grab your cloak and sling it over your shoulders, yanking the hood up and over to hide as much as your face as possible.

Like a ghost, you pad through the hallways until you're met with a small side-door underneath the stairs that you're convinced nobody knows about. Perhaps only San and Mingi, but they're busy. You steal out the door, closing it silently behind you. Rushing through the dingy stone hallway, you find another door with sunlight filtering out underneath it.

Just what you were looking for.

-----

You push the door open with a determined hand, flinching slightly as the bell above you obnoxiously announces your arrival.

"Welcome to the Ateez Apothecary! What can I- oh, why, long time no see, little lady!"

"Afternoon, Yunho." You respond to his usual, cheery grin with a small smile of your own. He's as tall and baby-faced as ever, this time donning a summery blonde mop in place of the gingerbread hair he had the last time you saw him.

"No Yeosang with you today?" He notices. "You're not doing anything sneaky, are you?" he chuckles playfully, fully expecting you to laugh along.

But you don't. You keep your face kind, but serious as you reply.

"Actually... yes. Kind of."

Yunho's face falls a little, but an intrigued glint flickers in his eyeballs.

"Oh? And am I correct in assuming you require my assisstance? And that you would prefer it if this was kept from Yeosang's knowledge?"

You nod.

Yunho smirks, leaning forward onto his elbows on the wooden countertop.

"Then what exactly can I help you with?"

You adjust your hood anxiously, biting your lip as you watch Yunho's excited demenour. You wonder if this is something that you should be doing. The obvious answer being no. But you refuse to be a pushover. You refuse to blindly follow the rules put in place by other people who have no obligation to follow those same rules. And you know that there's nobody else who would help you. Except maybe Yunho.

It's a chance you're willing to take.

"I want you to teach me magic."

Chapter Fifteen

#hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #wooyoung #yeosang #san #jongho #mingi #medieval!ateez #ateez #kpop #wooyoung x reader #retroateez

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codyfernmorelikedaddyfern · 4 years

Text

Killer Queen - Duncan x Royal fem!reader // Part One

Of course, this is just fiction, the titles I have picked is not accurate and a handful of things will not be accurate either but it’s all good because we get Duncan content, innit?

Read it all here.

Description: Annette Shepherd brings her son on a political meeting with Prince Charles and his three children. When Duncan meets (Y/N), they both realise that their drive to please their respective families could take them towards the same path.

Warning: Not everything is accurate, once again. Mention of manipulation and people being scheming bastards but that’s about it.

Word Count: 2002

The slow clicking of her heels reverberated through the long halls. Being late sucked but a Lady was never allowed to show her bother in the presence of her guests. The hushed conversations past the door she was carrying herself towards made the worry slowly stir in her stomach. Clicking the heels and straightening up in presence of the woman, one of the guards opened the large white door, exposing the Lady to the attendance of the room. The welcoming smile of her father helped her nerves settles ever so slightly while a loud booming voice erupted from the guard.

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Kent”. (Y/N)’s steps rang again while she moved further in the room, joining her father and older brothers. Duncan felt a small tug on the sleeve of the khaki coat he was wearing, his mother reminding him of the protocol. His waist folded in a bow while Annette gave the obligatory curtesy.

“Mrs. Shepherd. Mr. Shepherd, this is my youngest daughter” Charles announced while motioning to his child who brought her hand forward to the older woman for a handshake. Her shoulders twisted lightly to meet the blue gaze of Duncan. Her palm launched forwards once more and he reciprocated the gentle handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace” he barely whispered as their hands untied and he crossed his arms behind his back again.

She stood straight, proud and as tall as she could, her hair neatly pulled up in a regal looking half up- half down do. Despite the pressure that was pumping through her veins to be meeting the powerful Shepherd matriarch, her composure remained still and gentle. On her best behaviour, just like her father had asked of her.

Harry threw a look at his little sister while she spoke gently. “The pleasure is mine, Mister Shepherd” she pushed a warm smile to her lips. William invited their guests to gather around the small coffee table where tea was being served. (Y/N) did not waste any time and she gently sat down on one of the largest sofas, Harry joining her soon after. When her brother leaned over and whispered a “slept in today?” to tease his younger sibling, she couldn’t help but giggle.

The words of Duncan mother resonated in his mind once again. “Duncan, I know you don’t want to do this, but if we manage to put the Windsor’s in our pocket, we’ll be able be a step ahead from Claire” Annette had spoken on the flight to England. His reaction was calculated.

He would take the Duchess of Kent on a couple of public appearances after meeting the royal family. Madame the President would be frightened once words of the Shepherd’s son had been seen publicly with Royalty and hopefully, his mother could turn the tables and flip the game to her advantage. He would play a large part in this game and the idea that Annette was relying on him and him only to take the lead made his chest puff up with pride.

Grabbing the delicate cup of tea that was displayed on the table, she poured in her usual could of milk and swayed her spoon back and forth to evenly mix the hot drink. The usual boring conversation ensued between Charles and Annette while hushed whispers were exchanged between the siblings. Economy, education, political engagement. Duncan simply sat and listened, not failing to notice the numerous sighs leaving the chest of the young woman sitting across from him and the slights glances she would throw in his direction.

With a loud ring, the large clock struck 12:00. Placing her cup gently on the table, the youngest royal gently spoke once more. “My apologies, but I must retire” she explained before standing up, Annette and Duncan carefully mirroring her. “Oh, (Y/N), why don’t you take Mr Shepherd around while you tend to the Stables” her father suggested.

All eyes were on her.

Her family was expecting great things for her too and a royal engagement was one of those things therefore they would involuntarily throw her into which ever men’s arms nearing her age that would offer a good enough application. And Mr Shepherd was a great candidate.

“That would be my pleasure, dad” she smiled, trying to plaster her warmest welcoming expression on her delicate features, causing everyone in the room to release the sigh they were holding, the tension suddenly dissipating. She gingerly offered her hand to Annette, who shook it lightly with another curtsy, and then she walked towards the heavy set of doors she had walked in through earlier that day, her newly found pretender in tow.

Her feet were gently carrying her through the halls. Taking the advices of her father, she took them through a detour, parading through the corridors with her hands intertwined in front of her, his linked behind his back. She would introduce any pieces of art he would stop in front of and explain certain things about it and he would politely nod and comment on his feigned interests.

Approaching the large door in at the end of the aisle, she gingerly went to reach for the handle before being interrupted by Duncan’s large hand as he pushed it open for her. “Oh, thank you” her voice was gentle and she quickly exited the palace, strolling her way towards the beautiful garden with the company of the American.

“So, what is it exactly that you do, Mr Shepherd, she broke the silence.

- Well, your Grace, I guess you could say I work for my mother. And please, call me Duncan, he simply answered with his best attempt at a sincere smile.

-I think you know exactly what I meant, Mr Shepherd. Why are you here, her voice emphasised on the ‘you’.

- I’m not entirely sure, to be perfectly honest, your Grace. My mother thought appropriate for me to come on this political visit and as a Shepherd, we are acting as a solid unity to help out community. So here I am, ma’am.

- And what is the purpose of this visit, if you do not mind me asking?

-My mother believes that unifying our agendas would only help better the relationship between America and England, you Grace.

- You seem to be a very capable young man, Mr Shepherd. We seem to be around the same age and I know a capable man when I see one. You should start thinking on your own accord.”

It seemed as though she could find a comeback to everything he would say to her. As if she was prepared. As if she had done this before. But she did many times already. As she entered the stables, her games of witty remarks and well time comebacks stopped. Delicately discarding her heels for a pair of wellington boots, it somewhat clung to his mind. What a small and pretty little thing she was, with her dainty little hands and feet and her well thought wits. Probably as driven as he was too and that thought excited him.

Her eyes darted to his polished shoes and tailors trousers, a smirk pricking her lips. “I hope you do not mind getting your feet wet, Mr Shepherd” she gently teased while she guided him through the dirty stables, his hands growing more and more clammy. He was nowhere near his expertise field. He was good with people and socialisation, attentive and manipulative at the same time. Animals? He was out of his depth.

“Looks like you have never been around a horse, am I wrong?” she commented at his uncomfortable stance. Duncan shook his head while a giggle escaped the throat of the Royal. The stables was empty of the usual staff so she did not bother keeping her composure when he walked a little bit too close to one of the fussiest horses, causing the animal to neigh and buck it’s hooves against the thick wooden door.

Duncan jerked back with a loud scream, madly clutching his chest, his other hand stabilizing him on his knee. She laughed and it somewhat pained him. He did not have the upper hand and it destabilizes him. The brunette straightened himself once his heartbeat slowed and when he looked up from the floor, (Y/N) was standing by the door. Her hand reached to Duncan and he linked his palm with hers. “She can smell the fear on you, you should relax” she somewhat whispered while she pulled him closer, a soothing hand on his shoulder.

Gently clicking her tongue to the horse to get its attention, she pulled a bag of carrot sticks from the coat pocket. What a strange girl, he thought. Did she have that all along? He shook the thought away as she pulled his palm up, pushed his fingers flat together and placed a couple of treats in the crook of his hand. (Y/N) slowly guided his arm closer to the mare, keeping a close look at the man. His arm tensed up when the sliming mouth of the horse touched his hand to chew on the carrot.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad was it” she teased once more, her hand breaking the contact with his to gently stroke the head of the mare. Duncan went to mirror her gesture only to bump into her palm. He quickly took a step back and bowed his head respectfully. “My apologies, your grace” he said truthfully, aware that he had somewhat broken the protocol. “Please, Duncan, call me (Y/N)” her voice invited him in the same tone he had used earlier, offering him a warm smile. “I am not my father and I am also not too keen on the protocol either so don’t sweat it.”

Duncan nodded still, regrouping his hands behind his back again, slowly working towards finding an animal that would look more “friendly” than the dark horse that had startled him. He stopped in front of a sweet looking cream horse. “This is Chip, she was my girl” (Y/N) spoke as he approached the calm and beautiful horse. She then pointed at the stall right next to it “And this it Dale, she was my brother’s horse. They are twins” she explained, handing the open bag of treats to her guest who rewarded her with a curious look.

He picked a couple of batons, looking up at the horse. “Be gentle, just like with a woman” she flatly said as she walked to Dale to offer her tender strokes and treats. If he had been drinking, he was sure the liquid would have been coughed up through his nose at the remark. Silence grew between the two figures. Duncan was much too awkward to talk and (Y/N) was too busy praising the gentle mare she was stroking.

He watched her closely, trying to replicate her moves and she threw him a new look. Letting her feet carry her to him, she leaned against the wall and looked up at him. “Let’s cut this little game short, shall we” her voice surprised him and he shifted his body language to make himself look more comfortable than he actually was. “While I do enjoy your company and lack of a backbone, I am failing to understand what exactly is bringing you here.”

Duncan’s body jolted back slightly in surprise, unsure on whether he should feel hurt or complimented. “To be perfectly honest, Duncan, if you have made all of this way for some sort of courtship, I am rather disappointed to say that you are currently failing”. The sound of her voice had barely changed. She was still calm and collected. “Disappointed?” he echoed, his eyebrow now raised. “I thought I was doing rather well, you are breaking my heart, Your Highness.”

(Y/N) smiled faintly, crossing her arms to emphasise how comfortable she was with having this conversation. “I’m sure we can find some mutual ground to make both of our families really happy, Mr Shepherd”.

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #house of cards #hoc

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naag-mysuru-blog · 5 years

Text

Legalising Land Mafia ?

DALIT ONLINE – e News Weekly

Spreading the light of humanity & freedom

Editor: Nagaraja.M.R.. Vol.15..Issue.12..........24 / 03 / 2019

AKRAMA SAKRAMA

- Are BDA , MUDA , Karnataka HC Judges favoring Land Mafia & Murdering Innocents ?

Recently Karnataka high court gave clearance to Karnataka government’s regularization of illegal buildings ( AKRAMA SAKRAMA ) scheme.

1. Law is one & same for all.

2. Government authorities , police razes down , demolishes small temporary hutments built by tribals , dalits without mercy , takes suo motto action. No court comes to their rescue.

3. Till date bagar hukum lands are not given to dalits , tribals are not given land rights over their huts in forests. Is Cout blind , deaf ?

4. However when rich crooks build bungalows , commercial complexes illegally , no suo motto action taken by government authorizes , police , why ? Courts go a step further it gives stay orders against demolition of rich crook’s illegal buildings , asks government to modify plan , law itself to save illegal buildings of rich crooks.

5. Does Karnataka HC has details of exact number of building violations , buildings built on forest lands , lake beds , raja kaluves with respective after affects on neighbouring buildings , road traffic , ecology , etc and contingency plan by authorities to overcome those after affects casewise backed by technical studies. Make it public.

6. What criminal action initiated against revenue , police & other officials who failed in their duties at the first instance to stop the illegal building construction.

7. Small houses of poor people who have smaller building violations but who failed to bribe officials were dealt mercilessly. Their houses were razed down . Now , will the HC order the government to compensate them , to rebuild houses for them as the court is now saying they are legal now.

8. Government & HC has given a cut off date for consideration of regularization of illegal buildings. When a crime before that cut off date becomes legal , why cann’t it be legal after that date ?

9. What guarantee HC gives no illegal buildings has come up after cut off date and will never come in future ?

10. If comes what criminal action against the concerned officials ?

11. The land encroachments & illegal buildings and it’s continued existence since years is not possible without tacit , covert support of jurisdictional revenue officials. What disciplinary action has been taken against concerned officials with respect to each case of land encroachment & illegal buildings , case wise ?

12. If not , why ?

13. Is not “land AKRAMA SAKRAMA SCHEME” itself illegal ?

14. Is not the move of government of Karnataka to legalise land encroachments & illegal buildings , in itself illegal ?

15. Till date in some cases of land encroachers are evicted & some buildings violating building byelaws demolished , you could have spared them to enjoy the benefit of land akrama sakrama scheme. Why you didn’t spare them ?

16. Is this scheme applicable for only chosen few ?

17. Does this scheme also benefit rich people above BPL ?

18. Does this scheme also benefit big land developers , land developing companies ?

19. To my previous RTI appeals to MUDA , BDA only partial information was given , conveniently hiding the truth. Is it not violation of RTI act ?

20. Does not hiding information about land crimes , in itself also a crime ?

21. I have shown in detail some land crimes in Karnataka. What action by government of Karnataka , casewise ?

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/judges-cover-up-land-scams ,

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/land-grabbers-in-m-u-d-a ,

22. Does not hiding a land crime , embolden land grabber to commit more land crimes ?

23. What action taken against BDA , MUDA & Revenue department officials who are covering crores worth land scams inspite of my repeated appeals & RTI Requests ?

Bottomline : Judges open your eyes , listen , think & then act.

PIL – Jail Killer Judges

IN THE SUPREME COURT OF INDIA ORIGINAL JURISDICTION

CRIMINAL WRIT PETITION NO. OF 2017

IN THE MATTER OF

NAGARAJA . M.R

editor , Indian’s Diary & Dalit’s Diary ,

# LIG 2 , No 761 ,, HUDCO First Stage , Laxmikantanagar ,

Hebbal , Mysore – 570017 , Karnataka State

....Petitioner

Versus

Honourable Chief Justice of India & Others

....Respondents

PETITION UNDER ARTICLE 12 to ARTICLE 35 & ARTICLE 51A OF THE CONSTITUTION OF INDIA FOR ISSUANCE OF A WRIT IN THE NATURE OF MANDAMUS UNDER ARTICLE 32 & ARTICLE 226 OF THE CONSTITUTION OF INDIA.

To ,

Hon'ble The Chief Justice of India and His Lordship's Companion

Justices of the Supreme Court of India. The Humble petition of the

Petitioner above named.

MOST RESPECTFULLY SHOWETH :

1. Facts of the case:

Judges Murder Innocents

In the recent past , in bangalore city & other parts of karnataka incessant rains played havoc on civilians. Due land grabbings , lake grabbings , lake tributaries grabbings by land mafia rain water entered many houses killing civilians , livestock and caused crores of rupees losses.

There are many statutory reports by A T Ramaswamy , Subramanyam , Koliwad , etc regarding lake encroachments , raaja kaluve / tributaries encroachment , revenue land / forest land encroachment , etc. What is the action taken by government ?

Authorities enacted lake encroachment clearance drama by clearing / demolishing commoner’s houses on the fringes , when it came to big bungalows of ministers , crores of worth apartment clusters , it stopped all of a sudden.

In the same way , Authorities enacted Raaja Kaluve / tributaries encroachment clearance drama by clearing / demolishing commoner’s houses on the fringes , when it came to big bungalows of rich , commercial complexes , crores of worth apartment clusters , it stopped all of a sudden.

A Karnataka High Court Judge was shame less in his act to favor the rich. That judge was not moved , sympathetic when small hutments , small houses of poor were demolished. He became wise when authorities wanted to demolish big bungalows , commercial complexes of rich. He asked BDA , BBMNP why cann’t authorities divert Raaja Kaluve itself ?

Wise Judge Sir , one has to buy pant , shirt according to his height , waist , etc but you cann’t change your body size , height , waist according to size of shirt or pant ? One has to build house , complex based on plan given by the authorities leaving aside civic / revenue lands. It is a grave crime by both seller & buyer of that illegal encroached land , irrespective of rich or poor , commoner or minister, those lake encroachments , Raaja Kaluve encroachments must be removed & guilty severely punished.

Authorities & few judges are hand in glove with land mafia and are not acting against rich , powerful violators. Since years we are requesting for information under RTI about land grabbings from MUDA , MCC , BBMNP . BDA , KIADB no answer ? Appealed to courts , no use. Years back , when we questioned a Judge / District Magistrate about hebbal lake encroachment , he threatened me personally over phone. The recent move of Government of Karnataka to legalize illegal land encroachments ( AKRAMA SAKRAMA ) iself is illegal. If timely action was taken by SCI Judges & Karnataka HC Judges these losses could have been averted. Due to this unholy nexus , negligence of duties even by judges resulted in loss of lives , properties in karnataka during recent rains. The guilty judges must also be punished.

Who will bell the cat.

Specifically in Karnataka Rich & Influential people have illegally encroached Lakes , Public grazing fields , Temple Lands , Raaja Kaluve / feeder canals , etc. Concerned public servants are not doing their duties and encroachment continues since years. Even appeals to Law Courts of Justice by way of PILs have not yielded any results. Even criminal nexus with help of government has gone a step further to legalize their crimes of land grabbing in the name of “AKRAMA SAKRAMA”. Courts are deaf , dumb & blind.

These crimes can continue since years only with connivance of judges , public servants. Throughout this petition term “Judge” includes even quasi judicial officers like Revenue Inspector , Assistant Commissioner , District Magistrate , etc apart from Law Court Judges. Due to these illegal land encroachments , road accidents are taking place , buildings are falling down , rain water is gushing into houses and killing people. For all the recent deaths due to rains in Bengaluru & other parts of Karnataka JUDGEs are solely responsible. For all these JUDGEs are responsible.

2. Question(s) of Law:

Is robbing another’s property right , legal ? is robbing land , lake – a public property for private , individual use right ?

3. Grounds:

Requests for equitable justice , Criminal Prosecution of Judges , master minds of land grabbing ,frauds.

4. Averment:

Covering up Land Frauds & Land Mafia . Please read details at :

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/rti-first-appeal---muda-bda-kiadb ,

Hereby , I do request the honorable supreme court of India to consider this as a PIL for : “writ of Mandamus” and to issue instructions to the concerned public servants in the following cases to perform their duties & to punish guilty judges.

The Petitioner has sent many letters / appeals / petitions to supreme court of india & other courts through e-mail , DARPG website & through regular mail requesting them to consider those as PILs. But none of them were admitted , even acknowledgement for receipts were not given. See How duty conscious ,our judges are & see how our judges are sensitive towards life , liberty of citizens , commonmen & see how careless our judges are towards anti national crimes , crimes worth crores of rupees. That the present petitioner has not filed any other petition (which are admitted by courts) in any High Court or the Supreme Court of India on the subject matter of the present petition.

PRAYER:

In the above premises, it is prayed that this Hon'ble Court may be pleased:

a . Hereby , I do request the honorable supreme court of India to consider this as a PIL for : “writ of Mandamus” and to issue instructions to the concerned public servants & to criminally prosecute , punish guilty judges , to order Government of Karnataka authorities in the following cases to perform their duties & to answer the questions.

b . to pass such other orders and further orders as may be deemed necessary on the facts and in the circumstances of the case.

FOR WHICH ACT OF KINDNESS, THE PETITIONER SHALL BE DUTY BOUND, EVER PRAY.

Kindly read full details at following web page :

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/rti-first-appeal---muda-bda-kiadb ,

Dated : 24/10/2017 ………………… .FILED BY: NAGARAJA.M.R.

Place : Mysuru , India…………………….PETITIONER-IN-PERSON

Editorial : Judges Murder Innocents

Who will bell the cat.

Your’s ,

Nagaraja Mysuru Raghupathi.

CBI RTI Srinath Murder

https://sites.google.com/site/eclarionofdalit/cbi---rti-srinath-muder

HC Judges Favoring Mafia

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/hc-judges-favoring-mafia ,

Why NOT Demolish Illegal Bungalows of Ministers

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/why-not-demolish-illegal-bungalows-of-ministers ,

Judges Murder RTI

https://sites.google.com/site/sosevoiceforjustice/judges-murder-rti

BEML Housing Society - RTI Murders

https://sites.google.com/site/eclarionofdalit/beml-rti-murders

Edited, printed , published owned by NAGARAJA.M.R. @ # LIG-2 No 761, HUDCO FIRST STAGE , OPP WATER WORKS , LAXMIKANTANAGAR , HEBBAL ,MYSURU – 570017 KARNATAKA INDIA Cell : 91 8970318202

WhatsApp 91 8970318202

Home page :

http://eclarionofdalit.dalitonline.in/ ,

https://dalit-online.blogspot.com

Contact : [email protected] , [email protected] ,

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matchaball · 6 years

Text

all that glitters is not gold

AN: HAPPPPPYY (late) BIRTHDAY @powerdragonmoon!!! ♥ ♥ ♥ You’re always so amazingly sweet and kind and I’m forever thankful that we somehow found each other in this big, strange world of fandom and became friends! I never could shake off the idea of spy au after talking about it with you, so here’s my gift to you ;) It’s my first time writing ChloNath, so sorry if the characterizations are off! ^^; This was SUPER fun to write though, so I hope it makes for an equally enjoyable read!! Happy birthday again my dear! ♥

Also: Chloé’s dress and heels!

( AO3 )

Chloé Bourgeois does not do subtle.

Subtle would kind of defeat the point of the sleek black dress ensemble gracing her figure for tonight’s assignment, where her every move glitters from the gold embroidery running along the sheer nude fabric covering her collarbones and dipping down over her left shoulder and breast. Spiky gold bracelets flash at her wrists, matched by the outrageously expensive earrings dangling daintily from her ears. Even the turn of her head attracts attention, from the smooth shine of her honey gold hair, to the gold glint of the singular hair comb pinning her complicated updo in place.

If anything else, the waist high slit up the side of her dress, loosely held together by slim strands of gold chain, shows enough leg to make anyone in the room momentarily forget their own name, especially since she’s brought her killer heels to the game.

She could do subtle. She probably should, given her line of work.

But she won’t.

“Doing all right there, Clo?” a voice crackles through the comms hidden in her earrings.

“I’m boooored,” Chloé sighs. A martini hangs from her hand as she surveys the crowd milling around the art gallery for whatever fundraiser they are all apparently a part of.

“You have to wait for the chairman to give his speech, that way all the security gets redirected-”

“-to him, I know, I know.” Chloé rolls her eyes as she drains the rest of her martini. As she signals the bartender for another, she mutters, “Keep me entertained then, Adrien.”

“I’ll do my best,” Adrien laughs. “What do your regular partners do when they’re paired up with you at this end?”

“They’re not partners.” The bartender makes eye contact with her as he prepares her next drink, but all it takes is a slow smile, a suggestive tilt of her head, and a small wink for him to fumble and accidentally spill a bit of gin over the edge. Too easy. “And I don’t know, they never last long enough for me to actually be entertained by them.”

“Except for one.”

She doesn’t answer that. Her original support, her very first, had been a partner to her, for as long as they worked together, for as much as he teased her during missions. Her hot temper and biting words only seemed to amuse him, and even though they knew each other, she’d only ever called him Red for how riled up he could get her in the midst of an assignment.

It was a strange partnership, but it was a good one. Until she went out on an assignment one day and heard another voice at the other end of her comms, another voice that was so nervous, so obviously new, that Chloé ended up silencing communications and going through her assignment solo rather than relying on such dubious support.

The new girl hadn’t lasted long. Neither had any of the other supports assigned to her since.

“You know what they call you here, back at HQ?” Adrien asks.

“Enlighten me.”

“Killer Bee.”

“I’m touched.” Chloé’s tone is about as dry as her martini.

“Yeah,” Adrien chuckles. “Everyone who’s been assigned to you looks like they got handed their death sentence.”

“Everyone except you.”

“Just this time,” he points out. “And only because I broke my leg and Ladybug broke three ribs and nearly punctured a lung during our last mission. Neither of us are very good at quietly resting up though.”

“Hmmm.” Chloé’s answering hum is deceptively non-committal, as is her ensuing comment, “So you being paired up with me for this is purely coincidental.”

“Yup!” Adrien chirps back. Too quick, too bright. No matter how long they’ve been in this business, Chloé can always spot his tells; the perils of growing up together since childhood. “Besides, I can’t help out an old friend every now and then?”

“You can,” Chloé replies as she slowly stands and sidles into the crowd. “You don’t.”

“Me-owch. Well, Fu thought this particular assignment could use some… delicacy.”

Any answer Chloé might’ve given is discarded along with her martini as she accepts a dance invitation from a man she already spotted eyeing her legs earlier that night. Despite his wandering eyes, his hands stay respectfully in place as they whirl and glide along the floor with the other dancers, so he’s spared of any suffering she could’ve gleefully devised for him.

Her smile is a dazzling thing, a tool in itself, and she uses it to full effect on her partner as she scans the room for cameras, exits, windows, air vents, and security personnel. Art museums are always a little trickier, with all sorts of hidden motion sensors and silent alarms that could betray her before she’d even know it, but falling for any one of those would be a disdainful, graceless rookie mistake.

Chloé sniffs. She has only ever been one of the very best.

“Eight more minutes,” Adrien sounds in her ear again. “Take the southmost exit. I’ll disable the keypad and the warning alarms, but there’ll be three guards patrolling the hallways. You’ll need one of them for a fingerprint and eye scan for the next set of doors. Hang on, let me find out which one…”

As the music draws to a close, her partner asks, hopefully, “Another dance?”

She smiles, a pretty, empty thing, as she steps away. “Another time.”

She blends back into the crowd and begins making her way to the back. She circles around sculptures, greets important politicians and businessmen, and picks up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Ok,” Adrien finally says. “It looks like any one of the guys will do. Try not to kill anyone, Clo.”

“No promises,” she mutters as she drops her empty glass at a nearby table. Right on cue, the crowd begins to murmur and move as the chairman steps up to the podium, a beaming smile on his face and a prepared speech held in his hands.

“Go,” Adrien whispers, but she’s already gone.

The keypad at the door blinks from red to green and she slips soundlessly through before anyone can notice. The hallway she enters is empty, but she knows it won’t stay that way for long.

“Alright, two coming your way,” Adrien warns.

“Just two?” Chloé sighs as she languidly reaches up. She pulls her hair comb out, letting long golden curls cascade down her back, and twists two teeth from the comb out, revealing poison-coated needles. They hide between her fingers as she prepares to put on a show.

“Hey! You can’t be back here!” one of the guards yell as he turns a corner and catches sight of her. His partner is close behind, and one glance alone tells her they mean serious business. Bulletproof vests, at least three guns visible on their persons, and two, possibly three knives hidden on their shins, backs, and wrists.

Chloé gasps. “How dare you talk to me like that! Do you harass every woman who gets lost on her way to the bathroom?”

“Ma’am,” the other man’s partner takes over, his tone decidedly more polite. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t allowed to be here.”

“Too bad,” Chloé decides as she eyes him. A smile curls on her face, as if she likes what she sees. “Seems like you boys could entertain me a lot better than the stuffy old men in the exhibit back there.”

Trained professionals or not, she catches the way their eyes scan her once, twice, not with the gaze of a predator looking to take out its prey, but with the most basic and predictable form of want. Want, though, is easy. She shifts a little, hips swaying, legs sliding out of the high slit of her dress.

“So,” she whispers when she’s right in front of the closest one, “entertain me.”

He swallows and it’s his undoing as her hand slides up and jams a needle into his vocal chords. He chokes, the sound coming out strangled as the needle does its work, and despite his fingers twitching for his weapons, he stiffens up and drops to the ground as the poison paralyzes him.

The second man meets the same fate. With his partner’s back to him, he never even saw her coming until it was too late. He drops like a stone, his voice choking in his throat and a layer of foam coming to froth around the corners of his mouth.

Chloé sighs, decidedly unimpressed. She bends down and begins searching their pockets for anything useful she could use.

“Your 6,” Adrien warns, just as she hears the shout of “Hey!” coming from behind her.

No time to ready her needles, and no space to use them too as she hears the telltale click of a gun cocking in her direction.

“Hands up!” he yells as he stalks towards her.

“Oh please,” Chloé snorts. “Only point that thing if you actually have the balls to use it.”

In one smooth motion, she slides the small dagger hidden out from beneath the sole of her heels and whirls around. She grabs the guard’s arm and wrenches it around, not even blinking as a shot goes off and ricochets off the wall, before using her other hand to twist the dagger deep into his abdomen.

“Don’t even think about it,” she suggests pleasantly as he continues struggling. She brings her foot up and stabs her heel down onto his shoe. The sharp heel sinks through the leather and into flesh and bone, eliciting a strangled moan of pain from the guard before the poison takes him down too.

Unlike Ladybug’s legendary luck or Chat’s many fancy bells and whistles, distraction is her game; few ever think to look closer, to find the actual substance beneath. And the unlucky ones who do find the poison of her sting in lieu of the sweet honey they had hoped for.

“Just three?” Chloé asks as she wriggles her dagger back out. She wrinkles her nose as she wipes the blood off onto the guard’s clothes.

“Just three,” Adrien confirms. “Alright Clo, door at the back. And take one of them with you.”

“I heard you the first time,” she snips. She grabs the unconscious guard closest to the door and begins dragging him down the hall. Despite his size and bulk, she hauls him as easily as a rag doll. As she scans his fingerprint and his eye, Adrien’s voice crackles through her comms again.

“I won’t have eyes when you go in there,” he warns. His keyboard clacks furiously in the background. “I’ve disabled what alarms I could access but there’s still some stuff that’s rigged. I think mostly paintings, maybe one of the sculptures.”

“Mostly paintings,” Chloé repeats as the scanner beeps green. She drops the guard and pushes through the acquiescing doors. “Adrien, darling, you do know why I’m here.”

“I was briefed,” Adrien grumbles. “Your painting shouldn’t have any alarms around it. Your extraction will come to you when you’re ready.”

“I won’t be long,” she assures him as she steps into the pristine, cavernous conservation lab.

Enormous paintings lie in complicated contraptions that she delicately avoids, and smaller paintings waiting to be restored rest in easels on neat, organized work tables. As she passes them by, she snags a pair of latex gloves from a box off someone’s desk. Sculptures and statues occupy a large corner of the room, awaiting their own restorations, but she heads directly to the rows of storage racks stocked full of paintings, snapping on the latex gloves as she approaches her target.

The racks slide out noiselessly as they display their contents to her. Chloé had never been much an art connoisseur, but she’d picked up a few things here and there from her original- her first- partner. When things got tense, he’d always distract her by dropping an interesting tidbit about a painter, about a particular colour, about art history.

It always drove her nuts, because art was hardly interesting to her, but it’d always worked. She relaxed, when he talked to her.

Well, except for one memorable incident when he had actually painted something while he guided through her a mission. He had used whatever obscure colour hues he’d been painting with and his paint stroke patterns to warn her when security was coming or when she had to disable an alarm, and she had damn near blown the roof off of the chateau she’d been infiltrating. The moment the mission had finished and the objective was in her hands, she had railed on him, as angry as a whole horde of provoked bees.

And he had just laughed.

“Found it,” Chloé breathes as she finds a match for the painting she’d been briefed to find. It’s an original Turner, she can tell that much, encased in an ornate gold frame.

She slides the rack out all the way and carefully flips the painting over. The back is empty, just plain canvas against the flat back of the frame, but she carefully detaches a spike from her bracelet and unsheathes the needle thin knife encased within. Carefully, precisely, she digs into the top left corner where the canvas meets the frame until the canvas comes loose. She peels it back a little more and digs the needle into the crevice of the frame, rooting around until she finds what she’s looking for.

She carefully draws her prize out into the light and watches as the faint light shines upon the key dangling from the tip of her knife.

“Shit,” Adrien swears. “You tripped an alarm.”

“Adrien,” Chloé warns as she slides the key down her bra for safekeeping and sheathes the knife back into her bracelet. She flips the painting back over and slides the rack closed. “My extraction, now.”

“Hang on, he’s coming. Let me see if I can reroute security…”

As Adrien handles complications from his end, Chloé sinks into the shadows, her eyes on all the exits she can find. She palms her hair comb in her hands and hooks her fingers through the gold honeycomb design decorating the top until they adorn her fists like brass knuckles. One push of a button, and all the teeth retract, leaving poison-coated needles in their wake.

A noise from the ceiling redirects her attention. Her head snaps up, but there’s only a vent with its gate dangling wide open.

Another noise from behind is the only warning she gets before a hand grabs her wrist. Her fist shoots out behind her, poison needles ready to sting, but her surprise target evades her easily. It was only meant as a distraction though as she stabs her heels down onto her intruder’s feet and headbutts viciously back. Despite the added height of her heels, she only manages to hit his chin but her heels find their target as the sink down into his shoe.

She takes advantage of his momentary swear-filled pause and bodyslams him backwards. They clip a storage cart, sending it flying across the room but that’s only a passing worry as he twists her arm painfully up her back.

Chloé snarls and pushes into the pain by headbutting back again. A thunk and a moan of pain tells her she’s finally backed him against a wall, so she stabs her heel down again until his grip loosens enough for her to twist around. One hand grabs his throat, pinning him against the wall, as her other hand stops just a hair’s breadth away from the underside of his jaw, the honeycomb glinting from her knuckles and the needles just grazing along his skin like a kiss.

“You idiot,” she begins furiously before stopping dead in her tracks. Sky blue eyes blink back at her, unnaturally unruffled and infuriatingly casual about being threatened with instant death. Familiar, firetruck-red hair pulled back into a half-ponytail is the biggest tell though, and she almost wants to stab him again with her heels for the sheer gall-

“Chloé,” Adrien says calmly, delicately, “meet Nathanael: your extraction, and your new partner.”

“My what?”

“Good to see you again,” Nathanael smiles and Chloé swears she sees red all over again.

“You idiot,” she repeats, upping the intensity of the venom in her voice. “Where the fucking hell have you been? You were just- gone. No note, no message, nothing.”

“I was tapped for a new program,” Nathanael explains, apparently unperturbed about catching up while still under threat of instant death via poison needles by her. “It was on a need-to-know basis. And don’t worry, I was the best. That’s why I was assigned to you.”

“Of course,” Chloé sniffs, “I only ever get the best.”

“The only reason he was assigned to you, sure,” Adrien’s snickering filters through her comms and Chloé nearly rips her earrings out silencing them.

“I hear you’ve been through six supports since I had to step away,” Nathanael comments. A shit eating grin unfurls across his face. “I guess Queenie didn’t suit you as well as Killer Bee, huh?”

“Both are ridiculous,” Chloé sniffs. The sound of the door rattling jolts them both back to the situation at hand, and she finally steps away and sheaths the needles with the teeth of her hair comb. Nathanael steps after her, warming her personal space. He clears her by at least a few inches despite the towering heels she’s armed with.

She blames the adrenaline coursing through her system for the way the bottom of her stomach heats as he rakes back the flyaway strands of hair from out of his eyes. His impeccably tailored black suit certainly does not help either.

She blames the fact that he was her first, which is why he can so easily get under her skin.

“You’re my extraction,” Chloé snaps. “So, extract me.”

Instead of answering, he grabs her hand and tugs her along the shadows until they’re pressed up against the wall right beside the closed doors. The doors open into the lab, so she sort of gets what he intends: for them to just walk out the doors the moment security’s all swarmed in and left their backs unchecked.

“It won’t work,” Chloé mutters. “Even if Adrien’s disabled the cameras- which you should’ve, I know you’re still listening through Red’s comms- there’ll be too many for us to sneak by. Plus you’ve left fingerprints behind. They can trace you.”

“One: diversion.” Nathanael points at the open air vent at the ceiling. “They’ll assume we- sorry, you, escaped through there. And two: have I ever guided you wrong?”

Her deep scowl is answer enough, so she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything at all.

He chuckles, unexpectedly. Pressed this close together and she can feel the rumbles through his chest.

“Something you want to share?” Chloé asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” Nathanael answers, catching a lock of her hair and running it through his fingers. “Just missed you.”

“Now is not the time to be sentimental Red.”

The door busting open interrupts them and they both freeze and tense up as armed guards spill into the lab, guns raised and radios crackling at their sides. More and more come through the doors until the lab looks like a kicked anthill.

She was right. There are way too many for them to just simply slip on by behind their backs. She looks up at him, a question barely contained in her throat, but she waits to see what he does.

His hand moves to the pocket of his pants, and she watches as his lips move in a countdown from three, two, one-

A muffled detonation goes off in the ceiling and a thick plume of gas comes rushing out of the open vent, clogging up visibility in the lab. The guards directly underneath begin wheezing and coughing.

“Move it, I doubt they’ll be dazzled by your butt,” Chloé hisses as the gas fills every crevice of the room.

Nathanael looks at her, an amused twinkle running through his eyes. “Have you seen my butt? Especially in this outfit?”

Regardless, he allows himself to be pulled by her, and together, they simply walk out the door. The hallway is deserted and they slip back into the main gallery without any notice. They join the panicked crowd and allow themselves to be herded out the front doors.

Chloé eyes him out of the corner her eye.

Nathanael was with her, at the beginning. He saw her first fumblings, her first embarrassing rookie mistakes, and was there all the way when she rose through the ranks and completed her first assassination, her first high-security infiltration, her first deep cover op. He’s seen her grow from being a newbie greener than fresh cut spring grass to the Queen Bee she’s infamous for today.

And she had always assumed her growth, her victories, meant his as well. But now…

“What are you?” Chloé hisses as the distant and unmistakable sound of paint bombs go off, no doubt splattering all the security and artwork in the conservation lab in a rainbow of cheap acrylic.

Nathanael chuckles as they step into freedom. “I’m something of an escape artist.”

#miraculous ladybug #chlonath #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #powerdragonmoon #fanfiction #matcha writes #i have no idea how accurate to chloe's character this really is but she was SUPER fun to write hahahahaha #BUT: SURPRIIIISSSEEEE #HAHAHAHA THIS WAS THE FIC I WAS WORKING ON WHEN WE WERE TALKING THE OTHER NIGHT #HEHEHE HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN :DDDDD

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letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked · 7 years

Text

I Never Miss

Clint Barton X Reader

A/N: I’m going to try and hammer some of my shorter fics out before I go on vacation for the 4th of July! We shall see! I have been really into the whole ‘soulmate AU’ thing, so hope you enjoy! I wanted to give Clint a little love!

(Takes place right after The Avengers and The Battle of New York)

Summary: Soulmates are born with their significant others’ name tattooed over their heart

Warnings: Swearing (…If that really needs a warning??)

Masterlist

Clint Frances Barton.

At a young age, you’d always wondered who your soulmate really was. Your mom had told you when you were little not to use technology to figure out who your soulmate was. She had been surprised when she had met her soulmate, your father, and said that it was worth the surprise of randomly meeting the person that you were to spend the rest of your life with. Some people were meant to meet their soulmate, and some weren’t. Who were we to cheat the system?

So that’s exactly what you did when you were a teenager. You tried to cheat the system.

You were seventeen, drinking with your friends at a party, and you were messing around with your friend’s laptop. As the only person there who had a soulmate tattoo – not everyone is born with a soulmate – and they dared you to type his name into Google and search him.

So you did.

Nothing came up.

You were sure that at least somebody would have the name, even if it wasn’t your soulmate – but there was no ‘Clint Frances Barton’ on record. Anywhere. Which stuck you as strange, since almost everyone had some sort of trace on the internet. No form of public information had anyone by that name.

It was always something that lingered in the back of your mind, after that night. The girls had all but forgotten that you tried to Google your soulmate, but it was something that eventually became a pressing fear. What if your soulmate didn’t exist? It was stupid – everyone’s tattoo was the name of their real soulmate – but you were terrified that you were going to be the exception… You were terrified that fate made a mistake.

Even on to college, as an adult, the thoughts of doubt lingered into your mind. You ended up getting into a college in New York with a talent in art – paintings, drawings, pottery, etc. You were very creative. Your mom had submitted one of your paintings to an art contest while in High School and you won. You then received a phone call from a representative a year later. You had been so excited to move away to ‘the big city’, and you saved all of your money for an apartment in Manhattan.

You had just graduated college when an alien invasion happened in Manhattan. You were visiting your parents when it happened, and – thankfully – far away from the destruction and violence. Unfortunately, your apartment had been destroyed in the battle. Very few things were salvageable, but you were unable move back to your hometown, because of work. You had just gotten hired in Brooklyn following your internship and graduation. Lucky for you, Tony Stark had set up a relief fund for all those affected by the battle, and you were able to find a new place in Manhattan to live – a small studio apartment – with the first year of the lease paid off.

You’d been so busy, that you didn’t even realize that a familiar name had started popping up all over the news as the months flew by. You’d even forgotten that you had a soulmate, until one day your boss made the office do a team-bonding outing.

“Why on earth are we at a mini golf course?” Ashley, one of your coworkers – and friend – asked in surprise.

“Because,” Tim, the boss, replied with a smile, “We have all had a shit week, and we need to blow off some steam. Mini golf is amazing, don’t be a party-killer!”

Chuckling, you grabbed a little club and a pink golf ball, following them to the little course, “I suck so bad at Mini Golf, so be prepared for a ball to the head.”

He was unprepared for just how bad you were at the stupid, amazing game. You were lucky to even get the ball in the hole, before picking it up out of frustration and dropping it in – something you did almost every time you played the stupidly fun game.

It took all of you about an hour to complete 18 holes, and the group wanted to play another round. You respectfully declined, and offered to watch people’s bags at the picnic tables – off to the side of the course.

Thankfully, your horrendous playing had them agreeing without argument.

Since it was a nice day out, you took out a small notebook, continuing a sketch that you’d started the previous morning. The sketch was a replica of a picture from your mom and dad. Your mother had texted you the picture of them – the two of them huddled together with the background of Daytona Beach in the background. They had just started their vacation, and you were planning on giving it to them upon their return.

“No, shut up,” You hear a man whining from one of the holes on your right. “This shit is hard, okay? I fly around in a robot suit, all day. I’m not a sharpshooter.”

Well this is one odd conversation to overhear. What a weird man.

Whatever. Back to your drawing.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about your aim, Tony.” A smooth, lovely man’s voice taunted, “You’re going to lose, anyways. I never miss… Tony, what the fuck!”

CRACK!

Suddenly, something small, round, and purple flew into your peripheral vision and made contact with the side of your head. Letting out a startled yelp of pain, you fell backwards – off the picnic table and into the small rocks on the ground, knocking the wind out of you.

Ow… Was that a fucking golf ball? That was a fucking golf ball!

“Shit! Oh, my god!” The smooth talker’s worried voice was right next to your ear, but you couldn’t see him with the sun blinding your vision, “I am so sorry! Tony is an idiot and-”

“I’m fine.” You snapped, bringing a hand up to your throbbing head and feeling all around. I don’t feel like I’m bleeding. Thank god. “Help me up.”

He grabbed your small hands in his larger ones, slowly pulling you up and back to the table you’d been sitting at. Your head was still pounding – there was going to be a hell of a bump near your temple – but you could finally see the man.

Holy shit. He’s gorgeous.

“I thought you said you never missed.” You groaned as he moved your hair to look at the forming bruise.

The group standing behind him – who looked eerily familiar – all burst into fits of laughter. The red-headed woman behind him was bent over at her very slim waist, holding on to… Tony Stark?!

Holy fuck!

Are these The Avengers?

You looked at the people in the group. They were definitely the people that were all over the news during the invasion. The only 2 that you recognized, though, were Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. You didn’t know anyone else’s real names. Just the fancy names that the media called them.

“You heard that, huh?” Hawkeye chuckled, a blush across his cheeks. “Well, to be fair, it was Tony’s fault.”

“It was not.” Mr. Stark defended, crossing his arms, “You just can’t handle the fact that you missed.”

“I never miss, Tony.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance, “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Suddenly, a strong breeze blew past, and the flap of your button-up blouse flipped to the side, reveling your tattoo.

“Hey, Clint, check out her tattoo.” The red head nodded towards the lettering on your chest.

“Oh, uhh, sorry.” You said, embarrassed, moving your shirt back into place, “I don’t usually like to flash that I have a soulmate – since not everyone has a soulmate – but it was hot out today and… Wait.” You stopped, brain finally catching up. “Your name is Clint?”

“Is your name ‘Y/N’?”

Your heart stopped beating. Holy shit! He is real! Your eyes widened in shock, “Y-yeah. It is. Y/N M/N L/N. You’re Clint Frances Barton?” You moved your shirt flap back so the tattoo was exposed.

He pulled the neck of his tee shirt down, exposing the cursive letters that wrote out your full name. “I am. Nice to meet you.”

“Holy fucking crap.” You brought your hands up to your mouth, unable to completely decipher which emotions were running through you. Shock. Happiness. Fear. Joy. Too many conflicting emotions. “You’re actually real.”

“Y/N?” Ashley’s voice came from behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, are you alright?” Clint asked, hands moving to your knees in comfort, “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine.” You cleared your throat, turning your face away in embarrassment and tried to lighten the mood, “I, umm, just didn’t think I was going to meet my soulmate by having him assault me with a golf ball.”

“I like her,” Tony chuckled, gathering the group and ushering them away, “She can stay.”

Clint’s eyes rolled once again – clearly it was a regular thing with him – and his lips turned up into a small smile, “Sorry about that. I guess fate was trying to get you to literally fall for me.”

“Oh my God.” You laid your hands on his, hands tingling, shoulders shaking with laughs, “That was a bad one.”

He stood, pulling you to your feet, “Do you want to go talk somewhere? Maybe go grab some food or something?”

You nodded, excitement apparent on your face, “I would love to.”

You brought your coworkers their bags, letting them know that you were leaving and that you would see them for work the next day.

Then, hand in hand, Clint walked you both to a near-by diner. You talked about everything and everything. He told you about how he got started in SHIELD, and you told him about your art. He told you about the invasion, and you told him about how your apartment got destroyed in the chaos.

You went back and forth until almost midnight.

The more you talked, the more and more you felt yourself falling in love with him. Clint Frances Barton. Hawkeye. An Avenger. Your soulmate. The man that you would get to call yours for the rest of your life. The man that swore that he would protect you from any threat that came your way.

When you arrived back to your apartment, he walked you to the door like a perfect gentleman.

“Can I see you, tomorrow?” He asked, thumbing the dark lines over your heart that spelled out his name.

“I would like that very much.” You laid your hands on his shoulders, bodies almost touching.

He looked down to your lips, eyes darkening as he bit down on his lower lip, “Can I kiss you?”

“You sure are asking a lot of questions.” You joked, leaning closer to him, arms circling his neck, “I would like that very much.”

Your lips were inches apart, breaths mingling as the beating in your chest grew louder with every millimeter that you grew closer. His hands moved down to your sides, pinkies brushing the small strip of skin between your shorts and button-up.

Just as he went to connect your lips, your foot slipped in your shoe, causing his lips to brush your nose, instead.

A laugh escaped before you could help it. “I thought you never missed.”

He tightened his grip on your waist, leaning his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, “Practice makes perfect.”

He didn’t miss this time.

___

TAGS (I do permanent tags! Come join the fun!): @luckynumber1213 @castellandiangelo @sassyandclassyx @mrsnegan25

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gelda-the-thousand-temptations · 7 years

Text

I just want to thank lickitysplit for writing these two wonderful snippets! I adore her taking interest in my odd universe I’ve created for teen Gelda and Zeldris and I’m just so happy she feels compelled to take part from time to time.

Thanks for reading!

-Part 2-

For three days, Zeldris waits. No word from Gelda comes, no news from Edinburgh, and the demon prince is so on edge that when he hears his name, he nearly chokes.

“Zeldris!” Meliodas snaps. “What the hell are you doing?”

The young prince blinks, coming back to himself. They stand in the armory, and Zeldris looks in confusion at the master armorer, who is holding out a sword towards him. “Is this not to Your Highness’ liking?” the demon asks with a bit of a growl.

Zeldris quickly nods and takes the offered weapon. He is there with his brother, who had insisted he get a new one when he observed Zeldris’ new technique. After reading the story Gelda had made for him, he had decided to try on his own to develop the strength and speed to sever a limb with one strike. It had taken months before he had perfected it.

Meliodas had been impressed, something the demon had not thought was truly possible. With a devilish grin he had proclaimed that such a technique needed a sword with a bit more curve, and collected him in the afternoon to take him for a new weapon.

“Your nights at Edinburgh are making you soft,” Meliodas scolds. Zeldris’ eyes dart up to look at his brother. “Tell that Izraf that he needs to get off his ass and find his own guard for his daughter.”

“I’m fine,” Zeldris insists, turning his wrist to try out the hilt, but Meliodas goes on, “It’s a waste of time for you to be going there every other night. What kind of vampire can’t take care of herself, anyway? If that princess can’t hunt on her own, she deserves whatever she gets.”

He stiffens at the callousness of his brother’s words, sneaking another glance over. Zeldris is momentarily worried that he will be ordered not to protect Gelda any longer, but Meliodas is looking at a collection of metals on the armorer’s workbench, already bored of the conversation. He lets go a breath of relief and swings the weapon, unable to help the smile on his face. The width of the blade, with the hooked point, will be much more efficient than the longsword he had been using. Not that it had hindered him when he had taken off the arm of Gelda’s tutor…

The memory of the act sends a sudden chill through him. That bastard had deserved exactly what he had gotten for daring to steal from the princess and then threaten and insult her. His fingers clench on the hilt as he thinks of how he should have taken his head.

Maybe if he had taken his head, he would have heard something, anything by now. But no word had come from Gelda or from Edinburgh. No summons to accompany her. No note from the princess. No angry message from the king, demanding his own head.

There is a movement behind him, and his instincts kick in as he spins with the sword. Metal clashes against metal with a loud clang, and Zeldris manages to stop his brother’s strike before it can land and possibly cut him in two. Meliodas gives a humorless laugh and steps back before charging, swiping again and again, forcing Zeldris to defend himself with the sword. The demon’s moves are too fast to allow Zeldris to go on offense, but his arms and fingers feel surer with each stroke in the air.

Finally Meliodas steps back again. “This is much better,” he says.

The complement, as vague as it is, still makes his insides surge with pride. “It is,” he replies, trying to sound as noncommittal as his older brother.

“Where did you get the idea for that technique, anyway?” asks Meliodas as he hands his weapon to the armorer.

Zeldris immediately feels heat on his neck. There is no way he can tell Meliodas the truth, that it came from a vampire legend. He imagines the look on his brother’s face when he tells him the princess of Edinburgh made him a storybook. Death would be welcome to that.

“The porter had moved too slowly opening the gates and it took me three swings to take off his arm,” Zeldris answers. “I decided that was too much work to kill a servant.”

He is glad to hear a snort come from the blonde. “Fair enough,” Meliodas replies, and to Zeldris’ relief, the matter is dropped.

His anxiety returns as the rest of the day wears on without word from Edinburgh. This is the longest he has gone without seeing Gelda, and as he debates after dinner to go and see her for himself, the long awaited summons comes. The prince practically flies to his room to get his things, strapping the new sword to his waist before hurrying to the portal that will bring him back into Britannia.

The sight of the gates are a welcome and troubling image as he approaches. The doors are opened for him as always, the castle as dark as usual. Zeldris debates as to whether to go to her room, but decides to head towards their usual meeting place in the courtyard first.

She is there, and his heart leaps to see that she is safe. Zeldris had refused to imagine her being punished for his decision, that she had been harmed and that was why she had not sent for him. Gelda looks up at him with a large smile, standing and gazing at him through her soft lashes, every inch of her an absolute delight. “Zeldris,” she says happily. “You came so quickly!”

He stops just a few inches from her, wanting to grab her up but aware that eyes could be watching. “You’ve been-well?” he stutters out, looking her over closely.

With another bright smile she nods, and then they turn and walk towards the exit as they have on dozens upon dozens of nights before. Neither speak as they take the familiar path; Zeldris wants to take her hand but everything feels suddenly unsure.

The silence grows more and more awkward the longer it lasts. Gelda looks at him with shy smiles and expectant eyes, but he is nothing but nerves as they head towards a village in eastern Britannia. It is easy to find a young woman for her meal, and Zeldris waits respectfully as she finishes, scanning the area for any threats as the princess completes her task. Afterwards, as they head back towards Edinburgh, Zeldris can sense that she is waiting for him to do something. Ordinarily they would walk with their hands entwined, or he would offer an arm, or perhaps they would spy a private place to exchange a few passionate kisses. But this heavy silence feels impossible to break, and weighs on his chest as the old vampire stronghold finally comes back into view.

Finally, it is Gelda who stops him with a hand on his arm. He looks at her warily, wondering what it is he can do or say; but then she smiles up at him. “I need to thank you again, Zeldris,” she says quietly. “What you did the other day-”

“Let’s just forget that,” he interrupts. He is still not sure that revealing the killer side of him was a good idea, no matter how necessary it was.

She nods. “All right, then. Just know that everything is fine now.”

His eyebrows raise in curiosity. “How can you know that?”

“Because he’s gone.” Her giggle surprises him, and Gelda covers her mouth with her hand. “The next day he was gone. My father was angry, seeing it as a slight, but I convinced him not to pursue it because I didn’t like him anyway.” The hand that still lay delicately on his arm presses reassuringly around his elbow. “So there is no need to worry. Our secret is safe.”

“Our secret,” he echoes. Zeldris raises a hand to capture a lock of her hair that hangs against her cheek, and he is hit by a wave of wrongness. There should be no secrets. Gelda is a princess, an heir; her station is actually higher than his, her wealth and power and name more valuable than the third son of a king. The truth is heavy on his shoulders. He wants to protect her, to have her as his own… they are still young but he knows this with every inch of him. But what can he give her, except for his demon self? What does he have except for a worthless title and the ability to hurt others?

His stomach sinks as he looks at her, the fear he had experienced during the previous three days turning sour inside of him. Their relationship had put them both in jeopardy, still does in fact. The princess had been reduced to sneaking between walls and witnessing a brutal act, because of him.

His name calls him back from these dangerous thoughts. “Zeldris, can you come to my room tonight?” she whispers, and despite the twisting inside of him, he finds himself nodding yes.

The silence returns as they walk back into the castle, and she gives him a last lovely smile before disappearing inside. Zeldris stands watching for a long moment, his chest thudding in anticipation. He should go and return to his own place, but Gelda is waiting for him.

A short while later he is at her window, climbing in as he has done before. The room is lit with candles, and he swallows slowly to see her in the warm light. Again comes the twist inside of him, and all he can think of is how he does not deserve her.

“Gelda,” he says, cringing at how strained his voice is. But she is moving, wrapping her arms around him, her lips pressing along the side of his face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers against his skin.

“Sorry?” he asks, and Gelda nods. “I put you in such a terrible position, and you risked so much-”

“I’d do anything for you,” interrupts the demon. Gelda freezes against him, and he slides one hand reassuringly along her back. “Don’t you know that by now? I don’t care what I would have to do.” He can feel her breath rushing from her as she sighs. “I thought you-I thought I had frightened you. I thought you had-reconsidered, after what happened-”

Gelda giggles, shaking her head, and the sound soothes the knot inside of him. The tension begins to untangle as her fingers graze his neck. “I was scared, yes, but not of you. I thought you would be safer away from Edinburgh for a few days.” Her eyes glance down at the floor. “And then… what happened afterwards…”

Zeldris clears his throat, pulling his hand away from where it rests against the curve of her back. “That was-I didn’t-”

She laughs again, pressing him closer. Then her lips press against the corner of his mouth. He turns towards the feeling, his eyes closing, and at once it is slow and sweet, exactly the way she always is, the way they can be together. This time, instead of the desire flaring hot and overwhelming, it burns slower, deeper, and their bodies press together, their arms tightening around one another.

Gelda positively steals his breath away, especially as the princess grows bolder in her movements. Her hands slide down his chest, and to his surprise she begins to unbutton his shirt. Her tongue slides into his mouth, and he can barely stand it as her fingertips graze his bare skin as the shirt is slowly pulled open. Surely she can hear the pounding of his blood, feel the perspiration that now dots his skin. His lungs shudder when she finishes and her fingers slide over the tense abdominal muscles.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, and Zeldris realizes he has not been breathing. Shakily he lets go of the air trapped in his chest and nods.

Her lips trail down his neck, and then they press against his chest, barely touching him as she glides along the curve of muscle. They are like little sparks, he decides, her lips unbelievably soft. The tips of her fingers graze along his sides, and the demon stands still, allowing her to do whatever she wishes.

She pulls at the hem of his shirt, and Zeldris assists her by flinging it off hastily. Her laugh brings another burn of embarrassed heat to his neck-why is he still fumbling with her, after all this time?-and for good measure he unbuckles the scabbard that hangs low on his hips. “I just got this today,” he says to her proudly, but then clamps his mouth shut, thinking that was a ridiculous thing to say in this moment. As if a princess would be impressed with such a thing.

But Gelda smiles at him again, reaching out to take the weapon. Her fingers move along the hilt appreciatively. “It’s nice,” she replies, and carries it over to the bedside table, laying it down gently.

Now Zeldris feels truly ludicrous, standing there bare chested, wondering what to do next. But Gelda reassures him as always when she turns and holds out her hand, and gratefully he walks over to her, sitting when she pulls him down to the side of the bed.

Her palm is warm as she slides it along his arm and down his chest. As Zeldris studies her face and the small smile on her mouth, his eyes lower to the swell of her chest. He remembers the feeling of her flesh in his hands, the whimper that absolutely set him on fire as he squeezed her, the tantalizing way her nipple had hardened from his touch. It’s almost unbearable how much he wants it again, so he leans down and kisses her once more, taking the lead this time.

Minutes tick by as their mouths move together, the air growing thick with anticipation. The only sound is their heavy breathing, and Zeldris has her pressed against the bed, halfway on top of her, when he moves his hand up from her waist to palm her breast. Gelda gives a little gasp, and he hesitates for the moment, his mind turning as he wonders what she is thinking. But to his relief she arches into his touch, and her own hand leaves where it grips his back to cover his. The princess pulls her lips from his for a moment, licking them as she squeezes her fingers over his.

“Can I take off your dress?” he asks suddenly, the words coming out in a rush.

There is a tiny pause, and then Gelda asks in return, “Can we take out the lights?”

Zeldris is moving instantly, blowing out the candles, nearly stumbling over his own feet. When there is only the soft silver moonlight remaining, Gelda stands next to the bed with her dress removed. All that remains on her body is a thin petticoat and a silk camisole. Her fingers twist together nervously, her teeth catching her lower lip in a way that sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine.

When they climb on the bed together, there is a tight feeling between them, both a bit hesitant. Zeldris kicks off his boots as he slides back up against the pillows. He watches as she pulls up her skirt, following behind, and when his back hits the headboard she climbs over his lap and straddles his hips. The look in her eyes is one of excitement and desire, the soft weight of her on his lap turning the stirring of his body into a dull ache. With wide eyes he watches, fascinated, as she pulls down the thin straps of her camisole.

Warmth pools low in his core when she is finally bare from the waist up, her hair a bit tousled from pulling the fabric over her head. Gelda blinks at him expectantly, but Zeldris cannot take his eyes away from the prize that is her body being offered to him. His mouth goes dry as he raises up shaking palms to slide over the tiny waist and smooth stomach before finally coming to rest along the bottom curves of her breasts. He can feel the heat of her skin and the way her body arches a bit towards him, and the demon can barely form a thought, his mind a swirl of anticipation.

Gelda breaks through the fog by leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Zeldris, I want you to,” she whispers. His hands twitch as her fingers slip around his wrists, and she tugs gently until his palms cover her breasts. The demon swallows nervously, wanting to pleasure her, wanting to hear her make the little sighs she had made the last time, so slowly he begins to knead her flesh, shivering as he can feel the skin under his palms pucker and harden.

With a breathless giggle the princess leans her face down towards his and kisses him softly, but the feeling of skin against skin sparks something inside of him and causes the demon to nearly devour her kiss. She gasps into his mouth as his lips move aggressively against hers, his tongue demanding, and then finally she gives the whimpering moan that he has been nearly dying to hear. The sound takes a hold of his senses and Zeldris lets himself sink into the overwhelming lust of kissing her, feeling her.

She is making little cries with every pull of his mouth and squeeze of his hands, the sound driving him nearly mad with want. Somewhere inside of his mind he tugs his demon side back, just in time before the mark on his brow can go from a warmth under his skin to a full, blazing fire. But then her fingers pull on his hair, one hand digging nails into the back of his neck, and the spark of pain snaps a part of his restraint. With a grunt he pulls his mouth away from hers and kisses down her neck hungrily, pulling at the little spot on her shoulder that makes her squeal in delight. His hands grip her hard once more before they slide around her, pressing her towards him, and one plunges into her hair to pull her head back.

Zeldris pauses just for a second, brushing his nose down the valley between her breasts, breathing in the soft scent of her soap and smiling at how her body is trembling. She is just as affected as he, and the relief he feels at this urges him on. He drags his mouth over one breast, kissing her body wetly, before wrapping his lips around one hard nipple.

The sound that escapes her, surprise and pleasure and begging all wrapped into one, sends a jolt of need down his spine. Zeldris sucks on her body, rolling his tongue around the sensitive nub, causing Gelda to squirm in his lap and tug on him even harder. The way her body moves against him, the little pinpricks of pain from her nails digging into him, causes his body to tighten. He had already been growing longer and harder with the sight of her body; knowing he is pleasuring her is throwing him into a whirlwind of harsh desire.

Her hips wiggle as she fidgets, her thighs pressing tightly around his, and instinctively he rocks his hips upwards. The tightness in his groin is on just this side of agony, and with a moan he lets go of her flesh, pausing for a moment just to rub up against her. Zeldris presses his hot, flushed face against her chest, his hands tightening around her hips to hold her steady as he slowly scrapes the length of him against her thighs.

“Zeldris… please…” she moans, her head falling back, and her palm presses urgently against the back of his head. Eagerly he moves to take the other nipple in his mouth now, rolling and sucking on it with a slow, steady rhythm that matches the rolling of his hips and the sighs which escape the princess. It’s so good, she is so good and perfect and sexy that he cannot stop his hands as they grip her rear and pull her down against him. Gelda gasps as the center of her now sits squarely over the bulging fabric.

He tells himself to stop, to fight the urge, and only the clothing that still covers both of their lower bodies keeps him from pulling her thighs wide and sinking himself into her heat. Zeldris thrusts upwards one last time and lets go of her nipple, his tongue pressing out to lick her a handful of times. It’s enough, he has had enough, and if he doesn’t stop now he will lose it.

Then to his horror and excitement she rolls her hips, pressing down against his own. Even with the heavy fabric of his trousers and the fabric of her petticoat and underclothes he swears he can feel her heat and her wetness and suddenly the spark ignites. With a cry he falls back, pumping his hips up to rock against her, and Gelda leans over him with a surprised laugh, her delicious body falling into his vision. Her breasts sway enticingly over him, and then the rapture hits. Zeldris feels his body pulsing and his skin burning in embarrassment and ecstasy as the release crashes over him like a wave. His pants are instantly damp as his pleasure shoots from him with force, and he groans with the feeling of the sensitive head scraping on the fabric, now slick and sticky with the mess he has just made.

Zeldris pants with shuddering breaths, his head swimming. The euphoria of kissing Gelda and finally seeing and feeling her body is shattered, and all that is left for the demon is humiliation. His ears burn as Gelda rocks on him again, experimentally, and the sensation sends another jolt of confusion through his recovering body. “Gelda, stop- p-please,” he stammers. He realizes he is still gripping her backside and quickly pulls his hands away, tugging the petticoat back down to cover her.

The fire in his groin has now cooled considerably, and he shifts uncomfortably under her. He shudders as her hands slide down his sides, and despite his deep embarrassment and fear at what she will think, the fact they are chest to chest registers and threatens to dull his senses again. Zeldris pushes that away and stammers out an apology.

But the princess is laughing, and she gives him little pecks between giggles. “Wow, Zeldris, I never saw that before,” she says in awe, and then sits up in his lap. She is a vision of beauty, her hair mussed and her nipples still pert, her bare skin glowing in the moonlight, her eyes crinkled with her huge smile. “I’m glad I could make you… well, make you happy.”

Zeldris releases a harsh laugh, his heart stuttering a bit with the flush of relief. He wonders if he will ever convince her that he is more than happy… or if he will ever manage to make her feel the same. It’s the least he can give her.

#Zeldris #Gelda #Zelda #Meliodas #snippet #wonderful writing

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