#She may be a lil' older but it's not like her husband's around to stop me. he's a little too busy being dead iyk what I mean 😏 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

how about when they first noticed ezra was a nervous and anxious baby ?

Seperation

prompt: the moment when h and yn decide that Ezra needs to see a therapist.

warnings: angst

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—

It’s late at night, like 3 in the morning, and Harry was down in Atlanta for three games with the Braves.

Easton and Cash had long adjusted to their father being away for short spurts of time - doesn’t mean they don’t miss him but they know he’ll come back to them.

Ezra was another story.

YN felt dread anytime he went away for a game because her youngest got so anxious and had trouble sleeping.

He was usually okay during the day (Harry was gone for practice and obligations during most mornings and afternoons).

It was at night time.

She really didn’t want to call and bother her husband because he had just played a game that went into three innings of overtime and had gotten a gnarly bruise on his thigh from a ball hitting him as he batted.

When they’d FaceTimed after the game, about eight, he had been so exhausted in his hotel room that his eyes were nearly closing as he spoke to her.

Now at three, three in the morning, Ezra still hasn’t went to bed because of how fussy and tearful he was - babbling about his father.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” He was whining into his mother’s neck, his hot tears rolling down his cheeks and onto her skin.

“Ezzie, baby. We have to calm down. Mama’s here and daddy is okay, he’s just working,” She murmured to him for the hundredth time that night.

YN was sat in the den with him because she didn’t want him waking up his brothers or his little sister who just begun to sleep through the night for the most part.

At one point, she did stir for a night feeding, and as YN sat on her bed - Briar latched sleepily, Ezra was nestled tightly into her other side.

When it hit three-thirty, she began to feel herself get frustrated because she couldn’t fix the situation - no matter what she did.

She knew once tears began rolling down her own cheeks that she had to call Harry.

It was never that she was worried he would be mad that she called, she just felt guilty because he had worked so hard already that day.

YN reaches for her phone, taking a deep inhale before pressing his contact for facetime.

It rings three times before it’s picked up, completely dark in his room, and he rasps out drowsily, “Wha’s going on, mama? Y’alright? The babies alright?”

“I-I can’t get him to settle,” YN takes a deep breath, the sleep deprivation making her want to just break down and sob.

“Daddy? Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Ezra just chants, eyes wide on the screen, searching for his father to just appear but all he sees is darkness.

That causes him to just start bawling his eyes out when he can’t will his father onto the phone like he wants.

“Whoa, Ezzie. Sweet boy, c’mon. Y’gotta breathe s’daddy can understand you,” Harry coos, stirring to turn on the light and illuminate his pillow-creased face.

“Daddy!” His voice is shrill, high-pitched and it makes YN’s ears ring.

“Ezra Duke,” Harry says a little more firmly, “Daddy can’t understand you when you scream, okay?”

The little boy sniffles and tries to catch his breath, leaning into where YN is rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“Miss you,” His son whimpers sadly, bringing his voice down a notch, “Come home, please.”

“I am flying’ home tomorrow, bab. Daddy will be home around noon but you have to be good for mama,” He says, voice still smooth and calm.

“Now!” Ezra screams in a way he usually never does and then continues, “Now! Now daddy! Now!”

Both parents are taking aback, Harry with wide eyes and parted lips as he watching his son through his phone and YN just squeezes her eyes shut, exhaling out of her mouth.

“Mama, breathe,” Harry directs towards her, can tell how overwhelmed she is getting from all the chaos of his screaming.

“Daddy, daddy,” Ezra blubbers, green eyes angry and anxious at the same time, “Please, home!”

YN hears noise from behind her, to see her eight year old padding into the room with his unruly curls poking every which way.

“Mama, is Ezzie okay?” Easton wonders, knuckling his eyes sleepily and then Cash follows right behind him in his dinosaur pajamas.

“Fuck, he woke up the boys,” YN informs Harry tearfully, “I just…I don’t know what to do. I can’t do anything to make him feel better.”

The older boys peek into the screen to smile at their dad and Harry gives them a tense smile, “Hi boys, I know Ez is being loud but can y’two be good f’your mama and go back to bed?”

They agree, giving their upset brother a kiss and then their mom before talking quietly to each other as they walk up the stairs.

“Daddy? Home, please! Hold me!” Ezra wails, clinging to his mother’s neck tightly enough to hurt as he tantrums.

“This is the worst it’s ever been, he’s normally stopped before I’ve had to call you,” YN groans, rocking him swiftly against her for lack of a better idea.

“Wait…” Harry sits up, scrubbing a hand over his puffy face, “Has this been happening’ every time m’away?”

“It just started two to three months ago but he’s always been able to be calmed down within an hour or so,” YN replies, shushing Ezra as he babbles over and over again daddy, daddy, daddy.

Harry’s jaw tightens and his frown settles into a deep crease, “Well why a’ve you not told me that m’baby has been cryin’ for me when I’m gone? Do y’not think that’s important?”

YN recognizes his irritation and is running on less than five hours of sleep over two days and may he’s it back with an even sharper tone.

“We can’t change that you’re gone. I’m trying to handle it, Harry.”

“Y’not doin’ a bloody good job at it!” Harry bites back in frustration, heart pounding in desperation as he hears his son cry for him.

“Daddy, daddy, come on.”

Then YN looks at him with watering, hurt eyes, “I’m doing my best. You’re not here, I can’t make you appear. I’m trying to calm him down without having to wake you up.”

And Harry shouldn’t but he’s angry and misses his babies - all of them but especially the one who needs him the most right now.

“Y’dont think I deserve to know tha’ Ezra’s been acting like this?” Harry snaps before adding, “In this situation, y’best isn’t good enough because he’s still crying and y’still haven’t been able to settle him.”

And wow, those words hit her like a ton of bricks. It was instilling all the insecurities that she had bubbling in her chest.

In this situation, y’best isn’t good enough because he’s still crying and y’still haven’t been able to settle him.

Harry automatically knows that he spoke before he thought and he let his stressed out mind say untrue hurtful things.

He part his lips about to speak before YN cuts him off.

“If you can do it so much better than me, fucking good you. Then come home and fix this because I give up,” YN laughs without humor, finger finding the red button to hang out and disconnecting.

Harry tried calling back over and over and over but YN just hangs her head, sniffling, as she watches her tired, anxious little son finally drift off to sleep.

At some point, her phone stops ringing when he’s given up and it doesn’t ring again until for another thirty minutes.

She knew he was going to keep calling until she picked up - had been that way since they first started dating.

By now, Ezra was asleep in his room and YN was sat against their headboard - having tossed the tear soaked shirt she had on off and was feeding Briar once more.

The millionth facetime request comes through and finally she swipes to answer, he’s furious right as they connect, “D’you have any idea how worried I am? Y’cant ju-“

He stops himself when he sees his baby girl pop her head from her mother’s breast with puffy lips and look at the screen, “Dadadadada.”

“Oh, hi lil’ mama,” Harry changes his tone completely, face softening - “Did I interrupt y’eatin’? S’mama being so nice and feeding you?”

Briar just smiles with a gapped baby tooth smile, a dimple pushing into her left cheek as she does so.

“Guess I’m good for one thing, right? A fucking milk-maker,” YN scoffs at her husband’s opposite tone as she guides Briar gently back down to finish her meal.

Harry frowns, “Y’know tha’s not anything near the truth and tha’ I think you’re the best mama to our babies. M’just upset.”

“You told me my best wasn’t good enough, I can’t believe you would say something like tha’ to me,” YN begins to sniffle again.

“Sweetheart, m’sorry. I ju-“

“What did you call for, Harry? It’s nearly four-thirty in the morning and I haven’t slept for nearly two days now. I want to feed her and go to sleep,” YN’s voice is disconnected and exhausted.

“To talk, I didn’t say how I was feeling correctly-“

“When you come home tomorrow you can fix everything and I’ll let you because I’m not doing a good enough job,” His wife cuts him off again.

Harry starts to feel a ball of worry form in his throat as he hears how unemotional and distance his wife sounds with him.

He had totally said the wrong things as his wife was just trying to do her best at balancing four babies while he was away.

“Please, let me apologize-“

“I would like to go to sleep. Please don’t call back,” YN responds before ending the phone call and leaving the screen dark.

They rarely ever fought. Especially like this.

He’s man enough to admit that he cries after he tries calling back (even though she said not to) and it went straight to voicemail.

He tries facetiming in the morning, at around nine right before if flight takes off - surprised when it actually was picked up.

Harry only sees YN for a brief moment before she’s propping up the camera on the kitchen table so that Easton and Cash are in view eating pancakes and Briar is in her high chair with blueberries staining her chubby cheeks.

Ezra must still be in bed.

“Hi bubbies,” Harry greets with a smile as they’re curls shake as they look up with excited smiles.

“Daddy! You comin’ home?” Cash squeaks excitedly through a mouthful of food.

“Hi dad!” Easton chimes in, waving.

Briar is only half-interested, more taken by the fact that if she squishes the berries between her fingers they turn mushy, babbles out a, “Daddadaa.”

“I’ll be home in like three hours, ‘kay” Harry informs them - his heart aches to be there right now with theme

“Ezzie cried all night,” Cash let’s his father know.

“Mama cried too,” Easton whispers, like it’s a secret that he doesn’t want her to hear, “I think she is really sad.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, “I know. Ezzie was sad last night. Can I talk to mama?”

Easton looks to his mother off camera as she must say something to him to repeat to Harry, “Mama said that she is busy and she’ll see you when you get home.”

He clenches his fist off camera, trying to smile but he knows it’s terse as he says, “Alright, I love you all. See y’when I get home.”

Meanwhile, YN gets all the children settled after breakfast.

Easton, Cash, and Ezra in the backyard - the two older ones digging holes for bugs and the younger playing in the sandbox.

Briar was snoozing in the cradle of YN’s elbow as she sat on a chaise - watching the kids.

She hits the number she was looking for, waiting for it to ring, and then she hears, “Hillside Pediatrics, this is Jess.”

The office knew the family well because Harry is Harry Styles and they have four children who visit there.

YN inquires about therapeutic options for him, resources, and if they had any recommendations for where to take him.

Like the super mom she is, she manages to set up an intake appointment that evening (which was a miracle on its own), call Anne and ask to watch the other children, and then take a deep breathe.

Harry steps through the back door, dressed in his usual Yankees hoodie, Nike shorts, and trainers looking tanner than before.

“Hi bubbies!” He greets, basking in when all of his children look up and squeal excitedly at the sight of their father.

Easton and Cash are the fastest, racing to cling to each legs and nuzzle into his thigh with a tight hug.

Ezra is slower, by the time he’s arrived to his father - there was no room for him to shuffle in and he automatically lets out an earth-shattering wail.

Just like before.

“Daddy! Hold me! Daddy, hold me please!” His youngest son begs desperately, stretching up his arms, and letting hot tears stream down his cheeks.

Harry tuts, reaching for him and popping him on his hip but Ezra has other ideas - scrambling until his nose is pressed into the curve of Harry’s neck with his arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Ezzie, c’mon now,” Harry titters softly, reaching down to give both of his other boys a kiss on the head before they dart back off to play.

“Daddy, miss you,” Ezra blubbers sadly, Harry wincing when his son yanks a bit in his longer curls by the nape of his neck.

“Y’okay, daddy’s got you. Relax, breathe bubba,” His father reassured him, swaying softly back and forth until he’s just sniffing.

“We have an appointment with a children’s play therapist for him later at five,” YN tells him, shushing Briar who’s squeaking from the noise.

Harry takes a deep inhale, “Okay, that sounds like a good idea. Can we talk now since y’been ignoring my calls?”

YN bristles at the attitude in his tone, “Excuse me if I’d rather not be critiqued on my skills as a mother when I am sleep-deprived and stressed out.”

He clenches his jaw, speaking lowly with firmness, “Y’bein’ absurd! I didn’t critique to you, y’blowing things out of proportion! Y’the one who didn’t tell me this was going on!”

“It didn’t get that bad until last night! I could handle it - he would just be upset for a little before bed but he’d never got that anxious before,” She justifies, returning the glare he’s giving her.

“Didn’t think y’could mentioned it to me? I have a right to know, he’s m’baby too. I could have fix this yet you were letting him suffer,” Harry bites out but know as soon as it’s out of his mouth that he wishes he could swallow the words back down.

You were letting him suffer.

YN doesn’t even argue back, just starts bawling because of how hurtful those words were and how could he even say that?

“Mama, fuck- I didn’t, I’m just-“

His wife gets up without a word, using Briar’s blanket to wipe at her wet cheeks, and vanishing through the sliding back doors.

Ezra was snoozing peacefully on him and he couldn’t leave the boys outside alone so he resorts to sitting down on one of the outdoor couches and curse internally.

He couldn’t believe he was being so cruel. He just felt so….betrayed that she hadn’t told him what had been going on and he felt like he was letting down Ezra.

It was a nasty feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach because he was away so much from his family and it was stressful for everyone.

He wanted to cry at the idea of his son crying for him every night.

Harry starts to get anxious when YN isolates herself in their bedroom with Briar for the next upcoming hours.

He knocks softly, opening the door to YN turned on her side away from him, under the covers, with Briar asleep in her bassinet asleep.

“Mama? Y’awake?” Harry murmurs cautiously with a sandwich and chips since she’d disappeared and hadn’t been down once, water in the other hand.

“Are the boys okay?” YN asks quietly, not bothering to turn over to face him.

“Yes, babies are fine. They’re watchin’ Toy Story right now, eatin’ lunch,” Harry replies, eyes falling in his beautiful little daughter.

“If the boys are fine then I don’t want you in here,” YN tells him with an angry tone but low enough that it won’t disturb Briar.

Harry nearly whimpers.

“Baby, please. We need to talk-“

“If the boys are fine, I want you to leave me alone.”

Harry hesitates by the door, feeling helpless as he slips the plate onto the dresser in case she is hungry but he doubts she’ll touch it.

“Alright, I’ll leave y’be. Call me if y’need anythin’ or help with Briar,” He offers, trying to buy time in the room.

She laughs sarcastically, “Yeah, I’ll make sure you’re notified because I can’t do a good enough job myself.”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to conjure up the perfect words to fix this situation but it’s interrupted.

“Daddy? Daddy? Where? Hold me!” Ezra screeches as Easton stands outside the door with him, holding his hand.

“Dad, he won’t stop,” The oldest complains with annoyance as Ezra scurries to his father and up into his arms.

“Daddy daddy,” He chants into his father’s skin with relief.

“Thank y’East, Ezzie’s been sad lately. Huh?” Harry replies, thumbing at Easton’s cheek.

The oldest shrugs, “Not always. Mama cheers him up all the time with kisses and hugs.”

Harry gazes back to the lump under the blankets and feels himself getting choked up. He really really regretted his words.

He didn’t regret being upset with her. He regrets the cheap shots he took at his wife who’s just trying to be a full time mom to his babies.

“Mama?” Ezra squeaks at the word, realizing he hasn’t seen her recently and then he’s back to tantruming, “Mama, mama, mama. Where’s mama?”

“M’right here, Ez,” YN murmurs, flipping to her other side so that her youngest could see her. His face lights up and he scurries to the bed, scampering up until his mom is tucking him under the blankets with her.

Harry’s heart aches when Ezra whimpers quietly and burrows into her warm chest with happiness that he found his mother.

“Y’got him?” Harry asks, hand raking through Easton’s curls as he leans into his father’s side.

“Can we go play now, dad?” Easton asks impatiently, tugging his father out of the room and down the staircase.

Anne shows up and the two older ones are so excited, bouncing up and down as they tug her into the backyard to show her the holes they dug with Briar popped on her hip - gnawing on her shirt collar.

YN brings Ezra down the stairs, curls tamed with a bit styling mousse and a little adias x disney outfit that was the cutest thing ever. ***

Harry reaches out to take Ezra off YN but he whines and shakes his head, clinging to his mother like it was life or death.

“No daddy! Mama!” Ezra pouts angrily, glaring at his father with protectiveness.

He puts his hands up, “Okay, okay. Y’can stay with y’mama.”

The car ride is silent, Harry doesn’t know what to say and YN isn’t giving him anything to work with. He feels like he’ll just say the wrong thing again.

When they pull up to the building and Harry puts it in park, he’s startled when his wife just starts bawling into her hands.

Harry freezes for a second with wide eyes before rumbling, “Mama, sweetheart. Please don’t cry, it breaks m’heart, darlin’.”

“I’m…I’m no-not a good mom,” YN cries, “I wanted to tell you but I was scared. I don’t want you to think I can’t handle raising our babies.”

Harry pries her hands away from her face, cupping her cheeks and firmly staring, full conviction in his voice, “If I didn’t think y’could handle four babies then I wouldn’t have put them in you. I wouldn’t talk about putting more in you.”

YN’s eyes are watering, letting Harry swipe the tears away with his thumbs as she inhales deeply, “I am so so sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to worry when you’re away.”

Harry leans forward, kissing her harshly before whispering against her lips, “I don’t give a fuck about baseball in comparison to you and the kids. I’d give it up this second if y’asked. I want to worry because you’re the love of m’life and I’m y’husband - I’m here to support you and support our family.”

He continues, “I am a bit frustrated with you. I want you to tell me everything I miss when I’m gone even if it stresses me out or upsets me. Okay? But I shouldn’t have said hurtful things. You’re the best mama on this planet and y’treat our babies the best.”

YN nods, willing herself to stop crying as their appointment starts in ten minutes as she takes steady breathes.

“I forgive you. I’m sorry I let my pride get in the way. I just…I feel like you do everything for us and the least I could do is manage the kids,” She sighs with self-deprecation.

“Mama, just because one of our bubs needs therapy doesn’t mean you’re not doing a perfect job. We’ve always know Ezzie was an anxious baby. This is going to be good for him and for us, right?” He encourages, nosing at her cheek before she offers up her lips once more for a short kiss.

“I love you,” YN tells him, running a thumb of a light dusting of stubble on his jawline.

“Love y’more than anything,” He replies instantly.

Ezra is nervous as they step into the calming, peaceful office where there are neatly organized buckets of toys and shelves of books.

Patricia was a middle-aged woman with a kind smile who welcomed them in, she observed how Ezra had himself wrapped around his dad with hesitant green eyes peeking at her.

As they sit down, Patricia says softly, “This must be Ezra?”

They all wait for a moment before the toddler turns around to look at the woman and says timidly, “m’Ezzie.”

“Hi Ezzie,” The therapist greets and he gives her a cautious smile before nuzzling back into his father’s neck.

The discuss what has been going on. How Ezra has always been very nervous, anxious, cautious in a way that none of his other siblings are.

How he struggles when one of his parents is away from him, how he can get upset if he can’t find one of his siblings, or how much he worries about things most kids his age don’t worry about.

Patricia does an excellent job in calming down the parents, assuring them that it was nothing out of the norm, and that therapy would be beneficial for him.

She states that they’ll work a lot of feelings - being able to describe and recognize them. That will be one of the most important things.

Also working on his ability to calm down and cope with stressful situations, recommending once a week which of course his parents agreed to.

By the end of the intake, Ezra had ventured to take one of the baby dolls from a bin and bring it back to his father.

“Look daddy, s’a baby,” He lisps proudly, holding it up to show him.

“Good job, bubs,” Harry laughs, leaning to kiss his forehead - watching him toddle off to find more dolls to play with.

That night, after all the kids go to bed, and YN is finishing her final feeding with Briar in her nursery before putting in her crib.

Harry runs a nice, steaming bath with lavender bubbles and a candle burning with the lights dimmed low.

When she finds him, he slowly undresses her with warm kisses and praises of how good of a wife and mother she is.

They lay in there together, YN between his legs with her head rested on his chest, as his hands massage at her tummy and hips lovingly.

And yeah, everything is okay after that.

They get up the next day and everything is back to normal except now Ezra goes to therapy once a week with his parents.

(Ezra ends up working with Patricia until he’s in about sixth grade.)

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theringers · 3 years

Text

counting crimes - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part three

summary: “wandering eyes and comfortable lies, you seem to sleep just fine” counting crimes / nessa barrett

a/n: i’m thinking there’s only gonna be two more parts but that may change, we’ll see. enjoy this and let me know what u think! feedback is always appreciated xoxo

also this gif today killed me

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, semi public sex shocker!, lil angst, cocky pierre

Your eyes widen as you try to comprehend what to do. Someone was at the door and Pierre was still inside of you, in shock. “Hey, y/n? Are you in there?” Max’s voice could be heard through the door. He tried to push the door in but the deadbolt stopped him.

You glared at Pierre, cleared your throat and placed a finger on his lips. “Yes, give me a few seconds.” You panicked and pulled your dress up, trying not to make too much noise.

Where the fuck was Pierre supposed to go? You should have just kept quiet. Your eyes focused on the window and you pointed towards it, quietly shoving him out.

He squeezed himself through the window and stepped down onto the grass. After quietly shutting the window, you looked in the mirror and readjusted your dress. Your hair needed some readjusting as well, so you quickly brushed through it.

You unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door to see your husband. “Hey,” he smiled at you, genuinely happy to see you.

“Hi, Max.” Your voice was shaking but you smiled to try to play it off. You usually had a good amount of time to psych yourself up before you went back to Max but you could still feel how Pierre had fucked you.

You were awful. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re kind of hot.” He placed the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Yeah, it was really hot in there but I feel better now.” Hopefully he would buy that story.

“Well, if you’re feeling better now, I have an idea.” His hands rested on your hips again and pulled you into his body. “We have a few minutes to kill. What do you say we have a little bit of fun in here? It is our anniversary after all.” His lips found your neck and placed soft, gentle kisses on the skin. “You look so beautiful tonight, baby.” You were feeling sexually frustrated after being interrupted but he was right. It was your anniversary, so what the hell.

You leaned your neck to the side, inviting him in. “I love this dress, but it needs to come off.” He looked you in the eyes and smiled, reaching around for the zipper. He bent his knees and slowly pulled your dress to your ankles. His hands rested around your calves and move upwards while his lips trailed kisses on the soft skin of your thighs.

His finger pushed aside your panties and he slid a finger between your folds. “Jesus baby, you’re so wet.” He smiled and looked up at you. You moaned and rolled your eyes into the back of your head to avoid making eye contact with him. His tongue found its way between your legs, licking lightly before fucking your pussy with his tongue. You let out a moan while your body jerked toward his face uncontrollably. You needed him to finish you off so badly.

His fingernails ran lightly over the skin on your abdomen down to your thighs. “Oh, Max” you moaned.

Your hand quickly covered your mouth, remembering that even though he wasn’t out there possibly listening there were other people who shouldn’t hear you right now either.

He pulled his suit pants down and took himself in his hand, smiling at you. “I love you,” he said before entering you. He pressed against your body and thrusted up into you while looking in your eyes.

“I love you too, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a moan.

Sometimes you forgot what it was like to have sex without the looming threat of someone finding out. Instead of worrying about someone catching you cheating, you were able to focus on the sensation and the intimacy but even now, something was missing.

Max left the bathroom before you, allowing you more time to clean up and look normal. You didn’t want to draw any more attention. “Hey guys, sorry I wasn’t feeling to well.” You said, grabbing your napkin off the table and taking your old seat. Max looked flushed for obvious reasons and couldn’t hide his smile.

You turned to your left and smiled at Pierre and Anna. “Did I miss anything?” Pierre’s gaze was glued to the stage ahead and he refused to look at you. His jaw was clenched and you could feel the steam coming out of his ears. You made eye contact with Anna and cocked your head in confusion. Why was he acting this way? Maybe Anna thinks it’s something she did wrong.

“Nothing important, for us at least,” she said, fixing single pieces of her hair.

Max’s hand gripped your inner thigh and he looked over to you and smiled. You returned the smile but immediately looked in Pierre’s direction to see him still refusing to look at you, his fist balled at his side.

Hotels in random cities at 2 am are lonely. The sound of Max’s snores kept you awake longer than expected. Your mind was wandering to places you wish it wouldn’t and you couldn’t get silence long enough to dream. The air conditioner in the room was set to the coolest temperature - hotel air always hitting different. Your mouth was dry, making you uncomfortable and adding to another thing making you unable to sleep.

You pulled the covers aside in frustration and grabbed a pair of shorts to put on under Max’s oversized Red Bull Racing shirt. You looked around for the room key and slid it off the table as soon as you spotted it.

As you stood in the elevator, you looked down and noticed your bare feet. It was 2 am so you were hoping there was no one important in the lobby. You just wanted a sip of cold water to help put you to sleep.

The night before races always made you nervous. You never knew what was going to happen so you had a constant pit in your stomach over your husband’s safety. That stress only increased when you began sleeping with another driver. Someone else’s safety to worry about.

You smiled at the older couple that greeted you when the elevator door opened. You crossed your arms and tip toed to the mini bar, grabbing the largest bottle of water they carried. After giving the gentleman your room number, you ran towards the closing elevator doors only to be met with familiar blue eyes. His hair was messy and his skin was glowing from sweat.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, stepping to one side. Even though he clearly just worked out you could still smell the strong scent of his cologne. “How have you been, y/n?”

“I’ve been okay. Your summer break looked fun,” you took a quick sip of your water and smiled at him.

“As did yours.” The silence was uncomfortable. You two were always laughing and talking nonstop. It was what you loved about him.

You focused on the pounding of your heart and your eyes wandered, trying to pass the uncomfortable time.

You suddenly lost your balance as the elevator shook, the lights flickered off, and the cables stopped. Turning your head towards Pierre, you began to get worried.

“Did this just break?” He asked, pressing the floor buttons and hoping the lights would come back on.

“Just our luck.” You laughed at yourselves. Why did the universe hate you? You plopped down onto the ground and twiddled your thumbs, realizing that you left your phone in the hotel room. “Do you have your phone?” You asked Pierre.

He lifted his wrist to show his apple watch. “I just went on a run. I never bring it with me on a run.” Of course he didn’t.

You groaned and banged your head on the wall behind you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” He laughed, pleased with himself. He slid down to join you on the floor, the summer heat starting to creep into the elevator.

After not speaking for the entire summer break, this unconventional meeting was quite uncomfortable. You watched on Instagram as him and his wife vacationed in Bali, looking happy as ever. Granted, he did the same with you but he would never admit it. He had too much pride.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” You asked him, bluntly.

He looked at you making you feel dumb. “Why do you think I didn’t? I spent four weeks straight with Anna. Would you want me calling you up while you were on holiday with Max?”

“I don’t know,” you stumbled over your words. “I just would have liked to talk to you.”

“I told you before, I can’t keep doing this.” He said, exhausted at the back and forth you two had done.

“Yet, you do. You tease me and torture me and then say you need to be devoted to her. It’s not fair to me.” You let out a deep breath, exhausted over feeling this way.

“You want to talk about fair? You had sex with Max right after me. Less than five minutes after I was inside of you, he was too.”

You looked at him confused.

“I thought you were just going to talk to him for a few moments and then send him off.” Oh no. “I was waiting for you to open the window and let me back in.” He ran his hands over his face.

“Pierre, I’m so-”

“Don’t, y/n.”

He heard you and Max. You felt remorse for doing it, putting Pierre through that. But at the same time, you didn’t. Pierre is sleeping with his friend’s wife. He has no place to be jealous or mad. He comes second.

“How much did you hear?”

“I left when I heard him talk about how wet you were. He thought it was because of him but he had no idea that it was all for me.” Pierre scooted closer to you and put his hand on your thigh. “He has no idea how wet you get for me.” He moved in closer to your ear. “How good I make you feel.”

Your head spun at his words. When he made you cum, you forgot about everything in the entire world except for him.

“I’m really sorry, Pierre. That was shitty of me.” You rested your hand on his chest. “Let me make it up to you.” Your hand moved to his thigh and grazed over his thin mesh gym shorts.

You pulled his shorts off and took him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head. He pulled your loose hair into his hand as a makeshift ponytail. He let soft groans escape his lips, being mindful of the setting. He would look down to see you taking him fully and have to look away or else he would finish quicker than he would like. Each time his eyes trailed down, his hips thrusted uncontrollably and a grunt would leave his lips.

“That’s it baby,” he said, in a low tone but almost whining. “God, your mouth feels so good. It was made to take my cock.” He continued to fill your mouth and throat, making you gag and tighten around him.

He pulled your head up by your hair and looked at you. “Come sit on my face.” He looked at your outfit, examining how he could take it off in the easiest way possible. He slipped off your comfortable sweat shorts, leaving you in just your Red Bull tee.

He laid down on the ground and hoisted your legs up and around his chest, getting the perfect view of your ass.

You stroked his cock and started to grind your hips against his chest. He took you in his hands immediately, not up for teasing, and pulled you onto his face. You rocked your hips over his face at a slow, light pace while still focusing on taking him in your mouth.

His tongue flicked your clit while his thumbs massaged your ass, pressing down hard and most definitely leaving bruises.

You moaned at the feeling of your legs beginning to tingle. He loved to 69 with you because every time you got an ounce of pleasure, your moans vibrated around his cock. You would tighten your throat and gag, sending him down a spiral. You both knew how to make each other feel incredible.

His facial hair tickled your inner thighs and left light scratches on the skin. As you ground your hips into his mouth, the sensation got rougher but the pleasure just increased.

He used his ab muscles to thrust into your throat, looking for his release. You tightened your grip around the base of his cock and suctioned even harder with your mouth as he let go.

Your legs went fully numb as the tension began to build in your stomach. You reached your peak, hearing Pierre’s tongue lap at your juices.

You rolled off of his body, looking for your shorts. The guilt was already beginning to set in and you couldn’t escape it now. You were stuck.

Pierre wiped his mouth with his hand and you noticed his whole face was wet. He was still smiling.

“I just hope Anna and Max aren’t standing there waiting for us when these doors decide to open.”

“Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?” You laughed, brushing your fingers through your now knotty hair.

Pierre pulled his shorts back on and looked at you. “Now be honest with me, who eats your pussy better? Me or him?”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I can and I did.”

“Well, I’m not going to give you an answer.”

He laughed at you, not the reaction you were expecting. “Don’t worry, I already have the answer. I heard the sounds you make when he’s between your legs. It’s nothing compared to the sounds you just made for me.” He winked at you, knowing exactly where you stand with him.

next part

#f1 imagine #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly fanfiction #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 blurb #smut prompts #f1 fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly blurb #pierre gasly smut ask #pierre gasly imagine #pg #mv

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batfamtv · 3 years

Note

Hi so can I request for a Basilio and/or Crispin x reader please? Like maybe how they met or something, platonic or romantic, either is fine. Thanks!

gif credits (@overlordofawesomeness) see their post here

how they met you headcanons: crispin, basilio (trese)

a/n: no specific ethnicity for the reader, but it is mostly assumed that the reader is of pinoy descent; I hope you all enjoy this, pls don't hesitate to add more! <3

crispin

okay so i imagine that mr. more-serious-than-his-younger-brother crispin has not really grown up to be a hopeless romantic

didn’t date, didn’t think that love is real (“it’s cheesy”/“baduy naman”), so finding his one true love hit him like a ton of bricks

sees you for the first time while working on a case with bossing, you live next to the house of the victims

really found you cute, but he didn’t get the chance to approach you because you had slammed the gates closed in front of him

he sees you again completely by accident during another case, and crispin was so surprised and thankful

he keeps trying to make eye contact with you, while you are trying not to make eye contact with the tall, muscular man who is wearing a dark suit

he finally asks you out, and you at first freak out, somehow convinced that this man is a part of a gang or is some scary rich dude who is the future ceo of his dad’s company or something

to your surprise, he picks you up (still dressed in a suit) but brings you to a small family restaurant--almost a carenderia

it is so amusing to find him so overdressed during the date, but it is a nice dinner and you two have fun talking and getting to know each other

he is so cute when asking if you wanted to hang out again, and when you say yes, he smiles so brightly

you get streetfood the next time you hang out!

at this point, crispin kinda already knows about your life story, but you still dont know his

he seems to be a little closed off about the topic, but you dont push him

crispin is gone from time to time, only texting you sporadically, but you dont question it even though you are curious, because you trust him and you may be just a tiny lil bit infatuated

when he does tell you everything about him, he prefaces it so seriously and grimly that you think he will say he doesn't want to see you anymore

instead, he sullenly tells you about his life, ending with an apology for not telling you sooner

"i was just so scared you would run away"

you tell him that you wont run away and surprise him when you throw your arms around him and kiss him

he is honestly so whipped for you oh my god

if crispin is free, he will always drop you off and pick you up from school/work

he brings you to meet his family, basilio, alexandra, hank

they accept you as part of the family, and you immerse yourself in their library, reading up information about their lives

whenever they finish a case, you would be there, having cooked nice, warm meals for them

crispin would come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder

he would whisper, "thank you for taking care of us" and presses kisses on your cheek down to your neck

you dont go out with them on a case, even if you want to (you and crispin fight over this, but he simply insists that he cannot lose you or even see you hurt)

he keeps his words of affirmation and affections as private as possible

basilio and hank tease him a lot if he tries to show any affection towards you with them present, and it bothers him at first

but you just laugh it off, ignoring the "uyyy" and other teasing remarks

basilio laughs when he sees his twin relaxing against you on the couch, crispin's head laid on your lap, "who's cheesy now?"

to this, crispin laughs before looking up at you and kissing your hand

he whispers "i love you against your skin"

i would say that compared to basilio and his s/o's relationship, your relationship with crispin is a lot more serious, more mature

kinda have the husband-and-wife vibe even though you aren't married yet (but you both know that this will happen eventually)

crispin knows that you are the one, and is hell bent on keeping you happy and safe

secretly looks up "perfect proposal ideas" when he realizes one night just how much he loves you

always has you in his arms when you're asleep, the sound of your heartbeat, and the feeling of your breath against his skin reminding him just what he is fighting and living for

he is fighting and living for you, and the future you two are going to share

basilio

the younger and more mischievous of the two, it didn't surprise everyone that basilio is the last person to realize his love for you

he met you shortly after being adopted by carlos trese, you were a family friend and possibly another babaylan from another city/province

came to the treses for a visit and was surprised to see new members of the family

you bonded with the twins almost instantaneously, becoming best friends with them

although everyone could see that you were closer to basilio than you were to crispin, mostly because of basilio's more laid back personality

absolutely thick as thieves with him, to a point where crispin would sulk and complain that you were stealing his lil brother from him

you would all play games until you were downright exhausted, from playing house, hide-and-seek, patintero (you try not to play catch with them bc you know they're gonna use their powers anyway) and the sad days were when you had to leave

you once had a tantrum as you clung to basilio, begging him to hide you from your parents so that they wouldn't bring you home

crispin and Alexandra had to pry you away from him, and he didn't talk to them for like 2 days after you left

as you two grew older, the games lessened and you focused more on training and battle strategies

but the closeness never left

you also kinda know that basilio cares for you, and to be honest, you wouldn't say no if he ever asks you out, but he never did and that's ok

outside of his family, you are his best friend and he loves you just as much as he loves his brother and sister

but it was obvious to alexandra and crispin that when you got older, something changed in the way basilio looked at you

he kinda looks at you just a little bit longer than usual, simple touches linger here and there, the slight overprotectiveness, the little acts of love

he brings you food ("we stopped by the carenderia and they had your favorite ulam")

brings you flowers ("where did you find these arabian jasmines/sampaguita?" basilio shrugs, "bought them on the way home." "he plucked them from aling josie's garden," Alexandra tells you as she walks past the two of you)

crispin tries to tell basilio that he should definitely ask you out, because it's so clearly obvious that you both like each other, but basilio tries to deny it

"torete ka bro, please just go ahead and tell her how you feel"

and basilio kinda sits on the idea, like literally has an existential crisis trying to figure out if he loves you romantically or just platonically

so he tries to imagine his future

he doesn't think much of it, thinking that this world is going to consume him long before he would have the chance to build a life anyway, but amidst the thought of death, he sees something

just a flash of light and sounds of laughter

it's you, carrying a young girl as you smile at him, standing just in front of the gate

and basilio thinks, that's such a nice vision, coming home to you

whenever he thinks of possibly settling down and having a family, it has always been with you

it has always been with you since you were kids, and now it's still you

so when he tells you he loves you during the most inappropriate time (fighting off aswang kidnappers), you grin at him and yell "I love you too!" back

and he removes his mask for a second before clarifying, "no y/n, I am in love with you!"

you grin at him again before exclaiming, "I know! i loved you since we were like 10"

after the fight, he doesn't hesitate to bring you into his arms and kiss you

you kissed his cheek when you were kissed, absolutely out of curiosity, and you were both like "ewww that's gross" but now it's not

it was perfect, like it was meant to be

unlike crispin and his s/o, you two are pretty chill about your relationship, kinda lowkey with it too

you don't talk about marriage (yet), and ppl who see you just think you two are either together, or just very best friends

you two are comfortable with each other and know each other from the inside out

the times where his cheerful personality changes is when it involves your safety, then he becomes so much like his brother, stoic and almost scary

will not ever compromise your safety over anything

basilio grew up with you, and now he plans to grow old with you

#trese #trese imagine #crispin x reader #basilio x reader #bftvtrese #the kambal #trese the kambal #the kambal imagine

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divinefireangel · 3 years

Text

The Way You Love

SF9 Youngbin x F! Reader Imagine.

He's so precious I WANNA PROTEC

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Author's Note: Got the idea at literally 3am. And I cried a lil while writing this. I do recommend reading this when you have a bad day. Because I have to say it is cute.

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: All ages and written with she/her pronouns but everyone can read it. (nothing specified with respect to anatomy, appearance, etc of reader). Nothing really. Just pure fluff. Slowburn and crappy ending because I went blank 😂💀

Summary/Pre-Requisite: Youngbin and Y/N are in a well established relationship. But it isn't enough.

1.6k words

Youngbin smiled at the small box in his hand. He can't believe he is actually going to do this. How can something as little as this be the source of so much joy, he didn't know. Maybe it was her. Or the fact that it was for her, from him. An eternal promise to love her till his last day, last hour, last minute and final breath. Well there is still much time to worry about that now though.

Loving Y/N is definitely the best decision he took without having to take it. Loving her, was as easy as breathing the fresh morning air. Listening to her talk was his favourite sound in the entire universe. Watching her dance goofily is his ideal view, other than when she's paying attention to something. Her face looks so cute when she's concentrating, he almost feels like he can cry over her adorableness.

Watching her from across the room, her movements, the way she smiles and makes everyone around her laugh with her silly jokes only adds to one of the many reasons why he loves her. She is the brightest light in his life, illuminating his existence with unfiltered joy and eternal love and affection.

He loves it when she snuggles up to him, wrapping her small arms around his torso and asks him what he's doing with her honey sweet voice, never fails to make his heart melt and burst with adoration. He loves it when she sleepily moves closer to him, like a pair of magnets, because she feels cold and knows that she can always rely on him to keep her warm.

He loves it when she bonds with his members and treat them and scold them like they are her children. Although he loves it more when she becomes a source of reassurance not only to him but also to his little brothers. He loves it when she helps them with anything, no matter how small the help may be. Since he is treated like the Dad of the group, Y/N automatically became the Mom and he couldn't wish for someone more perfect then her for that role.

He loves her understanding nature, her positive spirit, her overly motivating presence, her genuine compliments and concern. He loves the way she looks at him, like he's the only man in a room full of people. Her eyes reflecting the same twinkles of his eyes, with just as much love when he looks at her.

He loves when she slightly shuts her eyes when he moves her hair out of her face. He loves it when her small frame hugs him so tight he can barely stand still. He loves it when she plays with his hair when he takes a nap on her chest. He loves how her hand fits into his perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

If there was one thing he could do again, it would be to go back in time and fall in love with her all over again for the first time. Everyday, she gives him something new to love about her. Whether it be her shy smile, her blushy flustered face or the way she gets excited when she sees something cute, the way she coos his puppy to sleep, the way she always makes him feel better on a bad day and so many more things that may seem insignificant to her, but are never to him, makes him fall for her harder and deeper in love than he ever thought possible.

"Hyung! HYUNG!!! "

Snapping back to reality, Youngbin sees a wide eyes Chani looking at him with a questioning expression.

"What? "

"Were you daydreaming about Noona again? Why are you so distracted today? "

"It's nothing Chani-ya. She just makes me happy. That's all. Did you tell the camera crew that I need them this evening? "

"Yes I did Hyung. That's what I was telling you as you were zoned out. I don't even want to imagine what it's going to be like when you get married. We probably won't get anything done at all since you will be distracted all the time. " Chani said in a factual manner.

"Okay that's a bit excessive. And you haven't found someone whom you love as much right now. You will understand better when you do. Till then I can't really explain this." The older said smiling lighty as she took over his thoughts again. Rolling his eyes, Chani patted his leader and left wordlessly.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"This is nice. The air isn't as humid as I thought it would be. " Y/N said as she walked next to her lover, fingers intertwined, arms swaying back and forth as they moved forward. Stopping still he twirled her around till she faced the railing covering the boundary of the lake. Giggling she wrapped his arms around her so he could hug her, keep her warm, even though she wasn't as cold yet.

Resting his chin on her head, he sighed heavily, feeling content with his beloved in his embrace. Oh how he could stay like this forever and never leave. Hmm. She's right. The air is just perfect. Like her. And it is definitely the perfect weather, to take the next step most relationships do.

Looking up at the sky, the stars shine bright, twinkling and shimmering beautifully. Taking this as a positive sign from the universe, Youngbin hugged Y/N tighter, knowing that it's now or,well later but now is nice. Turning her head to her lover, Y/N stands on her tippy toes to kiss him.

Breathing out the two lovebirds stared up at the star filled night sky. The soft wind getting stronger with time, but not too strong to have any effect yet. Just a light breeze that can be felt. Like the love that's surrounding them, keeping them warm from the exterior and from within.

"Oh! Did you see that! That star is shining the brightest." Youngbin said pointing at a distant star.

" Which one? " Y/N stepped forward by one step, trying to see the star he pointed out.

" That one? " She asked again, this time she was the one pointing.

" No. The one standing in front of me right now. "

Drawing her hand back to her body, her heart thumping strongly in her chest. Now, what had happened when they hugged is that Y/N had felt a small poke on the side of her thigh, where Youngbin's jacket was over on her. So being the smart young lady she is, Y/N knew. She knew what was happening. And it wasn't just feeling the poke, she's been feeling like this for some days now. And she knows that he has too.

Slowly turning around, Y/N was faced with her lover, who was down on one knee, holding a small box with the cutest ring she had ever seen. To say that Y/N.exe had stopped working was an understatement. She stood there, as though she was frozen. Looking up at her, Youngbin breathed heavily and started.

" When I met you for the first time, I never thought that you will love someone like me. So I was happy to settle being just your friend. But we both started liking each other at the same time. I asked you out and you agreed to date me. I never thought that you would actually date me for a long time because I've, well I was thinking that you deserve better. But you told me and made me belive different. And I am really really grateful that you did. And as time progressed, we both grew to love each other so much. You know all of this already, but saying this out loud, makes me sure that I want more. You, have helped me grow into a better person, over the time that we have dated. You, motivate me and drive me to do better, because even if no one did, you knew my limit and my capabilities. You, make me the happiest I've ever been. So will you please make me a little bit more happier by becoming my fiancee and the happiest, in the near future, when you become my wife? Will you marry me? "

Y/N stares at him, while breathing through her mouth. The only sound that's heard is the soft wind.

" Yes. "

Y/N gets down on her knees, in front of her lover, sweet tears of shock and joy streaming down her face.

" Yes. I will marry you Kim Youngbin. "

" Hyung!!! Congratulations!!!!!! "

Breaking his face into a grin, Youngbin removes the lovely and intricately detailed ring and puts it on Y/N's finger delicately. Kissing her left knuckle, Youngbin realises he is crying as well. Sobbing out loud Y/N throws her arms around him, making him tumble backwards a little. Laughing a little, Youngbin slowly wraps his arms around her, caressing the back of her head as he looked up at the sky, trying to stop the tears from falling down his cheek.

Hugging each other tight for what seemed like forever, they move away from each other's embrace upon hearing clapping sounds and cheers from the young men and their team who have now approached them.

Standing up Y/N couldn't help but hide her face in her lover's chest. Kissing her forehead, Youngbin thanked everyone.

" Let's all celebrate! Dinner is on us. " Youngbin stated looking you. Smiling you nodded you head in agreement as everyone around you cheered and wiped their tears away.

It all felt like a dream. But it wasn't. It was reality. A reality that she was so thankful to have. Smiling till their cheeks hurt, Youngbin and Y/N not couldn't wait till they were married and called as Husband and Wife.

#sf9 #kim youngbin #youngbin #youngbin fluff #kim youngbin x reader #kim youngbin fluff #youngbin x reader #sf9 fluff #sf9 imagines #sf9 scenarios #sf9 youngbin #sf9 x reader fluff #sf9 x reader

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision.

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better.

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting.

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time.

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze.

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would.

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer.

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp.

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before.

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth.

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away.

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic.

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later.

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast.

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you.

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting.

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter.

“That’s for certain,” she says.

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty.

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again.

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too.

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps.

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

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selfilluminatingkyu · 3 years

Text

Dancing with the Devil(s): Chapter IV

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F!Reader x Adult Trio; this takes place during the same timeline as Season 3 of HxH but the events with Kuropika and the crew are just shifted a little. Things will align back up within the next couple of chapters.

Warnings: Subtle Mentions of Torture and Abuse.

Word Count: 3.1K (She a lil short)

As the name rattles off of Hisoka’s lips, you furrow your eyebrows. Is he someone you know? Is he someone you should know? A thousand thoughts run through you head in the span of a second and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there is a reason behind why Hisoka would ask you whether or not you knew someone.

You also weren’t completely insufferable in your lack of underworld knowledge. You knew who the Zoldycks were. Had heard many of the wealthy families mention the name before. Wealthy families got to where they were not because they didn’t deal in shady things…they just happened to have enough money to pay someone else to do it for them…and keep it from ever tracing back to them.

You remember being at a gala not to terribly long ago. The patriarch on the family hosting the event had left midway through to speak to an older man with grey/white hair. You’d gone to the bathroom when he’d walked out of the office with the other man—who’d looked extremely pale and weathered as compared to when they’d left. You’d smiled and apologized, telling them you’d gotten turned around on your way back to the party, and the man with the grey/white hair, Zeno Zoldyck you’d come to learn, had simply smiled at you before nodding to the host. The other man had disappeared out of view and the two of you were left alone.

“My, my you have grown into a beautiful young woman since the last time I saw you y/n.” He’d said and you could only blink, registering quickly the sheer power rolling off this man. There was no malice behind it, nor intimidation effect, it was simply him.

“I’m sorry sir, and forgive me for being rude, but do we know each other? I don’t recall ever having met you before.” You said, smiling softly but anxiously, wracking your brain for anything to give you a clue as to not incur your mother’s wrath for forgetting a powerful man’s name and presence.

He chuckled, walking closer to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “No need to worry dear, we’ve never met before per se, but I do know who you are. I’m well aware of your parents’…pursuits. Your name has come up in conversation before and the last time I saw you or a photo of you, you were quite small. Maybe no older than 10 or 11. I was merely making an observation.”

You smiled again and nodded you head, understanding and yet feeling embarrassed and ashamed that you probably looked no better than a filly up for auction, because truthfully…you weren’t.

“Oh! Well it’s nice to meet you—”

“Zeno, Zeno Zoldyck. And it’s nice to finally meet you as well y/n y/l/n. And I’m sure this won’t be the last time we see each other.”

Thinking back on that situation now, back on the first time you ever met Zeno, you wondered how exactly it was your name had ever befallen the ears of the Zoldyck patriarch. Regardless, to be asked about a Zoldyck was odd, even coming from Hisoka.

“I know of the Zoldycks, I’ve met Zeno a couple of times. But I’m not well versed in the members of the family. Is there any particular reason why you ask Hisoka?” You ask, thinking it over more as you answered, wondering where the missing link was in your knowledge. But when you looked up, in that moment, when the words had only just left you mouth, the look in Hisoka’s eyes made you think that not knowing may have been a small grace than a hinderance. And in that moment, you were somewhat grateful the water was already growing cold, because the shock of chill that ran through the air wasn’t nearly as potent.

The small seep of bloodlust in the air made you take in a breath and try to sink into the furthest side of the tub away from him. The hairs on your body stood up and gooseflesh peppered across your skin. You bit back the whimper that wanted to escape and instead looked at the imposing man before you with wide eyes. The shift in demeanor, you realized, was not direct at you but something else entirely.

“Did you ever see the man you were initially going to be engaged to?” Hisoka asked and this made you pause because you had told Chrollo of your past but not the rest of the Troupe and you were certain that it was not information passed along to them as they’d been dismissed when the discussion had happened.

Was this slip up intentional, to make you put the pieces together or had Hisoka’s apparently bloodlust caused his tongue to run away from him? If you were a wagering girl, and you really weren’t, you would’ve bet on the former instead of the latter. Hisoka was calculating and manipulative. You knew his interest in you had made you into a new toy to play with and this seemed like a twist in his play with you. Keeping this in mind, you responded accordingly.

“Yes, once, late one night when I snuck into my father’s office. I wanted to see what he looked like. This elusive person who was supposedly going to be my husband. He was attractive, but I never was told his name because, for whatever reason, my parents ended up forgoing the engagement. I was never told why exactly, and it never dawned on me to ask honestly.” You chose your words carefully, watching him the entire time to gage the way he reacted.

That wasn’t entirely a lie, it wasn’t also entirely the truth. You knew why you parents had never gone through with the engagement; the family, while incredibly powerful and wealthy, was part of the seedy underground and that didn’t bode well with their agenda. A family like the Zoldycks fit perfectly within that description you realized. Although, it was an inclining you’d had after the second time you’d met the Zoldyck patriarch and his son, Silva, the current head of the family and business. They’d been nice, familiar even, and they’d been assessing you. At the time, you hadn’t exactly been sure as to why, but you’d wondered if they’d been the family who’d been very adamant about marrying you to their eldest son.

However, they thought had derailed when Zeno had made an offhanded comment about wondering if you’d be into younger men and you’d been utterly confused. Were they not them? Were you mistaken and they too were now interested after meeting you? You’d never truly gotten your answer though because the next time you saw them, it had been a strained meeting as you’d been their target. Why Zeno had come and told your parents that information instead of just doing his job, and risking his reputation in the process, had puzzled you even more.

“HISOKA! Enough!” The roar from Phinks had startled you as had the slamming of your bedroom door. Curling in on yourself, you’d just managed to cover yourself before Phinks and Shalnark had busted through. “Keep your bloodlust in check, it’s giving me a headache. And what are you even doing in here you pervy bastard? Leave the poor girl alone. You’re needed downstairs anyway, something’s come up.”

Both blonde men gave you a quick once over, probably making sure that you weren’t harmed by the magician but nodding their heads towards the door. Shalnark gave you a smile and a wave before trailing behind Phinks. “Come on Hisoka, don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

Hisoka turned, beginning to move towards the door again before stopping. “Don’t think too hard on it little dove. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

And with that he’d walked out, slamming the bedroom door behind him, leaving you utterly confused and feeling chilled to the bone.

Was this Illumi Zoldyck guy your previous potential fiancé?

Was there another member of the Zoldyck’s who had almost taken that roll instead?

Or was Hisoka just trying to find out some sort of other information that you just weren’t able to see yet?

You didn’t know the answer to those questions right now…but you were certain you were going to get them, whether you wanted to know or not.

That night, you’d gone to bed shortly after you’d forced yourself to climb out of the bathtub. The water had grown cold, and your skin was pruning uncomfortably. The peace in which you had hope to find, even a sliver of, had never come to you, so you hoped maybe sleep would just be a void.

And while you hadn’t been completely wrong, you also hadn’t been completely right.

At first, you’d fallen asleep easily, not even the noises of what was taking place downstairs had deterred you from finding solace in the black abyss. However, that had apparently been short lived as a few hours later, you’d slipped into a nightmare.

You were surrounded by people you didn’t know, and they were talking about you, looking down on you. It was then you realized that you were strapped to a table and that you had wires running from your body to machines. They didn’t appear to be normal medical equipment though, but you couldn’t say for certain that they were made out of nen either. Regardless, seeing the wiring connecting to your body and then to unknown machines left your blood running cold and your mind running a mile a minute as to how to get yourself out of this situation.

“She’s extraordinary. Just extraordinary! With powers like hers…you could rule the world…could rule worlds. There is an unlimited number of things you could do and accomplish with this kind of power. Who knows where it stops!” The excited voice from beside you startled you.

The small man in a lab coat and mask was standing closest too you, scribbling things on a clipboard as he looked at you in awe. You tried to ask what was going on, how you had gotten here, what he was talking about, but nothing came out. Not even a whimper and whisper of breath. You frantically looked around, trying to find a face, a friend, anyone you recognized and kept coming up empty. The faces were blurred, and your eyes began to strain. The sound of voices chattering and a machine clicking barely registered to you…

…but the pain certainly did.

Excruciating was putting it mildly and you quickly understood why you were bound, outside of not allowing you to flee your captors. The pain seared through even molecule in your body and those that it hadn’t even created yet. Your back arched off the table and your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Your throat felt raw, like you’d done it before…possibly even several times before. The only thing that actually seemed to escape you were the tears from the corner of your eyes as the pain stopped and deftly you registered that the machines had stopped but the voices had picked up.

What they were saying, you couldn’t tell. But as the noise kicked up tenfold, the pain did as well, and this time when you screamed…a noise came with it.

“Y/n wake up! It’s just a dream! You’re fine. Wake up!” You bolted up right, screaming yourself hoarse as the pain creeped its way from fantasy into reality. It jarred you to the bone and without thinking you struck out at the closest thing, sending it hurling away from you in an effort to end whatever was causing you pain.

What you hadn’t realized was that that “thing” in which you had sent flying had been Chrollo. Didn’t realize it was him till he was nearly striking the wall on the other side of the room, caught off guard by your sudden attack and the power behind it. It was also then that you realized there was an aura radiating around you and there was immense power coming from it.

You looked to Chrollo wondering if he had always been this strong and had somehow been masking it. But looking at him, seeing the wild, almost gleeful look in his eyes, made you realize that the power was not coming from him…but yourself.

“I need you to breathe for me y/n and focus on controlling the aura that’s around you. If you don’t get a control over it, it’ll continue to seep out of you, and you’ll pass out from the loss.” He spoke softly, walking up to you slowly like you would a terrified animal, afraid that in its fear, will lash out at you and go for your jugular.

However, his tactics were a bit sabotaged when Franklin and Feitan came flying into the room, nen activated and ready to take on anyone who posed a threat. The hostile energy pouring out of them had your fear peaking again, the faces from your dream flashing before your eyes and the power in which you’d thrown at Chrollo was surging again, zeroing in on the new threats and detonating without so much as a blink from you.

Both of their boys went flying as well, Chrollo, seemingly reading your nanosecond of a shift in body language, braced in anticipation, activating his own aura, and deflecting easily. As he seemed to watch two of his strongest members go soaring across the room as if it was no big deal, the look in his eyes seemed to increase tenfold and suddenly he was behind you, wrapping himself around you and smothering you face into his chest.

“Shhh, you’re okay. They aren’t going to hurt you. No one here is going to hurt you little one. I promise.” He stroked your hair and while you realize the sentiment that he was going for, the affection left you feeling even more displaced.

You could feel your body seemingly gearing up for another act and, despite still being unsure as to where these people lie on the spectrum between friend and foe, you did not want to hurt them anymore than you already had. With that in mind, you tried to even your breathing out; tried to think of a dam stopping the free flow of water, and all thing similar to keep yourself from exploding with aura again. And that, coupled with Chrollo’s continued words of assurance, seemed to do the trick, and stop up the free flow of energy.

As the bubble around you seemed to smooth and flow but not run, you realized you’d started to sob at some point, the tears streaming down your face and a near continual stream of whimpers and apologies pouring from your mouth. Apologies to Chrollo for the initial attack, apologies to Franklin and Feitan who’d only come to make sure everything was okay. You didn’t know what was going on or how things had escalated so quickly but you were sorry and you hadn’t meant to hurt them.

You weren’t entirely certain the message hadn’t gotten out clearly, if the pissed off look on Feitan’s face was anything to go by, but you weren’t entirely certain that hadn’t been there prior as the man seemed to wear a scowl frequently.

“What…happened…?” Feitain asked and you could feel Chrollo shift, looking at them while maintaining the comforting stroking on your hair.

“I’m not sure. I came up here to check on her when I felt a spike in aura and heard her crying out. I couldn’t sense another presence outside of her own, but we’ve met nen users capable of cloaking themselves before. However, when I came in, she was thrashing about, when I woke up her…the same thing that happened to you happened to me.”

“Clearly not as hard though. You seem fine. I feel like I’m going to be sore for days after that power she just threw at us.” Franklin muttered rubbing at his arm and stomach.

“Such…a…. baby…” Feitan muttered, earning a side-eyed glare from Franklin.

“I wouldn’t say it was any less powerful, it was more like she registered who was in the room with her right as she threw the power out. I’m almost certain she did the same with you, and my presence so close by also muted her attack, afraid she’d hurt me in an effort to harm you two.”

Franklin and Feitan looked from Chrollo to you and then back to Chrollo before looking at each other in disbelief. “You’re saying that wasn’t her full power?” Franklin asked, the shock and awe clearly evident in his voice.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I can’t even begin to feel the depths of her power, let alone where it ends.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, all three men seemingly having a silent conversation that you were not perve to, nor did you think you ever would be. You had known from the start, regardless of what degree of comradery you obtained with these people you would always be an outsider, never allowed to fully know the scope of everything. You’d never be told all of the details, never know the full extent of all of their abilities, never know the ins and outs of it all. And you did not mind that, not at the moment at least, because for what you did not know, you had come to understand that these were dangerous people, people that were probably on several hit lists and wanted by many…and you did not know if you ever wanted to truly be associated with them.

While sitting in the tub, you’d come to the conclusion that you would use them to obtain the skills necessary to save your younger siblings…and that would be the extent of it. You were not a killer, did not fancy yourself someone who killed for sport or out of the desire to prove you were stronger or better than others. No, you did not believe your wants in life to align at all with those of the people in this group nor did you think they ever would. So you’d do what was necessary to be able to get your siblings back, to be able to protect them and keep them safe till they were capable of doing as such on their own. But once you’d achieved that goal…you were as good as gone.

#Dancing with the Devil(s)#fic #Hunter X Hunter #Hisoka #Hisoka fic #Chrollo #Chrollo fic #illumi zoldyck #illumi fic #reader insert fic #adult trio

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omgrachwrites · 4 years

Text

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: lil bit of angst, fluff, fluff and more fluff!

Words: 2554

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: I was going to make this chapter filled with so much more angst but I think that you guys deserved a break! Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think, and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Twelve - A Knight’s Tale

The waiting was torture, though that first night had been the worst, you had fed your twins, Elena and Johnathan before putting them to bed. And, then you had crawled into your huge cold, empty bed with your heart hurting as your tears soaked your silken pillows. You couldn’t lose him, you couldn’t lose Sirius. He was the love of your life and you had never dared to hope that you would meet someone like him or be so deeply in love.

Sirius was a hero – James was going to knight him if he ever woke up – and it would be cruel indeed if God decided to take him away from you. It seemed like God showed you mercy, because the following day, Sophia woke you to tell you that Sirius was still hanging on, he was still alive. He wasn’t doing any better but thankfully his condition hadn’t got any worse. For two weeks, you spent most of the morning with him, Lily would have granted you more time but you knew that Sirius wouldn’t want you to give up your duties for him. Working kept your mind off things.

Every time you went to see him, you brought the twins with you and you tried to make the small dark room brighter with the fresh flowers that you placed on the windowsill every couple of days. Through your tears you smiled down at the handsome man that was the subject of all your deepest dreams and fantasies. Even when he was so close to death he was still so devastatingly beautiful, like a fallen angel or a hero from those silly romance novels that you liked to read.

Gently, you pushed his raven black hair from his forehead, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead. His skin was as cold as ice but you knew that the doctor did his best to keep Sirius warm.

“I have to go, my love, I can’t shirk my duties,” you let out a little watery laugh as you swallowed down the lump in your throat, “I love you so much and I’m living for the day when you’ll wake, I would do anything Sirius, please just come back to us,” you pressed your warm lips to his cold ones, they were almost blue, “I’ll be back tomorrow, darling, though it’ll be a bit later on, I’m going to help Sophia pack for France,” you stroked your fingers against his cheek as you stood up.

The doctor smiled at you but you could see the blatant sympathy in his eyes as you nestled Elena and Johnathan in your arms, “thank you so much for looking after him, I appreciate it with all my heart,” you paused as a tear slid down your cheek, “if he wakes do you think all will be well?”

“You don’t have to thank me, Duchess,” the kindly older man bowed his head as he pushed his spectacles up his nose, “I cannot be sure, there may be some temporary memory loss but he’s defied all the odds so far. Your husband is a fighter, My Lady.”

You laughed a little as you nodded in agreement, “he is indeed a fighter, he’s the strongest man that I know,” it was for that reason that you were hopeful that he’d wake up. You gave him one last loving, wistful look before looking back at the doctor, “good day to you, doctor.”

“Good day, Lady Y/N,” he bowed his head as you departed from the room and sucked in a deep breath.

Remus was outside, leaning against the wall, he stood up straight when he saw you, a smile lighting up his handsome scarred face as he glanced from you to the twins, “are you waiting to go in and see Sirius?”

Remus nodded as he ran a hand through his hair, his hazel eyes growing worried, “how is he?”

You shrugged as sadness shrouded your heart, “he’s no better but he’s no worse either,” you tried to muster a brave smile.

Remus bit his lip as he looked down at his feet, “is it true that Sophia is going to French court?” even though he was getting married this coming summer, you knew that he still loved Sophia.

You sighed sadly, they would have made a fantastic couple and you knew that they both lamented what they had lost, “maybe you should talk to her instead of me, Remus,” you softened the blow by pressing a kiss against his cheek. You offered him a soft smile before walking down the hallway.

The following day dawned with warm and sunny weather with a slight breeze. The weather was so fine that you had thrown open the doors that led to the balcony while you helped Sophia pack for France. It was a pleasant task as the chirping of birds and the sweet sound of laughing, playing children that travelled up from the grounds. You glanced at Sophia with a smile on your lips, stopping short when you saw that a shadow had fallen over her face as she unblinkingly stared at the contents of her luggage.

“Are you alright, Sophia?” you asked, placing your hand on her shoulder.

Sophia looked up at you as her face transformed with a pretty smile that reached her eyes, “I’m fine, this is exactly what I want, and I suppose that I’m just nervous.”

You smiled as you pulled your dear friend into a tight hug, “I’m going to miss you,” you would sorely miss her and you knew that she would take a piece of your heart with her. But, you also knew that she would be radiant at French court. Over Sophia’s shoulder, you saw Remus run into the room, panting and you pulled away from Sophia as you took in his delighted face.

“It’s Sirius,” he smiled and your heart felt very hopeful and heavy, “he’s awake and he’s asking for you.”

You gasped as you held a hand to your heart as the relief and happiness almost swept you off your feet. You felt giddy and lightheaded, you felt drunk. Tears sprang to your eyes, “I must get the twins,”

Sophia laughed and cupped your cheeks, “I’ll get them and follow you, go, Y/N!”

You didn’t need to be told twice as you hitched up your skirts and ran to Sirius as quickly as you could, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Sirius was sitting up in bed when you reached him, the colour hadn’t quite returned to his cheeks yet but he was still so beautiful.

A smile spread across his face as soon as he saw you, “Y/N!”

As gently as you could you threw your arms around him, not wanting to hurt him as you sobbed into his neck. Your heart burst with love as he tilted your face up so he could kiss you, his gentle thumbs wiping your tears away. You pulled back to look at your husband, “I’m so glad that you’re alive, I love you,” you clutched his linen shirt between your fingers, not wanting to let him go.

Sirius smiled as he kissed your forehead, “I love you too, my Princess, I always promised that I’d come back to you, the doctor thinks that I’ll make a full recovery, apparently I’ve defied all the odds,” he chuckled before biting his lip, “I’m so sorry that I put through so much anguish.”

You shook your head as you cupped his cheeks, pressing your forehead against his, “I’m just glad that you’re okay, it was torture without you. You’re a hero Sirius; you saved the King’s life.”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” his loving words made you giggle, already he was flirting with you, “I’ve missed that sweet sound,” he pressed a kiss to your lips and he smiled as he trailed his fingers down to your stomach, looking up at you with a frown when he realised that the swell of your stomach had reduced, “our child?” he whispered and you kissed him gently.

You turned to Sophia who was standing in the doorway, she grinned at you as you lifted the twins into your arms and thanked her, “our children came a month early, both completely healthy,” you laughed and turned back to Sirius, “meet Elena and Johnathan, I wanted to honour your squire, he was a hero,” you added.

“Johnathan would have liked that, he would have been bashful,” he smiled and gasped with joy as you placed the twins in his arms, “typical that we wait for one baby and we get two,” he laughed, his voice thick with tears as he held his children.

Your heart swelled with love as Sirius pressed tiny kisses on their little foreheads. Elena wrapped her whole tiny hand around one of his fingers as she gazed up at him with her father’s stormy grey eyes while Johnathan fussed a little. Sirius choked back a sob as he grinned down at his children, his face bright with love as he glanced up at you.

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here for you, I’m so proud of you,” he tilted his head so he could press a deep lingering kiss to your lips and you threaded your fingers through his hair, “they’re so beautiful, just like their mother,” he murmured against your lips.

“And, just like their father,” you added, stroking over his beautiful face.

You and Sirius grinned at each other as you held your family in your arms. For once the little room didn’t seem so dark. It was as bright as heaven.

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

Sirius blew out a nervous breath as he looked at himself in the golden looking glass. Much had happened and yet, he hardly looked any different, apart from the long scar above his ribs and the haunted look that his eyes now held. He winced as he looked down at the pink welt on his skin, it was an ugly scar but late at night, Y/N would run her fingers and then her lips across it. She told him that it was proof of his heroic actions, he didn’t believe her but he lived for those moments.

Sirius could see his beautiful wife reflection in the golden mirror as she smiled and put the twins down for their nap. He was so blessed to have not just one, but two beautiful children. Y/N looked up and met his eyes in the mirror, he smiled at her as her lips parted slightly as her eyes raked over the bare top half of his body, and it was enough to make him blush.

With a sultry gaze, she looked at him beneath her thick lashes and she sauntered into the room, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her nails ran over his skin lightly, enough to make him shiver beneath her warm touch, “my God, you look so beautiful like this,” she purred into his ear.

Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders as she kissed the back of his neck as she held eye contact with him in the mirror. Sirius blushed and bit his lip at her words, thankful that she still wanted him, “I could just eat you up,” she nipped at the lobe of his ear teasingly.

Sirius chuckled as he turned his head so he could capture Y/N’s lips with his own, smiling into the kiss when she ran her hands down to his stomach as she snaked her tongue into his mouth. When she pulled away, she kissed the tip of his nose, “what are you thinking about, my love?”

Sirius sighed and shrugged “just nervous I guess, I wish everybody didn’t have to make such a big thing over this,” he truly felt like he didn’t deserve this.

Y/N smiled at him as she cupped his cheeks, looking at him with so much love in her eyes, “you’re a true hero Sirius, let it be recognised properly,” she pressed a lingering kiss against his lips, “now, let’s get you dressed.”

She leaned down momentarily and pressed feather light kisses against his scar, running the tip of her tongue over the ruined skin. Tears sprang to his eyes as he cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. She smiled as she leaned into his touch and gazed up at him with sparkling, adoring eyes.

“I love you so much.”

Y/N grinned as she stood up and buttoned his shirt, smoothing her hands over it, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

All too soon, it was ready for them to leave, Y/N smiled at him comfortingly as they walked down the hallway, nerves swarming around in Sirius’ stomach. Even from outside the Throne Room, Sirius could hear the buzz and the chatter of the court, he knew that James would make a spectacle out of this. When they entered, the whole court turned and stared at him, the men looked at Sirius in jealousy while the women looked at Y/N in the same way. Y/N smiled and kissed his lips before going to stand with Sophia who had postponed her trip to France to come to the ceremony. There were sweet smelling ceremonial candles burning in every corner.

Swallowing back his nerves, Sirius walked towards where James was standing, the King’s face was mostly stoic but Sirius could see the glimmer of a smile beneath his mask. With his eyes fixed on James, Sirius knelt on one knee and the King began to address the court.

“This man is a hero,” James started as he pointed at Sirius, pride in his voice, “this man saved my life, he climbed over enemy lines to pull me to safety and almost gave up his own life in the process. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here and our beloved England would be at war, he saved me and so many more people.”

Sirius took his eyes away from James and concentrated on the red velvet carpet in front of him, as James placed the flat of his sword on his shoulder.

“Do you, Sirius Black, the Duke of Bedford promise to serve your liege lord in valour and faith? Do you promise to protect the weak and defenceless, live by honour and glory and respect the honour of women?”

Sirius cleared his throat to stop his voice from shaking, “I, Sirius Black, the Duke of Bedford solemnly swear to do this.”

Sirius could hear the smile in James’ voice as he moved the sword from his left shoulder to his right, “then it is my great honour to dub thee, Sir Sirius, Knight of England and Wales. Arise Sir.”

When Sirius got to his feet, James pulled him into a hug as the court cheered and applauded. Sirius chuckled as his best friend clapped him on the shoulder, “congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at James and Lily before turning to face the court, his eyes searching. He grinned when he found his wife among the crowd; her face was bright with a smile and tears streamed down her cheeks.

He strode towards her and kissed her passionately, Y/N giggled into the kiss as the court whistled at the display, “My Lady,” he whispered against her lips.

“My Knight,” she grinned up at him.

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

@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @galwithbluethoughts @2410slb @sunles @krismeunicornbaobei @theincredibledeadlyviper @deathkat657

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

Text

After tonight’s clip (which actually broke my heart) could you maybe write a lil something about the next time Yasmina will see Younes (alone, or if you want with her brother or Aicha)?

Yasmina and her mom going to the supermarket and meeting Younes who’s there with his mother. Of course there would be a lot of staring between Yasmina and Younes, but also I would love to see him with his mom

Yasmina doesn’t feel like going out, but she’s been denying any invitations from her mom for the past few days and she can tell her mom is starting to worry and soon she’ll start her questions. And Yasmina doesn’t want to have to find an excuse as to why she’s been hiding in her room since Friday night. She spent the whole night crying, not only for Younes and Aïsha being more than friends but everything else, meeting them at the movie theater was just the last straw.

And then she was extremely tired yesterday for the whole day, not feeling like interacting with anyone, even though Elias still has to learn how to knock on a door and he may have sensed something was wrong when he bursted into her bedroom to get borrow some clean sheets because she forgot to put his ones to dry.

She adjusts her hijab around her ears, sitting at the edge of the seat to see herself closely, make sure the dark circles around her eyes are well hidden with the make up she put on.

“Yasmina?” Her mom knocks on the door and Yasmina checks the time while grabbing her phone to put inside her jacket. Her mom is a little early but she rushes to open the door with a smile, closing and locking the door behind her.

“Everything okay?” Her mom asks, clearly searching for any signs that something might be wrong, and Yasmina nods her head, walking to the door.

“Did Elias ask for anything?” She changes the subject, unlocking the door for them, waiting for her mom to join her outside.

“Of course, when does Elias not ask for food?” Her mom laughs quietly, walking next to her and Yasmina snorts. Elias always wants something. She clicks on her phone again because it’s like part of a routine now, to constantly check your social media at all times but Yasmina doesn’t even want to see anything on instagram or check if she got new messages.

Aïsha posted with Younes on Friday, and Yasmina almost deleted instagram from her phone. She and Younes were never a thing but she couldn’t help being mad at Aïsha for posting those photos when Yasmina told her about feelings she wasn’t even sure about. She didn’t trust Aïsha to tell, it just slipped out of her mouth that day but still. Aïsha heard her feelings pouring out and she still acted like she didn’t know a thing.

There’s some notifications from the groupchat with the girls and Yasmina rolls her eyes at that, thinking about Britt and her hot and cold behavior all the time, changing as quickly as the weather.

“So...how are your friends?” Her mom asks, and Yasmina tries not to get defensive and actually tell her mom about them, some of them, at least.

“Luca invited me to go out for lunch today but I didn’t feel like it. I’ll probably have to go to Robbe’s this week to do some homework. We have to watch an old movie for a class…”

“Do you know the title? Maybe I know it.”

Yasmina shakes her head, laughing and meaning it while thinking about how carried away her mom can get with her opinions about movies.

“Robbe has the notes so I don’t know the title.”

Her mom nods her head slowly, pressing her lips together.

“Robbe is…?”

“The one we saw a few weeks ago with his boyfriend.” Yasmina looks at her, not able to keep one more worry to herself. “You didn’t like them.”

Her mom stops before they enter the grocery store.

“I didn’t say anything!”

Yasmina rolls her eyes at that, ignoring the deathly look her mom gives her as a warning.

“You didn’t have to say it, mom, I think they noticed how uncomfortable you were, and decided to walk away to avoid making you even more upset.”

Her mom sighs, following her inside the shop, grabbing a basket for them to put the groceries.

“You and your belgian friends…”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Mom, you don’t even know them. A puppy is literally more harmful than Robbe.”

“Robbe doesn’t understand you. It might seem at times that you live in the exact same reality but it’s not.”

“And I’m only allowed to be surrounded by people that understand me completely?”

Yasmina grabs the milk, carefully putting it inside the basket.

“No, but you’ll understand how it can be helpful once you have the right group.”

“Robbe is a good friend. He understands how annoying it is to study until your brain is fried, he understands about always wanting to get the best grades, he understands about liking to study just because. He understands about enjoying our teenage years, even with school. So it’s not everything, but it’s one thing that’s important to me that only he really gets the way I do.”

Her mom smiles, looking at her, not as judgmental as before.

“He seems nice.”

Yasmina exhales, not wanting to constantly be justifying herself and her choices to every single person.

“He is.”

Someone is walking down the same aisle and Yasmina stops talking, pretending to need to grab something at the top shelf when the other people passing by stop talking and she looks over her shoulder, finding Younes holding a basket, and an older woman next to him, smiling at Yasmina.

“Hi…” Younes starts, looking at her mom. Yasmina is not sure how her mom will react, if Elias has tried to talk to her to talk to their dad and let Younes inside their home again.

“Good morning.” Her mom nods her head at him, and smiles at the older woman.

“I’m sorry, we just moved to this neighborhood and I can’t seem to find where the spices are.” She justifies, and Yasmina’s mom steps closer to take a look at her groceries list to see what they’re looking for exactly.

Yasmina meets Younes’ gaze but only for a brief second, and accidentally. She thought he had stopped staring already.

"How are you?” He asks quietly, and Yasmina keeps her eyes at their moms - she assumes it’s his mom based on the way she has hand carefully wrapped around his biceps.

“Good.”

Yasmina tries to think of anything else, some light and funny to keep her blood running normally inside her body, not making her blush, and to not remind her of what she was on Friday and how much she cried about it already.

Younes’ fingers are holding the basket tight, his knuckles going white as he squeezes the handle. He opens and closes his other hand slowly.

“How are you, Younes?” Her mom finally asks, making them both jump, and Yasmina sees his feet quietly moving a little bit back, away from her.

“I’m good, thank you...How’s everything?”

Yasmina looks at her mom, nodding her head and smiling at him, not as defensive or mad as her dad is about him.

“I’m sorry about my husband. But you’re welcome at our home.”

Yasmina frowns, would quietly squeeze her mom’s arm or gently kick her feet if they were close enough. The very last thing she needs is Younes back to visiting her home, her brother on the daily.

“I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.” Her mom adds, and Yasmina steals another glance at Younes, blushing, with his eyebrows as high as they can go, surprised by the news and his mom had to reassure him, right?

“I’m gonna go look for some new shampoos…” Yasmina walks away without saying goodbye, in desperate need to not be around Younes, needing to put it to good use the time away from him she has now that he’s allowed to go to her place again.

#wtfock #yasmina ait omar #younes el amrani #yasmina x younes #yousmina #is this the right tag for the ship?

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 4 years

Text

Downward Goat (Part 10/10)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Bonus Smut)

Summary: Eskel and Jaskier get the fluffy ending they deserve.

It’s a little less than a year after that first date when Eskel realizes that he wants to marry Jaskier. He’s known that this was heading in that direction for a while now; in the past year, Jaskier has slipped into his life so easily, it’s like he’s always been there. Eskel’s whole family loves him— even if he still prefers his meat well-done— and he has a spot at the dinner table between Eskel and Ciri every Sunday night. At the beginning of the summer, he moved in with Eskel and besides the sudden lack of closet space in the house and the instant mac n’ cheese filling his pantry, it’s been perfect.

Eskel is more in love with Jaskier than he knew it was possible to be, so when he’s in the kitchen one morning and looks out the window to see Jaskier coming out of the Downward Goat tent with Deidre, something just clicks into place in his head. Jaskier and Deidre are both laughing while Lil Bleater dances around them. Jaskier is wearing leggings with musical notes on them, his smile is wide, and his eyes are full of joy. A warm glow fills Eskel’s chest at the sight.

When he proposes a month later, he ties a ring and sign reading Will you marry me? around Lil Bleater’s neck. She eats the sign, but luckily leaves the ring unscathed. Jaskier cries, but they may just be tears of laughter.

***

“Whose bird-brained idea was it to have the goat be a flower girl?” Yennefer demands, standing in the doorway of the tent where Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, and Aiden are getting ready with her hands planted on her hips.

Eskel looks up from his cufflinks. “That’s my soon-to-be husband you’re calling bird-brained.”

“If the shoe fits,” Lambert says behind him, which earns him an warning hiss of, “Lambert!” from his husband. Eskel ignores both of them.

“I’m only refraining from calling him a fucking moron because it’s his wedding day.” But Yennefer’s voice is full of affection. “The flowers are all gone, as is a good chunk of Ciri’s dress.”

“All of the flowers?”

“All of the ones we set aside for Ciri to throw. Unless you want to rip apart one of the bouquets or the garlands.”

“No, Jaskier wouldn’t like that.” Eskel shrugs. “It’s fine, we don’t need flowers thrown.”

Yennefer’s eyes narrow. “Ciri is going to be devastated if she’s not part of the ceremony.”

And fuck, that’s true. Ciri’s been excited for months about walking down the aisle with Lil Bleater and throwing flowers.

Geralt comes to put a soothing hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “Ciri can still walk with Lil Bleater. It’s not the end of the world.”

Deidre appears next to Yennefer, looking slightly frazzled in her purple dress and carrying a basket. “Okay, I picked every dandelion, buttercup, and clover I could find. This will have to do for Ciri to throw. They don’t exactly match the color scheme, but no one’s going to notice.”

Yennefer arches an eyebrow. “Clever. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

Deidre looks like she would preen if she had the time. “Cleaning up after Lil Bleater is one of my primary job functions.”

“It is a full time job,” Eskel says. “Ciri’s dress?”

“Renfri and Triss are currently reassuring her that asymmetrical hemlines are all the rage in the south right now.” Deidre comes over to pat Eskel on the arm. “Everything’s well in hand, boss. Stop frowning, it makes you look older.”

“When I finally fire you for insubordination, you’ll have a great second career as a wedding planner.”

Deidre only rolls her eyes in response. “Ceremony’s in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”

As soon as she’s out of the tent, Aiden says, “You really have a type of person you surround yourself with, Eskel.”

Geralt chuckles. “I think all of us do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Eskel stands at the mouth of the tent while Ciri walks down the aisle in a purple dress with a good chunk missing from the hemline, throwing handfuls of buttercups, dandelions, and clovers and leading an unrepentant-looking Lil Bleater. Lil Bleater’s flower crown is looking significantly worse for wear, but no one seems to notice. Yennefer, Geralt and Triss walk down the aisle after them, followed by Aiden and Lambert, Priscilla and Jaskier’s cousin Ferrant, and Renfri and Deidre. Only when they’ve reached the end of the aisle does Eskel emerge from his tent at the same time Jaskier comes out of the house.

At the beginning of the wedding planning process, there was a lot of debate about whether or not they should get married at Kaer Morhen Farms. Most of their friends and family were of the opinion that Eskel and Jaskier live and work at the farm and wouldn’t it be nice to get away for their special day? But as Jaskier walks towards him, Eskel is so glad they ended up choosing to get married here. They met here. They got to know each other here. They fell in love here. It’s only fitting that they would take this next step here.

“You look…” Eskel doesn’t have words for how Jaskier looks in his bright blue tuxedo.

Jaskier reaches out and squeezes his hands. “So do you.”

Eskel can only stand there and stare at the man he loves until he remembers that they’re actually supposed to be getting married right now. “You ready?”

Jaskier slips his arm through Eskel’s. “Always, my love.”

Later, when the vows and rings have been exchanged, speeches have been given, an absurd amount of cake has been eaten, and they’ve all danced until their feet are sore, Eskel and Jaskier sit together at the sweetheart table and watch the last few people on the dance floor while the strings of lights glow around them and a sweet, slow love song plays. Geralt is dancing with Ciri, the one person on the Continent who can get him to dance without complaint, while Vesemir is dancing with one of Jaskier’s aunts and Aiden is twirling Priscilla around like they’re dancing to a much faster song.

Eskel’s heart is so full of love, he thinks he might burst with it.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jaskier asks drowsily, resting his head on Eskel’s shoulder.

Eskel presses a kiss into the top of his head. “Of course it was. I married you today. What else could I want?”

For many, many years, a new picture will join the many family photos decorating the wall of their house. No matter how many times Eskel passes it on the stairwell, it will always bring a smile to his face. The photo shows Jaskier and Eskel from the back, Jaskier’s head on Eskel’s shoulder while Eskel whispers in his new husband’s ear. The side of Eskel’s face visible is full of naked adoration. In the background, Ciri and Geralt can be seen on the dance floor while Lambert, Yennefer, Triss, Renfri, and Deidre are at the table next to Eskel and Jaskier’s, all laughing. No one notices Lil Bleater under the table, happily munching on the remnants of Deidre’s bouquet.

Other pictures will join it over the years— Jaskier’s college graduation, Ciri’s high school graduation, Jaskier standing proudly in front of his new yoga studio, Eskel with tears in his eyes as he holds their newly adopted twin daughters in his arms. There will be more baby photos, and eventually class photos and prom photos and graduation photos. Jaskier will say at least once a week that they need a bigger house for all the damn photos.

But that picture, the one of Eskel and Jaskier at their wedding, will always be Eskel’s favorite.

***

And we’ve reached the end of Downward Goat! Thank you for everyone for reading, especially to those of you who have taken the time to like, reblog, or reply. A cleaned up version will be posted to AO3 sometime in the next week or so!

@sternenstaub28 @tsukiwolf42 @maya-the-yellow-bee @eyesofshinigami @wrenbug @buttercupsanddandelions @dragonheart905 @atahensic @myidlehand @aqueersighttoseeindeed @frenchkey @goldandlights @anythinggoesfandoms @frywen-babbles @marvagon @wellthisstinks @moonlightcrazyphoenix @seraphim-miryam @contemplativepancakes @patchworkgargoyle @aelsirionscorner @samukai @thenameislion-dandelion (sorry, friends, it still won’t let me tag you!)

#the witcher #jaskel #jeskel #eskel x jaskier #eskel/jaskier #eskel #jaskier #my fic #my writing #modern au #downward goat au

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sxveme-2 · 4 years

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Eight: The One With the Party

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3083

Now, nothing in Lily's life ever really came easy, quick, or without some sort of repercussion. It was as though the universe had decided that she hadn't been through enough in her fairly young life already. Hence why it didn't surprise her when the communication between her and Bucky fell off, or more so, never really started. The day at the cafe had been nice, they didn't exactly speak and they were at separate tables, but even Rose noticed the shy glances her older sister would send to the man across the way. Which of course lead to teasing and taunting the rest of the night and for a few days.

Three weeks later, she hadn't seen him. It didn't help that the hospital had scheduled Lily for multiple shifts of overtime and staying late. Which resulted in Hunter spending extra days at Scott’s, and Lily not being at the cafe as often as she typically was. Flu season had come around and all parents believed their kid may have something more serious, but it was simply a lot of flu vaccinations, the odd time an appendicitis surgery. Routine procedures, just a lot of work.

On a chilly day at the end of September, for once, Lily could wake up without having to go to work for twelve hours or more. Her son snoring gently beside her after crawling into her bed from a nightmare the night before, and Joey snuggled at the end. Her deep green eyes fluttered open as the phone on her nightstand buzzed like crazy. Rubbing her eyes, Lily's other hand reached out to grab hold of the device, blurry eyes seeing Bucky's contact pop up on the screen.

With a groggy voice and a confused expression, Lily slid her thumb across the screen to answer, "Hello?"

"Lady Lily! It's Thor! Son of Odin!" a booming voice yelled into the phone, startling the young blonde. Her eyes glanced to her right to check to see that Hunter still laid fast asleep, and to ensure it stayed that way, the doctor slipped out of the bed and out into the hallway. When she closed the door, Thor continued his yelling, "I have stolen sergeant Barnes’s cellular device! I have overheard him and Captain Rogers discussing his feelings towards you!"

Lily winced at the loud voice radiating through her ear. She hadn't met Thor officially, just seen him with the others at the table weeks before. Personally, Lily wasn't interested in blondes, but no one could deny an attraction to the god. You could be the largest lesbian in the world and still would not mind getting down and dirty with the son of Odin. But of course, for the most part, Lily had only been staring at Bucky. And it didn't go unnoticed to many, especially the other Avengers

"I'm sorry? His attraction?" Lily muttered, still attempting to wake herself up from the much-needed sleep she had been woken up from. She wrapped one arm around herself while resting the other elbow on her hand, shivering slightly at the cool temperature of her home.

"Yes! This is lady Lily correct? If so, then I have an invitation for you! Sergeant Barnes does not know about this, nor does anyone else. But it is our dear friend Sam Wilson’s birthday!" he continued to boast, resulting in Lily holding the phone an inch or so away from her ear, "and I believe it would make Sergeant Barnes happy if you came. And bring your friend and sister! Sam has a small thing for lady Rose."

Before Lily could even answer, there was a crash on the other end of the line and the call went dead. Lily could only assume that Bucky had noticed the conversation taking place and shut it down, leaving Lily with a possibly life-changing decision on her plate, but she didn't know that yet. All she knew, was that Gen and Rose would go to any lengths to get Lily to attend the party, saying things like 'it'll be good for you' or 'you can see your loverboy again'. And Lily couldn't deny, she'd love to see Bucky again. But she'd be damned if she admitted it out loud.

-----

After walking joey, the three Osborne’s loaded into the car and drove down the busy roads of New York to Gen's cafe. Scott was picking Hunter up for the weekend, which meant that Lily was free for the night anyway, so maybe the party wasn't such a bad idea? But if you could deduce anything about the blonde, it's that she hated large gatherings and commotion. It made her anxious and paranoid about something that could go wrong. Plus, last time there was any real party like this in her life, she had been shown a video of her husband locking lips with a young brunette who looked about half his age.

"Hunt why don't you go see if there are any treats you can bring for Leila in the back," Lily whispered to her son with a gentle smirk on her face, "I have to talk to aunt Rose and auntie Gen for a few minutes." she continued, ruffling the boy’s hair and sending him on his way to the kitchen around the corner.

The two girls that were sitting opposite of Lily looked at her with matching skeptical expressions, both of their left eyebrows perked with interest as Lily sent her son away. Whenever this happened, Lily usually seemed to drop a ball on the two. Whether it was when she announced her pregnancy, being chosen as valedictorian, or when she shared the news of her divorce. Typically things that Hunter wouldn't understand, or wasn't old enough to know or mature enough to hear. But this was mostly so he didn't grow saddened at the idea of his mother hanging around his idols.

"So I was woken up by a strange phone call from Bucky Barnes," Lily began, and the two girls across from her simultaneously dropped their jaws. Lily held her finger up to signal that she wasn't finished with her story and for them not to jump ahead and get crazy ideas, "but on the other end was actually Thor. He invited us to Sam's birthday party tonight."

This caused shit-eating grins to replace the curious smiles on Gen and Rose's faces. Rose clapped her hands together, while Gen just shook her head in disbelief. These two women were Lily's closest companions in life. Rose was her biological sister that she had no choice but to deal with, sure, but their relationship was more than that. It was deeper and held more meaning than a simple sister relationship. They could lean on each other in times of need and never kept secrets, as far as the other knew. Most kids with multiple years between them aren't as close or never really bond, but Rose and Lily always clicked. Mostly because of their opposing personalities, which was the same as Gen. Gen was Lily's sister from another mister. From the moment they met, they were perfect, and things hadn't changed in all those years leading to this.

"Well, obviously we're going!" Rose exclaimed, pulling out her phone, "I will get the best dresses from my agency and ensure we look unclockable!" the younger Osborne sister beamed while excusing herself to make a few calls, to make sure they looked as good as she pictured. Rose seemed to forget that Lily hadn't agreed to go, but deep down, the eldest Osborne knew she didn't ave a choice.

"This is great! It'll give you a chance to see Bucky again," Gen winked, sipping her coffee. This was typically how the cycle of Gen's setups began, sort of. Lily would stumble across a guy that seemed interested in her, and Gen would stop at no end to get the two on a date. Of course, Lily never really seemed to have any interest in the guy that her best friend set her up with, but maybe this time was different. Maybe Bucky was different. And that's what Gen prayed about as well, "Maybe get to know him a little more. You get chatty when you're tipsy."

Lily Osborne drunk was a sight to see. All of the fear and anxiety she felt seemed to melt away with the ice cubes in her cup. That's why it was called liquid courage. One of the main signs of Lily being intoxicated was her desire to sing. for years, Lily sang in the choir, but always turned down solos, despite being one of the most talented singers that her school had ever seen. She was terrified that people would laugh at her, but if she was home alone, she sang like an angel. Her voice was soft and supple, and her ability to harmonize was unrivalled. Both Gen and Rose secretly hoped that the avengers would be able to be blessed with the sound of Lily's voice because it truly was as angelic as she was.

"I don't know if I even want to go. You know I don't do parties, let alone one hosted by the king of parties himself, Tony Stark." Lily sighed, twisting the straw in her lemonade around as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Her eyes glanced up to see Rose beaming out the window of the cafe, saying something to a designer or somebody on her phone. She looked so excited, and Lily didn't want to be the one to take that away.

Not after the past few weeks, Rose has had.

"C'mon, Lil," Gen sighed as if reading her best friend’s mind. the brunette reached her hands out and cupped Lily's frail and nimble ones, a soft and gentle look on her face, "Rose is excited. For the first time in weeks. Plus, nothing will happen. I'll be there, and so will Rose. Plus, I doubt Mr. Winter Soldier would ever let anything happen to you anyways. Buddies totally whipped."

"Mr. Winter Soldier? really?"

-----

After Scott had scooped Hunter up from the cafe, Lily stole the two adult women away from whatever they were doing, leading them to the car. But, Lily apparently wasn't allowed to drive. It was around two now, and Lily had to get back home to take joey out on his afternoon walk. But no matter the protests she gave, the younger sister was the one behind the wheel and had control over where they went either way. Lily accepted her fate and leaned back in her seat, attempting to figure out where Rose was have taking them.

Recognizing upstate new york, Lily glanced over towards the blonde that sat next to her. The young mom had figured out exactly what Rose was planning in that mischievous head of hers. One thing with all Osborne’s is their ability to not only think on their feet but figure out what was happening around them without anyone telling them. the art of deduction, in a way. But not that advanced, just piecing together their surroundings and doing the math. And with where they were, Lily knew that Rose had the genius idea to take the two other girls to a hair salon to get all nice and done up.

"Yeah no, I can do my hair," Lily stated, crossing her arms over her chest and putting her foot down. No way in hell was she letting another person that she didn't know, do her hair. She had a perfectly good hairdresser down in the suburbs of Manhattan and was fine with just going there for when she needed a haircut. And today? She did not.

"Let me check again...Gen?" Rose swivelled in her seat to look at the back where Gen sat, attempting to hold back a laugh, "Which one of us is the doctor and which one is the stylist?"

This caused Gen to let her giggles escape as she rested her velvety hand on Lily's shoulder, leaning forward towards her best friend, "Rose makes a fair point. You specialize in children's health, she specializes in adult fashion. C'mon, it'll be fun."

Once again, despite her protests, Lily was overpowered and dragged into the salon. The moment she was asked what style she was looking for, she answered, beating out her younger sister in deciding what would look best. She requested a simple hairstyle, possibly a ponytail of sorts. The hairdresser nodded along and got to work. Luckily, no hair was cut off or changed, and it was a simple styling appointment for her and the other girls.

Half an hour later, the three were back in the car, this time, with Lily behind the wheel. The three sang along to the radio as they returned to lower Manhattan, where the suburbs laid. Lily had managed to convince Rose to do her makeup instead of a hire professional, claiming Rose had the same talents as they did. It was true, Rose was a wizard with a makeup brush. Plus, it was fun to see her sister so focused on something like this. All of the pain of the past few weeks forgotten as she created a beige smokey eye on Lily, an a darker version of the same thing on Gen.

After she glanced in the mirror, Lily didn't believe it was her. She looked matured and awake, instead of the typical baby-faced ball of stress she was on a day-to-day basis. She stared into the mirror with a shocked yet elated look on her face, enjoying the feeling of confidence that rushed through her. She was Lily Osborne, full-time doctor and mother, older sister to two siblings, and a survivor of a toxic relationship. But it seemed that all of that confidence shattered when Rose pulled in a rack of dresses for Lily to try on. All tight around the hips and bust, made for girls with hourglass figures who hadn't given birth to a baby. Something that Lily wouldn't be caught dead in.

"Not happening. I refuse."

-----

Compromise. that's the lesson of this section. Taking other’s options or opinions and your own, and finding a common ground. That was the foundation of Rose and Lily's relationship. Learning to compromise with each other to keep the peace. And that was the result of their dispute of the dresses Rose had brought in. Most of them were sleek and tight, almost like a second skin. And as pretty as Lily felt all done up, she didn't have near enough confidence to rock one of the body-con dresses her sister had brought.

In the end, she decided on something a bit more classic and Lily-like. A lake blue dress with spaghetti straps holding it up. It had silver lace decals spread all across both the lower plunging neckline and a-line tulle skirt that hit just below Lily's mid thigh. A piece of mesh fabric kept the cleavage that Lily had tucked in, instead of placing it on display like the majority of the cocktail dresses Rose had brought in. The deeper blue helped extenuate the green of Lily's eyes, which was complemented by the light golden shimmer that laid atop of her eyelid. Her lips were a pink nude with a touch of gloss to create a shiny effect, and her hair was pulled into a pony connected by two criss-cross pieces of hair, with two strands falling forward to frame her face. One word to sum it all up, breathtaking. Lily radiated in her outfit, and anyone who saw her would have no choice but to agree. And if they didn't? They were either delusional or lying to themselves because she was stunning.

Rose, on the other hand, was embracing the small window of time she had left without showing the baby bump. She adorned a burgundy lace dress that hugged her curves like a glove and came to a halter top point around her neck. Her golden blonde hair laid across her shoulders in a curly river, with deep red lips to compliment the dress. Her eyes were done a bit darker than both Lily and Gen's, making her forest green eyes stand out as well. Rose and Lily were blessed with the looks of their mother. High cheekbones, plump lips and a perfectly sculpted nose that tends to make most jealous. Although Rose knew her worth and understood her beauty, Lily had a harder time coming to terms with it due to the anxiety that plagued her mind. It created a constant reminder that she just wasn't enough, and to try harder.

Gen stayed true to her out-of-the-box aesthetic and wore a suit jacket dress that reached her mid-thigh, with a pair of bright yellow pumps to create a splash of colour in her outfit. Her braids were pulled into a high ponytail, and a darker smokey eye created a glowing ring around the amber eyes that she was blessed with. Her plush and plump lips were painted a deep maroon, and she looked like a businesswoman who had men falling at her feet. When in reality, she was the most easy-going and relaxed person you would probably ever meet, and would rather die than ever be stuck behind a desk at a corporate job.

The three ladies corralled themselves into Lily's car and began their journey towards the avengers compound a bit before the event started. Rose had instructed Lily to leave at a time that would make them fashionably late, to keep Thor guessing whether or not his invitation was accepted or not. Plus it built up the suspicion of the others around the man. Somehow Rose knew all of this, and Lily guessed it was because of her extensive work in the fashion industry. Having to tell people what will make them look their absolute best. Both fashionably, and socially. And who was Lily to argue?

When they did arrive, Lily let out a shaky breath before turning off the car. There was no turning back now. They had drove all of this way, and Lily knew Rose and Gen would be pissed if she chickened out now. Plus, she doubted that they would even let her. Honestly, the two would drag her in by her toes if they had to. Out of Lily's best interest of course. They wanted her to move on and live her life outside of work and Hunter.

"Come on Lil, let's go get the tinman to fall in love with you."

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