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raggaraddy · 3 years ago

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Intruders.

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Another long one. This one doesn't have so much of the worried reaction, cause I wrote it to fit the Mafia! Jungkook character. It's still fun though ^-^ Thanks again for the request. 💜💜💜

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Taehyung

Summary: When a loose end breaks into Jungkooks house with guns drawn, you get a first-hand lesson that maybe Jungkook isn't as invulnerable as you had thought.

Trigger Warnings: Graphic violence, gun usage, blood, murder.

Jungkook

Mafia! Jungkook

Fighting to get free, you're kicking your legs. Squirming. Squealing as you shove your hands against Jungkook's chest, pushing him back as hard as you can. Tears starting to fill your eye line.

"Stop, stop, stop," you shout, with no effect. Struggling harder.

"Admit it!" He yells back, a smile on his face.

"Never," You scream. Not able to hold it back anymore. Your screech morphs into forceful laughter as Jungkook continues to tickle you. Your cheeks aching from how widely you're smiling. Your sides hurting as you keep thrashing for release.

"Admit I could beat up the Hulk, and I'll let you go." He insists again, pressing you down with a massive grin.

"Okay, okay!" You squeal, finally conceding. Groaning in relief, when his fingers stop tickling your stomach. Your limbs dropping down to rest. "You could totally kick the Hulk's ass." You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

"Damn right I could!" He bursts into laughter also. Easing back with a sigh now that he no longer has to hold you still. Neither of you phased by the movie that started the debate still blaring in the background.

Roughly you punch your fist into his chest, intentionally knocking the air out of him. Taking advantage while he is caught off guard to push him flat onto the carpet beside you. Straddling his lap, you lean over him pinning his arms to the floor before he has a chance to argue. Not that you think he would. The fun-filled smile doesn't leave his face for a moment. Completely amused by you, while you try your best to put on an intimidating act. Trying to stop yourself from smiling again.

"Jeon Jungkook. You cheated." You playfully scold, "And if you can't have a grown-up discussion, then you can't do other grown-up things either." You accentuate your point by grinding down. Feeling his hips push up as you tease him. Lifting up right away, shaking your head as you remove the contact. "Nah uh. Cheaters don't get that." You smirk.

"Don't be mean just cause I won." He runs his tongue inside his cheek. His gaze showing desire and a want for you to continue. But you're not done toying with him.

"You didn't win." You poke your tongue out, rocking your hips a single time more, "Confessions under duress are not admissible anyway."

"No, but it's good leverage to have." He answers a little too honestly and without thinking. Not entirely talking about your play fight anymore.

Chuckling awkwardly, you shake off the train of thought that wants to evaluate what he just said. Not wanting to let your mind remember that part of him right now. Trying instead, to return to your spirited banter. But he gets in before you.

"Nope," He easily breaks out and overpowers your hold wrapping his arm around your waist, carrying you as he stands up. "you admitted I'm stronger than the Hulk, and I'm never gonna let that go." Bending down, he throws you over his shoulder, slapping your ass to tease you back.

His shoulder digging into your gut stops you from taking a full breath or making a snippy comeback. So you slap his ass in retaliation instead.

"Come on Kitten, you have to give me a prize for winning." He purs suggestively, carrying you out of the living room into the foyer.

He's going to take you upstairs, but you don't make it to them before both of your heads snap towards the entrance. A flurry of gunshots exploding just beyond the front door. The commotion silencing as quickly as it started.

Jungkook slings you off his shoulder. Becoming another person in an instant. Purely focused. Opening the coat closet, he pulls a Glock from his jacket.

"Get upstairs, now." He barks.

You don't have to be asked twice, running to the stairs. Gasping as the garage door next to the steps opens, two hooded men storming in with guns drawn. Jungkook reacts quickly, firing past you. Shooting one of them, missing the second who ducks instead of firing back.

At the same time, blowing open to the left of you, the front door is kicked in. Swinging wide, four more masked men rush the house. Firing rapidly and wildly. Scarcely missing Jungkook who is moving preemptively and is 3 steps ahead. Running forward he shoots the second man in front of you. Grabbing your arm, dragging you over their dead bodies into the garage with him.

Shutting you in just as bullets explode through the wood door at your back.

Jungkook forces you to keep up, throwing you behind the car. The automatic shots continuing to decimate. The four-wheel-drive being the only thing that keeps either of you from getting shot.

Panting and on the verge of tears, you're crouched beside Jungkook. Watching him, waiting to react to anything he says. Knowing he is all that stands between you and death. But also knowing that with him in this mindset he could do just as much damage to you as one of those other men might.

The gunfire stops. Distorted voices shouting behind the door's remains. Jungkook cautiously raises up, leaning over the hood. He lines up a shot as the door opens warily, taking down another of them. Slouching behind the car as a new wave of bullets comes in response.

In front of you, the shelves covered in storage boxes and the workbench full of tools is ripped to shreds. Things erupting in every direction. Covering you in debris.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he shoves it in your lap.

"Call the first number!"

Your brain is stalling, your hands are shaking, but you follow the order as best as you can. The way your fingers are vibrating making it so much harder.

"What's up Boss?" You can hear the faint sound of his first lieutenant, as the firing ceasing again. Jungkook snatches the phone, speaking lowly and calmly.

"My house is breached and we're under fire. At least 3 guys. Semi-autos. We're held up in the garage and I've got maybe 15 rounds left." He passes the information over precisely. Remaining organized and in control.

"We're 10 out," the first confirms back, yelling orders to people on his end of the phone.

Your head jolts towards the garage door as it heavily clunks, starting to lift along the tracks. Exposing you on two sides.

"Fuck," Jungkook exclaims. "We don't have 10 minutes."

He stands, staying low. Opening the car door, tossing the phone in, followed by you. Your limbs hitting everything as you try to keep up with his pace. Making it onto the seat in an awkward heap.

"Stay down," he growls, slamming it, sealing you in. You're ahead of him this time, already kneeling under the steering wheel. Pressing your chest and head into the seat as flat as possible.

Inside the car, you can only hear the sounds of blasts for a few moments. Heavy things being thrown in every direction amid tense silences.

Outside the car, Jungkook fires off 3 shots, aiming for the legs he sees as the garage opens. The angle is wrong, and he doesn't hit them. Having to retreat back. Throwing the workbench down, using it as a meagre form of barricade. Blocking himself into the corner, hunched behind it. It's barely wide enough to protect him at the front and on the side. The height of the desk only just covering his head. He aims over the bench, hoping to keep the front two from coming in with suppression fire.

However, his attempt is unsuccessful. As he raises up, a bullet wings his right arm. Involuntarily dropping his gun, he shouts in pain. The Glock falling on the wrong side of the table.

It only takes him a second to compose himself, lunging over to pick up the weapon. But it's a second too late.

One of the men charges from inside the house. Booting the table into Jungkook, throwing him off balance. Holding him at gunpoint as he hits the floor.

Briefly, you see the other two men through the window as they pass the car. You're too terrified to move. Your hand cupped over your mouth, muffling the panicked breathes and whimpers that you can't hold in.

Working as a unit, one of the men clears the table out of the way, another picks up Jungkook's gun, while the third ushers him out of the corner and onto his feet, keeping the sights tightly fixed on him.

Getting in his face, the lead man removes his balaclava. Seething hate filling his expression. "You remember me?"

While he isn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, Jungkook is certainly perturbed by the reveal.

It was nearly 5 months ago that he had ordered this man and his family killed. It drew far too much attention when he refused a deal Jungkook made him. So an example has to be set. The man's wife, two children and his visiting brother were murdered in the gruesome display. And Jungkook was told that the man standing in front of him now was also killed. But it seems the men charged with the hit got complacent. They didn't confirm the kill.

Mentally, Jungkook was already recalling the four men on task. If he made it out of this they were going to suffer greatly for their mistake.

Seeming infuriated by Jungkook's lack of fear and stoic glowering, the unmasked man slams his fist into the Mafia King's face. Shouting as he does.

Methodically, the three intruders begin to tear Jungkook apart. He put's up a fight as best as he can, but the men are trained and three against one isn't fair odds in this situation. Knocking him between them, they strike with their knees, fists, feet, hurting him in any way they can manage. Beating him into the ground. Pulling him back onto his knees whenever he drops back or falls forward.

Biting your palm you're trying to stop yourself from crying out as you sob into your hand. You can hear the hits. The thumps from him being tossed around. His groans of pain. The slough of abuse they spit at him while they work him over. Cursing him. Mocking him.

Suddenly, the car door jerks open. One of the masked men dragging you out by your hair. Making you produce an ear-shattering scream. One he silences with a fist to the face. Your body collapsing, slapping into the concrete.

Groaning in pain, your sobs can no longer be restrained. Loudly bawling, tear stream your face, hardly able to breathe as you panic.

Your heart aching as you see Jungkook across from you. Hunched over on his knees, he's gushing blood. It's running down his face. Matting his hair to his forehead with the sheer volume of it. He's splitting it up, his mouth dripping with it. His shirt soaked in it. Flowing down his arm from the bullet wound also.

You'd never have thought you would see your Boyfriend in such a state. You've witnessed first-hand the power he has when he's the one responsible for this kind of damage. In your mind, you saw him as invincible. Unbeatable. A cruel monster driven by hubris that could never be stopped.

The times you'd seen him beat people like this, the times he hit you like this, you had privately desired for him to suffer the same fate one day. For karma to return everything he had dished out.

But now that he was, now that he was the one being treated without mercy, even with it being justified, you can't feel anything but fear and sadness. Regretting ever having wished this upon him.

"Jungkook," you gently call.

He's disoriented. Too many headshots having made him dizzy and unfocused. But your soft voice cuts through all of that. Looking up from the ground to you, his eyes go wide seeing you in harm's way again.

"Y/-" he starts to get up, only to be interrupted and held down. The unmasked man's hand coming down on his shoulder. The barrel of Jungkook's own gun being aimed at his chest as the man hovers over him.

"You know, your guys didn't kill my wife right away." He digs the gun tip into the bullet wound on his arm. Twisting and stabbing into the raw flesh making him grit his teeth to bear the pain. "They shot her where he knew it wouldn't kill her. Then they let her bleed out. While I could only watch. While my kids watched." The pure rage in the man's voice is finally softened. Instead, sounding horribly grieved and agonized over the memory. "Someone like you, you're probably not capable of love," he spits, pushing off Jungkook to stand straight. "But whether you love her or not, I still want you to watch her die."

The words register, but you can't absorb them. You can't react.

"Wait. Wait!" Jungkook yells after him.

Your body is throbbing in terror. Watching him advance on you. Watching him raise the gun at you.

The shot hits you in the stomach.

"No!" Jungkook howls. The two men punting him back down as he climbs to his feet. Extending the barrage of hits to impress upon him that he shouldn't try to get up again.

In shock, you delicately dab at the hole in your side. Blood pulsing out of you. The pain is more than you could have imagined. You can't pull in a full breath. Short gasps are all you can manage. Doubling over onto your hands and knees, you weakly shriek unable to deliver a solid scream.

They drag you by your arm, hurling you at Jungkook, your torso landing in his lap. He clings to you, drawing you in tight. His face twisted in anger.

"Y/n." He growls. "Don't you dare-" he can't bring himself to finish that thought.

"Don't worry darling. It won't take long." The leader says above you, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "You though," he redirects, snarling at Jungkook. "you're gonna die slow."

Not able to breathe and the blood loss is making your head light. The room feels like it's spinning. Your eyes rolling back as they close. The reprieve of rest calling you into unconsciousness. And you can't resist.

With his hand held to your heart and his chest tight, Jungkook feels for a beat. The irregular rhythm assuring him you're still alive at least.

"I hope you really did love her. Like how I loved my girl and my boy. My wife. I hope you can feel that type of pain."

Jungkook is shaking. Unfiltered loathing ravaging his thoughts. A murderous expression concealing his heartache as he feels your pulse gradually start to slow.

Moving begrudgingly like it's his duty, the leader pulls one of the few remaining tools from its place on the wall. Wringing the handle of a large Philips Head screwdriver.

Working together, the three of them rip your unconscious body apart from Jungkook. His efforts to keep you close having little impact. Numerous injuries having sapped his strength.

Stretching him out, holding him down, they pin him with their weight. One of them securing his legs. Another holding his arm and torso, the majority of his heft used to force Jungkook's face into the cement. The leader kneeling all of his weight on his left arm to keep it flat.

As the tip of the screwdriver is pressed into his palm, Jungkook grapples to keep his hand closed to no avail. The shank piercing the meat of his palm. Screaming as the length is stabbed in and yanked out. Hissing through his teeth while the sharp point trails up. Reaching about halfway up his forearm it digs into the muscle. The blade slowly forcing its way into the skin, causing him to roar again.

All at once, a shot rings out. One of the intruders taking a bullet in the back. An assault of gunfire spreading across the height of the garage, sending the other two into a panic. Scrambling for their guns. Releasing Jungkook in the frenzy, who cradles his wounded hand for a moment before jumping on the attack. Finally having sufficient reinforcement to fight back.

Picking up the screwdriver with his good hand, he lunges at the surviving masked man. Dragging him off balance. Straddling his side. Stabbing down and around to drive the tool into his chest over and over. Burying the metal in the man's throat as a final strike. His damaged hand slamming down on the top of the screwdriver, forcing it through the other side of the man's neck.

Some of Jungkook's rage having been vented, he falls away panting watching the man, satisfied as he quickly bleeds to death.

The leader of the assailants, the source of all of this woe, is completely unmatched by the dozen men who suddenly surround him. They don't grant him the opportunity to even raise his weapon, shooting him in the shoulder, knocking him down. Incapacitating him and restraining him swiftly as he tries desperately to get loose.

There are a few seconds when the dust settles, where everything is quiet again. Only the sounds of wheezed breathing and footsteps taking any space.

Apart from the few men busy with securing the house and the area, all of them are at attention looking to assist their battered leader. Wanting to help. Waiting on an order.

"Her," he signals in your direction. "Get her to a hospital."

"You too, Boss." His second lieutenant leans down, helping Jungkook stand. Getting him to solid footing.

"I'm not dying in the next 20 minutes. Let's wrap this shit up first." He dismisses the gesture. Shirking off the pain at risk of appearing weak.

"And this one?" His first aims a gun at the intruders head.

"Patch him up. He's gonna die slowly," Jungkook's voice deepens as he repeats the man's own threat back at him.

His eyes following as he gets picked up and thrown into the trunk of one of the cars. The Mafia leader in him already, concocting ruthless plans in specific detail over all the ways he is going to torture him. And how he's going to silence any doubts about his strength that this attack may have caused.

Carried in another man's arms, you're taken to the back seat of a car. The movement string you awake. The pain keeping you immobilized and dazed.

Jungkook limping slightly follows after you. He presses his hand to your chest again, relieved as he feels your heart still beating, as he sees your eyes fluttering.

Your head laying on the seat, he leans over resting his forehead upside down on yours. "I'm so sorry baby." He whispers. His hands bunch tightly around your arms, pulling at your skin. The war of both sides of him crashing together. His eyes going cold, his breath becoming ragged.

Struggling to remain conscious, your eyes close again. Jungkook's bloody hand slapping down on your face, shocking your eyes back open. Tears instantly returning to your cheeks.

"Don't you dare die!" He hisses. His hand curls around your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "I'm not going to let other people think they can come at me. Take my things. Try to hurt me." He growls, speaking just loud enough for only you and him. "So you're gonna keep living Y/n. Cause until I give you permission, you don't have the right to die."

#bts fan fiction #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts jung jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #mafia jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere bts #yandere bangtan #bts #bangtan #bangtan fanfic #yandere #jungkook

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rax-writes · 4 years ago

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More 》 Part Two

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings: Sexual intercourse, choking, hair pulling, oral sex (f!receiving) [reader is a female-identifying individual with a vagina] Notes: Part two of More 》 I cannot thank you guys enough for how well More did, and I hope that you enjoy this addition to it! 》 I honestly didn’t edit this all that extensively, so if there are any errors, please let me know. ♥

At the break of dawn the next morning, you found yourself on a loading dock for shipment containers with Sharon, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo – pretending all the while that nothing had happened between you and the latter individual. You wore a sweater with a high neckline, per Zemo’s suggestion, and interacted with him exactly the same way that you had before. He did a good job at selling the lie as well, although he seemed incapable of keeping his eyes to himself, frequently staring at you for far longer than he should have, that dark, hungry look in his eyes returning if his gaze lingered for too long.

“All right, he’s in there,” Sharon announced, stopping in the middle of the massive metal boxes. “Container four-two-six-one. I’ll keep an eye out while you guys talk to Nagel, but hurry. We’re on borrowed time.”

You accepted one of the earpieces she offered, getting it into place as she walked off. When the four of you entered the container, you found that it was empty, and appeared to have been that way for quite some time.

“Hey, Sharon, you sure this is the right one?” Sam inquired incredulously. “It’s completely empty.”

“Positive. It has to be.”

You entered the container, the other three right behind you, and closed your eyes as they looked around.

“He’s here. I can hear his thoughts,” you announced, then began to pick the doctor’s brain further. “Push against the back wall. There’s a secret passageway.”

Zemo did as you bade him, and sure enough, the wall moved backwards a bit, to allow him to open the hidden door. He shot you a curt nod of approval, then stepped back to allow Sam to enter first, and the rest of you followed suit.

Music filled the air, a swanky song you didn’t recognize, as you stalked through the laboratory, your gun aimed dead ahead and eyes peeled.

“Follow me,” you whispered, taking the lead as you easily navigated to the physical source of Dr. Nagel’s thoughts. When you saw him, his back was to you, slouched over whatever he was working on as he hummed along to the tune. Sam silently walked over and removed the needle from the record that played the music, and Nagel turned around slowly, fear written all over his face.

“Dr. Nagel?”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“We know you created the super soldier serum.”

“Get out of my lab,” Nagel commanded, as if he was in any position to give orders. He began to walk toward the exit, but you stepped in front of him and stopped him with a hand flat against his bony chest.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. Not until you tell us what we need to know,” you informed him without speaking, your voice infiltrating his mind. Nagel let out a frightened gasp as he looked behind him, apparently thinking that may be the source of the voice, before his eyes landed on you.

“You,” he whispered, his voice a mix of confusion, fear, and awe as you met his gaze with harsh eyes. “You – you spoke to me, in my head. How did you do that?”

“She can read your mind, and she can also control it. So, I’d advise you to answer our questions, before she forces you to,” Sam threatened, then watched as Nagel took note of Bucky across the room. “And you know who he is, right?” He then grabbed Nagel by the arm and turned him to face Zemo. “This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him, too, right?” He dragged Nagel to the nearest wall, shoving him against it as his back collided with the metal grate. “You seem like a pretty smart guy, so you better become conversational real quick.”

“How ‘bout a counter proposal? Make me a better offer, and I’ll talk,” Nagel proposed.

“Guys, we have company,” Sharon’s voice stated through the earpiece. “Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go!”

Bucky grabbed Nagel by his shirt and dragged him over to a chair, forcing him down roughly before pointing his gun at Nagel’s head, finger on the trigger. He still didn’t look terribly interested in talking, so you lowered your weapon and narrowed your eyes at him, and used your abilities to insight sheer, unadulterated fear in his mind. His eyes widened and he visibly paled as his mind wreaked havoc on itself, instilling a very pure, very powerful terror within him.

“Okay, okay! I’ll talk! Just stop it!”

You ended the onslaught of panic, and raised your gun once again, as your three companions eyed you with curiosity, unsure of what exactly you’d just done to him. But there would be time for an explanation later.

Nagel explained how he formulated the super soldier serum, and you all listened intently to his little tale. That was when you heard it. Like the crack of a twig in an otherwise silent forest, yet making no audible sound at all, you heard it.

“I must kill him.”

You looked over at Zemo as nonchalantly as possible, and his eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d picked up on his decision. The two of you shared tense eye contact for several beats, and you knew that you must make a choice. Allow Zemo to end this man’s life, and end the possibility of additional serums being created, or warn Sam and Bucky of his intentions?

“You know the damage unchecked Super Soldiers can cause. He is dangerous; he must be stopped.”

Zemo spoke directly to you in his mind, and you took the opportunity to dig deeper, searching for any sign that he was going to betray you, Sam, and Bucky. When you found none, you sighed quietly as you made your choice, and returned your attention to Nagel. Out of your peripheral, you saw Zemo begin perusing the room, feeling underneath tables in the lab in search of a secluded weapon.

“Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky inquired, and when Nagel hesitated, he pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple, prompting an answer of no. “Now what?”

Sharon ran into the room then, announcing, “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.”

Zemo took her distraction as an opportunity to draw his gun and shoot Nagel in the chest, straight through his heart. Sam tackled Zemo, and Sharon took the gun from his hand, whispering, “What did you do?”

The very next moment, the entire place exploded, erupting into flames as you, Bucky, Sam, and Sharon hit the deck, although Zemo was nowhere to be found when you groaned in pain and looked around the room from your position on the floor. Bucky pulled you to your feet, then Sharon, then Sam, as the four of you exited the container before it could explode from all the chemicals and fire in Nagel’s lab. You didn’t quite make it, as a gas-fueled explosion went off just as you exited the container, but you were far enough away from it that it merely blew your hair forward. Once outside, the adrenaline wore off just enough that you felt a blinding pain in your torso, and looked down to see blood quickly soaking through your sweater.

“Bucky,” you called out, and he turned quickly, a frown forming on his face when he saw your injury. You lifted your shirt to reveal a thin, jagged, three-inch long sliver of metal embedded in the center of your abdomen. Sam turned to bark orders at the two of you, but his face fell as he saw the blood.

Sharon made quick work of removing the metal, which was thankfully only about an inch or less in width, so it wasn’t at all deadly. Truthfully, it wasn't that bad of an injury, but god was it bleeding like hell. Bucky yanked off his jacket and handed it to you, instructing you to apply pressure to the wound and stick close to him. Your three companions shot at the bounty hunters that were approaching, and you did your best to fire a few shots yourself, your other hand pressing the jacket firmly against your injury. Sam shot you a disapproving look and told you to focus on yourself, but you ignored him.

While Sam and Bucky began bickering about who should have followed whose orders, there was yet another deafening explosion nearby. You looked in that direction to see Zemo with some sort of mask on, jumping down from atop some storage containers, before leaping over some metal piping and dodging past a man to evade his bullets, then grabbing him by the collar to use him as a human shield. He fired multiple rounds at the nearby bounty hunters, before releasing his grip on the first man and kicking him away, then shot him too. He looked at you through the flames, and you didn’t have to read his mind to know how exhilarated he felt, being truly back in action after spending years in a cell.

If asked, you’d chalk it up to the blood loss, but… goddamn, he looked hot kicking ass like that.

“Go,” Bucky ordered, helping you up and wrapping an arm around your waist to steady and guide you as the four of you made a break for it. Eventually, you reached an open storage container, and Sam helped you into it as Bucky fended off the last few bounty hunters.

When Bucky burst through the back of the container with his vibranium arm, you heard tires screech and an engine rev, before Zemo pulled up in a sports car.

“Supercharged,” he stated with the faintest smile. Christ, he was just a little bit of a goofball, wasn’t he?

“You’re going back to jail,” Sam said angrily, then turned to you. “And you were supposed to tell us if he was going to screw us over.”

“Nagel shouldn’t have been kept alive. I know you don’t like it, but it is the truth,” you reasoned.

“He didn’t have to die though, dammit! He could have just gone to jail, locked up for the rest of his life!”

“Oh, yes, just like Zemo? The man standing five feet from us, very much not in jail?” you countered, and he frowned, knowing you had a point. “Once word got out that Nagel knew how to recreate the serum, every power hungry individual and group in the world would be trying to find a way to either break him out or ask him about it. And I’m sure he would have told anyone for the right price. Even if the serum didn’t fall into the hands of the wrong people, even if a seemingly good-natured country like America were to get ahold of it, it could still be used for evil. They clearly don’t have the best moral compass, considering the asshole they gave Captain America’s shield to.”

“Alright, yeah, you’ve made your point,” Sam grumbled. “But I still think we should take Zemo back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo interjected.

“He’s right, we need him. And there’s three of us, and at least 20 of them. Come on,” Bucky said, pulling open the door of the car before turning around to help you into the vehicle. Only then did Zemo notice the blood on your hands and sweater, and Bucky’s blazer pressed against your torso.

“What happened to her?” Zemo inquired, sitting up to help you sit behind him, and frowning when you grimaced as you maneuvered into your seat, careful not to get any blood on the lovely cream interior. The car didn’t belong to any of you, but it was so beautiful that you hated to harm it.

“Stray shard of metal during the explosion in Nagel’s container,” you explained, grimacing a little as you leaned your head against the headrest behind you, eyes closed as you willed the pain to subside.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be. Probably just needs a few stitches, then I’ll be good as new,” you assured him, shooting him a tight-lipped smile, which he didn’t seem to buy before he removed his trenchcoat and laid it on top of you.

“You look cold,” he muttered, then turned back around in his seat to face the steering wheel.

“Fine, but if you try that shit again…” Sam told Zemo as he climbed into the car.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Zemo responded, and you didn’t have to check his thoughts to know that that was a complete lie.

Sharon bid you all goodbye, and Sam thanked her for her help before sliding down into his seat.

“You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?” Sam asked Bucky.

“No,” he deadpanned, causing you to chuckle under your breath, which earned you a glare from Sam.

The drive back to the airport was mostly silent, which you were thankful for, as you didn’t really have the energy for talking. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but you’d still lost enough and exerted yourself enough that you were feeling fatigued. Zemo parked the car on the landing strip, a short distance from his jet, and was quick to exit the vehicle to help you out. You thought you were doing quite well, until you actually stood up outside the car, and the exhaustion combined with some wooziness from the blood loss made your knees buckle. You would have fallen if Zemo hadn’t lunged forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“Let us get you aboard the plane, and I will dress your wound,” he said, then stooped to scoop you up into his arms bridal-style, and began carrying you toward the jet. Sam and Bucky eyed him curiously, but said nothing. Admittedly, you were too flustered by the close proximity and his gentleness toward you to say anything yourself. You looked over his shoulder, admiring his stolen vehicle one last time.

In Sokovian, you stated with a smile, “I’d like one of those by the way, the Pontiac.”

“Whatever your heart desires,” he responded calmly, matching your Sokovian. As he approached Oeznik, who stood beside the steps of the jet, he continued in that language as he instructed the butler, “Have that car, or one exactly like it, delivered to Berlin as soon as possible, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

Zemo laid you down gently on the couch inside the plane, Sam and Bucky following close behind. Once inside, Oeznik brought Zemo the first aid kit, a needle, and some stitching. Both of the other men offered to do it themselves, but Zemo insisted that he could do a better job than both of them combined. In a manner much unlike the night before, Zemo lifted your shirt to have access to the wound, and set to work. Bucky let you hold his hand as Zemo cleaned the area and did the stitches, while you forced yourself to breathe evenly and ignore the pain of the antiseptic and the needle. A mere fifteen minutes later, you were all patched up, and Zemo was helping you up and sending you to the washroom with a change of clothes.

“You’re gettin’ real sweet on her, Zemo,” you heard Sam note, his tone suspicious. “You better watch yourself, man. Step out of line with her and we won’t hesitate to end you.”

“Understood,” Zemo replied nonchalantly, then you could hear him open a book and take a sip of his champagne. For your own amusement, you took a peek into his mind, and found that he was thinking, “Too late.”

You smiled to yourself as you undressed, carefully removing the blood-soaked sweater and placing it in a trash bag. When you saw yourself in the mirror, you first noticed the hickeys from last night, then the miscellaneous cuts scattered across your skin from the various explosions, and the gauze taped over your wound. The hickeys caused your smile to widen further, and you donned the plain black t-shirt of Zemo’s and his loose gray sweatpants before rejoining them in the lounge. His eyes darkened in that way as his gaze raked up and down your body, clearly enjoying the sight of you in his clothing, but he quickly returned his attention to Sam.

“She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.”

“I have a place we can go,” Zemo suggested, then leaned back in his seat. “I, for one, am looking forward to coming face-to-face with Karli. Oeznik, we’re changing the course.”

A few hours later, Bucky and Sam had fallen asleep after reclining their chairs and dimming the lights, as you laid on the couch, halfway asleep yourself despite the book in your hands. Once their near-identical snores had filled the cabin for several minutes, Zemo stood from his seat and came to crouch down beside your head. His expression was unreadable as he stared at you, before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I must admit, I was very concerned when I saw all the blood on your shirt. I have only just found you, my Sokovian beauty. I would prefer to draw out having the privilege of being acquainted with you for as long as possible, but I cannot do that if you get killed.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid it,” you teased, and he smiled softly. “Thank you for taking such good care of my injury earlier.” He said nothing in response, simply smiled a bit wider and kissed you again, longer this time, but still far shorter and far less intimately than you’d have preferred. You both had to take the others into consideration, even despite their snores, because you were quite certain they’d put a bullet between Zemo’s eyes and send you home immediately if they learned just how “sweet on you” the man truly was. He stood and fetched a blanket from an overhead cabinet before laying it over you, then pressed his lips to your forehead, and returned to his seat.

“Goodnight, Liebling,” Zemo said softly, flicking off the last light in the cabin as he settled back into his seat.

“Goodnight, Baron.”

—————

Riga was somehow comparably chaotic to Madripoor, in terms of the events that transpired there.

Shortly after you arrived at Zemo’s estate, Bucky returned from his "walk" to declare that the Wakandans were there to take Zemo, although he bought some time. In all honesty, you were only half-ass listening to him, because Zemo had exited the bathroom with wet hair and a purple robe that revealed half his chest. He caught you staring and shot you a subtle wink while Sam and Bucky were talking, and you rolled your eyes in return.

Next stop was a refugee camp, where you, Bucky, and Sam searched in vain to get any information on Danya Madani. Zemo somehow managed to accomplish the task, albeit in the creepiest way possible, which you teased him relentlessly for on the walk back to his flat. When he revealed that the girl he'd spoken to told him the time and location of the funeral, but refused to tell any of you, Bucky was quick to anger, snatching the teacup from Zemo’s hand and throwing it against the wall. Sam talked him down before you grabbed Bucky’s arm, pulling him gently toward the door.

"Come on, let's take a walk. I saw a little farmer's market down the road; let's go have a snack and explore a little, yeah?" you asked, your tone calm and soothing to contrast the rage that swarmed in his mind, and Bucky nodded gravely to you as he let you lead him. When you glanced back into the flat as you closed the door behind you, you saw that Zemo was wearing a frown, and a quick peek at his thoughts informed you that he was pouting a bit, wishing you'd have just sent Bucky off and stayed with him. You rolled your eyes internally, then accompanied Bucky to the market, where the two of you ate some plums and took a little walk. When the two of you returned to the flat, Zemo announced that it was time to head to the funeral.

"Did you enjoy your little excursion with James?" Zemo inquired in Sokovian, a tinge of spite in his voice. "Did you relieve his tension?"

"It wouldn't be any of your business if I did," you shot back, also in Sokovian. The disdain on his face disappeared quickly, and you added, "But no, we just took a walk and had some food, as I said we would. Jealousy does not suit you, Baron."

Zemo's voice took on a gentler tone, the Sokovian dripping from his tongue like honey as he said, "My apologies, darling. You are just so magnificent that I want you all to myself; the thought of you with another man is enviable."

"Don’t apologize. Just end it."

He nodded, and before either of you could say anything else, that asshole John Walker showed up, along with his partner. They demanded that Sam and Bucky no longer keep them in the dark, but ultimately, Walker conceded to follow Zemo, and allow Sam the opportunity to talk to Karli alone. As Sam walked off, Walker grabbed Zemo forcefully and handcuffed him to some kind of metal contraption on the wall.

"Aggressive. But I get it," Zemo quipped. He turned to you, and in Sokovian, said, "Once I get out of these, perhaps we could use them to our advantage later this evening."

"Zip it, Zemo."

Unsurprisingly, Walker betrayed his agreement with Sam, barging in on the memorial before Sam's allotted time was up.

"Uh-uh. No, no, no, no. This is a bad idea."

"It hasn't been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight," Bucky responded calmly.

"Don’t do that. Don't patronize me."

"Then do not behave so childishly," you retorted, and Bucky elbowed you while Walker shot you an icy glare. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky cut him off, aiming to divert the subject before Walker pushed you any further.

"He knows what he's doing."

Walker was silent for a moment more, before he grabbed the shield – which shouldn't be in his possession in the first place – and marched toward the door. "I'm goin' in."

Bucky stopped him, but after Walker guilt-tripped him, Bucky stepped to the side to allow him to pass. You groaned in exasperation the second Walker walked off.

"Why the hell did you do that?"

"It was either that, or you and me fight Walker and Battlescar – or whatever his stupid code name is. I'm already on probation, and I helped the guy that split up the Avengers break out of prison. I really don't need ‘beat the shit out of the new Cap’ added to my list of wrongdoings," Bucky said, running a hand through his hair before clapping a hand on your shoulder. "Come on, let's go find Sam."

As Bucky jogged off in the direction Walker had gone, you followed while grumbling, "My preference would have been the latter, but no, why would anyone ask for my opinion? I'm just the pet mind reader."

When the two of you caught up to Walker and Hoskins, the former was thrown into a table by Karli, and she ran off. Bucky chased after her, and you took another route to try to intercept her, to no avail. You caught up with Sam and Bucky a few minutes later, out of breath as Sam commented that the building was like a maze, and you wholeheartedly agreed. By the time the three of you found the others, Karli was gone, Walker was just standing there, and Zemo was out cold on the floor.

Walker and Hoskins stated that they were going to search for Karli, and ran off. Bucky threw Zemo over his shoulder like a damn ragdoll, and the three of you trudged back to Zemo’s flat, a little worn out and a little defeated. Once there, Bucky threw him down on the couch, and Zemo bounced limply atop the cushions, still unconscious. Sam began working on his laptop, and Bucky went on yet another walk, while you searched for the first aid kit.

Zemo looked surprisingly peaceful and non-threatening as he laid there, appearing to be asleep. You kneeled beside his head and lightly applied some antiseptic on the cut left by Cap's shield, right at the top of his hairline, and you found yourself admiring him. He had soft features for a man so dark inside; soft chestnut brown hair, adorable nose, slight bit of stubble across his gentle jawline and neck. You began dabbing the antiseptic again, still lost in your own thoughts when he awoke very suddenly, grabbing your wrist in a fierce grip out of reflex. Zemo's eyes were wide when he first opened them, but upon seeing you, he visibly relaxed and released his grip on you.

"Apologies," he whispered, then groaned softly when he felt the pain in his head. You stood silently and retrieved a rag from the drawer beside the sink, wetting it with cold water, then filled a glass with some ice and brandy and returned, handing both items to Zemo. He thanked you very sincerely, then laid the rag over his forehead and eyes, and held the glass atop his chest.

You were grateful that Sam hadn't noticed you doting on him, too focused on his laptop, because he'd have definitely asked you about it, and you didn't even have an answer for yourself. It wasn't like there was any need or obligation for you to tend to him like that, and yet you did without even thinking. As you took a seat opposite Zemo on the couch, you told yourself that it was merely payback for how he assisted you with your own injury the day before, and left it at that.

It wasn't long before Walker and his partner showed up again, demanding to place Zemo under arrest. You, Sam, and Zemo all stood when he burst through the doors, all silently conglomerating to one side of the room. Walker had the gall to threaten Sam, and it had your fingers twitching on the gun in your thigh holster in rage. Before anything could come of that, the Wakandans Bucky had mentioned showed up, and when Walker tried talking down to them before placing a hand on one's shoulder, melee ensued.

You leaned on the bar with one arm, watching in amusement as Walker got his ass handed to him. Zemo seemed to be in the same boat, observing without expression as he passed you his drink, and you took a couple of sips before returning it.

"We should do something," Sam said to you and Bucky.

"Looking strong, John!"

"Yes, excellent form! Top notch," you added. "Really showing them the prowess of the new Captain America!"

"Bucky…" Sam chided, prompting Bucky to finally intervene. Sam looked to you, and you held your hands up in defense.

"I am not fighting the goddamn Dora Milaje. I don't feel like dying today – especially not for the sake of helping John Walker."

Sam sighed before joining the fight himself, and that was when Zemo’s hand enveloped yours, silently tugging you towards the bathroom. You opened your mouth to say "Is this really the time for a quickie?" but he held a finger to his lips, effectively silencing you. Once he had successfully guided you into the bathroom, he closed the door quietly behind him, and shoved the tub to the side, revealing a secret passageway.

"Come with me," Zemo said simply, and you scoffed.

"I'm not abandoning Sam and Bucky. My place is here."

"Actually, if I remember correctly, your assignment is to keep an eye on me. Although I'd rather not have to, I will overpower you if I must, because I will be leaving now. So, it is technically your job to follow me, and it would behoove you to simply follow your comrades’ orders without an unnecessary scuffle."

The man really didn't miss a beat, did he? Sam and Bucky had, in fact, assigned you to watch Zemo. Although it was implied that that was everyone's task, they had specifically delegated the role to you. So, it was a matter of whether or not you could take Zemo in a fight, and although you secretly hoped he'd go easy on you, you knew that his own self-preservation was his chief concern.

"Fine," you grumbled, not missing the smile on his face as you shoved past him and jumped down into the tunnel.

Your joints ached in protest of your actions, but you ignored it. He was right behind you, not even bothering to cover the passageway back up before taking off in one of the three directions that the tunnel led to. You were right behind him, and it wasn't long before the sounds of the scuffle faded away. Roughly five minutes later, you reached the end, and he pushed aside the manhole above you and climbed out. Zemo took your hands and helped you out as well, before replacing the manhole while you surveyed the area. It was a city street, but they all looked the same in Riga, so you had no idea where you were.

"Come on," Zemo said, lacing his fingers with yours as you ran down the street. He took a few turns and ended up in the town square, where he led you into a hotel. As you entered the lobby, he explained, "We'll stay here for a few hours, essentially hiding in plain sight, to allow the Dora Milaje and Walker time to leave and search for me elsewhere."

You nodded, and as you approached the front desk, Zemo wrapped his arm snugly around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Do you have any availability for the night?" Zemo inquired, then smiled lovingly at you. "It is our wedding day, and my beautiful bride simply cannot wait until we reach our honeymoon destination to get her hands on me."

You sent Zemo a quick glare, but the man at the desk didn't notice. He chuckled and nodded, saying something about "What a happy couple" as he booked the room for you. Zemo ignored your pointed look and kissed your temple, thanking the man and paying for the room before leading you in the direction of the room. As soon as you were out of earshot of the desk clerk, you glowered at Zemo once again, although his arm remained around your waist until you reached the room. Not that you minded, really.

"'Beautiful bride'? 'Honeymoon'? Really?"

"Yes," Zemo replied calmly, unlocking the door and opening it for you. As you walked past him, he elaborated, "If Walker comes looking for me, he'll be asking for a former SHIELD agent and a criminal. If the gentleman at the desk is convinced we're a happy newlywed couple, he won't even think to mention us to Walker."

It didn't take more than half a second to find his genuine answer in his mind. "How smoothly and effortlessly you lie, Zemo. You simply wanted to touch me again, so you came up with a convenient excuse."

Zemo licked his lips subtly, before shrugging with a small smile, wordlessly saying 'you got me there.'

"We need to get back to Sam and Bucky once Walker and the Dora Milaje are gone, but there's no foolproof way to go about it," you began pacing the room, as Zemo remained fixed beside the wall. "If I text Sam or Bucky, Walker will know they got a message, and they're both the worst liars I've ever met. God knows we don't need the Dora having any idea about where you are, you wouldn't last a full minute before they drove a spear through your chest. We also can't wait around too long, because then Sam and Bucky might leave Riga, and —"

You were still pacing and mid-sentence when Zemo suddenly grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you into a searing kiss, effectively silencing you. His other hand rested on the curve of your waist, pulling you against his chest. The surprise of the act and subsequent warm feeling in your stomach absolutely obliterated all other thoughts from your mind, and all you could focus on was him.

At some point, you regained your senses, albeit still in a haze. You pressed your palms to his shoulders and shoved him a few inches back, and he stared down at you with half-lidded eyes and lust-blown pupils.

“We – we need to focus on Sam and Bucky,” you managed to stammer out, but Zemo simply cupped your cheek and stroked the side of your face with his thumb.

“Is that truly what you want to be focusing on, Schatz?” Zemo inquired, his voice low, taking on even more of a gravely tone than usual. It flooded your veins with heat and desire, and you found your eyes fluttering closed as he bent down to pepper your neck with kisses. “Or would you rather simply wait out Walker and the Dora Milaje here, with me? Allowing me to touch you, taste you, in all the ways I know you crave?”

The final shred of your sanity left the building when he gently bit down on your neck, at the point where it met your shoulder, and you found yourself releasing a breathy moan and melting into his touch. Zemo wasted no time in kissing you once again, lips fast and insistent on yours, one hand on the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other on the nape of your neck once again. His body leaned into yours as he kissed you with fervor, and your hands longingly grasped the front of his sweater. Eventually, Zemo abruptly spun you around to press your back against the wall that had previously been behind him, and he hiked one of your legs up onto his hip, gripping it under your thigh. His other hand slowly moved from the back of your neck to the front, fingers curling deliciously around your throat as he applied a little pressure, earning another airy moan from you.

As if on reflex, his hips bucked up into you, and the friction left you mewling. Just like last time, it seemed to be your noises that set Zemo off, as he released a low growl from the back of his throat and dropped your leg to tear your shirt off while you took the hint and kicked off your shoes. He undid the fasten on your jeans with lightning speed, and yanked them – along with your panties – down past your hips so you could kick them both off. Next went your bra, which was flung god knows where in the room, and Zemo took a small step back to admire you.

It only lasted for a split second, because you then grabbed the straps he wore around his shoulders and used them to pull him in and kiss him again. Zemo’s hands glided slowly, sensually down your shoulders, your back, then came to rest upon your ass, grabbing it fiercely with both hands. His hands trailed further down, to the undersides of your thighs, before he lifted you with surprising ease and carried you over to the bed at the center of the room. Zemo threw you down onto the mattress unceremoniously, gaze locked on your chest as he watched your breasts bounce from the force, but you were quick to sit upright and pull him back in by the shoulder straps. You removed them then, as well as his turtleneck and belt buckle, and he was cooperative in removing his own boots and slacks, leaving him in his black briefs, his cock tenting the fabric there.

When you reached out to remove his briefs, Zemo pushed you to lay down by your shoulder, and knelt down at the edge of the bed, opening your legs at the knee with a harsh grip. You didn’t even have time to blink before he dove in, licking a long stripe up your slit before moving to your clit as your head fell back onto the mattress and your eyes fluttered closed. He focused primarily on your clit, occasionally lapping at your folds, but always returning his attention to that bundle of nerves. Gasps and moans were already falling for your lips, but when his middle finger and ring finger entered the fray, you found yourself crying out his name and tangling your fingers in his hair.

That delectable little growl of his escaped him once more, and you felt the vibrations of it against you, which warranted another moan, and Zemo’s fingers began delving in and out of your core at a steadfast pace. When he began curling them upwards, rubbing them against that sweet spot deep inside you, you were a goner. He wanted more of your beautiful sounds of pleasure, wanted to see you become more and more undone for him. You only lasted a couple minutes longer, growing progressively louder and more unhinged with each passing second. You were then launched over the edge, one hand tugging on his chestnut tresses and the other gripping the comforter of the bed, crying out his name amongst various explicatives.

When your eyes opened again, Zemo was standing, kicking off his boxers as he made eye contact with you while he sucked his fingers clean of you. He had set his wallet on the bedside table in the midst of your pacing, so he retrieved it and pulled a condom from one of the compartments. You sat up and snatched it from him, quickly tearing it open and rolling it down over his length. The sensation caused a sigh to leave his lips, before murmuring, "Eager, are we, Kätzchen?"

Electing to ignore him, you grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bed with you, wordlessly instructing him to lay down by pressing your hands on his chest. Zemo got the message with ease, happily complying as you straddled him. The sight of you sinking down on his clock, your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself, caused him to groan in pleasure. Far too eager to spend an abundant amount of time adjusting to him, you began moving, rocking your hips back and forth at a resolute pace, savoring the feeling of him sliding in and out of you. Zemo's hands rested on your waist, fingertips digging into your skin as he helped you keep your rhythm, while he gazed up at you as if you were a goddess in the flesh, his jaw hanging open slightly and hair disheveled.

By the time you were approaching your second orgasm, Zemo could tell, from the faltering of your hips as they strove to increase their speed, and from the way your nails raked down his chest each time you used his length inside you to hit that special spot there. He began thrusting up into you, eager to feel you come on his cock. You unintentionally caught a passing glance at his thoughts, and learned that it seemed that he always wanted more of you, needed more of you, to the point that he questioned if you had toyed with his mind somehow. You were about to inform him that no, you had not done anything to his mind, when he trusted particularly hard and deep up into you and his fingertips dug deliciously hard into your hips at the same time, and all sensual thoughts left your mind as you met your release a second time.

Still shaking slightly and moaning breathlessly, Zemo flipped you over onto your back, lifted your calf up onto his hip and held it there, and began pistoning in and out of you at a desperate, unforgiving pace. When your eyes fluttered open, you found that he was practically snarling above you, teeth bared in concentration and an intense fire in his eyes. It reminded you that his softness toward you did not change the fact that he was a criminal mastermind and former kill squad leader, who had done a great many terrible things. Yet the thought only made you want him even more, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him into a heated, haphazard kiss.

Zemo thrust in and out of you like a man on a mission, the sound of his pelvis colliding with yours filling the room, before he pulled out of you long enough to flip you onto your chest, face in the pillows and ass in the air, then resumed his pace. The new angle felt incredible, and it didn't take long before you were moaning into the pillows, fists clenched around the duvet. In the blink of an eye, Zemo grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you upright, your back flush against his chest.

"Do not hide your beautiful noises from me, Liebling. I want to hear you," Zemo commanded, and you moaned in response, both as a confirmation of his words and as a natural reaction to the low, gravely tone his voice took on. His hand moved to encase your neck, tilting your head back even further so he could trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, before biting down on your shoulder, earning a shuddering gasp from you. "Now tell me, Kätzchen: who makes you feel this good?"

"You," you choked out, groaning in pleasure when his fingers tightened their grip on your throat.

"Me, what?"

"You, Baron," you corrected, and Zemo hummed in approval, kissing you quickly in praise. He gave your neck another squeeze before throwing you back down onto the mattress, his hands on your hips as he returned his focus to fucking the very soul out of you.

As his hips began to stutter into yours and soft moans began falling from his lips, signaling he was approaching his end, Zemo reached around your body to begin expertly rubbing your clit, desperate for you to finish in unison. The way your walls fluttered around him let him know that he was on the right track, so he quickened the pace of his fingers on your clit, careful to maintain the angle he was thrusting at. As you fell apart beneath him a third and final time, your scream of "Baron!" and your core clenching around him like the most luxurious vice, Zemo found himself crying out your name in accompaniment with a low, guttural moan, spilling himself into the condom.

Zemo didn't move for a moment, hands still clutching your hips, albeit with a looser grip now, as he fought to catch his breath. Still panting, he slowly removed himself from you, falling into a sweaty heap beside you. Breathing heavily yourself, you leaned over to kiss him – far slower this time, both of you reveling in post-coitus bliss. He affectionately brushed your hair away from your face, as it had been stuck to your forehead from perspiration, before stroking your cheek with his thumb.

A brief eternity later, Zemo stood and headed to the restroom, no doubt disposing of the condom, before returning in one of the hotel’s white bathrobes and holding a cold rag. He flopped down onto the mattress, placing the towel over his forehead and eyes as he had earlier in his flat.

“Apologies, Schatz. As enjoyable as that was, it certainly did not help my migraine,” Zemo explained, blindly reaching out to grab your hand and bring it to his lips, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

You murmured a dismissive ‘you’re fine’ before heading to the washroom yourself, hopping into the shower and allowing the burning temperature of the water to ease the ache in practically all your muscles – some of it from fighting, some of it from fucking – although you suspected that the ache in your thighs, from being so tense throughout the multiple orgasms, wasn’t going away anytime soon. Thankfully, Zemo truly had done a marvelous job on your stitches, and the wound was already healing up nicely. By the time you finished your shower, the steam had clouded the room and coated the mirrors with condensation, but you felt more relaxed than you had in days. Donning a bathrobe yourself, you exited the bathroom, and situated yourself in the chair beside the floor-to-ceiling window on the wall of the room. Zemo was snoring softly, and the quiet tranquility of the room and the comfort of your seat sent you into a cat nap of your own, your head falling back against the chair as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You were entirely unsure how long you had slept, but when you awoke, Zemo was sitting with his back resting against the headboard, reading a random book he’d found in the room’s nightstand. He looked up at you long enough to flash you a small smile, before returning to the book. You yawned and rubbed your eyes, then sat up straighter in the chair and gazed out the window beside you. You hadn’t noticed, but the room had a lovely view of the town square.

A few minutes after you began observing the city below, your eyebrows practically shot up into your hairline as you saw none other than the bastard himself, John Walker, chasing one of the Flag Smashers before hitting him with the shield, sending the man flying into the statue at the center of the square. Each member of the bustling crowd stopped dead in their tracks, watching the scene unfold before them, as this new Captain America placed his foot on the man’s chest, pinning him against the stairs of the statue, as the man screamed, “It wasn’t me!”

The chair you were sitting in clattered to the floor as you stood bolt upright, a shuddering gasp escaping you and your hand flying to your mouth as you watched Walker raise the shield high above his head, a completely unhinged look upon his face. Zemo was at your side in an instant, his hands on your upper arms as he stood behind you, a worried expression on his face, wondering what could have caused you such distress. Before he had the chance to ask, Zemo’s eye caught the scene below, and you both watched in shock and horror as John Walker drove the shield into the Flag Smasher’s chest, again and again and again, until the man just laid there – bloodied, bludgeoned, and unmoving. Dead, at the hands of the new Captain America.

—————

@henrysmorgan @clints-lucky-arrow @therenlover

602 notes · View notes

madhyanas · 4 years ago

Text

a strumming of nerves

“Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Boba Fett

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Ratings: Post-S2. Boba Fett POV. Haunted Darksaber/Din’s Haunted AU. Sleepwalking. Implied possession. Not horror, but creepy vibes for sure.

Notes: this au was originally created by @keldabekush, @kyberpistol and others! i’m just messing around with it. good luck trying to parse through this one lads idk how it’ll go

masterlist

———

There’s a noise keeping Boba awake.

It’s a thrumming. Quiet enough to settle into the background, seep into the rocky palace walls, it’s almost innocent. He could almost mistake it for the whine of some desert gnat that snuck in underground.

Almost.

But in the months since he and his companions have settled here, lying awake and staring at the ceiling of his palace quarters has never invited such a sick feeling to his stomach. It’s not nausea — he’s well acquainted with that. Kamino, Geonosis, Coruscant, Tatooine. Nausea has followed him like a diseased shadow.

This is different. He calls it anticipation, for to hear a noise and feel fear is foolishness he’s long outgrown.

The noise doesn’t get louder. The snaked, coiled thing growing in the pit of his stomach gets heavier, and heavier.

Just as he feels he may be crushed into the soft sheets by whatever waking night-terror has decided to sit on his chest, Boba sits up. In fact, he gets out of bed, swings his legs over the edge to touch the chilly stone floor, and steps outside. He’s always preferred doing things, anyway.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary as Boba stares out into the empty throne room. Thin, slivered shadows and hollow caverns. There’s nothing besides that kriffing noise, he thinks sourly, tiredly, before he turns his head.

Someone is standing in the hallway.

Danger.

At first he doesn’t believe it. A simple silhouette that Boba can barely make out in the dark. Something about it doesn’t quite seem real, as if that same waking night-terror hasn’t yet been rubbed from his eyes. Boba blinks. Its outline is blurry, encircled by a slim ring of darkness and seeming to shift in and out of focus. Moonlight doesn’t touch the shape, doesn’t even creep near.

Boba doesn’t approach either. Not even when he recognises the figure. The shoulders, the stance. He can feel in his bones that in the inky blackness hides a scruffy jaw and sad, weathered eyes. “Djarin?”

Din does not respond. He continues to stand there, staring silently down at the floor, which throws the figure’s identity into question because Din is polite to a fault. Fennec had laughed about it when they’d first met the man; a bounty hunter with manners.

What’s wrong with the figure, Boba realises, is that it’s still. Too still. He squints. His eyes aren’t what they used to be, and it’s dark, but he doesn’t think ‘Din’ is… breathing.

The very wrongness of the situation has his fingers twitching for a weapon that isn’t there.

Boba is beginning to think he should have carried a blaster.

“Din,” he calls, more urgently. “What are you doing?”

Silence, again. A sudden gust of wind whistles outside the window, churning sand against rocky architecture. It scrapes.

Boba’s frown deepens. This isn’t right.

The figure then turns — though that isn’t the right word for the movement. It’s a kind of swaying, as if the body can’t quite settle its centre of gravity and settles for a light, weightless bobbing around a fixed point. Almost like dangling. There is no rustling of cloth, no scrape of foot against sandstone floor.

Against his better judgement, Boba glances down. Both of the figure’s feet are flat on the ground.

Of course, his rational mind whispers. What were you expecting?

This ‘Din’, still standing at the other end of the hallway, now faces him directly. And gripped tightly in his left hand is the source of that infernal thrumming.

The Darksaber. Ignited and ready for battle, as it always has been.

Now, technically, pointed at Boba. The figure doesn’t turn away. The light it gives off is sickly, splattering Din’s shirt with the same strange, inverse not-glow the blade itself emanates.

It reminds him of a fish, of all things. One he’d read about, so many years ago. The type that suckers in prey with a shining, blinding light.

A throb in his temple makes itself known, winding the tension in his spine even tighter. When did the thrumming get so loud? It’s everywhere; it bites up his legs and punctures the soft spots between his ribs. A clawed hand crushing a spoilt fruit in its grasp.

Boba clenches his fists to stop himself from covering his ears, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The sound is more piercing this time, with purpose and deadly aim.

Thick, oozing cold settles in his gut. There is only one possible target in this room.

It gets louder. And louder. It ebbs and flows like the tide but so much more vicious. It doesn’t stop; the noise simmers and bubbles and rings in his ears, resounding through the hallway so strongly it shakes his teeth to the tender, aching nerves and pounds at the insides of his skull. It’s swarming out from behind his eyes and it doesn’t stop, why can’t it stop — the Darksaber swings upwards, ready to strike the final blow — why is this happening he should take it—

“Din!”

The figure flinches. Boba’s shout is as good as a bullet. His shoulders heave with staggering breaths. His heartbeat pulses jaggedly at his throat and he’s panting; a cold, thin sheen of sweat is draped over the back of his neck.

The Darksaber is held high above Boba’s head. The crest of a wave, frozen. Then the blade retreats with a quiet whoosh before the hilt clatters to the ground. That’s the only reason Boba realises the thrumming has stopped.

It still doesn’t feel fixed. Nothing does.

The figure stumbles forward and Din’s haggard face is suddenly awash in a sliver of moonlight. He’s a puppet cut down from his strings, crumpling to the ground.

Boba is there to catch him. As it will be.

“Easy. What happened?” he questions gruffly, too preoccupied with checking the other man over for injuries to hear just how hoarse his voice is.

But whatever state he’s in, Din is worse. He stares at some point on Boba’s shoulder with glazed, unfocused eyes. The man is sweating buckets. “I... I don’t know.”

Din’s voice is soft, as Boba has come to expect, though not reassuring. It crackles and bursts to suggest there’s mucus sitting in his airways, spitting and popping like rotting fat thrown out to sizzle on Tatooine street corners.

Perhaps it is reassuring, then, to be holding his friend so limp in his arms like this. Because Boba knows what blood in the lungs sounds like, and the distinct lack of it anywhere in the musty hallway finally brings his racing pulse something close to calm.

Boba makes a slow, calculated move to rise from the floor and lift the other man with him, but Din flinches when he feels Boba’s shoulders tense. A flinch that dissolves into faint tremors wracking his body, which Boba is loath to ignore, but it also clears the fog from his gaze somewhat.

“I’m—” Din clears his throat and forces out a hard, sharp breath. “I’m fine.” He looks Boba in the eye. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No, you’re not,” Boba returns dryly, though he can’t deny the weight that slips from his chest. Breathing, talking. Even with the tremors leaching from Din’s bones into his own, they’re good signs.

Din cracks a weak smile, which comes out more as a grimace. In any case, it doesn’t matter when it’s wiped away almost immediately as Din glances to the side.

Boba looks too. Next to the wall, the discarded hilt of the Darksaber stares back.

“Fett,” Din says gravely, keeping his eyes trained on the weapon. So gravely in fact, that Boba’s hackles rise. He’s speaking as if— as if his life depends on it.

“What?”

The fingers on Boba’s shoulder dig in tightly. “Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Boba is not a man easily surprised. But there is something inherently sickening in the crease of Din’s brow, anxious and abandoned. So much about all this is wrong.

He’s pallid, Boba realises. Din is shivering and sickly and sweaty like he’s in the slump of a fever. He’s still staring at that damned saber.

In the dark, they’re both kneeling on the ground. They are kneeling, technically, before the Darksaber itself.

And with a stubborn set of his jaw, Boba makes a decision.

He swings Din up from the ground, maintaining a stable hold on both arms and looping one round his own neck before either of them can topple back down.

“Right,” Boba barks, and Din’s head snaps up. “You’re going to get some sleep. And you’re leaving that blasted thing here.” His voice leaves no room for discussion.

As he marches them back to Din’s quarters, taking careful stock of any acute weaknesses in the other man’s posture and satisfied to find none for now, Din’s gaze remains forward. It latches onto the door with sharp, quiet focus, and the sight could make Boba grin.

The haunted look in his eyes is new territory. But determination; that, Boba can work with.

Walls of granite and sandstone are taller at night, it seems. Boba gets the fleeting sense that they’re boxed in on either side, in such narrow walkways, then shuns the thought. The palace is his territory. He has nothing to fear, here.

Still, he makes his way around the corners a touch quicker than before.

By the time they’ve gotten to Din’s door, neither of them have looked back once. It’s illogical, he knows. But they both look straight ahead without fail. As if that would keep the thrumming at bay. As if they feel the silence is any better.

Din takes a moment to push himself upright, testing his balance. “Thank you,” he says quietly. It’s sincere, which Boba can respect. He just doesn’t know what it’s for.

Settling on a nod, Boba suggests, “I’ll keep it in my quarters.” The empty sword still lies in the other corridor. “We’ll… figure things out in the morning.”

Din’s mouth flattens into a pained line, and a muscle jumps uncomfortably at his temple. Here, with a little more light, Boba can see the bags etched under the man’s eyes. He’s struck with the impression that this… sleepwalking, for lack of a better term, is not a recent development.

“Yeah,” Din mumbles. “In the morning.”

He eyes his cot as a starving man would a feast, but lingers at the boundary.

When Din speaks, Boba almost regrets waiting to hear it.

“I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

The words are uttered with a familiar, resigned shame that drips to the floor. It puddles around Din in viscous trails, drooping his shoulders and shutting his eyes. Weighing him down for longer than a night, clearly.

“I don’t know anymore, Fett. Sometimes I can hear it talking to me. Talking. I think I might—” He wheezes out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as if to purge whatever he sees there.

A moment to collect himself, drag all the pieces together with string and a loose knot. Then, in a quiet, ragged voice, Din confesses, “I think I’m going insane.”

False platitudes have never come easily to Boba, and they don’t start now. His jaw is slack as he searches for the words, anything to fill that chasm, until he realises there aren’t any.

So he doesn’t say anything at all, save for a slow, sympathetic hand on Din’s shoulder. He stands with his friend.

And in the dark of the palace, Boba wonders if Din might be right.

———

263 notes · View notes

purestxblood · 3 years ago

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘, 𝔧𝔬𝔥𝔫𝔫𝔶 '𝔠𝔬𝔠𝔬' 𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔷

"𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧."

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀, 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, & 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬!, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘦𝘵𝘤. 𝘹

𝟰,𝟭𝟱𝟴 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀. 𝗘𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆. 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘁𝗮𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄. 𝘅

If it weren’t for the sound of his motorcycle ramming down the street and into the driveway, it was the groans of aggravation and loose keys fidgeting their way through the lock as Coco pushed his frame through the front door. The clock hanging above the kitchen sink ticked away, the hour hand landing upon the three, noting that once again you were up into the late hour waiting on him. All the lights were off, your sitting exterior illuminated by the light of the night seeping through the kitchen window.

Coco was oblivious to you as he placed his keys on the hall table and stumbled into the kitchen, his hands clasping around the refrigerator door and pulling it open to search the inside. You watched his hunched over back as he mumbled - more so, slurred curse words when he couldn’t find what he wanted. Your hands rested upon the table as you leaned back on your chair, your fingers opening and closing to crack your knuckles as your frustration only grew.

A face of disbelief - amusement - graced your face with arched brows and parted lips. It wasn’t a surprise to you that Coco was dragging himself inside this late at night. Two days had passed since you’d seen him and what truly stunned you was the fact he actually came home when he initially said he would… even if it was seven hours late. Considering Coco rarely ever came home nowadays, your shared home felt like a motel, a casual rest stop for him to recover after a long day doing god knows what (since now, Coco was a walking brick who no longer involved you in his day). You had a hunch, it wasn’t the first time you’d seen it and based on Gilly and Ez’s observations, their own perceptions only heightened your worries.

It was a routine you hated. Coco coming and going, you waiting up for him to return for him to simply not show. Nights spent sitting awake on the couch glancing between your phone and the front door until you’d knock out watching late night commercial ads only for Lety to wake you and say go to bed. The look upon his daughter’s face only matched yours, disappointment, however, the difference between the two was she knew better. Lety understood the workings of her father’s mind, that every place was temporary and he’d be on the move in no time. His actions of being a star father and being around were short lived for Lety, he could only keep up for so long; yet with you, you were the one stable aspect of his life he vowed and held onto.

This whole coming and going in silence without a glance your way wasn’t like the Coco you knew. At any chance he got, Coco would come running into your open arms freely. Whether it was for five minutes of your time during lunch in the evening, calling you while you were at work just so he could hear your voice… Coco made a fucking damn good effort.

Until now.

Instead of coming home to be with you, he was running off into the distance with two middle fingers in the air.

It was rare for him to have an angry bone in his body, especially towards you but the man before you wasn’t yours, he was a carcass of the man you loved.

You silently counted in your head, waiting to see how long it would take for him to finally realize he wasn’t the only one in the kitchen. To realize that you were here, waiting for him as a mother does for their child when they go out and don’t return until the late of the night past curfew (at least that’s what yours did being from a strict household).

Except, the only difference between you and a mother was the fact you knew Coco’s every move of the past two days, you knew he was lying right off the bat and your intuition had been deemed right when you discovered his hideout. You weren’t going to believe his lies, no you were ready to call him out on everything and see him fumble in his wake.

Reaching for a carton, Coco pulled out leftovers that had been yours from the afternoon. His nose scrunching as he lifted the lid to smell the insides before dismissing it and grabbing a spoon out of the drawer to take a bite. His body turned and he leaned against the counter, eyes locked upon the food in his hand before casually glancing up.

Your narrow eyes met his and he jumped in place, his left hand grasping the edge of the counter while the food box fell to the floor. “Que carajo,” he snapped, “you fucking scared me.” His words brought a cold chuckle to your throat and you tilted your head, “I fucking scared you,” you said back under your breath, “I scared you.” Your words carried a sarcastic tone as you taunted his words back to him.

Expectedly, dating a Mayan would make a woman’s blood run cold in worry, not knowing whether or not their man would return after a run, occasionally looking over shoulders, ears listening for the sound of a bullet. However, with Coco you didn’t have any worry, no reason to be scared.

Coco constantly spoke with his eyes, his brown irises piercing into your core, silently spewing the words he sometimes couldn’t get out. He always gave you the reassurance you needed and when he said he’d be okay and was coming home to you with a sealed kiss, you knew he was doing just that without allowing any barrier to come between. There was no reason to be scared yet now, here you were...terrified.

With Coco standing directly in your vision, you were able to examine his features and your heart instantly shattered. You were only a few feet away and his natural musk was hindered with the odor of sweat matching the beads that grazed his hairline atop of his forehead, twinkling in sync with the patch around his neck and collar of his shirt.

Scratches, wounds of old and new, darted across crevices of his face; scabs forming around his temples, one slashed from the top of his lip to the bottom. He looked as if he failed to punch his way through a bar fight and ended up with his ass in the gutter. You could feel your chest physically ache, your heart clenching as he imaged a man in a poor boys clothing. Part of you softened, not pitying your lover but sorrowful towards the replica of shattered pieces.

You stood from the chair and closed the gap between you, your hands reached to lightly cup the side of his face. Coco flinched as your cool palm touched his heated skin and his eyes followed you as you examined his physical exterior. The sorrow you momentarily felt had been short lived, for you were reminded why you were angry all over again the second your eyes landed upon his rolled sleeves.

Rumors were floating and your intuition had been accurate from investigation but deep down you wished it hadn’t been true. The sight of Coco’s bare arms only highlighted the truth both you and Coco aimed to hide in shadows and refuse to bring light. There was no more hiding it, your pain only turned to anger and the marks upon his inner elbow only made the flame go higher.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took a step back, “where were you?”

Coco’s expression was a mixture of confusion and distrust as if he couldn’t believe your doubt in him. “I told you I was on a run,” his eyes bored into yours and you bellowed a laugh. “Bullshit,” you snapped and crossed your arms over your chest. You felt flabbergasted, taken away by the fact he could easily stare through you as if you weren’t there and bluntly lie to your face.

“Oh si,” his voice raised and his hands flung out, motioning to the door, “go fucking ask Gilly.”

The words freely left his lips. If only he knew the real truth.

Your tongue pressed against your teeth as you fought yourself on the next words. All you wanted was to lash out on him but the calm in you held back the wild banshee willing to break free.

“I went to the yard,” you stated, your eyes meeting him, watching as his shoulders slouched and his defense demeanour flinched. “Gilly hasn’t seen you in three fucking days,” you lifted your hand, holding up fingers, while your tone of voice hardened and heightened to power over his, “no one has seen you, so you want to try again?”

Coco’s eyes only widened in shock as your brows lifted, your hands resting upon your hips. “At least make this lie good,” you seethed, your eyes darting from his elbow to his face, “en realidad soy inteligente a diferencia de la puta drogadicta que has estado follando.”

Your voice was always sweet to Coco’s ear, your tone songlike that kept him feeling at peace. However, with each word that rolled off of your tongue, stung his heart with pure hate. It was then he knew he had been caught and he didn’t like it; but what he didn’t like more was the tone of your voice, the words spewing malice, and the fiery look within your eyes.

You expected Coco to deny your inkling that he’d been screwing another woman and to dismiss the way your eyes lingered upon the wounds of his inner elbow. What you hadn’t expected was for him to broaden his stance and square his shoulders all while closing the gap between you with his hand around your throat.

Grinding his teeth, Coco pressed his face to yours while his right hand held you by the throat, your body trapped between his and the cabinet behind you as you were lifted upon the table top. Though his defense had turned dominant, it was evident even his dire actions had seamlessly tired him out due to his come down. He breathed heavily through his mouth while his tongue swept his lips as he caught his breath, his eyes fixated upon your face.

Your eyes were a light blur, lips slightly parted as you focused upon steadying your breathing through his tight hold, your own hands wrapped around his wrist as if you were going to pry him off but instead keeping him in place from squeezing you any tighter. You refused to let him believe he had the upper hand, you were done… done with the lies… waiting up worrying whether he was going to overdose or get into tough shit that ended with a bullet.

There was no backing down.

Your tongue darted out between your lips and you attempted to smile, “Aw que pasa Coco,” you tisked, “loco no eras tan astuto o que te atraparon?” His hand tightened slightly and you gasped, your own fingers tightening around his wrist. Your heart was beginning to stammer as the look in his eye only darkened to match the animosity within his grasp, “maldito mentiroso.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he tilted your head upward, his nose inches away from yours. A light whine tickled your throat and Coco dropped his hand from your neck, placing both of his hands on the counter around your hips, still trapping you.

Tears had fallen from your eyes and your lips were dry and while one would give in to his actions, you only sought to keep going.

“I said,” you emphasized each word slowly, “you’re a fucking liar,” ensuring your words were embedded to his head as you shot spit to his face.

The words panged Coco straight through the heart like a bullet piercing him right out the back. However, it was the way your saliva drizzled his cheeks that sent him spiraling with his hand forcefully cupping you by your jaw.

“Who the fuck do you think you are...” he gritted through his teeth, the lines above his forehead indenting in anger while his own lips molding together before mimicking your actions and spitting on your mouth. His thumb moved his saliva around your lips, “...talking to me like that.”

Truth be told, you’d never speak to him in that way. You had the build up of suppressed emotions to thank for that. Granted, he was the one at fault, you were just tired of putting up with the pain and Coco knew it.

Eventually his time was going to run out of going to Hope solely for drugs to numb his physical pain and haunting trauma he struggled to voice. With Hope she didn’t ask questions, just liked the attention and companionship in someone else besides heroin. He not once thought of nor wanted to cheat on you but when he was high off the drug, he wasn’t himself and he didn’t care that he got his dick wet.

He didn’t care about a lot of things anymore but what he did was care about you too much, way too fucking much and he was damn coward for thinking he could have his cake and eat it to. Like you said, you were smart and could smell his bullshit miles away. His time had run out and he wasn’t happy that instead of taking care of you and tending to you, it was you vocalizing how he fucked up, calling him out on all of the shit he caused you. There was no more hiding the truth he was running away from but he was still refusing to let the truth shine.

Coco’s eyes roamed your face while his thumb moved back and forth over your lips, toying with his own spit before you parted your lips and took his thumb in your mouth. You hated how his dominance slightly masked the heart within you. His sudden drug abuse and infidelity needed to be addressed yet here you were, silently begging for your core to be touched

Your teeth slightly nipped at the tip of his thumb then you lightly sucked, your eyes fixating upon his as you did so. You could feel the irritation and enmity leave his body as he began to relax underneath the massage of her tongue along his finger, his hold upon your jaw faltering for a split second before tightening once more.

He pulled his thumb from your lips and with his other hand, he cupped your face, pulling you to his until you were nose to nose. “I fucking love you,” he said through his sharp teeth, his voice hard and loud as if he were tattooing the words upon both of your skins, “eres mi vieja.”

You couldn’t help the tear that escaped your eye. There was a strain of sincerity to Coco’s tongue but the doubt had been a nagging thought, believing he was only saying what you wanted to hear and what he wanted to believe. If it were true, you guys wouldn’t be in the position you were in and you wouldn’t have doubted his love from the start. He wouldn’t have cheated.

“Coco-” you began but as if he sensed the hesitation within his name, he desperately pressed his lips to your mouth, his tongue darting in to tangle with yours to silence you. You tried to still your movement and refused to kiss him back but once his hands traveled down, one tightening around your throat while the other caressed your breast, you moaned and returned his kiss, your own tongue massaging his.

You couldn’t help the wetness pooling at your core as he kissed you. It had been so long since Coco kissed you… really kissed you, as if his desire for you had been life and death, like it would be his last and he was desperate to cling to.

Both of you were desperate: you to have your old boyfriend back, to feel loved and needed by him, and he to make you believe that he still loved you and that you held his world in the palm of your hand.

Your hands slid from his wrists down his arms and to his hips, your fingers threading the loops of his belt to pull him closer to you, pressing your pelvis against his groin. It had been so long, you both were sensitive to the other’s touch; the sudden friction between Coco’s jean clad member and your cotton covered core earning a deep moan from the back of Coco’s throat.

His lips parted from yours as he gasped into your mouth and you took that as an advantage by biting down on Coco’s bottom lip and rolling it between yours, sucking harshly. Coco’s hands went underneath your shirt, his fingers squeezing your sides while he moaned deeper into your mouth, making you smirk as you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth before letting go.

Coco’s dark brown eyes were lit aflame, your skin burning as he deeply gawked at you. Your own eyes held intense desire and in sync both of your hands began moving once more. He went straight for your pajama shorts, pulling them down with your panties in one swift motion while yours worked on the button of his jeans, sliding them down just enough to stick your hands into his boxers to free his member.

His palm cupped your heated wet core, gaining a hushed moan from you as the knuckles of his index and middle finger teased you by slowly dragging up and down along your slit. Your head fell back, allowing him more access to kiss your neck down to your collarbone before his lips returned to the pulse point below your earlobe.

One hand of yours went to the back of his head, holding his face in the crook of your neck as he devoured your skin while his fingers featherly explored your sex, occasionally lingering upon your clit, moving his knuckles in circles. His fingers went back and forth between pressing deeply and lightly against your mouth, his lips churning into a sly smirk as your moans began to echo louder while you tugged at his hair.

With your free hand you began to grip the center of his shaft before stroking him back and forth, subtly squeezing every time your grasp moved at his center. His fingers continued to travel between circling your clit and gliding up and down your slit, ever so lightly pressing his fingers deeper into you. Your body moved on autopilot, synchronizing with the motion of his hand, grinding your hips into his touch, begging for deeper sensations.

Coco’s fingers grazed your opening, teasing you as he barely pressed his two fingers into you. Every time you’d grind into his fingers, he’d retract, making you groan in frustration and him chuckle under his breath.

“What do you want mi amor?” he said, placing soft kisses along your neck in between nipping your skin playfully. He could feel your juices starting to drip around his fingers, urging him to continue teasing your opening but not giving you him completely. You continued stroking him, your fingers squeezing him then running the edge of your thumb along his tip, teasing him with his own precum.

In a quick shift, Coco pulled you by your hips until you were barely upon the edge of the counter. His hand went to your wrist stopping you from touching him before he took himself in his own hand. He gave himself a few strokes before running the tip of him against your slit.

His motion was meant to tease you, however, his own desire only grew hungrier as each stroke against you coated him with your warm wartness. Coco pressed himself to your opening, pushing to only give you half of him before pulling out.

You both gasped in union, moaning as if it were the first time he stretched you. Your hands went to the back of his neck and you pressed your lips to his, moaning into him.

Coco repeated his action, pushing himself deeper into you, however, just as he were to meet your sensitive spot, he quickly pulled out and you groaned in frustration, pulling the hairs at the nape of his neck. Your eyes met his dissatisfaction and he coyed a smirk, lining himself up at your entrance and pushing halfway in, making your head fall back as you moaned once more.

“No me hagas rogar Johnny,” you huffed and pressed your lips to his. Coco smirked into the kiss, slowly pushing deeper into you. His name upon your breath was refreshing, taking him back to the days where he felt whole. Breathing against your lips, Coco placed a closed mouth kiss to the side of your jaw then took your skin between his teeth, “pero me encanta cuando lo haces.”

He stopped his movements, his girth pulsating inside of you, making your hips move against him to take it into your own hands. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth while he grabbed you by the throat. You licked your parted lips, the corners twisting into a smile as he squeezed.

“Te deseo,” you breathed, giving him the direction he needed to hear.

In one thrust, Coco pushed himself completely into you before pulling out and pushing in once more. He continued his rhythm, your hips matching each and every deep thrust. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you pulled him closer while grinding into him every time he pushed himself back inside of you.

His moans echoed in the kitchen, interlacing with yours in song as you messily kissed the other. Coco went back and forth with his motions of slowly thrusting inside you deep and hard then thrusting multiple times. Your lips coated the side of his face before you dug your face into the crook of his neck, your teeth biting down each time he thrusted hard into you, making you whimper and scratch your nails along his shoulders.

The stinging sensation of your teeth piercing his skin only made Coco want to ravish you more and feel you cum around his shaft. While one hand gripped your hip, pushing you to meet his thrusts harder as he dipped into you, his opposite hand went to your clit, strongly thumbing you.

Your stomach began to tighten and your head grew fuzzy as you lost yourself in the overwhelming pleasure of him. You continued to kiss his shoulder before kissing and breathing moans into his ear.

“Johnny,” you moaned into him breathlessly. The movements of your hips grew mess and began falling out of sync with his as you feverishly grinded into his thrusts to take all of him into you. Moaning his name into his ear made Coco thrust harder into you, his own climax beginning to meet its peak as his member pulsating every time he felt your walls clench around him.

His hand upon your hip went to your face, bringing you to meet his nose to nose. Coco’s lips met yours hungrily as he devoured you with his tongue. “Cum,” he demanded.

You were jello with his touch, your body following his order as with one long deep thrust your walls tightened then released around him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued to pound in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm before you felt him twitch and release himself into you.

The kitchen air felt hot as you both rode out your release until eventually you were both panting and placing soft kisses upon each other’s lips. Coco stilled inside of you as you both regained your breath. His hands were wrapped around your lower back while yours were still hooked around his neck.

Both of your eyes were closed, radiating in your burst of long awaited intimacy. Your thumbs slowly grazed the nape of Coco’s neck and you sighed in content when you felt him press his forehead to yours. It had been way too long since you felt this connected to him and while you knew you guys still weren’t in the clear, that he wasn’t his normal self or okay for that matter, in this moment you felt okay. You’d let it slide and ignore it for the time being because as he pressed his lips to yours then feathered his nose against yours in a signed kiss, you felt whole once more.

This was your Coco and you were going to hold on to him for as long as you could.

“Te quiero,” he mumbled into your lips as he placed another kiss of adoration and longing. “Yo tambien,” you sighed heavily, holding his head against yours.

#purestxblood #johnny coco cruz #coco cruz #coco cruz x reader #johnny coco cruz x reader #mayans #mayans mc #mayans mc one shot #mayans one shot #purexblood #writings #soa

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whump-me-all-night-long · 4 years ago

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The Jewelry Box: Carnelian’s Undoing

my contribution to Spiral Day, started by @brutal-nemesis

Did I cry while writing this? Absolutely, it was like Niagara Falls over here. This is probably one of the most emotionally draining pieces I’ve ever written. It took me several different sessions, spread out over quite a few days, to get it completed. It’s also one of those where I feel like it’ll never be really and truly ready, so here it is anyways. I hope y’all enjoy it because this was one piece that I was extremely nervous to post and share.

Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome–hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: thoughts of death, like so many thoughts about death, that’s basically the entire piece, acceptance of death (not in a suicidal way, more in a “I’m okay with dying” type way), beating, painful wound cleanings, noncon touching (nonsexual), implied death (but no real death), referenced grief, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, pet whump, being sold, noncon drugging, please please please let me know if I missed anything, this is a rather heavy piece and I want to make sure everyone can read it as safely as possible!

Masterlist

He was laying there, unable to move, every single inch of his body aching, a pain he’d never experienced before. Distantly, as if from another life, he heard screams, sobs, pleas that went unanswered. He wanted to move, to get up and comfort the person that had become his entire world, but he was stuck; he couldn’t move a fraction of an inch, no matter how hard he tried.

Soon enough, the horrible sounds of grief and guilt and death were replaced by the shallow, near-silent rattle of his own breath and the pounding of blood in his ears. He knew there was something important that he needed to do, something that he knew his life depended on, but he couldn’t remember what.

So instead, he just stayed there, his broken body sprawled out on the hard floor, blood pooling out from under him like a halo of death.

There was movement around him, stirring him from the half-conscious daze he was in, delirious from pain and blood loss. He blinked slowly, vision so blurry he couldn’t make out a thing, surprised to find his eyelashes meeting something wet.

Am I crying? When did I start crying?

A hand in his hair pulled his head up, the part that had been pressed into the floor feeling damp and sticky. Dark eyes met his own glazed gaze, and he saw the flash of teeth. He would’ve flinched if he could, but he couldn’t.

“Hey there, sugar,” a low, soft voice said. “You took your punishment so well. Played your part like a champ. Now my sweetheart’s breaking, all thanks to you. I knew you’d be absolutely perfect.”

For some reason, he started crying harder at that. No, he thought, I didn’t want to do this. You made me do this. He can’t break, not now.

Not over me.

The other dropped his head back down, and he went back to drifting, letting all the thoughts fall out of his head.

He woke next to the tap tap tap of footsteps. Blinking groggily, he tried to sit up, tried to get up, but the pain lancing through his body prevented him from doing more than rolling over a couple inches.

A shiny shoe resting on his cheek, pressing his head down, kept him from attempting it again. A face settled in his line of sight, and his lip curled.

The Jeweler stared at him for a moment, a pleasant smile on his face. “Hello, sugar,” he said, removing his foot and replacing it with his hand, which stroked his face in a way that made him want to push him off, but his body was still not responding to him.

He swallowed several times before cracking open his mouth. “What-” His voice was rough and hoarse, sending a cough through him. “What did you do to, to me? Where- where is he?” Panic started overwhelming him, crashing over him and pulling him down, drowning him.

He couldn’t remember anything. He had been in his cell, whispering with his world, and then there was nothingness, blankness, emptiness. Tears pricked in his eyes, and he took a shaky, shuddering breath that ended up sounding like a sob.

The Jeweler moved his hand to comb through his hair, still softly smiling. “Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of that. You don’t need to remember any of this. What you need is to forget. You’re going someplace new, and you’re leaving all of this behind. Okay, sugar?”

He tried to shake his head, but it was barely more than a twitch. No, no I don’t want that. Please, don’t kill me, don’t make me leave, I can’t leave him, please.

The Jeweler laughed softly. “My silly sugar,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “Just relax, okay?”

“Please,” he managed to whisper before his head was set back down.

The Jeweler stood, grabbing something out of his line of sight. When he did see what it was, the fat tears rolled down his face even harder. The large needle, filled with a menacing amber liquid, came close to his neck, piercing it easily with him weak and nearly paralyzed. His mouth opened to whine softly at the cold flooding into him, before it withdrew and was left alone again.

His eyes found the Jeweler and he sobbed, begging, “Please, not this, anything but this.” He just smiled.

He didn’t so much as wake up next as he did rise to consciousness, suddenly and roughly. Hands, too many hands, were touching him, grabbing him, manhandling him.

A low groan slipped out of him as he tried and failed to open his eyes and he heard a muttered curse.

“It wasn’t supposed to wear off yet, was it?” someone asked in a hushed voice.

“Who cares?” someone else responded. “It’s not like it’ll remember any of this anyways.”

He whimpered and the hands resumed their work. He could feel them harshly cleaning out his wounds, bandaging them up. The people surrounding him were thorough, his gently throbbing muscles telling him that much, and it felt like an eternity before they were done.

He sighed as they set him back down, ready to slip back off to oblivion, but then they were back, pulling at his clothing, taking it off-

He yelped as the cold air hit his sensitive skin, struggling against the hands. Weak as he was, it barely affected them, but he still heard several more curses as flailing limbs knocked into them. A backhanded slap had him stilling, though, knocking all the fight out of him and leaving him even more dizzy and disoriented than he was before.

He let them pull new clothes onto him, although they felt less like clothes and more like scraps of cold, thin cloth that barely covered him. He shivered and whimpered, high in his throat, face burning, desperately wishing he was anywhere else in the world.

Another voice joined the fray, this one too painfully familiar. “Is he ready?”

A chorus of “yes, sir”s followed, and then hands grabbed at his arms, lifting him up and dragging him along. His head rolled wildly, completely out of his control.

After what felt like an eternity, he was dropped yet again onto cold floors, crumpled in a heap. He whimpered as his head knocked against the hard tile, eyes struggling to stay open.

Distantly, he heard the Jeweler barking orders. He let the words wash over him, floating around him, unable to pierce his drug-induced bubble of semi-consciousness.

Instead, he let his thoughts drift back to him. The him that had started all of this, that he’d known since day one, that had helped him and held him, guided him and encouraged him. The him that had loved him. The him that he had loved.

It took him several moments to realize that he was crying again, silent, salty tears dripping down his face, causing the small cuts littering his skin to burn faintly. He knew he was about to die. He wasn’t scared. Angry, yes. Sad, yes. But scared? No, he wasn’t scared of death at all.

He used to be scared of being stuck in this hell on earth for the rest of his life, of never escaping, always stuck in this stasis. Now, he was scared of leaving him behind, not knowing what was going to happen to the person he was about to die for. Wherever he went after this, he didn’t want him to follow very quickly.

No, he wanted him to escape, to forget, to live. He wanted him to find someone else, someone new, to make him happy, who understood and forgave. Maybe one day he’d tell this new person about the old one, the one who had been sacrificed to get him there.

There was only one regret he had. The one thing they’d sworn never to say, he wished he had said. And he wished he had heard it in return.

I promise, if I make it out of this, the first thing I’ll do when I escape - when, not if - is find you and tell you that I lo-

He was yanked out of his thoughts by hands grabbing him, lifting him. One last tear rolled down his face, into his hairline. He took a deep breath, one of his last. He felt ready to die. He didn’t mind dying, not for this reason.

He wondered, vaguely, how he would go. Would it be a bullet? Fire? Knife? Poison?

It was none of those things.

He was placed inside a large wooden box. His hands were easily tied behind his back with what felt like silky ropes, and his ankles were forced together with the same material. A cloth gag was placed in his mouth, securely fastened around his head. He blinked slowly, confusion evident on his face. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Somewhere above him, the Jeweler stood, seen through flashes of dark hair and pale skin, sparkling teeth and bright eyes. He reached down into the box to cup his cheek, stroking a smooth thumb over his skin, pressing lightly into a blooming bruise there.

“Just a bit beat up, right, sugar?” he said, almost.. gently? “By the time you get there, you’ll be nearly back to full health, I dare say.” There? Where was there? “Just close your eyes now, and stay calm, alright? You’re doing such a good job here, making me a wonderful sum along with a new business associate. You’ve really been the perfect Jewel for me, sugar.”

The hand withdrew, and he almost found himself missing the warmth of it when the light above him was cut off, something large being placed over the top of the box. It wasn’t until a painfully loud whirring sound started that he realized that it was the lid, and it was being drilled down, secure and unable to be broken.

Then the box was being lifted into the air and he went rolling as much as he could, unable to stop himself due to his restrained limbs. There was a hard thump and he banged his head against the side of the box, immediately losing consciousness.

When he woke up next, he was still in the box. It seemed like it was in some sort of plane, gliding smoothly through the air, occasionally tilting to one side or the other. He breathed in a ragged breath, most of his memories coming back to him. As he struggled to pull himself up into somewhat of a sitting position, he remembered three things, three very important things:

One. His name was Carnelian. He’d all but forgotten the name he had before that. The name that mattered was Carnelian.

Two. He was supposed to be dead, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was being sold, shipped off to God knows where, to God knows who.

Three. He had to get back to Sapphire. He had to find the love of his life again, rescue him and tell him that he loved him.

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tarithenurse · 4 years ago

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To the point - 3

Pairing: au!Satoru Gojō x fem!reader Content: All the smut. Add a pinch of dom/sub, a drizzle of bondage, sweeten with pain, let it simmer for a moment. No proofing. A/N: Third and final chapter...and longer than expected.

3. Point taken

I should not have done that. Walking towards your last appointment, you’re not worrying about the floofy, pastel coloured dress you’re wearing (although it’s not your usual go-to style) but what’s underneath it. No one can see it: hidden beneath the almost knee-long, flowy skirt and the silken panties hides the result of a great deal of work that you never had expected to get done. I should. Not. Have done that. But you can’t undo it.

Face glowing hot, you try to ignore the reflection in the glass door as you enter the tattoo parlour. There’s no one around at the front. No sign of other customers in any of the two small rooms...at least it doesn’t seem so judging by the lack of sounds.

“Mind locking and turning the sign?” Gojō’s voice calls from behind the curtain at the left cubicle.

A muted, little croak is the only answer you can offer aside from doing as asked. Get yourself together! The mirrored motion of straightening up, pushing the shoulders back, catches your eye once more. Not bad, if you do say so yourself. Almost...innocent looking. That, of course, would be a lie and knowing that emboldens you enough to keep your head high as you pass the curtain.

“Well, hell-ooo,” Gojō purrs at the sight, eyes travelling over your form appreciatively.

It should have been you saying something to showcase the amazement you feel: everywhere are candles and flowers, in a corner is a beautifully painted box (closed and absolutely curiosity inducing), and music is flowing from Satoru’s docked phone.

He can see enough without the electric lights on? That’s when it hits you that he isn’t wearing the usual sunglasses. Perhaps he’s sensitive to the light. Why’ve I never asked?

“Hop up, princess.”

Technically, he partially lifts you up, large hands wrapping around your waist only to slide down slowly along your thighs before guiding your legs apart and into place. His fingers are hot against your flesh, as he rests your left leg in the cradle. Crystalline gaze tracking the shift of the skirt as it falls towards your hip, baring the work in progress.

“Perhaps -” he pecks a kiss to the inside of your knee -”we should take some precautions this time?”

There’s barely enough air in your lungs to answer. “Such as?”

Gojō grins wickedly. “Getting rid of these.” He curls the fingertips up under the dress, hooking onto the edge of the panties. “Would be a shame to ruin them.”

And then you remember and you catch his hands in yours. “I...I...don’t know if...ermm...”

“So shy, princess. Well...I guess it’s only fair that you aren’t the only one on display.”

And true to his words, he pulls off the t-shirt to grant you with a delicious view – there really is no better word to describe the lithe, muscular build. He isn’t bulky, but each muscle is clearly defined and makes your imagination’s creativity pale. You’re too distracted to notice where he drops the shirt. But you do see his hands go for the button and fly of his jeans and your pussy does respond to the view as he reveals himself fully for the first time, confirming the suspicion from the night you danced with him.

“Better, sweetie?” He saunters back between your legs, each movement enthralling and full of confidence.

Nothing stops you, as you sit up to reach out. Fingertips softly trace the lines of his body and turning him around. There’s a fairly big tattoo on his back and it takes a moment before your can extricate your focus from the individual strokes (symbols) of the pattern to see that the whole makes out wings that move with his shoulders and shoulder blades. It could have been tacky. It is ethereal.

“Like what you see?” He flexes cheekily, a goofy grin banishing the rest of the awkwardness you had accumulated over the last days.

“Oh yes.”

A large hands splays over your pussy, thumb rubbing your inner thigh and sending sparks to your abdomen, your chest. Then it’s gone, and the next touch is that of the needles jabbing into your skin.

Sweet pain mingles with fiery caresses as Gojō carries your through for an hour or more on the verge of ecstasy without once passing the silken barrier and by the time he takes a break to focus completely on you, you’re a whimpering mess, begging for more.

There’s no reason to oppose him as Satoru lifts the dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie (which, for once, matches).

“Sweet princess,” he croons against your belly, hands scooting under you to grope your ass, “you want more?”

“Y-yes yees...”

Your own hands are clamped on to the edge of the seat, hips automatically tilting towards him until he pulls away. Through a haze, you see him go and open the box, pulling out something small enough that he can hide it in his hand. Wait...two somethings.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” Of course you can, you will be anything for him. “Put this into your sweet cunt.”

He hands you one of the things: a silicone bullet, smooth and slightly warmed from his touch. There’s no hesitation as you slip your hands beneath the panties, gathering the slick on the toy. It’s not what you had expected, not quite what you need, but it makes you moan to push it past your entrance and feel it almost plop into place. It’s not on purpose when your fingers linger to stroke your folds.

A strong hand clamps around your wrist. “Did I tell you to play with yourself?”

“No-o,” you gasp.

Brilliant eyes have grown icy. “Then why did you?”

“I just...I need m- I need you please.”

He can’t hide the shrewd smile completely. “Only if you’re a good girl. Are you gonna be good from now on?”

“Yesyesyes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you.”

Returning your hand to the edge of the seat, he leans in over you, hips pushing against your inner thighs and his cock twitching against your pussy. Gojō’s chest is hard and warm against yours. His lips soft along your jaw.

“Good,” he whispers, “otherwise I’d have to tie you u-” interrupted by an involuntary roll of your hips, his eyes search your features before he continues, “...oh. I see. Are you sure?”

If I’m not allowed to touch and he doesn’t do it? You nod, but it’s probably a new roll of your hips that convinces him to find two leather straps in the box, one for each wrist. He’s gentle as he ties you to the seat, whispering sweet promises and explaining how to navigate this new territory safely. When done, Gojō kisses you agonizingly slow and deep and your brain can’t help but imagine how it would feel if he was using his tongue like that but on your pussy instead. Tense and hot, clenching around nothing...and he smiles as he retracts because he knows and his cock is damp from having pressed against your soaked panties.

“Mmm, perfect,” the words are mumbled against your cleavage and then repeated as he kisses his way down your body in a straight line.

Almost. Almost there. But of course he skips where you need him the most and you have to bite back a whine as he sets to work on the artwork again.

Kisses. Fingers massaging and rubbing. Soft bites. Each sends new jolts through your body, keeping you close to the edge with no risk of toppling over. Want more. As if on cue, a rumble rocks through your cunt, making it clench around the toy you had forgotten all about in your frustration. Maybe it’s a gasp (it could be a moan) and Satoru understands the sentiment perfectly and lets the vibrations continue as your breathing speeds up and you teeter on the verge of the first orgasm -

“Noooo...”

Everything has stopped and Gojō watches your body regain its balance instead of succumbing to pleasure. The bastard had turned off the bullet and no matter how hard your pussy squeezes around the thing, it’s not enough. Straining against the leather of the cuffs, you try to reach down. Your fingers know the motions. Your clit is throbbing. Inner walls weeping. And Satoru looks at you with hooded eyed while running a hand lazily along his length.

...

The base colours are filled in and the millions of jabs with the needles has caused your thigh to ache wonderfully. It’s not enough to distract you from the much deeper burning in your core: a desperation, a longing so profound that words such as grace or dignity have lost their meaning completely. Tears are filling your eyes and dripping down your cheeks as you babble. Begging. Pleading. Sobbing for Gojō to take pity on the wreck of a girl strapped down before him.

“I love the way you sound, princess,” he mumbles against your hip, “adore the way you stutter through my name.” Adept fingers have left the most sensible parts of your body momentarily to wrap up the tattoo. “You’ve been such a good girl.”

It’s impossible to fit together a string of words. Your brain has been reduced to mush and you’re trembling with need as his lean body presses against your flesh, his raging boner pushing at the soaked fabric of your panties. And he purrs, damn it, the man enjoys the sensation of the vibration he’s subjecting you too as they travel outwards.

“Pl-ple-ease!”

“Yeah? No more playing?” Somehow, the blue of his eyes manages to pierce through the haze of tears.

You’re not entirely sure when he frees you wrists. And the surprised growl as he finally pulls your panties off could just as easily have come from miles away. Two licks is all the aching folds are granted before he maps a path up your body, marking each detour with kisses and bites that makes you whimper at the delicious sting. There’s almost no power left in you to sit up like he wants you to...but somehow you manage for long enough to wrap your arms around him so he can unfasten your bra.

“It’s okay, darling,” he nibbles at your earlobe, guiding you onto your back once more, “hang on a bit longer, mm?”

“M-mm,” you nod, happy for the reprieve as the bullet stops.

Next second, the calm is disturbed as Gojō pulls out the toy slowly, leaving you more hollow than ever. A slobbery sound piques your curiosity, fighting against the reduced vision until you see him lick every trace of you off the silicone.

“I can never get enough of your taste,” he groans, winking at you. “

“You...how do...”

No, words are too difficult. It’s not as you really need them anyways, your brain tries to remind you before losing all sense of reality except the one fact that you’re finally feeling a cock head slipping up and down between your folds. Not just any cock, of course.

“Yeah...plea-OH!”

Shock waves of hot pleasure courses through every cell in your body at the sensation of Gojō bottoming out. Without warning, your body is wrecked, taken apart and put together in a heartbeat that lasts forever as your insides spasm and the only thing you can scream in your ecstasy is his name. And he doesn’t even move, just waits for you to come down and catch your breath.

“Hmmm, we need more space, princess.” His voice is strained.

Somehow, the man manages to lift you, still impaled by his erection, and carry you through a backdoor and up to the next floor – to be fair, you’re not thinking too much about it because all you can do is hold on as each step he takes sends aftershocks through your core.

You are aware of the soft feel of a mattress against your knees, realizing that he’s laid down in bed with you straddling him. Please, yes. It’s impossible to say where it comes from – probably the desperate craving that hasn’t been satisfied enough – but new energy tugs at your limbs until your sitting upright and your hips begin to roll. Every time he says your name, you reward him by pulling nearly all the way off and then sinking back down.

“Why’d I wait so long?” Satoru groans, his fingers digging into your ass. “Feel so...amazing.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me be good to you?”

Gojō seems to be the one struggling for words now as he thrusts up into you with each roll, trying to speed up despite your effort to keep it slow. It’s not long before he lifts you up and down by the waist, praising the bounce of your breasts and asking you to play with them. Of course you comply.

��Fuck!” He pulls you off, scrambling to get behind you and pushing you forward on knees and elbows. “Ready, babe?”

“Gimme, please.”

You're aching for him inside, a deep longing for the balancing act between the pain and satisfaction he can grant you. Breath reduced to superficial whimpers. Hands clenching the sheets. All the anticipation building up to the point that you're shaking as you feel him align himself. Deep...hard, the inner voice keens.

It's neither. Frustratingly slow, Satoru fills you again, underlining the discovery of the bumps and quivers against his length with wonderfully delicious moans.

"Wanted to do this at the club," he growls strained, "slide into heaven. Feel your tight cunt around me as we danced." Finally bottoming out, Gojō's hips stutter and his fingers hold tight enough to bruise your hips in his efforts to still you both. "Fuck, princess! You're so damn perfect, I wouldn't have been able to hold back."

"You wouldn't have had to," you whine, core fluttering at his words.

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you and for a moment the only sounds are from two sets of panting breaths and an obscene squelching. One hand trails up your side only to return via the spine, nails scoring to set your nerves ablaze.

"I think it was worth it," he purrs, "this view? Beautiful. And no loud music to cover your sounds." As if to prove the point, he rams in deep to make you cry out again and again.

You're right at the verge, the dizzying precipice begging for that last stroke to push you over the edge and fly on the updrafts – and the second before it happens, Gojō's strong arms pull you up flush against his chest and he growls into your ear to scream his name. The change of angle, the command, or maybe the feeling his teeth digging into your earlobe as he pulls you down hard on his cock has you cumming with him.

Rather than an explosion or waves, the bliss concentrates heavy and hot and spreads its blinding rays outwards until there is nothing but deeply saturated satisfaction.

You come to you senses sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you for support for both. Satoru's chest is heaving against your back, but he's still capable of peppering your skin with kisses.

"I know we got work to do still on your thigh but..." his tongue catches your earlobe, making you hum with delight, "be mine, princess?"

It takes a second before you can talk. "Is there any doubt that I am already?"

"Nope...but I like the way you presented your heart to me," you hear him smile.

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chernobog13 · 4 years ago

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MOONLIGHT MASK

Starman, aka Super Giant, was Japan’s answer to Superman, appearing in theaters in a 9 films between 1957 and 1959. He was also Japan’s first superhero on film.

During that time, Japan’s answer to Batman or The Shadow appeared on Japanese television. Gekko Kamen, aka Moonlight Mask in English (also Moon Mask Rider), was the very first tokusatsu, live-action superhero on Japanese television.

Moonlight Mask fought crime, carried two snub-nosed .38 revolvers, rode around on a motorcycle, and usually could be heard singing his theme song (I ain’t making this up!) before he appeared out of the darkness. He had no super-powers except the ability to never run out of bullets, and never get his cape caught in his motorcycle’s spokes.

As for his choice of weapons, he couldn’t have picked worse. .38 caliber revolvers were standard issue for many police forces at the time. However, the .38s were notorious for terrible penetrating and stopping power; there have been documented instances of the bullets bouncing off someone just wearing a nylon windbreaker! And generally, the longer a handgun barrel is the more accurate it will be. The only reason anyone wore snub-nosed.38s was because they were easily concealable underneath jackets or other clothes. But for 99% of users they were only effective at point-blank range.

Japanese DVD cover for episodes 47-58 of the television series, part of the Skull Mask storyline.

Moonlight Mask was always coming to the aid of Police Inspector Matsuda, usually when some bizarre, diabolical villain was involved. No one knew who Moonlight Mask was, and his secret identity was never revealed. In the cast credits Moonlight Mask was always played by a question mark (”?”). However, even the dullest of audience members could figure that Moonlight Mask was very probably private detective Juro Iwai, played by actor Ose Koichi, because the two characters are never, ever seen at the same time.

Cover to the Japanese DVD for the film Moonlight Mask - The Monster Kong. Gotta say, this Kong isn’t as impressive as the television version.

Moonlight Mask debuted on Japanese television in February 1958 and ran for a total of 131 episodes, ending in July 1959. The episodes were run serial-style, with each episode picking up right where the previous one ended (usually with a cliff hanger of sorts).

The episodes were organized into 5 stories. The first story, Skull Mask, ran the first 72 episodes. The second story, The Secret of the Paradai Kingdom, ran 21 episodes. Mammoth Kong, the third story, was 11 episodes long, and featured the first television kaiju. Story number four, The Ghost Party Strikes Back, was 13 episodes long. And the final story of the series, Don’t Turn Your Hand to Revenge, ran for 14 episodes.

Mammoth Kong as he appears in the television series. He’s a fearsome looking brute!

I was only able to find available for sale in the USA the first four chapters of Mammoth Kong. Above is the cover of the DVD that I purchased from Amazon. The episodes are subtitled in English, but appear to have been lifted from Youtube.

Despite being an early television show, with a very limited budget, I was very entertained by these episodes. Mammoth Kong is a mutant giant ape, approximately 45-50 feet tall. The scale model building for the Mammoth Kong scenes, while not up to Eiji Tsuburaya’s standards, were convincing enough. And instead of using an expensive optical process to put humans in the same scene as the Mammoth Kong, they used marionettes instead. It sounds goofy, but it was actually pretty effective.

In addition to the television series, Toei Films produced six Moonlight Mask films during the same time period. There films were released in 1958, and the second three films were released in 1959.

That’s the diabolical Skull Mask and his gang of eyeball minions threatening Moonlight Mask.

The films were Moonlight Mask, Moonlight Mask - Duel to the Death in Dangerous Waters, Moonlight Mask - The Claws of Satan, Moonlight Mask - The Monster Kong, Moonlight Mask - The Ghost Party Strikes Back, and Moonlight Mask - The Last of the Devil.

The films were adaptations of the stories from the television series. with Skull Mask - the longest story - getting divided into two films. They were filmed in 2.35:1 aspect (”Toei Scope”) and had slightly better production value. Also, Moonlight Mask and Detective Juro Iwai (if they really are the same person) is played by actor Fumitake Omura.

Japanese DVD cover for the film Moonlight Mask - The Claws of Satan.

Think about how neat it was to be kid in Japan back then: not only could you see Moonlight Mask on TV every week, but you could go to the movie theatre and see him at the same time! The equivalent today would be watching Superman and Lois on TV at home, and having a new Superman film showing up at your local multiplex (anybody remember those?) every 4 months.

The television series and films were quite popular and doing well. Unfortunately, a young Japanese boy died imitating one of Moonlight Mask’s stunts. This led to the cancellation of the television series and the films coming to an end.

(A similar incident led to director Teruo Ishii, who directed several of the early Starman/Super Giant films, to leave the series after a young boy had been hurt imitating Starman.)

An early soft vinyl (sofubi) Moonlight Mask figure.

A manga of Moonlight Mask made the scene a few months after the television series started. Much of the artwork in the manga was by Jiro Kuwata, the creator of 8 Man. He is better known in the West as the artist of the Batman manga from the 1960s, which were collected and released by DC Comics a few years ago.

The Marmit 1:6-scale Moonlight Mask action figure. He has automatics here, which he never used in the television series, so thes may be based on the film version. (Yeah, I know he needs to be touched-up with a Tide Pen. You try keeping your white costume clean when you’re tussling with bad guys!)

Moonlight Mask would return in 1972 for a 39-episode anime series. He had an updated costume, with a motorcycle helmet instead of a turban. He was also sporting two .357 Magnum revolvers, which in real life would be only slightly more accurate than his old snub-nosed .38s, but with a heck of a lot more stopping power.

The Medicom Real Action Heroes (RAH) 1:6-scale action figure of the anime version of Moonlight Mask.

The anime series was apparently very popular in Latin America, where it is known as Centella.

The anime was broken into three 13-part story arcs: The Claw of Satan, The Mammoth Kong, and The Dragon’s Fang. I’ve never seen the anime, but based on the titles alone I’m assuming the fist two stories are based on the original series.

There was also a gag anime, We know You, Moonlight Mask-kun, which had 25 episodes broadcast between October 1999 and March 2000. I know next-to-nothing about this series.

That brings us to 1981, and the most embarrassing point on Moonlight Mask’s career:

The Moonlight Mask movie, known in English as Moon Mask Rider.

This movie was an attempt to update Moonlight Mask for the 1980s, complete with giving him a suped-up motorcycle. I’ve only seen clips from this film, and I was not impressed. The kindest review of the film of several I’ve read describes it as dull; not bad, but not good.

None of the original series’ characters return, and Moonlight Mask even has a new secret identity! The actor who played Moonlight Mask, Daisuke Kuwahara, was never seen in films again after this movie bombed big time at the box office.

The 1981 movie version of the Moonlight Mask costume, which seems to incorporate elements from both the television and anime versions.

Sadly, that was the last time Moonlight Mask was attempted in live action, and he hasn’t been seen in anime in over 20 years. Unfortunately, only Japanese versions of the Toei films, and a few chapters from the television series, are available for sale in the USA. The DVD covers shown above are all from Amazon’s site.

Some random episodes of the television and first anime series are available on YouTube, but I couldn’t find any subtitled in English.

One of the Toei films - I think it’s Moonlight Mask - The Claws of Satan - is available in its entirety on YouTube, but it is not subtitled either.

I’m hoping one day someone will subtitle the original television series and films and distribute them to the USA. I’m dying to see how Moonlight Mask manages to defeat Mammoth Kong and the evil gang controlling him.

#Moonlight Mask #Gekko Kamen #tokusatsu #Mammoth Kong

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ofgentleresolve-a · 3 years ago

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hahaha, lying?? whatever made u think that ( ft. @theimpalpable )

THE REQUEST SOUNDS A LITTLE strange since the beginning, but shouldn’t she be used to that by now, coming from the always so eloquent Myungdae? Whenever he steps into her office, it seems like he’s ready to offer a more bizarre petition than the last one; his tales being quite...well, doubtful. Like the one at hand, for example. Most parents worried about their children’s diet tend to read labels when shopping; scan nutritional facts, even download those apps where you can take a picture of the product and it tells you if it’s healthy or not. But to bring a sample of an ingredient upon the hands of a biochemist? It’s a bit radical, isn’t it?

Well, that if she pretends to think he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth. However, it’s difficult to fully believe him when he hands her not a package of the ingredient, or at least some sort of container normally used within the kitchen, but a syringe. If he’d told her that he’s trying to stuff a turkey with this, that’d be more believable than the whole soup spiel.

Dainty fingers hold the syringe. She looks at Myungdae and gives him a smile that probably expresses more than what she’ll say about this. He’s a nice one, he is...but he’s...not exactly the best at lying.

“Why is it in a syringe?” She dares to softly ask; careful hand lifting item up to take a look at it against the light. “Interesting color, too. Is this a different kind of broth that the cool kids use these days?” She amusingly frowns, before giving a small sigh. “So...you want to know what it contains and where...it’s being made? I think that, uhm, can be done. The latter might...might take longer, depending on whether I’m able to find, uhm, unique elements in it or not. I must ask, though, out of...curiosity...”

She places the syringe inside a box nearby; neatly so. Preferable to keep it away from the view of others than dealing with questions about why is there something like that peacefully resting on her desk. “Where do you buy your stuff to cook, Professor? Did this come in another mystery bundle?”

Now that she mentions it, it is a good question: why is it in a syringe? Myungdae didn’t think too much about that when he had stolen it. All he knew was that an ANACHRON agent had in a briefcase and therefore it was something worth stealing. Any information from ANACHRON is worth the gamble, even if Myungdae got a nice bullet graze on his shoulder in return. Said shoulder aching, he looks up at the ceiling and considers his options. And then: “I ran out of THERMOS CONTAINERS.”

Well. That might be the most ridiculous excuse he’s come up with yet. He can only imagine the eye rolls Rook and Pawn would give him for his subpar on-the-fly thinking ( so he is a fool; so he intentionally makes up bad lies. It just makes hiding the important secrets easier if they think he’s irreverent ). Tilting his head, Myungdae beams at her and lets a shallow smile tug on his mouth. Does he know Miss Logan most definitely doesn’t believe him? Why, yes, he does. Is he going to keep up the facade? Absolutely! “I suppose wouldn’t know much about the...food trends young people follow these days. All the more reason to be cautious, no?”

Although ‘young people’ might apply more to his son than his daughter- she’s only a little older than a toddler at this point. Hiro, on the other hand, well, it’s safe to say the former has decided he doesn’t have the patience to teach. “Just your typical supermarket, Miss Logan. And one of new food delivery services. You’d be surprised with what items they tend to add as bonuses.“

Myungdae does have to wonder though- why does Miss Logan keep humoring him? It’s not like she reaps any benefits from abetting him and even getting him the information fast, cheap, and accurate. If anything, she could easily report him to her supervisor or even the police. It wouldn’t matter who. His smile turns a little more solemn, a little more GENUINE. “If you could get the results to me as soon as possible, I would truly appreciate it, Miss Logan.” A pause. Should he ask now or the next time he inevitably sees her? “I suppose it would be imprudent of me to ask for one more favor? I’ll understand if you refuse; I wouldn’t want to take up more of your time.”

#theimpalpable #theimpalpable ( ft. lexine )#( threads: patrick. )#( verse: a knight is never without their sword. )#worlds that are drawn to each other ( interactions. )#i'm not saying he's lying but i'm saying he's absolutely bullshitting it #lexine is the mvp....she deserves a raise #either that or a five course meal paid for right out of myungdae's pocket #myungdae vc: huh. i didn't think about that. well time to see what comes out of my mouth this time #i'm- JFKSLDJFLKDJ #i was thinking about the dissolvable case for the smoke bombs...maybe they can address it here?? only if that works for you tho!!#also i love the gif you used for her there...it really gives a good idea of what she's thinking sjdklfjs #not me also using newly made icon bc the episode of kairos i was on...ssr's character was doing the exact same thing #so perfect expression right there :D #thank you again for going along with this alex!! lmk if i should change anything and pls have a wonderful day <3

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years ago

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Witness Protection (Part 12)

Summary: Maybe it was time to stop running

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: This is the last one :( I’ve really enjoyed writing this series and I’m so grateful for all the support. More stories definitely coming soon!

---

The car rolled to a stop and Bucky killed the engine. You were only half-asleep, so the gentle jolt of the brakes prompted you to open your eyes. As they adjusted to the light, you barely believed the view they were met with.

‘What the hell?’ You muttered, staring through the windscreen.

You were parked outside the compound.

Bucky chuckled. ‘It’s not perfect, but it beats the basements and motels we've been living in lately.’

You looked over at him, bewildered. ‘What’s going on Buck?’

‘Look, I know it seems too soon,’ he turned in his seat to face you, ‘but I think you’re ready.’

‘For what?’

‘Staying put. Not having to run anymore.’

Your breath hitched as all the muscles in your stomach tensed. You’d been looking forward to this day but he was right, it definitely seemed too soon. A confusing mix of excitement and fear filled your chest, then you realised that you’d been gawping at Bucky in complete silence for a good few seconds.

He must’ve seen your concern, so he carried on explaining.

‘Back there on the road- you stayed calm, you focused and you hit your target. It doesn’t sound like much, I know we’ve still got work to do but I think, for now, we can breathe easy.’

You felt a faint smile spread across your face, staying in one place for a while did sound pretty great. It was almost embarrassing how easily Bucky could talk you down from a panic. You knew there was a lot more you needed to learn, but you trusted his judgement completely.

Hell, if he asked you to run naked directly into Hydra’s headquarters you’d probably do it.

‘Alright.’

‘Yeah?’ He smirked. ‘You’ll have to live here though. Y’know, so I can keep an eye on you.’

Before you had a chance to act on the sinful urges provoked by that bloody smirk, Steve emerged from the doorway in front of you. He didn’t look surprised, Buck must’ve told him you were coming. What the hell else had he gotten up to while you were asleep? You half expected cake and a welcome banner when you got inside.

'This place looks a lot better than when I last saw it.' You slammed the car door behind you. 'It's much less… on fire.'

‘We usually try to keep the fire to a minimum.’ Steve stepped forward and embraced Bucky, before putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you inside.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the bags.’ You heard shouted from behind you.

You chuckled and looked over at Steve. ‘How’s Sharon doing?’

‘She’s all good, always asks about you when I see her- asks when you’ll be back. I didn’t have the guts to tell her she’ll have to find a new flatmate.’

You’d miss living with Sharon, but staying at the compound with Bucky was probably the most normal life you were capable of at the moment. It was also the only life you really wanted. Not that you’d admit that to Steve, cause he’d think you were crazy.

Christ, maybe you were.

---

Bucky dropped the last of your boxes from the flat onto the bed.

'Do you have enough stuff?' He asked sarcastically, flopping down on the duvet next to the pile.

‘I definitely don’t have enough stuff to make this room look any less like a sweaty gym changing room.’

He pulled you down onto the bed beside him, turning his head to the side to face you.

‘Was Sharon alright?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ You sighed. ‘To be honest she was probably glad to see the back of me, after everything. She can get herself a new flatmate, one that doesn’t bring home ex-KGB agents and metal assassins.’

You watched as he chuckled and looked back at the ceiling. Seeing him so relaxed made your mind wander, back to something you’d been concerned about.

His frightening episodes had been getting more frequent with the increasing intensity of your training, you were worried that eventually something would bubble up that he couldn’t control, but you didn’t know how to bring it up with him. Suggesting that he step back might seem ungrateful.

‘You alright?’ He furrowed his brows at you. ‘You look worried.’

‘I’m good. I’ve just been thinking a bit.’ You shifted on to your side, tucking your elbow under your head. ‘I figured, now that we’re here, maybe I could get Nat to take over some of my training? Take the burden off you a little.’

‘You’re not a burden.’

‘No, I didn't mean that, I just-’ you rubbed your forehead, figuring out how best to word it. ‘I can see how the training affects you Buck, and I think it’s been getting worse. I appreciate everything you’ve done so much, but you know you don’t have to do it on your own anymore.’

He nodded slowly, then smiled and pulled you over to lean on him, planting a kiss on your forehead.

‘You’re probably right.’ He sighed, your head rising and falling with his chest. ‘But there’s no way she’s taking over firearms training, I’m not missing a minute of that. The faces you pull are too good.’

You hit him playfully on the thigh and got your waist squeezed in return. Adjusting yourself, you brought your face to level with his, lifting your arm so you could stroke his cheek. He leant in and gave you a soft peck, before sweeping his hand gently over your stomach, stopping when it reached the tender spot under your hip.

'Let me see.'

You leant back and lifted your shirt slightly to show him the most recent patch he’d put over your bullet wound. You’d bled through the first few, but this one seemed to be holding up fine. He leant down and planted a soft kiss on it.

'You’re so corny.’ You laughed, pushing the hair away from his face.

‘Shut up. Does it hurt?’

You craned your neck to look at it. ‘Not a great deal. At least the scar will have a good story behind it.’

He straightened back up and rested a hand on the mattress next to your head, hovering his face over yours. His expression fell into one of deep sincerity.

‘You sure you’re happy with all this? You feel safe here, with me?’

‘I’m sure.’ You smiled, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

‘That’s good. I’m so tired of running.'

---

@zizzlekwum @calwitch @shower-me-with-roses @supernaturalwintersoldier @the-romanian-is-bae @shadowed-wax @justanotherblonde23 @connie326 @sxbby-barnes @chipilerendi

---

#bucky fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years ago

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Cross My Heart - CH.09

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: Flangst

WC: 2145

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean stops to pump gas after approximately an hour — she wouldn’t know exactly, time is a fucking construct nowadays — and goes into the store while she waits by the motorcycle. Y/N leaves her helmet on, just to be extra safe.

He comes out after a couple of minutes, and only then does she dare take her helmet off. She places it on the seat.

Dean still looks at her like she’s something fragile, which, given the circumstances, she maybe is. He hands her a chocolate bar. It’s dark chocolate, not really her favorite.

“Eat it. It’ll help calm you down.”

She can’t help but smirk at that, thinks it’s cute how he cares, but then realizes that he’s only doing his job. Which is her. And then she thought that Dean really did her too, she grins a little because she thinks she’s funny, which is really not the right time to be right now.

Y/N’s his job. Period. Because that’s what she is to him, isn’t she? Only a job and an added burden with them getting shot at.

Looking down, she nods and unwraps the chocolate, but before she can take a bite out of it, Dean pushes his fingers below her chin, tilts her head up to look at him, “Hey, everything alright?”

How can she tell him that everything’s not al-fucking-right? That her life’s a fucking mess and that she’s slowly but surely falling for someone who only sees her as a job? How can she tell that she’s scared shitless and that she won’t ever be able to fall asleep again without hearing bullets flying against the wall and into her home?

Instead of telling him all that, though, she nods, “Yeah, just never been in a shootout before.”

“It’s been a while for me either,” He huffs out a tired chuckle.

That’s right. He’s been deployed, has probably had a fair share of being shot at. She never asked him what he did, not that she doesn’t want to. It’s more that it doesn’t really matter to her who he was or what he did. What matters is that he’s here when she needs him the most.

There are scars, though. She’s seen them, even if the light was dim. She also felt them underneath the pad of her fingers.

Dean sighs before his hand comes up and he lets his thumb brush over her chin, thumbs at the corner of her lips and the crease between his eyebrows grow. Apparently, she’s a terrible liar.

He leans closer and speaks in his soothing husky voice, “I got you, okay? I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

She nods teary eyed, “Promise?” She wants to believe him.

Dean smiles. It’s wide and white, there are crinkles around his eyes, “Cross my heart.”

Leaning down, he steals a kiss, his lips are warm and soothing.

He waits for her to finish the chocolate bar so they can drive to wherever he takes her. She doesn’t really ask him anymore where they’re going, because she had made the choice and at this point, she’d follow him anywhere.

After about what felt like another hour's drive, they arrived at another safe house, hidden by another forest. The sun’s slowly coming up, there’s a hazy glow and the ground condenses, little patches of fog rise up.

If it wasn’t for her being on the run, she'd say that it’s beautiful here, that it’s picturesque and maybe if there are other circumstances surrounding her being here, she might even be able to enjoy it. But she swears, she’s already a little sick of the damn trees.

Dean halts his bike and waits for her to get off before he gets off it himself, and walks around to take the bags, places them on the ground. He then wordlessly wheels his bike behind the cabin.

She hears plastic, some leaves rattling. Didn’t dare to go look or follow him. She’s just too tired too and she stands there, waiting for him with her arms wrapped around herself. The mornings are cool and the effect of too little sleep makes her shiver to her bones.

About five minutes later — could be longer too, she wouldn’t know — Dean comes back, rubbing and brushing his hands against each other, a satisfying smirk decorating his face.

He comes to stand before her, towering over her, as he rubs at her arms and pulls her into a warm embrace, “You okay?”

She manages to nod, her teeth are already chattering together.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside before you freeze to death,” Dean places his warm lips on her forehead, before he picks up the bags from the ground, takes her hand to walk to the front of the cabin.

On the porch, Dean walks to the far right side, kneels down and opens a little trap door to take out a box. Inside of the box, he finds keys to the cabin.

They step inside and she takes in her surroundings. Everything looks almost the same as the previous cabin, only a little more modern, cozier, too. The sofa is bigger, the TV is the same as in the previous cabin, though.

“You want anything to drink? Or food?” His voice jerks her back to reality.

“No,” She says warily, “Thanks, I’m good.”

“The bedroom’s over there,” Dean jerks his head to the adjacent room while he walks into the kitchen to drop off things he bought at the store, “Go to bed, get some rest.”

She nods and makes her way to the bedroom with her backpack in hand. The bed’s bigger here. Could easily fit the both of them without her having to move too much out of the way. Not that she thinks he’s going to stay in the bedroom with her, though. She doesn’t really know where they stand after last night. Didn’t dare to ask because there are more important things right now. For example trying not to get killed.

Dropping her backpack into the closet, she takes off her jacket and shimmies out of her pants, climbs into bed, and covers herself with the blanket. She lies there on her side. Exhausted but not tired enough to fall asleep yet.

Dean walks in after a while, a mug of coffee in his hand. He slowly moves over, as if he wants to see if she’s sleeping yet and when he sees that she isn’t, he sits on the bed, on the side where she’s curled up, and places the mug on the bedside table.

“I don’t want coffee, thank you.” She mumbles.

“Who said it was for you?” He chuckles while his hand comes up to stroke at her head, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, “You should try to get some sleep, I’ll be in the living room, doing some paperwork.”

Y/N looks at him, her eyelids feel heavy, “Can you stay close?” She didn’t want to come across as needy but it’s hard because right now, that’s all she is. She wants him close, wants to know that he’s here to protect her.

“Of course,” There’s a warm smile on his face. It came out too quick. Like he didn’t even need to think about it at all, “I’ll just get my laptop.”

Dean takes the mug and walks out, only to return with the laptop in his other hand. He takes off his shoes and gets into bed, too, sits with his back to the headboard and she turns herself the other way, curls up next to him.

He strokes her hair back, “Sleep, okay?”

She nods, her eyes are already closing.

Y/N wakes to something heavy draped over her body.

The sun is bright in the sky, she guesses that it’s mid afternoon. Not that the time of day matters, since recently, one day blends into another fucked up day.

She blinks the sleep out of her eyes before she looks down on herself, sees the source of the thing that crushes her.

The heavy thing is Dean’s arm.

He’s sleeping soundly, one hand protectively draped over her. She stirs a little and that was already enough to wake him. God, he’s such a light sleeper. So jumpy all the time.

Dean lifts his head alarmed and looks around, but soon lets it fall back onto the pillow and closes his eyes again when he sees that it’s her.

“I thought you were going to be working?” She says teasingly.

He squints one eye open, his voice is raspy and full of sleep when he speaks, “You looked so peaceful, and then you started to talk in your sleep.”

“I did?” Her cheeks feel warm, and she’s a little embarrassed.

“Yeah, you trashed around and called out my name. I had to hold you down and then I couldn’t resist falling asleep either.”

Y/N blushes. She called out his name? She wishes the bed would open up and swallow her whole.

Dean hand goes under the blanket, finds her waist, and pulls her closer into him. He kisses her forehead, “No matter how hard I try, I can’t resist you. No matter how professional I try to keep things between us, I fail, because one look at you and my walls come crashing down.”

Her heart beats ridiculously fast upon hearing him say those words. Just when she opens her mouth to say something. Opens them up to tell him that it’s okay, that she welcomes it when he isn’t going all bodyguard on her. That she feels the same and wouldn’t want him to go back to being professional— his phone rings.

He tilts his body, reaches for it blindly, his hands search on the nightstand and when he finds it and looks at the caller ID, he frowns a little. Dean holds it out, shows it to her.

Chuck.

Dean picks up and puts Chuck on speaker. She knows that it’s also his way of reassuring her that he isn’t behind any of Chuck’s plans.

“Hello?” Dean’s voice is still raspy and he clears his throat.

“Mr. Winchester, I didn’t get a text this morning and am worried!”

Chuck sounds weird, his voice is a little higher than usual. But she can’t miss the annoyance in it.

Dean places the phone between them, turns to brace himself on his elbow, “Yeah, uh, I’m sorry, sir. Everything’s fine. We are alright. I was out at the store because we were running out of food.”

There’s a long awkward pause until Chuck talks again, “Okay,”

“I don’t have to remind you that you should be careful, do I?”

“No, sir.”

She can see the tense in Dean’s shoulder. And really, who is he to tell Dean how to act? Chuck crosses the line but that’s so typical.

“Good,”

“Do you have any news for us?” Dean asks and looks at her.

“News? Uh.. no, there’s still none. You stay put.”

“Of course,”

“Report back to me, Mr. Winchester.”

Chuck hangs up before Dean could say anything. And he didn’t ask about her once.

“Wow,” She huffs out hot air, “Do you think he knows?”

Dean rolls on his stomach towards her, pushes himself up on his elbows. He looks at her and chuckles, “You mean about us?”

Us.

She tries not to get too excited at the mention.

Y/N groans and rolls her eyes, “Duh,”

“No, and he doesn’t seem to care about you one bit anyway,” Dean says and she knows that he’s right.

Dean gnaws on his bottom lip, his face deep in thoughts. He’s thinking of something and she thinks she knows what bothers him.

“You think he knows about the shooting,” She states as a matter of fact.

He breathes out, pinches at the bridge of his nose, “There’s something fishy about it, yeah.” He leans down, kisses her gently, “And I absolutely hate how he treats you.”

Before she can say anything, Dean pushes himself up on his knees, runs a hand through his hair, “I mean, he usually doesn’t even care if I miss on some texts. Why care now? He also never calls. Good thing he doesn’t know that we changed our house yet. I’d like to keep it a secret for a little while longer.”

Getting off the bed, he reaches under the blanket, and searches for her legs. When he finds them, he pulls at them with one swift motion, making her shift down until her feet are dangling off the edge.

He inspects her calf, “We need to change the bandage.” And then with the next breath he says, “Come on, let's fix you up and find something to eat before I eat you up.”

Well, she can’t say that she would mind if he does.

CH.10

#cross my heart #dean winchester #bodyguard!dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic #nathalie writes

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mysterioh · 5 years ago

Note

mafia au + meet messy + 18 + bucky pls!

a cool combination! hope you like it!

Mafia!Bucky + This can’t be real. It all feels like a fever dream

Your mother always warned you to never roam the streets at night. When the sun begins to set and the street lights start to flicker on, take it as a sign to get home and get home fast.

You were a good kid, and you listened to your mother. You weren’t roaming the streets at night. You were just walking home from a late shift, minding your own business.

It wasn’t your fault a pair of manly dudes decided they wanted to have a showdown on the corner of Tyson and 9th.

It could have been your fault that they caught you because of the soft gasp that left your lips when you saw the cool metal of a revolver glint under the streetlight. And it was that tiny sound that had you stuck in your current state. Wrapped in a stranger’s arm, your back to his chest with the muzzle of his gun pressed hard against your temple.

“Put the gun down, Barnes,” Rumlow chuckles darkly, “or I’ll blow the girl’s brains out.”

You struggle in his arm, turning from left to right to shimmy out of his grasp. You know it’s of no use. He has you locked in his arm, tight and with no intention of letting go.

You look at the man in front of you. The light above him shines on his figures like a spotlight, accentuating his best features. Short brown locks, piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing what looks like a very expensive tailored suit.

Who the hell wears a suit to a fight?

The gun in his hand is pointed directly at Rumlow. From your perspective his target is you.

Your heart beats rapidly, pounding at your ribcage. Sweat trickles down the side of your face and your legs are shaking. You plead to him with your eyes, unable to even formulate a single sentence.

It doesn’t seem to be working. His eyes were chilling to the bone.

Rumlow shakes you violently, gun still pressed to your temple. You let out a small cry in pure fear. “Do it, Barnes! Or her blood’ll be on your hands!”

You whimper in the man’s arm, tears streaming down your face. “Please,” you whisper.

Bucky stares into your eyes, but remains silent and still. The blood of another innocent soul on his hands. To him that meant nothing. He had hundreds if not thousands already. One more wouldn’t change anything.

But the look in your glossy eyes and the frown that’s tugging on your lips makes him feel guilty.

You did nothing wrong so why should you pay for his crime?

Bucky scoffs silently. There’s no real reason why he should care, but he does. The whispers that leave your lips softens his heart.

He throws the gun to his side and lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, man, you win,” he says taking a few steps forward.

Rumlow grins wickedly and let’s go of you. He pushes you towards Bucky and you slam into his chest. Bucky pushes you back gently with his hands on your shoulders.

Oh, she’s cute. She’s really cute.

He gives you a smirk that has you feeling more scared rather than safe. He quickly pushes you behind him as Rumlow shoots at the two of you. Bucky growls in pain as the bullet pierces through his arm.

You’re frozen in place, feeling numb from the ring that echoes through the lonely street. Your eyes grow wide at the drops of blood that fall from his arm and onto the cement.

“Get outta here!” he shouts making you jump.

You quickly turn on your heel and dash down the sidewalk. Eyes shut tight. Hands balled into fists and swinging back and forth wildly as if that’ll help you run faster.

Another gunshot rings through your ears and you stop abruptly.

What were you doing?

He saved you and you’re just going to let him die?

Do good unto those that do good unto you.

That’s what your mother taught you.

You turn back towards the two to find your savior hunched over with an arm holding onto his wounded one.

Yeah, he needs your help. But how are you going to help him? There’s no way you could take Rumlow on. You need to think. You scan your surroundings trying to find anything that can help. With time running short, you start to panic until your eyes fall upon a car.

A 79’ Chevrolet Camaro, lights on, engine running.

A smile rises on your face.

Bingo.

“Just get it over with already,” Bucky rasped. The second bullet had grazed the side of his leg, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch.

He’d try to find his gun, but it’s too dark. Not to mention Rumlow would get to him before he did. He’s played with death before but this time it feels pointless.

Rumlow laughs from the belly. “That wouldn’t be any fun. I wanna enjoy this.”

Bucky grunts with a smile. Fucking psycho.

Well, at least the girl was safe.

Rumlow takes a single step towards him before being hit by a car. Bucky’s eyes grow wide in confusion. He squints because of the bright headlights. The car runs in reverse then turns around the bend of the corner

You stick your head out the window. “What the hell are you doing?” you shout at him. “Get in the damn car!”

Bucky pauses for a second still trying to process everything. He looks at Rumlow, knocked out on the ground. Not dead because he’s still breathing or wheezing.

The car horn blares in his ears. “Hello?” you shout at him.

He quickly runs to the car, opens the door, and gets inside. You slam your foot on the gas making the tires screech as it speeds down the street.

The first few minutes were awkward. Both silent. Your eyes on the street. His eyes on you. You don’t know what to say and neither does he.

You chuckle with a shake of the head. “This can’t be real. It all feels like a fever dream.”

Bucky smiles, looking down. “It’s all real, sweetheart, I can promise you that.”

“Don’t call me that,” you retort.

“Then what do I call you?” he asks with a smirk.

“Nothing. You don’t need to know my name and I don’t need to know yours.”

“How mysterious,” he whispers teasingly. A scowl forms on your face and he thinks it’s adorable. “I told you to run. Why did you come back?”

You sigh, taking a turn.

Why are you taking a turn? You don’t even know where you’re going.

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” you replied. “You gave up your safety for me.”

“But I’m a stranger.”

“Stranger or not, you’re human,” you reply quickly. “I wasn’t going to let you die.”

“I’m touched, really,” he says. The lilt to his voice makes him sound like he’s joking, but the smile on his face was genuine.

You smile as you drive down the street. “Not to be intrusive, but what the hell did you do to piss off that guy? So bad that he was ready to kill you.”

“Old gang rivalry,” he states flatly.

The car halts and Bucky jerks forward.

“You’re in a gang?” you ask (more like shout).

“Yes,” he sighs, “now please keep driving.”

You debate whether you should keep driving or jump out of the car and run away.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he chuckles.

Your head whips towards him. “That’s not—”

“That’s what everything thinks,” he interjects. “Trust me, I know. Anyways, it’d be kinda pointless to kill you after I went through all that trouble to save ya.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with an embarrassing blush creeping on your cheeks.

Bucky looks over to you and gives you a wicked grin. “Don’t worry about it, princess,” he says with a wink.

You huff through your nose and begin to drive. Bucky reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a box of Kent Cigarettes and a lighter. He pulls a stick out and slips it between his lips.

“Help a guy out here, will ya?” he asks, waving the lighter in his hand.

You roll your eyes and take the lighter from him. With one hand on the steering wheel, you use the other to strike the lighter on. A small orange flame kindles. Bucky leans over and lights the cigarette in his mouth. Once it’s lighted, he falls back into his seat. You switch if off and drop it in the cupholder.

Bucky takes a long drag then releases a trail of smoke with a satisfying sigh.

Good thing the windows were down or you would’ve died from the smell. You hated smoking.

“How’d you hotwire a car that fast?” he asks.

“I didn’t,” you shook your head, resting an elbow against the edge of the door. “It was already open with a key and everything.”

“That dumbass,” he sneers.

“I should get you to the hospital.”

“No,” he denies firmly, cigarette stuck in his mouth. “I’m fine. I don’t need a hospital.”

“But—”

“I said no,” he snapped.

You jump back at his voice and return to focusing on your driving. Bucky notices the way your body stiffens and the frown on your face.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I didn’t mean to yell, just not a good night.”

You chuckle. “That goes for both of us.”

You turn to him with a smile and he returns it.

“Listen if you wanna take me anywhere,” he starts before taking another whiff. “Take me to 39th and Dahill in Brooklyn. I got a couple of friends there that’ll help.”

“Brooklyn?” you question incredulously, “that’s thirty minutes from here!”

“Then you better speed up,” he chuckles.

You grunt. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

Bucky smirks, tapping his cigarette outside the car. “You take me to Brooklyn, and I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

You turn to meet his eyes, and fucking hell, you’re absolutely gorgeous.

Your hair flows in the wind coming from the windows. Your emotions were not easily hidden on your innocent face. Confusion was evident in the crease of your lovely brows and in the slight downward curve of your full lips. But your eyes were different, pools of mystery and warmth, pulling him closer to you.

“That’s my promise to you,” he affirms with a nod. “I’ll get you home safe.”

You roll your eyes at him before averting your gaze to the street. He simply chuckles in reply as he looks out the window.

He’s a stranger.

Your mother always told you to stay away from strangers. But this one was different. His eyes were warm, his smile sweet, his arm bloodied—well, no one’s perfect.

For some odd reason, you trust this stranger.

And maybe by the end of the thirty-minute drive to Brooklyn, he won’t be just a pretty blue-eyed nobody.

At least that’s what you hope.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky #bucky barnes fluff

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